THE BOARDING-HOUSE.
“OH, FLINT!” exclaimed Guy, running to meet the sailor, “you don’t know
how glad I am to see you. I have had a narrow escape, I tell you. I just
got away from an officer who captured Bob by the skin of my teeth.”
With this introduction Guy began the story of his recent adventure, to
which his companion listened with all his ears. He was surprised as well
as delighted to hear what had happened to Bob Walker, and hastened to
calm the fears of his young friend by assuring him that as long as he
followed in his (Flint’s) wake he was in no danger. In the first place,
he would take him where no detective would ever think of looking for
him; and in the second, they would remain in the city but a day or two
at the very furthest, and by the time Boyle could go to Saginaw and
back, they would be on their way to Liverpool and safe from pursuit.
Flint fulfilled the first part of his promise by conducting Guy to a
sailors’ boarding-house in an obscure street, where they ate supper and
took lodgings for the night. After breakfast the next morning they set
out in company to call upon the agent, whose business it was to ship the
crew that was to man the schooner during her voyage to Liverpool. They
found him at his office, and after listening to some astonishing stories
from Flint, who declared that Guy understood his business as cabin-boy,
having just been discharged from the propeller Queen of the Lakes, where
he had served in that capacity for the last two months, the agent was
finally induced to add the boy’s name to the shipping articles and pay
him his advance. Then, after a visit to a cheap clothing store, where
Flint purchased an outfit for Guy, they returned to the boarding-house
and thence made their way to their vessel, the Ossipee, which was almost
ready to sail.
During the first part of the voyage Guy had but little to complain of.
Although he was kept busy all the time, his duties were comparatively
light, the officers were kind, the food abundant and well cooked, and
the weather mild and agreeable. Guy even begun to think that a career on
the ocean-wave was, after all, very pleasant and desirable, and
sometimes had serious thoughts of abandoning his idea of becoming a
hunter and spending the remainder of his days upon the water. But even a
sailor’s life has its dark side, as he discovered when they reached the
Gulf of St. Lawrence. During a violent gale the schooner sprung a leak,
and from that time until she reached a port in Nova Scotia, into which
she put for repairs, Guy never once closed his eyes in sleep. He was
kept at the pumps until every bone and muscle in his body ached with
fatigue, and when relieved from them it was only to perform some other
duty equally laborious. It was all the crew could do to keep the
schooner afloat, and for five long, dreary days Guy stood face to face
with death in one of its most appalling shapes.
And what a change that storm made in the disposition of every man on
board! The officers raved and swore, and hastened obedience to their
orders by threatening to knock the men overboard with handspikes and
belaying pins. Guy, bewildered by the confusion and noise, and
frightened almost out of his senses by the danger he was in, was forever
getting into somebody’s way, and of course came in for the lion’s share
of abuse. He was kicked and cuffed every hour in the day and pushed
about as if he had no more feeling than the freight which was so
unceremoniously thrown overboard. Once the mate ordered him to “lay
for’d and lend a hand at the jib down-haul,” and while Guy was looking
about to see which way to go, the officer picked up a rope and brought
it down across his shoulders with a sounding whack. It might have fared
hard with Guy then had not Flint, who happened to overhear the order,
saved him from further punishment by hurrying forward and executing it
for him.
Port was reached at last, and we can imagine how relieved Guy was and
with what feelings of delight he listened to the speech the captain made
to the crew, in which he informed them that the vessel was so badly
damaged that she must go into the dry-docks again and that the hands
were to be discharged with three months’ pay. He packed up his dunnage
with great alacrity, and as he followed Flint over the side, declared
that he had seen enough of salt water to last him as long as he lived,
and that the rest of his life should be on shore.
“Why, you haven’t seen anything of a sailor’s life yet,” said his
companion. “I know we’ve had rather a rough time for the last week, but
that’s nothing. Of course one must work if he goes to sea, and so he
must if he follows any other business. You’ll see better times when you
are once fairly afloat.”
