He left me, then, as he had to watch the men on deck. I felt, when he
went on deck, that the morning had been a nightmare; but now I was to be
flunkey well as slave, a new humiliation. I did not think how many times
I had humiliated others by letting them do such things for me. I had
done so all my life without a thought. Now, forsooth, I was at the point
of tears at having to do it for others, even though one of the others
was my rightful King. Grubbing about among the lockers, I found a canvas
table-cloth, which had once been part of a sail. I spread this cloth
with the breakfast gear, imitating the arrangements made at home at
Oulton. The mate came down some minutes after I had finished. He caught
me sitting down on the top of the lockers, looking out at the ships
through the open port.
“Here,” he said roughly. “You've got to learn manners, or I'll have to
teach you. Remember this once for all, my son. No one sits in the cabin
except a captain or a passenger. You'll take your cap off to the cabin
door before I've done with you. Nor you don't sit down till your work's
done. That's another thing. Why ain't you at work?”
“Please, sir,” I said, “I've laid the table. What else am I to do?”
“Do,” he said. “Give the windows a rub. Then clean your hands, ready to
wait at table. No. Hold on. Have you called Mr. Scott yet?”
“No, sir. I didn't know I had to.”
“My,” he answered. “Have you any sense at all? Go call them. No. Get
their hot water first at the galley.”
I suppose I stared at him; for I did not know that this would be a
duty of mine. “Here. Don't look at me like that,” he said. “You make
me forget myself.” He went to the locker, in which he rummaged till he
produced a big copper kettle. “Here's the hot water can,” he said. “Nip
with it to the galley, before the cook puts his fire out. On deck, boy.
Don't you know where the galley is?”
I did not know where the galley was in this particular ship. I thought
that it would probably be below decks, round a space of brick floor to
prevent fire. But as the mate said “on deck” I ran on deck at once. I
ran on deck, up the hatch, so vigorously, that I charged into a seaman
who was carrying a can of slush, or melted salt fat used in the greasing
of ropes. I butted into him, spattering the slush all over him, besides
making a filthy mess of grease on the deck, then newly cleansed. The
seaman, who was the boatswain or second mate, boxed my ears with a
couple of cuffs which made my head sing. “You young hound,” he said,
“Cubbadar when your chief passes.” I went forward to the galley, crying
as if my heart would break, not only at the pain of the blows, which
stung me horribly, but at the misery of my life in this new service,
that had seemed so grand only seven or eight hours before. At the galley
door was the cook, a morose little Londoner with earrings in his ears.
“Miaow, Miaow,” he said, pretending to mimic my sobs. “Why haven't you
come for this 'ot water before? 'Ere 'ave I been keepin' my fire lit
while you been enjoyin' a stuffin' loaf down in that there cabin.” I was
too miserable to answer him. I just held out my kettle, thinking that
he would fill it for me. “Wot are you 'oldin' out the kettle for?”
he asked. “Think I'm goin' to do yer dirty work? Fill it at the 'ob
yourself.” I filled it as he bade me, choking down my tears. When I had
filled it, I hurried back to the 'tweendecks, hoping to hide my misery
down in the semi-darkness there. I did not pass the second mate on my
way back; but I passed some of the seamen, to whom a boy in tears was
fair game. One asked me what I meant by coming aft all salt, like a head
sea, making the deck wet after he'd squeegeed it down. Another told me
to wait till the second mate caught me. “I'd be sorry then,” he said,
“that ever I spilt the slush;” with other sea-jests, all of them pretty
brutal. It is said that if a strange rook comes to a rookery the other
rooks peck it to death, or at any rate drive it away. I know not if this
be true of rooks (I know that sparrows will attack owls or canaries,
whenever they have a chance), but it is true enough of human beings. We
all hate the new-comer, we are all suspicious of him, as of a possible
enemy. The seamen did to me what school-boys do to the new boy. I did
not know then that there is no mercy for one sensitive enough to take
such “jests” to heart. At sea, the rough, ready tom-fool boy is the
boy to thrive. Such an one might have spilt all the slush in the ship,
without getting so much as a cuff. I was a merry boy enough, but I was
sad when I made my first appearance. The sailors saw me crying. If I
had only had the wit to dodge the bosun's blows, the matter of the slush
would have been turned off with a laugh, since he only struck me in the
irritation of the moment. He would have enjoyed chasing me round the
deck. If I had only come up merrily that is what would have happened. As
it was I came up sad, with the result that I got my ears boxed, which,
of course, made me too wretched to put the cook in a good temper; a
cause of much woe to me later. The seamen who saw me crying at once put
me down as a cry-baby, which I really was not; so that, for the rest of
my time in the ship I was cruelly misjudged. I hope that my readers will
remember how little a thing may make a great difference in a person's
life. I hope that they will also remember how easy it is to misjudge
a person. It will be well for them if, as I trust, they may never
experience how terrible it feels to be misjudged.
