“Go to bed berry soon,” he mumbled, half-turning as he spoke.

“Avast! Heave to! I mean when you die, cook.

It’s an awful question. Now what’s your answer?”

“When dis old brack man dies,” said the negro slowly, changing his whole air and demeanor, “he hisself won’t go nowhere; but some bressed angel will come and fetch him.”

“Fetch him? How? In a coach and four, as they fetched Elijah? And fetch him where?”

“Up dere,” said Fleece, holding his tongs straight over his head, and keeping it there very solemnly.

“So, then, you expect to go up into our main-top, do you, cook, when you are dead? But don’t