The result of this colloquy was that Cappy Ricks received this night letter the following morning:
Alden P. Ricks,
258 California St.,
San Francisco.
Referring your letter. Men that taught me nautical ethics
expected things done without orders, minus thanks for doing
them well, plus abuse for doing them poorly. Regard your
criticism as out of place. Am not the seventh son of a seventh
son. How could I know you had overlooked fact that vessel
needed docking? Your business to plan my voyages to get me to
dry-dock port at least once a year. When you wired loading
orders, concluded you were cheap owner; hence decided dock her
without orders. Expect to be fired sooner or later, but will
leave good ship behind me so my successor cannot say, “Peasley
let her run down.” Had I waited orders, vessel would have been
ruined. Yet you have not sufficient grace to express your
thanks. Had I not acted in this emergency, you would have
fired me later for incompetence, and blacklisted me for not
telling you what you know you ought to know without being told.
Referring copper paint, I know from practical experience which
brand is best; you know only what paint dealer tells you. Will
not stand abuse for knowing my business and attending to it
without instructions from landlubber! When you appointed me
you said remember speed synonymous with dividends in shipping
business. How can I make fast passages with whiskers two feet
long on my keel? Send new flying jib and spanker next loading
port. Send new skipper, too, if you feel that way about it.
Peasley.
“Well, Skinner,” Cappy Ricks declared, “this is the first time a skipper in my employ ever talked back—and it'll be the last. I've had enough of this fellow's impudence, Skinner. He's right at that—blast him—but he's too much of a sea lawyer; and I won't have any employee of mine telling me how to run my business. Send in a stenographer.”
When the stenographer entered Cappy Ricks said:
“Ahem-m! Harump-h-h-h! Take telegram: 'Captain Matthew Peasley, care Rainier Mill and Lumber Company, Tacoma, Washington. You're fired! Ricks.' Ahem! Huh! Har-ump! Take 'nother telegram: 'Mr. Michael J. Murphy, First Mate Barkentine Retriever'—same address as Peasley—'Accept this telegram as your formal appointment to command of our barkentine, Retriever, vice Matthew Peasley, discharged this day; forwarding to-morrow certificate of change of master.' Sign that: 'Blue Star Navigation Company, per Alden P. Ricks,' and get both telegrams on the wire right away.”
Cappy turned to Mr. Skinner and chuckled sardonically.
“I'll bet that will gravel the man Peasley,” he declared. “There's nothing harder on a captain than being fired, and succeeded by his own mate—particularly after he has so recently recommended that mate! Peasley will be wild—the pup!”
“Well,” Mr. Skinner replied, “appointing Mr. Murphy certainly has this advantage,—he's there on the ground and we are thus spared the expense of sending a man from here.”
“That's one of the reasons why I appointed him—one of three very excellent reasons, in fact. Now we'll wait and see what the man Peasley has to say to that telegram.”
They had to wait about two hours, and this was what Matt Peasley had to say: