It was not very appetising, but, such as it was, was consumed eagerly, for the events of the morning had produced a hunger which did not blink at bad food. Bedrock Ben, who looked a weird object with a great red handkerchief tied over his head and under his chin, started the conversation rolling with the remark: "This is shore a red-hot ship, pards!" "I'm surmisin' it were a some violent outfit myself," said Broncho reflectively. "Bedad, an' ye're right, mate; this ould baste of a _Higgins_ is after being called the hottest craft under the flag," put in Pat, with a shake of his fist towards Black Davis, who could be seen through the open door busily at work on the greenhorns. "But I'll be aven with ye yet, Mister Black Davis, be sure I will," he hissed. Pat was feeling dangerously vindictive, for, with half his teeth loosened, his meal had been a source of pain. "I don't know that she's worse than the _Frank N. Thayler_," remarked Jack. "Well, I should smile! My crikey! W'y, the _Thayler's_ a byby to this bloomin' 'ooker," grunted the cockney. "Ever sailed in her?" asked Jack. "No, thank Gaud!" "Well, I saw her in Manila. Her decks were one mass of bloodstains; you couldn't get them out, either--holystoning only showed them up brighter. Her old man shot six men off the main-topsail yard. Some of her crew laid for him one day, and cut him open; but he recovered. That's what I call a hot ship."[3] "I callate she's got to be some swift to rake in the pool against this craft, bloodstains or no bloodstains," drawled the gambler. At this moment the sharp report of a Winchester rifle echoed through the ship. Half the watch sprang to their feet with various exclamations. "Gun-play, by all that's holy!" ejaculated Bedrock Ben. "Some locoed critter goin' against rope," hazarded Broncho coolly, as they crowded to the door. But the cockney did not stir from his bunk. "Old man a-shootin' o' gulls, I h'expec'," he remarked; "'e's blawsted fond o' killin' them pore 'armless birds, the slaughterin' swyne." Again a report came, and a gull wheeling astern fell dead in the frothy wake. "He's shore a crackerjack with his weepon," commented Broncho admiringly. The old man, who was a magnificent shot, soon scared away the following gulls, but not before he had accounted for three of them. Well knowing what an impression his fine shooting would make upon his crew, it had become a regular policy with him on starting a passage to exhibit his marksmanship. FOOTNOTES: [1] "Old woman," a cattle-ranging term for the cook.