"These," said the stranger, pulling them out, and gazing at them
wistfully, and with a deep sigh he continued,--

"These were thumbs at one time; but they are nothing now to what they
were." "Confound the binnacle!" muttered the captain to himself, and then he
added, aloud,--

"It's cheap living, however; but where are you going to, and why did you
come aboard?" "I wanted a cheap cruise, and I am going there and back." "Why, that's where we are going," said the captain. "Then we are brothers," exclaimed the stranger, hopping off the
water-cask like a kangaroo, and bounding towards the captain, holding
out his hand as though he would have shaken hands with him. "No, no," said the captain; "I can't do it." "Can't do it!" exclaimed the stranger, angrily. "What do you mean?" "That I can't have anything to do with contraband articles; I am a fair
trader, and do all above board. I haven't a chaplain on board, or he
should offer up prayers for your preservation, and the recovery of your
health, which seems so delicate." "That be--"

The stranger didn't finish the sentence; he merely screwed his mouth up
into an incomprehensible shape, and puffed out a lot of breath, with
some force, and which sounded very much like a whistle: but, oh, what
thick breath he had, it was as much like smoke as anything I ever saw,
and so my shipmate said. "I say, captain," said the stranger, as he saw him pacing the deck. "Well." "Just send me up some beef and biscuit, and some coffee royal--be sure
it's royal, do you hear, because I'm partial to brandy, it's the only
good thing there is on earth." I shall not easily forget the captain's look as he turned towards the
stranger, and gave his huge shoulders a shrug, as much as to say,--

"Well, I can't help it now; he's here, and I can't throw him overboard." The coffee, beef, and biscuit were sent him, and the stranger seemed to
eat them with great _gout_, and drank the coffee with much relish, and
returned the things, saying,

"Your captain is an excellent cook; give him my compliments." I thought the captain would think that was but a left-handed compliment,
and look more angry than pleased, but no notice was taken of it. It was strange, but this man had impressed upon all in the vessel some
singular notion of his being more than he should be--more than a mere
mortal, and not one endeavoured to interfere with him; the captain was a
stout and dare-devil a fellow as you would well met with, yet he seemed
tacitly to acknowledge more than he would say, for he never after took
any further notice of the stranger nor he of him. They had barely any conversation, simply a civil word when they first
met, and so forth; but there was little or no conversation of any kind
between them. The stranger slept upon deck, and lived upon deck entirely; he never
once went below after we saw him, and his own account of being below so
long. This was very well, but the night-watch did not enjoy his society, and
would have willingly dispensed with it at that hour so particularly
lonely and dejected upon the broad ocean, and perhaps a thousand miles
away from the nearest point of land. At this dread and lonely hour, when no sound reaches the ear and
disturbs the wrapt stillness of the night, save the whistling of the
wind through the cordage, or an occasional dash of water against the
vessel's side, the thoughts of the sailor are fixed on far distant
objects--his own native land and the friends and loved ones he has left
behind him. He then thinks of the wilderness before, behind, and around him; of the
immense body of water, almost in places bottomless; gazing upon such a
scene, and with thoughts as strange and indefinite as the very
boundless expanse before him, it is no wonder if he should become
superstitious; the time and place would, indeed unbidden, conjure up
thoughts and feelings of a fearful character and intensity. The stranger at such times would occupy his favourite seat on the water
cask, and looking up at the sky and then on the ocean, and between
whiles he would whistle a strange, wild, unknown melody. The flesh of the sailors used to creep up in knots and bumps when they
heard it; the wind used to whistle as an accompaniment and pronounce
fearful sounds to their ears. The wind had been highly favourable from the first, and since the
stranger had been discovered it had blown fresh, and we went along at a
rapid rate, stemming the water, and dashing the spray off from the bows,
and cutting the water like a shark. This was very singular to us, we couldn't understand it, neither could
the captain, and we looked very suspiciously at the stranger, and wished
him at the bottom, for the freshness of the wind now became a gale, and
yet the ship came through the water steadily, and away we went before
the wind, as if the devil drove us; and mind I don't mean to say he
didn't. The gale increased to a hurricane, and though we had not a stitch of
canvass out, yet we drove before the gale as if we had been shot out of
the mouth of a gun. The stranger still sat on the water casks, and all night long he kept up
his infernal whistle. Now, sailors don't like to hear any one whistle
when there's such a gale blowing over their heads--it's like asking for
more; but he would persist, and the louder and stronger the wind blew,
the louder he whistled. At length there came a storm of rain, lightning, and wind. We were
tossed mountains high, and the foam rose over the vessel, and often
entirely over our heads, and the men were lashed to their posts to
prevent being washed away. But the stranger still lay on the water casks, kicking his heels and
whistling his infernal tune, always the same. He wasn't washed away nor
moved by the action of the water; indeed, we heartily hoped and expected
to see both him and the water cask floated overboard at every minute;
but, as the captain said,--

"Confound the binnacle! the old water tub seems as if it were screwed on
to the deck, and won't move off and he on the top of it." There was a strong inclination to throw him overboard, and the men
conversed in low whispers, and came round the captain, saying,--

"We have come, captain, to ask you what you think of this strange man
who has come so mysteriously on board?" "I can't tell what to think, lads; he's past thinking about--he's
something above my comprehension altogether, I promise you." "Well, then, we are thinking much of the same thing, captain." "What do you mean?" "That he ain't exactly one of our sort." "No, he's no sailor, certainly; and yet, for a land lubber, he's about
as rum a customer as ever I met with." "So he is, sir." "He stands salt water well; and I must say that I couldn't lay a top of
those water casks in that style very well." "Nor nobody amongst us, sir." "Well, then, he's in nobody's way, it he?--nobody wants to take his
berth, I suppose?"