The monotonous routine of uneventful sea-life saw the big barque
across the equatorial line, and the usual spell of windless calms had
to be endured when the _Kelvinhaugh_ left the dying trade winds astern
in nine degrees north. After a stretch of twenty-five days, "bracing
up" and "squaring away" to innumerable "cat's paws" and flickering
zephyrs, the vessel picked up the south-east trades a few degrees
south of the line and, braced sharp up, made brave sailing for such a
huge heavily laden craft. So far the weather had been fine and the
barque had not yet been called upon to match her clumsy fabric with
angry wind and sea.
It does not take a ship's company long to size up the condition of
things aboard ship, and fo'c'sle and half-deck gossip showed that the
hands had pretty well taken the measure of the after-guard. Captain
Muirhead turned out to be a cheap skipper, a sulky old bear, an
indifferent sailor and over-fond of the bottle. In the calm, windless
doldrums, he never came up on deck but what the aroma of whisky
travelled with him. On these occasions he was more talkative than
usual, and exhibited a fondness for yarning with the second mate. The
big German would act so openly servile during these phases of the
captain's favor, that the crew had him designated as a "ruddy skipper
licker." Curiously enough, when the Old Man was sober, he treated
Hinkel to the rough side of his tongue pretty frequently, and would
often call him to task for errors and omissions in seamanship.
With Mr. Nickerson the case seemed to be different. The master had
very little to say to him at any time, but the mate acted on numerous
occasions as if he had but little use for his commander. Nickerson was
undoubtedly a splendid seaman, and Martin, the bos'n, openly averred
that he was the smartest mate he had ever sailed with as far as his
seamanship was concerned. Thompson bore testimony to the Nova
Scotian's skill as a navigator, and stated that he had taught him
wrinkles in working difficult problems which would have stumped many
an extra master. But Mr. Nickerson's harsh treatment of the crew did
not win him their affections, though it commanded their fear and
respect.
As the days passed, Donald prayed fervently for the voyage to end.
Hinkel was fast making his life a burden to him, while Thompson's and
the bos'n's gloomy prognostications of the future in the barque did
not tend to hearten his outlook on the days to come. The boy did not
worry much about the third mate's prophecies of disaster, but when
Martin began growling, it was time to take notice. "Mark me well,"
croaked he to the hands, "we'll catch hell in this hooker. Th' pitch
o' th' Horn in July ain't a good season for this big hulk down there,
an' she'll be a man-killer! Mark me well! Them big heavy yards an'
sails an' a long ship an' a deep ship means work an' dirt. She's
slower'n blazes in answerin' her helm and a lazy swine in coming
about--always gittin' in irons. An' she'll be wet ... a ruddy
half-tide rock! Th' grass'll grow on them there decks afore we get
around. Aye! Mark me well! There'll be th' devil to pay an' no pitch
hot when we git _down there_!"
The continual croaking about "down there" had but little effect upon
Jenkins and Moore. Both had never rounded the Horn; could not imagine
its frightfulness, and were not worrying. "Come day, go day, God send
Sunday!" was their motto. The barque was so big and new that the Horn
had no terrors in their imaginations. In a smaller, older ship it
might be bad, but in the big new _Kelvinhaugh_?--Tcha! there was
nothing to it! Donald, however, was not so optimistic. Possibly the
nigger-driving he was continually subjected to somewhat obscured any
rosy outlook on the future. Anyhow, he prepared for the worst and did
what he could to make his poor kit fit for dirty weather and a long
spell of it. Jenkins and Moore had plenty of clothes--they would pull
through alright, but Donald, with his wretched rig, knew that he would
get nothing more to augment it this side of the Horn. In such straits
a boy could not but wish that the voyage would end.
Hinkel became more tyrannous as the barque reached to the south'ard,
subjecting McKenzie to numerous petty tyrannies known in seafaring
parlance as "work-up jobs." A favorite trick of the second mate's was
to tug slyly on the bunt and leech-lines--breaking the twine or yarn
which kept them from chafing the sails. He would then sing out for
McKenzie to lay aloft and overhaul and stop the gear from the royal
down, generally around the end of a watch. Poor Donald would have to
skip up with a fist-full of rope-yarns and finish the task by the time
his watch had been anywhere from half to an hour in their bunks. Aye,
there are a hundred and one ways in which a despotic officer can break
the spirit of a man or boy at sea! One incident north of the Plate
showed the true calibre of the man, and gave Donald an experience he
was never likely to forget. It was one of the outstanding incidents in
his career and one of the most humiliating. Thompson had called him at
the end of the first night watch. There was a strong breeze blowing
aft and the barque was slugging along under all plain sail. As he
pulled on his clothes, Thompson remarked jocularly, "You're shapin' up
not too bad as a shell-back, nipper, but there's one thing you can't
do yet."
