“That I did,” said O’Toole.
“What?” asked Zack Green.
“Well, Amos Jones was a frind av mine, so, if ye’ll excuse me, I’ll not say. ’Pon me whurd, I won’t.”
MURPHY OF THE CONEMAUGH
ALL deep-water ships carry mascots. As the mascot must be some kind of living creature, a cat will often supply the necessary medium for carrying on pleasant intercourse with the fickle goddess of fortune. But men on deep-water ships must be fed, especially those who live in the after-cabin or who help to form what is called the after-guard. Therefore it is not an uncommon sight to see a ship’s deck looking like a small farmyard afloat.
The clipper ship Conemaugh was noted for her long voyages. She was a product of the old school of wind-jammers and her skipper was a Yankee of Calvinistic views, who
“Proved his religion orthodox
By apostolic blows and knocks.”
He met little Murphy, the ship’s pig, the morning the youngster was brought aboard. The little fellow was in the arms of his sponsor, James Murphy, able seaman, and the way he kicked and squealed made the black moke of a cook poke his head out of the galley door and grin.
“Take good care of that fellow,” said the skipper. “Them white hogs air wuth two black ones on the West Coast, so if we don’t have to eat him I kin swap him off easy enough.”
So Murphy was put in a pen under the top-gallant-forecastle, and Jim was detailed to scrub him and otherwise attend to his wants. With all this care it would seem that he could hardly help becoming a good pig. But he was like many youngsters who have the best of care lavished upon them; that is, he was thrown with mixed company. It is very hard, however, to separate the sheep from the goats, and as luck would have it Murphy’s lot was thrown with Jim, the sailor who had the worst reputation among the mates of any man aboard the ship.