"Shall I call him, sir?" said Mr Marline. I looked enquiringly at old Davie Doublepipe, as much as to say, Are those boys quizzing us now? "What say you, Sprawl, eh?" "Why not, man--why not?" replied my excellent coadjutor. "If it were only to amuse the lads, surely there is no harm in it. But here, give me another cup of coffee,--and, Master Marline, the wing of that spitchcock chicken, if you please--Why, Brail, if nothing else thrives in that most damnable _Sierra Leone_, fowls do." While the lieutenant was employed in completing his stowage--no regular _Stevedor_ could have gone more scientifically about it--little Binnacle ushered in our dark friend. What a change in his outward man! Where he had got his garments heaven knows, but there was the frantic barbarian of half an hour ago, newly and freshly rigged in a clean pair of duck trowsers, canvass shoes, and a good check shirt, with his never-failing black belt slung across his right shoulder, and supporting the rusty bayonet, already mentioned. He drew himself up at the door, soldier fashion, and put his hand to his cap. The light from the small scuttle above shone down strong on his tatooed countenance, and lit up his steady bronze-like features. I waited in expectation of his speaking. But the talkative savage of yesterday evening had now subsided into the quiet orderly soldier. "I say, Serjeant Quacco," at length _quod_ Davie Doublepipe, as he finished his ham, and swallowed his last cup of coffee, "we have been hearing from these young gentlemen that you have a story to tell; have you any objections to oblige us with it again?" This flourish of trumpets was lost on poor Quacco. He stared vacantly, first at one, and then at the other, but remained silent. "What you tell dem young gentlemen about who you is?" said I. "Oh," promptly rejoined Serjeant Quacco, "is dat de ting massa dere want to know? I shall tell him over again, if massa choose, but it is one very foolis story." "Never mind," said I, "let us have it again, by all means." The poor fellow, after endeavouring to look as serious as possible, and giving sundry hems and haws, and looking unutterable things, as if in doubt whether we were in jest or no, began his story. THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SERJEANT QUACCO. "Gentlemen," began our dark friend, "I tink it very proper dat you read dis certificate before I say more--proper you should be perswade dat I was one person of consequence, before we proceed farder." Whereupon he handed a small flat tin box to Davie Doublepipe. "Read, Sprawl," said I,--"read." The lieutenant took off the lid, and produced a ragged piece of paper, which, after some trouble in deciphering, he found to contain the following words:--