"I must have that hog down," said the captain. "Here—Nick—Tim—Peter—Paul! up to the masthead and lower the hog!"
Not a man would stir. The crew loudly swore that they would not go up there for any captain that ever trod a quarter-deck.
"You go up," said the captain to the mate.
"Nary time," said the mate. "My business is to navigate the ship,—not to fight the devil. You go up."
The captain laid hold on a rope, and was about to ascend, when loud squeals were heard, and cries of "Murder! murder! murder!" from the masthead. The captain let go his hold and fell on the deck.
"There are more than a dozen devils up there!" shouted the mate.
"What's to be done?" said the captain, rising on his feet and looking aghast.
"Let them alone until we get into port, and then hire a lot of priests to sprinkle the ship with holy water," said the mate.
"I'll have her swabbed with barrels of holy water!" exclaimed the captain.