“But just look at the danger,” said Guy.
“Humph! look at the danger you’re in now while you are ashore,” returned
Flint. “Suppose, while we are passing along this row of buildings, that
a brick should fall from one of the chimneys and strike you on the head!
Where would you be? Or suppose you should accidentally put yourself in
the path of a runaway horse! Wouldn’t you be in danger then? The safest
place in the world is on shipboard. That’s a sailor’s doctrine.”
“But it isn’t my doctrine,” said Guy. “And another thing. I don’t like
to have a man swear at me and say that for two cents he would throw me
into the drink. If I am to be cuffed and whipped and jawed every day I
might as well be—somewhere.”
Guy was about to say that he might as well be at home, for he had run
away from it on purpose to escape such discipline. He came very near
exposing himself, for he had told Flint that he had no home, and he knew
that was the reason the sailor was so kind to him.
“And don’t you remember how that mate beat me with a rope?” added Guy.
“If you hadn’t taken my part he might have been pounding me yet, for I
didn’t know where to go to find the jib down-haul.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Flint encouragingly. “A boy who goes to sea
may make up his mind to one thing, and that is, he’s going to get more
kicks than ha’pence. And it may not be his fault; but if he gets ’em
after he learns his duties, then it _is_ his fault. You didn’t see me
struck or hear anybody say he’d throw me overboard. That’s ’cause I know
my business and ’tend to it. But you will see better times after we get
fairly afloat. Halloo! let’s go in here and see what’s going on.”
Flint’s attention was attracted by the sound of voices and shouts of
laughter which issued from a very dingy-looking building they were at
that moment passing. Guy glanced up at the sign and saw that it was a
sailor’s boarding-house.
Flint opened the door that led into the public room, and Guy followed
him in. The boy did not like the looks of the apartment, for it too
vividly recalled to his mind the quarters occupied by the steerage
passengers on board the Queen of the Lakes. It was not much like the
steerage in appearance, but it was fully as gloomy and uninviting.
One side of the room was occupied with tables and chairs, and the other
by a small bar, at which cheap cigars and villainous liquors were kept
for sale. The floor was covered with sawdust, and littered with cigar
stumps and “old soldiers,” and the walls were discolored by tobacco
smoke, which filled the room almost to suffocation.
A party of sailors were seated at one of the tables, engaged in a game
of “sell out,” now and then laying down their cards for a few seconds to
bury their noses in tumblers of hot punch, which they kept stowed away
on little shelves under the table. They looked up as Flint and his
companion entered, and a man who was standing behind the bar, and who
seemed to be the proprietor of the house, came forward to relieve them
of their bundles, and inquired what he could do for them.
“Can you grub and lodge us ’till we find a ship?” asked Flint.
“Of course I can,” said the proprietor. “This is the very place to come.
Supper will be ready in an hour. Will you sit down by the stove and have
a drop of something warm?”
“I don’t mind. We’ve had a rough time outside for the last week, and
hain’t got warmed up yet.”
The sailor and his young companion drew a couple of chairs near the
stove, and sat down, whereupon a short, thickset man, who, seated in a
remote corner of the room, had been regarding them rather sharply ever
since they came in, arose and pulled his chair to Flint’s side.
“Did you say you want to ship?” he asked in a low tone, at the same time
casting a quick glance toward the card players.
“Yes,” replied the sailor, running his eye over the man; “but we hain’t
in no hurry about it.”
“Well, I am in a great hurry to raise a crew, and should like to get one
to-night. I am second mate of the clipper Santa Maria, bound for
Honolulu—forty dollars advance. Better say you’ll put your name down.
Best ship you ever sailed in, and you’ll find every thing lovely aboard
her. The cap’n’s a gentleman. Ask him for a chaw of tobacco, and you’ll
have to mind your eye or get knocked overboard with a whole plug of it,
and the mates ain’t none of your loblolly boys neither. What do you
say?”
