“I do know something about handling canvas,” answered Garnett, taking the remark for a compliment; “but may I eternally stew if I don’t speak the truth when I says it takes a m-a-n to handle those gangs about decks.” “What air ye pratin’ about, man? Do ye mane yer own watch?” “Now, stave me endwise if you ain’t the same red-headed idiot you always was,” growled Garnett. “Calling a watch a gang! Lord love ye, man, there are one hundred and twenty men atween decks o’ that clipper, and every mother’s son is an out an’ out, all around--” “Steady, steady, mate,” I said. “Those ladies will hear you if you don’t brace up that tongue of yours.” “D’ye mane t’ say ye are a convict ship?” cried O’Toole, in amazement. I tried to conceal my astonishment, but O’Toole jumped up and stood on the hatch, staring hard at the Englishman. “‘Pon me whurd, it is so, fer a fact. Now may the prophet sind us a good wind to waft us from sich company. B’ th’ faith av the howly saints, Garnett, I never thought it. ’Pon me whurd I didn’t. Now that’s a cargo I don’t want to sail with, an’ ye must be way down, shipmate, when ye drop t’ th’ carrying av a lot av human cattle. Lord! One hundred and twenty poor divils goin’ ter hell as fast as Bill Garnett can pilot them. So that’s the whyfore ye are headed for the Andamans.” “Sure,” was Garnett’s laconic answer. “But you don’t turn to the whole gang at once, do you?” I asked. “How in the name of thunder can ye turn to a hundred and twenty men in irons,” answered the old mate, with a grin. “Turn them out in small gangs, man. Poor devils they be, sure enough, but they get plenty of exercise atween decks when the old hooker gets a-switching into it, when it comes on to blow. Besides, those ports you see painted on her sides there are not all make-believe. Some of them will open and let in the air, when the hatches make it too close. I’ve been in worse places than that ’tween decks on that ship, and I never was a convict, either.” “I’ve heard tell that law and justice were two things av an ontirely different nature,” grunted O’Toole, without removing his gaze from the convict ship. “S’help me, ’tis a fact,” chuckled Garnett, “and I onct heard a skipper say that he had onct met a man who was a bigger fool than Larry O’Toole,--but he couldn’t call to mind exactly who the fellow was.” While the mates were chaffing each other, an uproar arose from the after cabin. I could distinguish Crojack’s hoarse voice, raised to a pitch that I knew meant danger to some one. The cabin skylight was open, and the voices of both skippers seemed to come from just beneath it. “D’ye mean to say that England owns the whole Western Ocean?” roared the old man. “Up to within three miles of any beach whatever,” cried the little Englishman. “But don’t bellow at me, sir; I’m not deaf, and I won’t allow any one to bellow at me, sir.” “Well, by gorry! England don’t,” roared Crojack.