But the next instant I had recovered myself, for I knew that this noseless apparition with his wide mouth filled with long words could have originated in but one locality in all the islands, Antigua, whose dusky inhabitants seem to pride themselves upon the amplitude of the words they can command, regardless of their meaning or aptness. “What’s your name, and what can you do?” I asked, more as a formality than anything else, for I never dreamed of taking this creature on. The noseless negro scratched his head and wiggled his bare toes. “Ah was christened wi’ de cognomen o’ Henry Francis William Nelson Wellington Shand, sir,” he replied; and then, as an afterthought, “but Ah’m most usually designated by de name o’ Trouble, sir.” “Trouble!” I exclaimed. “Yaas, sir,” responded the grinning negro, instantly. “Thank yo’ sir, for mekkin’ acceptance o’ mah sarvices, sir. Ah’ll endeavor for to conduc’ mahself wif circumspection an’ implicitness. Ah’s a sailor, sir, an’ Ah’m not expandulatin’ buncomb when Ah takes upon mahself de assumptiveness o’ de assertion, sir.” I was speechless,—so astounded at the man’s “assumptiveness” that he had been hired that I could not find words to inform him of his mistake,—and by the time I recovered from my astonishment he had disappeared in the forecastle. Sam stood by, chuckling to himself. “Ah ’spec’s he may be a good sailor, Chief,” he vouchsafed. “An’ we’re in need o’ two han’s, Chief.” “All right, Sam,” I replied. “I suppose he doesn’t need a nose to run aloft or tail onto a rope.” And so Trouble came unto us, but if ever a man belied his name it was “Henry Francis William Nelson Wellington Shand, sir,” for Trouble was a very treasure of a hand. He was as much at home in the water as on land or deck, and when, later, our anchor fouled one day, in fifteen fathoms, Trouble made nothing of diving down and releasing the fluke from its lodgment under a mass of coral and rock, while the height of his enjoyment was to challenge Sam to dive overboard and kill a big shark in a single-handed duel beneath the sea. And Sam, though a diver by profession, who had killed many a man-eater with a blow of his long, keen-bladed knife, freely admitted Trouble’s amphibious superiority. Aloft he was a very monkey; he was ever scouring decks or polishing brass; he was as good-natured as he was ugly, and even dignified Joseph unbent and passed many a half-hour chinning with this weird waif of the sea. As for the other members of the crew, after one or two tests and trials they abandoned all attempts to out-talk or out-argue him, for his ready flow of multisyllabled words left them floundering in a vocabulary totally inadequate to cope with Trouble’s “expandulations” and “supercil’ous methodictions.” On one occasion I overheard a bit of argument between our Antiguan find and a recent addition to the crew—for the older members invariably egged on new recruits to argue with Trouble.