PHIL DISCOVERS WHAT HE IS
“Well, this is a queer go!” thought Phil, as he extricated the heavy
pea-jacket from his “sea-trunk,” and put it on. “I never heard of a
green hand before the mast being fed and lodged in the cabin. I must
find Serge, and ask him about it.”
The night seemed intensely dark as he gained the deck, and for a few
minutes he stood still to accustom his senses to it. He had found the
slide drawn over the companion-way, and, as on emerging he shoved it
back, he was gruffly requested by the helmsman to “shut it, quick!”
Phil was enough of a sailor to know that this was so the glare of the
cabin lamp might not blind the man and render it impossible for him to
steer. So he immediately pulled the slide to, and then stood leaning
against it.
He could feel the chill dampness of the mist on his cheek, and could
see it driving by in the red and green blurs from the side-lights in
the forward rigging. From the binnacle near at hand also came a faint
glow of reflected light that vaguely outlined the man at the wheel. All
else was a gray blackness, upon which the lofty masts and flattened
sails were traced in deeper shadows, like Indian-ink against crayon.
Two or three glowing sparks from lighted pipes showed where the watch
on deck were gathered in the lee of the weather bulwarks. Phil started
towards these, but ere he had taken half a dozen steps he ran plump
into the mate, who was standing facing him on the weather side of the
deck.
“Hello, young feller!” cried that worthy, as soon as he recovered the
breath of which Phil’s sudden onset had deprived him; “ye seem to be
blundering ahead like a June-bug in an electric flare. Aren’t ye afraid
ye’ll walk overboard next, and step on the tail of a merrymaid?”
“No, sir,” laughed the lad; “and I’m awfully sorry I ran into you. But
I didn’t see you, indeed I didn’t.”
“No wonder,” replied the mate, good-naturedly, “for I’m too thin to
make a respecterble shadder, much less to cast one. Ef it had been the
cap’n now, ye couldn’t have missed seeing him any more than ye could
the broadside of a ship. By-the-way, had the old man turned out when ye
left?”
“No, sir. I didn’t see him.”
“Waal, ye’d not only seen him, but heerd him fast enough ef he had. He
gets so cramped up in that cubby-hole of his’n that when he comes out
he has to roar to get his lungs in working order again. It’s a marciful
dispensation of Proverdence I’m not a cap’n, for I never could abide to
sleep in one of them chicken-coops.”
“He doesn’t have to, does he?” inquired Phil.
“Sartain he does, to maintain his nautical dignity. All cap’ns has to
occupy state-rooms, pervided their vessels has ’em, no matter whether
they fit or not. Why, there was my friend old Kite Roberson, longer
than I be by half, so that when he was only a mate he had to have
two end-to-end bunks cut into one to give him stretching-room. When
he come to be cap’n he had to take a state-room that had been built
fer a short man, and couldn’t in no way be lengthened. Poor old Kite
naturally hated it, but for the sake of his perfessional dig he uster
crawl in there and double himself up like a shut jackknife. Bimeby
it got so that in the morning they had to pull him out in sections,
like a spy-glass, and rig preventer back-stays on his legs to keep
him from getting sprung in the knees. As it was, he got so bent over
that finally his head got under his left arm, and he uster turn round
backward to see for’ard, but he never gave up his dig, which he allus
said it war his proudest boast.”
After Phil had politely allowed such time to elapse that the mate might
think he was laughing over this yarn, he said:
“By-the-way, Mr. Coombs, when do I go on watch?”
“You?” replied the other. “You don’t have to stand no watch. Hunters
never does.”
“Am I a――” began Phil; but his question was forced to remain unasked,
for at that moment some subtle sense informed the mate that it was
again time to change the schooner’s course, and he bawled out, “Ready
about!” In the confusion that followed he disappeared, and Phil
stumbled forward, more anxious than ever to meet with Serge, and beg
him to throw the light of his superior knowledge on the situation.
He discovered his friend snugly stowed away in a forecastle berth.
Here, as half a dozen men constituting the watch below occupied other
berths in the extremely narrow quarters allotted to the crew, the lads
were obliged to converse in whispers to avoid being overheard, as well
as not to disturb those who slept.
“Why haven’t you been to supper, old man?” began Phil.
