"Der wise man don't know eferyt'ing," answered Peter. "Neen!"
"Essentially true," agreed my great-uncle. "I must confess myself ignorant of such staple points as why we are here, the excuse for human existence, the relative significance of this world of ours, the utility of the differing qualities of goodness and evil. But any serious consideration, friend Peter, must convince as profound a thinker as yourself that the very existence of men and women is of itself prima-facie evidence that there can be no Divine Author of omnipotent or sentient powers."
"We better go on deck," said Peter.
"After you," protested my relative as we rose. "'Tis a pleasure to debate with you, Peter. Take care, pray! Gunn has not removed all of the evidence of Diomede's passing. Strange, is it not, how a black fellow like Diomede and a man who hath been the confidant of princes like O'Donnell should both be abolished by a simple organic disruption? That alone, Peter, should suffice to disprove the humbug of an all-wise Providence. An all-wise Providence, forsooth! Here am I, arranging to reconstruct for the better a most unhappy trio of kingdoms, with consequences bound to improve the well-being of the entire world, and my plan is suffered to be placed in jeopardy by an ignorant sailor's blind shot in the dark! What could be more absurd?"
Peter did not answer him, and we passed out upon the maindeck, where sailors were busy removing the traces of the Walrus' first broadside which had wrought a certain amount of minor damage and caused the deaths of several men. 'Twas now light enough to see about us, but the light was of a quality I had never known before—a hard, coppery glare, with the sun obscured from view. The sea was quite flat, and the wind continued intermittent, veering from one-quarter of the south to the other. Spy-glass Island lay to larboard, its contour amazingly distinct—as if it were bitten into the frame of steel-blue sea and dully shimmering sky that encompassed it. The Walrus, like the James, had cleared Captain Kidd's Anchorage, and was running due north before the wind betwixt us and the islet called Skeleton Island.
Murray bent a shrewd eye aloft and hailed Martin.
"How is it you carry no sail on the mizzen?" he demanded.
"Account o' that there last —— —— —— shot, cap'n," answered the mate, tugging his forelock. "If ye look to it ye'll see as how a —— —— twelve-pounder bored into her."
We all followed his pointing finger to a gouge beneath the mizzen yard. The shot that had grazed Colonel O'Donnell's head had done more than graze the mizzen. The mast was whittled away to a depth of several inches as cleanly as if a giant's ax had chopped into it.
My great-uncle took snuff very slowly.