"Then, you don't know what sailors are, my dear sir. Let me just show
you by an instance. One day in dock at home, while loafing on the
forecastle head, I noticed two respectable salts come along, one a
middle-aged, competent, steady man, evidently, the other a smart,
youngish chap. They read the name on the bows and stopped to look at
her. Says the elder man: 'Apse Family. That's the sanguinary female dog'
(I'm putting it in that way) 'of a ship, Jack, that kills a man every
voyage. I wouldn't sign in her--not for Joe, I wouldn't.' And the other
says: 'If she were mine, I'd have her towed on the mud and set on fire,
blame if I wouldn't.' Then the first man chimes in: 'Much do they care!
Men are cheap, God knows.' The younger one spat in the water alongside.
'They won't have me--not for double wages.'
"They hung about for some time and then walked up the dock. Half an
hour later I saw them both on our deck looking about for the mate, and
apparently very anxious to be taken on. And they were."
"How do you account for this?" I asked.
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