"'Struth," growled the officer, "yer blasted name is as long as a
flyin' jib'alliard! Yed is your name from now on!" The Russian grunted
and joined the men who had been checked off.
Englishman, Irishman, Scotchman, Welshman, Japanese, Swede, Dane,
German, Norwegian, Russian, Canadian, American, West Indian, Spaniard
and South African represented the _Kelvinhaugh's_ laborers, and as
Donald viewed them, he wondered how it was possible for such a
cosmopolitan and ill-favored gang to be gathered together. Dressed in
various garbs, scarcely one looked to be a sailor, but the keen-eyed
mates knew that clothes and general appearance do not mark the man who
is rated "Able Bodied" and who can "hand, reef and steer." When the
watch picking began, the first man Mr. Nickerson picked was the
cropped head McLean, whose face still carried the marks of the clawing
he had received on the Glasgow dock, yet Donald would have sworn that
this fellow was a steamship fireman or a ship-yard laborer. But they
were a small, weak-looking crowd after all, and when the boy scanned
the little group and allowed his eyes to wander over the barque's
great hull and the mighty fabric towering aloft--ponderous and
unwieldy in the gloom--he realized something of Thompson's forebodings
and compared the little company of ill-assorted humans, who were to
work the ship to her destination, to a squad of pigmies doomed to
undertake the tasks of giants.
Much to his dismay, Donald found himself listed with the
"starbowlines," under the broad-faced Mr. Hinkel. Thompson was picked
for the mate's watch and would rank as "acting third mate," and Chubby
Jenkins was along with him. For a watch-mate, Donald had the surly
Moore, and he felt that the luck was against him every way.
"Alright, men," said Mr. Nickerson when the watch picking was over.
"Starboard watch keeps the deck until midnight. Relieve the wheel and
look-out, and go below the port watch!"
Though dreadfully tired and aching in every bone and muscle, Donald
had to remain on deck until mid-night, and Mr. Hinkel, with brutal
directness, gave him a lecture on his watch-keeping duties. "You keep
oop here und avake and don't you let me catch you skulkin'. You keep
der binnacle lamps trimmed und vatch der time und strike der bells und
you keep handy so dot I can see you on der lee side der poop!" And
with a few curseful remarks about being pestered with useless, lazy
boys, he turned and began pacing to windward. For four long hours,
Donald trudged with leaden feet on a monotonous round--binnacle to
cabin gangway (to squint at the clock) and gangway to poop bell.
Feeling "played out," he heaved a sigh of relief when midnight came
around and he belled the news with a feeling of anticipatory pleasure
in the hours of restful sleep to come.
Utterly exhausted with a "calashee" (all hands working) watch of
eighteen hours--the most of which was hard labor--Donald kicked off
his boots and rolled into his bunk "all standing" and slept like a
dead man until Jenkins yelled "Eight bells! Turn out!" at 3.45 a.m.
Moore, who had dodged the second mate during the first watch and had
stolen a snooze then, turned out, dressed and went on deck without
giving his watch-mate another shake. When the starbowlines mustered
aft, Donald was missing, and only reported after Thompson had roused
him out of a heavy slumber.
The tyrannous Mr. Hinkel had something to say when McKenzie came up on
the poop ten minutes after the bell had tolled. "Vy der hell dond't
you turn oudt ven you are called?" he snarled. "By Gott, I'll make you
spry!" He turned and sung out to the bos'n. "Gedt a pot of slush und
let dis lazy defil grease down der yigger-top-masdt!" Donald went to
the lee side of the poop, nervous and apprehensive at the nature of
the punishment to be meted to him for lack of punctuality in turning
out on his second watch in the ship.
The bos'n, a kindly Dane, who had sailed so long in English ships as
to have sunk his nationality, brought the tin slush-pot upon the poop
and called to the wondering Donald. "Here, son," he said quietly so
that the second mate could not hear. "Dam' shame sendin' a raw nipper
like you aloft on a job like this for bein' a minute or two late. In
decent ships the new boys ain't allowed above the tops until they've
bin a month at sea. Howsomever, son,"--rigging a bos'n's chair to the
halliards as he talked--"don't git narvous. I'll tend th' halliard an'
lower ye down as ye sing out. Put the lanyard o' this slush-pot aroun'
yer neck an' grease th' mast wit' yer hands. Tie this bit o' line
aroun' th' topm'st when ye get above th' eyes o' the riggin' so's ye
won't swing out when she rolls. Don't be scared, son, you'll be
alright."
