In the forecastle, too, there was great jubilation that evening. Jack dearly loves a speedy ship; and now that they had had an exemplification of what the Flying Cloud really could do when she had a fair chance, all hands were fully agreed that she was by far the fastest ship they had ever sailed in.
Williams, the man who had assisted at the loading of the guns on board, was especially enthusiastic upon the subject.
“My eyes! mates, what a pirate-ship this craft would make!” he ejaculated when at length all hands’ catalogue of praises seemed to be about exhausted. “Why, if she was mine I’d make my fortune—ay, and that of all hands belonging to her in less than six months!”
This remark produced a general laugh. “Why, Josh, bo! you don’t mean to say as how you’d go piratin’ if so be as this here pretty little ship was yourn, do you?” asked Tim Parsons, a great burly, bushy-whiskered seaman, who was seated on a sea-chest on the opposite side of the forecastle.
“Why—no, I don’t perhaps exactly mean that,” was the reply. “And yet—I don’t know—why shouldn’t I? There’s worse trades than pirating, let me tell you, boys?”
“Ay, ay? Is there? I should like to hear you name a few of ’em,” objected Parsons.
“Well, then,” said Williams, warming to the subject, “to go no further than this identical fo’c’s’le where we’re now sitting, I mean to say that the trade of sailor-men like ourselves is a precious sight worse. We’re hard worked, badly fed, badly paid—not, mind you, that I’m finding fault with the treatment we’re getting aboard here—far from it—the grub’s good enough for anybody; and, as to work—well, we haven’t seen much of that yet. But this I will say, I don’t like the looks of either of the mates, and as for the skipper, why, he’s a good enough man, but this ship is going to spoil him. Now you mark my words if she don’t—he’s just finding out that he’s got a flyer under him, and what will be the consequence? Why, he’ll be everlastingly carrying on, driving the ship all she’ll bear, carrying on to the very last minute, and then it’ll be ‘all hands shorten sail’ to save the spars, instead of handing his canvas in good time, by which means the watch could do all the work. Now, you wait a bit, mates, and you’ll see I’m right.”
There were several melancholy shakes of the head at this, indicative of a belief on the part of the shakers that these prognostications would prove only too true.
“But what’s all this got to do with piratin’?” persisted Parsons.
“Oh—well—why, everything,” returned Williams. “Here we are, as I was saying, hard worked, badly fed, and badly paid; whilst if we was the crew of a pirate clipper we should have nothing to do but trim sails, we should live upon the fat of the land, and in six months, if our cruise was a lucky one, we could chuck up the sea and live like princes ashore for the rest of our days.”