"What about your cooking?" inquired Harborough, whose face was puckered in a multitude of crinkles.
"Me cook aboard de _Lucy M. Partington_, three-masted schooner from N'Orleans to Naples," explained the black. "Me cook berry well all de time. One day de fellah played a prank, an' put Epsom-salts in the sugar canister. I made Spotted Dick for de Ole Man--pardon, sah, de Captain, I mean--an' dere you are."
"And what happened then?" prompted Harborough.
"Ole Man kick me out at Gib.," replied the nigger soberly. "Big gum-boots, too," he added, with painful reminiscence.
"Well, carry on in the galley," ordered the skipper of the _Titania_. "None of your Epsom-salt touches here, remember, or you'll find my boot heavier than the _Lucy M. Partington's_ Old Man's. What's your name?"
Harborough waved dismissal. Pete, pulling his woolly forelock, pattered away towards the fore-hatch.
"They didn't have a nigger on board the _Zug_, I suppose?" inquired Harborough.
"No," replied Villiers. "This fellow seems quite above board."
"He may be a blessing in disguise," commented the baronet. "I don't envy the fellows who volunteered for the galley when we get down the Red Sea, and they'll be jolly glad to get out of it."
An hour later Villiers went below and inspected the galley.
Pete had quickly made himself at home. Arrayed in white-canvas jumper and trousers he presented a decidedly better appearance than he had done in the ragged dungarees. He had not been lacking in energy, for the pots and pans were burnished brighter than they had been since they left the ship-chandler's establishment in far-off Southampton.
He greeted Jack with one of his expansive grins.
"Quite shipshape now, Massa Villers," he exclaimed.
"You're making quite a fine show, Sambo," replied Villiers.
The black's smile vanished and he pouted his lip.
"I would hab you know, Massa Villers," he exclaimed, with studied dignity, "dat my name is Pete, not Sambo. Sambo Yankee niggah; me British born."
"Right-o, Pete, I'll remember," replied Villiers; and the black resumed his customary smile.
"I wonder how he got hold of my name," thought Jack.
It was O'Loghlin who solved that little mystery. O'Loghlin had discovered the stowaway hidden behind the main fuel-tank that was fitted athwartships just abaft the main hold. Pete would not have been surprised had the engineer officer dragged him out by his woolly hair and booted him in addition. That was the sort of thing he was used to aboard the _Lucy M. Partington_, but nothing of the kind happened, and Pete felt grateful. He described in detail how he contrived to get on board without being "spotted" by any of the watch on deck. After he had been rated ship's cook the nigger asked O'Loghlin to tell him the names of every man on board, and, with a retentive memory that many West Indian negroes possess, Pete "had them all off pat".