“Ay, ay, sir; we are friendly enough at odd times, though a breeze often springs up between us. Guinea has a d—d awkward fashion of luffing up in his talk; and your Honour knows it isn’t always comfortable to a white man to be driven to leeward by a black. I tell him it is inconvenient. He is a good enough fellow in the main, howsomever, sir; and, as he is just an African bred and born, I hope you’ll be good enough to overlook his little failings.” “Were I otherwise disposed,” returned the Rover, “his steadiness and activity to-day would plead in his favour.” “Yes, yes, sir, he is somewhat steady, which is more than I can always say in my own behalf. Then as for seamanship, there are few men who are his betters; I wish your Honour would take the trouble to walk forward, and look at the heart he turned in the mainstay, no later than the last calm; it takes the strain as easy as a small sin sits upon a rich man’s conscience.” “I am satisfied with your description; you call him Guinea?” “Call him by any thing along that coast; for he is noway particular, seeing he was never christened, and knows nothing at all of the bearings and distances of religion. His lawful name is S’ip, or Shipio Africa, taken, as I suppose, from the circumstance that he was first shipp’d from that quarter of the world. But, as respects names, the fellow is as meek as a lamb; you may call him any thing, provided you don’t call him too late to his grog.” All this time, the African stood, rolling his large dark eyes in every direction except towards the speakers, perfectly content that his long-tried shipmate should serve as his interpreter. The spirit which had, so recently, been awakened in the Rover seemed already to be subsiding; for the haughty frown, which had gathered on his brow, was dissipating in a look which bore rather the character of curiosity than any fiercer emotion. “You have sailed long in company, my lads,” he carelessly continued, addressing his words to neither of them in particular. “Full and by, in many a gale, and many a calm, your Honour. ’Tis four-and-twenty years the last equinox, Guinea, since master Harry fell across our hawse; and, then, we had been together three years in the ‘Thunderer,’ besides the run we made round the Horn, in the ‘Bay’ privateer.” “Ah! you have been four-and-twenty years with Mr Wilder? It is not so remarkable that you should set a value on his life.”