The Red Eric | Page 7

thieves--I could roast 'em alive, so I
could."

The harpooner unrolled his handkerchief, and picking the pat of butter
from its folds with his fingers, threw it into the fire. Thereafter he
smoothed down his hair, and seated himself on the extreme edge of a
chair, as near the door as possible. Not that he had any intention
whatever of taking to flight, but he deemed that position to be more
suited to his condition than any other.
In a few minutes the servant-girl returned with the eggs. While she is
engaged in boiling them, we shall introduce Captain Dunning's friends
and messmates to the reader.
Dr Hopley was a surgeon, and a particular friend of the captain's. He
was an American by birth, but had travelled so much about the world
that he had ceased to "guess" and "calculate," and to speak through his
nose. He was a man about forty, tall, big-boned, and muscular, though
not fat; and besides being a gentlemanly man, was a good-natured,
quiet creature, and a clever enough fellow besides, but he preferred to
laugh at and enjoy the jokes and witticisms of others rather than to
perpetrate any himself. Dr Hopley was intensely fond of travelling, and
being possessed of a small independence, he indulged his passion to the
utmost. He had agreed to go with Captain Dunning as the ship's doctor,
simply for the sake of seeing the whale-fishery of the South Seas,
having already, in a similar capacity, encountered the dangers of the
North.
Dr Hopley had few weaknesses. His chief one was an extravagant
belief in phrenology. We would not be understood to imply that
phrenology is extravagant; but we assert that the doctor's belief in it
was extravagant, assigning, as he did, to every real and ideal facility of
the human mind "a local habitation and a name" in the cranium, with a
corresponding depression or elevation of the surface to mark its
whereabouts. In other respects he was a commonplace sort of a man.
Mr Millons, the first mate, was a short, hale, thick-set man, without any
particularly strong points of character. He was about thirty-five, and
possessed a superabundance of fair hair and whiskers, with a large,
broad chin, a firm mouth, rather fierce-looking eyes, and a hasty, but by
no means a bad temper. He was a trustworthy, matter-of-fact seaman,

and a good officer, but not bright intellectually. Like most men of his
class, his look implied that he did not under-estimate his own
importance, and his tones were those of a man accustomed to
command.
Tim Rokens was an old salt; a bluff, strong, cast-iron man, of about
forty-five years of age, who had been at sea since he was a little boy,
and would not have consented to live on dry land, though he had been
"offered command of a seaport town all to himself," as he was wont to
affirm emphatically. His visage was scarred and knotty, as if it had
been long used to being pelted by storms--as indeed it had. There was a
scar over his left eye and down his cheek, which had been caused by a
slash from the cutlass of a pirate in the China Seas; but although it
added to the rugged effect of his countenance, it did not detract from
the frank, kindly expression that invariably rested there. Tim Rokens
had never been caught out of temper in his life. Men were wont say he
had no temper to lose. Whether this was true or no, we cannot presume
to say, but certainly he never lost it. He was the best and boldest
harpooner in Captain Dunning's ship, and a sententious deliverer of his
private opinion on all occasions whatsoever. When we say that he wore
a rough blue pilot-cloth suit, and had a large black beard, with a
sprinkling of silver hairs in it, we have completed his portrait.
"What's come of Glynn?" inquired Captain Dunning, as he accepted a
large cup of smoking tea with one hand, and with the other handed a
plate of buttered toast to Dr Hopley, who sat next him.
"I really cannot imagine," replied Miss Martha.
"No, cannot imagine," whispered Miss Jane.
"He promised to come, and to be punctual," continued Miss Martha
("Punctual," whispered Miss J), "but something seems to have detained
him. Perhaps--"
Here Miss Martha was brought to an abrupt pause by observing that Mr
Rokens was about to commence to eat his egg with a teaspoon.

"Allow me, Mr Rokens," she said, handing that individual an ivory
eggspoon.
"Oh, cer'nly, ma'am. By all means," replied Rokens, taking the spoon
and handing it to Miss Jane, under the impression that it was intended
for her.
"I beg pardon, it is for yourself, Mr Rokens," said Martha and Jane
together.