"I wa'n't caught astern o' the lighter by any fault of mine,"
said the captain gloomily. "We left Fort Churchill and run out
into the Bay with a light pair o' heels; but I had been vexed to
death with their red-tape rigging at the company's office, and
chilled with stayin' on deck an' tryin' to hurry up things, and
when we were well out o' sight o' land, headin' for Hudson's
Straits, I had a bad turn o' some sort o' fever, and had to stay
below. The days were getting short, and we made good runs, all
well on board but me, and the crew done their work by dint of hard
driving."

I began to find this unexpected narrative a little dull.
Captain Littlepage spoke with a kind of slow correctness that
lacked the longshore high flavor to which I had grown used; but I
listened respectfully while he explained the winds having become
contrary, and talked on in a dreary sort of way about his voyage,
the bad weather, and the disadvantages he was under in the
lightness of his ship, which bounced about like a chip in a
bucket, and would not answer the rudder or properly respond to the
most careful setting of sails.

"So there we were blowin' along anyways," he complained; but
looking at me at this moment, and seeing that my thoughts were
unkindly wandering, he ceased to speak.

"It was a hard life at sea in those days, I am sure," said I,
with redoubled interest.

"It was a dog's life," said the poor old gentleman, quite