“This old cove here,” explained the other, “says as how he can’t go aloft cause he’s got a wooden leg.”
Old Pem was fairly bristling. “Sojerin’!” he yelled. “Git erloft there, ye ol’ bum!” and then, forgetting himself in his excitement, he added, “Ye ain’t no more one-legged than I be!”
“B’gorra Oi’d be hopin’ not,” burst out the other. “Faith, an’ Oi’d like to see yez a shinnyin’ up thim ropes wid a lig like this, ye ould omathon!”
As he spoke, he drew up his trouser leg and exhibited the artificial limb beneath.
“Sass me back, will ye!” roared the old whaleman, purple with rage. “By blastarnation, ef ye wasn’t a cripple I’d skin ye alive!”
“Cripple yerself,” shouted back the other. “Come down out of that an’ Oi’ll lick the stuffin’ out av yez, ye ould shellback!”
The boys fully expected to see Cap’n Pem dash down to the deck and rush at the impudent old fellow, but instead, he suddenly doubled up and roared with hearty laughter.
“I’ll be keelhauled!” he cried. “Ef this isn’t the dod-gastedest crew what ever sailed on a whale ship. Reckon misery loves comp’ny. Two timber-legs an’ a dummy! Mr. Kemp, muster them hands aft an’ see how many more derelicts ye’ve got ermong ’em.”
Grinning at the comical scene they had just witnessed, the crew gathered about and the second officer went over them one by one, questioning them, pounding them on backs and chests, slapping their arms and legs and ordering them to run and jump about, while, on the poop, the two boys and old Pem, as well as the skipper, stood and watched the procedure with amusement. Presently the second mate turned. “Here’s a chap with a glass eye,” he announced, indicating a sallow-faced, little man, “but I guess t’others are all sound.”
“Reckon so long’s his other eye’s good he don’t matter,” said Pem. “Go on with yer men, Mr. Kemp an’ put that one-legged ol’ shamrock to deck work till we’re ready fer the boats. Mebbe he’ll do fer a shipkeeper anyhow.”