"I'm not scared, bos'n," answered Donald, taking his seat in the
chair, with the foul smelling pot of grease around his neck. Up to the
block of the halliard he went--clutching the mast, as the bos'n
hoisted him up, to keep from swinging, pendulum-wise, with the roll of
the barque. It was dark, but clear, and the stars shone bright in the
cold morning air. Far away to port a light blinked somewhere on the
Galloway coast, and from his lofty perch, he could see the wake made
by the ship's passage fading into the murk astern. The rolling of the
vessel was more pronounced up aloft, and before he commenced
"slushing-down," he took a turn of the line around the mast as the
bos'n had advised, but even then, he swayed ominously and the grease
smelt indescribably foul.
Dipping his sore hands into the mess, he massaged the smooth pole with
the grease as the bos'n lowered him down. It was very cold up aloft
and the rolling and the foul smell of the slush was making him dizzy
with nausea. Within a few minutes, he was deathly sick and hung to the
spar, white-faced and with the perspiration breaking out on him. Try
as he might to regain control of himself, Donald had to succumb to the
dreadful _mal-de-mer_, and with a feeble "Look-out, below!" he made
his first contribution to Neptune.
A volley of German curses from the poop apprised him of the fact that
the second mate had received evidence of his indisposition--Mr. Hinkel
having, unfortunately, strode to loo'ard just when Donald was ejecting
the "longshore swash out of his stomach." The realization of what had
happened frightened all the sea-sickness out of him, and he resumed
his task, fearful of the consequences when he reached the deck. Coming
down the mast, he wondered, as he had often wondered of late, what
fascination there was in a sea-life that sent lads to sea.
On deck again after the job was done, the bos'n met him with a grin.
"Ye put it all over th' secon' greaser," he said. "He's for'ard
cleaning himself off." Donald felt too nervous to smile. Mr. Hinkel
would have something to say to him when he came aft.
While he was talking to the bos'n, Captain Muirhead slipped quietly
around the chart-house and stood before them. "Whaur's the second
officer?" he said in a quiet, but ominous tone.
"Th' lad here, sir, was up aloft slushin' down an' took sick an'
Mister Hinkel got it, sir," answered Martin somewhat eagerly. "He's
gone for'ard to get somethin' to clean hisself off with, sir!"
The Old Man muttered unintelligibly under his breath, stared over the
port rail at something ahead, and then gave a quiet-spoken order to
the man at the wheel. The helm was shifted, and when the second mate
came aft, the skipper called him. Pointing into the gloom for'ard, he
said: "Do you see that ship ahead?" Hinkel followed the direction of
the Old Man's hand. "Yaw, sir!" he answered. A new phase of the silent
Captain Muirhead's character was revealed to Donald in the violent
outburst which came from his lips. "Then what th' hell dae ye mean by
leavin' th' poop afore we're clear o' th' Firth," he thundered in a
strident voice so utterly different from his usual quiet-spokeness.
"What's yer look-out doin'? Asleep, I suppose? Damn yer bloody eyes,
we'd ha' been intae that fella if Ah hadna jist spied her! Your place
is here, mister, especially while we're in th' midst o' Channel
traffic. Ye'll no dare tae leave this poop in your watch onless Ah'm
here, or th' mate, or unless it's necessary fur th' safety o' th'
shup! Awa' forrit an' see if yer look-out's awake!"
Hinkel made no reply but slouched down the poop ladder, and a moment
after his guttural cursing could be heard as he dressed down the
sleepy watchman on the fo'c'sle-head. "Hinkel will not love you for
this night, son," remarked the bos'n. "He's an ugly swine, so keep out
of his way."
Donald discreetly kept to loo'ard when Hinkel came aft again. The
captain paced the poop for a spell and then went below. Donald heard
the second mate growl something to the man at the wheel, and a moment
afterwards turned to find the hulking German in the gloom alongside of
him. Hinkel grasped him by the arm in a grip that made him wince. "Jou
verdammt schweinehunde!" he snarled through gritted teeth and shaking
the boy violently. "Mein Gott! Ich like fur kick jou in der
vasser--jou cursed rat! Jou look oudt! I'll sveat jou fur dis!" In his
rage he was almost unintelligible and he concluded by heaving Donald
violently away from him.
