"Well, while I lay there, wondering at the cussed affair, the first lieutenant, he comes roarin' down the companionway, thumpin' at my door like mad: "'Come in!' I sings out. "He dropped in, accordin' to orders, lookin' like the very Old Scratch, and inspectin' the new post of the cabin with curious eyes. "'What's up?' says I. "'Captain, does yer see this 'ere yaller post?" says he solemnly. "'I does,' I replies. "'Captain,' says he, 'this 'ere yaller post takes its root somewhere at the keel and grows up higher than the peak of the mainmast. An' what's more,' says he, 'it all growed up in one night.' "'Ye'r' talkin' like a ravin', incomprehensible, idiotic fool,' says I. "'It may seem so,' says the lieutenant, 'but come an' see for yourself.' "This wasn't no more'n fair. So I gits into my duds, and goes on deck. Thar, sure as yer live, this 'ere yaller post run straight up between the mizzenmast and the tiller, reachin' about forty feet higher than the tallest mast on board. All the crew were standin' round, gaping, and nudging each other, and lookin' kinder skeered, when I begins to take observations from a philosophic point of view." "From a _what_?" interrupted Tony Trybrace. "Takin' observations, from a phil--phil--philly--_what_?" "Avast, you lubber, and let me spin my yarn! If yer ain't got no edication, is it _my_ fault? If you was brought up outside o' college, am I to blame? Avast, I tell yer. "Well, as I was a-sayin'. I begins to look at the thing kinder sharp. So I takes a cutlass down from the mast, and begins to cut little chips off the yaller mast. What do yer think came out o' that 'ere yaller mast?" "Pitch," suggested one. "Turpentine," said another. "Old Jamaica," suggested Old Nick. "Not a bit of it," resumed the narrator. "Nothin' longer, nor shorter, nor hotter, nor reddern'n BLOOD. That 'ere's what came out o' that 'ere yaller mast. Blood, and nothin' else! "Well, all of 'em were sort o' dumb-foundered when they see'd the blood flowin', and some on 'em was more skeery 'n ever. But I turns to 'em, an' says I: "'Does yer notice how slow the ship is goin'?' "And they says: "'Yes, we does. She isn't makin' much o' any headway, though the breeze are a fair capful.' "'Well,' says I, 'and doesn't yer know the reason why?' "'Not a bit on it,' says they. "'_It's because ye'r' towin' a sword-fish under yer keelson_,' says I. 'He's pierced the craft in the night, an' this 'ere yaller mast ain't nothin' short of his cussed nose.'