Who Fell From Aloft?

THROUGHOUT the dark November day a dense bank of fog had hung like a pall over the heights of Isle au Haut, leaving to view only a fringe of gloomylooking spruces clinging to gray ledges near the water’s edge. As night came on, the fog settled down and remorselessly swallowed everything in sight, excepting here and there the blurry glimmer of a light in one of the straggling houses close to the shore of the Thoroughfare.

A drizzling rain also set in, and the freshening southeast wind blew in fitful gusts across the narrow harbor, ruffling its waters into miniature whitecaps, and beating the halliards of a few belated herring boats against their masts in a ceaseless tattoo. Occasionally the faint bleat of sheep came through the fog, from up among the boulders of Kimball’s Island, while during the lulls of wind the sea’s dull rote could be heard, as a long ground swell tumbled and churned among the kelps on the East Side.

On board the ancient pinky Rainbow, of Brandon’s Cove, old Skipper Rufus Condon and his two men had passed the day chiefly in their bunks, asleep; rousing merely to eat, and eating, as the skipper said, merely to smoke afterwards, but as usual denouncing the prevailing spell of weather as without doubt the longest and dirtiest and altogether the most assuredly condemned ever experienced by fishermen since the Concord fight.

As the old man poked his shaggy white head through the scuttle, intending to put up the riding-light for the night, he was hailed by a townsman, Skipper Lemuel Spurlin, who with his three sons navigated the little schooner Quickstep, then lying at anchor but a few lengths away.

“Uncle Rufe!” cried he. “What was it they called the ole Gertrude Withington after she was sold furrin that time ? ”

“Lemme see ! Tell ye in a minute!” answered the old man. “Falls o’ Ettrick, I b’lieve ’t was! Some sich gawk of a name, anyways! Yas, that’s jes’ what ’t was, — Falls o’ Ettrick! ”

“ Wal, ” shouted Skipper Spurlin, “seems ’s though she ’s gone to kingdom come! She laid her bones on the Diamon’ Shoal that last heavy breeze o’ wind we had! ”

“Git out, you!” exclaimed Uncle Rufe, setting his lantern on the deck. “How in blazes did ever you git holt o’ that?”

“ Why, Hoddy, here, he ’s been ashore this aft’noon, an’ made out to drum up a paper somewheres! ” replied Lemuel. “I was only jes’ now readin’ into her where the English ship Falls o’ Ettrick had went onto the Diamon’ Shoal an’ broke up in that ole twister of a breeze we had last week! It come acrosst me all to once that was jes’ what them parties called the ole Gerty the time she was sold outen the Cove! I’ll take an’ fetch the paper over to ye soon ’s ever we down a mug o’ tea! ”

Shortly after the Quickstep’s dory bumped alongside, and Skipper Lemuel and his three strapping’sons were soon lighting their pipes in the Rainbow’s warm cuddy. After relieving his mind with great freedom concerning the weather, and exchanging expert opinions as to the further prospect of herring, the skipper took out a crumpled newspaper, and, putting on his glasses, read aloud with much precision the item referred to.

“Wal,” said Uncle Rufe, with something of a sigh, “seems ’s though the ole gal ’s gone, then. That ’s her, without no doubt! Wal, wal. Sich is life. She was the very last one o’ the square-riggers ever they sot up there to home, an’ one o’ the best built ships ever left the state o’ Maine, ’lowin’ I ’m any jedge. I see every stick o’ timber went into her, an’ was one o’ the gang to calk her, an’ I ’ll gurrentee you could n’t strike ary holler seam into her from the garboards chock to the wales! ”

“A consid’ble smart-appearin’ packet she was, too, I alius called her,” said Skipper Spurlin. “To be sure, I wa’n’t only a young shaver the time she was launched, but I see her afterwards quite a few times a-loadin’ there to Portlan’ ; an’ then ole lady Withington she ’s got a set-fired great paintin’ of her that hangs there into the settin’ room, — every dog-gone thing aboard pict’red out complete, now I tell ye! Prob’ly it ’s one the Ole Sir hisself had drawed soinewheres.”