After I had called the two gentlemen, I gave the glass bull's-eyes in
the swing ports a rub with a cloth. I was at work in this way when the
two gentlemen entered. Mr. Jermyn smiled to see me with my coat off,
rubbing at the glass. He also wished me good morning, which Mr. Scott
failed to do. Mr. Scott took no notice of me one way or the other;
but sat down at the locker, asking when breakfast would be ready. “Get
breakfast, boy,” Mr. Jermyn said. At that I put my glass-rag into the
locker. I hurried off to the galley to bring the breakfast, not knowing
rightly whether it would be there or in another place. The cook, surly
brute, made a lot of offensive remarks to me, to which I made no answer.
He was glad to have someone to bully, for he had the common man's love
of power, with all his hatred of anything more polished than himself.
I took the breakfast aft to the cabin, where, by this time, the ship's
captain was seated. I placed the dish before Mr. Jermyn.
“Why haven't you washed your hands, boy?” he asked, looking at my hands.
“Please, sir, I haven't had time.”
“Wash them now, then. Don't come to wait at table with hands like that
again. I didn't think you were a dirty boy.”
I was not a dirty boy; but, having been at work since before six that
morning, I had had no chance of washing myself. I could not answer;
but the injustice of Mr. Jermyn's words gave me some of the most bitter
misery which I have known. For brutal, thoughtless injustice, it is
difficult to beat the merchant ship. I stole away to wash myself, very
glad of the chance to get away from the cabin. When I was ready, it was
time to clear the breakfast things to the galley, to wash them with the
cook. Luckily, I had overheard Mr. Jermyn say “how well this cook can
devil kidneys.” I repeated this to the cook, who was pleased to hear it.
It made him rather more kind in his manner to me. He did not know who
Mr. Scott really was. He asked me a lot of questions about what I knew
of Mr. Scott. I replied that I'd heard that he was a Spanish merchant, a
friend of Mr. Jermyn's. As for Mr. Jermyn, he knew' an uncle of mine. I
had helped him to recover his pocket-book; that was all that I knew of
him; that was why he had given me my present post as servant. More I
dared not say; for I remembered the Duke's sharp sword on my chest. We
talked thus, as we washed the dishes; the cook in a sweeter mood (having
had his morning dram of brandy); I, myself, trying hard to win him to a
good opinion of me. I asked him if I might clean his copper for him;
it was in a sad state of dirt. “You'll have work enough 'ere, boy,” he
said, tartly, “without you running round for more. You mind your own
business.” After this little snap at my head (no thought of thanks
occurred to him) he prepared breakfast for us, out of the remains of the
cabin breakfast. I was much cheered by the prospect of food, for nearly
three hours of hard work had given me an appetite. At a word from the
cook, I brought out two little stools from under the bunk. Then I placed
the “bread-barge,” or wooden bowl of ship's biscuits, ready for our
meal, beside our two plates.
Breakfast was just about to begin, when my enemy, the boatswain,
appeared at the galley door. “Here, cook,” he said, “where's that
limb of a boy? Oh, you're there, are you? Feeding your face. Get a
three-cornered scraper right now. You'll scrape up that slush you
spilled, before you eat so much as a reefer's nut.” I had to go on deck
again for another hour, while I scraped up the slush, which was, surely,
spilled as much by himself as by me, since he was not looking where he
was going any more than I was. I got no breakfast. For after the grease
was cleaned I was sent to black the gentlemen's boots; then to make up
their beds; then to scrub their cabin clean. After all this, being faint
with hunger, I took a ship's biscuit from the locker in the cabin to eat
as I worked. I did not know it; but this biscuit was what is known as
“captain's bread,” a whiter (but less pleasant) kind of ship's biscuit,
baked for officers. As I was eating it (I was polishing the cabin
door-knobs at the time) the captain came down for a dram of brandy. He
saw what I was eating. At once he read me a lecture, calling me a greedy
young thief. Let me not eat another cabin biscuit, he said, or he'd do
to me what they always did to thieves:--drag them under the ship from
one side to another, so that the barnacles would cut them (as he said)
into Spanish sennet-work. When I answered him, he lost his temper, in
sailor fashion, saying that if I said another word he'd make me sick
that ever I learned to speak.
