ground. The very thought goes through me like a dash of
spray in a winter v'y'ge." He stamped with his foot and
roared out, "Forrard there: Two glasses and a dipper from
the rundlet," at the same time opening a locker and taking
therefrom a squat bottle. "'T is enough to make a man bowse
himself kissing black Betty to think of being under ground."
He held the black bottle firmly, as if it were in fact a sailor's
life preserver from such a fate, and hastened, so soon as the
cabin-boy appeared with the glasses and dipper, to mix two
glasses of rum and water. Setting these on the table, he took
from the locker a bundle of papers, and handed it to the
merchant.

Twenty minutes were spent on the clearances and manifests,
and then Mr. Cauldwell opened yet another paper.

"Sixty-two in all," he said, with a certain satisfaction in his
voice.

"Sixty-three," corrected the captain.

"Not by the list," denied the merchant.

"Sixty-two from Cork Harbour, but we took one aboard ship
at Bristol," explained the captain.

"Ye must pack them close between decks."

"Ay. The shoats in the long boat had more room. Mr.
Bull-dog would none of it, but slept on deck the whole v'y'ge."