THE HOUSE AMIDSHIPS.
The next morning the weather was damp and squally, the air close and
depressing. There was a faint breeze from the westward, but the clouds,
which at times obscured the sun and poured down torrents of cold rain,
were making a northerly course.
The day was by no means an enjoyable one, and the spirits of the
passengers--which were suffering a reaction after the excitement
attendant on the theatricals--would have fallen considerably with the
state of the atmosphere, had they not been kept up by the welcome
news, that should the vessel be lucky enough to get a fair wind, they
would actually sight land in less than a week. In a week’s time,
perhaps, they would step ashore, and those fond meetings, of which
they had dreamt throughout the voyage, would be realised. Under such
thoughts and anticipations, they were mostly flurried and restless,
given to talking excitedly and laughing at untoward moments, and
appearing on deck after every squall to look out for the longed-for
gale that should blow them to their destination, only, however, to be
driven below again by a remorseless storm that enveloped the _Pandora_
in a drenching shower.
There was one portion of the vessel which played an important part upon
the voyage, but has not yet been mentioned. This was the forward house
amidships. There were two houses built upon the maindeck, one abaft the
mainmast on the quarter-deck, the other abaft the foremast. The former
was the smoke-room, the latter was divided into five separate sections,
and to make their respective positions clear, it is necessary to give a
full description of them.
In the after-part of the house amidships, on the morning in question,
Billy Banks, the West Indian cook, was busily employed in peeling
potatoes. Seated on a kid in solemn majesty, with his rolled-up sleeves
displaying two coal-black arms, he disengaged the spuds from their
jackets, and tossed them into a bucket of water to rinse, previous to
putting them in the copper. Occasionally he would turn towards the
stove, and lift the cover of a saucepan, lest the contents should boil
over; and the sailors came and went meanwhile, but Billy never answered
their coarse jests except by a movement of the head.
The after-door, which faced the main-hatch, was partly hidden by the
donkey winch, and under this convenient shelter, Billy, surrounded by
his pots and pans, was able to roast and boil at his ease.
Now and then a lazy shellback would stretch himself out before the
galley fire, and spin him a long yarn, and Billy would reward him
for his trouble with a savoury ‘flap-jacks’ (the sailor’s name for a
pancake), or the remains of a dish that had left the saloon table; for
the black cook seldom left the galley, and the steward, whose business
it was to look after him, always found him at his post. In truth, Billy
had nowhere else to go. He disliked the rough horse-play of the seamen,
and could not stand ‘chaff’ well enough to associate happily with them;
the carpenter and boatswain seldom invited him to their berths, and
his own was far from agreeable, even to a black man’s nostrils. It
was situated on the right side of the house, built fore and aft, and
was certified to hold four men, therefore he had ample room. But the
odour pervading the place was more than any one could be expected to
endure. In the top bunk Billy slept. His bedding consisted of an old
straw mattress and pillow, two red blankets, and a stained and faded
monkey jacket, which he used as a coverlet. Across the room, suspended
on a line, hung sundry dilapidated and discoloured articles of linen,
supposed to be clean; and in the corner, lashed to the deck, was a
sea-chest, adorned with the brightest colours, like a Runcorn flat.
In the lower bunks, tin pannikins, new brooms, chopping-boards,
and kids were securely stowed, so that the rolling of the vessel
might not set them clattering against each other; and in the after
corner four mysterious casks were made fast to the stanchions. These
casks contained ‘slush,’ which is always recognised as part of the
cook’s perquisites at sea. And Billy, who was either too lazy or too
frightened to stow it, like a rational being, in the forepeak, kept the
unsavoury, nauseous matter in his berth. Few, perhaps, may, luckily
for themselves, be acquainted with the stuff. It is the skimming of
all the greasy liquids, the odds and ends which may be left upon the
dinner plates, the scrapings of the frying-pans, the searchings of the
‘kids’--in fact, every conceivable kind of oily substance which may
fall into the cook’s hands, and which is carefully collected and stowed
away, to be sold on landing at a high price for the manufacture of
different kinds of machinery oil.
