I asked him of the brig (which he declared was the finest ship that sailed) and of Captain Hoseason, in whose praises he was equally loud. Heasyoasy (for so he still named the skipper) was a man, by his account, that minded for nothing either in heaven or earth; one that, as people said, would “crack on all sail into the day of judgment;” rough, fierce, unscrupulous, and brutal; and all this my poor cabin-boy had taught himself to admire as something seamanlike and manly. He would only admit one flaw in his idol. “He ain’t no seaman,” he admitted. “That’s Mr. Shuan that navigates the brig; he’s the finest seaman in the trade, only for drink; and I tell you I believe it! Why, look’ere;” and turning down his stocking he showed me a great, raw, red wound that made my blood run cold. “He done that--Mr. Shuan done it,” he said, with an air of pride. “What!” I cried, “do you take such savage usage at his hands? Why, you are no slave, to be so handled!” “No,” said the poor moon-calf, changing his tune at once, “and so he’ll find. See’ere;” and he showed me a great case-knife, which he told me was stolen. “O,” says he, “let me see him try; I dare him to; I’ll do for him! O, he ain’t the first!” And he confirmed it with a poor, silly, ugly oath. I have never felt such pity for any one in this wide world as I felt for that half-witted creature, and it began to come over me that the brig _Covenant_ (for all her pious name) was little better than a hell upon the seas. “Have you no friends?” said I. He said he had a father in some English seaport, I forget which. “He was a fine man, too,” he said, “but he’s dead.” “In Heaven’s name,” cried I, “can you find no reputable life on shore?” “O, no,” says he, winking and looking very sly, “they would put me to a trade. I know a trick worth two of that, I do!”