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Updated: July 31, 2024
"You, Captain Doane, can't raise another penny on your properties. My land still grows the wheat that brings the ready. You, Simon Nishikanta, won't put up another penny yet your loan-shark offices are doing business at the same old stands at God knows what per cent. to drunken sailors. And you hang the expedition up here in this hole-in-the- wall waiting for my agent to cable more wheat-money.
"You've got their goats, but I've got your number. Not for two billion billion cents would you excite me into callin' it right now. Big John! Just carry that case of beer across, an' that half case, and store in my boat. Nishikanta, just start something, if you've got the nerve."
A glance at this, and at the many men of fore and aft, demonstrated that it was to be a perilously overloaded boat. "We want the sailors with us, at any rate they can row," said Simon Nishikanta. "But do we want you?" Grimshaw queried gloomily. "You take up too much room, for your size, and you're a beast anyway."
And Simon Nishikanta, in his grouch, disdaining to reply, would continue to pepper the last whale into flight beyond the circle of the sea their vision commanded. "I remember the whaleship Essex," the Ancient Mariner told Dag Daughtry. "It was a cow with a calf that did for her. Her barrels were two-thirds full, too. She went down in less than an hour. One of the boats never was heard of."
He fetched up against Captain Doane, whose grip had been torn loose from the rail. Both men crumpled down on deck with the wind knocked out of them. Nishikanta leaned cursing against the side of the cabin, the nails of both hands torn off at the quick by the breaking of his grip on the rail.
On the schooner Eugenie he sailed with Captain Kellar, his second master, and on the beach at Tulagi lost his heart to Steward of the magic fingers and sailed away with him and Kwaque on the steamer Makambo. Steward was most in his visions, against a hazy background of vessels, and of individuals like the Ancient Mariner, Simon Nishikanta, Grimshaw, Captain Doane, and little old Ah Moy.
"I'll show I ain't a pincher," Nishikanta announced one day, after having broiled at the mast-head for five hours of sea-searching. "Captain Doane, how much could we have bought extra chronometers for in San Francisco good second-hand ones, I mean?" "Say a hundred dollars," the captain answered. "Very well. And this ain't a piker's proposition.
Simon Nishikanta did not dare, nor did he know what to do; but he was saved from his perplexity by the shout: "Here she comes!" All rushed to holding-ground, and held, while the whale broke more timbers and the Mary Turner rolled sluggishly down and back again. "Lower away! On the run! Lively!" Captain Doane's orders were swiftly obeyed.
When Simon Nishikanta, huge and gross as in the flesh he was and for ever painting delicate, insipid, feministic water- colours, when he threw his deck-chair at Scraps for clumsily knocking over his easel, he found the ham-like hand of Grimshaw so instant and heavy on his shoulder as to whirl him half about, almost fling him to the deck, and leave him lame-muscled and black-and-blued for days.
In his instinctive, spasmodic effort to maintain balance, he relaxed his clutch on the pistol, which fell into the sea. "Ha-ah!" Daughtry girded. "What price Nishikanta? I got his number, and he's lost you fellows' goats. He's your meat now. Easy meat? I should say! And when it comes to the eating, eat him first.
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