"I s'pose she's gwine dar if she don't go to dat boon where no trab'lers come back agin," answered Sopsy seriously. "Be you Meth'dis' o' Bab'tis', Massa Mate?" "Both, Sopsy." "Can't be bof, Massa." "Then I'm either one you like." "That ain't right, Massa Secon' Mate, 'cordin' as you was brung up," said the cook, shaking his head violently, as though he utterly disapproved of the mate's theology. "I'm a theosophist, Sopsy." "A seehossofist!" exclaimed the cook, dropping a plate in his astonishment. "We don't hab none o' dem on shore in de Souf. I reckon dey libs in de water." "No; they live on the mountains." "We hain't got no mount'ns down here, and dat's de reason we don't hab none on 'em," added Sopsy as he went to the pantry; but presently returned with a plate of pickles in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other. "Does dem sea-hosses drink whisker, Massa Secon' Mate?" "They never drink a drop of it." "Dis colored pusson ain't no sea-hoss, and he do drink whiskey when he kin git it," added the cook; and he half filled a tumbler with the contents of the bottle, and drank it off at a single gulp. He had hardly placed it on the table in the middle of the dishes before the captain came below. His first step was to take a liberal potation from the bottle. As he raised it to the swinging lamp, he discovered that the fluid had been freely expended in his absence. "You've punished this bottle all it deserves," said he when he perceived that its level had been considerably lowered, and he did not ask the new officer to join him. "That's all right, Mr. Sandman; but I don't want you to take more than you can manage to-night, for we have a big job on our hands, and we want our heads where we shall be able to find them. Now go on deck, and learn what you can about the vessel, for we hain't got but half an hour more before the Tallahatchie goes to sea. We may have lots of music after we get outside; but I reckon our steamer can outsail anything the Yankees have got on the blockade. Don't drink no more, Mr. Sandman; and when we git to Nassau you can have a reg'lar blowout." "I won't touch another drop before we get out of the bay, Cap'n Sullendine," protested Christy, without betraying the misdemeanor of the cook, as doubtless it was. "That's right, Mr. Sandman; we must all have our heads on our shoulders to-night," said the captain, as he drank off the potion he had prepared. Christy wished to hold the commander to his own advice; but that would have been fighting on the wrong side for him, and Sopsy escaped a reprimand, if not a kick or two, by his forbearance. By this time the bottle was nearly empty; but the skipper put it under lock and key in a closet, which seemed to be well filled with others like it. Christy went on deck, in obedience to the order he had received, and found the engineer on the quarter-deck buried in the fog, which was just then more dense than at any time before.