HOMEWARD BOUND.
That night, after supper, the second mate informed Tom that he
belonged to the port watch, and that when that watch was called at
midnight, he would be expected to answer the summons with the others.
Tom was not at all pleased to hear this, for the night promised to be
a stormy one, and the thought of remaining on deck in the rain from
twelve o’clock until daylight was not an agreeable one. He sought his
bunk at an early hour, and being considerably wearied with his day’s
work, soon forgot his troubles in a sound sleep. It seemed to him
that he had scarcely closed his eyes, when a gruff voice shouted down
the hatchway:
“Port watch ahoy! Roll out lively!”
This was followed by a commotion among the sailors, who sprang out of
their bunks; and, as they commenced pulling on their pea-jackets, one
of them shook Tom by the shoulder, exclaiming: “Turn out, sonny! It’s
your watch on deck.”
Tom was perfectly well aware of that fact, but, after listening a
moment, he heard the moaning of the wind through the shrouds, and the
pattering of the rain on the deck, and fearing the storm more than
the wrath of the second mate, he drawled out:
“O, I can’t get up! It’s raining!” and thinking that he had settled
the matter, he pulled the blankets over his head, to shut out all
sounds of the storm, turned his face to the bulk-head, and in a few
moments was fast asleep again. But he was not allowed to remain
long undisturbed, for the second mate stood on deck as the watch
came up, and seeing that Tom was not among them, he ran down into
the forecastle, and, seizing the young sailor by the arms, pulled
him, bed and all, out of the bunk. Tom arose to his feet as soon as
he could throw off the blankets, and turning to the mate, angrily
exclaimed:
“Now, see here, Mr. Robson! I tell you, once for all--”
He suddenly paused, for the officer held a short piece of rope in
his hand, which he lifted in a threatening manner; and, Tom having
a wholesome fear of punishment, hastily pulled on his boots and
pea-jacket, and followed the mate to the deck.
It was a dismal night. The wind sent the rain in blinding sheets
over the deck. The schooner rocked and plunged in a manner that
made it impossible for Tom to keep his feet without holding fast to
something, and, for the thousandth time, the young sailor heartily
wished himself safe at home. As the gale increased in force, it
became necessary to shorten sail; and Tom, as usual, being in
the way, was roughly pushed about, and even kicked, as if he had
been an unruly dog. When five o’clock came, he was holding on to
the foremast, pondering upon his hard lot, and thinking over the
complaints he would make to his father against the crew as soon as
the schooner returned home, when he was aroused by the voice of the
second mate, whom he regarded as his evil genius.
“Didn’t you hear that bell, youngster?” inquired the officer. “It’s
five o’clock, and time for you to turn to.”
Tom knew that “turn to” meant go to work; and he also remembered
that his first task was to black the captain’s boots. At first he
determined to flatly refuse to perform such work; but, on second
thought, he concluded to go into the cabin and tell the skipper how
badly he was treated, and again demand his protection. So, without
stopping to answer the mate, he sullenly walked aft, when the
officer, as if guessing his intention, said:
“I’ll give you five minutes in which to black the captain’s boots;
and, if you are not on deck again at the end of that time, I shall be
after you.”
Tom made no reply, but went down into the cabin, where he found the
captain seated at the table examining his chart.
“Well!” exclaimed the latter, as Tom entered, “how do you like a
sailor’s life?”
“O, I don’t like it at all!” was the answer. “I can’t imagine why my
father sent me to sea, to be kicked about and abused as I have been
on board this vessel. I am not treated right, captain. I didn’t ship
to saw wood or to black your boots, and I’m not going to do it. I am
here to learn to be a sailor.”
The captain drummed with his fingers on the table, but made no reply.
“And just see here, how wet I am!” continued Tom. “I’ve been out in
all this rain ever since midnight.”
“O, that’s nothing,” said the captain, who could not refrain from
laughing. “We can’t always have pleasant weather, you know.”
