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"As you deed not fight zee day Smeeth said you stole zee whiskey, zee men " "Think ye'll be aisy," finished Hogan. "I've just ordered a change in diet," observed Madden dryly. "Oh, thin ye're goin' to give in to th' spalpeens?" "No, I've cut rations one-third and that goes!" There was a finality about the dictum that reassured his allies. "Uh-huh, Dashalong, I towld ye Misther Madden wasn't no "
The performance was hardly completed when the gong rang for supper. There were not more than a dozen men at mess. Most were of stolid English navvy type, dirty uncouth men whose gross irregular features told of low birth and evil life. The foreign element comprised an Irishman named Mike Hogan and the Frenchman whom the boys had met when they first came aboard. The crowd called him Dashalong.
"Why didn't I see it?" "Ye was lookin' astern, an' th' vissil barely turned the bow of th' dock an' her boom kissed us all th' way down. I yilled at ye, so did Dashalong an' th' silent man. Thin I got so interested in l'arnin' he could say a worrd, I quit lookin' at you complately." "I couldn't hear for the gulls I'll be all right in a minute."
"Oh, av course a frog-atin' Frinchman loike you, Dashalong, would think any kind av fish a reg'lar feast." Deschaillon leaned over to inspect his portion. "Now eet does very well to wax zee mustache, Mike." He twirled his own. Caradoc grunted disapproval of such doubtful table talk, arose and left the rough company and rough fare with supercilious condemnation.
"Smith'll have some sense when he can't get any more," he shouted in Hogan's ear. Then after a moment, "Is there nobody else to take the watch?" "There's Dashalong, sir," bellowed Mike, "but he stood last night." "How about you?" inquired Leonard. "All roight." The Celt was about to turn for the high bridge at the stern, when Madden stopped him. "When was your last watch, Mike?"
The Gaul arose, saluted, military fashion, with a clicking of heels. "Eet ees an honor, M'sieu!" Greer stared around dourly. "Hogan?" The Irishman leaped to his feet joyfully. "Oi'm wid ye, Misther Greer, and we'll bate th' long face off th' spalpeen, though I hate to hit Frinchy Dashalong, who is a good frind o' mine." All the men were up now circling about the principals.
"It's a bit of a disthurbance, Mister Madden, that's " "Zat Smeeth," put in a pinched French accent excitedly, "he says zare ees no mate, zat you " "Be quiet, Dashalong; th' gintilman can't understhand yer brogue. Smith siz ye have no authority by rights; that we should run things as we plaze; that th' bhoys should have all they want to ate; that we should have rum with aitch male, sor."
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