After I had recovered from my somewhat violent exertions, and bound up
the slight cut that Andrews had made in my hand with his knife, eight
bells had struck, and the steward brought aft the cabin hash. The skipper
went below, and Trunnell and I followed.
Captain Thompson seated himself at the head of the table and signed for
us to take our places; then it suddenly occurred to me that I was only
second mate, and consequently did not rate the captain's table. Trunnell
noticed my hesitation, but said nothing, and the skipper fell to with
such a hearty good will that he appeared to entirely forget my presence.
I hastily made some excuse to get back on deck, and the little,
bushy-headed mate smiled and nodded approvingly at me as I went up the
alleyway forward. I was much pleased at this delicate hint on his part,
for many mates would have made uncalled-for remarks at such a blunder. It
showed me that the little giant who could keep me from being carved to
rat-line stuff could be civil also.
I was much taken with him owing to what had happened, and I looked down
at him as he ate, for I could see him very well as I stood near the
mizzen on the port side of the cabin skylight. The glass of the hatch was
raised to let the cabin air, and I watched the bushy head beneath, with
its aggressive beard bending over the dirty table-cloth. The large squat
nose seemed to sniff the good grub as the steward served the fresh beef,
and Trunnell made ready with his knife.
He laid the blade on his plate and heaped several large chunks of the
meat and potatoes upon it. Then he dropped his chin and seemed to shut
his eyes as he carefully conveyed the load to his mouth, drawing the
steel quickly through his thick lips without spilling more than a
commensurate amount of the stuff upon his beard, and injuring himself in
no way whatever. The quick jerk with which he slipped the steel clear so
as to have it ready for another load made me a trifle nervous; but it was
evident that he was not a novice at eating. Indeed, the skipper appeared
to admire his dexterity, for I saw his small, glinting eyes look sharply
from the little fellow to the boyish third officer who sat to starboard.
"Never had no call for a fork, eh?" said he, after watching the mate
apparently come within an inch of cutting his head in two.
"Nope," said Trunnell.
They ate in silence for some minutes.
"I like to see a fellow what can make out with the fewest tools. Tools
are good enough for mechanics; a bit an' a bar'll do for a man. Ever been
to New York?"
"Nope," said Trunnell.
There was a moment's silence.
"I might 'a' knowed that," said the skipper, as if to himself.
Trunnell appeared to sniff sarcasm.
"Oh, I've been to one or two places in my time," said he. "There ain't
nothin' remarkable about New York except the animals, and I don't keer
fer those."
"Whatchermean?"
"Oh, I was closte into the beach off Sandy Hook onct when we was tryin'
to get to the south'ard, an' I see an eliphint about a hundred feet high
on the island acrost the bay. There was a feller aboard as said they had
cows there just as big what give milk. I wouldn't have believed him, but
fer the fact that there ware the eliphint before my eyes."
"Stuffed, man,--he was stuffed," explained the captain.
"Stuffed or no; there he ware," persisted Trunnell. "He would 'a' been no
bigger stuffed than alive. 'Tain't likely they could 'a' stretched his
hide more'n a foot."
The skipper gave the third mate a sly look, and his nose worked busily
like a parrot's beak for a few minutes.
"You believe lots o' things, eh?" said he, while his nose worked and
wrinkled in amusement.
"I believe in pretty much all I sees an' some little I hears," said
Trunnell, dryly.
"'Specially in eliphints, eh?--a hundred feet high?"
"But not in argufying over facts," retorted Trunnell. "No, sink me, when
I finds I'm argufying agin the world,--agin facts,--I tries to give in
some and let the world get the best o' the argument. I've opinions the
same as you have, but when they don't agree with the rest o' the world,
do I go snortin' around a-tryin' to show how the world is wrong an' I am
right? Sink me if I do. No, I tries to let the other fellow have a show.
I may be right, but if I sees the world is agin me, I--"
"Right ye are, Trunnell. Spoken O.K." said the skipper. "I like to see a
man what believes in a few things--even if they's eliphints. What do you
think of the fellow forrads? Do you believe in him to any extent?"
The third mate appeared much amused at the conversation, but did not
speak. He was a remarkably good-looking young fellow, and I noted the
fact at the time.
