"There's no need," remarked Nugent, the master's mate, as he struggled ineffectively to find the left sleeve of his jacket.  "The word has already been passed; I passed it myself when Master Cock-robin there," pointing to Copplestone, "came and roused us out.  And, as to candles, I'm afraid we haven't any; the rats appear to have eaten the last two we had in the locker.  However--ah, here comes the cocoa.  Put the pot down there, Cupid--never mind if it _does_ soil our beautiful damask table- cloth, we're going to have it washed next time we go into Sierra Leone. And just see if you can find us a biscuit or two and some butter, will ye, you black angel?  Here, avast there,"--as the black was about to retire--"produce our best china breakfast-set before you go, you swab, and pour out the cocoa."