“I soon discovered that the two steerage cronies, the carpenter and the cooper, with the sable master of the coppers himself, were engaged in a solemn conclave. The two whites were great friends; though no two men could appear more unlike in person and character. The carpenter, a Kennebunk man, was short and thickset, as slow and heavy in his motions as an elephant, with a broad, solemn face, as beardless and bare of expression as a plain of sand, with the nose like a ruined obelisk, rising out of it; while the hooper of staves, as straight and thin as a lath, with sharp features, restless, ferrety eyes, and a nose like a cockatoo’s upper mandible, was the very impersonification of an old blue presbyter, on a cruise. These two fellows were the chief manufacturers of the legends set afloat in the ship; nothing escaping the cooper’s eyes and ears, which was deemed worthy of being poured into the carpenter’s brain, from whence, by the slow process of infiltration, it was given in its strength, drop by drop, as it were, to the crew. This I had learned from the second mate; and as the slide of the galley door was partly open on the side facing Muscat Island, as if to let out the smoke of their pipes, and of some mess the cook was coddling in his stew-pan, I could not resist the temptation of turning eaves-dropper for once, and accordingly, sat quietly down on the spars to listen.
“The man of chips was speaking, with the slow gravity of an oracle, and as his dull, dogged voice met my ear, I could not but think it fortunate that I chanced to light upon the party at the very moment I did.
“ ‘You think now, my lads,’ said he, ‘that you have made a prime v’y’ge, with forty-five hundred b’rr’ls sparm ile in the ship, and the tryworks down—you, Bungs, with a good lay[[8]] and no finger in the slop-chist—and the doctor, with his ten b’rr’ls of slush extra, besides his perquisites for washing the mate’s clothes for twenty odd months—wait till the anchor’s down in Bedford Bay, before you crow, my lads. For my part, unless some lucky chance, as you knows nothin’ of now, turns up, I no more looks to see home in this ship than I looks for to see the new mate to turn missionary, or the skipper to kneel down to the sun with the old Parshee—and eyther aire a long way from my thoughts, I kin tell you. Isn’t the ship haunted in the cabins; and ar’n’t there two Jonases, at least, on board—and another that I knows of—not to speak of him that’s gone to his reckonin’, with murder on his soul, as sartin as we three be settin’ here, as helpless as so many gonies with fish-hooks in their beaks.’
“ ‘What kin a man do, Chips?’ answered the cooper, apparently much moved with this pleasant prospect of his crony’s. ‘If we stir tack or sheet, in the way you seem to pint, it’s mutiny—and we all know what that leads to. If we makes a complaint to this here bashaw, or sultan, or whatsoever he calls hisself, ten staves to a whitlin’, that the skipper, or the old yaller nabob with the Teneriffe-cap—as they say kin do a great deal here in his way—turns it all into gammon. If you, old head, can see through this traverse, why don’t you say so at once—all among friends—instead of bullragin’ a feller about a matter as he kin no more work out of than a suckin’ whale kin stem a strong current?’
“Here I could hear him whiffing his pipe in high dudgeon, while the other, lowering his voice to a true sea-croak, answered him all the cooler; feeling his way, as I thought, to some plan of his own, which I was doubly anxious to get at, as both men, from their stations in the ship, had considerable influence with the crew.
“ ‘Thar be some things so dark, d’ye mind,’ said the oracle, ‘that no man kin see through ’em till the Lord’s own time—and some as no man—not even them as is concarned the deepest—kin give a reason for, no more than you kin tell me why a whale always dies with his head toward the sun. As I takes it, this matter about the mate and the skipper’s wife be of this sort.
“ ‘Hows’iver, this much be sartin—eyther we must git rid o’ the two Jonases, which is left, or the old Tartar are a doomed craft—ship and cargo. Now, for the steward—t’other one once out of the way—his hash is soon settled. I’d think no more of fetchin’ him a clip with my adze than of strikin’ a shirk with a head-spade. I mistrusted the villain iver since I fust sot eyes on the yaller frontispiece of ’im, with his two gray toplights shinin’ like a cat’s in the dark. He’s as deep in as t’other, and without his reason, it may be—hows’iver, to the pint—look ye, I says there’s only one man in the ship which can manhandle the bloody skipper, if he’s once put to the stumps.’
“ ‘Dat be Frank, de man-o’-war-man, I reckon,’ observed the cook.
“ ‘Or the Portagee,’ said the cooper, ‘or, if I’m to have a second guess, nearer the mark, the Kanacker, John Kapooley.’
“ ‘John Kapooley be d—d! and the rest, too,’ said old Kennebunk, scornfully. ‘I see it’s all lost time, as the students say at Cambridge, to teach a nigger a logic, or a bung-driver to sarcumvent any thing but hoops, heads and staves,’ he muttered, pushing the galley door farther open to empty his mouth, though, luckily, he did not see me, as I sat close abaft.