whistle a hornpipe without his gloves; and let who would be _second_ on board the prize, be she bark, schooner, brig, galleon, or square-rigged ship, Captain Delaval he would be _first_. Look ye here, mates: I made two voyages with Captain Delaval, and when I stepped on the quay at Bristol off the second—there! I was worth a hundred doubloons, all in gold, besides as much silk as would have lined the foresail, and a pair of diamond earrings that I lost the first night I slept ashore. I thought, then, as perhaps I wasn’t to see my dandy skipper again, but I was wrong. I’ve never been in London town but once, an’ I don’t care if I never goes no more. First man I runs against in Thames Street is Captain Delaval, ridin’ in a cart with his hands tied; and old Blowhard beside him, smelling at a nosegay as big as the binnacle. I don’t think as old ‘Blow’ knowed me again, not in long togs; but the skipper he smiles, and shows his beautiful white teeth as he was never tired of swabbing and holystoning, and ‘There’s Slap-Jack!’ says he; ‘Good-bye, Slap-Jack; I’ll be first man over the gunwale in this here scrimmage, too,’ says he, ‘for they’ll hang me first, and then Blowhard, when he’s done with his nosegay.’ I wish I could find such another skipper now; what say ye, mates?” Smoke-Jack, who was sitting next him, did not immediately reply. He was obviously of a logical and argumentative turn of mind, with a cavilling disposition, somewhat inclined to speculative philosophy; such a character, in short, as naval officers protest against under the title of a lawyer. He turned the matter over deliberately ere he replied, with a voluminous puff of smoke between each sentence—