"What's that?"
"You can't chew tobacco," replied the other with a grin. "Until you
can masticate a quid you can't call yourself a genuine deep-waterman."
"I'll go you," said Donald. "Gimme a bite of your plug." And with a
liberal chew in his cheek, he jumped out on deck and reported aft.
The second mate had some work for the watch for'ard and told Donald to
take the wheel. The sea was slapping under the ship's stern and
causing the wheel to buck heavily, and the boy could only manage her
by putting his foot on the spokes at intervals in order to rest his
sorely strained arms. For almost an hour he steered and chewed on his
quid, but the wrenching of the wheel was beginning to exhaust him. He
had just put his foot on the lower spokes when he was conscious of Mr.
Hinkel's presence at the lee side of the wheel-box. At the same moment
a heavier sea than usual smashed under the counter and the wheel
jerked savagely--knocking his foot away. Grasping the spinning spokes
with his two hands he tried to arrest the violent whirl, but before he
could exert his strength, he was hurled completely over the wheel-box
and up against the second mate. The officer slipped to his knees, but
jumped up in a flash and arrested the whirling spokes. Donald lay
across the grating with all the breath knocked out of him and deathly
sick through swallowing the tobacco he had been valorously
masticating.
Hinkel yelled viciously for a hand to take the wheel--kicking the
prostrate Donald violently with his heavy boots and swearing vengeance
as soon as he could leave the jerking spokes. Donald was too sick to
take much heed and lay across the grating horribly ill.
"Jou verdammt schweine!" bawled the furious German as soon as he was
relieved. "Ich teach you!" He grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged
him across the deck, swearing in mixed English and German. Over to the
hen-coops at the fore-end of the poop he hauled the unresisting
apprentice, and opening up a door, jammed him headfirst in among the
screeching fowls. Slamming the barred door down again, he turned the
catch, and stood up. "Stay in dere dis vatch!" he snarled. "I'll teach
jou to gedt fonny me vit!"
Too sick to protest or cry out, Donald lay prone inside the narrow
coop while the few remaining inmates clucked and squawked and pecked
at his head. At that moment he only wished to die and end his misery,
and this feeling, together with the violent jar he had received at the
wheel, the tobacco in his stomach and the foul odor from the floor of
the coop, sent him off into a faint.
He came-to a short time later to find himself being pulled out of the
coop by Mr. Hinkel, and he heard Mr. Nickerson saying, "Bring him
out!" in a voice as harsh as a file. The mate was in his shirt and
under-drawers, and when Donald was hauled from his foul prison, the
chief officer bent down and asked, "What in blazes were you doing,
boy?" Donald related dully how he had been thrown over the wheel-box.
The second mate broke in. "I tell jou, sir, he vos star-gazink und let
der veel go! She nearly broached mit der jung fool's monkey-tricks--"
The Nova Scotian leaned forward and peered menacingly into the
German's face. "Listen, Hinkel," he said slowly and in a voice as hard
as steel, but as ominous as a death threat, "I've got your flag an'
number, my bucko, and if I catch you man-handlin' that boy again I'll
break you like a dry stick. You measly Dutchman!" That was all he
said, quietly, so that the man at the wheel could not hear, but Hinkel
was visibly impressed and without a word, turned militarily on his
heels and walked to loo'ard. The mate watched him for a moment and
bent down and raised Donald to his feet. "Go to yer bunk, boy, an'
stay there for the rest of the watch." Donald staggered away feeling
unspeakably grateful to his champion, and with a fixed determination
to forever eschew at least one of a "dyed-in-the-wool" shell-back's
accomplishments.
That the second mate hated him, Donald knew, though he was completely
at a loss to account for the continual hazing by the brutal German.
Possibly, he thought, it was because the fellow was a natural bully,
and Donald's misfortune in getting the second mate into trouble with
the skipper for being off the poop on the night in the Firth of Clyde
may have accentuated Hinkel's spite.
The captain's attitude was also unaccountable to Donald's reasoning.
During the whole of the time he had been on the barque, Captain
Muirhead had never spoken to him, nor had he taken notice of him in
any way save by furtive glances. The man had no reason to dislike
Donald, yet after the familiar conversations they had had together at
Glasgow, he had now closed up like a clam, though to the other boys he
often passed friendly remarks, and on occasions, corrected them with
the rough side of his tongue. To Donald, he neither spoke friendly or
otherwise, and the boy wondered why the skipper maintained such an
attitude towards him. Thompson often commented on the fact and put
forth several conclusions. "He's either afraid of you because you're
the owner's nephew, or else he doesn't care a continental about you
because you're a charity 'prentice. It's one thing or the other,
sure."
