“Don’t see anything particularly lucky in havin’ him aboard, sir. We hain’t had only an ordinary cruise, we’ve had two or three nasty rows through him, and a pretty bad smash. I think there’s too much fuss bein’ made altogether over a half-bred Kanaka who’s only a fair average boat-steerer after all.”
There was another silence after this, until presently the skipper said with a half sigh—
“Ah well, I can understand you’re not having any praise to waste on him, Winsloe. If I’d ben in your place, an’ he’d used up my harponeer as cheaply as he has yours, I sh’d feel ’bout the same I guess. But Pepe hasn’t made a good show, now has he?”
“Best harponeer I ever saw get into a boat until this ’ere speculation of yours came aboard. Now he ain’t wuth a row of pins. I could pick a dozen men out o’ the crew as good as him at any time.”
“I think that’ll quite do, Mr. Winsloe,” answered the skipper quietly, but with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “I don’t allow any man to talk t’ me as your permittin’ yerself to do. I k’n make allowance all right, but you don’t need any allowance, you know better. Now don’t let it occur agen, an’ if Pepe is useless as you say he is, disrate him an’ put another man in his place.”
Nothing more was said, but all four men filed out of the little cuddy in silence thinking over the sudden turn affairs had taken. But Captain Taber was not the man to allow any suspicion of injustice to taint his actions, and so he presently sent for Mr. Winsloe to his cabin, gave him a cigar, took one himself, and when they were well going he said quite casually—
“Looky here, Winsloe, you’n me’s got on very well this last three years nearly, an’ I ain’t goin’ t’ let any misunderstandin’ spoil our relations if I can help it. Nor yet I ain’t goin’ t’ be unjust, to you nor nobody else—tain’t in me t’ put up with it or suffer it. Tell me, what ye got agen that young boat-steerer, ’cause if the matter’s serious enough to cause a breach between us on account of him bein’ in the ship, I’m goin’ t’ send him back t’ Norfolk; I ain’t goin’ t’ lose my mate. Though, mind ye, if that meant turnin’ a man adrift that had done no wrong just t’ save myself trouble an’ to please another man who’d taken a dislikin’ for him, I wouldn’t do it, no, not for the value of ship an’ cargo. Now, honest injun, own up, what ye got agen him?” And lying back, calmly puffing his cigar, the captain awaited the reply. After a long pause it came reluctantly—
“I ain’t got nothin’ agen him, only I hate the sight of his face”; and here the speaker became transformed and gave vent to a string of awful blasphemies, which even then seemed quite inadequate to express the hatred he felt for C. B. Captain Taber watched this exhibition with an abstracted air nor showed any surprise. When the furious man had subsided, though still trembling with utter rage, the skipper said—
“I guess you’re in a pretty bad way, Winsloe. You seem to me to be like one of them old-time folks that was possessed with devils. Here’s a man that never done you a mite of harm, never give you a word o’ sass, nor a minute’s trouble, yet if I’m any judge you’d wash yer hands in his blood this minute if y’ got a chance, an’ feel glad. God help ye, I’m afraid it means that you’re right down bad, an’ he’s about as good as they make ’em. Well, I must see about this.” And Winsloe retreated on deck.
I must close this chapter with just a word of explanation to such dear gentle souls among my readers who, leading sheltered lives, have never had the misfortune to come across these terrible exhibitions of hatred without any cause save the natural antagonism of light and darkness. I beg them to believe that I am not exaggerating, but drawing from life, and to be thankful if they have never met such instances of the causeless hatred of the utterly innocent.