“After the manner in which you have made away with my garments, Charles, I very much doubt whether I shall make another voyage on the Mohawk. It would serve you right if I left you to your own devices. You could mend your clothes, lose your pipes, go without my desserts, and live on hash and lobscouse for years to come, besides having the satisfaction of knowing that the steward was secretly drinking bottles of ale and beer, and making way with provisions.”
The captain made a gesture as if to banish some disagreeable remembrance.
“Don’t, Rosy,—I couldn’t endure to live the way I used to. It seemed all right then, but since you’ve taken the cook, and steward and cabin in hand, it’s like a different vessel.”
This admission pleased Rose, and she answered, “Well, we shall see,” in tones which informed the captain that he was forgiven.
He put his arm about his sister’s waist and escorted her to the deck, with a sensation of having recovered a treasure whose worth had not been fully appreciated.
“It’s curious how one woman can upset everything, and raise Pandemonium in no time,” he said, aside to Mr. Rivers, a few moments later.
Orders were given for the wash-tub to be restored to its proper place, the platform about the capstan to be removed, and for everything to resume its wonted appearance.
As for Christian, Oscar and Josef, they might very appropriately have been likened to the three degrees of thankfulness. Christian, drying himself on the galley roof, represented the positive degree, and was merely thankful that Neptune had got through with him without taking his life. Josef, with one cheek lathered, felt like a fish that has been hooked, and then succeeds in escaping. He looked rather woebegone, but was thankful indeed to have escaped with such comparative comfort. But Oscar, who had now ventured part way down the main mast, had fairly baffled Neptune and his daughter; and had there been any degree beyond the superlative, it could not have been too strong to express the state of his feelings. Henceforth he regarded Miss Pitkin as a deliverer, and had she been a goddess, his veneration could scarcely have been greater.
The Mohawk crossed the Line during the afternoon on the 30th meridian of west longitude, and for all we know, Oscar and Josef are lubbers yet.