IN WHICH I DEFY THE CAPTAIN
“Here you are safe on board the brig, Master Dunn, and in good season,”
Captain Weston said as he grasped my hand. “I’m glad of it, for I’ve
changed my mind since I left you, and we’ll heave anchor and be off
tonight. First of all, however, let me introduce you to my first mate.
Master Thomas Marshall, this is our second officer, Master Arthur Dunn.”
As he spoke, a young fellow, who looked scarcely older than myself,
though I learned later that he was just over twenty-one, stepped
forward and offered me his hand.
“I’m glad to see you, Master Dunn,” he said in a hearty way that quite
won my heart, “and I welcome you on board the _Young Phoenix_.”
Possibly my face revealed my surprise at finding the executive officer
of the vessel but a stripling, for as I took Master Marshall’s hand,
the Captain remarked: “Yes, it’s the _Young Phoenix_--young in name and
young in age, for she is only three years old, and what is more fitting
than that she should have young mates? Ha! ha! ha!” and he laughed
quite boisterously over his attempt at pleasantry.
For myself, I thought his laughter unseemly, and for some reason,
though I could not then have told why, it grated on my ears. But the
irritation I experienced was forgotten or overlooked the next moment,
for, turning to two sailors who stood near, Captain Weston directed
them to take my luggage down into the cabin. Then, speaking to me, he
added:
“And come right along yourself, Master Dunn. I’ll show you your
quarters, and have you sign the ship’s articles, and explain to you
about the watches. Then we’ll be ready to get under weigh.”
In five minutes these preliminaries were attended to, in ten minutes
more the anchor was hoisted, and, with all sails set, the brig was
standing out of the harbor. The breeze was a good one, the vessel
proved herself a good sailer, and before sundown we were out of sight
of land.
I do not imagine there was ever a more complacent lad than myself when
I took the second watch at eight bells, and found myself for the time
in sole command of the vessel. The night was a beautiful one; the stars
showed bright and clear in the deep vault over my head; the wind--a
west one--bore us rapidly along our course; the brig responded to every
touch of the wheel like a thing of life; and my own feelings were in
keeping with my surroundings.
I walked the quarter-deck with a slow and dignified tread, occasionally
pausing to direct some member of my watch to tauten a rope, or ease up
a sail, or to keep a sharp lookout forward. Perhaps these commands
were not always necessary, but I issued them partly to impress my men
with the feeling that I, though young, was equal to the place I had
been called to fill, and partly that I might test the working of the
vessel and familiarize myself with her peculiarities. For, though you
may not know it, each ship has her own whims and moods, and only he who
is thoroughly acquainted with them can have full mastery over her.
So the minutes rolled away, each new discovery about the brig
increasing my complacency and giving shape to my thoughts. Here it was
less than forty hours since I had left home, and, though I had not
found Captain Tucker, I was in a better berth than he would have been
likely to give or find for me, thanks to my fortunate meeting with
Captain Weston. My quarters on the vessel were all I could ask; the
meal I had eaten at dusk had revealed the fact that the captain was a
good provider; the first officer, Master Marshall, appeared to be a
good sort of a fellow and one I could easily get along with. On the
whole, I was better off than I had even dared to hope or expect.
So I mused, and among my musings was one that took the form of
a resolve: Captain Weston should have no occasion to regret the
confidence he had put in me. I would do all that was possible to win
his approbation, until I had been advanced to the position of first
officer. From that it would be an easy step to the command of some
vessel--and when that place was reached I could go back to my native
village with pride and elation. Anyway, no more forecastle for me. I
was in the cabin, and there I would stay until I was Captain Dunn.
I make mention of these thoughts here, for I was soon to learn the
lesson that there is a vast difference between an idle fancy and
the stern reality. In fact, my complacency received a rude shock
almost immediately. Walking along to Bill Howard, the oldest and most
experienced sailor on board the brig, who was taking his trick at the
wheel, I asked:
“How does she handle, Bill? Does she mind her helm readily?”
“I’ve seed them that does better,” he growled.
“I don’t know about that, Bill,” I retorted. “I call this a pretty fine
craft.”
“She’s well ’nough, I ’spose,” he admitted with some show of
reluctance. “At the same time Bill Howard wishes he wasn’t on board of
her.”
