It is just as impossible to explain this as it is to tell why coal-heavers, or longshoremen, invariably put the receipts for their truckloads into their hats. It is for some purpose that the sailor is so constituted. Perhaps good, hard, all-around lying promotes the digestion of salt food, by getting the system so thoroughly saturated with deception that the stomach believes the junk fresh. Whatever the purpose, it is probably a good one. One night we were running along under skysails, with the trade abaft the beam. We heeled over gently and sent the foam-flakes swashing from the sides with a musical, tinkling sound. The soft hum of the breeze through the rigging, coupled with the regular sound of the water, was very pleasing to the ears of Brown and myself as we lounged on the combings and smoked. It lacked half an hour of eight bells, and then we would relieve O’Toole, who stood at the break of the poop, lazily watching the canvas. I dozed until the watch was called, and then the second mate roused me and gave the ship’s course, observing: “‘Tis no use av ye goin’ aft whin th’ owld man is there with th’ leddies. He’s in a divil av a timper because I made a remark to th’ man at th’ wheel an’ th’ young gurl an’ her ma heard me. But he’s always finding fault lately an’ something seems t’ be bearing down his mind, an’, by th’ saints, I believe ’tis nothing else than th’ weight av his own opinion.” “He says you are a devil for story-books and women, O’Toole, and that’s the reason you are such a bad second mate,” I answered, smiling. But O’Toole didn’t laugh. He appeared thoughtful for some moments, and then said, with great earnestness: “Maybe I am, Mr. Gore, but is it right for th’ owld man to say it? Is it right for a man who’s had a good income and a handsome wife t’ blackguard a poor divil av a mate because he can’t have either, and say that it is his own fault? No, Mr. Gore, I spake for th’ whole crowd av poor divils, like us, what no dacent woman’ll take up with. You may not be a bright man, Mr. Gore, savin’ your prisence, but, by th’ Prophet, I give ye th’ credit av being a just one. But no matter, I’ll say no more.” He was silent for a few moments, and then broke out afresh: “Ha! Ha! ’Twas only yisterday, whin they turned th’ roosters an’ hens out on th’ main-deck t’ give thim an airing, that he began t’ pitch into th’ fowls thimselves. He chased a couple av thim from under th’ break av th’ poop, throwin’ a belayin’-pin an’ bawlin’, ‘Git out, ye ornery burds! Have ye got no regard for ayther time, place, or circumstance?’ ’Pon me whurd, ’tis a wonder he didn’t break out his Bible an’ read one av th’ tin commandments t’ thim. It’s a sky-pilot he’s makin’ av th’ owld, rip-roarin’ skipper he used t’ be.”