_In Which the Bubble of My Conceit Is Pricked_
Now this is no place to report the details of a fight of this
character. It is all well and good for a boy to learn to box; it is
one of the cleanest sports there is. It teaches one to be quick of
eye and foot, inculcates courage, gives even a naturally timid person
confidence, and aids wind and muscle. But the game should be played
only with soft gloves--never with bare fists.
Maybe once or twice in the average boy’s life will he need the
knowledge gained in the gymnasium to save himself from a beating. I
think now I should have sidestepped this trouble with Bob Promise, and
could have done so with no loss of honor or self-respect.
But as I saw how lubberly the fellow was, and how clumsy he was on his
feet, I was fired with the conceit that I had a chance to hold my own
in the contest. And so I did.
I passed my watch to Thank and claimed two-minute rounds; he acted as
timekeeper while the gorilla man was referee. We fought altogether
five rounds, and during that time my antagonist only managed to reach
me half a dozen times, and only once did he knock me to the deck.
I was pretty fresh at the end of this time, while Bob was blowing like
a porpoise, I had closed one of his eyes, and his face was bleeding
where my knuckles had cut him deeply. During the last round I noticed
that the men had kept mighty quiet, and as the big fellow stepped in
between us when Thank announced the end of the round, I saw Mr. Barney,
the second mate, standing behind me.
“I reckon that’s enough, boys,” said the little second mate,
good-naturedly enough. “They’re not matched by the rules you are
following. This young fellow will soon have Bob groggy. The boy’s got
all the science and Bob has no show.”
This was putting it in a light that vexed me. I had thought _I_ was the
one to earn sympathy, not the bully.
“Why,” I complained, “he pitched on me for nothing. And he outweighs me
thirty pound.”
“And you outweigh _me_ twenty pound, you young bantam, you!” laughed
the second mate. “Come! I’m a better match for you than Bob is.”
I flushed pretty red at that, for although I saw Mr. Barney was a man
to respect, I did not think he handled his watch by the weight of his
muscle.
“If you don’t think so, put up your hands again, and we’ll try a bout,”
said Mr. Barney, still laughing. “If you give me the kind of an eye Bob
has, I won’t chalk it up against you. The boys will tell you that if
there’s anything aboard the old Gullwing, it’s fair dealing.”
“And that’s right for ye, Mr. Barney!” exclaimed the gorilla man. Then
he winked at me. “Hit him as hard as ye kin, boy!” he whispered.
“Come on,” said the mate, buttoning his jacket tight and taking his
position. “You won’t have to fight the whole crew to get a standing.”
I saw he meant it, and I knew by his smile that he was a fair-minded
man and wished me no harm. I secretly thought, too, that I was as good
as he was.
“Time!” called Thank, rather shakily.
The very next second something happened to me that I hadn’t expected. I
thought I could parry his first blow, at least; but it landed under my
jaw and every tooth in my head rattled. I leaped back and he followed
me up with a swiftness that made me blink.
I parried several more swift blows and then hit out myself when I
thought I saw my chance. He just moved his head a trifle to one side
and my fist shot by. My whole weight went with it and I collided
against him. He only rocked a little on his feet, and as I dodged back
he struck me a blow on the chest that drove me half a dozen yards into
the arms of the spectators.
“If I had placed that higher up--as I might--you would have been
asleep, my lad,” he said, coolly. “Don’t you believe it?”
“I do, sir,” I said, panting.
“I am just as much better than you, as you are than Bob,” he said,
laughing again. “He has no science and you have a little. But I have
more science and so we’re not fairly matched. And now, boys, that’s fun
enough for to-day,” and he turned on his heel and went up on deck.
I tell you right now, I felt pretty foolish. But the men didn’t laugh.
The big man, whom I learned later was Tom Thornton, said:
“He’s a smart little bit of a man, is Mr. Jim Barney. You might be
proud to be put out by him.”
“Excuse me!” I returned, feeling to see if all my teeth were sound.
“No kicking mule has got anything on him when he hits you.”
“And his brother Alf, on the Seamew, is a match for him,” said another
of the men. “There’s a pair of them--brothers and twins, and as much
alike as two peas in a pod. I mind the time they was looking for some
men down in a joint on Front Street, Baltimore, and a gang started in
to clean ’em up. Thought they was dudes trying to be rounders. The
Barney boys held off a dozen of them till the police came, and neither
of them even showed a scratch.”
I pulled myself together and went over to Bob, who was swabbing his
face in a bucket of water. I held out my hand to him, and said:
“The second mate was right. If we’d fought rough and tumble you could
have easily fixed me. But you’ve got lots of muscle and I bet that
second mate doesn’t sail without a set of gloves in his cabin. If he’ll
lend ’em to us I’ll teach you what little I know myself about boxing.”
“That’s fair enough!” shouted Tom Thornton. “The boy’s all right.”
“I’m game,” growled Bob, giving me his hand. “But I don’t like fresh
kids.”
“That’s all right,” said I. “Mebbe I’ll get salted a little before the
voyage is over.”