When the ‘menavellins’ have been kept for a month, the sickly stench
from their decomposition may be well imagined, and no living creature
but a negro could have slept in the fœtid air which exhaled from them.
It is very certain that coloured noses can stand much more than white
ones. It only needs the introduction of an European to Cow Yard, which
is the ‘nigger’ locality of Port of Spain, or to the back slums of
China Chowk, Calcutta, or to Twenty-Seventh Street, in Rangoon, to
demonstrate the truth of the assertion. The cleansing of the mythical
Augean stables would be a simple task compared to the purification of
any one of the above-mentioned localities. In such squalid filth and
rank odours can both the East and West Indians live and thrive.
But enough of Billy Banks. On the other side there slept, in a berth of
the same dimensions, two more wholesome personages--Alexander M’Donald,
the carpenter, commonly called ‘Chips,’ and William Hanlin, boatswain.
Their little domicile was ship-shape, and displayed an air of comfort.
The upper bunks were used for sleeping berths, and the lower served as
lockers for different stores.
Iron bolts, nuts, sheaves, and screws were kept in different
compartments, besides spun yarn, mallets, small blocks, and
marlinspikes.
There were three sea-chests that were used as seats, and a small table
(that could be shipped for meals, and lowered when room was required)
was hinged to the bulkhead.
Under the swinging lamp above the table a neat pipe rack, filled with
‘clays,’ had been fixed by the carpenter, and his shipmate had added to
their homely comforts by making a fancy lashing for the water-beaker,
which was resting on chocks at the further end.
As for their beds, a patchwork quilt, like Joseph’s coat of many
colours--a parting present from his wife--distinguished Hanlin’s
resting-place from that of ‘Chips,’ which was covered by a traveling
rug, representing a furious orange and red tiger, in the act of
springing on a defenceless green and yellow woman, cowering under a
blue and purple garment.
The boatswain, like his commanding officer, was a man of few words.
His voice was gruff, and his hard life had made him reserved and
unpolished, but he was good hearted, and often passed over the
faults that came under his notice. The men in his watch were engaged
upon various duties that did not require his supervision, so, after
satisfying himself that they were steadily at work, and the mate was
nowhere in sight, he stepped over the weatherboard of his berth, and
lighting a pipe, sat down to refresh himself with a few unlicensed
puffs.
Shortly afterwards he was joined by ‘Chips,’ who entered ostensibly to
fetch, a new cold chisel, but when he discovered that his friend was
drawing the calumet of peace, he chopped up a pipeful of plug, which he
produced from under his mattress, and came to an anchor by his side.
The carpenter (as his name denoted) hailed from Scotland, and was a
loquacious fellow, often amusing himself whilst at work by singing
snatches of his favourite Burns, extoling the virtues and beauties of
his native land.
‘Dirty weather!’ he remarked, as he took his seat beside Hanlin.
‘We shall get a spell of this wind in the wrong quarter, if I’m not
mistook,’ said the boatswain, with an ominous ‘_Humph_,’ as he filled
the berth with clouds of smoke, sucking at his pipe as if he had not
enjoyed such a treat for weeks past.
‘Ay, ay, laddie; but it’s unsteady’ replied Chips, ‘and maybe it will
shift round to the right quarter before midnight. Them lassies aft
are near piping their eyes because she’s made so little headway, but
they’ll see their men before a week’s over their heads for all that.’
‘What’s for dinner?’ demanded the unsentimental boatswain.
‘Peasoup and pork,’ replied ‘Chips.’ ‘I can eat the salt meat this
weather; it gives me a twist; but I shall be glad when we gets
alongside the New Zealand mutton--not the tinned stuff, you ken, but
the real article.’
‘Hand me a pannikin’ said the boatswain, who detected the approach of
the first officer, and stooping down, he drew a mug of water, and drank
it off. Then, without a look at his colleague, he put the pannikin in
the lower bunk, and stepped out upon the deck.
