A few moments afterwards the extraordinary-looking man with the small face and large head, and shell-shaped back, came out of the forecastle, walking from side to side with a springing jerky action of the legs, they being evidently moved by a force having no reference to his will. "Ax your pardon, sir," he said, twirling up his thumb in the direction of his forehead; "but the meat's infernal bad aboard this here wessel." "I can't help it," I answered, annoyed to be the recipient of these complaints, which seemed really to justify Coxon's charge of my being the crew's confidant. "You must talk to the captain about it." "Ne'er a man among us can eat of the pork; and the cook, as is better acquainted than us with these here matters, says he'd rather be biled alive than swaller a ounce of it." "The captain is the proper person to complain to." "That may be, sir," said the man, dropping his chin, so that by projecting his beard his face appeared to withdraw, and grow smaller still. "But the boatswain says there'll not be much got by complaining to the skipper." "I can't make the ship's stores better than they are," I replied, moving a step, for I now perceived that some of the crew were watching us, and I did not want the captain to come on deck and find me talking to this man about the provisions. But it so happened that at this particular moment the captain emerged from the companion hatchway. The man did not stir, and the captain said-- "What does that fellow want?" "He is complaining of the pork, sir. I have referred him to you." He gave me a sharp look, and leaning forwards, said in a quiet, mild voice-- "What's the matter, my man?" "Why, sir, I've been asked to come and say that the pork that's been served to the men is in a werry bad state, to be sure. It's more smell than meat, and what ain't smell is brine." "I am sorry to hear that," said the captain in a most benignant manner. "Look into the cuddy and tell the steward I want him." The steward stepped on to the quarter-deck and looked up at his master in a way that made me suspect he had got his cue. "What's the matter with the pork, steward?" "Nothing, sir, that I know of." "The men say it smells strong--that's what you say, I think?" remarked the captain, addressing the man. "Werry strong, sir--strong enough to sit upon, sir." "I don't know how that can be," exclaimed the steward, looking very puzzled indeed. "It's sweet enough in the cask. Perhaps it's the fault of the biling." "Nothing to do with the biling, mate," said the man, shaking his extraordinary head, at the same time surveying the steward indignantly. "Biling clears away smells as a rule." "Perhaps you've opened a bad cask. If so," said the captain, "fling it overboard, for I'll not have the men poisoned. Let the cook boil me a sample from the next cask you open, and put it upon my table--do you hear?" "Yes, sir."