VIII
Mrs. march sat in a steamer-chair wedged in between the side of the cabin and the lounge, the captain was smoking, and Drew held his book unopened in his hand, when Hetty went below later in the morning.
"Well, I'm glad to see you," said Mrs. March. "I don't see how you keep from tumbling overboard, we roll so. Why don't your father stop it,—pour oil on the water, or something,—if he's such a good sailor? But he only smokes. He doesn't even tell us how much worse it was on some other trip. I thought sailors always did that. I'm sure they talk of nothing else ashore. Just hear those dishes rattle!"
"If you'd only go up on deck, mother," Hetty advised, "you'd not mind it so much. It doesn't seem so bad there. It's a beautiful day."
"No," her mother answered; "I'll stay here. You know how a pussy-cat will crouch down and shut her eyes when you go to box her ears; well, I'm like that. I don't want to see what's coming; I know well enough."
"That's like Billy Marvin," said Captain March, with a chuckle.
"Then Billy Marvin's smarter'n I ever took him to be," said Mrs. March.
The captain took his pipe from his mouth and turned to Drew.
"I don't know's you've ever met Billy," he said; "but he's one of our Blackwater folks. He's been going to sea a good many years, but he's never got beyond the galley. Five or six years ago he went out as steward with Cap'n Dave Barker on the old Maggie P. Monroe, and off Cape Fear one night they struck a pretty lively southeaster, and for a time it looked pretty dubious. Cap'n Dave is kind of excitable in bad weather, and he got to raving up and down the deck and declaring they were all going to kingdom come before morning, and everybody was pretty well scared. Well, Cap'n Dave's a good deal better sailor than he is prophesier, and, the gale going down before daybreak, they all felt pretty good, but tired out from being on deck all night, and sharp-set for breakfast. Well, seven bells came, but no signs of Billy, so Cap'n Dave sent the mate forward to stir him up. He found the galley closed, with no sign of fire inside, and Billy fast asleep in his bunk just off the galley. The mate picked up a dish-pan and banged it up against the boarding right by Billy's head, expecting to see him jump straight through the deck. All he did was to turn over slowly and look at the mate. The mate said he didn't even blink. Well, he used some pretty strong language, and Billy tumbled out and began to hustle around. He said Cap'n Dave was so certain they were going to the bottom before morning, that it seemed a pity wasting time and strength to wind his clock and set the alarm, so he just tumbled in, thinking he might as well be comfortable and get a good night's sleep, if it was going to be his last. Then he turned to the mate—he was raking out his stove—and, grinning sheepishly, said: 'Mr. Thompson, I thought you was the angel Gabriel when you started all that racket, blest if I didn't!' Cap'n Dave asked him afterward if he was disappointed when he saw the mate standing over him instead of what he'd expected. Billy thought a minute, and then said: 'Well, cap'n, if you'd kind o' set your mind on seeing a first-class show performance, and then after you'd paid for your seat and was good and ready, if the curtain should go up, and, lo and behold! there wasn't nothing there but just Sam Thompson, what would you 'a' been?'"
Mrs. March laughed with the rest, and, leaning forward, touched her daughter's arm.