Pratt beckoned to me from the door of his room, and whispered in my ear: “The Bible’s mislaid. Hasn’t been used for so long it can’t be found. Here’s a book the same size, though.” “Maybe that’ll do,” said I. “We’ll try, anyway.” Prince took the volume of Lieut. Maury’s sailing directions and said impressively: “Now, Mistah Jones, appearances is agin you, but dey is bery deceptible, an’ not alwuz to be trusted. You may be innocenter den a kitten, which fur y’ur own sake, I hopes you is. I has here, gemmen, de Good Book, out ob which I will read what happens to cooks which steals.” Cornwallis looked uneasily from one to the other, and at the sacred volume. He was ignorant and superstitious, and Prince as reader and oracle was much more to be feared than Prince the bo’s’un, with all his threats and accusations. “Dis chile better be gittin’ back to de galley an’ washin’ dem dishes. Neber will git nothin’ done at dis rate, stan’in’ aroun’ an’ talkin’ like a lot o’ wenches at a pic-nic.” “Hold on, Cornwallis,” said Pratt, taking hold of him as he neared the door. “You don’t need to be afraid as long as you didn’t get away with the liquor. Stay right here and let’s hear how well Prince can read.” The bo’s’un had been turning over the leaves as if searching for something, and finally stopped at a page which told the route vessels should take when bound from New York to Hong Kong and the Far East. Clearing his throat and putting on a long face, he read: “Cooks an’ stoords what steals ’taters and won’t confess, is boun’ to be set on de capstan all night long till dey owns up. Nex’ day, dey is to be whitewashed, but ef it’s a white pusson, he mus’ be painted black. “Dem dat takes sugah is to be made to drink bilge-water an’ nothin’ else, an’ is to larn to take de sun ebery mawnin’ an’ ebenin’. “Ef you kotch one stealin’ gin, make a rope fas’ to him an’ t’ow him oberboard all day long. Ef he don’t die de fust day, try him ag’in de second. “Gittin’ away wid w’isky is bery bad. Ef a cook or stoord is foun’ out, he mus’ be drove full o’ marling-spikes till he stops yellin’, eben ef it done kills him. “But ef one steals brandy,—wahl, der ain’t nothin’ bad ’nough fur him. Brandy is awful hard to make, an’ costs a hun’red dollahs a poun’; so ’tain’t no sort o’ use foolin’ with one dat steals it. De craf’ will sink ef he ain’t took in hand. “Gib de wicked sinnah time to say his prayers, an’ den h’ist him up an’ down de main stay fou’ times, so his blood circ’lates good. Tie a grin’stone roun’ his neck an’ heave him oberboard, while all han’s prays an’ sings like de bery debil. Ef he sinks he’s guilty shuah, an’ ef he floats, haul ’im aboard an’ tie more weights on top of ’im. Ef he keeps on a floatin’, he’s a innocent man, an’ his wages is to be made biggah. Heah de chaptah ends.”