LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.
Tom, delighted to find himself at last on board an outward-bound
vessel, remained on deck until the schooner was fairly out of the
harbor. He took his stand beside the captain, thrust his hands
deep into his pockets, pushed his hat on one side, and watched the
movements of the sailors, who ran about the deck executing the
different orders, as if he perfectly understood the meaning of
every command, and had long been accustomed to every thing he saw.
Occasionally he turned his eyes toward the rapidly receding lights
on the wharf, but, far from experiencing a single feeling of regret
at leaving home, he felt like shouting for joy. In fact, according
to Tom’s way of thinking, he had nothing to be sorry for. At home
he was always unhappy, something was forever happening to trouble
him; but in the life before him he saw nothing but sunshine. He was
entering upon the easy and romantic life of a sailor. He would soon
learn enough about seamanship and navigation to be intrusted with the
command of a vessel; and, when he arose in the morning, instead of
looking forward to six hours’ work at his arithmetic and geography
lessons, he would find before him a day of uninterrupted enjoyment.
“Ah, this is glorious!” said Tom to himself, as the schooner, having
cleared the harbor, began to move more rapidly over the waves. “This
is fine! This is just the life for me! I’m a land-lubber no longer!
I’m a sailor; and I wouldn’t be the least bit sorry if I should never
see Newport.”
Tom’s soliloquy was interrupted by an event that was as sudden as it
was unexpected. He had taken no pains to keep out of the way of the
sailors; and, when the crew came aft to hoist the mainsail, he was
so absorbed in his reverie that he took no notice of them until he
was aroused by the exclamation: “Here you are! Always in the way! Get
out o’ this!” accompanied by a violent push, which sent him at full
length on the deck.
“Now, look here!” drawled Tom, as he hastily arose to his feet. “I’d
like to know what you are about! I’ll tell the captain.”
Surprised and indignant at such treatment, he at once started off to
find the skipper, whom he at length discovered standing in the waist.
“Captain!” he exclaimed. “Did you see that fellow push me down?”
“No!” replied the captain, in a tone which implied that he was not at
all interested in the matter, “I didn’t see him.”
“Well, somebody did push me down, flat on the deck,” said Tom,
angrily. “I want you to haul that man up for it, for I won’t stand
it.”
“Well, then,” said the captain, coolly, as he turned on his heel and
walked aft, “you must keep your eyes open, and not get in any body’s
way.”
Tom was astonished to find that the skipper did not sympathize with
him; but, believing that he did not fully understand his complaint,
he started to follow him, intending to state his case more clearly,
when he was roughly jostled by the second mate, who was hurrying
forward to execute some order.
“Look here!” shouted Tom. “Don’t you know that this is my father’s
vessel? I want you to be a little more careful about pushing me
around this way. You are nothing but a mate.”
“Ay ay, my hearty!” interrupted the sailor. “I know all about that.
But now, just take my advice and keep out of the way, or you’ll go
overboard.”
“I will, will I?” exclaimed Tom. “I’ll tell the captain! Look here!”
he continued, as he approached the skipper, who was standing beside
the man at the wheel. “What do your men mean by pushing me about? I
want you to remember that my father owns this vessel. I won’t stand
such treatment; and I want you to put a stop to it; that’s all about
it.”
Tom certainly stated his case plain enough this time, and he fully
expected that the captain would at once punish the men who had
treated him so disrespectfully; but what was his surprise and
disappointment when that gentleman turned on his heel and walked off
whistling. Tom was more than surprised at this; as the sailors would
have expressed it, “he was taken all aback,” and, for a moment, he
stood looking after the retreating form of the captain, as if he
was utterly unable to understand what had caused this sudden change
in him. Undoubtedly he had been sadly mistaken in the man. While on
shore, he was good natured, and had always appeared to take great
interest in every thing Tom had to say; but now, he was exactly the
reverse. He not only did not offer to protect him from the men, but
he seemed anxious to keep as much as possible out of his way. Tom,
who was not dull of comprehension, began to realize the fact that he
had got himself into a most unpleasant situation. He had built his
hopes high upon the captain only to be disappointed; and, with his
mouth twisted on one side, as if he were on the point of crying, he
went down into the cabin to arrange his bed. He went to the room he
had picked out for his own use, and was astonished to discover that
it had already been taken. A bed was made up in the bunk, and in one
corner stood a large sea-chest, with the name J. H. Robson painted on
it, showing that the room was in the possession of the second mate.
