Riley voiced in with: "Begorra, and it's crame in their tay they are having, and divil a thimbleful do we get here."
This last expression from the Irishman pleased the cook, who brought his fist down sharply on the pork-barrel, crying: "And, men, your only salvation lies in the ballot-box."
The cook's ballot-box amused me. Who ever heard of a sailor voting? Out of ten of our crew, we had not one American citizen!
Our position at noon today was 17°.24 north latitude,—longitude 142°.10 west. The wind has been steady from the northeast for the last forty-eight hours. I am satisfied that this is the commencement of the trade-winds.
During the middle watch I was very sleepy, and decided to walk on the deck load as far forward as the mainmast, and back again, and so on. I noticed one of the crew standing against the weather main-rigging. As the night was dark, I could not make him out, and, remembering Old Charlie warning about the big Swede having it in for me, I stepped over to the fife rail and pulled out a belaying-pin, thinking that it might come in handy in case this ghost-like figure started anything. But just then he lit his pipe, and from the rays of the match I could make out the features of Old Charlie himself.
"Charlie," I said, "you scared me."
"I have been standing here thinking, sir. Have you noticed the Bo'sun flying low lately, sir?"
The "Bo'sun" Old Charlie alluded to is a tropical bird, snow-white with an exquisite tail, and flies very fast and usually very high. It is a common tradition among sailors that this beautiful bird is the embodiment of the souls of drowned sailors.
"No, Charlie," said I, "I haven't noticed them."
Taking a puff from his old pipe, and buttoning his overcoat around his neck as if expecting a squall, then looking around the horizon to make sure that we would not be interrupted by any wind-jammer: