Down to the Sea/The Shark
THE SHARK
THERE was a startled yell from aloft, and A Green, the ordinary seaman of the port watch, was seen clinging tightly to the jackstay of the cro'-jack yard, and peering downward. He had dropped his marline-spike, which, turning slowly over as it fell, struck the water, point first.
"My God, sir," he sang out to the mate below him on the poop, "d'you see that shark? He's long as the jib-boom, sir."
Mr. Good stepped to the taffrails and peered over, just in time to see the tip of a dorsal fin disappearing from view, and a long, dark-green, shadowy form that merged, as he looked, into the deep blue of the quiet sea. The ripples, splashed by the marline-spike, obstructed his vision; but Green, higher in the air, could see farther.
"He's swallowed the spike, sir!" he called, as he stared down with wide-open eyes. "He swam down and caught it! He gi' me such a turn, sir, when I first seen him, that I dropped it."
"Look out you don't drop yourself!" growled the mate, good-humoredly. "Come down and set another."
Green started in along the foot-rope, and as Mr. Good resumed his scrutiny of the smooth, heaving swell he was joined by the helmsman, old Munson, the patriarch of the crew and a privileged character, who, there being no wind, dared leave the wheel. As they looked a long patch of dark green appeared, then the indistinct outlines of a man-eating shark—not so long as the jib-boom, but fully fifteen feet in length. He "rose" his dorsal fin and lay quiet, just beneath the surface and six feet abaft the rudder. Old Munson groaned a weary oath and said:
"He's come for one of us, sir. He'll follow along for seven days, and then he'll get one of us. Every seven days a man goes with a shark in the wake, sir. In my last ship—"
"Never mind your last ship, old man," interrupted the mate. "Take the wheel again; and don't stir the men up with shark yarns. I'll fix that gentleman."
He went forward and returned with a harpoon; and, having met Green on his way for a marline-spike, brought him along, and had him get out from the lazarette a coil of small rope, the end of which he fastened to the harpoon.
"It's a dead-easy shot," he said, as he mounted the taffrails. "Stand by to pay out lively when I hit him," he added to Green, "and be ready to catch a turn."
Holding on with his left hand to the bail of the spanker-boom, he poised the harpoon a moment, then, softly repeating, "Dead easy," hurled it downward. There was a scarcely perceptible flirt of the shark's tail, a back push of his fins, a flurry of the surface water, and the shark had moved about a foot to starboard. The harpoon was seeking the bottom.
"Haul in!" yelled the mate—for Green was dutifully paying out. "Hell!—how'd I miss?"
He looked down at the quiescent brute, and saw, or thought he saw, one wicked little eye close in a wink.
"All right, my joker!" he said, angrily. "We'll try again."
He tried again and again—and many times, to no avail. The shark was quicker of eye and movement than he, and at last he gave it up.
"Get to your work!" he said, sourly, to Green. "Finish seizin' off those gaskets."
"Please, Mr. Good," said Green, earnestly, "put me at somethin' else. I'll fall, sir. I know I'll fall, with him a-lookin' up at me."
"Get up on the cro'-jack yard!" roared the incensed officer. "Nice state of affairs, this is! Afraid to go aloft! What's the matter wi' you, hey? Up wi' you!"
Pale of face, Green went forward for another marline-spike. Mr. Good, fuming, and uttering profane comments on the situation, began coiling the wet rope on the top of the house to dry.
"He's right, sir," ventured old Munson at the wheel. "Shouldn't wonder if he went first."
"Will you dry up?" said Mr. Good, softly but intensely, in Munson's ear. "I'll get that shark yet, but if I hear any more croaking from you I'll have you aloft night and day."
Munson subsided, and the irritated Mr. Good gave over his coiling job and went forward again, bringing back this time a shark-hook and chain, with a large piece of fat pork for bait. Also did he bring Green, who had secured a spike, but had not reached the rigging.
"Now," said the mate, as he fastened the rope to the chain, "you stand by with the end of the spanker sheet, and, if he takes the hook, make a runnin' bowline—a slip-noose, you know—around the line, so as to slip it down over his head and bring him up by the tail. Understand?"
Green did, and, dropping his spike, cleared away the rope named, while Mr. Good gently lowered the baited hook to the water. The shark backed away from it a foot or two as it floated astern, then, cautiously approaching it, nosed it a little, and nibbled the pork from the hook.