His own bed-clothes where nowhere to be seen. Almost too angry to
breathe, Tom was about to start in search of the captain, when he met
that gentleman coming down the companion-way.
“Look here, captain!” exclaimed Tom, pointing to the bed, “your
second-mate has taken possession of my room.”
“Your room!” repeated the captain. “That room doesn’t belong to you.”
“Why, captain!” said Tom, in surprise, “I picked it out for my own
use, and told you to lock it up, and to allow no one in it. Don’t you
remember?”
“Yes, I recollect. But I told you, at the same time, that sailors
sleep in the forecastle.”
“And I also told you that I was going to sleep in the cabin, and mess
with you,” said Tom, decidedly. “Tell somebody to take that bed out
of there.”
“Where will Mr. Robson sleep, then?” asked the captain. “The second
mate always occupies that room.”
“Well, you can put him somewhere else. I’m bound to have that room.”
“I think, Tom,” said the skipper, quietly, “that you will have to go
into the forecastle. There’s where you belong. You rate as ‘boy’ on
the shipping articles.”
“But I didn’t agree to go among the men,” said Tom, “and I won’t
do it. What do you suppose my father would say if he knew that you
wanted me to bunk in the forecastle?”
“I say, captain,” shouted the second mate down the companion-way at
this moment, “is that young sea-monkey down there? Ah, here you are!”
he continued, discovering Tom. “Lay for’ard into the forecastle, and
take care of your donnage. Up you come with a jump.”
“Now what’s my baggage doing in the forecastle?” asked Tom, growing
more and more astonished at each new turn of events. “Who put it in
there? Tell one of your men to bring it into the cabin at once.”
“Sonny,” replied the mate, shaking his finger at Tom, “come up here!”
There was something in the sailor’s tone and manner that a little
alarmed Tom, and led him to draw closer to the captain, as if
seeking his protection. But the latter, after pulling off his coat
and hanging it up in his state-room, seated himself at the table,
and began to examine his chart; and Tom, finding that he was left
to fight his battles alone, resolved to do so to the best of his
ability. Turning to the mate he replied, angrily:
“I’ve got no business on deck. I can’t be of any use up there;
besides, I am sleepy, and I want to go to bed.”
“Well, then, lay for’ard into the forecastle, where you belong,” said
the mate.
“I tell you I don’t belong there!” exclaimed Tom, almost ready to
cry with vexation; “and, what’s more, I am not going there. I want
you to remember that this is my father’s vessel, and you had better
mind what you are about. And, see here, Mr. Robson! you have put your
baggage in my room, and I want you to take it out of there at once.
That’s my room.”
The mate, instead of replying, came down the stairs, and, seizing
Tom’s arm with a grip that brought tears to his eyes, exclaimed:
“I want no nonsense, now! If you don’t obey orders, I’ll take a bit
of a rope’s-end to you. Now go for’ard on the run.”
Tom struggled desperately to free himself from the mate’s grasp, but,
finding that his efforts were unavailing, he appealed to the captain
for protection.
“See here, captain!” he shouted, “are you going to sit there and see
me abused in this manner, when my father owns this vessel?”
“I can’t help you, Tom!” replied the captain. “That gentleman is one
of the officers of this schooner, and must be obeyed. If you will
take my advice, you will do just what he orders you to do.”
Tom, however, did not see fit to follow this advice, but still
continued to struggle with the mate, when the latter tightened his
grasp on his arm, and, pulling him up the stairs in spite of his
resistance, he hurried him across the deck, and pushed him down into
the forecastle, exclaiming:
“Now, then, stay there! If I catch a glimpse of your ugly figure-head
on deck again to-night, I’ll use a rope’s-end on you. Now, that’s
gospel!”
There were several sailors in the forecastle arranging their beds,
and nothing but pride restrained Tom from giving full vent to
his troubled feelings in a flood of tears. But even here he was
not safe; he had escaped from one source of annoyance only to be
immediately assailed by another; for, as he came rapidly down the
stairs, assisted by a violent push from the mate, one of the sailors
exclaimed:
“Here he comes! Just look at him! Mates, that’s the chap as wants to
learn to be a cap’in.”
“You don’t tell me so!” chimed in another. “Sonny does your mother
know you’re here?”
“Just look at his riggin’!” said another, having reference to Tom’s
suit of new clothes. “He looks like a Dutch galliot scudding under
bare poles!”
