“All the rum’s in, sir,” replied Mr Marline quietly, for he was a dry old stick and seldom said a word more than necessary.
“But the cow, man, the cow!” retorted the captain. “Why is she not hoisted inboard as well?”
“We couldn’t manage her, sir,” replied Mr Marline with a sly grin. “The brute butts everybody that comes near her.”
“Why didn’t you sling her?” inquired Captain Miles.
“We tried to, but couldn’t,” said the mate. “She kicks so that she tumbled back twice and nearly went into the sea.”
“Oh, you’re all a parcel of nincompoops!” exclaimed the captain quite roused at this. “I’ll show you how a seaman can manage it!” With that, catching hold of the side lines, he went down the ladder again like winking and into the launch alongside.
Here, the cow, which looked even more enraged than Captain Miles, stood in the centre of the boat, with the negroes who had pulled out the live load from shore, standing up in the bows and on the gunwales, so as to be out of the reach of the infuriated animal, which every now and then made a rush at some black leg or other, making the owner yell out and try to avoid the butt.
“Pass down a whip with a spare bit of canvas,” sang out the captain, sitting down in the stern-sheets; and on receiving these articles he set to work to make a sort of broad belt to pass under the cow’s stomach, in the same way as is done with horses about to be shipped on board transports when cavalry regiments are embarking.
When he had made the sling to his satisfaction, satisfying himself that it was strong enough by attaching it to his own person and then making the crew haul him up, his sixteen stone weight being some criterion to go by, he ordered those at the derrick to lower him down again; and then, with a halter all ready, which he threw over the animal’s head, he advanced bravely towards the cow to arrange the belt under her body, thinking he could do it easily enough.
Mrs Brindle, however, was too quick for him.