“Lord, you ! ” exclaimed Uncle Rufe. “I was 'long on him the time he had it took. ’T was one o’ them Frenchmen done that job, there to Havre. Yas, there wa’n’t nothin’ the matter with the ole Gerty’s looks, an’ she was full better ’n what she looked to be,

— there ’s where the beauty on ’t come in! Burdensome, ye know; more ’n an av’rage good sailer, an’ stiff’s a blame’ church, even with a swep’ hold! Speakin’ ’bout the time she was launched, though, why, I was there, too, that day, myself, an’ ain’t only got a couple o’ toes to my right foot on account on’t! ”

“ Sho! I want to know! ” said Skipper Lemuel. “Git ketched someways, did ye ? ”

“Wal, yas, I kind o’ thought so,” replied the old man. “Ye see I was consid’ble spry them days, an’ so they turned to an’ picked me out to knock away the dog-shore at the launchin’. That ’s the very last thing that holds the vess’l, ye know, an’ whoever has the job o’ knockin’ of it away is liable to do some pooty tall hustlin’ to git out from un’neath on her with a whole hide. Some folks I know would n’t try to git out at all, but soon ’s ever they ’d made out to knock away this here dog-shore, they ’d take an’ scrouch down betwixt the ways jes’ snug’s ever they could git, an’ let the ship an’ the whole bus’niss slide over ’em!

“That allus ’peared to me like takin’ ’most too damn many chances, though, so quick’s ever I ’d knocked everythin’ clear, an’ see the ship commence a-movin’, I fetched a leap to git out; but seems ’s though there was grease from offn the ways on the sole o’ my boot, so’s’t I slipped an’ made a bad misgo on ’t. ’T was a dod-blowed wonder the tar wa’n’t all squat outen me, but someways this here foot ’peared to take the heft on ’t, an’ ole Dr. Copwell he took an’ trimmed them toes down slick ’s a whistle.”

“Wal, there, you!” exclaimed the skipper. “That’s the fust time ever I heern tell o’ that! I knowed you went a number o’ v’yages offshore into the Gerty ’long o’ the Ole Sir, an’ I allus heern tell how you see some dretful cur’us works aboard on her.”

“Godfrey mighty, you! ” interrupted Uncle Rufe. “That was after she was sold furrin. She wa’n’t the Gertrude Withington no longer then. She was flyin’ the English flag, an’ luggin’ deals from Quebec to Liv’pool.”

“Oh, was that it? For king’s sake, how ever come you shippin’ aboard one o’ them English timber droghers up to Quebec there ? ”

“Wal,” said the old man, tapping the ashes from his pipe, “I ’ll tell ye. ’T was jes’ on account o’ the fancy wages they was offerin’. Them timber ships as a gin’ral rule was loaded out o’ all reason, ye see, an’ slues on ’em was lost ’fore ever they’d git clear o’ the Gulf o’ St. Lawrence. Come ri’ down to the fine thing, betwixt you an’ me an’ the win’lass-bitts, there was so damn much insurance took out on ’em, I cal’late some on ’em could n’t make out to swim with it; but fin’ly there come a time when they was put to it to find crews for the blame’ ole coffins, without they ’d pay more ’n the goin’ wages.”

“Set-fire, you! I sh’d say so!” cried Skipper Spurlin. “Seems’s ef it was a kind o’ duberous sight a-shippin’ ’fore the mast into one o’ them things, you. Double an’ thribble the goin’ wages would n’t been no objec’ to me.”

“Yas, yas, I un’stan’,” said Uncle Rufe. “I dunno what possessed us them days, but there was consid’ble many o’ our folks turned to an’ shipped into them same droghers out o’ Quebec there. We ’d turn to an’ ship jes’ only by the run to Liv’pool, ye see, an’ like’s not make high ’s seventy or eighty dollars out on ’t. Then we ’d take an’ git aboard a steamer an’ give it to her back ag’in, an’ ship into another drogher right away, so’s’t there was dollars into it ef only your luck was tol’ble good! ”