Off the Plate, Donald underwent another bitter experience which left a
deep and lasting impression upon him and served to put the captain in
the proper category of relationship. An English barque, homeward
bound, had passed and McKenzie was on the poop handing code flags for
the Old Man who spoke the barque and asked to be reported. It was
blowing fresh abaft the beam, but the sea was smooth save for a long
swell from the south'ard. The last hoist was flying from the
spanker-gaff, when the halliard parted and the bunting came fluttering
down on the poop. The other ship had got the signal, however, as her
answering pennant was up, and Captain Muirhead gruffly told Mr. Hinkel
to stow the flags away. During the afternoon in the second mate's
watch, the Captain suddenly told Hinkel to have the halliard rove off
again as he might require it at any time. "Ye don't need tae top up
th' gaff, mister," the Old Man added. "Send yin o' thae boys up. That
young McKenzie is spry enough tae reeve it off!"
As the ship was running, the spanker was furled, but to shin up a
slippery spar standing out from the jiggermast at an angle of about
thirty-five degrees is no easy task even in a dock, and with the
vessel rolling and the gaff swaying, even though braced with the
vangs, the job was exceedingly risky, and able seamen would have
refused to do it. Donald, however, made no demur, but jumped to obey
the second mate's guttural command. With the light halliard in his
hand, he clambered up the jigger shrouds and swung down from the top
on to the gaff and sat astride it facing towards the stern of the
ship.
With the halliard in his teeth, he started to clamber up the pole with
his arms and legs encircling it, but owing to the fact that it was a
scraped spar and recently "slushed," the task of shinning it was
exceedingly difficult. Several times he hauled himself up, only to
slide back, and once or twice the swaying of the ship almost caused
him to slip off altogether.
"Oudt jou go, now, und no verdammt nonsings!" bawled Hinkel sixty feet
below. Captain Muirhead was pacing to windward absolutely unconcerned
and scarcely bestowing a glance at the boy clutching the precarious
gaff. Several of the men, working in the waist, knocked off to watch
the performance and the bos'n growled, "Gaudy shame! That boy can't
shin that greasy gaft. A ruddy work-up job, that what I calls it.
They're hazin' that nipper."
Nervous and somewhat apprehensive as to his ability to get out to the
gaff-end, Donald essayed it once more. Gripping the spar with all his
strength, he made a desperate effort and halted for breath a few feet
short of the vangs out and above him. The swaying was worse out there
and he was almost exhausted. Hanging on to the gaff was as hard as
climbing out on it, so, perspiring and fearful, he made another
shuffle. At the moment when he had almost reached the gaff-end, the
weather vang carried away; the gaff swung to loo'ard and Donald was
hurled violently off the spar. He cleared the poop rail by a few
inches in his descent and plunged head-first into the sea.
Martin, the bos'n, had been waiting for just such an eventuality and
he was up the poop ladder in a flash, and had thrown one of the poop
life-buoys over. Without waiting for orders, the man at the wheel put
the helm down and the barque was coming sluggishly up into the wind,
with canvas rustling and banging. "Keep her off! Keep her off!" bawled
the Old Man. "Damn an' blast ye! Who told ye tae pit her doon? Dae ye
want tae tak' th' sticks oot o' her--"
The mate, in shirt and trousers, suddenly appeared aft and elbowed the
captain away from the wheel. His lean face was convulsed with fury.
"You white-livered hound!" he roared. "Ye'd leave that kid t' drown,
would ye? Not ef I know it! Ease yer helm down!" The captain stood,
astounded, red-faced and gasping, while Hinkel ran for'ard to do
something or get out of the way.
Nickerson leaped to the break of the poop. "Back yer mainyard!" he
bawled. "Aft here an' git the quarter-boat away! Rouse out the
hands--cook an' all! Aloft you, Jenkins, and keep him in sight!" Under
the spur of his curses the men skipped around, and the life-boat was
out of the chocks, swung out and lowered away in record time. Six men,
led by Martin, the bos'n, swarmed down into her, and soon had the oars
shipped and manfully pulled away in the direction indicated by Jenkins
up in the jigger-rigging.
"D'ye see him, boy?"
"Yes, sir," Jenkins answered. "He's got hold of the ring-buoy and is
about half a mile away off the beam."
