STILL ANOTHER.
FLINT looked at the boy for a moment with an expression of great concern
on his haggard face, and continued:
“I was in a ship once when the whole crew was hazed, and I wouldn’t go
through it again for no money. It was awful.”
“But why did you submit to it?” asked Guy, in surprise. “Were there not
enough of you to whip the officers?”
“Yes, but that would have been mutiny; and if we had tried it we would
have been shot down like dogs. There’s no way out of the scrape, Jack,
unless you go overboard. You’re held as tight as if you were in jail.”
“But I haven’t yet told you all,” said Guy, who seemed to find a gloomy
satisfaction in talking about his troubles. “The first mate is an enemy
of mine, too. You remember, do you not, that when you had the fight at
the boarding-house I ran out? Well, I went to the dock, and there I
found a man who was being robbed. I saved him by calling the police, and
through me one of the robbers was captured. I was taken to the
watch-house and locked up until the next morning, when I appeared as a
witness against the prisoner; and who do you suppose he turned out to
be? I was never more astonished in my life. Don’t say a word about it,
Flint, for he threatens to kill me if I lisp it, but it was our first
mate. He says he is going to make me think this ship is a frying-pan.”
“And he will keep his promise, too; you can bet high on that,” said
Flint, greatly amazed. “Have you told me the worst yet?”
“Yes, I think I have. Haven’t I told you enough?”
“I should say so. I told you that a boy who goes to sea always gets more
kicks than ha’pence, and now you find that I spoke the truth.”
“But is there nothing I can do?” asked Guy anxiously.
“Nothing—nothing in the world. You must take your kicks and say not a
word. One of these days, when you are an officer, you can take it out of
the green hands who ship under you. That’s your only chance to get
even.”
Flint, having offered Guy all the consolation in his power—and very poor
consolation it was, too—now bethought him of his own troubles. Thrusting
his hand under his shirt he drew out his “monk-bag”—a small leather
purse which was suspended from his neck by a string. The last time he
saw the purse it was well filled with bills and coin, but now it was
empty.
“I have been eased of my wealth,” said he. “Do you know what has become
of it? I had eighty dollars in here, and never spent a cent of it.”
“Is that gone, too?” exclaimed the boy, astonished at the calmness with
which his friend announced the discovery of his loss. “I don’t know any
thing about it, but I do know where your advance went.”
With this Guy begun, and hurriedly described the scene that had been
enacted when Flint and his insensible companions were first brought on
board, dwelling with much indignation on the fact that he had seen
Rupert steal his friend’s money, and had tried to make him give it up,
but had only succeeded in bringing down upon himself the wrath of the
captain, who choked him until he could scarcely see.
When Guy finished, he looked at Flint, expecting that he would be very
angry, and that he would at once seek the skipper and demand
satisfaction for the manner in which he had been treated; but the sailor
did nothing of the kind. He simply smiled, and said, with an effort to
appear cheerful:
“I’ve seen that same trick done more’n once, but it was never played
upon me before, and never shall be again.”
“But what are you going to do about it?” asked Guy.
“What _can_ I do?”
“Why, arrest Rupert for robbery. I will be a witness against him.”
“Ha!” laughed the sailor. “He’d bring a dozen men to prove that I owed
him every cent of my advance, and more too. Besides, there’s no telling
where Rupert will be by the time our cruise is ended.”
“But you need not go on this voyage. You were not legally shipped. You
don’t remember of signing articles, do you?”
“Of course not; but it will do no good to make a fuss about it, for the
old man will say I had too much liquor in me when I did it to remember
anything.”
“Suppose he does. I have heard my father say that a note obtained from a
person in a state of intoxication is not good in law, and the same
principle ought to apply in this case.”
“Well, it won’t,” said Flint. “Law was made for land-lubbers, not for
sailors. Nobody cares for a sailor.”
Guy begun to think so, too. It was utterly incomprehensible to him that
men who had been kidnapped and robbed, as Flint and his companions had
been, must put up with it, having no redress in law. He could not see
why it was so.
