“Oh, but he did a worse thing than that,” said Perrin. “He’d a child by his cousin; and when the girl’s mother turned her out of doors, he told her she might apply to the parish.” “Bah!” said the captain, with disgust. “I’d like to know the name of that duck. He’s a masterpiece.” “Tom Stukeley, his name is,” said Perrin. “His wife’s Olivia Stukeley. They are stopping in Salcombe here. They are still wandering about on their honeymoon. They were married two or three months back.” “Ah,” said Cammock, “so that’s why the captain put in here. He’ll be going ashore, I reckon.” He walked to the break of the poop and blew his whistle. “Bosun,” he cried. “Get the dinghy over the side, ’n clean her out.” He walked back to Perrin. “Much better get him away to sea, sir. No good’ll come of it.” “What makes you think that?” said Perrin. “He’ll only see her with this Stukeley fellow. It’ll only make him sick. Very likely make her sick, too.” “I can’t stop him,” said Perrin. “He’ll eat his heart out if he doesn’t go. It’s better for him to go, and get a real sickener, than to stay away and brood. Don’t you think that?” “As you please,” said Cammock. “But he ain’t going to do much on the Main, if he’s going to worry all the time about a young lady. The crowd you get on the Main don’t break their hearts about ladies, not as a general act.” “No?” said Perrin. The conversation lapsed. The captain walked to the poop-rail, to watch the men cleaning up the main-deck. He called a boy, to clean the brass-work on the poop. “Not much of that on the Main, sir, you won’t have,” he said. “No?” said Perrin. “No, sir,” said the captain. “On the Main, you lays your ship on her side on the softest mud anywheres handy. And you gets Indian ducks to build little houses for you. Fine little houses. And there you lays ashore, nine months of the year, listening to the rain. Swish. Your skin gets all soft on you, like wet paper. And you’ll see the cabin below here, all full of great yellow funguses. And all this brass will be as green as tulips. It will. And if you don’t watch out, you could grow them pink water-lilies all over her. It’s happy days when you’ve a kind of a pine-apple tree sprouting through your bunk-boards.” He paused a moment, noted the effect on Perrin, and resolved to try an even finer effort. “I remember a new Jamaica sloop as come to One Bush Key once. I was logwood-cutting in them times. She was one of these pine-built things; she come from Negrill. They laid her on her side in the lagoon, while the hands was cutting logwood. And you know, sir, she sprouted. The ground was that rich she sprouted. Them planks took root. She was a tidy little clump of pines before I left the trade.” “Eight bells, sir,” said the boy, touching his cap. “Thank you,” said Cammock. “Make it. Who’s watchman, bosun? Let him call me at once if any boat comes off.” “Ay, ay, Captain Cammock,” said the boatswain.