We had not been long at sea when Dicky and I, wearying of the daily routine of duty, began to play pranks which were calculated to bring us into trouble. The boatswain, who rejoiced in the name of Timotheus Trundle, was one of the most extraordinary of his class, though not a bad boatswain for all that. His appearance in foul weather was that of a short lump of big coats and trousers, with a small red pumpkin growing out of them. On a nearer approach, one discovered in the said pumpkin a pair of red, ferrety eyes, an excrescence for a nose, and a hole into which his whistle fitted for a mouth, and on either side of it, on a Sunday morning, two very high shirt-collars, they towards the end of the week gaining a darker hue and an outward curve. On the top of the pumpkin was a round Spanish hat, the fluff of the catskin which composed it being long enough to make a dozen beavers. He wore, with considerable pride, round his neck a handsome silver call and chain. But with all his oddities, his enemies--and he had a few--were obliged to confess that he knew and did his duty as well as any man in the ship. Among his other qualifications, he was a bit of a sea-lawyer; not of the cantankerous sort, however, for it might be more justly said that he preferred sitting on the judicial bench, and he was ever ready to settle all disputes either by arbitration or the rope's-end; indeed, in most cases he had recourse to the latter, as being the most summary mode of proceeding. When his duty did not require his presence on his own territory, the forecastle, he was fond of taking a walk on the main-deck, alongside the carpenter's bench, for he was of a social disposition, and delighted in what he called `rasheral' conversation. Now, Ichabod Chissel, our carpenter, was another of those heroes of the tongue, who pretend to know everything, and never fail in a story for want of a little invention. By his own crew, who looked up to him and esteemed him for his sterling qualities, he was considered a first-rate politician. The two officers were tolerably good friends in general; but a very slight thing would make them fall out, though they as speedily patched up their quarrels again. One day there was a light breeze and a smooth sea, and Trundle, not expecting to be wanted, had repaired to the main-deck, where Chissel was superintending his crew at work. Dicky Sharpe and I happened to be near, and observing that they were both more than usually excited, we drew closer to see the fun going forward. "Well, that was a storm as fierce as ever I did see," remarked Chissel. "Why, there was a thunderbolt as big as six of my fists put together, fell right through the decks, and out through the ship's bottom; and if I hadn't been there to plug the hole, we should all have gone to Davy Jones' locker, as sure as fate. You was there, Trundle, and you know, old ship, that I speak true."