“No. Never went a cable’s length ayont the town o’ Francisco.”
“Maybe, jest as well ye didn’t, Master Blew. Me an’ Bill Davis tried that dodge; we went all the way to the washin’s on Feather River; but foun’ no gold, only plenty o’ hard work, wi’ precious little to eat, an’ less in the way o’ drink. Neyther o’ us likin’ the life, we put back for the port.”
For all his frankness in confessing to the cat-o’-nine tails on board a warship, Striker says nothing about a rope of a different kind he and his chum Davis were very near getting around their necks on the banks of that same Feather River, and from which they escaped by a timely retreat upon “’Frisco.”
“Well,” rejoins Blew, in a tone of resignation; “as you say, maybe I’ve did the wisest thing after all, in not goin’ that way. I might ’a come back empty-handed, same as yerself an’ Davis. Ye say liquor war scarce up there. That ’ud never ’a done for me. I must have my reg’lar allowance, or—. Well, no use sayin’ what. As an old man-o’-war’s man you can can understan’ me, Striker. An’ as the same, I suppose you won’t object to a tot now?”
“Two, for that matter,” promptly responds Striker, like all his sort—drouthy.
“Well; here’s a drop o’ rum—the best Santa Cruz. Help yourself!”
Blew presents a black-jack bottle to the helmsman, who, detaching one hand from the spokes, takes hold of the bottle. Then, raising it to his lips, and keeping it there for a prolonged spell, returns it to its owner, who, for the sake of sociability, takes a pull himself. All this done, the dialogue is renewed, and progresses in even a more friendly way than before; the Santa Cruz having opened the heart of the Sydney Duck to a degree of familiarity; while, on his side, the mate, throwing aside all reserve, lets himself down to a level with the foremast-man.
It ends in their establishing a confidence, mutual and complete, of that character known as “thickness between thieves.”
Blew first strikes the chord that puts their spirits en rapport, by saying:
“Ye tell me, Striker, that ye’ve had hard times an’ some severe punishment. So’s had Harry Blew. An’ ye say ye don’t care about that. No more cares he. In that we’re both o’ us in the same boat. An’ now we’re in the same ship—you a sailor afore the mast, I first officer—but for all the difference in our rank, we can work thegether. An’ there’s a way we can both o’ us do better. Do you want me to tell it ye?”