‘Look here, boatswain,’ said Mr Coffin, ‘send a couple of hands up to
shift that royal; and, carpenter,’ he continued to M’Donald, ‘I want
you to see about the steps of that side ladder’; and with an ‘Ay, ay,
sir,’ the petty officers prepared to carry out his orders.
Between the two berths was a large air-shaft which was used as a
ventilator to the ’tween decks, and separated the cosy little place
just described, and which was pervaded by a healthy smell of Stockholm
tar, from the inodorous hovel of Billy Banks.
The fifth division of the house formed a room which was called the
spare galley. An iron partition alone separated it from the kitchen,
which rendered it so hot that it would have been impossible for any one
to live, or sleep there; and as it was considered a dangerous locker
in which to keep the spare suit of sails, it was thrown open for the
public use. It was but a small compartment, built athwart-ships, with a
teak-wood door, and dead-lights at either side.
The jolly-boats were kept, bottoms upward, on the skids which rested
upon the house, and served as shelter from the squalls, and a welcome
haven for the sailors on watch on rainy nights.
During the morning in question, a purple curtain rose and shut out the
faint gleam of the sun, and then burst suddenly upon the _Pandora_ in a
pitiless storm of rain, mingled with large hailstones.
Iris Harland, who had been walking up and down the deck, trying in
vain to decide how she should disclose her identity to her husband,
without encountering danger from the vials of his wrath, was caught by
the shower, and obliged to run for shelter under the boats until the
violence of the gale should have somewhat passed over.
‘Look ’ere, missy, step inside there,’ said one of the sailors, opening
the door of the spare galley; ‘it’ll be nice and warm for ye.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Iris, whose slight clothing was already wet
through; and as she took advantage of his offer, the sailor (whose
watch below it was) firmly closed the weather door, leaving the one to
leeward open.
‘Ye’ll soon be ashore now, missy,’ he said, wishing to open a
conversation; ‘we’re a’most there by this time.’
‘Yes; I’m very glad,’ replied Iris vaguely, looking dreamily before
her; ‘we have had a capital voyage, have we not?’
‘Nought to growl on,’ answered the man; ‘fine weather--a good ship--no
deaths--and a doctor ready to give us a clean bill of health. I ’spose
now, missy, as you’re goin’ out to meet your friends,--your sweetheart,
may be--if I may make so bold. Ah, it won’t be long before _you’ll_ get
a husband, _I_ know.’
But Iris did not answer him. Her frame was trembling like an aspen
leaf--her cheeks were blanched--her breath had almost stopped. For
another passenger had rushed suddenly in to take refuge from the
storm, and stood beside her, and that other was Godfrey Harland, her
husband. The moment for discovery had come, and notwithstanding all the
encouragement that Vernon Blythe had tried to give her, Iris felt like
a criminal tied to the stake.
‘You are not well, missy,’ said the sailor, noticing her perturbation;
‘shall I fetch you some water?’
She motioned him away with her hand, afraid to trust herself to speak,
and Harland’s attention was attracted by her very silence.
‘Can _I_ be of any assistance?’ he asked, coming forward; and in her
desperation Iris pulled her hood off her face, and turned to confront
him. She never thought of the sailor’s presence, or that it would
be better to delay speaking to Godfrey until they should be alone
together. She was like a patient, forced sooner or later to undergo a
cruel operation, who puts it off and off, until at some critical moment
he rushes blindly at his fences, lest his courage should again fail him
by delay. As Harland caught sight of her face, he staggered backwards.
‘Good God!’ he exclaimed; ‘_you_ here? What farce is this, and why have
I been kept in the dark all this while?’
‘Yes,’ Iris answered slowly, but with teeth that chattered with
apprehension, ‘_I_ am here, _I, your wife_. And by what right do you
claim to have been told _where_ I was, or for what purpose?’
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