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“Loose the foretopsail, Hennesey,” said Murphy, as he looked at them. “Overhaul the gear and stop it so ye can come down. Thin take the halyards to the fo’c’stle capstan. I’ll take the main.”

The first mate was content to remain out of the proceedings for the present. Murphy and Hennesey went aloft, performed their part, and came down; then, when the two falls of the halyards were led to the two capstans, Murphy, with his hand in his pocket and his heart in his mouth, went among them.

“I want,” he said, sourly, “twilve good min, but I don’t know that I can git them. Ye’re a lot o’ bog-trotters that don’t know enough to heave on a capstan.”

“The hill we don’t!” uttered a Galway man close to him.

“We l’arned thot in Checa-a-go.”

“Ye mane,” said Murphy, “that the Limerick boys tried to l’arn, but they couldn’t. The wark’s too hard.”

“Fwat’s too ha-a-rd?” answered the Galway. “Ye domned murderer, fwat’s too hard? D’y’ think we can’t wurruk?”

“D’ye think ye can wark?” said Murphy. “Thin git at that capstan, you Galway min. And git busy, quick, or I’ll give the job to the Limerick boys. They’re passably good min, I think.”

“To hill wi’ thim! Hurrah, here, b’ys. C’m’an and pull the mon’s rope. Who says we can’t wurruk?”

They joyously and enthusiastically surrounded the forecastle capstan, shipped the brakes, and began to heave, with black looks at the envious Limericks, to whom Murphy now addressed himself.

“Are yez lookin’ for wark?” he demanded.

“Yis,” they chorused.

“Man that ‘midship capstan, thin. Beat these Galway sogers and I’ll give ye wark right along.”

With whoops and shouts they flocked to the capstan amidships, and began to compete, shoving on the bars, cheering and encouraging each other and deriding those on the forecastle deck, who responded. It was a tie; the Galways had about a minute start, but the Limericks finished only a minute behind. Murphy and Hennesey nippered the falls at the pinrail, and belayed when they slacked.

“It goes, Hennesey,” said Murphy, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “By puttin’ wan gang agin’ the other, maybe we won’t need to show the bricks.”

“Yes,” replied Hennesey, “that’s all right; but I oncet heard an old, wise skipper say that any farmer can make sail, but it takes a sailor to take it in. What’ll we do if it comes on to blow?”

“That’s the least o’ your troubles, and mine, Tim Hennesey. Put yer trust in Jasus and loose that mizzentopsail, while I get ’em to steady the braces.”

But the demoralized first mate had so far aroused himself as to attend to the loosing of the mizzentopsail and topgallantsail; so Murphy with a little cajolery and ridicule induced the crew to sheet home and tauten the braces, then mustered them aft to the mizzentopsail halyards and asked them if they could, the whole lazy two dozen of them, masthead that yard by hand, without the aid of the capstan. They noisily averred that they could, and they did, nearly parting the halyards when the yard could go no higher. The chain-sheets they could not break, hard as they tried.

“It’s not according to seamanship, Hennesey,” said Murphy, “to man yer halyards before ye sheet home; but–any way at all with this bunch. Now git up to the foreto’gallant and the royal, while I take the main. The poor mate’s done his stunt on the mizzen.”

And so, by doing the seamanly work themselves and putting ropes into the hands of the crew, the mate and the two boatswains got sail on the ship, even to the jib-topsail and the mainroyal staysail. Captain Williams discreetly remained in the background, only asserting himself once, when he knocked an Irishman off the poop. For this indiscretion he was menaced by violent death, and only saved himself by an appeal to Murphy, respect for whose diplomacy was fast overcoming Captain Williams’s dislike of him.

“What do ye think?” stormed Murphy, as he faced the angry men at the break of the poop. “Whin ye came over in the steamer did they allow ye up in the bridge, or aft o’ the engine-room hatch? Stay forrard where ye belong, and don’t git presumptions, just ’cause ye’ve been a year in a free country. Yer goin’ back to Ireland now, to eat praties and drink water. There’s no whisky on this boat, and no mate three times a day. No mate, d’ye understand?”