"Well, blast your heart and soul!" exclaimed the mate, in amazement. Then he hurled Green's marline-spike at him, but missed.
"What's going on here?" said a voice behind him, and Mr. Good turned to face the captain, a man the antithesis of himself in manner and appearance. The mate was old, bearded, bluff, and profane; the captain, young, smooth of face, voice, and outline; the mate, tall, thin, and angular, but with an ever-present rough good-humor; the captain, short, fat, solemn, sour, and religious. "Your language is painful to listen to, Mr. Good," he continued. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to catch that hell-fired shark, cappen; and look at what he did—ate the pork and left the hook. Who'd think he knew enough?"
"Why not, sir?" said old Munson, in his raspy voice, turning and looking earnestly at the mate. "Everybody knows that sharks are inhabited by the souls of wicked skippers and mates who were hung for murdering sailors. I may have sailed with that same—"
"Will you shut up?" then roared the mate. "If you don't, I may be a shark myself some day."
"You might find something better to do with your time, Mr. Good," said the captain, peering over the taffrails. "That is one of God's creatures. Why should you wish to kill it?
"Why? Because it's a damned shark, cappen. A murdering, man-eating shark."
"It has done you no harm, Mr. Good." The captain looked aloft. "I see the wind is hauling, and your yards will bear a little attention."
Caught in a dereliction, the mate went forward, muttering further and intense profanity, while the captain went below and Green aloft. Green moved slowly and carefully up to the yard, then slowly and carefully down and forward for the spike he had pretended to forget, by which time eight bells struck, and he remained there.
His sporting blood temporarily chilled, Mr. Good let the shark alone for the rest of that day; but at daylight next morning, it being his watch on deck, he looked over at the monster and was moved to try again. He tried, and lost more pork. Then he tried the harpoon, and lost his temper. Cursing furiously, he ran to his room and returned with a revolver, which he emptied at the shark; but, though his aim was good, the water stopped the bullets, and not one hit the big fish with force enough to disturb him. In a final outburst of rage and profanity, Mr. Good hurled the pistol at the big brute, and then, realizing what he had done, turned his profanity inward, and rebuked himself for a fool. Then the captain, aroused by the shots, appeared at his side and joined him in the rebuke.
"Why will you indulge your cruel instincts in this manner?" he asked, mildly.
"Well, cappen," growled the mate, "he's a cruel swine himself, and he's got the best o' me. I've lost my gun—'spect he's swallowed it. He eats marline-spikes. 'Twas a good gun, too. Cost me two pound ten in Liverpool."
"All you had, too," exclaimed the captain, seriously. "And you dropped it while fooling with that poor creature?"
"Wrong, cappen. I flung it at him after firin' six bullets at him."
"Oh, you miserable fool! And it was all the gun you had. I've heard you say so. Now, what'll—"
"Steady, cappen!" interrupted the mate, his face darkening. "Don't abuse me before the man at the wheel, sir. I won't stand it. Come forward a bit, if you please, and we'll talk."
The man at the wheel put on the abstracted look peculiar to all unwilling listeners, and the captain followed the mate to the weather-alley, near the poop steps.
"I know what's in your mind, cappen," said the mate. "You've no gun yourself, and depended upon me for any shootin' if the crew made trouble. Now, this is a good crew, and I don't need a gun to handle 'em; but I do need to keep 'em tranquil. And nothing upsets a crew like a shark in the wake. Besides, they wouldn't know it was my only gun if you hadn't declared yourself 'fore the man at the wheel."
"That's all right," answered the captain, peevishly. "I merely object to cruelty to dumb creatures."
"Well, I'll tell you, cappen, if you don't let me get rid of that shark you'll have to be cruel to sailors. I know sailors; I've been longer 'fore the mast than you, sir."
Few captains like such comparisons, especially if they be young and sons of owners. This one was very properly incensed.
"I care nothing for that, Mr. Good," he said, sharply. "I forbid you to torture that poor fish any more. You are setting an infamous example to those ignorant men forward, whose souls, in a measure, I feel accountable for."
"Well, I'll be damned!" said the mate, almost in a whisper.
"You certainly will be, if you persist in your evil ways," answered the captain, turning away.
"But what'll we do about that shark, cappen? He'll follow till he gets a man."
"Feed him," said the captain, turning half around. "Feed him until he is glutted, and he will leave us."
"Which man'll I chuck over first, cappen? Green? He's young and fat."
The captain turned squarely around.
