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“Is he living?”

“There’s ne’er a fish a-swimming under this here keel that’s more living.”

“And he’s well, I hope?”

“It’s going to be a bad job when old Cap’n Round falls ill. Old Cap’n Round’s one of them gents as never knows what it is to have so much as a spasm; though when the likes of them are took bad, it’s common-loy good-noight,” said he with an emphatic nod.

“I don’t reckon your services will be required,” said I; “but I may be wanting to go ashore after we’ve brought up, and you can keep your eye upon this ship if you like.”

“Thank ye, sir. Loike to see a paper, sir?” and here the man thrust his hand under his jersey and pulled down a tattered newspaper a few weeks old, gloomy with beer stains and thumb marks; but news, even a few weeks old, must needs be very fresh news to me after an absence of two years, during which I had caught but a few idle and ancient whispers of what was happening at home. I thanked the man, put the newspaper in my pocket, meaning to look at it when I should have leisure, and stepped on to the forecastle, where I stood staring about me awaiting orders from the captain.