All alone in the harbour lay the good ship Leviathan. We jumped into the canoe, and paddled off to her. Though early in the afternoon, everything was quiet; but upon mounting the side we found four or five sailors lounging about the forecastle, under an awning. They gave us no very cordial reception; and though otherwise quite hearty in appearance, seemed to assume a look of ill-humour on purpose to honour our arrival. There was much eagerness to learn whether we wanted to “ship”; and by the unpleasant accounts they gave of the vessel, they seemed desirous to prevent such a thing if possible. We asked where the rest of the ship’s company were; a gruff old fellow made answer, “One boat’s crew of ’em is gone to Davy Jones’s locker:—went off after a whale, last cruise, and never come back agin. All the starboard watch ran away last night, and the skipper’s ashore kitching ’em.” “And it’s shipping yer after, my jewels, is it?” cried a curly-pated little Belfast sailor, coming up to us, “thin arrah! my livelies, jist be after sailing ashore in a jiffy:—the divil of a skipper will carry yees both to sea, whether or no. Be off wid ye thin, darlints, and steer clear of the likes of this ballyhoo of blazes as long as ye live. They murther us here every day, and starve us into the bargain. Here, Dick, lad, har! the poor divil’s canow alongside; and paddle away wid yees for dear life.” But we loitered awhile, listening to more inducements to ship; and at last concluded to stay to supper. My sheath-knife never cut into better sea-beef than that which we found lying in the kid in the forecastle. The bread, too, was hard, dry, and brittle as glass; and there was plenty of both. While we were below, the mate of the vessel called out for someone to come on deck. I liked his voice. Hearing it was as good as a look at his face. It betokened a true sailor, and no taskmaster. The appearance of the Leviathan herself was quite pleasing. Like all large, comfortable old whalers, she had a sort of motherly look:—broad in the beam, flush decks, and four chubby boats hanging at the breast. Her sails were furled loosely upon the yards, as if they had been worn long, and fitted easy; her shrouds swung negligently slack; and as for the “running rigging,” it never worked hard as it does in some of your “dandy ships,” jamming in the sheaves of blocks, like Chinese slippers, too small to be useful: on the contrary, the ropes ran glibly through, as if they had many a time travelled the same road, and were used to it. When evening came, we dropped into our canoe, and paddled ashore; fully convinced that the good ship never deserved the name which they gave her. CHAPTER LXXVII. A PARTY OF ROVERS—LITTLE LOO AND THE DOCTOR While in Partoowye, we fell in with a band of six veteran rovers, prowling about the village and harbour, who had just come overland from another part of the island.