"Feed him pork," he said, angrily. "Strike out a barrel of that fat Frisco pork in the 'tween-deck, and feed him until he is satisfied."
"It's down under three tiers o' lime-barrels, sir. It'll take the whole watch half a day to get at it. Won't live chickens from the coop suit him better? I've plenty other work for the men."
"Do as I tell you, Mr. Good," said the captain, sternly.
"Aye, aye, sir!" loudly answered Mr. Good. "I can do that, cappen."
As the mate had predicted, it took a half-day to get out a barrel of pork; and before the work was finished three men had contributed various articles to the omnivorous maw of the man-eater. They were of the second-mate's watch, for Mr. Good's crowd slept from breakfast until noon. Big Bill, a six-foot "Sou'wegian," too big to be handy in the contracted 'tween-deck, was sent out on the jib-boom at a tarring-down job, while his watch-mates wrestled with barrels under the second mate. Ordinarily Bill was as sure of foot and hand as a monkey, but on this occasion he had trouble with himself. Mr. Good, who, too angry and upset to sleep, was watching the ship while the second-mate was below, observed Bill flounder down from the jib foot-rope, and a moment later climb inboard and get out of sight.
Then Mr. Good, standing near the quarter-rail, noticed a tobacco-pouch float by, heard the swish of a dorsal fin, and saw the upturned white belly of the shark as he rushed at the prize. Then, unable to resist the impulse, he seized an iron belaying-pin from the rail and hurled it at the shark—but missed, as before. He also gave vent to the bad language which he thought fitting to the occasion, and then heard the captain's voice through a window:
"Mr. Good, those belaying-pins are the owner's property. You would not like it if I deducted their cost from your pay, would you?"
"Oh, damn!" growled the mate, as he moved away from the window.
As the second mate had given him his job, Mr. Good did not investigate Bill, who "soldiered" until four bells, when he came aft to take the wheel. But here he questioned him mildly.
"I dunno, sir," said Bill. "I loose my tobax-bag, und mine foot slip on der foot-rope. Den I think of dot feller under the stern, und next I know I fetch up on der martingale, sir. I yoost hold on, by golly."
"The shark got your tobacco," said the mate. "I saw him grab it."
"By golly. I bet it make him sick, sir. It make me sick, to think of him waitin' for me. Ah-ah-ah!" Bill finished with a shiver.
The man Bill relieved—a German named Swanson, nearly as old a man as Munson—was told by Mr, Good to fox off the lanyards of the weather mizzen rigging, recently set up—a job requiring tarred rope yarns, a marline-spike, and a knife. Swanson procured his material and went to work, and when he first found occasion to use his knife twirled it out of its sheath with the usual flourish. But it left his hand with the momentum given it, whirled over his shoulder, and landed on the monkey-rail; here it rattled and slid about, as though imbued with life, then fell overboard. There was the now familiar swish of the dorsal fin as the shark dove for the morsel, and Mr. Good remarked:
"If he takes that, he'll get the belly-ache. Get another knife, Swanson." But Swanson was unnerved.
"It wass a sign—a sign," he stuttered. "A sign dot I go, sir. Und Green, he go, und you—you go, sir. You loose your pistol und Bill—we all go, sir. It wass a sign."
"More of a sign that we won't go, Swanson," said the mate, in rough kindness. "Go get a knife."
Shaking his head, Swanson went forward and remained there. As it was an English ship, Mr. Good was not impelled to follow and club him aft.
Limerick, an Irishman of the second mate's watch, had gone below with rubber boots on. These had distressed him in the hot 'tween-deck, and he had removed them; and to save his socks from wear he also removed them. The result was that his feet, moist with perspiration, slaked the loose lime scattered around from the leaky barrels, and soon became so painful that he pulled the boots on for protection. But the lime still ate into his skin, and he was forced to come up on deck, where he not only rinsed his feet in salt water, but rinsed out his boots with fresh. Then, after he had donned suitable foot-gear, he hung his boots on the jib guys to dry, and in doing so one went overboard. The shark got the boot; there was no doubt of it. For, though Limerick, peering aft from the cat-head, could not see, Mr. Good, on the quarter, called the news forward.
"It wass a sign, Limerick," whined old Swanson from the fore-hatch. "We all go by der shark."
"Sign be dommed, ye old bag o' bad news!" said Limerick, coming down the forecastle steps. "I'm thinkin' o' the cost of a new pair o' gum boots from the slop-chest. If the mate 'ud let me aft I'd like nothin' better than to give the murderin' thief the other boot on the head—bad luck to him!"