“Say no, mate,” exclaimed one of the card players, all of whom had
paused in their game to hear what the mate had to say to Flint. “Don’t
go near the bloody hooker.”
“What’s the matter with her?” asked Flint.
“Why, she’s got a crew aboard she never discharges, and who don’t sign
articles,” answered the sailor.
“Then I guess I won’t ship,” said Flint, picking up his chair and moving
it nearer the players.
“You’d better not. She’s been trying for three days to find a crew—the
cap’n, both the mates, and all the shipping agents in port have been
running about the streets looking for hands, but everybody who knows her
is shy of her. She has borne a hard name from the day she was launched.”
“And all through just such fellows as you are!” cried the mate, jumping
to his feet, his face red with anger. “Don’t I wish I had you with me
just one more voyage? I’d haze you until you were ready to jump
overboard.”
“But you’ll never have me with you another voyage,” said the sailor,
with a laugh. “One cruise in the Santa Maria is as much as I can stand.
Ay, you had better go!” he continued, as the mate buttoned his coat and
hurried toward the door. “You’re no good here, and you’ll never raise a
crew until you call on the sharks.”
“Look out that I don’t get you in that way, my hearty,” exclaimed the
mate, as he slammed the door behind him.
The sailors once more turned to their cards, and Flint moved back beside
Guy. At this moment the landlord came up, bringing on a tray two glasses
filled with some steaming liquor. Flint took them off the tray and
placed them on the floor behind the stove.
“What did that sailor mean when he said that the Santa Maria had a crew
who don’t sign articles?” asked Guy in a whisper.
“He meant ghosts,” replied Flint.
“Ghosts?” repeated Guy. “Humph!”
“Hold on there, and don’t say ‘humph’ till you know what you’re talking
about,” said the sailor sharply.
“Why, Flint, there are no such things. You surely don’t believe in
them?”
“I surely do, though.”
“You have never seen one.”
“Avast there!” exclaimed Flint.
“Have you, really? What did it look like?”
“They take different shapes. I’ve seen them that looked like rats, and
I’ve seen ’em that looked like black cats. Sometimes you can’t see ’em
at all, and them kind is the worst, for they’re the ones that talks.
Once, when I was a youngster, a little older than you, I sailed in a
ship out of Boston. One night it blew such a gale that it took
twenty-six of us to furl the mainsail, and we were almost an hour in
doing it, too. We lost one man overboard while we were about it, and
every night after that when the order was given to lay aloft to loose or
furl the sails, we were certain to find Dave Curry there before us
working like a trooper. Oh, it’s gospel,” said Flint earnestly, seeing
that an expression of incredulity settled on the face of his young
companion; “’cause I saw him often with my own eyes, and what I tell you
I have seen, you may put down as the truth. Shortly after that I sailed
in a brig whose bell every night when the mid-watch was called struck
four times, and no one ever went near it.”
“Who struck it then, if no one went near it?” demanded Guy, not yet
convinced.
“The ghost of a quartermaster, and a man-o’-wars man who was lost
overboard when the brig made her first cruise. The last voyage I made
was in a ship bound around the Cape. When the time came we begun to
prepare for bad weather by sending down the royal yards and mast and
getting in the flying jib-boom. One of the hands was out on the boom and
had just sung out, ‘haul in!’ when a sea broke over the bows and he was
never seen afterward. But every night we used to hear him, as plain as I
can hear myself speaking now, calling out as if he were tired of
waiting, ‘haul in!’ We kept a good lookout, but although we could never
see any one, we always heard the voice. What are you looking at them
glasses so steady for? You don’t want to drink that stuff, do you?”
“No; I drink nothing stronger than beer.”
“And if you know when you are well off you will let that alone,” said
Flint earnestly. “It never does nobody no good. It takes your money as
fast as you can earn it, and gets you into scrapes. I know by
experience.”
“Why don’t you empty one of the glasses?” asked Guy.
