“Pretty so so,” said Captain Snaggs, who seemed somewhat critical, in spite of his assertion of being ravenous and ‘a reg’ler whale on poultry,’ as he had observed when Jones took off the dish cover. “Strikes me, thaar’s a rum sort o’ taste about it thet ain’t quite fowlish!”
“M–yum, m–yum; I dew taste somethin’ bitterish,” agreed Mr Flinders, smacking his lips and deliberating apparently over the flavour of the fowl; “p’raps the critter’s gall bladder got busted—hey?”
“P’raps so, Flinders,” rejoined the skipper; “but I hope thet durned nigger hasn’t be’n meddlin’ with it! Them darkeys air awful vengeful, an’ when I hed him up jist now, an’ told him he’d hev ter go forrud, I heard him mutter sunthin’ about ‘not forgettin’’—guess I did, so.”
Captain Snaggs looked so solemn as he said this, with his face bent down into his plate to examine what was on it the more closely, and his billy-goat beard almost touching the gravy, that I had to cough to prevent myself from laughing; for, I was standing just by him, handing round a dish of potatoes at the time.
“Hillo!” he exclaimed, looking up and staring at me so that I flushed up as red as a turkey cock, “what’s the matter with ye, b’y?”
“N–n–nothing, sir,” I stammered. “I—I couldn’t help it, sir; I have got a sort of tickling in my throat.”
“Guess a ticklin’ on yer back would kinder teach ye better manners when ye’re a-waitin’ at table,” he said, grimly. “Go an’ tell the stooard to fetch the rum bottle out of my bunk, with a couple of tumblers, an’ then ye can claar out right away. I don’t want no b’ys a-hangin’ round when I’m feedin’!”
Glad enough was I at thus getting my dismissal without any further questioning; and, after giving Jones the captain’s message, I went out from the pantry on to the maindeck, and so forward to the galley, where I expected to find Sam.
He wasn’t there, however; but, hearing his voice on the fo’c’s’le, I looked up, and saw him there, in the centre of a little knot of men, consisting of Tom Bullover, the carpenter, Hiram Bangs, and another sailor, to whom, as I quickly learnt from a stray word here and there, the darkey cook was laying down the law anent the skipper and his doings.
“De ole man’s a hard row to hoe, yer bet,” I heard him say, “but he don’t get over dis chile nohow! I’se heer tell ob him afore I ship’t as how he wer the hardest cap’n as sailed out ob Libberpool.”