Trunnell did not answer the last remark, but held himself very straight
in his chair.
"Do you believe much in the fellow who was skipper, especially after his
tryin' to carve Mr. Rolling?"
"I believe him a good sailor," said Trunnell, stiffening up.
"Ye don't say?" said the skipper.
"I never critisizez my officers," said Trunnell; and after that the
skipper let him alone.
I was pleased with Trunnell. His philosophy was all right, and I believed
from that time he was an honest man. Things began to look a little
brighter, and in spite of an aversion to the skipper which had begun to
creep upon me, I now saw that he was an observing fellow, and was quick
to know the value of men. I didn't like his allusion to a bit and bar for
a man, but thought little about the matter. In a short time Trunnell
relieved me, and I went below with the carpenter and steward to our mess.
The carpenter was a young Irishman, shipped for the first time. This was
the first time I had been to sea with a ship carpenter who was not either
a Russian, a Finn, or a Swede. The steward was a little mulatto, who
announced, as he sat down, after bringing in the hash, that he was bloody
glad he was an Englishman, and looked at me for approval.
This was to show that he did not approve of the scene he had witnessed on
the main deck in the morning, and I accepted it as a token of friendship.
"'Tis cold th' owld man thinks it is, whin he has th' skylight wide
open," said Chips, looking up at the form of Trunnell, who stood on the
poop. There was a strange light in the young fellow's eye as he spoke, as
if he wished to impart some information, and had not quite determined
upon the time and place. I took the hint and smiled knowingly, and then
glanced askance at the steward.
"Faith, he's all right," blurted out Chips; "his skin is a little off th'
color av roses, but his heart is white. We're wid ye, see?"
"With me for what?" I asked.
"Anything," he replied. "To go back, to go ahead. There's a fellow
forrads who says go back while ye may."
"An' it's bloody good advice," said the steward, in a low tone.
"I'm not exactly in command aboard here," I said.
"D'ye know who is?" asked Chips.
"His name is Thompson, I believe," I answered coldly, for I did not
approve of this sudden criticism of the skipper, much as I disliked
his style.
"See here, mate, ye needn't think we're fer sayin' agin the old man, so
hark ye, don't take it hard like. Did ye iver hear tell av a sailorman
a-callin' a line a 'rope' or a bloomin' hooker like this a 'boat'? No,
sir, ye can lay to it he's niver had a ship before; an' so says Jim
Potts, the same as passed th' line fer ye this mornin'. Kin I pass ye the
junk? It's sort o' snifty fer new slush, but I don't complain."
"What's the matter with the meat?" I asked, glad to change the
conversation.
"Jest sort o' snifty."
"That's what," corroborated the steward, looking at me. "Jest sort o'
smelly like fer new junk."
"What has Jim Potts got against the old man?" I asked. "You said he
didn't believe the skipper had been in a ship before."
"Nothin' I knows of, 'cept he was hot fer turnin' back this mornin' an'
tried to get th' men to back him in comin' aft."
"Do you mean it's mutiny?"
"Lord, no; jest to blandander ye inter tackin' ship. He most persuaded
Mr. Trunnell, an' wid ye too, 'twould ha' been no mutiny to override the
new skipper, an' land th' other in th' caboose."
Much as I would have liked to get ashore again, I knew there was no
immediate prospect of it. The skipper would not hear of any such thing.
As for Trunnell acting against orders, I knew from what I had seen of
this sturdy little fellow he would obey implicitly any directions given
him, and at any cost. There was no help for it now. We would be out for
months with the ruffian skipper forward and the strange one aft. I said
nothing more to the carpenter or steward, for it was evident that there
had been some strong arguments used by Jim Potts against the regularity
of the ship's company. The more I thought of this, the more I was
astonished, for the young landsman was not forced to come out in the
ship, and had almost been left, as it was. I went on deck in a troubled
frame of mind, and determined to keep my eye on every one who approached
me, for the voyage had the worst possible beginning.
There was much to be done about the main deck, so I busied myself the
entire afternoon getting the running gear cleared up and coiled down
shipshape. The skipper stood near the break of the poop much of the time,
but gave no orders, and I noticed that Jim the sailor, or landsman, kept
away from his vicinity. Sometimes it seemed as though the captain would
follow his movements about the deck forward with his keen eyes.