I will not go into the details of the rest of that first day's misery.
I was kept hard at work for the whole time of daylight, often at work
beyond my strength, always at work quite strange to me. Nobody in the
ship, except perhaps the mate, troubled to show me how to do these
strange tasks; but all swore at me for not doing them rightly. What
I felt most keenly was the injustice of their verdicts upon me. I was
being condemned by them as a dirty, snivelling, lying, thieving young
hound. They took a savage pleasure in telling me how I should come to
dance on air at Cuckold's Haven, or, in other words, to the gallows, if
I went on as I had begun. Whereas (but for my dishonest moment in the
morning) I had worked like a slave since dawn under every possible
disadvantage which hasty men could place in my way. After serving the
cabin supper that night I was free to go to my hammock. There was not
much to be glad for, except the rest after so much work. I went with
a glad heart, for I was tired out. The wind had drawn to the east,
freshening as it came ahead, so that there was no chance of our reaching
our destination for some days. I had the prospect of similar daily
slavery in the schooner at least till our arrival. My nights would be my
only pleasant hours till then. The noise of the waves breaking on board
the schooner kept me awake during the night, tired as I was. It is a
dreadful noise, when heard for the first time. I did not then know what
a mass of water can come aboard a ship without doing much harm. So, when
the head of a wave, rushing across the deck, came with a swish down the
hatch to wash the 'tweendecks I started up in my hammock, pretty well
startled. I soon learned that all was well, for I heard the sailors
laughing in their rough, swearing fashion as they piled a tarpaulin over
the open hatch-mouth. A moment later, eight bells were struck. Some of
the sailors having finished their watch, came down into the 'tweendecks
to rest. Two of them stepped very quietly to the chest below my
hammock, where they sat down to play cards, by the light of the nearest
battle-lantern. If they had made a noise I should probably have fallen
asleep again in a few minutes; for what would one rough noise have been
among all the noise on deck? But they kept very quiet, talking in
low voices as they called the cards, rapping gently on the chest-lid,
opening the lantern gently to get lights for their pipes. Their
quietness was like the stealthy approach of an enemy, it kept a restless
man awake, just as the snapping of twigs in a forest will keep an Indian
awake, while he will sleep soundly when trees are falling. I kept awake,
too, in spite of myself (or half awake), wishing that the men would go,
but fearing to speak to them. At last, fearing that I should never get
to sleep at all, I looked over the edge of the hammock intending to
ask them to go. I saw then that one of them was my enemy the boatswain,
while the other was the ship's carpenter, who had eaten supper in the
galley with me, at the cook's invitation. As these were, in a sense,
officers, I dared not open my mouth to them, so I lay down again, hoping
that either they would go soon, or that they would let me get to sleep
before the morning. As I lay there, I overheard their talk. I could not
help it. I could hear every word spoken by them. I did not want their
talk, goodness knows, but as I could not help it, I listened.
“Heigho,” said the boatswain, yawning. “I sha'n't have much to spend on
Hollands when I get there. Them rubbers at bowls in London have pretty
near cleaned my purse out.”
“Ah, come off,” said the carpenter. “You can always get rid of a coil of
rope to someone, on the sly, you boatswains can. A coil of rope comes to
a few guilders. Eh, mynheer?”
“I sold too many coils off this hooker,” said the boatswain. “I run the
ship short.”
“Who sleeps in the hammock there?” the carpenter asked.
“The loblolly boy for the cabin,” the boatswain answered. “Young clumsy
hound. I clumped his fat chops for him this morning.”
“Mr. Jermyn's boy?” said the carpenter, sinking his voice. “There's
something queer about that Mr. Jermyn. 'E wears a false beard. That Mr.
Scott isn't all what he pretends neither.”
“I don't see how that can be,” the boatswain said, “I wish I'd a drink
of something. I'm as dry as foul block.”
“There'd be more'n a dram to us two, if Mr. Scott was what I think,”
said the carpenter. “I'm going to keep my eye on that gang.”
“Keep your eye on the moon,” said the boatswain.
“I tell you what'd raise drinks pretty quick.”
“What would?”
“That loblolly boy would.”
“Eh?” said the carpenter. “Go easy, Joe. He may be awake.”
“Not he,” said the boatswain, carelessly glancing into my hammock, where
I lay like all the Seven Sleepers condensed. “Not he. Snoring young
hound. Do him good to raise drinks for the crowd.”
“Eh,” said the carpenter, a quieter, more cautious scoundrel than the
other (therefore much more dangerous). “How would a boy like that?” He
left his sentence unfinished.
