“But your share of prize money would be larger if you were rated as a seaman apprentice, instead of merely a ship’s boy.”
“I’d ruther wait on you, sir—”
“And then you’d stand a chance of being rated as an able seaman in two or three years.”
“I’d ruther wait on you, sir,” doggedly answered Danny.
Paul Jones smiled, and said no more.
This all occurred in July, but it was not until November that the ship was ready to sail. She was by that time well manned, but owing to the poverty and lack of resource of the struggling Government she was poorly equipped. She had only one suit of sails, and those very indifferent, and not a single spare sail in case any mishap should befall her canvas in a wintry passage across the stormy Atlantic. There was likewise another deficiency, which gave the men much disquietude, especially Bill Green—there was only a single barrel of rum on board.
“I tell you what it is, youngster,” said Bill solemnly to Danny, it being a favorite amusement of his to tell the most grewsome yarns he could invent to the boy, “this ’ere’s a ornlucky ship—mark my words.”
“Why, Mr. Green,” answered Danny earnestly, “ain’t Cap’n Paul Jones commandin’ of her?”
“W’y, yes, boy, but you know there’s lucky ships and ornlucky ships. There ain’t nothin’ goin’ to happen to we—’cause Cap’n Paul Jones is commandin’, as you say—but we ain’t goin’ to git no prize money to speak of. Likely as not, we won’t capture nothin’ wuth havin’. We ain’t got but one barrel o’ rum aboard, and that’s the ornluckiest thing that ever was. It’s worse nor a black cat aboard ship. I’d ruther have ten black cats and sail on a Friday, and meet all the pirates afloat, than to start on a short ’lowance o’ rum. It’s dreadful ornlucky, boy, and it’s dreadful tryin’ besides.”
Danny fully believed him, as Bill, with a huge sigh, cut a quid of tobacco and began to chew dolefully.