The barrel of pork was brought up, and broached alongside the fore-hatch; then, when Mr. Good had eaten his dinner with the captain—at which function neither spoke to the other—he procured the fattest chunk of pork in sight and brought it aft. The captain found it convenient to be there, and, as Mr. Good dropped the pork over the taffrails, looked down with the keenest interest. The shark, as though appreciative of the effort in his behalf, made more ceremony over this contribution. Instead of a greedy rush straight for the gift, he backed away, circled around, and then headed dead-on. The pork seemed to melt into the white glimmer of the shark's upturned belly.
"That's what he likes," exclaimed the captain, enthusiastically. "Give him some more, Mr. Good."
"Aye, aye, sir!" snorted the mate. "But he doesn't like it so much as marline-spikes, pistols, baccy, and belayin'-pins, cappen; and he likes sailors' legs and arms better than all."
The captain raised his hand, and mildly said:
"Give him some more."
The mate funneled his hands and sent a mighty roar forward:
"One up—and bear a hand. An order of pork in a hell of a rush. And, say, cappen, I'm not much of a hash-slinger, but a mighty good head-waiter. Would he like some beans with his pork?"
The captain made no reply. Mr. Good was an expert seaman, and a valuable aid to one whose father owned the ship. An American named Thompson understood the order, and filled it.
"You'll get no tips in this hash-house," snarled the mate, as he took the pork from the grinning sailor. "Go for'ard and stand by for orders." Thompson departed, and Mr. Good tossed the pork to the shark. It was bolted with the same ceremony, but not so greedily.
"Will ye have some more, cappen?" asked the mate, with mock deference. "Or would he like some dessert?"
"As I said, give him all he can eat," responded the captain, with what dignity he could command.
"Once more on the rare and the greasy!" yelled the mate; and Thompson came aft with another portion of pork.
"No question about it," said Mr. Good, as he took the pork and dropped it. "That fish can never look a hog in the face again, and he'll never get a front seat in the synagogue. Holy smoke, cappen, he won't touch it."
The shark had nosed the morsel, backed away from it, and, as it floated astern, resumed his position just abaft the rudder.
"Shall I give him the latitude and longitude," asked the mate, with fine sarcasm in his voice, "so he can find it again?"
"Give him all that he can eat," answered the captain. "Surfeit him, so that he will leave us." Then he descended to his cabin.
But Mr. Good fed no more pork to the shark that day. Instead, inspired by Limerick's strong language when he limped aft to the wheel at eight bells, he did a wonderful amount of thinking, as little compatible with his duties as chief mate as was feeding pork to a shark. Limerick was in agony, he informed Mr. Good. His feet felt as though he had stepped on a hot stove. The irascible but kind-hearted old fellow called the next man to the wheel, and sent Limerick forward, following himself with appliances from the medicine-chest.
While among the men Mr. Good did his utmost, by admonition and ridicule, to counteract the influence of the two superstitious old croakers, Swanson and Munson, but with little success, even though backed by the lurid irreverence of Limerick, who was willing, he averred, to go down in a bosun's-chair and kill the shark with his one rubber boot.
Green made no secret of his terror, and whimpered unrebuked among men who, as a class, regard cowardice as the unpardonable sin. Swanson openly voiced his determination not to leave the deck while the shark was in the wake, saying he preferred going in irons to the chance of death after the "sign" given him. Big Bill was non-committal; but it was apparent that he had not recovered from the shock to his nerves. And old man Munson told yarn after yarn of the turpitude of sharks. The others of both watches shared more or less evenly the sentiments of these four. Luckily, it was fine weather, and nothing but routine work demanded that men mount the rail, but a gale of wind with a demoralized crew would be a serious proposition; and though the mate mirthfully forgave the two old croakers, he pitilessly berated Green, and drove all hands, even the crippled Limerick, up the weather main rigging to the topmast head and down the lee side before allowing them to go to supper. But the moral effect of the experiment was lost by a happening in the last dog-watch.
