"'Lor' bless us, Harry!' faltered out the old sailor, 'ye don't mean it!--sich a young, soft-looked shaver, too!' 'Them smooth-skinned sort o' coves is kimmonly the worst, mate,' replied Harry; 'for that matter ye may be quite sure he's got his chums aboard--an' how does _we_ know but the ship's _sold_, from stem to starn? There's that 'ere blackavizzed parson, now, and one or two more aft--cuss me if that 'ere feller smells brine for the first time! An' as for this here Bob Jacobs o' yours, blow me if there ain't over many of his kind in the whole larboard watch, Jack! A man-o'-war's-man's al'ays a blackguard out on a man-o'-war, look-ye!' 'Why, bless me, shipmate,' said Jack, lowering his voice, 'by that recknin', a man don't know his friends in this here craft! The sooner we gives the mate a hint the better, to my thinking?' 'No, blow me, no, Jack,' said Harry, 'keep all fast, or ye'll kick up a worse nitty, old boy! Just you hould on till ye see what's to turn up--ownly stand by and look out for squalls, that's all! There's the skipper laid up below in his berth, I hears--and to my notions, that 'ere mate of ours is no more but a blessed soldier, with his navigation an' his head-work, an' be blowed to him: where's he runned the ship, I'd like to know, messmate!' 'Well, strike me lucky if I'm fit to guess!' answered Jack, gloomily. 'No, s'help me Bob, if he knows hisself!' said Harry. 'But here's what _I_ says, anyhow--if so be we heaves in sight of a pirate, or bumps ashore on a ileyand i' the dark, shiver my tawsels if I doesn't have a clip with a handspike at that 'ere soft-sawderin' young blade in the straw hat!' 'Well, my fine fellow,' thought I, 'many thanks to you again, but I certainly shall look out for _you_!'