“Do you think I’m fool enough to drink anything in this house?” inquired
Flint, in a low whisper. “Didn’t you hear that fellow tell the mate that
he’d never ship a crew till he got the sharks to help him.”
“Yes, but I don’t know what he means.”
“You never saw a two-legged shark, did you?”
“No, I never did.”
“Well, there’s one,” said Flint, jerking his thumb over his shoulder
toward the bar.
“Who? Where? You don’t mean the landlord?”
“Don’t I, though? I don’t mean nobody else. I can tell one of them
fellows as far as I can see him. He’ll have a crew for the Santa Maria
before many hours, now you see if he don’t. That’s what he’s up to, and
that’s why I don’t drink the stuff in that glass. Them fellows playing
cards are all fools. They’ll be out of sight of land some fine morning,
now you see if they don’t—to-morrow may be.”
Flint settled back in his chair, nursed his right leg, and winked
knowingly at Guy.
“I don’t understand,” said the boy. “They won’t ship aboard the Santa
Maria, will they?”
“Yes, they will.”
“They needn’t do it unless they choose.”
“Ah! needn’t they though? That shows all you know. You see the landlord
is keeping them here by dosing ’em with something strong—a sailor is
always ready to stay where he can get plenty to drink—and by the time it
comes dark they’ll be half-seas over. Then the landlord will drug ’em to
sleep by putting something in their drinks, and get help and carry them
aboard the Santa Maria. By the time they get their senses again they’ll
be miles away.”
“But they can’t do duty if they’re drugged,” said Guy.
“No matter. If they can’t do duty to-day they can to-morrow, and the
cap’n ’ll take ’em so long as they ain’t dead.”
“Let’s get away from here and go somewhere else,” said Guy in great
alarm. “I don’t want to stay with such a man. I’m afraid of him.”
“Well, you needn’t be. All we’ve got to do is to keep clear heads on our
shoulders, and we’re all right. Just bear one thing in mind. As long as
you stay in this house don’t drink nothing, not even water.”
“Supper!” cried the landlord at this moment. “Walk right into the
dining-room, boys. Why, what’s the matter, mates?” he added, glancing
from Flint and his companion to the untasted glasses on the floor;
“don’t they suit you?”
“No; they’re too stiff and got too much sugar in ’em.”
“Then step right up to the bar and let me mix you another glass. It
sha’n’t cost you a cent.”
“Never mind now,” said Flint. “We’ll wait until after supper.”
Guy, who had not had a square meal for a week, was delighted to find
himself seated at a well-filled table once more. He fell to work in good
earnest and made ample amends for his long fast. There were two
drawbacks to the full enjoyment of the meal, and one was, he could not
drink anything. Forgetting himself on several occasions he raised his
cup of coffee to his lips, but being checked by a look or a sly nudge
from Flint, always put it down untasted. The other drawback was the
company in which he found himself.
The sailors knew little of the etiquette of the table, and cared less.
They were merry and quarrelsome by turns, pounded on the table with
their fists until the dishes jumped up and performed jigs and
somersaults in the air, and talked, laughed, and swore at the top of
their voices. The landlord seemed accustomed to all this, and never
interfered with his guests except when it was necessary to keep them
from coming to a free fight.
The sailors left the table one after the other, as their appetites were
satisfied, and returned to the public room, whither they were followed
by Flint and Guy, the former leading the way. As they were passing along
the hall that led to the bar-room, the sailor suddenly paused, looked
steadily at something before him for a moment, and then drew back.
“It’s come, and sooner than I thought for,” said he, in an excited
whisper.
“What has come?” asked Guy.
“Stick your head out of that door and see for yourself. Be careful to
keep out of sight of the landlord.”
Guy advanced cautiously toward the door, wondering what it could be that
had so excited his companion, and Flint followed close to his heels,
rolling up his sleeves and making other preparations indicative of a
desire or intention to fight somebody.
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