“Wal, but ’lowin’ how a feller’s luck wa’n’t none too good, he was liable to git snubbed up with a round turn, all stannin’! ” said the skipper. “But I ’ll tell ye, Uncle Rufe, I wisht to gracious you ’d turn to an’ reel us off the true hist’ry o’ them hell-fired goin’s-on you see aboard that vess’l. I ’ve heern tell how it was a sight wuss racket ’n what you see aboard the ole Harvester that time. ”

“Wal,” said Uncle Rufe, “they was cur’us works, the two on ’em, an’ I never asked nobody to b’lieve ary one, myself. Allst ever I say is jes’ this much: I seen this thing with my own eyes, but ’s fur ’s you or anybody is concerned, why, you can take it or leave it, as the feller says. It ain’t no sich a very lengthy yarn, anyways.

“I went a couple o’ v’yages offshore ’long o’ ole Cap’n Withington into the Gerty, an’ then brother Ephe he coaxed me to stop to home a spell, an’ go hand-linin’ ’long o’ him into a little jigger he’d jes’ bought. We hung to that a number o’ seasons, an’ ’t was jes’ then them Englishmen gafted onto the Gerty. I never knowed at the time what it was they called her, nor nothin’ only that she ’d been sold furrin for a crackin’ ole price.

“Wal, fin’ly one night we was onlucky ’nough to strike the jigger on the tail end o’ the Hue an’ Cry up home there. ’T was thick o’ fog an’ rough ’s a grater out there, ye know; jes’ breakin’ a clean torch everywheres. The creetur she dropped offn a sea, an’ jes’ fetched one dod-blasted clip, but never stopped goin’ a mite, an’ we made out to git her in home someways. Come to find out, she’d started her sternpost pooty bad, an’ stove the keel to flinders chock aft, so’s’t Ephe he had to haul her up for repairs; an’ then thinks I, bedide ef I don’t try a trip or so into one o’ them timber ships they was all tellin’ ’bout.

“I took an’ put her for Quebec, an’ run afoul o’ this here ship the fust thing, all loaded an’ ’most ready to sail. Quick ’s ever I see her I knowed she was Yankee-built fast ’nough, though there ’t was painted on her stern plain’s daylight, ‘ Falls o’ Ettrick, Sunderland ; ’ but come to once git aboard, an’ ’t wa’n’t only a short time ’fore I’d bated dollars to doughnuts she was the Gertrude Withington. They’d turned to an’ changed her over into full ship rig, an’ painted her all up diff’rent; an’ besides that, she was nigh buried out o’ sight un’neath a tormented great deckload o’ deals; but still there was a number o’ things I twigged pooty quick, so’s’t there wa’n’t no doubt in my mind but what she was the ole Gerty for sure.

“There wa’n’t ary one o’ the crew knowed the fust blame’ thing ’bout her, mind ye, but soon ’s ever the chance showed up I took an’ sounded the mate on the subjic’, an’ he ’lowed right off ’t was jes’ how I thought.

“Wal, o’ course I was kind o’ pleased like to git aboard the ole packet ag’in so fashion, bein’ how I ’d seen her built an’ launched, an’ had made r’ally my fust deep-water v’yage into her, let alone o’ bein’ ter’ble well acquainted ’long o’ ole Cap’n Withington ever sence I knowed anything at all. An’ besides all that, ’s I say, she was a gran’ good, dry, comfort’ble creetur to go into, take it ’most any kind o’ chance, but ye see it did ’pear so sort o’ sing’lar the way I’d fell in ’long of her ag’in that nat’rally I made some consid’ble amount o’ talk ’bout it forrard there amongst the rest part o’ the crew.

“They was a tol’ble clever class o’ fellers that trip, take ’em by an’ large, but there was one hard-lookin’ ticket in pertikler amongst ’em that come aboard crazy drunk, an’ kep’ so long after everybody else had sobered off. When he did fin’ly git hisself straightened out, he turned to in good shape, an’ ’peared to be a proper sailor man; but still there was allus suppn ’bout the cut o’ the feller’s jib I could n’t go nohow. Seems’s though he wa’n’t the leastways anxious to chum in ’long o’ nobody, an’ it ’s damn sure nobody did n’t hanker for no truck 'long o’ him! To look at the cuss, nine out o’ ten would set him down for a reg’lar-built Dago, without no efs nor an’s about it; but the steward he ’lowed the feller had shipped under the name o’ McLaren, an’ had give out how he was a Novy Scoshy Scotchman. Anyways, McLaren is how he was called ’board the ship, though ’most any pore fool would knowed that wa’n’t his right name, not by a jugful!

