“Grumbling, eh; what do they expect? Roast beef and plum pudding? The beggars get the government allowance. Begone, sir.”
I was trembling with repressed indignation but for the sake of those I pled for I kept cool. “Captain, the poor people ask nothing unreasonable. Go and see for yourself the biscuits and water served out to them, and I am sure you will order a change.”
“Complain about the water, too! What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s foul,” I told him, “it smells and bad though it be, there is not enough served out. The sick are calling for water and not a drop to be got.”
“Not enough served out—what do you mean?”
“That the allowance is scrimped.”
He clinched his fist and raised his right arm as if to strike me. “This to me, on my own ship; that passengers are cheated in measure!”
“Strike me, captain, if you will, but by our common faith I implore you to consider the case of my poor people. There are children who have died from starvation and they have been dropped into the sea. There are more dying and you can save them by ordering a larger ration of sound biscuit. There are men and women lying stretched in the fever, will you not ease their agony by letting them have all the water they can drink? They have suffered everything flesh and blood can suffer short of death. In fleeing from the famine in Ireland, do not let it be said they have found harder hearts and a worse fate on board ship. When you know a cup of water and a bite will save life and will make hundreds happy, sure, captain, you will not refuse to give them.”
“You vagabond,” he exclaimed, his eyes flashing with anger, “if you insinuate I am starving anybody I will pitch you overboard. The passengers get all the government regulations allow them and more they shan’t have. Begone, sir, and do not dare to come on the poop again.”