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Ay, Jim, says the Lord God A'mighty, 'I'm through usin' you; an' I got t' get rid o' the old Sink or Swim. I'm sorry for the cook an' the second hand an' poor Tommy Mib, says He, 'wonderful sorry; but I can't run My world no other way.
"'She'll go ashore on them boilin' rocks, says the cook. "We was sittin' in the cabin the cook an' the second hand an' me. "''Tis wonderful cold, says the second hand. "'I'm chillin', meself, says the cook. "'Chillin'! thinks I, havin' in mind the way poor Tommy Mib was took. 'Has you a pain in your back? says I.
'A scurvy trick, says you, 't' leave old Skipper Jim an' Tommy Mib in the forecastle, all alone an' Tommy took that way? A scurvy trick!" cried Docks, his voice aquiver. "Ay, maybe! But you ain't been aboard no smallpox-ship.
I never seed Skipper Jim no more; nor the cook, nor the second hand, nor poor Tommy Mib. But I'm glad the Lord God A'mighty give Jim the chance t' die right, though he'd lived wrong. Oh, ay! I'm fair glad the good Lord done that.
You ain't never knowed what 'tis t' lie in your bunk in the dark o' long nights shiverin' for fear you'll be took afore mornin'. An' maybe you hasn't seed a man took the way Tommy Mib was took not took quite that way." "Yes, I has, b'y," said Skipper Billy, quietly. "'Twas a kid that I seed." "Was it, now?" Docks whispered, vacantly. "A kid o' ten years," Skipper Billy replied.
"'Skipper Jim, says I, 'sure you isn't goin' t' put this fish on the market! "'Hut! says he. 'Jagger an' me is worryin' about the price o' fish already. "We beat about offshore for three days, with the skipper laid up in the forecastle. Now what do you make o' that? The skipper laid up in the forecastle along o' Tommy Mib an' Tommy took the way he was! Come, now, what do you make o' that?"
We was well out from shore when the skipper an' me went down t' the forecastle t' have a cup o' tea with the cook; an' we was hard at it when Tommy Mib hung his head out of his bunk. "'Skipper, says he, in a sick sort o' whisper, 'I'm took. "'What's took you? says the skipper. "'Skipper, says he, 'I I'm took. "'What's took you, you fool? says the skipper. "Poor Tommy fell back in his bunk.
'Twas the skipper that sailed the ship, too, drove her like he'd always done: all the time eatin' an' sleepin' in the forecastle, where poor Tommy Mib lay sick o' the smallpox. But we o' the crew kep' our distance when the ol' man was on deck; an' they was no rush for'ard t' tend the jib an' stays'l when it was 'Hard a-lee! in a beat t' win'ard no rush at all.
"'Docks, b'y, says he, 'we'll be liftin' anchor when we gets all the fish they is. Jagger, says he, 'wants fish, an' I'm the boy t' get un. When the last one's weighed an' stowed, we'll lift anchor an' out; but not afore. "We was three days out from Poor Luck Harbour, tradin' Kiddle Tickle, when Tommy Mib, the first hand, took a suddent chill.
Skipper, sir," said Docks, with wide eyes, leaning over the table and letting his voice drop, "I seed that man come up come tumblin' up like mad, sir, his face so white as paint. He'd seed Tommy Mib! An' he yelled, sir; an' Skipper Jim whirled about when he heard that word, an' I seed his lips draw away from his teeth. "'Over the side, every man o' you! sings he.
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