Just then there was a movement in one of the bunks below, and presently
a head appeared at the foot of the ladder. Another of the sailors had
slept off the effects of the drug, and was coming up to see where he
was. He was a man considerably older than Flint, and his hair and
whiskers were as white as snow.
Guy’s heart bled for him. That a man at his time of life should be
treated worse than a brute, and be obliged to submit to it too, it
was——Guy’s indignation got the better of him, and he could only wish
that he could be the master of the vessel for an hour or two. Wouldn’t
he straighten out things in a hurry?
The old sailor came slowly up the ladder, taking no notice of Guy and
his friend, and swept his eyes over the deck. No sooner had he done so
than he started as if he had seen something frightful, took another good
look, and his face turned ghastly pale.
“What ship is this?” he asked, backing down the ladder a step or two.
“The clipper Morning Light, bound up the Mediterranean,” replied Guy.
“Morning Light be blessed!” said the old sailor. “I know her. She’s the
Santa Maria.”
Guy’s under jaw dropped, and the swab fell from his hand. His worst
fears were confirmed.
He did not have time to digest this most unwelcome piece of news; for
the second mate, thinking that he was devoting considerable time and
attention to swabbing that particular part of the deck—for he had kept
steadily at work during his conversation with Flint—came forward to see
about it. He might have said or done something not altogether pleasant
to Guy’s feelings, had he not been diverted from his object by the
discovery of the two sailors on the ladder.
“Well, my hearties, you have slept it off at last, have you?” he
exclaimed. “Then tumble up and turn to.”
Flint and the gray-headed sailor promptly obeyed the order, while the
mate went into the forecastle to renew his efforts to arouse the
sleepers.
This time he was successful. One by one the poor fellows came up the
ladder, all of them, as Guy noticed, wearing the same expression of
blank amazement which he had observed on Flint’s face, and, seeming to
understand their situation as well as if it had been explained to them,
went to work without uttering a word of complaint.
As soon as the deck was washed down the ship was got under way, and,
when studding-sails had been set alow and aloft, the men were mustered
on deck and divided into watches. This done, the captain stepped before
them and said, in a stentorian voice, as if he were hailing the
mast-head:
“Now, men, we have shipped together for a long voyage, and whether or
not it is to be a pleasant one depends entirely on yourselves. You all
claim to be able seamen, and if you do your duty cheerfully and without
any grumbling, you will find me the easiest ship-master you ever sailed
under; but if there’s any nonsense among you, I’ll make this vessel the
hottest place for you this side of——” Here the captain pointed with his
finger toward the deck, indicating, no doubt, the regions below. “The
rule of this ship is, the forenoon watch below, and all hands on deck in
the afternoon; and if that regulation is changed, it will be your fault.
Mark you, now: That gentleman, Mr. Evans, is my first mate, and that one
there, Mr. Schwartz, is my second mate. I’m the captain; and when you
have taken a good look at me, go for’rd. That’s all I have to say to
you.”
“Go below, the watch,” commanded the second mate.
Guy, Flint, the gray-headed sailor, and the others belonging to the port
watch, lost no time in obeying the order. There were none among them who
felt like doing duty. Guy certainly did not, for he was so completely
exhausted that it did not seem possible he could live to draw another
breath. He threw himself upon his hard bed, drew the blankets over his
shoulders, and listened to the conversation of the sailors, who now had
leisure to talk over their situation.
To Guy’s great surprise there was not one of them who exhibited the
least indignation, or had a harsh word to say against the author of
their troubles. Some flung themselves helplessly upon their bunks as if
it mattered little to them whether they ever got up again or not, others
overhauled their bundles or chests to see if any of their dunnage was
missing, and the faces of all wore a look of sadness and dejection that
was painful to see. The furtive glances that they cast about the
forecastle, and the listening attitudes they assumed whenever any
unusual sound was heard, was enough to satisfy Guy that they were all
aware that they had been shipped aboard the very vessel they had been
most anxious to avoid.