“I don’t mind the rain so much,” replied Tom. “I could stand that if
I was only treated half-way decent. I didn’t suppose that you would
make me work so hard.”
“I think your duties are very light,” said the captain. “If you
intend to be a sailor, you must learn how to do all kinds of work.
When I was a boy, and made my first voyage, I had to do just the work
you are now called upon to do.”
“What! black boots and saw wood!” exclaimed Tom, in utter amazement.
“Exactly!” was the answer.
“Then I can’t be a sailor. That’s settled. I can’t do such work. I
wouldn’t mind going aloft; but I can’t black boots. Why can’t Bob
White do it?”
The captain made no reply, but again turned his attention to his
chart, while Tom helped himself to a chair, resolved, now that he was
again safe in the cabin, to remain there. Once or twice, his eyes
wandered to the captain’s boots, which had been placed just outside
the door of his state-room, and to the brush and box of blacking that
lay beside them; but he could not endure the thought of playing the
part of a boot-black. He remembered a little negro boy he had often
seen plying his trade on his father’s wharf, and he could not bear
the idea of placing himself on an equality with him.
“Captain,” said Tom, at length, “must I black your boots?”
“I have nothing to say,” answered that gentleman. “If the second
mate told you to do it, you must obey him, for I can’t countermand
his orders.”
“Why didn’t he tell Bob White to do it?” whined Tom. “I can’t.”
“You can try,” said the captain.
“O, no, I can’t,” insisted Tom. “I never blacked boots in my life. It
wouldn’t look well for me to do it. Send for Bob White. He’s the one
that ought to do such work.”
“I have nothing to do with the matter,” repeated the captain. “And my
advice to you is, to obey all orders you receive promptly, and to the
letter. You will fare much better if you do.”
Tom made no reply, for he plainly saw that it was useless to hope for
assistance from the captain. Slowly rising to his feet, he picked
up the blacking brush between his thumb and finger, and, with his
eyes filled with tears, began the work of polishing the captain’s
boots, his every movement showing how distasteful was the work to
him. At this moment, the second mate appeared at the head of the
companion-way, and the sound of his voice infused new energy into
Tom, who, regardless of soiling his fingers, grasped the brush firmly
in his hand, and proceeded with his work as if he had been accustomed
to blacking boots all his life. The mate watched him for a moment,
and then said, approvingly:
“That’s the way, sonny. You’ll make a fine sailor one of these days.
I’ll give you five minutes more, and be sure you have those boots
blacked by that time, for you must be at your wood-pile.”
Tom was not at all pleased with the tone in which the mate addressed
him; for, although he appeared to be friendly, there was something
about him which told the young sailor that it would be well for him
to be at his wood-pile as soon as possible.
The work of blacking the boots was finished at last, and it was like
every thing else Tom ever undertook--not more than half done. There
was no polish on them; but the captain, although he was far from
being satisfied with the work, pitied Tom, and when the latter handed
him his boots, he pulled them on without remark. Then, knowing that
his five minutes had nearly expired, Tom went on deck, and walked
slowly toward his wood-pile. The wood was wet, and in placing a stick
upon the saw-horse, Tom’s fingers and clothes were sadly soiled, and
he was almost on the point of crying with vexation when he saw what a
plight he was in.
“Take hold of it, sonny,” exclaimed the second mate, who stood close
by, watching him. “Take hold of it. It can’t hurt you, so don’t be
afraid.”
But Tom was very much afraid of soiling his clothes, and the
consequence was, that, although he worked steadily for two hours,
he did not saw wood enough for the cook to get breakfast with. This
brought him another scolding from the negro, who declared, “’Fore
Moses, I never did see sich a useless chile. I can’t see what boys
like you is made for, no how. Go ’way from dar.”
Tom readily gave up the saw, glad indeed to be relieved, even for a
short time, from the work he so much despised.
