“Well, this is a queer go!” thought Phil, as he extricated the heavy pea-jacket from his “sea-trunk,” and put it on. “I never heard of a green hand before the mast being fed and lodged in the cabin. I must find Serge, and ask him about it.”

The night seemed intensely dark as he gained the deck, and for a few minutes he stood still to accustom his senses to it. He had found the slide drawn over the companion-way, and, as on emerging he shoved it back, he was gruffly requested by the helmsman to “shut it, quick!” Phil was enough of a sailor to know that this was so the glare of the cabin lamp might not blind the man and render it impossible for him to steer. So he immediately pulled the slide to, and then stood leaning against it.

He could feel the chill dampness of the mist on his cheek, and could see it driving by in the red and green blurs from the side-lights in the forward rigging. From the binnacle near at hand also came a faint glow of reflected light that vaguely outlined the man at the wheel. All else was a gray blackness, upon which the lofty masts and flattened sails were traced in deeper shadows, like Indian-ink against crayon. Two or three glowing sparks from lighted pipes showed where the watch on deck were gathered in the lee of the weather bulwarks. Phil started towards these, but ere he had taken half a dozen steps he ran plump into the mate, who was standing facing him on the weather side of the deck.

“Hello, young feller!” cried that worthy, as soon as he recovered the breath of which Phil’s sudden onset had deprived him; “ye seem to be blundering ahead like a June-bug in an electric flare. Aren’t ye afraid ye’ll walk overboard next, and step on the tail of a merrymaid?”

“No, sir,” laughed the lad; “and I’m awfully sorry I ran into you. But I didn’t see you, indeed I didn’t.”

“No wonder,” replied the mate, good-naturedly, “for I’m too thin to make a respecterble shadder, much less to cast one. Ef it had been the cap’n now, ye couldn’t have missed seeing him any more than ye could the broadside of a ship. By-the-way, had the old man turned out when ye left?”

“No, sir. I didn’t see him.”

“Waal, ye’d not only seen him, but heerd him fast enough ef he had. He gets so cramped up in that cubby-hole of his’n that when he comes out he has to roar to get his lungs in working order again. It’s a marciful dispensation of Proverdence I’m not a cap’n, for I never could abide to sleep in one of them chicken-coops.”

“He doesn’t have to, does he?” inquired Phil.

“Sartain he does, to maintain his nautical dignity. All cap’ns has to occupy state-rooms, pervided their vessels has ’em, no matter whether they fit or not. Why, there was my friend old Kite Roberson, longer than I be by half, so that when he was only a mate he had to have two end-to-end bunks cut into one to give him stretching-room. When he come to be cap’n he had to take a state-room that had been built fer a short man, and couldn’t in no way be lengthened. Poor old Kite naturally hated it, but for the sake of his perfessional dig he uster crawl in there and double himself up like a shut jackknife. Bimeby it got so that in the morning they had to pull him out in sections, like a spy-glass, and rig preventer back-stays on his legs to keep him from getting sprung in the knees. As it was, he got so bent over that finally his head got under his left arm, and he uster turn round backward to see for’ard, but he never gave up his dig, which he allus said it war his proudest boast.”

After Phil had politely allowed such time to elapse that the mate might think he was laughing over this yarn, he said:

“By-the-way, Mr. Coombs, when do I go on watch?”

“You?” replied the other. “You don’t have to stand no watch. Hunters never does.”

“Am I a—” began Phil; but his question was forced to remain unasked, for at that moment some subtle sense informed the mate that it was again time to change the schooner’s course, and he bawled out, “Ready about!” In the confusion that followed he disappeared, and Phil stumbled forward, more anxious than ever to meet with Serge, and beg him to throw the light of his superior knowledge on the situation.

He discovered his friend snugly stowed away in a forecastle berth. Here, as half a dozen men constituting the watch below occupied other berths in the extremely narrow quarters allotted to the crew, the lads were obliged to converse in whispers to avoid being overheard, as well as not to disturb those who slept.

“Why haven’t you been to supper, old man?” began Phil.

