THE ALBATROSS. 225 



" Russell ! " I shouted, forgetting in my amuse- 

 ment to give my mate his " Mister," " what on 

 earth do you mean by thrusting a lubberly f c's'le 

 superstition into the face of the master of a ship ? 

 Whaling cap'ns don't know — poor, grass-combing 

 waisters ! But before the mast — oh, that's the 

 place to look for erudition ! Oh, yes ! That's the 

 place to find the true navigator ! That's the 

 place, and not the quarter-deck ! " 



Russell turned a paler shade of yellow than 

 usual — he was thoroughly scared. 



" But, Cap'n, in justice to myself, I must insist 

 that the fact about the albatross rests upon 

 surer ground than any mere fo'c's'le gossip. I 

 have it, sir, upon the authority of Coleridge ! " 



" Coleridge ! " I bellowed, in a voice that would 

 have quelled a mutiny. 



" Yes, Coleridge." 



" What Coleridge ? " 



" Why, Coleridge the writer." 



" Writer on navigation ? " 



" No, no, no, of course not. I mean the writer 

 of poetry." 



" Not Samuel Taylor Coleridge ? Thunder and 

 lightning, what a first mate! Samuel Taylor 

 Coleridge ? And you have the lordly impudence 

 to thrust Samuel Taylor Coleridge into the face 



15 



