“’Tis no use av ye goin’ aft whin th’ owld man is there with th’ leddies. He’s in a divil av a timper because I made a remark to th’ man at th’ wheel an’ th’ young gurl an’ her ma heard me. But he’s always finding fault lately an’ something seems t’ be bearing down his mind, an’, by th’ saints, I believe ’tis nothing else than th’ weight av his own opinion.”
“He says you are a devil for story-books and women, O’Toole, and that’s the reason you are such a bad second mate,” I answered, smiling.
But O’Toole didn’t laugh. He appeared thoughtful for some moments, and then said, with great earnestness: “Maybe I am, Mr. Gore, but is it right for th’ owld man to say it? Is it right for a man who’s had a good income and a handsome wife t’ blackguard a poor divil av a mate because he can’t have either, and say that it is his own fault? No, Mr. Gore, I spake for th’ whole crowd av poor divils, like us, what no dacent woman’ll take up with. You may not be a bright man, Mr. Gore, savin’ your prisence, but, by th’ Prophet, I give ye th’ credit av being a just one. But no matter, I’ll say no more.”
He was silent for a few moments, and then broke out afresh:
“Ha! Ha! ’Twas only yisterday, whin they turned th’ roosters an’ hens out on th’ main-deck t’ give thim an airing, that he began t’ pitch into th’ fowls thimselves. He chased a couple av thim from under th’ break av th’ poop, throwin’ a belayin’-pin an’ bawlin’, ‘Git out, ye ornery burds! Have ye got no regard for ayther time, place, or circumstance?’ ’Pon me whurd, ’tis a wonder he didn’t break out his Bible an’ read one av th’ tin commandments t’ thim. It’s a sky-pilot he’s makin’ av th’ owld, rip-roarin’ skipper he used t’ be.”
I went aft and found Crojack talking to the passengers, so, after saying a few words, I made some excuse to go forward again. O’Toole was still sitting on the hatch combings, talking to the third mate. I walked athwartships, under the break of the poop, watching the canvas aloft and at the same time listening to scraps of the conversation.
“Faith, I don’t mind gettin’ th’ blame for me own sins,” he was saying, for he was still sore from Crojack’s faultfinding, “but ’tis the takin’ av other people’s upon mesilf that makes me feel onhealthy. I’ve seen enough av the world t’ know that it don’t pay t’ take overmuch responsibility.
“There was a case av th’ kind happened aboard th’ Eagle, frigate, whin I was captain av th’ maintop, and used t’ teach my fellows how t’ swing a cutlass an’ handle a pistol without making it safer t’ be an inimy than a friend. This, av course, I did whin I was on deck.
“We was in Havana, an’ ’twas hot work drillin’ there, but it wouldn’t have been so bad if th’ owld man hadn’t shut down on th’ beer. As it was, th’ men tried all kinds av ways t’ get th’ stuff on deck from th’ shore. Sometimes they would try and concale it in their clothes, in order to get it aboard, but it was a poor way whin so many was thirsty.
“Finally, th’ bhoys got hold av an idea to float th’ stuff down th’ tideway by th’ keg at night, an’ thin pull it aboard over th’ cat-head whin no one was lookin’.