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“No mate!” they vociferated. “No whusky!”

“No, ye bundle o’ bad min, no whisky. Ye’ve drunk up what ye had, and that was in America. Yer not in America now, and ye’ll git no whisky, nor mate, barrin’ four times a week.”

“We paid fur ut,” they declaimed. “How kin a mon wurruk widout it?”

“Ye can wark widout it and ye will. Ye’ll pull ropes as I tell you, and as ye l’arn ye’ll steer the boat in yer turn.”

“We’ll shteer, will we?”

“Yes, ye’ll steer, straight for old Ireland and praties.”

“Hurrah! We’ll git to the ould sod, will we?”

“Yes, but ye’ll do it yerselves, mind ye. No kicks, no scraps. Ye’ll do as yer told, and pull ropes, and wark.”

“We’ll wurruk,” they declared, noisily. “It’s not the loikes o’ you th’t’ll foind the wurruk we can’t do, nayther.”

“We’ll see,” said Murphy, nodding his head portentously.

“Meanwhile, take yerself away from this end o’ the boat, and stay away from it; and don’t ye ever raise yer hands agin’ any man that lives in this end o’ the boat, or things’ll happen to ye. Now git.”

He drew forth the brick, and they left his vicinity.

“Captain Williams,” said Murphy, solemnly, “that was a close call. If ye’ll take my advice, Captain, ye won’t lay hands on ’em.”

“Why?” answered the skipper. “Do you think I’m going to have them trooping around my cabin?”

“No, not at all; but show ’em the brick, only don’t use it, or they’ll throw it back. And don’t make any gun-play, for they don’t know what it means, and it’s no good, for ye can’t shoot into thim. They’re that hard that they’ll turn a bullet, I’m told.”

“Possibly,” said the captain, looking at his hand. “I hurt myself when I hit him. Well, Murphy, all right, if you can control them. I can see that I might have to shoot them all if I shot one, and that wouldn’t do.”

“No, of course not, sir. I’ll l’arn a few of them to steer, and the mates’ll be rid of it.”

So, under these conditions they worked the ship across the western ocean. By tact and “sign language” Murphy induced them to stand their tricks at the wheel; but they would stand no tutelage, and steered in their own way–a zizzag track over the sea. Another limitation which they imposed upon their usefulness was their emphatic refusal to stand watch, though from inward impulse they divided themselves into watches. They would work factory hours, or not at all, so Captain Williams had to be content with the loss of most of his light sails before the passage was half over. For a sudden increase of wind at night would occasionally prove too much for Murphy or Hennesey, with the mate on watch. As for going aloft, day or night, their case was too hopeless, even for the optimistic Murphy, even had they been willing to leave the deck–which, most decidedly, they were not.

Even so, this passage might have reached a successful termination, the homeward-bound Irishmen safely landed at Queenstown, and the others graduated in a much-needed schooling in the doctrine of the brotherhood of man; but Captain Williams, against Murphy’s urgent and earnest plea for more meat on the forecastle menu, persisted in sticking to the original diet. The Albatross was a “full-and-plenty” ship–that is, one in which, with the supposed consent of the crew, the government scale was discarded in favor of one containing more vegetables and less meat. But these men knew nothing of this, or the reasons for it; and while believing that there was no whisky in the ship, they had accepted this deprivation, they were firmly assured that there was plenty of meat; so day by day their discontent grew, until by the time the ship had reached soundings they were ripe for open revolt. And it was the small, weakling steward that brought it about.

The passage had been good for all except this steward. It had brought to Captain Williams and his two mates, now recovered in mind and body from the first friction, the unspoken but fixed conception that there were men in the world not afraid of them. It had reduced Murphy’s fat, and his resentment against Hennesey and Captain Williams. It had increased Hennesey’s respect for Murphy and lessened his respect for himself; for without Murphy’s moral support he could not have done his part. It had eliminated the alcohol from the veins and the brains of the twenty-four wild men, and lessened the propensity to kill at the same time that it lessened their fear of a brick. It had lessened the sublime, ages-old contempt for white men that the Chinese cook shared with his countrymen, and which simply had to yield to the fear of death inspired by three or four frenzied Irish faces at the galley door, their owners demanding “mate.” But the small steward, busy with his cabin dishes, his cabin carpets, only visiting the galley to obtain the cabin meals, had seen nothing, felt nothing, and learned nothing. And, with the indifference of ignorance, he had left his brick in the galley–the fatal spot where it ought not to have been, in view of what was to happen.