“‘Hows’iver, this much be sartin—eyther we must git rid o’ the two Jonases, which is left, or the old Tartar are a doomed craft—ship and cargo. Now, for the steward—t’other one once out of the way—his hash is soon settled. I’d think no more of fetchin’ him a clip with my adze than of strikin’ a shirk with a head-spade. I mistrusted the villain iver since I fust sot eyes on the yaller frontispiece of ’im, with his two gray toplights shinin’ like a cat’s in the dark. He’s as deep in as t’other, and without his reason, it may be—hows’iver, to the pint—look ye, I says there’s only one man in the ship which can manhandle the bloody skipper, if he’s once put to the stumps.’ “‘Dat be Frank, de man-o’-war-man, I reckon,’ observed the cook. “‘Or the Portagee,’ said the cooper, ‘or, if I’m to have a second guess, nearer the mark, the Kanacker, John Kapooley.’ “‘John Kapooley be d—d! and the rest, too,’ said old Kennebunk, scornfully. ‘I see it’s all lost time, as the students say at Cambridge, to teach a nigger a logic, or a bung-driver to sarcumvent any thing but hoops, heads and staves,’ he muttered, pushing the galley door farther open to empty his mouth, though, luckily, he did not see me, as I sat close abaft. “‘I say, mates, there’s but one man which kin help us in this quandary—and that’s the new mate.’ “‘Why, Chips,’ said the cooper, ‘Lord love you, he’s hand and glove with him you knows of. ’Taint no manner of use of countin’ on him. He’d no more listen to our story than the old Turk at the paliss yonder. Besides, he’s used to sailin’ in other sort of crafts altogether, and sticks up his nose at us whalemen. He’s jist the same sort as the Jonas hisself, and they two is bound to stick togither this cruise—blow high, blow low—till wind and wave parts ’em.’ “‘Dat bin ’xactly my notion, too,’ said the black, ‘him too much an out-an-out sailor to go agin de captin.’ “‘Well, Bungs,’ answered the carpenter, ‘it’s many a long day since you’ve been to sea afore this cruise, and you speak accordin’ to your lights, I dare say. As to the doctor, why I can’t expect much better of him, seein’ that he’s not long out of the bonds o’ iniquity. (The cook was a runaway slave.) But, you see, I’ve talked the whole matter over with Browning, and Shadduck, and Frank, the man-o’-war’s-man, as stands for the whole o’ the starboard-watch—and says I to them, says I, what’s to come o’ it, my lads, s’posin’ we _does_ get the ship out o’ this blessed mess—a ghost aft, the cholery, the Turks and the tiffoons—and the bloody skipper runs away with her, craft and cargo, after all—and leaves us in some foreign port to go to grass with the greenhorns.’