After breakfast, the men belonging to the port watch went below to
sleep until noon; all except Tom, who still had one duty to perform,
and that was, to make up the beds in the cabin. This he did in his
usual careless manner, so that, when night came, the captain and both
mates were obliged to make them over again. But Tom did the work to
his own satisfaction, that is, in the shortest possible space of time.
When he returned to the deck, he found the second mate and Bob White
engaged in conversation. The latter was drenched to the skin, and
looked altogether like a person who had just been pulled out of the
water. The officer had one hand on the boy’s head, and in the other
he held a short piece of rope; and Tom, who, from some cause which he
himself would have found it difficult to explain, thoroughly hated
Bob, was in hopes the mate had been given him a whipping. But he
was soon undeceived, for, as he approached, he saw that Bob’s face
was lighted up with a smile of triumph, and he also heard the mate
speaking to him in the kindest possible tone, evidently praising him
for something he had just done. Tom was angry in an instant. The
mate had never praised him for any thing he had accomplished, and he
wondered what Bob had been doing to win the officer’s approbation. He
did not remain long in ignorance, for the mate, upon discovering him,
called out:
“Come here, sonny! The captain tells me that you want to learn to go
aloft,” he continued, as he led Tom toward the mainmast; “and you
might as well begin now as any time. Do you see that Irish pennant
up there?” pointing to a piece of rope which fluttered in the wind
from the cross-trees, and which the officer had placed there but a
few moments before, on purpose to give Tom his first lesson in going
aloft; “do you see it? Well, go up and bring it down to me. Up you
go!”
Tom looked at the mast, the top of which described almost a
half-circle in the air, as the schooner plowed through the waves,
and then at the mate, and finally drawled out, in his lazy way: “O,
I can’t! I wouldn’t mind going up there in calm weather, but the
schooner pitches so badly, I couldn’t hold on. I should certainly
fall down.”
“Why, sonny, sailors can’t choose the weather for going aloft!” said
the mate. “I am surprised to hear a boy who expects some day to be
master of a vessel talk as if he was afraid; come, bear a hand; don’t
be a coward.”
The officer had touched Tom in a very tender place. He did not like
to be called a coward, and, almost involuntarily, he started toward
the shrouds, as if he intended to convince the mate that he was not
wanting in courage. But just then the schooner gave a tremendous
lurch, and Tom, being taken unawares, was thrown flat upon the deck.
Slowly rising to his feet, he clung to the fife-rail for support,
and, again looking up at the mast, drawled out:
“O, I can’t go up there! Why don’t you tell Bob to go? I have to do
all the work!”
But Bob had, but a few moments before, performed the same experiment;
only the mate had placed the rope he wished him to bring on the
extreme end of the bowsprit, and securing it was a much more
unpleasant piece of work than Tom was now called upon to execute;
for, in addition to running the risk of being shaken overboard, he
had been almost smothered by the waves. Bob, however, had shipped for
the purpose of learning to be a sailor; and when the mate directed
him to bring the rope, he started at once to obey the order, and the
officer, pleased with his prompt obedience, patted him on the head
and praised him for his courage. The mate related this circumstance
to Tom; but the latter, although he disliked to be beaten in any
thing, could not muster up sufficient courage to make the attempt,
until the officer stepped to the mast and began to uncoil one of the
ropes. Then knowing that it was dangerous to hesitate any longer, Tom
reluctantly placed his hands on the ratlines, and began the ascent.
He slowly worked his way up until he reached the height of ten or
twelve feet from the deck, when he paused, and, looking down at the
mate, said, in a most pitiful voice:
“O, I can’t go up there, I tell you! I shall certainly fall down.”
“Go on, sonny!” replied the officer, shaking the rope. “Up you go; no
backing out.”
