"I've always told you, you know," said the captain, "that you've got to give up your nice notions if you go to sea. But you'll come to it in time. I'm not the worst man that goes to sea, and if you try to find a better one, you may jump from the frying-pan into the fire. If you're determined to leave, of course you can go. I never beg anybody to go with me, but give me your address, and by the time we're ready for sea again, I'll write to you and see if you haven't changed your mind. You may think better of it after you've been ashore a few weeks. I want you to understand there are plenty of second mates to be had, and good ones too, but I've taken an interest in you, and think I can make a good officer out of you, so for your own sake I'd like to have you go again." I went home the next day. Mr. Morrison had preceded me by one day and had reported himself at the office of the owner, who received him very cordially, and, giving him a chair, told him he was very sorry he had left the ship so soon, and asked what was the reason. Mr. Morrison said to him: "I left because I was not willing to sail with Capt. Streeter, and I consider no man with any respect for himself could sail with him a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. His knock-down principles, the language he used, and the example he set on board the 'Dublin' were such as would shock even a Water-street bully." "Dear me, dear me," said the good man; "I'm sorry to hear that. I don't like to have such a man in my ship. I'll talk to him and tell him he must do differently if he wishes to stay in my employ. He never takes an officer a second voyage, and I expect something is wrong. I'll look into it." Mr. Morrison went into no details, but merely said enough to excuse himself for leaving the ship, and having apparently satisfied the owner that there was no blame attaching to him for not remaining by the ship, he bade him good-morning. When I got to the end of the story, the passenger gave a sigh of relief and said: "I'm glad I'm not on board the "Dublin." I think I prefer the _Rocket_." CHAPTER V. JOHN SHEPHARD. After passing Amsterdam Island we gradually turned our course to the northward, and without any delay in the debatable ground north of the westerly wind region, we struck the south east trades. One evening the vessel was slipping along at the rate of seven knots, with the wind two points free and the sea so smooth that motion was scarcely perceptible. A hush pervaded the ship, that seemed indicative of as much peace within the vessel as without. At six o'clock John Shephard came to the wheel, and the quiet sailing and steady steering inclined me to break the usual custom--"no conversation with the man at the wheel." "She steers well to-night, doesn't she, John?" John blushed up to his eyelids, as was his wont when addressed by the "old man." "Yes, sir, she steers like a pilot-boat."