He professed to be a very religious man, and was in the habit of sending the steward round with a bundle of tracts for distribution, in the hopes thereby of counteracting the evil influence of flirtation and yellow-backed novels. He objected strongly to the use of tobacco, and, in fact, to every sort of indulgence in which he took no pleasure himself. But he was very partial to his glass of grog, and a cask of choice pine-apple rum was kept in the spirit-room expressly for his use. Every evening before he turned in, the steward brought the captain a glass of his favourite mixture, and during stiff gales and wintry nights he often drank a little more than was good for him, as was evidenced by a glowing blush at the end of his nose. His orders were given in an abrupt, gruff voice--indeed he was at all times a man of few words, and often directed the helmsman by the action of his hands; and at the dinner-table he sat like a dummy in his chair of office, leaving the steward to look after the wants of the passengers. That afternoon Captain Robarts continued his silent constitutional until the dinner-bell rang, and then dived below to take the edge off his appetite; and while the saloon dinner was going on, Vernon Blythe took his station on the look-out. He had not been there long before a dilapidated figure staggered, with uncertain footsteps, to the spare hencoops, which were lashed on either side, and mournfully sat down. It was the shade of Harold Greenwood, but what a contrast to his _debonnair_ appearance of the morning. His face was ashen pale, and the corners of his mouth drawn down. There was a melancholy look about his eyes, and his crimped hair, now straight as a Skye terrier’s, hung down upon his forehead. He wore his hat upon the back of his head, and he had left his Malacca cane below. One end of his watch-chain, with the button-hook attached to it, dangled in front of him, in place of his eyeglass, which had been smashed when the treacherous ship gave a heavy roll, and threw him against the bulkhead, and the pink silk handkerchief was fast losing its festive appearance under its frequent calls to duty to wipe its owner’s mouth. A smile crossed Jack’s face as he caught sight of the unhappy youth, and approaching him, he said kindly,-- ‘If you don’t feel well, Mr Greenwood, you had better go to the lee side of the vessel. You mustn’t stay here.’ ‘Oh! I’m quite well, thank you. I’m used to this sort of thing, don’t you know?’ replied Greenwood quickly. ‘But it’s doosid hot in the saloon, and I feel a little queer, don’t you know? It’s that new paint, and--’ ‘I quite understand,’ said Blythe; ‘but you’ll soon get used to it.’ ‘Oh! I _am_ used to it--have been all my life--you know. But, I say, do you think she will roll any more than she’s doing at present? For it’s really very uncomfortable. I suppose the captain did not expect to have had such bad weather when he started.’