"We are under the guns of the frigate," returned the boy; "and you
remember, sir, three oar-blades and a pistol, repeated from the barge,
will draw her fire."

"Yes, on our own heads. Boy, never be so foolish as to trust a long
shot. It makes a great smoke and some noise, but it's a terrible
uncertain manner of throwing old iron about. In such a business as this,
I would sooner trust Tom Coffin and his harpoon to back me, than the
best broadside that ever rattled out of the three decks of a ninety-gun
ship. Come, gather your limbs together, and try if you can walk on terra
firma, Master Coffin."

The seaman who was addressed by this dire appellation arose slowly from
the place where he was stationed as cockswain of the boat, and seemed to
ascend high in air by the gradual evolution of numberless folds in his
body. When erect, he stood nearly six feet and as many inches in his
shoes, though, when elevated in his perpendicular attitude, there was a
forward inclination about his head and shoulders that appeared to be the
consequence of habitual confinement in limited lodgings. His whole frame
was destitute of the rounded outlines of a well-formed man, though his
enormous hands furnished a display of bones and sinews which gave
indication of gigantic strength. On his head he wore a little, low,
brown hat of wool, with an arched top, that threw an expression of
peculiar solemnity and hardness over his hard visage, the sharp
prominent features of which were completely encircled by a set of black
whiskers that began to be grizzled a little with age. One of his hands
grasped, with a sort of instinct, the staff of a bright harpoon, the
lower end of which he placed firmly on the rock, as, in obedience to the
order of his commander, he left the place where, considering his vast