Mr. Fletcher, the minister, played the coward one
night when we ran aground; and bade us think of our sins and our immortal
souls, instead of urging us to be smart about the ship; and he did it,
too, not as Mr. Drake might do, but in such a melancholy voice as if we
were all at our last hour; so when we were free of our trouble, and out
on the main again, we were all called by the drum to the forecastle, and
there Mr. Drake sat on a sea-chest as solemn as a judge, so that not a
man durst laugh, with a pair of pantoufles in his hand; and Mr. Fletcher
was brought before him, trying to smile as if 'twas a jest for him too,
between two guards; and there he was arraigned; and the witnesses were
called; and Tom Moore said how he was tapped on the shoulder by Mr.
Fletcher as he was getting a pick from the hold; and how he was as white
as a ghost and bade him think on Mr. Doughty, how there was no mercy for
him when he needed it, and so there would be none for us--and then other
witnesses came, and then Mr. Fletcher tried to make his defence, saying
how it was the part of a minister to bid men think on their souls; but
'twas no good. Mr. Drake declared him guilty; and sentenced him to be
kept in irons till he repented of that his cowardice; and then, which was
the cream of the joke, since the prisoner was a minister, Mr. Drake
declared him excommunicate, and cut off from the Church of God, and given
over to the devil. And he was put in irons, too, for a while; so 'twas
not all a joke.
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