“I’ll tell you what he—that’s the captain—does, when first we puts to sea. He’s only a leftenant—Leftenant Paul Jones; but he ought to be a captain, and so, d’ye see, my girl, I’ll call him captain. What does the captain do, says you, when once he’s afloat? As sure as you’re on my knee, Polly, no sooner be we off soundings than he passes the word for’ard for me to fetch him the cat-o’-nine-tails—me being bo’sen. Aft I tumbles, cat and all, wondering who’s to have the dozen.
“‘Chuck it overboard, Jack!’ says he, like that.
“‘Chuck what, capt’n?’ says I, giving my forelock a tug.
“‘Chuck the cat!’ says he.
“‘The cat?’ says I, being as you might say taken a-back, and wondering is it rum.
“‘Ay! the cat!’ he says. Then, looking me over with an eye like a coal, he goes on: ‘I can keep order aboard my ship without the cat. Because why; because I’m the best man aboard her,’ he says; and there you be.”
“And did the cat go overboard, Jack?”
“Overboard of course, Polly. And being nicely fitted with little knobs of lead on the nine tails of her, down to the bottom like a solid shot goes she. And so, d’ye see, we goes cruising without the cat.”
“Did you take no prizes?”
“We sunk eight, and sent eight more into Boston with prize crews aboard. Good picking, too, they was.”