Tom again began to work his way upward, stopping every few feet
to remonstrate with the mate, whose only answer was: “Up you go,”
accompanied by a flourish of the rope, which always seemed to infuse
new courage into Tom. At length the cross-trees were reached, the
rope was detached after considerable trouble, and Tom, feeling very
much relieved, descended in safety to the deck, and handed it to the
mate, who said:
“That’s right, sonny! I tell you that you will be master of a
full-rigged ship some of these days. Now you may go and turn in until
noon.”
Tom was very glad to hear this, for he was always delighted to have
even a short respite from his unpleasant duties. Precisely at twelve
o’clock, however, he was again called on deck by the second mate,
and compelled to resume his work. He managed to saw a very little
wood, and was twice sent aloft by the officer, who, as before, was
obliged to threaten the rope’s end in case of refusal. Day after day
was passed in this way, and, long before the schooner arrived at her
destination, Tom had lost all desire to become the commander of a
vessel. His position was far from being a pleasant one, but, in this
respect, he could blame no one but himself. He well knew what his
duties were, but he would never perform them except upon compulsion.
He was always ill-natured; and the consequence was, he was cordially
disliked by all on board, from the captain down to the negro cook.
The former scarcely ever spoke to him, except to repeat his advice in
regard to promptly obeying all orders (which, it is needless to say,
was advice wasted), and the latter scolded him continually for his
failure to keep the galley stove in fuel. The sailors tormented him
in every conceivable way, and invariably called him “Sonny”--a name
that Tom particularly disliked.
But it was the severest blow of all to Tom to notice how kindly Bob
White was treated by both officers and men. The reason for this
was, that Bob always cheerfully and promptly obeyed all orders,
without waiting to be threatened with punishment. He was always
accommodating, and ready to do any thing to assist one of the crew;
and when he was spoken harshly to--as he was sometimes--he never
answered back. Tom, on the contrary, was always cross and sullen;
he moved about the deck as if he scarcely had strength to stand on
his feet; and when one of the sailors asked him to do an errand for
him, he would answer: “Wait on yourself! I didn’t ship to be every
body’s servant.” Under such circumstances, the only wonder was, that
he ever escaped severe punishment. He knew, as well as any one, that
he was entirely to blame; but he regarded the officers and crew of
the schooner as his inferiors, and he was resolved that he would obey
them only when he was forced to do so.
One afternoon the second mate called Tom and Bob White; and, after
informing them that he was about to begin teaching them the names of
the different ropes, asked if they thought they could learn them.
Bob promptly replied that he could; but Tom, although he wanted some
excuse to leave his wood-pile, thought the task was too difficult.
He looked up and down the vessel, and at the numerous ropes which
crossed and recrossed each other in every direction, and finally
drawled out:
“O, no, I can’t learn them, Mr. Robson. There’s too many of them.”
“Get back to your wood-pile, then,” said the mate, beginning to get
discouraged, “and, sonny, remember what I tell you! You’ll never be
any body in the world so long as you say ‘I can’t!’ Why don’t you say
‘I’ll try!’”
“O, now, what’s the use of trying!” whined Tom. “Don’t I know what I
can do, and what I can’t, without trying?”
“Bear a hand at that wood-pile,” said the mate. “Come, now, Bob!”
Tom went back to his work, while Bob walked about the schooner with
the mate, paying strict attention to all he said, and trying hard to
remember it. The result was that, by the time they reached Callao,
he could stand his watch at the wheel in fair weather, knew the names
of all the ropes, and had once assisted in taking in the sails.
In the meantime, Tom had learned that the right hand side of the
schooner, looking forward, was called starboard, and the left hand,
port; and that was the extent of his knowledge of a vessel.
When the Savannah reached her destination, Tom drew a long breath of
relief, for he thought that his work for the present was over. But
the galley still needed wood, the bunks must be made every morning,
and the captain wanted his boots blacked as regularly as when at
sea; and by the time these duties were done, it was night; so that
Tom never once went ashore. He had always thought that he would
experience much pleasure in visiting foreign countries, but now he
was so absorbed in his troubles that he never took any notice of what
was going on; and when the vessel had discharged her cargo and been
reloaded, he knew no more about Callao than he did when he first
arrived there.
