“‘Don’t spare the rations, cook,’ says the skipper. ‘Might as well go with full bellies.’
“‘You lie down, cook,’ says the skipper, ‘an’ leave me do the cookin’. Will you drown where you is, cook,’ says he, ‘or on deck?’
“Afore long the first hand give up an’ got in his berth. He was wonderful sad when he got tucked away. ’Lowed somebody might hear of it.
“‘You want t’ be called, Billy?’ says the skipper.
“‘Ay, sir; please, sir,’ says the first hand.
“‘All right, Billy,’ says the skipper. ‘But you won’t care enough t’ get out.’
“‘You’ll have t’ eat it raw, lads,’ says the skipper, with a white little grin at hisself. ‘An’ don’t rouse me,’ says he, ‘for I’m as good as dead already.’
“The second hand come down an’ ’lowed we’d better get the pumps goin’.
“‘She’s sprung a leak somewheres aft,’ says he.
Jowl an’ me an’ the second hand went on deck t’ keep her afloat. The second hand ’lowed she’d founder, anyhow, if she was give time, but he’d like t’ see what would come o’ pumpin’, just for devilment. So we lashed ourselves handy an’ pumped away—me an’ the second hand on one side an’ Jowl on the other. The _Wings o’ the Mornin’_ wobbled an’ dived an’ shook herself like a wet dog; all she wanted was a little more water in her hold an’ then she’d make an end of it, whenever she happened t’ take the notion.
“‘I’m give out,’ says the second hand, afore night.
“‘Them men in the forecastle isn’t treatin’ us right,’ says Jowl. ‘They ought t’ lend a hand.’
“The second hand bawled down t’ the crew; but nar a man would come on deck.
“Jowl went down an’ complained; but it didn’t do no good. They was all so sick they wouldn’t answer. So the second hand ’lowed he’d go down an’ argue, which he foolishly done—an’ never come back. An’ when I went below t’ rout un out of it, he was stowed away in his bunk, all out o’ sorts an’ wonderful melancholy. ‘Isn’t no use, Tumm,’ says he. ‘_It_ isn’t no use.’
“‘Get out o’ this!’ says the cook. ‘You woke me up!’
“I ’lowed the forecastle air wouldn’t be long about persuadin’ me to the first hand’s sinful way o’ thinkin’. An’ when I got on deck the gale tasted sweet.
“‘They isn’t _treatin’_ us right,’ says Jowl.
“‘I ’low you’re right,’ says I, ‘but what you goin’ t’ do?’