During the rest of the watch the boy attended most assiduously to his
duties, as he knew he had made an enemy who would only need a slight
excuse to wreak vengeance on him, but in a way that would be upheld by
the British Merchant Shipping laws and the officials administering
it.
With a fair wind and fine weather, the _Kelvinhaugh_ cleared the St.
George's Channel and swung away S.W. across the broad expanse of the
North Atlantic for the equator and on the deepwaterman's track which
would bring her in the vicinity of the land again at Cape San Roque on
the Brazilian coast. It was fine weather for the ship, but it wasn't
fine weather for Donald. Captain Muirhead ignored him absolutely, at
least by speech, though he watched him at work often with furtive
glances. The Old Man was not much of a conversationalist, but he did
talk to the other apprentices, and his ignoring of young McKenzie was
commented on in the half-deck. Thompson summed it up, rather brutally,
but Donald knew that he meant it in a kindly spirit. "Nipper," he
said, "your uncle has no love for you or the Old Man would be falling
all over you. Your stingy Scotch relative looks upon you as a charity
brat--it don't need but half an eye to see that, for he sent you to
sea parish-rigged, with an outfit as mean as what ye'd get from a
boarding-house master in Jerusalem. He shoved you off here as the
cheapest thing he could do--an apprentice without a premium paid
down--and he'll see that you work for your keep and clothes. The
skipper knows it, and that square-headed Hinkel knows it, for he'd
never dare treat any of us other fellows the way he treats you. Your
best friend aft here is that hard-case Blue-nose mate.... And, say,
kid, just you make that skulker Moore do his share. He's sojerin'
around in here smoking and loafing while you're on deck. Why doesn't
Hinkel get after _him_, I'd like to know? You just bring Moore to his
bearings, kid, and jab him one on the jaw if he gets lippy!" Donald
thanked the senior apprentice with tears in his eyes. Ever since he
had come aboard this ship, it had required all his nerve and courage
to keep from breaking down at the petty tyrannies and persecutions of
the second mate. The captain must be abetting his officer, or why
didn't he interfere in cases where, as Donald knew, he, as an
apprentice, was not supposed to be ordered to perform. Tasks, which in
most ships were done by older hands, were delegated to McKenzie, and
he carried them out cheerfully, thinking that he was going through the
rigorous course prescribed for those who would become "compleat and
perfect seamen."
Mr. Nickerson seemed indeed to be his best friend among the after
guard. Though not in the mate's watch, yet that officer did not take
long to size Donald up as a lad having the right spirit in him for a
sailor. He was willing and jumped to obey a command. He was
intelligent and mastered the intricacies of the big barque's rigging
and gear in less time than most green hands would have taken to
determine bow from stern and starboard from port. In the dog-watches
and on Sundays, the mate took Donald in hand and taught him how to
steer, and by the time the _Kelvinhaugh_ had picked up the north-east
trade winds in the latitude of the Canaries, he was able to take a
wheel in fine weather and steer "by the wind" or by compass.
The Nova Scotian's lessons were forceful and not readily forgotten. "I
jest show a boy once," he used to say, "an' then I expect him to go
ahead an' do it himself. When I have to show a thing twice I ram it
home with a rope's end!" Jenkins and Moore--the latter especially--had
cause to fear the mate's teachings, but Donald stood high in his favor
through his intelligent grasp of things and the will to master a
problem. To the other apprentices and in the eyes of the hands
for'ard, Nickerson was a "ruddy Yankee bucko," and it must be
admitted, the epithet was justified, for he was a "taut" hand and made
no bones about using his fist or boot to accentuate "nippiness."
By the time the barque caught the "trades," and in spite of the
miserable food supplied, young McKenzie had toughened up wonderfully.
The continual "horsing" to which he was being subjected by his watch
officer seemed to be the very elixir necessary to building up his
apparently frail constitution. His muscles and sinews hardened and
developed; his eyes were clear and bright, and the sallowness of his
face became replaced by a healthy tan. The soft hands became hard and
horny-palmed, while his movements were quick and active under the
spur of the mate's teachings and the second mate's spite. If the sea
killed some boys, it was making a man of Donald, and he recalled the
old Glasgow specialist's advice to his mother, "He'll be as tough as a
louse an' as hard tae kill!"
