Bloody Bill, as the men
invariably called him, was standing at the tiller; but his post for the
present was a sinecure, and he whiled away the time by alternately
gazing in dreamy abstraction at the compass in the binnacle, and by
walking to the taffrail in order to spit into the sea. In one of these
turns he came near to where I was standing, and, leaning over the side,
looked long and earnestly down into the blue wave.
This man, although he was always taciturn and often surly, was the only
human being on board with whom I had the slightest desire to become
better acquainted. The other men, seeing that I did not relish their
company, and knowing that I was a prot?g? of the captain, treated me
with total indifference. Bloody Bill, it is true, did the same; but as
this was his conduct to every one else, it was not peculiar in
reference to me. Once or twice I tried to draw him into conversation,
but he always turned away after a few cold monosyllables. As he now
leaned over the taffrail close beside me, I said to him--
"Bill, why is it that you are so gloomy? Why do you never speak to any
one?"
Bill smiled slightly as he replied, "Why, I s'pose it's because I
hain't got nothin' to say!"
"That's strange," said I musingly; "you look like a man that could
think, and such men can usually speak."
"So they can, youngster," rejoined Bill somewhat sternly; "and I could
speak, too, if I had a mind to, but what's the use o' speakin' here?
The men only open their mouths to curse and swear, an' they seem to
find it entertainin'; but I don't, so I hold my tongue.
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