“Wal, ’s I was sayin’, I’d been in the habit o’ makin’ more or less talk about this here ship Falls o’ Ettrick bein’ the ole Yankee bark Gertrude Withington; but this here yallermugged Portogee Novy Scoshyman he seldom ever set round 'long o’ the rest part on us, without ’t was jes’ to bolt his grub same ’s a dog, an’ git out ag’in, so’s’t seems ’s though he ’d never heern none o’ this talk till one time it come round that somebody happened to speak it right out afore him ’bout my bein’ a towny o’ ole Cap’n Withington’s, an’ goin’ into the vess’l when she was a Yankee bark in room o’ bein’ an English timber drogher.

“Wal, sir, that blame’ Dago he set there shovelin’ in his supper horrid, same ’s usual; but quick ’s ever he heern this here talk he sort o’ choked up like, an’ bedide, now, ef he did n’t jes’ turn some consid’ble white round the gills! The cuss tried his dingedest to pass it off, though, but I took notice he was all of a tremble the whole length on him; an’after this here, seems’s though he acted even queerer ’n what he had afore. He ’d allus try to sneak off all soul alone by hisself, ef ’t was a pos’ble thing; an’ come to that, his actions the whole time was for all the world same ’s though he cal’lated folks was a-watchin’ an’ huntin’ of him like.

“But I know I ketched him dezens o’ times givin’ me his ugly black looks, jes’ eggsac’ly same ’s though he was fairly itchin’ for a chance to knife me in the back, ye know; an’ ’t wa’n’t jes’ only me that twigged it, neither, for the ole steward he come one time an’ gimme warnin’ to keep a good sharp eye to wind’ard for that feller. Ole steward he 'lowed how he ’d been shipmates 'long o’ them Dagos so’s’t to know ’em root an’ branch, — a bloody sight better ’n what he wanted to, ’s ’e; an’ he 'lowed this one had a bad gredge ag’in’ me for suppn or other, that was dead sure, though what under the livin’ canopy he was down on me for in pertikler I could n’t noways make out to fathom. I never even so much ’s see him that I knowed on ’fore comin’ aboard the ship, an’ sence then I ’d took oath him an’ me had n’t had no kind o’ truck together one way or t’ other.

“Come to keep turnin’ of it over, though, I could n’t seem to rec’lec’ seein’ of him gimme none o’ them cutthroat looks o’ hisn till after the time he overheern the talk ’bout my bein’ acquainted 'long o’ the vess’l the way I was. Wal, I bothered my head some consid’ble for a spell tryin’ to put this an’ that together, but I could n’t never ’pear to make no great sight o’ headway.

“ ’T was plain ’nough that findin’ out that night ’bout the ship’s bein’ the ole Gertrude was the biggest kind o’ s’prise party to him, an’ it was jes’ so plain he did n’t love me none the better for claimin’ to know so much ’bout her. Them two things I could see all clear enough; but whenever I’d git that fur, I’d be sure to fetch up all stannin’, an’ so bimeby the thing pooty much dropped out o’ mind altogether.

“The blame’ Dago he kep’ on skulkin’ round same ’s ever, but never once opened his face to me, nor to nobody else for that matter, an’ we ’d made out to wiggle the ole craft somewheres nigh half acrosst the big pond, when 'long in the aft’noon one day it shet in thick o’ fog on us; an’ ef ever it was thick o’ fog, that air was the time, too, — one o’ them proper ole black, dreepin’ fogs, ye know, jes’ thick ’s ma’sh mud, so’s’t you could n’t begin to see nothin’ like the length o’ the vess’l. It ’d bunch up into great big drops on every namable thing you ’d lay hand on, an’ I rec’lec’ plain ’s can be the stiddy dreepin’, dreepin’ it kep’ up offn the spars an’ riggin’, same ’s so much rain in the summer time.

