"Why not, Shandon?" asked the doctor.
"Because the instructions in this letter are formal; it tells me to give the captain's thanks to the crew; now, hitherto I have strictly obeyed his orders, in whatever way they have been given to me, and I cannot—"
"Still—" interposed Johnson, who had a warrantable dread of the effect of such communications on the men's spirits.
"My dear Johnson," said Shandon, "I understand your objection; your reasons are very good, but read that:—
"He begs of you to express his thanks to the crew."
"Do as he bids," replied Johnson, who was always a strict disciplinarian. "Shall I assemble the crew on deck?"
"Yes," answered Shandon.
The news of a message from the captain was immediately whispered throughout the ship. The sailors took their station without delay, and the commander read aloud the mysterious letter.
It was received with dead silence; the crew separated under the influence of a thousand suppositions; Clifton had plenty of material for any superstitious vagaries; a great deal was ascribed by him to the dog-captain, and he never failed to salute him every time he met him.
"Didn't I tell you," he used to say to the sailors, "that he knew how to write?"