In spite of my fear of the mates, I once had to stuff a dirty dish-rag down my mouth to keep from laughing outright. The greasy rag made me gag and almost vomit.
"And what's the matter with you?" inquired Schantze, glaring into the pantry at me, while the two mates also glowered, for a different reason.
"You skinny Yankee," said the captain, taking me by the ear, rather painfully, several days after that incident, "I'm sure someone's drinking my booze. Could it be you, in spite of all your talk about not drinking? You Anglo-Saxons are such dirty hypocrites."
"Indeed, no, sir,—it isn't me."
"Well, this cabin's in your care, and so is the storeroom. You keep a watch-out and find out for me who it is.... I don't think its Miller or the second mate ... it must be either the cook or that old rogue of a sailmaker....
"Or it might be some of the crew," he further speculated, "but anyhow, it's your job to take care of the cabin, as I said before....
"Remember this—all sailors are thieves, aboard ship, if the chance to take anything good to eat or drink comes their way."
I promised to keep a good look-out.
On the other hand....