“An’ soon’s ever it come night, wal, bedide, now, but did n’t it everlastin’ly make out to be some black, though! It could n’t been no darker’n what ’t was that night, noways they could rigged it, —jes’ a reg’lar out-an’-out dungeon it was, — an’ that fog would soak up a light so’s’t thirty foot off you ’d scurcely know she was lit ’t all!

“The ole man, I know, he was chockfull o’ trouble, frettin’ an’ stewin’ around, him an’ the mate together, ’bout keepin’ an extry good lookout there forrard, an’ all that; though Lord knows, for all the good a lookout was sich a chance as that, he might full better be turned in, with a blanket hauled over his head. What mod’rit little air o’ wind there was that day had been out here to the south’ard an’ east’ard, but it kep’ peterin’ out after sundown, an’ I know when it come our watch there wa’n’t so much ’s a breath from nowheres, —jest a perfec’ stark dead calm she was, so’s’t the ship had lost every mite o’ steerageway.

“There was one o’ them long-drawed ole seas on, ye know, an’ the creetur she ’d fell off, an’ laid there wallerin’ right in the trough, a-rollin’ an’ rollin’ away, oh, ter’ble slow an’ lonesome like, with the sails aloft givin’ out little easy flaps every time she fetched up, an’ sendin’ down a spatter o’ them big drops atop o’ the deckload.

“Wal, I was stannin’ somewheres ’bout ’midships, I know, an’ this here Novy Scoshy Dago, it was his trick to the wheel, ye un’stand. The second mate he was aft too there somewheres, an’ the rest part o’ the watch was scattered round one place an’ another. There did n’t ’pear to be ary man talkin’ a word, neither. Someways it made out to be so cussed still an’ black that night, seems ’s though all our tails was sort o’ down like, though prob’ly nobody would n’t owned up to it then.

“All to once, whacko! there come the ongodliest ole thump right on deck chock aft there, so’s’t the ship jarred the whole length on her, an’ ’most the very same instant that set-fired Dago let go a screech outen him, I swan, fit to turn the blood cold in your veins!

“Then the second mate he up an’ commenced yellin’ somebody had fell from aloft, an’ all hands on us made a break aft. The ole man he turned to an’ fetched a light outen the cabin quick’s ever he could, an’, sir, layin’ right there on the quarter-deck, jes’ forrard o’ the wheel, betwixt it an’ the after end o’ the house, was a heap o’ suppn dressed in oilskins, an’ a big pool o’ blood dreeblin’ out from un’neath on ’ t! ”

“Sho, you! ” exclaimed Skipper Lemuel.

“Gospel truth,” said the old man. “McLaren he ’d fell forrard acrosst his wheel in a dead faint, with his arms hangin’ down limp an’ swingin’ every time the rudder kicked an’ give it a spoke or two one way or t’ other.

Seems’s ef I could see him there this minute, doubled over that way for all the world same ’s ef he was stoopin’ down so’s’t to git a close squint at this here thing on deck in front on him! Wal, now, ef there wa’n’t the devil’s own shindy aboard that ship! The ole man he took his lamp an’ tried to find out who it was that had fell, though so fur ’s known there wa’n’t nobody aloft, anyways; wa’n’t no airthly call for it, ye know. They took an’ kind o’ straightened the thing out so’s’t to git a look at the face, an’ we see he was a big, black-lookin’ devil; but, sir, there wa’n’t ary soul aboard knowed who ’t was, not ef they was to swing for it! ”

“Wal, I ’ll be jiggered! ” cried the skipper. “Wa’n’t none o’ your folks missin’ nor nothin’ ? ”

“Nary one o’ the ship’s comp’ny wa’n’t missin’, that was a blame’ sure thing, an’ you can bate them fellers commenced to git nerved up in good shape over the bus’niss! McLaren had been lugged below, an’ soon ’s ever he come to hisself we tried to git suppn outen him ’bout it; but seems ’s though the feller had flew right offn his nut complete, an’ allst in the world he ’d do was to jabber away stiddy mostly in some dod-blasted outlandish lingo or other, an’ keep a-rollin’ them big, wildlookin’ eyes o’ hisn fit to beat creation.