“I have, long ago,” replied Serge; “but where have you been all this time? I was beginning to worry about you.”

“Been in the cabin eating supper, mostly; but I didn’t see you there.”

“Eating in the cabin!” exclaimed Serge, springing up so carelessly in his excitement that he bumped his head against the bottom of the berth above him. “You don’t mean it! Are you going to bunk there, too?”

“I’m afraid so. You see, I don’t exactly like to ask a favor of Captain Duff, or I’d try for permission to sleep in here with you.”

“Oh, pshaw!” ejaculated Serge. “You don’t mean that. You know you don’t. Why, man, the mere fact that you are billeted in the cabin instead of in the forecastle shows that you must be rated as a hunter.”

“Why must I?” inquired Phil, in a puzzled tone. “And pray what is a hunter?”

“One who hunts, of course. He lives aft, and don’t have to stand watch—”

“So Mr. Coombs said,” interrupted Phil.

“Nor do any of the ship’s work,” continued Serge.

“Am I to be allowed to do anything at all except suck my thumbs and maintain my ‘dig,’ like old Kite Robinson?” asked the young hunter.

“Oh! you’ve heard of him, have you? Of course you will be allowed to do something. You will be allowed to shoot, and not only that, but you will be expected to shoot all day, and every day from sunrise to sunset; and mighty hard work you will find it, too, before you get through with it.”

“Shoot!” cried Phil, forgetting all about the necessity for whispering. “Shoot what? Fish?”

“Shoot up, and stow yer jaw tackle,” growled the sleepy voice of the forecastle wit from an upper berth.

“Shoot fish! of course not,” whispered Serge. “You will shoot seals and sea-otter, if we have the good-luck to run across any. Oh! I am so glad you have got that berth, for I’ve been wondering and fretting over how you’d get along as a foremast hand; but now it will be all smooth sailing.”

“But I don’t understand yet,” protested Phil. “This is the first mention I have heard of seals or sea-otter. I thought this was a fishing schooner.”

“So she is,” replied Serge, a little impatiently; “but on this coast all fishermen are pelagic sealers as well whenever they get a chance, and they generally try to ship two or three good shots among the crew to act as hunters. The regular sealers, who go over on the Japan coast, fix for the business, and carry six or seven hunters. On this side, though, and especially if there is a chance of going into the sea, they generally clear as fishermen. It makes it easier to explain, you understand, if they happen to get nabbed by the cutters. We gathered in two or three hundred skins coming up the coast, and I heard Captain Duff say that if he could get hold of a first-class hunter he’d like to ship him. Strange that I never thought of you for that position, when I knew what a good shot you are, too. That must be why he changed his mind so suddenly about taking you along, for at first he declared he couldn’t think of such a thing. I do wonder, though, how he happened to know that you could shoot.”

Phil thought he knew, for he remembered the crowd of sailormen who were gathered about the shooting-gallery in Victoria the day before, and who had applauded his score; but he was too full of questions just now to waste time on explanations.

Where did people shoot seals and how? Out at sea or on land? With rifles or shot-guns? What did Serge mean by “pelagic sealers”? What did he mean by going into the sea? What did he mean by getting “nabbed”?

As our young traveller, to whom a new world of strange men, strange animals, and strange scenes was about to be opened, poured forth these questions concerning it, Serge, to whom the whole business of sealing was an old story, laughed.

“It would take several hours to tell you the whole thing,” he said, “and I’ve only two left in which to sleep before going on watch at midnight. So if, like a good fellow, you will turn in now, and restrain your curiosity till morning, I will then do my best to answer all your questions.”

Apologizing for his thoughtlessness, Phil accepted his friend’s suggestion; and making his way back to the cabin, took possession of the bunk Jalap Coombs had said was to be his. As he lay there listening to the gurgle of waters on the other side of the thin plank separating him from them, he could not help contrasting his present position with that of only twenty-four hours before, and marvelling at the wonderful changes that may be made in one’s surroundings, circumstances, and whole plan of life in the brief space of a single day.