“An’ them white hands,” said the one who had first spoken, “they’re
just the thing for a tar-bucket.”
These were but few of the greetings Tom received upon his advent into
the forecastle. Had he been wise, he would have listened to them as
good-naturedly as possible; but the tone in which they were spoken
irritated him, and he took no pains to conceal the fact.
“Now, you hush up,” he shouted. “This is my father’s vessel. I’ll
have you taught better manners the minute we get ashore again.”
This only made matters worse. The sailors gathered about him, pulling
him first one way and then another, all the while ridiculing his
dress or his appearance, until Tom, unable to escape from their
clutches, or to endure their taunts, began to cry.
“Look at that! He’s pumping for salt water!” said one.
“Now, see here, shipmates!” exclaimed another, an old sailor with
whom Tom had always been a great favorite, “it has gone far enough,
now. Don’t bother the life out of the lad. Never mind ’em, sonny,” he
added, patting Tom on the head, “you’ve got the right stuff in you,
and you’ll make a sailor-man yet. Jack, just throw his donnage over
this way. Now, Tommy, here’s a bunk that don’t seem to be in use; let
me tumble up your bed for you.”
The man meant to do Tom a kindness; and the sailors, seeing him thus
defended, at once ceased tormenting him; and, it is probable that if
he had kept silent, he might have been allowed to sleep in peace.
But Tom’s ill-nature could not be suppressed. He considered that he
had been grossly insulted by both the captain and the second mate.
He was very indignant at the sailors for addressing him in such
disrespectful language, and he was resolved to show them, one and
all, that he regarded them as beneath his notice. Roughly jerking his
bed-clothes from the sailor’s hand, he pushed him away from the bunk,
exclaiming:
“Let me alone. I don’t want any of your help. I’ll have you all
discharged the moment we reach home again. You forget that my father
owns this schooner.”
“No, I don’t, Tommy,” said the sailor. “But don’t be foolish, now.
You’ll always have a friend in Jack Waters.”
“Get away from me,” shouted Tom. “I don’t want your friendship. All I
ask of you is, to let me alone.”
The man, seeing that Tom was in a very bad humor, sprang into his
bunk, leaving the young sailor to himself. The latter soon had cause
to regret that he had been so imprudent, for the new members of the
crew, who were all strangers to Tom, began to laugh at and ridicule
him worse than ever. Every exhibition of anger on his part only
brought loud shouts of derision from the sailors; and Tom, seeing
there was no chance for escape, finally spread his bed in one of the
bunks, and, crawling into it, covered his head with the blankets.
There he lay, thinking over his situation, and studying up plans
to revenge himself upon the sailors. He was surprised, angry, and
discouraged; surprised, because there had been a great change in the
captain and the older members of the crew, for which he could not
account. On shore, they had always treated him with the greatest
respect; but now, they seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him. He
was angry, because he--Tom Newcombe, the son of the richest man in
Newport--had been addressed as “sonny.” Besides, the second mate had
dared to lay violent hands upon him, and the sailors seemed ready to
carry out the system of persecution that had been commenced in the
cabin. And he was discouraged, because he saw all his bright hopes of
one day becoming the master of a fine vessel disappearing like the
mists of the morning. What encouragement had he to persevere in his
determination to become an accomplished navigator and seaman, if he
was to be subjected to such treatment as he had just received? None
whatever. If the two hours he had passed on board the schooner were
a fair sample of the life he would be compelled to lead for the next
six months, he had already had enough of following the sea.
“O, I can’t stand it!” said Tom to himself. “I didn’t think I would
have to sleep in the forecastle. That captain isn’t the gentleman I
thought he was. I wonder what made father send me to sea? I knew I
couldn’t be a sailor, and there’s no use in trying. I wish I was at
home again!”