One day, just before the schooner was ready to start on her homeward
voyage, the mate came forward where Tom was at work at his wood-pile,
and informed him that the captain wished to see him. Confident that
at last affairs had taken a turn in his favor, the young sailor
hurried aft, and as he entered the cabin, the skipper said:
“Tom, I have noticed that you don’t admire your duties, so I have
concluded to make a sort of supercargo of you.”
“Have you, captain?” exclaimed Tom, very eagerly.
“Then I needn’t saw wood, or make up the bunks, or black your boots?”
“No, if you suit me, Bob will have to do that work.”
Tom was overjoyed to hear this, for, as we have already said, he
cordially disliked Bob, and had often wished that he could see “how
he would look sawing wood and blacking boots.” Besides, Bob had, of
late, rather looked down upon Tom as a “land-lubber,” which made the
latter very angry; and he was glad indeed that he was to be placed in
a position where he could pay Bob back in his own coin. Another idea
occurred to him. He knew that a supercargo was quite an important
personage on board a vessel, and perhaps, Tom imagined, he might have
authority enough to make Bob black _his_ boots. The bare thought that
he would thus be able to settle up all old scores, almost made him
beside himself.
“I always wanted to be a supercargo,” said Tom; “and I think that’s
just what I was cut out for. I know that I’ll suit you.”
“Well, then,” said the captain, going to his table and picking up
several sheets of paper, “let us begin work at once. Here are the
bills for some goods I bought a few days ago, and, as I want to go
ashore and settle up all our accounts, I wish you would add up these
figures and see if the amounts are correct.”
These words of the captain were so many death-blows to all Tom’s
hopes. He walked up to the table and glanced over the bills, one
after the other, but the sight of those long columns of figures was
too much for him.
“O, captain, I can’t add up all these figures,” said he. “There’s
too many of them. It would take me all day. I didn’t know that
supercargoes had to do such work as this.”
“What!” exclaimed the captain, in surprise, “don’t you understand
addition? Why, Tom, what good did it do you to go to school? Didn’t
you study arithmetic?”
“O, yes, I did; but it was too hard. Let me do something else. I
can’t add figures.”
“Then you are of no earthly use to me,” said the captain. “Mr.
Robson,” he added, raising his voice, “send White here.”
This was a turn of events that Tom had not expected. He knew that the
captain intended to give Bob the position, and he could not bear the
thought of seeing the one he so thoroughly hated placed so far above
him.
“Captain,” he whined, “can’t I do something else besides add figures?”
“No,” was the answer. “I only wanted you to do my writing and
ciphering.”
“O, I can’t do such work as that. It’s too hard. I might as well go
to school and be done with it. Let me do something else.”
“I have nothing else for you to do,” repeated the captain. “And now,
let me give you another piece of advice. When you get home again, go
to work at your books, and learn all you can. Above all, stop that
bad habit of saying ‘I can’t.’”
“What shall I say, then?” asked Tom. “When I say that I can’t do a
thing, I mean it, and there’s no use of--”
“Here you are!” interrupted the captain, turning to Bob White, who
at that moment entered the cabin. “Can you add figures?”
“O, yes, sir!” replied Bob, with a smile, as much as to say, “I
thought any body could do that.”
“Then see if the amounts of these bills are correct,” continued the
captain. “That will do, Tom. I am done with you.”
The latter, however, made no move to leave the cabin, until the
second mate, who, standing at the head of the companion way, had
heard all that passed, exclaimed:
“Up you come, sonny! Pitch into that wood-pile; and mark what I say,”
he continued, as Tom slowly and reluctantly ascended to the deck, his
face all wrinkled up as if he was on the point of crying--“mark what
I say! You’ll never be any thing but a foremast hand the longest day
you live.”