“Wal, the boys all the time was gittin’ more an’ more worked up, ye see, an’ commencin’ to take on the very wusst way. Every mother’s son on ’em ’lowed how the ole man had ought to turn to an’ heave the dod-blasted thing to hell overboard quick ’s ever he could; but he kep’ a-hangin’ back like, a-backin’ an’ fillin’, an’ tryin’ to quiet ’em down someways. For one thing, I know he would have it the feller was a stowaway; but set-fire! he knowed better all the time ’n to talk sich stuff ’s that to us! There the ship’s hold was stowed chock-a-block full o’ lumber jes’ solid’s you could pack it, an’ there wa’n’t no sight at all no place else for ary livin’ soul to take an’ hide hisself away for a fortni’t goin’ on three weeks, same’s he must ha’ done. An’ ’lowin’ there was some feller made out to stow hisself aboard, what in the name o’ reason should possess him to turn to an’ go aloft a dirty black night same ’s that was ?

“ No, siree, sir! The ole man he could n’t make out to shove no sich guff ’s that down our throats, not much he could n’t! There wa’n’t ary one on us cal’lated to turn in ag’in with that dev’lish thing in oilskins layin’ aboard the ship, an’ I guess, ef the truth was known, both mates felt ’bout the same ’s we done. Anyways, they held a number o’ confabs 'long o’ the ole man, an’ fin’ly seems’s though he come to see ’t wa’n’t no good buckin’ ag’in’ the whole on us, so fashion.

“Bedide, now, you! I won’t un’take to say but what there ’d been a risin’ aboard that hooker ef he had n’t give in jes’ he did! You take the common run o’ hands afore the mast ye know, an’ they ’ll most gin’ally put up with a sight o’ crowdin’ most ways, but sure ’s ever you live, now, I tell ye the ole man’s head was level when he turned to an’ give us leaf to take an’ heave the thing over the side that same night.

“But come to git ri’ down to it, though everybody wanted to be red o’ the hell-fired thing the wusst ole way, still there wa’n’t ary man into the whole ship’s comp’ny that darst to up an’ tech of it. The mate he tried orderin’ an’ coaxin’ this one an’ that one, but he could n’t stir. nobody to make ary move, when all to once, be dinged ef that there luny McLaren did n’t fetch a spring out on deck an’ yells fit to stund ye like, 'I ’ve handled him once, an’ I can ag’in! ’ ’s ’e.”

“Wal, I ’ll be jig—’’essayed Skipper Spurlin again, but Uncle Rufus cut him short.

“They’d pooty nigh stripped the cuss below there, tryin’ to fetch him to, ye know, an’ I ’m tellin’ of ye he did look some desp’rit the time he give that tiger leap an’ grappled ’long o’ that thing on deck there! Up he picked it same ’s ef ’t wa’n’t no heft at all, an’ whisked acrosst deck to the rail ’fore ever we ’d r’ally took it in, an’ was jes’ in the very act o’ endin’ of it up so’s’t to give it a header, when, true’s ever I ’m settin’ here, that air hell-fired thing fetched a twist, wropped two big, long arms clean round McLaren, an’ the pair on ’em div over the rail together! My soul an’ body, but that’s the hones’ truth; an’ jes’ they done so, up come the dog-gonedes’soundin’ laugh ever was heern yit, I ’ll gurrentee! ”

“By the jumpin’ Judas, you!” gasped Skipper Lemuel, his eyes protruding like those of a gigantic lobster. “That air jes’ doos make out to — wal, there, I ’ll be everlastin’ly jiggered, swan to man ef I won’t! ”