“Why, what’s the trouble?” I persisted. “It can’t be they don’t give
you enough to eat. I saw the supper sent down to you tonight. You don’t
often get better on shipboard.”
“I wants no better, if it only continues,” he replied.
“What makes you think it won’t, Bill?” I questioned, thinking he might
have been along with Captain Weston on a previous voyage and had some
revelation to make. I had known of skippers who always fed their crews
well until they got them out to sea. It might be this that would
prove to be the weak point of the man with whom I had shipped so
unceremoniously. But his reply was a question.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but have you sailed on the brig afore?”
“No, Bill, I haven’t. Have you?”
“Never, sir! and I can’t find anyone from fust mate to cabin-boy that
has.”
He paused a moment, as though giving me time to take in the assertion;
then he continued:
“You’s young, sir, but I can see you are a sailor. Now let me ax you
a question. Does it look well for a Capt’n when goin’ out of his
home port to have to ship all new men? Bill Howard says no, an’ he’d
never shipped on the brig had he knowed it. Mark my word, sir, I’m no
croaker, but I’ll bet ye a month’s pay we’ll both wish we were ashore
’fore we make port again. An’ ’twon’t be the craft, sir; ’twill be the
ol’ man.”
“Oh! I guess it won’t turn out as bad as that, Bill,” I replied with a
laugh, and walked away.
But the conceit had been knocked out of me by his words. I was not
so sure that I had been wise to jump so quickly at Captain Weston’s
flattering offer. I was not so certain I wished to remain on the brig
longer than for that voyage. And I built no more air castles during
that watch.
A few minutes before the time for the watches to change Master Marshall
came on deck. Surprised at his early appearance, I went forward to meet
him. As I reached his side, dark as it was, I could readily detect that
he was troubled about something.
“Master Dunn,” he began immediately, “may I ask if you are well
acquainted with Captain Weston? Do you know anything about his habits?”
“No, sir,” I answered with a sinking heart. “I never saw him or heard
of him until about three hours before I put my foot on the brig.”
“Then I’m not the only fool on board,” he remarked quickly, and I
thought he said it with considerable satisfaction. “My acquaintance
with him isn’t twenty hours old.”
He was silent a moment, and then as though some explanation was
necessary went on:
“I belong in Eastport, Maine. My last berth was as second mate on a
brig in the West India trade. We were wrecked a week ago, and a Salem
craft picked us up and brought us in there. I’d hardly stepped ashore
when I met Captain Weston. He called me by name, said he knew of me,
and, being in want of a first officer, would give me the place if I
could arrange to sail at once. Like yourself, I’m ambitious to get
ahead; it seemed too good a chance to lose, and, as he was willing to
advance enough for my outfit, I promptly accepted the offer. In two or
three hours I made my purchases, mailed a letter home, telling of my
good luck, and came aboard. As soon as I was settled in the cabin, the
Captain went over to Marblehead after you.”
“Not after me,” I interrupted, and then I explained how I came to be
shipped on the vessel as second mate.
“It looks bad,” he remarked when I was done. “Captains don’t usually
pick up their officers that way. But doubtless some of the crew are old
hands, and we can learn from them about the Captain.”
“No,” I declared, and then I told him of the conversation I had just
held with Bill Howard.
“It’s worse than I thought!” he ejaculated. “New officers and new men
throughout!”
“Why, what have you discovered?” I inquired, coming at last to the
question which I had for some time been eager to ask.
“You’ll see for yourself when you go below,” he replied, “though I
don’t mind telling you. He’s down there drinking like a fish, and is
already so he can’t tell whether he’s afloat or ashore.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s no worse than that,” I said with a sigh of relief,
“for I’m sure you and I can manage the brig.”
“It isn’t that that troubles me,” he responded quickly. “But you see
he’s captain whether drunk or sober, and you can never tell what freak
a drunken man will take. No, Master Dunn, we are in for it, and must
stand together so far as we can for our own protection and for the
protection of the crew.”
“You may count on me,” I promised, and as the watches were now changing
I started for the cabin.
Once there, I found Master Marshall had not overstated the situation.