“I have, long ago,” replied Serge; “but where have you been all this
time? I was beginning to worry about you.”
“Been in the cabin eating supper, mostly; but I didn’t see you there.”
“Eating in the cabin!” exclaimed Serge, springing up so carelessly in
his excitement that he bumped his head against the bottom of the berth
above him. “You don’t mean it! Are you going to bunk there, too?”
“I’m afraid so. You see, I don’t exactly like to ask a favor of Captain
Duff, or I’d try for permission to sleep in here with you.”
“Oh, pshaw!” ejaculated Serge. “You don’t mean that. You know you
don’t. Why, man, the mere fact that you are billeted in the cabin
instead of in the forecastle shows that you must be rated as a hunter.”
“Why must I?” inquired Phil, in a puzzled tone. “And pray what is a
hunter?”
“One who hunts, of course. He lives aft, and don’t have to stand
watch――”
“So Mr. Coombs said,” interrupted Phil.
“Nor do any of the ship’s work,” continued Serge.
“Am I to be allowed to do anything at all except suck my thumbs and
maintain my ‘dig,’ like old Kite Robinson?” asked the young hunter.
“Oh! you’ve heard of him, have you? Of course you will be allowed to
do something. You will be allowed to shoot, and not only that, but
you will be expected to shoot all day, and every day from sunrise to
sunset; and mighty hard work you will find it, too, before you get
through with it.”
“Shoot!” cried Phil, forgetting all about the necessity for whispering.
“Shoot what? Fish?”
“Shoot up, and stow yer jaw tackle,” growled the sleepy voice of the
forecastle wit from an upper berth.
“Shoot fish! of course not,” whispered Serge. “You will shoot seals and
sea-otter, if we have the good-luck to run across any. Oh! I am so glad
you have got that berth, for I’ve been wondering and fretting over
how you’d get along as a foremast hand; but now it will be all smooth
sailing.”
“But I don’t understand yet,” protested Phil. “This is the first
mention I have heard of seals or sea-otter. I thought this was a
fishing schooner.”
“So she is,” replied Serge, a little impatiently; “but on this coast
all fishermen are pelagic sealers as well whenever they get a chance,
and they generally try to ship two or three good shots among the crew
to act as hunters. The regular sealers, who go over on the Japan coast,
fix for the business, and carry six or seven hunters. On this side,
though, and especially if there is a chance of going into the sea,
they generally clear as fishermen. It makes it easier to explain, you
understand, if they happen to get nabbed by the cutters. We gathered
in two or three hundred skins coming up the coast, and I heard Captain
Duff say that if he could get hold of a first-class hunter he’d like to
ship him. Strange that I never thought of you for that position, when
I knew what a good shot you are, too. That must be why he changed his
mind so suddenly about taking you along, for at first he declared he
couldn’t think of such a thing. I do wonder, though, how he happened to
know that you could shoot.”
Phil thought he knew, for he remembered the crowd of sailormen who were
gathered about the shooting-gallery in Victoria the day before, and who
had applauded his score; but he was too full of questions just now to
waste time on explanations.
Where did people shoot seals and how? Out at sea or on land? With
rifles or shot-guns? What did Serge mean by “pelagic sealers”? What did
he mean by going into the sea? What did he mean by getting “nabbed”?
As our young traveller, to whom a new world of strange men, strange
animals, and strange scenes was about to be opened, poured forth these
questions concerning it, Serge, to whom the whole business of sealing
was an old story, laughed.
“It would take several hours to tell you the whole thing,” he said,
“and I’ve only two left in which to sleep before going on watch at
midnight. So if, like a good fellow, you will turn in now, and restrain
your curiosity till morning, I will then do my best to answer all your
questions.”
Apologizing for his thoughtlessness, Phil accepted his friend’s
suggestion; and making his way back to the cabin, took possession of
the bunk Jalap Coombs had said was to be his. As he lay there listening
to the gurgle of waters on the other side of the thin plank separating
him from them, he could not help contrasting his present position with
that of only twenty-four hours before, and marvelling at the wonderful
changes that may be made in one’s surroundings, circumstances, and
whole plan of life in the brief space of a single day.
[Illustration: ALASKAN HALIBUT HOOK]