Then the canvas filled out, and at last, after
nearly a fortnight's delay, the Good Intent began to slip through the
water at three or four knots.
The wind freshened during the night, and next morning the Good Intent was
bowling along under single-reefed topsails. The ships sighted the night
before had disappeared, to the evident relief of Captain Barker. Whether
they were Company's vessels or privateers he had no wish to come to close
quarters with them.
After breakfast, when the watch on deck were busy about the rigging or
the guns, or the hundred and one details of a sailor's work, the rest of
the crew had the interval till dinner pretty much to themselves. Some
slept, some reeled out yarns to their messmates, others mended their
clothes.
It happened one day that Desmond, sitting in the forecastle among the men
of his mess, was occupied in darning a pair of breeches for Parmiter. It
was the one thing he could not do satisfactorily; and one of the men,
after quizzically observing his well meant but ludicrous attempts, at
last caught up the garment and held it aloft, calling his mates'
attention to it with a shout of laughter.
Parmiter chanced to be coming along at the moment. Hearing the laugh, and
seeing the pitiable object of it, he flew into a rage, sprang at Desmond,
and knocked him down.
"What do you mean, you clumsy young lubber, you," he cried, "by treating
my smalls like that? I'll brain you, sure as my name's Parmiter!"
Desmond had already suffered not a little at Parmiter's hands.
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