It was Trunnell's dog-watch that evening, and by the time the bells
struck the vessel was running along to the westward under royals, with
the southerly breeze freshening on her beam. She was a handsome ship. Her
long, tapering spars rose towering into the semi-gloom overhead, and the
great fabric of stretched canvas seemed like a huge cloud resting upon a
dark, floating object on the surface of the sea, which was carried along
rapidly with it, brushing the foam to either side with a roaring,
rattling, seething, musical noise. At least, this is the picture she
presented from the forecastle head looking aft. Her great main yard swung
far over the water to leeward, and the huge bellying courses, setting
tight as a drumhead with the pressure, sent the roaring of the bow-wave
back in a deep booming echo, until the air was full of vibration from the
taut fabric. All around, the horizon was melted into haze, but the stars
were glinting overhead in promise of a clear night.
I left the forecastle head and came down on the main deck. Here the
six-foot bulwarks shut off the view to windward, but little of the cool
evening breeze. The men on watch were grouped about the waist, sitting on
the combings of the after-hatch, or walking fore and aft in the gangways
to keep the blood stirring. All had pea coats or mufflers over their
jumpers, for the air was frosty. The "doctor" had washed up his pots and
coppers for the evening, and had made his way toward the carpenter's room
in the forward house, where a light shone through the crack of the door.
On nearly all American ships the carpenter is rated as an officer, but
does not have to stand watch, turning out only during the day-time or
when all hands are called in cases of emergency. The cook, or "doctor,"
as he is called, also turns in for the night, as do the steward and cabin
boys; the steward, however, generally has a stateroom aft near those of
the mates, while the "doctor" bunks next his galley. The carpenter having
permission to burn a light, usually turns his shop or bunk-room into a
meeting place for those officers who rate the distinction of being above
the ordinary sailor. Here one can always hear the news aboard ships where
the discipline is not too rigid; for the mates, bos'n, "doctor," steward,
and sometimes even the quartermasters, enjoy his hospitality.
Trunnell was on the poop, and the captain was below. I had a chance to
get a little better insight into the natures of my shipmates if I could
join in their conversation, or even listen to it for a while. My position
as second mate was not too exalted to prohibit terms of intimacy with the
carpenter, or, for that matter, even the bos'n.
I took a last look to windward, over the cold southern ocean, where the
sharp evening breeze was rolling the short seas into little patches of
white. The horizon was clear, and there was no prospect for some time of
any sudden call to shorten sail. The sky was a perfect blue vault in
which the stars were twinkling, while the red of the recent sunset held
fair on the jibboom end, showing that the quartermaster at the wheel knew
his business. I edged toward the door of the house, and then seeing that
my actions were not creating too much notice from the poop, I slid back
the white panel and entered. The fog from damp clothes and bad tobacco
hung heavy in the close air and made a blue halo about the little
swinging lamp on the bulkhead. Chips, who was sitting on his sea-chest,
waved his hand in welcome, and the "doctor" nodded and showed his white
teeth. The bos'n was holding forth in full swing in an argument with one
of the quartermasters, and Jim, the fellow I noticed in the morning, was
listening. He arose as I entered, as also did the quartermaster, but the
rest remained seated. I waved my hand in friendly acknowledgment and lit
my pipe at the lamp, while they reseated themselves.
"Yah, good mornin' to ye--if it ain't too late in the day," said Chips.
"Sit ye down an' listen to me song, for 'tis a quare ship, an' th' only
thing to do is to square our luck wid a good song. Cast loose, bos'n."
We were all new men to the vessel except the carpenter, and had never
even sailed in the same ship before on any previous voyage. Yet the
bos'n "cast loose" without further orders, and the "doctor" joined in
with his bass voice. Then Chips and the rest bawled forth to the tune of
"Blow a man down," and all the dismal prospect of the future in an
overloaded ship, with bad food and a queer skipper, was lost in the
effort of each one trying to out-bellow his neighbor. Sailors are a
strange set. It takes mighty little to please one at times when he
should, with reason, be sad; while, again, when everything is fair,
nothing will satisfy his whims.
When the yarn spinning and singing were over, I turned out for my first
watch well pleased with my shipmates.