“He’m sartain nothing but a fly-away,” returned the obstinate black.

“You hear what your friend the negro says, master Fid; he thinks that yonder object, which is lifting so fast to leeward, is not a sail.”

As the topman saw no sufficient reason for concealing his astonishment at this wild opinion, it was manifested with all the embellishments with which the individual in question usually set forth any of his more visible emotions.  After casting a short glance in the direction of the sail, in order to assure himself there had been no deception, he turned his eyes in great disgust on Scipio, as if he would vindicate the credit of the association at the expense of some little contempt for the ignorance of his companion.

“What the devil do you take it for, Guinea? a church?”

“I t’ink he’m church,” responded the acquiescent black.

“Lord help the dark-skinned fool!  Your Honour knows that conscience is d——­nab-y overlooked in Africa, and will not judge the nigger hardly for any little blunder he may make in the account of his religion.  But the fellow is a thorough seaman, and should know a top-gallant-sail from a weathercock.  Now, look you, S’ip, for the credit of your friends, if you’ve no great pride on your own behalf, just tell his”——­

“It is of no account,” interrupted the Rover.  “Take you this glass, and pass an opinion on the sail in sight yourself.”

Fid scraped his foot, and made a low bow, in acknowledgment of the compliment; and then, depositing his little tarpaulin hat on the deck of the poop, he very composedly, and, as he flattered himself, very understandingly, disposed of his person to take the desired view.  The gaze of the topman was far longer than had been that of his black companion; and it is to be presumed, in consequence, much more accurate.  Instead, however, of venturing any sudden opinion, when his eye was wearied, he lowered the glass, and with it his head, standing long in the attitude of one whose thoughts had received some subject of deep cogitation.  During the process of thinking, the weed was diligently rolled over his tongue, and one hand was stuck a-kimbo into his side, as if he would brace all his faculties to support some extraordinary mental effort.

“I wait your opinion,” resumed his attentive Commander, when he thought sufficient time had been allowed to mature the opinion even of Richard Fid.

“Will your Honour just tell me what day of the month this here may be, and mayhap, at the same time, the day of the week too, if it shouldn’t be giving too much trouble?”

His two questions were directly answered.

“We had the wind at east-with-southing, the first day out, and then it chopped in the night, and blew great guns at north-west, where it held for the matter of a week.  After which there was an Irishman’s hurricane, right up and down, for a day; then we got into these here trades, which have stood as steady as a ship’s chaplain over a punch bowl, ever since.”——­