Why, my good fellow, they'll thrive upon tobacco until they grow as large as conger eels.

Heat is what the worms are fond of; but cold--cold will kill them.

Now I'll cure you.

Quarter-master, come here.

Walk this boy up and down the weather-gangway, and every time you get forward abreast of the main-tack block, put his mouth to windward, squeeze him sharp by the nape of the neck until he opens his mouth wide, and there keep him and let the cold air blow down his throat, while you count ten; then walk him aft, and when you are forward again, proceed as before .-- Cold kills worms, my poor boy, not tobacco--I wonder that you are not dead by this time." The quarter-master, who liked the joke, as did all the seamen, seized hold of the lad, and as soon as they arrived forward, gave him such a squeeze of the neck as to force him to open his mouth, if it were only to cry with pain.