When the ship was righted, and all was made snug for the night, we proceeded to arrange the chaotic mass of sea-chests, bedding, kegs of oil soap, and miscellaneous sea-stores, and to perform the apparently impossible task of condensing sixteen men, with all their real and personal estate, into a little triangular space, called (by courtesy) the forecastle, so as to leave standing and dancing room at the foot of the ladder. This problem, however knotty it might seem to the uninitiated, was successfully solved, under the superintendence of the four "salts" who had been to sea before, two of whom were Portuguese from the Azores, one a gigantic negro who had been three voyages in the same employ, and the fourth a white American of some little intelligence--one of those sea-lawyers or "clock-setters," who are to be found in all sorts of ships, and who make more mischief then can well be imagined by people not conversant with matters of this sort. The stowage being completed, each one fitted up his own "bunk," the four veterans having, of course, appropriated the choice ones by marking them with their own hieroglyphics before the ship left the wharf. Supper was then passed down, and a smart show of new tin-ware brought into requisition. Old Jeff swore at the tea, called it "frightened water" (it did certainly appear to have been mixed on homoeopathy principles), and avowed his determination to have his brother African, the cook, over the windlass end before he had been a week in blue water, unless a decided improvement should be observed in this respect. In which threat he was ably seconded by Burley, the sea-lawyer, and the two Ghees, we green hands merely eating with eyes wide open, not yet daring to advance our opinions. The remains of the banquet cleared away, most of us lighted our "half-Spanish" outfit cigars, but Old Jeff, disdaining such flummeries, produced his approved narcotic solace, in the shape of a well-worn and blackened "chunk," which being duly loaded and set on fire, he settled himself in a sort of Sir Oracle attitude, and prepared to give the attentive novices the benefit of his long experience. "Now, boys," said Jeff, between the puffs, "you'll find you've got to toe the mark here. Our old man's a hard one, I can tell ye, for I've sailed with him afore. _I_ can get along well enough with him, 'cause I know _him_, and he knows _me_, too, like a book. I haven't sailed ten years with him for nothing. Why, bless your souls, he wouldn't know how to get under way without me." This was one of Jeff's delusions--that he considered himself a necessary fixture or part of the ship. "He's a hard one," he continued, "and you lads will have to stand round when he gets among ye. He wont trouble _me_, you know,'cause _I_ know my duty, chock to the handle; but he's down on any man that don't know his duty."