second mate, who scowled at me angrily.

"Now what," thought I, "can all this mean?" Then, being unable to make
anything of it, I forgot it and devoted myself industriously to my own
affairs until the hoarse call of "All hands on deck" brought the men who
were below tumbling up, to be summoned aft and addressed by the captain.

Apparently Captain Whidden was not aware that there was a soul on board
ship except himself. With his eyes on the sea and his hands clasped behind
him, he paced the deck, while we fidgeted and twisted and grew more and
more impatient. At last, with a sort of a start, as if he had just seen
that we were waiting, he stopped and surveyed us closely. He was a fine
figure of a man and he affected the fashions of a somewhat earlier day.
A beaver with sweeping brim surmounted his strong, smooth-shaven face, and
a white stock, deftly folded, swathed his throat to his resolute chin. Trim
waistcoat, ample coat, and calmly folded arms completed his picture as he
stood there, grave yet not severe, waiting to address us.

What he said to us in his slow, even voice was the usual speech of a
captain in those times; and except for a finer dignity than common, he did
not deviate from the well-worn customary phrases until he had outlined the
voyage that lay before us and had summed up the advantages of prompt,
willing obedience and the penalties of any other course. His tone then
suddenly changed. "If any man here thinks that he can give me slovenly work
or back talk and arguing," he said, "it'll be better for that man if he
jumps overboard and swims for shore." I was certain--and I still am--that
he glanced sharply at Kipping, who stood with a faint, nervous smile,
looking at no one in particular. "Well, Mr. Thomas," he said at last,
"we'll divide the watches. Choose your first man."