“No, Cap’n,” said the man, “there’s no salts’ll ever cure my sickness.”
“Why, what’s all this?” says the old man. “You must be sick if it’s as bad as all that. But come now; your cheek is all sunk, and you look as if you ain’t slept well. What is it ails you, anyway? Have you anything on your mind?”
“Captain,” he answers very solemn, “I have sold my soul to the devil.”
“Oh,” said the old man, “why, that’s bad. That’s powerful bad. I never thought them sort of things ever happened outside a book.”
“But,” said our friend, “that’s not the worst of it, Captain. At this time three days hence the devil will fetch me home.”
“Good Lord!” groaned the old man. “Here’s a nice hurrah’s nest to happen aboard my ship. But come now,” he went on, “did the devil give you no chance—no saving-clause like? Just think quietly for a moment.”
“Yes, Captain,” said our friend, “just when I made the deal, there came a whisper in my ear. And,” he said, speaking very quietly, so as not to let the mate hear, “if I can give the devil three jobs to do which he cannot do, why, then, Captain,” he says, “I’m saved, and that deed of mine is cancelled.”
Well, at this the old man grinned and said, “You just leave things to me, my son. I’ll fix the devil for you. Aft there, one o’ you, and relieve the wheel. Now you run forrard, and have a good watch below, and be quite easy in your mind, for I’ll deal with the devil for you. You rest and be easy.”
And so that day goes by, and the next, and the one after that, and the one after that was the day the Devil was due.
Soon as eight bells was made in the morning watch, the old man called all hands aft.