“Sell him to one of these Dutch East India merchants,” said the
boatswain. “There's always one or two of them in the Canal, bound for
Java. A likely young lad like that would fetch twenty pounds from a
Dutch skipper. A white boy would sell for forty in the East. Even if we
only got ten, there'd be pretty drinking while it lasted.”
This evidently made an impression on the carpenter, for he did not
answer at once. “Yes,” he said presently. “But a lad like that's got
good friends. He don't talk like you or I, Joe.”
“Friends in your eye,” said the other. “What's a lad with good friends
doing as loblolly boy?”
“Run away,” the carpenter said. “Besides, Mr. Jermyn isn't likely to let
the lad loose in Haarlem.”
“He might. We could keep a watch,” the boatswain answered. “If he goes
ashore, we could tip off Longshore Jack to keep an eye on him. Jack gets
good chances, working the town.”
“Yes,” said the other. “I mean to put Longshore Jack on to this Mr.
Jermyn. If I aren't foul of the buoy there's money in Mr. Jermyn. More
than in East Indian slaves.”
“Oh,” the boatswain answered, carelessly, “I don't bother about my
betters, myself. What d'ye think to get from Mr. Jermyn?”
The carpenter made no answer; but lighted his pipe at the lantern,
evidently turning over some scheme in his mind. After that, the talk
ran on other topics, some of which I could not understand. It was mostly
about the Gold Coast, about a place called Whydah, where there was
good trading for negroes, so the boatswain said. He had been there in
a Bristol brig, under Captain Travers, collecting trade, i.e. negro
slaves. At Whydah they had made King Jellybags so drunk with “Samboe”
(whatever Samboe was) that they had carried him off to sea, with his
whole court. “The blacks was mad after,” he said, “the next ship's crew
that put in there was all set on the beach. I seed their bones after.
All picked clean. But old King Jellybags fetched thirty pound in Port
Royal, duty free.” He seemed to think that this story was something
laugh at.
I strained my ears to hear more of what they said. I could catch nothing
more relating to myself. Nothing more was said about me. They told each
other stories about the African shore, where the schooners anchored in
the creeks, among the swamp-smells, in search of slaves or gold dust.
They told tales of Tortuga, where the pirates lived together in a town,
whenever they were at home after a cruise. “Rum is cheaper than water
there,” the bo'sun said. “A sloop comes off once a month with stores
from Port Royal. Its happy days, being in Tortuga.” Presently the two
men crept aft to the empty cabin to steal the captain's brandy. Soon
afterwards they passed forward to their hammocks.
When they had gone, I lay awake, wondering I was to avoid this terrible
danger of being sold to the Dutch East India merchants. I wondered
who Longshore Jack might be. I feared that the carpenter suspected our
party. I kept repeating his words, “There's money in Mr. Jermyn,” till
at last, through sheer weariness, I fell asleep. In the morning, as
cleared away breakfast, from the cabin-table, I told Mr. Jermyn all
that I had heard. The Duke seemed agitated. He kept referring to an
astronomical book which told him how his ruling planets stood. “Yes,”
he kept saying, “I've no very favourable stars till July. I don't like
this, Jermyn.” Mr. Jermyn smoked a pipe of tobacco (a practise rare
among gentlemen at that time) while he thought of what could be done. At
last he spoke.
“I know what we'll do, sir. We'll sell this man as carpenter to the
Dutch East India man. We'll give the two of them a sleeping draught in
their drink. We'll get rid of them both together.”
“It sounds very cruel,” said the Duke.
“Yes,” said Mr. Jermyn, “it is cruel. But who knows what the sly man
may not pick up? We're playing akes, we two. We've got many enemies. One
word of what this man suspects may bring a whole pack of spies upon us.
Besides, if the spies get hold of this boy we shall have some trouble.”
“The boy's done very well,” said the Duke.
“He's got a talent for overhearing,” Mr. Jermyn answered. “Well, Martin
Hyde. How do you like your work?”
“Sir,” I answered, “I don't like it at all.”
“Well,” he said, “we shall be in the Canal to-night, now the wind has
changed. Hold out till then, think, sir,” he said, turning to the Duke,
“the boy has done really very creditably. The work is not at all the
work for one of his condition.”
The Duke rewarded me with his languid beautiful smile.
“Who lives will see,” he said. “A King never forgets a faithful
servant.”
The phrase seemed queer on the lips of that man's father's son; but I
bowed very low, for I felt that I was already a captain of a man-of-war,
with a big blazing decoration on my heart. Well, who lives, sees. I
lived to see a lot of strange things in that King's service.