"What makes the top of your mast so black, hey? Is it the smoke from the kettles, or have you been afire? Sink me, Henry, there couldn't have been any such luck as your old hooker afire and being put out, hey? Ha, ha, hah! that would have been asking too much of the devil."
"It's hollow," said the old mate.
"What? Hollow? What the deuce is your mast hollow for?"
"Well, that is a question, isn't it, Mrs. Sackett?" said Henry. "Perhaps he asks you sometimes what a smoke-pipe is hollow for, don't he? I never seen such a funny man. But he'll never get over it, I want to know."
"Is it really hollow?" asked Jennie of the old mate.
"Yessum, it certainly is. Why, it's the smoke-pipe, you know," was the reply. "We have an engine in the lazarette that'll take us along more'n three knots in dead calm weather. It's been a lot o' help, when the wind has been light and ahead, fer picking up the boats. Ye know a whale always makes dead to windward, mostly, an' if the wind is light and we've got to go a long ways, the poor devils would most starve waitin' fer us, like they used to do in the old times. The lower mast is iron. There's lots of them that way now. The soot makes the canvas black sometimes, but there ain't no sparks to speak of ever comes out of that top, as it's mostly blubber we burns."
Jackwell became silent for several minutes, and then, as his eyes were still directed at the masthead, I looked again and noticed the topsail yard settled below the lower masthead.
"How do you suppose he keeps it up like that?" I asked Jackwell, trying to be civil.
"Keeps what up like what?" he said, in his old tone.
"The yard," I answered shortly.