“Wal, sir, then there was hell to pay an’ no pitch hot, now don’t you go to thinkin’ there wa’n’t!” continued Uncle Rufus, not heeding his visitor’s interruption. “The ole man an’ the mates was yellin’ to launch a bo’t, an’ to heave ’em a cork jacket, an’ to do I dunno what not, but now sure ’s you live, there wa’n’t none o’ that crowd would git into no bo’t; not that night they would n’t! The ole man he swore how McLaren had fell overboard, or else jumped over of his own accord; but there! we all seen ourselves jes’ how it was, an’ I cal’late there wa’n’t ary man but what would n’t stood keelhaulin’ sooner ’n took chances into a bo’t after them two jes’ that pertikler time. There was a pair o’ life-preservers hove after ’em, an’ some on ’em made out to pry over a stick o’ timber from offn the deckload; though o’ course they done it jes’ by way o’ sayin’ they done suppn, for everybody knowed nothin’ in God’s world would n’t be no good.

“Wal, for a consid’ble spell there wa’n’t much else talked on aboard that packet, I tell ye ; but bimeby the thing kind o’ blowed over like, same ’s them things doos, ye know, in time. I left her there to Liv’pool, an’ the very fust time I was to home there, I made it a p’int to jes’ go right up an’ see ole Cap’n Withington. I ’d been mullin’ the thing over to myself pooty much all the time, ye see, tryin’ to git at the true bearin’s some ways or ’nother, so I took an’ walked up to the Ole Sir’s place there, an’ put it to him plain an’ fair was ever there ary cuttin’ scrape or ary great shakes of a row aboard the Gertrude after I ’d left her.

“ ‘ No, ’ says the Ole Sir right away. ‘ No,’ ’s ’e, ‘ there never was no cuttin’, nor no trouble ’t all to speak on, without, ’ ’s ’e, ‘ without it was on the last trip but one ever I made into her, ’ ’s ’e. ‘There was a Portogee, or some sich outlandish man, took a tumble from offn the mizzen tops’l yard one night, an’ killed hisself deado; an’ what’s more,’ ’s ’e, ‘they allus mistrusted most damnly how there was foul play mixed up into it. ’ ”

At this, Skipper Spurlin was once more moved to declare his expectation of being jiggered throughout all time, while the others also evinced a lively interest in various ways; but, pausing merely solemnly to reassure them of his strict adherence to facts, Uncle Rufus proceeded: —

“Seems ’s though there was these two outlandish men shipped aboard the Gerty for the run to Havre from Mobile with cotton,—one big one, an’ one kind o’ mejum-sized feller. Seems’s though there was bad blood betwixt ’em from the fust, an’ the big one he was allus an’ forever pickin’ on the other feller like, an’ thumpin’ of him round, so’s’t the small one was heern more ’n once to make his threats how he ’d git a come-uppance someways.

“Seems ’s though them two was aloft on the mizzen tops’l yard this here wet, dirty night, an’ some o’ the boys was knowin’ to it they ’d had an extry lively failin’ out that very same af’noon. Wal, sir, the big one he fin’ly come down an’ struck the quarter-deck same’s a thousan’ o’ brick,—killed hisself deader ’n forty herrin’,—an’ his pardner give out how the footrope had parted un’neath the pair on ’em, an’ how he like to have fell hisself; but mind ye, every soul that see that piece o’ riggin’ ’lowed how’t had been cut with a knife, in the room o’ partin’, so’s’t they did n’t make no bones ’bout layin’ the job right plumb to this here Dago, an’ got the cuss fairly skeered of his life ’fore ever they made port.

“Ole Sir, there, he ’lowed how he was like to have clapped the feller in irons an’ give him up soon ’s ever they got in, but seems ’s though they was ter’ble short-handed that time, so’s’t he kep’ lettin’ the thing go, an’ the bloody cut-throat made out to give ’em the slip ’fore ever the ship was docked there to Havre. Ole Sir he turned to, that time I see him, an’ overhauled his chist o’ logbooks so’s’t to show me the eggsac’ entry where the big Dago was killed that way.

“So there, now you have the whole bus’niss complete. I could n’t seem to read the thing jes’ right at fust, but same time I wa’n’t so tormented numb but that I could see through a millstone quick’s ever the hole showed up good an’ plain! ”

George S. Wasson.