“You needn’t be a looking and a listening now, lads,” said the
gray-haired sailor, whose name was Upham, and who had made one voyage in
the ship. “The Santa Maria is as quiet as old Davy’s locker in the
day-time, but wait until midnight, if the wind freshens a bit, then
you’ll hear something.”
“The creaking and groaning of the cordage, most likely,” said Guy. “I’ve
heard it often aboard the Ossipee.”
“You’d better take a sheep-shank in that tongue of yours,” said Upham
sharply. “When you have sailed the blue water till your hair is as white
as mine, you’ll know more than you do now.”
So saying the sailor drew the blankets over him, and with a sigh of
resignation turned his face to the bulk-head and prepared to go to
sleep. The rest of the watch, one after the other, followed his example,
and Guy was left to commune with his own thoughts. He would have been
glad to know just how and when the ghosts of the Santa Maria were
accustomed to appear, so that he might be on the lookout for them; but
Upham did not seem inclined to say more on the subject, and he had shown
himself to be such a gruff, irritable old fellow that Guy did not care
to ask him any questions, being certain of getting a sharp and
unsatisfactory reply. While he was thinking about it he fell into a
deep, untroubled slumber.
Guy that day learned by experience what “hazing” meant, and he found,
too, that Flint’s description of this mode of punishment was not in the
least exaggerated. Long before night came he was so nearly exhausted
that the fear of the rope’s end, with which the second mate constantly
threatened him, was the only thing that kept him moving.
It was his watch below from six to eight o’clock, but he was too tired
to sleep, and the time was so short that he got very little rest. He was
called on deck again at eight o’clock, and kept busy until midnight, for
the wind which arose at sunset freshened rapidly, and on several
occasions it was found necessary to shorten sail. Of course Guy could
lend no assistance in the execution of this work, but he bustled about
in response to every order that was issued, and only succeeded in
getting himself into trouble by his misdirected activity and zeal.
Once, when he was sent headlong against the rail by a push from an angry
sailor, he clung to it for a moment with a half-formed resolution in his
mind to jump into the waves which were tossing the vessel so widely
about, and put an end to his misery at once, but prudence stepped in in
time to prevent him from doing anything rash.
“The voyage can’t last forever,” thought Guy, trying hard to keep up his
courage. “We must reach some port at last, and in less than half an hour
after we are tied up to the wharf I shall be missing. I am going to
desert. I have money enough in my pocket to keep me in food until I can
find something to do. I’d rather be a wood-sawyer than a sailor.”
Midnight came at last, and the starboard watch was called. Guy happened
to be standing near the heel of the bowsprit as they came up the ladder,
and he was astonished to see that every one of them was as white as a
sheet. When they reached the deck they all cast suspicious glances back
into the forecastle, as if they were afraid that there might be
something following them. Beyond a doubt the ghosts had manifested
themselves in some way. So thought Guy, and his opinion was confirmed by
some whispered words he overheard.
“What is it, mate?” asked Flint of the sailor who was the first to reach
the deck. “Your face is as white as a landsman’s Sunday shirt.”
“And maybe your face will be white, too, after you have been down there
a few minutes,” answered the man, who was the gray-haired sailor’s
crony, and who, like him, had made one voyage in the Santa Maria.
“Where’s Upham?”
“Here,” replied the owner of that name. “Have you seen ’em?”
“No; but I’ve heard ’em. He’ll be up directly.”
“He! Who?” asked Flint uneasily.
“Why, the ghost of the man who was lost overboard a few years ago,” said
Upham. “You see, one night, during a gale, some of the crew were sent
aloft to cut away the main topsail, for it was blowing too hard to furl
it. One man was lost overboard—he was blown fairly off the foot-rope,
they tell me—and every night after that his ghost used to get up on the
main-topsail yard and sing out: ‘Stand from under!’ I never heard him
speak, but I’ve seen him often.”