Though English, she was a wooden ship, and needed the daily pumping-out. When the watch was called to the pumps at seven, or, by English reckoning, three bells, a man readily mounted the rail amidships to draw a bucket of water. It was Thompson, a peculiarly efficient man, steady of head and hand—one who, under ordinary circumstances, would not indulge in horseplay or bravado; but a shark under the stern is bad for nerves, and Thompson yielded. He lowered the draw-bucket with a flourish, tilted it to fill it, hove upward with all his strength, and actually pulled himself overboard. As he fell with a splash, a cry of horror went up from the men amidships; they sprang to the rail, and threw over every rope's end in reach, then, their anxiety over Thompson dominating their fears, they swarmed to the top of the rail, ready to assist. But Thompson needed no help! There was small way upon the ship, and he arose close to the main chains. The ship was rolling heavily in the trough of a short swell, and, though this may have contributed to his loss of balance, it was his salvation now. Barely catching one iron bar with one hand, he was lifted out of water by the ship's roll, and as she plunged him back, he caught with the other hand and swung his right leg over the lower channel board. Here he rested a moment, as the ship again lifted him; but something brushed his dangling left foot, and he frantically finished his climb. As he appeared, pale and dripping, among his shipmates on the rail, a crunching sound was heard and a man sang out: "Great God, he's taken the draw-bucket, rope and all!"
Mr. Good wisely ordered the wash-deck pump rigged to prime the main pumps, and the job was finished, Thompson assisting as though nothing had happened.
Next morning Mr. Good turned out at four bells, fully an hour and a half before breakfast-time. He paid no attention to the ship, to the wind and weather, or to the washing-down of the deck, which, under the second mate, was proceeding in the customary manner. He went directly to the "bosun's-locker," and equipped himself with palm, needle, and twine, which he secreted in his pocket. Next, Chips being asleep, he sneaked into the carpenter-shop and secured a hatchet, which he tucked into his trousers. Then, hardly noticed by the busy second mate and his watch, he burrowed into the pork barrel and brought out the largest piece of greasy abomination that it contained. With this he descended the fore-hatch, and remained below until seven bells, when he emerged, carrying the pork, which had increased in size, and bore a line of big-twine stitching on one side. Passing the carpenter-shop, he again sneaked in and deposited the hatchet, then went aft, placed the pork, stitched side down, upon a bit of old canvas under the wheel-box grating, and peered over the stern. The sinister brute was still there, bluish-green in the morning light, inert but menacing. He flirted his tail and moved forward a foot; then of course it was due to refraction—Mr. Good received a wink. Mr. Good returned it, solemnly.
"Not yet, you blooming son of a ship-owner!" he said, softly. "Not yet. Wait till your friend is up." Then he washed his hands and went to breakfast with the captain.
They were not yet on speaking terms, and the meal passed off in silence; but as the mate rose he said:
"Going to feed the baby, now. Will you be up, sir?"
The captain, his eyes on his breakfast, made no answer.
"He don't look well at all this morning, sir," continued the mate, edging toward the door. "He overate himself yesterday. I don't think pork is really good for sharks, sir."
"Mr. Good," sputtered the captain, "I object to your tone. I demand that you treat me with respect. I demand that you obey my reasonable and humane wishes in regard to that shark. I order you to feed him—to surfeit him, so that he will leave us."
"Yes, sir—yes, sir," answered the mate, meekly. "But I'm a humane man myself, sir. I wouldn't give a poor shark what is not good for him, any more than I would a baby, sir. Do you think draw-buckets are bad for sharks, cappen? Marline-spikes and belayin'-pins seem to agree with him, but it might be the draw-bucket, after all—not the pork. Come up, and see for yourself, sir."
Partly mollified by his mildness, the captain rose and followed him. As they reached the taffrails eight bells sounded, the watch-below tumbled out of the forecastle, and the second mate climbed the poop steps to report to his superior the happenings of the morning watch and be officially relieved. For the moment all hands were on deck. Perhaps the mild and humane Mr. Good knew they would be.
There was little wind, and little way upon the ship. The long, bluish-green thing of horror was clearly visible in the smooth sea beneath, and, as the captain and mate looked over, moved ahead expectantly, his white belly partly showing as he canted himself, his wicked and wide-open eyes watching upward. As they looked, a pilot-fish—the usual consort of a shark—darted up to his nose from to starboard, hovered a moment, and darted back. There was a streak of shade in the water, a wave of ripples left by the dorsal fin, and in a second the shark was on the starboard quarter, gingerly devouring some scraps of the men's breakfast that had drifted aft. Mr. Good shivered, and picked up the pork.
"He seems to be hungry," said the captain.
"Well," grunted the mate, "if he's hungry, why, he ought to be fed"—he tossed over the pork—"but, as I said, cappen, I don't think pork agrees with him."
