"Mr. Pate seems to be profoundly meditating upon the immensity of the
water contained in the ocean," said the Professor, one afternoon, as he
pointed to Pate, who was leaning over the bulwarks apparently in a
condition of mental abstraction.
"It is probable that he is now calculating how long a period it would
take to pump the Atlantic dry," said Toney.
"Land ho!" cried a loud voice in the direction of the forecastle.
There was a general rush forward at this announcement; and on the bow
stood Peter, pointing with extended arm to some object which he asserted
was land. But nobody could see it except himself; and Moses soon became
skeptical, and finally declared that the fellow was a fool. This he
demonstrated from the fact that Peter kept pointing to a dim cloud,
about as big as the crown of his hat, with the absurd affirmation that
it was _terra firma_. The opinion of Moses was warmly supported by M. T.
Pate and others, who promulgated it with considerable emphasis. But
Peter still stood at his post pointing prophetically afar off, and he
now had Old Nick at his elbow, who stoutly corroborated all that he had
uttered.
In the mean while the vessel, borne along by the breeze, kept steadily
on her way, and the little cloud loomed larger on the horizon, and
gradually grew more and more distinct. The almost imperceptible shade
deepened into a substantial blue, and finally brightened into a
beautiful green, and Cape Frio became plainly visible.
The prospect of soon getting on shore caused much excitement in the
cabin, after supper, and considerable conviviality.
After partaking of several glasses of wine, the Professor turned to
Toney and Tom, and gravely remarked,--
"We are informed, by the highest authority on the subject, that there
is a very great difference between _ebrius_ and _ebriolus_. It is not
becoming in one of the Funny Philosophers to be anything more than
_ebriolus_. Let us leave these devotees of Bacchus to their orgies in
honor of the god of the grape, and go upon deck."
"Come!" said Toney. "I have no wish to carry a headache on shore with me
to-morrow."
"Nor I," said Tom, ascending the companion-ladder.
They walked forward until they came to the cook's galley, when the
Professor stopped suddenly and exclaimed, pointing to a hog which had
been butchered and hung up with its head downward,--
"Here has been a bloody deed!"
"Not a homicide?" said Toney.
"No; a suicide," said Tom.
"Let your puns be in plain English," said the Professor.
"Latin puns are too obscure," said Toney.
"Mr. Seddon must atone for this offense by doing penance," said the
Professor.
"In what way?" asked Tom.
"You must immediately climb into the rigging and run a rope around the
foretop-gallant yard," said the Professor.
"What's your purpose?" asked Toney.
"To suspend this deceased porker from the masthead," said the Professor.
"We will have fun," said Tom.
"Fun is the true philosophy of life," said the Professor.
Tom did as directed, and in a few moments the porker rapidly ascended
and was lashed to the masthead. The Professor then walked to the bow,
where was seated Old Nick, telling a wonderful yarn to Tim, who was
smoking his pipe.
"On the Gold Coast six months. The niggers brought us gold-dust in
quills. One day their duke died."
"Have the negroes dukes among them?" asked Toney.
"Their head-man. They put all his wives and slaves in a pen."
"What for?" asked Tom.
"To knock them on the head and bury them with the duke. Never heard such
howling. One nigger jumped over the pen, ran down to the shore, and swam
to the ship. They came around in canoes after him. Captain told me to
throw him overboard. Had to obey orders. They took him ashore and
knocked him on the head with clubs. Next night I was on the beach.
Something jumped right up before me and grinned in my face. Looked like
the big nigger I had pitched overboard."
"I thought they had knocked him on the head," said Toney.
"His ghost. It gave a whoop and jumped clean over my head, and then
jumped back again."
"Like a circus-rider," said Tom.
"Kept jumping back and forth over my head, whooping and grinning. I got
mad, and struck at it with a stick. Jerked stick from my hand and beat
me over the back with it. I grabbed at the tarnal ghost, and if I could
have got a grip on it I'd downed it. Couldn't hold it; got scared."
