"I suppose we will have other deserters," said the mate, coming down and looking us over. His words were evidently intended for me.
"I don't think so, sir. Scouse doesn't mind this a bit," which was a foolish remark, but at least resulted in giving the red-head a relief.
I kept fit by getting up an hour earlier each morning than the rest of the crowd and taking a plunge overboard as a bracer, swimming about the ship. In the evening, being too dirty to give a hand in pumping out, I had the pleasure of a plunge into the cool waters before supper. I always washed out my dungarees as soon as I came up, and alternated, leaving the ones last worn to have a good sunning.
Captain Nichols saw me one noon looking rather dirty. He may have remarked the fact that he had seen me in the same state some ten days before, when the grind first started.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Cleaning out the limbers, sir."
"How do you like it?" grinning.
"Fine; wish the ship had four instead of two, sir."
This seemed to tickle the old man, and whatever he did I don't know, but the next day the mate came below and lifted a horrible fuss about the way things were dragging, with Chips at his heels saying "Yes, sir, yes, sir," so fast that the mate turned on him and asked him if he had St. Vitus's dance. "Yes, sir," answered Chips, before he realized his mistake. "Well, then, get the hell out of here and let me finish this." Four extra men were sent down and the job cleaned up the next day.
I was mighty glad when the drill was over, for to tell the truth my health was beginning to suffer from the nasty grind and the constant breathing of foul air. In the fo'c'sle, too, the boys were more than decent about it. "Well, you stuck it out," was the opinion.