The shark, as the greasy white lump struck the water, backed away a short distance; then the pilot-fish was seen, inspecting the find, apparently with approval, for he immediately shot over to the nose of his big friend to report. The shark backed a little farther, then reversed his engines and went ahead, turning to the right. He made two complete circles around the morsel before heading straight on, but then he made for it with the speed of a torpedo-boat, turning on his side as he drew near and shooting half out of the water with the momentum after his cavernous mouth had enclosed it. Then he quietly sculled up to his post just abaft the rudder, ready for further favors.
"Give him more," said the captain.
"Very well, sir," said the mate, resignedly, "if you think pork is good for him. But I think it makes him sick." Then, funneling his hands, he sent a roar forward. "Bring that pork-barrel aft on the poop!"
It took most of the watch to get the pork-barrel aft, and the rest of the men, interested in the proceedings, climbed the rail to observe. But by the time the barrel was deposited alongside the wheel-box the shark seemed to have lost interest himself. He was moving uneasily from side to side, backing and going ahead, as though in quest of something. The pilot-fish could be seen occasionally, darting to and fro, as though sharing the mood of the shark, but never approaching too close.
"I told you, cappen," said the mate, solemnly, "that pork didn't agree with him. You can see for yourself, sir, that it's made him sick."
"Nonsense!" said the captain. "Give him another piece."
Mr. Good tossed over another lump, but it received attention only from the pilot-fish, who drifted astern with it. The big fish seemed more agitated than ever. His movements were quicker and his excursions to the right and left longer. Suddenly he stopped, elevated his nose, and belched in air a quantity of what looked like soapsuds. Then he sank and shot away to port, only to return as quickly.
"Sick," murmured the mate, "very sick. I knew it. He ought to have had some beans with his pork, or some belayin'-pins or hardware."
The captain watched with serious face. The second mate was beside him, equally observant. To one side, held to the poop by the spectacle, were the men who had brought the pork barrel aft, and scattered along the rail amidships were the rest of the crew. The shark seemed to appreciate his audience, for he was performing feats of agility now unusual to sharks; he was throwing somersaults in the air and occasionally standing on his head.
"What is the matter with him?" asked the captain, in mild wonder.
"I tell you, cappen," answered the mate, virtuously, "that you've made him sick. Pork's a rich diet. I wouldn't be so cruel to a poor ignorant brute, but you will, I see. Now you've got this on your conscience, sir, but my conscience is clear. I didn't want to torture the poor thing."
"Give him another piece," said the captain, doggedly.
Mr. Good fished out a succulent portion and flung it with all his strength at the shark, but missed.
Again the shark stopped, elevated his nose, and belched forth a deluge of white froth of a thick, creamy consistency. Then he backed away, raced furiously around in a circle, and repeated the performance. A black object whirled upward and sank.
"By the holy powers!" yelled Limerick, from the mizzen rigging, "if that ain't me boot I'm a Dutchman!"
Another violent outpouring brought momentarily to light several small black objects which might be belaying-pins, pistols, or marline-spikes. But when a rope whirled, snake-like, high in the air, they recognized the bucket-rope.
The sea around the shark was becoming milk-white and opaque, so that when he dived he was out of sight. But he did not remain long under water. He seemed to be seeking air, and would suddenly appear, shooting upward twice his length, to fall with a splash and resume his circlings and rushings. Then, after a wild and furious rush far to starboard and back to port, he sculled quietly up to the rudder, turned on his side, and lay still.
"Why, he's dead," said the captain, as the carcass floated astern. "Who would think that pork would kill a shark?"
"Who, indeed, cappen?" answered the mate, severely. "But care killed the cat, sir."
"Well, well, I don't understand." The captain went down the companionway, and the men began moving forward.
"I understand," said Limerick, wisely, as he lowered himself from the rigging. "I sh'udn't wonder, begob, if the son uv a thief's insides felt somethin' like me feet. They do say that quicklime be a powerful counter-ir-rytant. Maybe he got some lime wid his pork."
"Will you shut your jaw?" said Mr. Good, fiercely. Then, drawing near to the man, the last of the crew on the poop, he said in his ear: "Go down forrard with a broom and sweep up all that lime scattered around. I didn't have time. And keep your damn mouth shut, d'you hear?"
"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Limerick, cheerfully, as he turned away. "But d'ye know, Mr. Good, I feel powerful sorry fur the shark. I know just how he felt, sir."