It was long after midnight before he fell asleep, and, even then,
he was not allowed to rest in peace. It seemed to him that he
was awakened every five minutes by orders shouted down into the
forecastle. Some one was constantly moving about; and every man that
passed by his bunk, brushed against him and pulled the blankets off
on the deck. The air of the forecastle was hot and almost stifling;
and this, together with the rocking of the vessel, presently made Tom
sea-sick as well as home-sick. He grew worse and worse, and finally
began to be afraid that he was going to die. The sailors, who were
not long in finding out what was the matter with him, again began to
torment him, and finally, in his desperation, Tom heartily wished
that the schooner and all on board, himself included, might go to
the bottom. Rolling and tossing about on his hard bed, he passed a
most uncomfortable night, and morning brought him no relief from his
troubles. At the first peep of day, the second mate came into the
forecastle; but, seeing at a glance, poor Tom’s condition, he again
went on deck, leaving him to his meditations. Shortly after this, a
sailor entered, bearing in his hand a covered dish, with which he
approached Tom’s bunk, saying:
“Can’t you eat a little, my hearty? Here’s a nice bit I have brought
you.”
As he spoke, he uncovered the dish and exposed to Tom’s view a piece
of fat pork swimming in gravy.
If there is any thing a sea-sick person dislikes, it is the sight of
greasy meat; and the thought of eating a piece of that the sailor
brought him, operated on Tom like an emetic. It was fully an hour
before he recovered from this new plan of torture; and when he became
able to think the matter over, he resolved to go to the captain and
have the sailor punished. Shortly after noon, having become somewhat
accustomed to the rocking of the vessel, his sickness began to abate,
and Tom thought he might muster up strength enough to walk to the
cabin.
Slowly rising from his bunk, he crawled up the stairs, and the first
man he met, when he reached the deck, was the second mate, the very
one of all others he most dreaded to see.
“Ah! You’re up again, are you?” exclaimed the officer. “I hope you
feel better!”
Tom was surprised to be addressed in so kind a tone by the man who
had treated him so roughly the night before, and he began to think
that, perhaps, the mate was not so bad after all.
“Where are you going?” continued the officer, as Tom moved toward the
companion-way.
“I am going to see the skipper,” was the answer. “I want some of
these men put in irons!”
“Well, Tommy!” said the mate, “never mind the captain now. He’s
asleep, and you had better not disturb him. He’ll be better natured
if you let him have his after-dinner nap out. But what have the men
been doing to you?”
“Why, they won’t let me alone!” said Tom. “They keep bothering me all
the time; and I won’t stand it, when my father owns the schooner. I
came here to learn to be a sailor, not to be laughed at, and told
that I look like a ‘Dutch galliot under bare poles.’”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the mate. “If you’ll obey
all orders promptly, and to the very letter, I’ll stand by you, and
see that nobody bothers you. But you say you want to learn to be a
sailor. Come here; I have something to show you!”
The mate’s face wore a good-natured smile, and his words were spoken
in a tone that, under any other circumstances, would have won Tom’s
heart. But, as it was, he could not be easily deceived, and he had a
suspicion that the officer was about to show him some work he wished
him to do. The mate evidently guessed the thoughts that were passing
through his mind, for he continued:
“Of course we don’t intend to work you hard at the start, Tommy. I’ll
give you an easy job. Are you fond of horses?”
“Yes, I am!” replied Tom, eagerly. “Have you horses on board?”
“Yes, we’ve got one--a regular old sea-horse. He’s been with us
now--let me see--this is the fifth voyage. Would you like to take
care of him? That’s the job we always give to boys when they first
come on board vessels.”
“All right,” said Tom. “Where is he?”
“Come this way, and I’ll show him to you,” said the mate, as he led
Tom toward the galley, where a negro was engaged in sawing wood.
“Now, Tommy,” he continued, “can you do that kind of work?”
“Saw wood!” exclaimed the young sailor, in surprise. “No, I can’t do
that. But where’s the horse?”
“Here it is! I meant the saw-horse,” said the mate. “By the time you
have made as many voyages as he has, you’ll know something about a
ship. You say you can’t do that kind of work?”
“O, no, I can’t!” drawled Tom.
“Well, then, that’s the first thing you’ll have to learn. You never
can be an able seaman until you understand every thing about a
vessel, you know. Snow-ball!” he added, turning to the negro, who was
the cook of the schooner, “here’s your new boy. He’ll saw all the
wood you want.”
The negro dropped the saw, and the officer, again turning to Tom,
said:
“Now, then, bear a hand!”
“O, now, I can’t saw wood!” whined Tom. “I didn’t ship for that, and
I won’t do it.”
The whole appearance of the mate instantly changed. Stepping to the
foremast, he uncoiled a heavy rope from one of the cleats, and, again
approaching Tom, exclaimed:
“Now bear a hand, sonny, or I’ll use this rope.”
