our friend John Bumpus, rowed toward the shore.

"Have you brought your kit with you, John?" inquired the captain, as the
little boat shot over the smooth waters of the bay.

"Wot's of it, sir," replied our rugged seaman, holding up a small bundle
tied in a red cotton handkerchief, "I s'pose our cruise ashore won't be
a long one."

"It will be long for you, my man,--at least as far as the schooner is
concerned, for I do not mean to take you aboard again."

"Not take me aboard agin!" exclaimed the sailor, with a look of surprise
which quickly degenerated into an angry frown and thereafter gradually
relaxed into a broad grin as he continued: "Why, capting, wot _do_ you
mean to do with me then? for I'm a heavy piece of goods, d'ye see, and
can't be easily moved about without a small touch o' my own consent, you
know."

Jo Bumpus, as he was fond of styling himself, said this with a
serio-comic air of sarcasm, for he was an exception to the general rule
of his fellows. He had little respect for, and no fear of, his
commander. Indeed, to say truth (for truth must be told, even though the
character of our rugged friend should suffer), Jo entertained a most
profound belief in the immense advantage of muscular strength and vigor
in general, and of his own prowess in particular.

Although not quite so gigantic a man as his captain, he was nearly so,
and, being a bold, self-reliant fellow, he felt persuaded in his own
mind that he could thrash him, if need were. In fact, Jo was convinced