SHANGHAIED
When I came again into this world, I found myself lying in a dark, dirty
hole of a forecastle. There was not a man there, but, as I looked over
the empty berths, I saw plenty of clothes and bedding, which gave
evidence of a full crew.
Getting to my feet, I found my head sorely cut and bruised, and wondered
what had happened. A throbbing pain across the eyes did little to aid my
thoughts, and, while I stood holding to the ladder down which I had been
flung, the scuttle above me was thrust back and the fellow Martin
started down.
“Aha!” he said when he saw me, “’twas a guid wan ye got ain yer haid. A
clout will do ye na harm, ye thievin’ trixter, ye deceivin’ rascal. Now
I’ll give you one for ald lang syne, an’ teach ye better to deceive a
honest mon ag’in.”
While talking, he turned back the sleeves of his jumper and made ready
to carry out his threat. He saw I made no movement, however, and
hesitated.
“Defend yairself, mon, defend yairself. Do not let me whollop yer like a
babe,” and he advanced toward me with his hands before him in some very
fair style.
“See here,” I said, “what the mischief has happened? What are you
driving at? I’ve played no trick, but it looks like some one has played
a trick on me.”
“Ah, na backslidin’, ye corward, na backslidin’! Yer can’t fool a canny
sailormaun that way. Put yer hands before yer ugly face, or I’ll whollop
ye like er babe.”
“I’m not afraid of your wholloping, Scotty. Let me get a turn about my
head a bit, and pull this ragged shirt off. Wonderful clean fo’castle
this. No drunks, no filthy dunnage overhauled, no--what infernal ship is
this, anyway?”
He saw I was not joking. Indeed, my appearance, as his eyes grew
accustomed to the gloom, put joking aside, and my last remark about the
vessel was true.
He dropped his hands and stared at me.
“Ware ye sure rung in like the rest? Waren’t ye in the game?” Then he
burst into a hoarse laugh and held out his hand. At that minute the
tramp of feet sounded overhead, and a half-score of men came clattering
down the companion-ladder.
It was a mixed crew,--Norwegians, Swedes, dagoes, and Dutchmen,--but all
with the unmistakable swing of the deep-water sailor. They stared at me,
and then started a gabble of language that in my disturbed condition I
failed to understand. They crowded around me and asked questions, and I
noticed Anderson eyeing me suspiciously. Then Martin, with a sweep of
his hand, cut them off, and began telling how I came aboard. When he was
through with his flowery description of Henry, I noticed several men
shake their clenched hands aft.
“Well,” said I, “I’m the mate, and I guess I’ll go aft and find out who
rapped me over the head. Some fellows in the other watch, I suppose.”
They burst into derisive laughter.
“We’re all mates and captains here,” sung out a big Norwegian addressed
as Bill. “You better turn in while you may, friend Heywood. You’re in
Henry’s watch, an’ the captain ain’t turned out yet.”
“Who’s the old man?” I asked, bewildered, and thinking I must still be
daffy from the crack on the head.
“Ain’t seen him yet,” said several at once.
“Well, what infernal hooker am I in, anyway?” I asked Martin.
“They call her _The Gentle Hand_, but there ain’t na name painted on
her. Some says she’s the _Fly-by-Night_, Howard’s old pirate barque, but
that canna weel be. She’s light. Not a hundred ton below decks, an’
that’s mostly stores.”
“The _Fly-by-Night_ was a cruising brig before the first war with
England,” I said. “It can’t possibly be that old hooker. Besides, she
was used against the French by your General Braddock.”
“Well, when you find out just what we’ve gotten into, coom an’ tell us,”
said Martin.
It had been slowly dawning upon me that I had been the victim of a
trick, and I felt in my pocket for the advance I had received the day
before. The barque was under way, that was certain, but no one seemed to
know where she was bound, and, as I fumbled through my clothes, Martin
laughed.
“’Twas guid money, Heywood, but ’tis gone. I missed mine this morning.
Maybe Anderson can tell where it is,” and he grinned.
The money was gone. That was certain. Yet it was no dream. I had
received it fair enough. Feeling anger and hatred for the trick upon me,
I bound up my head and went up the ladder to the deck to have a look
around. Several men called out to me to have a care of the mate, but
most of them were busy arranging their belongings, quarrelling and
fighting among themselves over the possession of what clothes happened
to be common to the crowd. I saw Martin steal a pair of tarpaulin
trousers from a fellow who was wrestling with the sailor Bill for the
possession of a bag of straw bedding. Then I stepped on deck.
The cool air did me good. I went to the rail and looked over. The barque
was going steadily to the southward with every rag set. She was heeling
but gently, and there was little wind or sea. She was braced a bit to
starboard, her port tack aboard, and by her trimming I saw she was under
English officers. Every yard just in line with its fellow, from the big
main to the little royal that crossed a good hundred and seventy feet
above the sea. Far away to the eastward showed the even outline of the
French coast, and between us many sails strung along the band of blue,
their hulls either just below or rising above the horizon’s line. The
day was fine and the easterly breeze gentle, and the barque was swinging
easily along.
