- end_line
- 650
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 580
- text
- each other’s blows the first favourable opportunity that offered.
Unfortunately, Jermin at last slipped and fell; his foe seating himself
on his chest, and keeping him down. Now this was one of those
situations in which the voice of counsel, or reproof, comes with
peculiar unction. Nor did Beauty let the opportunity slip. But the mate
said nothing in reply, only foaming at the mouth and struggling to
rise.
Just then a thin tremor of a voice was heard from above. It was the
captain; who, happening to ascend to the quarter-deck at the
commencement of the scuffle, would gladly have returned to the cabin,
but was prevented by the fear of ridicule. As the din increased, and it
became evident that his officer was in serious trouble, he thought it
would never do to stand leaning over the bulwarks, so he made his
appearance on the forecastle, resolved, as his best policy, to treat
the matter lightly.
“Why, why,” he begun, speaking pettishly, and very fast, “what’s all
this about?—Mr. Jermin, Mr. Jermin—carpenter, carpenter; what are you
doing down there? Come on deck; come on deck.”
Whereupon Doctor Long Ghost cries out in a squeak, “Ah! Miss Guy, is
that you? Now, my dear, go right home, or you’ll get hurt.”
“Pooh, pooh! you, sir, whoever you are, I was not speaking to you; none
of your nonsense. Mr. Jermin, I was talking to you; have the kindness
to come on deck, sir; I want to see you.”
“And how, in the devil’s name, am I to get there?” cried the mate,
furiously. “Jump down here, Captain Guy, and show yourself a man. Let
me up, you Chips! unhand me, I say! Oh! I’ll pay you for this, some
day! Come on, Captain Guy!”
At this appeal, the poor man was seized with a perfect spasm of
fidgets. “Pooh, pooh, carpenter; have done with your nonsense! Let him
up, sir; let him up! Do you hear? Let Mr. Jermm come on deck!”
“Go along with you, Paper Jack,” replied Beauty; “this quarrel’s
between the mate and me; so go aft, where you belong!”
As the captain once more dipped his head down the scuttle to make
answer, from an unseen hand he received, full in the face, the contents
of a tin can of soaked biscuit and tea-leaves. The doctor was not far
off just then. Without waiting for anything more, the discomfited
gentleman, with both hands to his streaming face, retreated to the
quarter-deck.
A few moments more, and Jermin, forced to a compromise, followed after,
in his torn frock and scarred face, looking for all the world as if he
had just disentangled himself from some intricate piece of machinery.
For about half an hour both remained in the cabin, where the mate’s
rough tones were heard high above the low, smooth voice of the captain.
Of all his conflicts with the men, this was the first in which Jermin
had been worsted; and he was proportionably enraged. Upon going
below—as the steward afterward told us—he bluntly informed Guy that,
for the future, he might look out for his ship himself; for his part,
he had done with her, if that was the way he allowed his officers to be
treated. After many high words, the captain finally assured him that,
the first fitting opportunity, the carpenter should be cordially
flogged; though, as matters stood, the experiment would be a hazardous
one. Upon this Jermin reluctantly consented to drop the matter for the
present; and he soon drowned all thoughts of it in a can of flip, which
Guy had previously instructed the steward to prepare, as a sop to allay
his wrath.
Nothing more ever came of this.
- title
- Chunk 2