He was a man of middle height, very swarthy,
with bright, black eyes, not unpopular, for the most part, but with a
violent temper. His chief fault was a love of strong drink. On board
the Nantucket grog had been served to the crew; and with that he had
been content. But at the time of the wreck no spirits had been saved
but the captain's stock of brandy. Francesco felt this to be a great
hardship. More than any other sailor he felt the need of his usual
stimulant. It was very tantalizing to him to see the captain partaking
of his private stock of brandy while he was compelled to get along on
water.
"The captain is too mucha selfish," he said one day to a
fellow-sailor. "He should share his brandy with the men."
Ben Brady, the sailor to whom he was speaking, shrugged his shoulders.
"I think I will try some of the captain's brandy when he is away,"
said Francesco, slyly.
"If you do, you will get into trouble. The captain will half murder
you if he finds it out."
"He is not captain now--we are all equal--all comrades. We are not on
ze sheep."
"Take my advice, Francesco, and leave the brandy alone."
Francesco did not reply, but he became more and more bent on his
design.
He watched the captain, and ascertained where he kept his secret
store.
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