 seemed to have been tuned and
            broken at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of
            stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared,
            called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him,
            he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste and still
            looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.</p>
            <p><a name="id380387"><!--anchor--></a>"This is a handy cove," says he 