"How's th' boat headin'? Kin they see him?"
"They're heading right for him, sir!" replied the apprentice.
Captain Muirhead came to himself at this juncture--he had remained
beside the wheel seemingly petrified by the mate's action in
countermanding his orders--and he walked over to Mr. Nickerson with a
face dark with rage. "Mr. Nickerson," he said, in a harsh, tense
voice, "Ah'll log you for this, by Goad! It's bliddy mutiny--no less!
It's--" He stopped at a loss for words in his passion. The Nova
Scotian gave him a contemptuous glance. "You log an' be damned to
you!" he said coolly. "You an' your 'take th' sticks out of her' in a
moderate breeze!" Then with a strange look in his eyes, he peered
truculently into the captain's face. "There's something blame' fishy
about this!" he said significantly. "What are you up to? Are you
trying to get rid of that kid?" Then threateningly he added, "Let me
tell you, sir, that if anything happens to that nipper aboard this
ship, I'll have _you_ jugged for it. I've got friends in Vancouver
who'll take you in hand, sir, an' you'll find they're rough an' ready
on that part o' the West Coast!"
The captain, with suddenly subdued expression on his face, was about
to say something, but evidently thought better of it. Instead he
remarked quietly, "When ye get yer boat aboard, pit her on her course
again. If th' laud wants a drap o' whusky, Ah'll gie ye some for him."
Then apologetically, "Ah got a bad fricht, an' didny ken whit was
happenin' when Ah gied th' man th' order." And as he turned away,
Nickerson stared at him curiously and muttered, "Liar!"
Donald's plunge into the sea knocked the breath out of him for a
moment, but when he came up, gasping and half-stunned, he saw, as in a
dream, a life-buoy being thrown over the barque's taff-rail. When he
regained his bearings he swam for it, and succeeded in reaching and
hanging on to the circle of canvassed cork. He held on for an
indefinite period, during which time he saw the _Kelvinhaugh_ coming
to the wind, and rising on top of a swell, he made out a quarter-boat
pulling towards him. He shouted several times, and in a daze, heard
voices. "Here he is! Steady all! Easy starboard! Pull port! 'Vast
pulling all!" Then he was grabbed by the arms and hauled aboard the
boat, where he lay on the bottom boards and vomited the salt water he
had swallowed.
Feeling sick and shaky, he was carried into the half-deck, and
Thompson and the steward took his clothes off and rolled him up in
warm blankets and put him in his bunk. He was given a stiff drink of
hot whisky and almost immediately went off to sleep, and the talk of
the other apprentices at tea only woke him after he had slept like a
log for almost five hours.
"How're ye feeling, nipper?" enquired Thompson kindly. "Good? That's
fine. Ye're gettin' to be a reg'lar hell-diver, you are, and, my eye!
didn't you cause a rare rumpus!" And he told what had happened after
Donald had taken the plunge. "That measly squarehead of a Hinkel is
trying to do for you!" added the senior apprentice solemnly. "You
should have seen him when the mate came up on deck an' shoved the Old
Man away from the wheel. The big Dutchman runs for'ard yelling in
Doytch an' what th' blazes he was saying nobody knew. I think he was
running away from Nickerson. If you wanted to see a reg'lar genuine
'stand-'em-up-and-knock-'em-down,' 'give-me-none-of-yer-sass' Western
Ocean bucko look on a man's face, it was on the mate's when he called
the Old Man 'a white-livered hound!' I guess Hinkel thought he would
lay _him_ out with a capstan-bar, so he skedaddled!"
Donald had got his clothes from the galley, where they had been dried
by the cook, and was sitting in the apprentice's berth talking with
Jenkins, when Mr. Nickerson looked in. He gave Donald a sharp glance.
"Nipper," he said, curtly, "you'll come in my watch after this.
Jenkins will go in the second mate's."
The mate had just come from for'ard after questioning the bos'n. "Them
spanker vangs, sir, were all right when I examined them day afore
yest'day, sir," Martin had said. "The tackles are brand new and there
ain't been nothin' to cause a chafe or enough strain to strand th'
rope. Them strands, sir, were filed or scraped, sir, to make believe
they was chafed or wore, and I thinks, sir, as how that second mate
did it."
"And the signal halliards?"
"They was alright, sir. Th' Old Man, sir, jest made a slippery bend on
th' flag, I guess, and it carried away an' un-rove."
Mr. Nickerson nodded. "You jest keep your tongue between your teeth,
Bose, an' don't open your trap about th' matter to anybody. I'll look
into this." And he walked to the half-deck and gave Donald a change of
watch.