And so the affair ended in a laugh. But I guess I learned one lesson
that I was not likely to forget in a hurry.
And both Thankful Polk and I had a whole lot to learn about this big
ship. Although my chum had been five years from home (leaving his
native village in the hills of Georgia when he was twelve) he had
learned little seamanship. Nowadays ships do not receive apprentices as
they used to in the palmy days of the American merchant marine, which
is a regrettable fact, for it was from the class of apprentices that
most of our best shipmasters came.
A seaman--a real A. B.--must know every part of the ship he serves,
its rigging and whatnot, just as any other journeyman tradesman must
know his business. It is not necessary that an able seaman should be
a navigator; but every navigator should be an able seaman. Such a man
likewise should be something of a sailmaker, rigger and shipbuilder. In
these days when the work of a crew is so divided that men are stationed
at certain work in all weathers few men before the mast are all-round
seamen. And this is likewise regrettable.
In the months I had spent upon the Scarboro I had learned much--and in
that I had the advantage of Thank. Captain Rogers and Mr. Robbins were
both thorough-going seamen, and when we were not chasing whales I had
been drilled by the mate, and by young Ben Gibson, the second officer,
in the ropes, the spars, the handling of gear, and taught to take my
trick at the wheel with the best man aboard.
And I was thankful for all this now, for although the Gullwing was a
much larger ship, and differently rigged from the whaler, I could catch
hold now pretty well when an order was given. I knew, too, that men
like Captain Bowditch and Mr. Gates and Mr. Barney liked their hands to
be smart, and I was not afraid to tackle anything alow or aloft.
The men told me, too, that “the old man” (which is a term given
the captain aboard ship not at all disrespectful in meaning) was a
terror for crowding on sail. Besides, there was a deeper reason for
Captain Bowditch wishing to put his ship through the seas and reaching
Baltimore just as soon as possible.
“Ye see,” said old Tom Thornton, in the dog-watch that afternoon, “the
firm owns another ship like the Gullwing--the very spittin’ image of
it--the Seamew. They’re sister ships; built in the same dockyard, at
the same time, and by the very same plans. A knee, or a deck plank,
out o’ either one would fit exactly into the similar space in the
other--and vicy varsy.
“They was put into commission the same month, and they make the same
v’yges, as usual. Cap’n Si Somes, of the Seamew is about the same
age as our skipper. They was raised together down east; they went to
sea together in their first ship. And they got their tickets at the
same time, since which they’ve always served in different ships, one
mounting a notch when the other did. Rivals, ye’d call them, but good
friends.
“But they’re always and forever trying to best each other in a v’yge.
They races from the minute they cast off moorings at Baltimore to the
minute they’re towed inter their berths again. They crowd on sail, and
work their crews like kildee, and stow their cargoes, and unload the
same like they was racin’ against time. And now, this trip, they’ve got
a wager up,” and old Tom chuckled.
“It was this here way: We battened down hatches the same morning the
Seamew did at Baltimore, and the tugs was a-swinging of us out. Cap’n
Si sung out from his poop: ‘Joe! I bet ye an apple I tie up here afore
you do when the v’yge is over.’
“‘I take ye,’ says our skipper, ‘pervidin’ it’s a Rhode Islan’
Greenin’--I ain’t sunk my teeth into no other kind for forty year--it’s
the kind I got my first stomach-ache from eatin’ green, when I was a
kid.’
“And that settled it. The bet was on,” chuckled Tom. “And we fellers
for’ard have suffered for it, now I tell ye! The Seamew beat us to
Buenos Ayres by ten hours on the outward v’yge. We caught her up,
weathered the Horn and was unloading at Valpariso when the Seamew
arrived. But, by jinks! she beat us to Honolulu.”
“How was that?” I asked.
“Made a better passage. We got some top-hamper carried away in a
squall. To tell you the truth, Cap’n Joe carried on too much sail for
such a blow. But we weren’t long behind her at Manila, and my soul! how
Cap’n Joe did make those Chinks work unloadin’ an’ then stowin’ cargo
again when we started back.
“The Seamew got away two days before we did. But we left Honolulu a few
hours ahead of her, and she has to touch at Guayaquil--up in Equidor.
As far as time and distance goes, however, both ships is about even.
We had to unload a lot of stuff back there at Valpariso, and load
again. Both are hopin’ not to touch nowheres till we git home. And it
wouldn’t surprise me none if we sighted the Seamew almost any day now,
unless she’s clawed too far off shore.”
This good-natured competition between the two big ships had, I believe,
something to do with the smart way in which the crew of this one on
which I sailed went about their work. Jack Tar is supposed to be a
chronic grumbler; and surely the monotony of life at sea may get on the
nerves of the best man afloat; but I seldom heard any grumbling in the
fo’castle of the Gullwing.
However, there was another rivalry connected with this voyage of the
sister ships--a much more serious matter--and, indeed, one that proved
tragic in the end, but of this I was yet to learn the particulars in
the eventful days that followed.