"Have you eaten anything?"

"Well, no, sir. I was in that pain, sir, and I didn't want to moither my
shipmets no more'n you, so I closes my teeth. It's the breed, sir--bred
to patience."

"Well, the skipper must find us something now, at any rate."

There was some cabbage growing rather yellow and stale, some rocky
biscuit, some vile coffee, some salt butter, and one delicious fish
called a "latchet." With a boldness worthy of the Victoria Cross, Lewis
set himself to broil that fish over the sulphurous fire. He cannot, of
course, compute the number of falls which he had; he only knows that he
imbued his very being with molten butter and fishy flavours. But he
contrived to make a kind of passable mess (of the fish as well as of his
clothing), and he fed his man with his own strong hand. He then gave him
a mouthful or two of sherry and water, and the simple fellow said--

"God bless you, sir! I can just close my eyes."

Reader, Lewis Ferrier's education is improving.





CHAPTER IV.

A NEAR THING.