I looked aft and saw men of the mate’s watch at work setting up the
backstays in the main-rigging, and some on the mizzen topsail-yard,
apparently under the direction of Richards, serving a worn foot-rope.
The canvas covers were off the guns, and a dozen bright twelve-pounders
of polished brass shone in the sunlight. The white deck beneath and the
varnished spars above made a pretty picture, and I grew warm to think
that I was not indeed the mate of such a craft. They had played a fine
trick on me to get me aboard sober and without compulsion, signing a
receipt for an advance equal to a couple of months’ ordinary wages.
There were plenty of sailors about the pier-heads, for the war had
turned many adrift without means of getting a ship, and there seemed to
be no reason why these fellows should try their land-shark game in
getting a crew.
As I looked aft it dawned upon me that these men were much better than
the ordinary run of common sailors. There was something in the fellow’s
walk I now saw crossing the deck that spoke of the war-ship. Even the
watch I had just seen below were remarkably rough and tough specimens of
a rugged humanity.
While I stood there taking in the scene, I saw a man come from aft and
walk to the break of the poop. He looked over the barque carefully, and
as his gaze came down the fore-rigging it stopped upon me.
He was dressed something after the manner of a preacher, with black
cloth coat and stock, and his hair was cut short. As I took his figure
in, there was little difficulty in recognizing Richard Raymond, the man
of peace. He beckoned me to come aft, and, as I did so, he removed the
huge drooping moustache he had been wearing and tossed it over the side.
“I reckon you know me now, Heywood,” said he, “though it’s been over six
years since we parted. I wanted you on this voyage, and took some pains
to get ye. That was the old man who welted ye over the head. I’m sorry
for it.”
It was Hawkson, sure enough. I recognized him easily now in spite of his
gray hair and older look. How I failed to recognize him at first even in
his disguise puzzled me. We had made the cruise in the _Petrel_
together, and had served on the man-of-war.
“Well, you’ve got me fast enough, though you played a mean trick getting
me. Now what’s the game?” said I.
The old privateersman smiled, and his jaws worked as though muttering to
himself. His face creased into ugly lines about his large mouth, and he
showed his teeth.
“I’m first officer here. That fellow Gull you fouled this morning is
second. Remember this first and the rest’ll come easy. Henry is third
mate, and I hear them say that you’re to be made gunner. How’s that?”
“Who’s them?” I asked, somewhat nettled.
“Them’s us, sonny. The old man, the two gentlemen aft, myself, and the
rest.”
“Where are we bound for, and what’s the hooker’s name? It’s all well
enough to be cribbed aboard a ship, but I’m going to find out what’s the
game.”
“We’re bound for the South Pacific; that’s all clear as mud, an’ we’ve
got a picked crew because the business in hand needs honest men.”
“I bow to myself,” I answered. “It’s well to know.”
“What more do you want, hey? Go forrads an’ turn in, an’ I’ll square ye
with the fellow Gull. Don’t let them see me talkin’ too much with ye,
sonny, or I’ll have to forget the past for the needs o’ the present.
You’re aboard a fine ship.”
“Well,” I answered, “that’s all good enough, but I would like to know
her name and who’s her skipper,--and what’s more, I’m going to find out
right away.”
Hawkson’s eyes glinted with that light I knew so well meant danger, and
his ugly mouth worked nervously.
“Perhaps you’d care to go aft and interview the captain about it,” said
he, with his drawl. “He’s a gentleman every inch, and will be a
revelation to ye after them packets you’ve sailed in. Suppose you lay
aft and make out your own case. You were always an obstinate youngster,
but I reckon since you’ve been mate your head’s swelled worse’n ever.”
I knew Hawkson to be one of the most dangerous men afloat when aroused,
but about this time I was not exactly a lambkin myself. A man does not
become mate of a western ocean packet with anything lamblike in his
make-up, unless it is by accident for one voyage. I was not quarrelsome,
but resented with righteous indignation the manner in which I had been
kidnapped in broad daylight without even being under the influence of
liquor. The simplicity of the whole affair maddened me, and not even the
fellowship of Martin and Anderson or others in the list of victims
detracted one jot from the implied lack of ordinary precautions and
common sense. I started up the weather side of the poop to go aft, and I
noticed several fellows to leeward looking at me.
“Go to lor’ard,” growled Hawkson, fiercely.
But I paid no attention, and was half-way up the steps when a man came
up the after companion and walked toward me. As he reached the deck and
turned before I had gotten up, I stopped short, looking at him. It was
Captain Howard, the pirate.