"No wonder," said Toney. "Any man would have been scared with this great
ugly bugaboo whooping and yelling, and jumping backward and forward over
his head, and beating him with his own cane."
"Ran for the boat. Ghost followed me. Priest had come ashore in the boat
with a bottle of holy water in his pocket. He flung it in the critter's
face, when it gave a whoop and vamosed."
"You infernal thieves!" said the cook, coming forward with a large
butcher's knife in his hand and confronting the sailors, "what have you
done with my hog?"
"Didn't touch your hog," said Old Nick.
"Don't be lying there," said the ireful cook. "You have stolen that hog
and hid it in the forecastle. Not a taste of lobscouse will you lubbers
get until you give up my hog. I'll cut off your rations, you blasted
rogues! I'd like to see one of you get any duff for his dinner on
Sundays, after this."
The sailors were alarmed, for the cook is the great man on shipboard.
They humbly protested their innocence, but were sternly denounced as
liars and thieves who had stolen the porker, intended for the
passengers' dinner, and hidden it in the forecastle. As the cook was
brandishing his knife, and growing more violent in his denunciations, he
was startled by hearing loud squeals overhead. The sounds were like the
shrill cries of a large hog which was having a knife plunged into his
throat.
"Great thunder!" exclaimed Tom.
The cook and the sailors gazed upward with looks of amazement.
There was a reiteration of loud squeals. The cook dropped his knife and
ran into his galley. The sailors fled with precipitation, until they
reached the quarter-deck. Tom Seddon stood gazing upward, while Toney
whispered to the Professor.
"Yes," said the Professor, "a faculty occasionally exercised. It must be
a profound secret."
"Shall I tell Tom?"
"Whisper it to him, and warn him to be reticent."
Toney whispered to Tom, who nodded his head and seemed to comprehend.
"You lying lubbers!" said the mate, coming forward, followed by the
sailors. "Telling your yarns about a hog in the----"
Here there was a succession of loud squeals from the masthead. The hog
seemed to be in great agony. The sailors fled to the stern, and the mate
rushed into the captain's cabin. The captain came forward. The squeals
were louder and more prolonged. The mate trembled and turned pale.
"What is it?" said the captain.
"The cook killed a hog and hung it alongside his galley, and the devil
has carried it up there!" said the mate, pointing to the masthead.
"The devil is in the habit of getting into hogs," said Toney.
"He once got into a whole herd of swine," said Tom.
"There is Scripture for that," said the mate.
"I must have that hog down," said the captain.
"Here--Nick--Tim--Peter--Paul! up to the masthead and lower the hog!"
Not a man would stir. The crew loudly swore that they would not go up
there for any captain that ever trod a quarter-deck.
"You go up," said the captain to the mate.
"Nary time," said the mate. "My business is to navigate the ship,--not
to fight the devil. You go up."
The captain laid hold on a rope, and was about to ascend, when loud
squeals were heard, and cries of "Murder! murder! murder!" from the
masthead. The captain let go his hold and fell on the deck.
"There are more than a dozen devils up there!" shouted the mate.
"What's to be done?" said the captain, rising on his feet and looking
aghast.
"Let them alone until we get into port, and then hire a lot of priests
to sprinkle the ship with holy water," said the mate.
"I'll have her swabbed with barrels of holy water!" exclaimed the
captain.
"Thank God, it is daylight," said the mate.
It was now morning, and the ship sailed on, and was soon abreast of the
castle of Santa Cruz.
"American ship ahoy!" was shouted through a trumpet from the ramparts.
"Hello!" was the response from the deck.
"How many days did you come from?"
"Baltimore--forty-two."
"All right!" And the vessel glided along, and, passing the Sugar-Loaf,
soon anchored in the spacious and beautiful harbor of the Brazilian
metropolis, with the hog at her masthead.