Tom, too angry to reply, walked toward his wood-pile, and resumed his
work. This was, by far, the severest blow he had yet experienced,
and one would suppose that it ought to have convinced him that he
was sadly wanting in many things a boy of his age ought to know,
and that it would be well for him to lose no time in making up his
deficiencies. But, as usual, such was not the case. He had given up
all hopes of ever becoming a sailor, and, during the homeward voyage,
all attempts on the part of the officers to teach him any thing were
simply useless. Bob White pursued a different course. He attended
faithfully to his duties about decks, never failed to improve every
opportunity to pick up even the smallest items of information, and
nearly every day Tom enjoyed the satisfaction of hearing him praised
by both officers and men, while of himself they scarcely took any
notice whatever. Thus, week after week passed, and, as the Savannah
neared home, Tom, who had only been kept within bounds through fear
of punishment, began to place less restraint upon his actions. He
became, if possible, still more inattentive to his duties, and, what
little he did accomplish, was so badly done that some one was obliged
to do the work over after him. At last, the schooner arrived within
a day’s sail of Newport. If nothing unusual happened, she would be
safely moored at Mr. Newcombe’s wharf by the afternoon of the next
day. Tom was on watch until midnight; and when he turned into his
bunk, it was with the determination of doing no more work as long as
he remained on board the vessel. The next morning he was awakened
as usual, at five o’clock, but, instead of obeying the summons, he
remained in bed. The mate waited fully a quarter of an hour for
him; but finding that Tom was not likely to make his appearance, he
went down into the forecastle, resolved to give him a lesson, the
remembrance of which would go with him through that day, at least.
Tom heard him coming, and turning his face to the bulkhead, he closed
his eyes as if asleep. But this did not turn the officer from his
purpose, for, lifting Tom in his arms, he carried him to the deck,
and, in spite of his struggles and promises of better behavior in
future, threw him headlong into a cask that had that morning been
filled with salt water to wash down the decks. The cask was deep,
and, when Tom’s hands rested on the bottom, nothing but the soles of
his boots could be seen above the water. This bath seemed to have
washed all his bad habits out of him, especially his laziness, for
he kept steadily at work at his wood-pile during the entire day,
without once stopping, except for his dinner. His mind was fully as
busy as his arms, for he was constantly repeating to himself the
charges he intended to bring against the crew of the schooner, and
he could not repress a smile of triumph, when he thought how they
would feel when they found themselves discharged from his father’s
service. Four o’clock in the afternoon came at length, and, once, as
Tom looked toward the village which was then in plain view, he saw
a small steamer coming out of the harbor to meet them. He was not,
however, allowed to cease his work, for the mate kept him busy at his
wood-pile, until the Savannah was made fast to the wharf, and Tom
saw his father come on board. Taking no notice of his son’s pitiful
looks, which told him as plainly as words that he had not enjoyed the
voyage, Mr. Newcombe inquired, as soon as the greeting was over:
“Well, Tom, how do you like a sailor’s life? I suppose you intend to
go out in the Savannah again!”
“O, no, I don’t, either!” drawled Tom. “I knew I couldn’t learn to be
a sailor. I’ve been treated worse than a dog on board this vessel.
Now, father, I want you to discharge--”
Tom was about to begin his complaints at once, but at this moment the
captain of the schooner approached, and Mr. Newcombe turned to speak
to him. He was provoked because his father did not pay more attention
to him, as he regarded his business of more importance then the
captain’s; besides, he saw several of the sailors, who knew what he
was about to say, laughing at him.
However, knowing that he would have plenty of time in which to state
his grievances to his father, before the schooner sailed again,
Tom shook his head at them in a threatening manner, and went down
into the forecastle to pack his bed-clothes. As soon as this was
accomplished, he sprung ashore, and started for home at the top of
his speed.