The room was filled with the odor of rum, and a glass and bottle, both
empty, sat upon the table, while the skipper was lying on the floor,
now entirely overcome with the liquor he had drunk; and there he still
lay four hours later when I again went on deck.
It was not, in fact, until the next day at noon that he came on deck,
and I never knew a greater change in the appearance of any person
within the same length of time than there was in him. From the neatly
dressed, affable gentleman who had received me as I stepped on board
the brig, he had now become the ill-kept, blear-eyed, irascible sot.
Ignoring Master Marshall and myself, though both of us were near the
wheel, he walked rapidly down to the galley, where the cook was issuing
food to the men. Confronting that personage just as he came through the
door of the caboose, his hands full of dishes, he angrily demanded:
“Who told you to give all that grub to those land-lubbers?”
“You did, sir,” stammered the man in great alarm. “Indeed, sir, I
haven’t given them a single thing more than you told me.”
“Take that for your impudence,” the irate officer cried, and with his
huge fist he struck the fellow a blow which sent him sprawling down the
deck, while the dishes he carried rolled to the opposite rail.
“Now, sir,” he shouted as the unfortunate cook regained his feet, “hear
me! You are to give the men just one-half what you’ve been doing until
further orders, and mark! if I catch you adding a single pound to that,
I’ll tie you to the mast and give you twenty lashes with the cat.”
“I’ll do just as you say, sir,” the man meekly promised, as he began
to pick up his stray utensils.
That was the beginning of the brutal incidents we were called to
witness or experience through the remainder of our voyage. I have no
heart to write them out in detail here. But let me say I have followed
the sea for well nigh sixty years now, sailing on all kinds of vessels
and with all sorts of masters, but I never saw the equal of Captain
Weston for meanness or brutality. The men were starved and beaten and
worked nearly to death. I am sure there would have been more than one
fatality but for the courage and tact of Master Marshall. When the
captain was in his drunken stupors, he would issue extra food to the
men on his own responsibility, and so make up to them in a measure that
from which they were unjustly deprived. In more than one instance,
when the commander in some ugly mood had ordered a sailor to the lash,
he would contrive to put off the punishment until later, and, on the
skipper’s returning once more to his cups, the man was allowed to
go. But there were scores of times when he could do nothing, for the
Captain liked to do the lashing with his own hands.
For a wonder I escaped any direct altercation with the Captain until
we had sighted the Bayona islands off the coast of Spain. It was early
morning, the sky was overcast, and a heavy wind was blowing from the
north-east. I was in charge of the deck and had sent Bill Howard up the
mainmast to belay a rope which had broken loose. He completed his task,
and started on his return to the deck. Just then a sudden gust of wind
took off his tarpaulin, and sent it scaling toward the cabin hatch. It
reached there as the Captain poked his head out for a squint at the
weather, and struck him in the face with a force that must have stung
him severely. With an oath he leaped to the deck, and, discovering Bill
bareheaded, he turned upon him with the fury of a maniac.
“You low-lived cur,” he hissed. “I’ll teach you better than to throw
your hat at me! Here, Master Dunn, tie the villain to the mast, and
I’ll give him forty blows with the cat.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, it was the wind that took off Bill’s hat,” I
started to explain.
“So you will excuse his devilish trick, hey?” he shouted even more
furiously. “Well, let me tell you he shall be whipped, and what is
more, you shall give him the blows yourself. Here, men, tie that fellow
to the mast there.”
The last words were addressed to two sailors who stood near him and
they sullenly obeyed.
“Bring me the cat,” the angry officer commanded when poor Bill, with
his back stripped bare, had been bound to the stick.
One of the sailors soon appeared with the ugly lash, and the skipper,
turning to me, remarked with a satanic grin:
“Here, take this, Master Dunn, and for every blow you give that does
not draw blood on yonder fellow’s back, you yourself shall receive two.”
My blood boiled within me, but I answered him calmly enough:
“Never, sir! You may lash me, kill me, as you please, but Bill is
innocent and not a blow will I strike.”
There was an instant hush, as the sailors, aghast at my temerity, held
their breath, and the wind itself lulled as though anxious to know the
outcome of my defiance. Then with the roar of a maddened bull, Captain
Weston leaped toward me.