Black Hawk, with all his apparent verdancy, was probably his superior in general knowledge; and though he had seen the black equator on the maps, had a pretty clear idea of the meaning of the words "imaginary line."
We had light and baffling weather after crossing the line, and made but little progress for some days. We fell in company with several merchant vessels, all bound to the southward; but as they were always making the best of their way to a port of destination, they held no intercourse with us, beyond showing their national flags, and, if near enough for it to be seen, their longitude, chalked upon a blackboard, we responding in each case by showing ours. In one instance, however, we communicated with a stranger, which led to incidents both serious and ludicrous, to break the monotony of our sea life. A bark had been in sight of us all day, steering on the same course as ourselves. She had shown Dutch colors, but the wind being very light in the afternoon, the old man ordered his boat lowered, and pulled alongside of her. He was absent about a couple of hours, and returned with some Dutch cheese and other small matters. I noticed that some of the boat's crew appeared unusually jolly and demonstrative when they came alongside; but the boat was hoisted and they went forward, no attention being paid to them. It was surmised, of course, that they had been treated to a glass while on board the Dutchman. I asked Farrell, who was as happy as a lord, what the bark's name was.
"Divil a name of her I can tell ye," said Farrell; "but she belongs to some dam place or other; there's a dam about it, anyhow, 'pon my soul. I think it's Rotterdam. But they've got the good stuff there that'll warm your heart and loosen your tongue. Come here till I show ye." And dodging behind the galley, he produced from the capacious folds of his shirt a bottle of schnapps!
"Dhrink," said Farrell. "Dhrink a health to the rotten-dam Dutchman."
"But how did you manage to smuggle this on board, Farrell?"
"Ah, lave Corny Farrell alone for that! Don't say a word; Burley has the twin to it."
I was fearful we should have some trouble before the two bottles were disposed of. However, I had no idea of turning informer, but even took a small drink from Farrell's bottle, thinking there would be the less for some one else, and the more it was subdivided, the less effect it would have on any one man.
The bottles were passed round the forecastle, and there was enough to make all hands a little lively and talkative, but not enough to produce any ill effect, except in the case of the two proprietors of the bottles themselves, who had taken the lion's share at starting, and had preserved the remnants for private consumption. Old Jeff said to me, during our watch on deck, on coming out of the forecastle where he had been to light his pipe:
"Blacksmith, there'll be fun, I think, when the starboard watch is called. Farrell is pretty noisy and happy; he wont make any trouble unless it's by some wild freak; but Burley is as tight as a brick, and it's his turnout wheel. He's blowing about his rights, and swears he wont go to the wheel, nor he wont stand a watch; so I think there'll be fun, for Mr. Dunham wont stand much nonsense with him."