While he had benefitted physically through a sea-life, his boyish
ideals of the romance and adventure of seafaring had been ruthlessly
shattered. His treatment on the _Kelvinhaugh_ had practically killed
all the thrilling fancies and dreams of his home days. He was
beginning to realize his father's words, "It's a dog's life at the
best of times!" and even the blue-skied "trades," with the barque
bowling along through the azure ocean under clouds of brand-new
canvas, white as snow, failed to awake in him the same enthusiasm as
the ideal about which he had dreamed. True! they were glorious
days--for a passenger or the officers, maybe--but for Donald,
hard-worked and living on wretched provender and environed by men
whose imaginations were dead, the "trade" latitudes were but periods
in a voyage, just as summer and winter were seasonal phases in a
calendar year. Had he gone to sea under better auspices, his enjoyment
of the sea and its glories would have been different.
There was one lesson he did learn and which he ever afterwards
retained as a permanent part of his character, and that was dependence
upon himself and the submergence of sensitiveness and meek toleration
of injustices from equals. The rough talk of the half-deck and the
cutting jibes of his shipmates no longer wounded his sensibilities.
While he retained his inbred gentleness, yet he case-hardened it with
an armor of indifference not to be easily penetrated. Physically, he
resented being imposed upon by others not entitled to command
obedience, and gained his first step in that resolution in a "show
down" with his apprentice watch-mate, Moore.
The surly youth had never forgiven McKenzie for the bunk episode when
the ship was at Greenock. He also attempted, by reason of the fact
that he had served four days of his time at sea in the lost
_Dunottar_, to claim seniority over Donald and to delegate to the
latter the job of "Peggy" for the half-deck. Donald was willing to do
his share of fetching the food from the galley and in cleaning out the
apprentice's quarters, but he began to resent doing all of it. Moore
considered that Donald's willingness to do mess-boy work for the crowd
was a tacit acknowledgment of his seniority and freedom from such
menial tasks, but he over-stepped the bounds one dog-watch when he
insolently ordered McKenzie to sweep up the floor of the boys'
quarters, after he had littered it with shavings from a model which he
was whittling. Donald had swept the half-deck out earlier in the day,
and calmly told Moore that "as you've made the mess, it is up to you
to clean it up!" Thompson was in his bunk reading, but hearing the
words between the two, he knocked off to watch events.
"D'ye hear me, nipper!" growled Moore threateningly. "I told you to
clane this litter up. Git now or I'll be after makin' ye!"
Donald stood up, determined and very cool. "Moore!" he said calmly,
"I've made up my mind that I'm a better man than you, so put up your
hands, for I'm going to knock the tar out of you!" And he went for the
other like a shot out of a gun.
Moore was bigger and heavier than Donald, but he was one of the kind
who "sojered" in a heave or a haul and only exerted his strength when
he had to. When Donald was toiling under Hinkel's eye, Moore was
"sun-fishing" somewhere. Hinkel was too busy horsing McKenzie to care
a continental what Moore was doing, and it was thought by some of the
hands that the second mate had received a substantial monetary
consideration from the Irish lad to allow him a "jack-easy" time.
Moore's people were wealthy brewers in Liverpool, and he went to sea
with plenty of money. However, Mr. Hinkel's attentions to Donald
proved Moore's undoing. As a physical developer of soft muscles, the
second mate had been a success as far as Donald was concerned, and
within five minutes, the younger lad had Moore backed up against the
bulk-head and was "knocking the tar" out of him with fists as hard
and as bony as though shod with knuckle-dusters. Thompson was sitting
up in his bunk betting plugs of tobacco on the outcome of the "mill"
with Jenkins and the bos'n, who were watching from the door. The
sail-maker and carpenter were craning through the ports, thoroughly
enjoying the "scrap" and murmuring, "Good fur the wee fella! He's a
richt nippy yin wi' his dukes!"
Moore, badly mauled, hauled down his flag, and Donald broke away from
him. With a new gleam in his eyes--both puffed from some of Moore's
shots--he said, "From now on, Moore, you'll go half and half in any
work that's to be done in here, and you'll begin now and do a week's
"Peggy" for what I've been doing since we up-hook'd, or I'll turn to
and plug you some more!"
Thompson laughed. "That's talking, nipper," he said, "ride him down!
You gave that Irish puddler just what he was bearing up for!" And
Donald felt that he had gone a step up on the ladder of the spirit
that makes the man.