“One word, captain. I have been told you have a wife and children. For their sweet sake, have pity on the little ones and the women on board.”
“Do you hear me?” he shouted. “Leave the poop or I will kick you off. I’ll have no mutiny on my ship.”
I turned and left more sorrowful at my failure than indignant at my usage. My appeal did some good, however, for before the day was over wind-sails were rigged at the hatchways, which did a little to freshen the air ’tween decks. A sail ahead hove in sight during the afternoon, and we rapidly gained on her. At six o’clock we were abreast of the stranger, which was not over half a mile away. She was a small barque and had lost her foretopmast during the gale. She signalled us, but our captain took no notice, and we soon left her a long way astern. Asking the boatswain why she wanted to speak us, he said she likely was short of sails and spars to repair her damage and wanted to get them from us. “And why did the captain not help her?” The boatswain smiled. “They cost money and supplying them would have delayed us.” I had my own thoughts about the sailor who would not give a helping hand to his brother when overtaken by misfortune. If that ship be lost for lack of spar or sail, then that little tyrant who struts our quarter-deck is accountable.
26.—A beautiful morning, bright and milder than it has been. Every sail is drawing and the ship is bowling along at a fine rate. I got up early, being anxious about uncle’s wife. Found her no better. Worse than that, learned there were five besides her ill the same way. There is now not a shadow of a doubt that typhus fever is on board. Since we left port, no attempt has been made to clear the steerage, which is filthy beyond description. When I speak to the men to join in and shovel up the worst of the dirt, they despondently ask me, “What’s the use?” The despondency engendered of hunger and disease is upon them and they will not exert themselves. The steward is the only one of the ship’s company who goes down the hatch-steps, and it would be better if he did not, for his errand is to sell the drink for which so many are parting with the sixpences they should keep for their landing in a strange country. The day being passably warm in the afternoon the children played on the deck and I coaxed Paddy Doolan to get out his pipes and set them jigging.
27.—A dull, murky morning, with a mist that surrounded the ship as the wrapping of silk paper does an orange. It was almost a dead calm and the atmosphere was so heavy the smoke of the galley did not rise and filled the deck with its fumes. The main deck was deserted, save by myself and three old women who sat on the coaming of the main hatchway, smoking their pipes. The cabin boy flitted backwards and forwards carrying breakfast to the cabin, where the steward was laying the table. The boy’s motions did not escape the women, and I noticed them whispering and laughing as if concocting a plot. One presently went down into the hold, while the other two turned anxious glances for the return of the cabin boy. When he did come he loaded up with as many skillets and pans as he could carry. No sooner had he disappeared down the companion-way, than the women ran to the galley, which was deserted, for the cook, having completed his morning’s work, had gone to the forecastle, where the sailors were at breakfast, leaving the dishes ready for the boy to take to the cabin as wanted. In a twinkling the women were out again, one of them bearing a big copper teapot, the steam from its spout showing in the morning air. Hurrying to the hatchway they were met by the woman who had left them, ready with a lapful of tins of every description. Into these the tea was poured and handed below, as quickly as they could be handled. Curious to view the scene I went to the hatch and looked down, seeing a crowd of grinning passengers beneath, who carried off the tins as they got them. When the last drop was out of the kettle, the woman who held it ran back to the galley, and dipping it into an open copper of hot water replaced it where she got it. The women did not disappear, but resuming their seats on the edge of the hatch proceeded to discuss the tins of tea they had reserved for themselves. By-and-by the boy hove in sight, and, unsuspicious of the change in its contents, carried the kettle to the cabin. He had been away five minutes when he reappeared kettle in hand and went to the galley. I stood behind him. He looked bewildered. “Bedad, I was right; there’s no other kettle.” “Anything wrong, my boy?” “Och, yis; it’s hot say water instead of tay that’s in the kettle.” Going to the sailors’ quarters he returned with the cook who, on tasting what was in the kettle, looked perplexed. Accompanied by the boy he made his way to the cabin to report a trick had been played upon him. Telling Aileen of what was afoot, she drew a shawl over her head, came out and took her place by me in lee of the long boat, awaiting developments. The mate, followed by cook, steward, and boy, emerged from the companion. Striding the deck with wrathful haste the mate went to the galley and after hearing the explanations of the cook, shouted “I’ll flay the——thieves with a rope’s end.” Coming back, he asked me, “What do you know about this?”
“That I had no hand it,” I replied, “nor, I’m sorry to say, even a taste of it.” Aileen laughed, and eyeing me malignantly the mate retorted, “You know who did it; tell me right away.”
“Of course I know, but I would not tell a gentleman like yourself who hates informers. Remember Dublin bay.”
He ground his teeth and had Aileen not been there I believe he would have attempted to strike me. Wheeling round to the three old women who sat quietly on the hatchway he asked them.
“Is it the tay ye are askin afther? Sure an it wasn’t bad; was it, Mrs O’Flaherty?”