After the sailors were all settled with, Capt. Streeter called the mate into the cabin and said to him: "Mr. Morrison, I suppose you want to leave, since you've told me you're ashamed of the ship."
"I'm not ashamed of the ship, sir," answered the mate; "I'm only ashamed of the captain. I like the ship very much; I only wish she had a master worthy of her."
The captain brought about this conversation hoping that in their last interview he might have the advantage, and pour out on Mr. Morrison some of the hatred that had been boiling within him since they had quarrelled off Gibraltar. But the shrewd, sensible Scotchman was too much for him, and he saw that if he got Mr. Morrison's tongue into full course he should get a greater worsting than he had had during the voyage, so he said:
"Well, if you want to leave, hand in your bill. I've had talk enough with you."
"It's the captain's duty to hand in accounts," said the mate, "and I should like to have you do it."
Here he was cornered again; so he went into his room and got the "portage bill," and paid down the wages due him without another word.
The mate then packed up his things, bid me a hearty and feeling good-by, and as he drove away from the ship his handkerchief went up to his eyes to wipe away a few tears, which came in spite of his self-control, as he thought of the contrast between the high purpose and worthy determination to do his duty faithfully, which inspired him when he joined the ship, and the disappointment and hatred which marked the close of the voyage.
The mate being disposed of, to the captain's great relief, and a deeply muttered curse sent after him, Mr. Howard was summoned to his presence, and received the reward of all his subservience and brutality, by being asked to remain by the ship and go as mate the next voyage.
"I should like to go with you, sir," he answered, "for I like you better than any man I ever sailed with, but I don't know anything about navigation."