The _Countess of Warwick_ had drifted off during the night and was a good two miles away to the eastward when the hot equatorial sun burned his way into a mass of heavy clouds upon the horizon the day after we caught the turtle. Lumpy masses of cumuli lined the horizon, and solid quadrilaterals, slanting with well-defined edges, reached from them to the sea beneath, showing that we might expect the tropical rainpour. Now and then a slight air ruffled the surface of the ocean, but it came from almost anywhere, and we made no headway on our course. I could see that Garnett had clewed up his courses on the _Warwick_ to keep his heavy canvas from slatting out with the rolling of his ship, and O’Toole had done our own up in a similar manner. The hot, damp air of the early morning was fresh with the salt dew, and the decks and rails were streaming with the moisture. Sounds from forward were heard distinctly, and even the low voices of men conversing in the forecastle were carried aft. The clatter of pans and pots in the galley told of a busy “moke,” but the weather was too warm for any great appetite. I had slept badly and was in no good humour, so with great perseverance I kept clear of the main-deck to avoid trouble. At that time in the morning a ship’s officer is hardly more than human, and a man in my condition is generally a little less. I stood upon the break of the poop and watched O’Toole sitting upon the main hatch smoking a short pipe. He was in his undershirt and was very warm. “‘Tis a bit warm, or I’d lick th’ whole av th’ ship’s company,” said he to a Dutchman, who strolled past toward the galley for his watch’s breakfast. “Vat I do, I do noddings, sur,” said the fellow, edging away. “Och, ’tis fer that alone I’d whale ye, Dootch. Kape away from me, fer I’m th’ divil while this weather lasts. Git.” “Good marnin’, Mr. Gore,” he continued, without taking his pipe from his mouth, “I’m havin’ steak an’ eggs fer th’ order, an’ may ye enjoy yer vittles. ’Twas a foine burd, that baste ye caught, fer within him ware no less than a hundred eggs. If ye want to take a slice av him over to Garnett an’ that Captain Webster, ’tis all ready fer ye. I’m clane homesick fer a bit av pig, an’ ’twill be a good deal if ye can make a trade. ’Tis uncommon warm.” “O’Toole,” said I, “you’re a big, red-headed, ugly ruffian, and you’ve that to be thankful for. If you were anything else, I’d come down off this poop and knock the insolence out of you. If you want that pig, you go after it yourself, and don’t you go giving me instructions.” The second mate grinned. “‘Twas no offence I meant, sir, but, sink me, if ye want ter try a small bit av a dispute, I’ll accommodate ye, sure,” and he rolled up a sleeve, showing an arm of power.