"I'll jine!" exclaimed a man.
There was a pause.
"And me," said the negro.
I was glad of this, and looked earnestly at the others.
"Is she tight?" said a man.
"As a bottle," said I.
They fell silent again.
"Joe Wilkinson and Washington Cromwell—them two jines," said the captain. "Bullies, he wants a third. Don't speak all together."
The man named "Bill" at this moment returned to the cook-room, and reported all well above. My offer was repeated to him, but he shook his head.
"This is the Horn, mates," said he. "There's a deal o' water 'tween this and the Thames. How do she sail?—no man knows."