Tom saw that the mate was in earnest, and that the only way to escape
punishment was to obey. Reluctantly picking up one of the smallest
sticks of wood he could find, he placed it upon the saw-horse, and
took his first lesson in the duties of a sailor. He had never
attempted work of that kind before, and it was a most tedious task to
saw that stick of wood; but it was accomplished at last, and Tom drew
a long breath of relief, for he thought that his work was done.
“That’s the way to do it,” said the mate, approvingly. “You’ll make
a sailor yet. You’ll be captain one of these fine days. Now try
another!”
Tom looked first at the wood-pile, then at the rope which the mate
still held in his hand, and, not daring to refuse, he placed another
stick on the saw-horse, and again went to work, his eyes so blinded
with tears that he could scarcely see what he was about. For an hour
the mate stood by watching his movements, and, seeing that Tom began
to make more rapid headway, he said, as he returned the rope to its
place:
“You begin to understand how it is done. Now, I want you to listen
to me, and I will tell you all your duties. In the morning, you must
be up at five o’clock. Your first job will be to black the captain’s
boots; then come here and saw wood till breakfast time. After that,
you will make up the bunks in the cabin, and then come back here to
the wood-pile. When this is gone, I’ll find more for you. Those are
your duties. Mark you, now, no more nonsense, or I’ll make you sup
sorrow with a big spoon.”
As the mate ceased speaking, he turned and walked aft, leaving Tom
lost in wonder. Every hour he spent on board the schooner, developed
some new and most unpleasant features in the life of a sailor, upon
which he had never made any calculations. Sawing wood was one of
them, and blacking the captain’s boots another. Had he, while at
home, been told to perform such work, he would have indignantly
refused; and, as it was, he had half a mind to arouse the captain
and demand his protection. But there was the second mate pacing the
deck between him and the companion-way; and the young sailor knew,
from what he had already experienced, that, if he left his work, the
officer would not hesitate to fulfill his threat of using a rope’s
end. Poor Tom was already “supping sorrow with a big spoon.” Besides
being homesick, he had seen more than enough of a sailor’s life; and
he firmly resolved that, if he again put his foot on shore in his
native village, he would stay there.
But why had the mate selected him to perform these very disagreeable
duties? There was another boy on board, whose name was Bob White. He
was nothing but the son of a sailor, and, according to Tom’s way of
thinking, _he_ was the one that ought to do the work. While he was
compelled to saw wood like a laborer, Bob was walking up and down the
deck, putting on as much style as if he had been the commander of the
vessel. Of course he had duties to perform, but they were very light
and pleasant compared with those imposed upon Tom; and the latter
resolved that, as soon as he could see the captain, he would have
matters arranged differently.
“Come, come, bear a hand; no skulking here!” came the voice of the
second mate, abruptly terminating his meditations; and Tom fearing
the rope’s end, again took up the saw and went to work. Observing
that the officer kept close watch of all his movements, the young
sailor applied himself steadily to his task, and, as he saw his pile
of wood growing larger by degrees, he began to hope that the cook
would have fuel enough to last two or three days. But when the middle
of the afternoon came, the negro began the work of cooking supper;
and when he had carried three armfuls into the galley, Tom’s pile of
wood was all gone.
“Why, boy!” exclaimed the cook “what ’count be you on board this
vessel? Go back from dar!” Pushing Tom away, he seized the saw, and,
in a few moments, had fuel enough to finish cooking the supper.
This was another severe blow. Even the negro cook scolded him;
and, for the first time in his life, Tom made to himself what he
considered to be a most humiliating confession; namely, that the
position a person occupies among his fellow-men, depends not upon
his father’s wealth or influence, but upon his own abilities. The
sailors all knew that Tom was the son of the richest man in Newport,
but that had no weight with them. In their estimation, he was nothing
but a “surly young land-lubber,” and of no possible use in the world.
Tom, we repeat, realized the position in which he was placed, and one
would suppose that he would have seen the necessity of submitting to
his fate with as good a grace as he could command, and of improving
every opportunity that was offered him to learn something about
his duties. But, unfortunately for him, this was very far from his
thoughts. The unexpected obstacles that had suddenly arisen in his
path, he regarded as altogether too great to be overcome, and he
deliberately resolved that he would do absolutely nothing except upon
compulsion. He was continually saying to himself: “O, I can’t be a
sailor; I know I can’t!” and that was the same as though he had said
“I sha’n’t try.”