“So have I,” said Upham’s crony. “He looks like a rat.”
“But what did you see in the forecastle?” asked Flint.
“Nothing; but we heard ’em talking and going on. They’re in the hold
now.”
“Go below, you lubbers!” shouted the second mate. “This is the third
time I have spoken to you, and if you don’t pay some attention I’ll
start you down faster than you want to go.”
The men belonging to the port watch ran quickly down the ladder to avoid
the handspike which the officer began to swing about in close proximity
to their heads.
Guy was the last to leave the deck. Tired and utterly discouraged as he
was he would rather have spent the rest of the night in work than go
into the forecastle. He scouted the idea of ghosts, but when such men as
Flint and Upham showed signs of fear, he believed that it could not be
without good reason, and that there must be something to be afraid of.
He trembled violently, and his face was as pale as those of the rest of
the watch.
“Aha! see him now, mates!” exclaimed the gray-headed sailor pointing to
Guy as he came down the ladder. “Here’s the chap that knows more’n all
the rest of us put together!—a regular sea-lawyer. Now look at him!”
“Listen! listen!” said one of the watch suddenly.
The sailors all held their breath, and a silence deep as that of the
grave reigned in the forecastle. This continued for a few seconds, and
then a low, moaning sound, like the wail of some one in intense bodily
agony, fell upon their ears with startling distinctness. It seemed to
come to them through the bulk-head that separated the forecastle from
the hold.
Guy listened in great amazement. The cold chills begun to creep all over
him, and his face grew a shade paler than ever.
“Don’t be afraid, my son,” said Upham mockingly. “It’s only the creaking
and groaning of the rigging. You’ve heard it often, so it needn’t scare
you.”
“No, it isn’t the rigging,” said Guy; “it’s the boxes of freight rubbing
against one another.”
“Well, I never knew before that boxes of freight could talk,” said one
of the watch. “Just listen to that!”
“Oh, heavens! I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it!” came in muffled tones
from the hold. “Take it off, or I shall die!”
This was followed by a low, murmuring sound, as of several persons in
earnest conversation, and then all was still.
Guy’s philosophy was not proof against such a manifestation as this.
There was something in the hold beyond a doubt, and what else could it
be but the ghostly crew the Santa Maria was supposed to carry?
“There’s been awful things done aboard this craft,” said Upham, shaking
his gray head solemnly. “Nobody knows how many poor fellows have been
knocked overboard on dark nights by them two mates.”
“Great Scott!” soliloquized Guy, jumping into his bunk and drawing the
blankets over his head. “I never thought of that. Who knows but that the
first mate may be watching for a chance to knock me overboard?”
The old sailor’s words had excited a train of serious reflections in
Guy’s mind. A man who could deliberately attack another with the
intention of robbing and throwing him into the harbor, would be none too
good to make an end of the boy who had given evidence against him. There
was but one thing he could do in his helpless situation, he told
himself, and that was to watch the mate closely and be in readiness to
seize the first opportunity to desert the vessel.
The night wore slowly away, and another miserable day dawned for the
runaway. He was kept very busy, for the mates always found some work
that he could do, but still he had leisure to observe that there was
something unusual going on among the men. They gathered in little groups
to converse when the officers were not looking at them, and Upham talked
privately with every one of the crew, Guy alone excepted. He seemed to
be urging some sort of a movement among the sailors, but what it was Guy
could not find out, for no one, not even Flint, would enlighten him.
Was it a mutiny? Guy hoped it was, and placed a handspike where he could
seize it at a moment’s warning. If force were resorted to, he would get
in at least a blow or two in return for the barbarous treatment to which
he had been subjected.
Nothing was done until three o’clock, and then the captain came on deck
as usual to smoke his after-dinner cigar. His appearance seemed to be
the signal the sailors were waiting for. They dropped their work at once
and, headed by Upham, marched aft in a body.
------------------------------------------------------------------------