Chapter 61 - Page 2

before the spirit had entered the flesh. Yet that sin seemed something
imposed, and not voluntarily sought; some sin growing out of the
heartless necessities of the predestination of things; some sin under
which the sinner sank in sinless woe.

But no pang of pain, not the slightest touch of concern, ever
crossed the bosom of Cuticle when he looked on this cast. It was
immovably fixed to a bracket, against the partition of his state-
room, so that it was the first object that greeted his eyes when
he opened them from his nightly sleep. Nor was it to hide the face,
that upon retiring, he always hung his Navy cap upon the upward
curling extremity of the horn, for that obscured it but little.

The Surgeon's cot-boy, the lad who made up his swinging bed and
took care of his room, often told us of the horror he sometimes
felt when he would find himself alone in ins master's retreat. At
times he was seized with the idea that Cuticle was a preternatural
being; and once entering his room in the middle watch of the night,
he started at finding it enveloped in a thick, bluish vapour, and
stifling with the odours of brimstone. Upon hearing a low groan
from the smoke, with a wild cry he darted from the place, and,
rousing the occupants of the neighbouring state-rooms, it was
found that the vapour proceeded from smouldering bunches of lucifer
matches, which had become ignited through the carelessness of the
Surgeon. Cuticle, almost dead, was dragged from the suffocating
atmosphere, and it was several days ere he completely recovered
from its effects. This accident took place immediately over the
powder magazine; but as Cuticle, during his sickness, paid dearly
enough for transgressing the laws prohibiting combustibles in the
gun-room, the Captain contented himself with privately remonstrating
with him.

Well knowing the enthusiasm of the Surgeon for all specimens of
morbid anatomy, some of the ward-room officers used to play upon
his credulity, though, in every case, Cuticle was not long in
discovering their deceptions. Once, when they had some sago
pudding for dinner, and Cuticle chanced to be ashore, they made
up a neat parcel of this bluish-white, firm, jelly-like
preparation, and placing it in a tin box, carefully sealed with
wax, they deposited it on the gun-room table, with a note,
purporting to come from an eminent physician in Rio, connected
with the Grand National Museum on the Praca d' Acclamacao,
begging leave to present the scientific Senhor Cuticle--with the
donor's compliments--an uncommonly fine specimen of a cancer.

Descending to the ward-room, Cuticle spied the note, and no
sooner read it, than, clutching the case, he opened it, and
exclaimed, "Beautiful!