Kingsbury County independent. (DeSmet, Kingsbury County, S.D.) 1894-1929, 1907-07-05

you never get another berth SO Ions
as the universe holds water to carry
shipping. You cowardly hounds! oh
you trust me-"
The men skunk back into the alley.
way again out of shot Of the skfpper's
tongue, and the engineers, plucking ur
courage first, led the way below. Some.
one clattered a shovel on a firebaN
Instinct made the trimmers obey thu
signal and they went TO the bunkera
The firemen followed and the steam
gauge remounted before Ii had received
any appreciable check. II was all am
affair of five minutes.
Kettle passed a forefingcr around the
inside of his shirt collar and strolled
across with Cambel to where the deck
chairs straddled in the shade.
They're a holy crew, aren't they?"
said the master of the Port Edes.
Il think they're what we want. We
should be rather out of it with a pluckE
lot who insisted on standing by ua
at a pinch"
ooh, don't you make any error abous
that" replied Kettle. They'd have
been shaky anyway. but this bogus
clockwork devil OF yours fixes them to
a nicely. It'll be every Jack for him.
self when the scare comes, and Davy
Jones takes the steamer and the 9TH
ers. Oh, they'll run like a warren of
rabbits. The brutes!"
Kettle broke off abruptly and stared
modify over the gulf stream. A flying
fish got out of the blue water and ran
across the ripples like a silver rat. A
school of porpolses snorted leisurely
up from astern and passed the steamer
as though she had been at anchor. And
the tangles OF gulf weed fioated past
like reefs of tawny coral.
DO you ever read poetry?" the skip
per suddenly asked.
Cambel slowed round his head and
stared. The idea of this vinegar
mouthed little savage talking of poetry
very nearly made him break into wild
laughter. With an effort he steadied
his face and said quietly, Sometimes"
I'm glad of that. Somehow hadn't
dared ask you before, but now l know,
Mr.. Cambel, l like you all the better.
1t gives us something in common we
can talk about without being ashamed.
We can't very we'll discuss the other
matter which binds us together and
respect ourselves at the same time"
quite right. You and /, captain, are
shouldered to common piracy by the
force Of circumstances, but l always
kick myself when / think abou 1t.
There's no glamour Of romance about
our intended villainy or the way it's
being led up to-
Not q bit. Byron wrote about
piracy, but Byron was no m and
he didn't know what hazing a crew
meant. A thief's a dirty scoundrel all
the world over and always has been,
a sea thief, having the scum of the
earth to handle, has to make himself
the cruelest brute IN earth If he wants
to succeed, l think it's that which put
me out OF liking with Byron and all
poets who've written about
at sea. They give a wrong
idea of mems motives n actions, and
they get talking on shop they're
that inaccurate n absurd they make
tired. No, Mr.. Cambel, give me a
land poet, who talks about farms and
primroses and tinkling brooks and
things he understands, and with that
man i can sit through two watches on
end. Reading him may make me feel
but II doesn't DO q man harm to
be hat way sometimes. You see, Mr..
Cambel, a scuffie OF a row with a
mutinous crew is just meat and drink
to me. Yes, sir, that's the kind Of
brute l am"
They chatted and basked during the
rest of the afternoon, while the two
maces off watch painted ironwork, and
crew off duty grumbled and smoked
and slept in the stuffy fOrecastle. The
tea came. Kettle at the head Of
table preserved a sour silence, and
and the mates among them a
strained cfvility. And then skipper and
supernumerary officer returned to their
canvas beside the fiddle on the bridge
deck.
The gulf stream rippled over the
steamers wake a~stern, and the small
wavelets of a calm licked the yellow
stains which patched her sweeping
Before them the narrow sea was
the color OF a dull blue roofing slate.
The bright hot day had faded, the
cobalt had filtered away from
overhead, n a silver nail pairing of
peered from a sky OF amorphous
violet, still lighted in it's higher flats
by the suns a~fterglow. On the horizon
line was what first appeared to be a
steamers smoke, but what the glass
to be the reek Of a fire on the
low lying Florida coast. No
blaze glow could be seen. II might be
a fishers campfire on an outlying key;
1t might be a game driving of Seminole
beyond the explored coast
fringe, In that unknown tangle of trees
grasses and lagoons, the Ever
glades themselves.
TITS worth living, Mr.. Cambel, times
like these said Kettle when they had
there In silence till the warm night
had spread all over and the white stars
We're beginning to show In m%ultitudes
through Its gaps.
The other nodded, sucking at his cold
pipe.
None of those poets have ever put
this down on paper. They've got
parts, bits, but not all. / fancy Ii Is
because they haven't seen the thing
for themselves. I've tried II myself,
but I haven't made much account Of
It,"