“I will leave you for the night. What do you fancy for your supper--what, I mean, that you, as a sailor, will suppose my brig’s larder can supply?” I answered that a basin of broth with a glass of brandy-and-water would make me an abundant supper. “But before you leave me,” said I, “will you tell me where my clothes are? I must hope to be transhipped to-morrow, and to step ashore with nothing on but a blanket----” “Your clothes have been dried and are in the cabin,” said he. “When Jimmy brings your supper ask him for your clothes. And now good-night, and pleasant dreams to you, Mr. Fielding, when it shall please you to fall asleep.” The dog sprang through the door, and I lay with my eyes fixed upon the flame of the lamp, diverting myself with inventing schemes of a voyage, one of which should fit this expedition of the _Black Watch_. Early next morning I awoke after a sound, refreshing night of rest, and, dropping out of my hammock, found that I was pretty nigh as hearty as ever I had been in my life. Greatly rejoiced by this discovery, I attired myself in my clothes, which had been thoroughly dried. A razor, a brush, and one or two other conveniences were in the cabin. I was struck by Greaves’ kindness. I seemed to find in it something more than an expression of charitable attention and grateful memory. Now being dressed, and now testing myself on my legs, and finding all ship-shape aboard, from the loftiest flying pennant of hair down to the soles of my shoes, I opened the door of the berth and stood awhile looking in upon the cabin. It was a small snug sea-interior, well lighted, and breezy just now with the cordial gushing of wind down the companion-hatch. A table and a few seats comprised the furniture; those things, and a lamp, and a stand of small-arms, and some cutlasses. While I viewed this interior I heard Greaves’ voice in a cabin on the starboard side forward. “Not coffee, but cocoa!” on which another voice, which I recognized as the lad Jimmy’s, shouted out, to the accompaniment of the howling of a dog: “Not coffee, but cocoa!” “Again,” said the voice of Captain Greaves. “Not coffee, but cocoa,” yelled the lad, and again the dog delivered a long howl. “For the third time, if you please.” “Not coffee, but cocoa!” shrieked the lad, and the accompanying howl of the dog rose to the key in which the boy pitched his voice, as though in excessive sympathy with the shouter. A door forward was then opened, and the youth Jimmy came out. He stopped on seeing me, and cried out, “‘Ere’s Mr. Fielding,” and then went on deck. Galloon bounded up to me, and while I caressed him Greaves, with his shirt sleeves turned up, and holding a hair-brush, looked out of his door, saw me, approached, and shook me heartily by the hand. I answered a few kind questions, and asked if there was anything in sight from the deck. “Yes,” said he, “but nothing to be of any use to you. You can feel the heave. It blows fresh.”