CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN WOUNDS HIS HAND

"No, sir, he won't stay down there," said the cook. "He caught a

flying-fish the other night; it lit on the deck forward. Since then he

just sits in the main rigging watching. When I get near him he runs up

aloft."

"I must tell the mate," said the Captain, "to move the flour into the

spare room. Those damned rats will eat us out yet. Why don't you tie

Toby with the stores?"

"I can't, sir, he won't let me near enough."

This conversation was going on in the cabin while I was trying to read

Henry George. I went to sleep wondering how a single tax could be

applied to city property. I was not asleep long before I was awakened by

loud tapping on my door. "Come in," said I. The door opened. There stood

the Captain, pale and excited.

"Would you mind tying up this hand for me? I stuck a marline spike

through here," pointing to the fleshy part between the thumb and

fore-finger of the right hand.

"Just one minute, sir, I'll get some hot water."

Fortunately there was hot water in the galley.

"There you are, sir, put your hand in the bucket. No, it is not too hot.

There, see, I hold my hand in it."

Satisfied that there was no danger of cooking it, he pulled the rag off,

and thrust his hand into the bucket. I noticed that there was no blood

to speak of. I said, "Captain, did the spike go through your hand?"

"Hell, yes, man, about three inches."

I suggested many remedies, such as washing it with saline solution and

bandaging with oakum and so on. But he would have none of them, and

insisted on having the rag tied around, assuring me that it would be

well in a day or so. He kept on deck most of the first watch, but was

evidently in great pain.

"I think that we are running into the doldrums from the look of those

clouds to the eastward," said he.

"We have one thing in our favor," I replied; "we should have a

three-knot current to the southward according to the pilot chart."

"You should not rely on what those fellows in Washington put onto paper.

If you do you will never get anywhere."

At five o'clock in the morning it was raining. There is no place in the

world where it rains as it does around the Equator; it seems as if the

celestial sluice-gates had gotten beyond control. We were becalmed, and

in the doldrums, with not a breath of air. Usually this lasts for five

or six days.

During this time every one on board is very busy, catching water,

filling barrels, washing clothes, and working ship. The latter work is

hard on the crew, for you are always trimming ship for every puff of

wind that comes along. Pity the weak-kneed mate in the doldrums. There

are times when you tack and wear, and boxhaul ship every fifteen

minutes. The crew resent this kind of work, and while doing it they

curse and swear, and will do the opposite to what they are told.

Here is where the old-school mate comes in. Obey orders. He sees that

they do obey. Lazy sailors breed discontent, and discipline must be

stern. If a member of the crew happens to be idle, he must by no means

appear to be. He must at least act very seriously, and look to windward,

as if beckoning for a breeze. There is an old saying among

sailing-ship-men:

"When the wind is fair the money comes in over the stern,

When the wind is ahead the money comes in over the bow."

so a sailor must never show that the unfavorable weather is making pay

for him. He must never whistle a tune, nor sing a song, but he is

privileged at all times during a calm to whistle as if he were calling a

dog, for if you don't get wind with the dog-whistling, you are not to

blame. I have seen captains standing for hours whistling for wind. Pity

the man who would smile or crack a joke on so serious an occasion. One

captain I was with, after whistling off and on all day without avail,

threw three of his hats overboard, one after the other, crying in rage,

"There, now, damn you, give us a gale."

The wise mate knows his place in trying times like these. He never goes

aft, thereby avoiding serious discussions. He always makes it his

business to be very busy in the forepart of the ship. The worst time for

him is meal-time. It is not uncommon to finish eating without a word

being spoken. The cook is not exempt. Should the captain count more than

ten raisins in the bread-pudding, look out for a squall!

At breakfast I ate alone. The Captain was walking around in his room.

"How is your hand, sir?" I inquired.

"It is very painful. I have just been washing it with a little carbolic

acid I found in a drawer."

"I have taken off staysails, topsails and inner and outer jib, sir."

He did not answer, but shut his door with a slam. I was worried about

his condition, but was helpless to do anything for him. He was the

stubborn type, with tight lips, and projecting cheek-bones. He believed

that what he could not do for himself no other could do for him. I think

that this applied only to strangers. As captain of a ship you are always

dealing with new faces, and never have much confidence in any one. For

instance if, in taking the altitude of the sun or a star, his reckoning

should differ from yours by a mile or so, you would always be wrong. The

same with longitude by chronometer in time.

The loneliness of the sea must be responsible for this. And yet in their

home life, they are ruled and dominated by their wives and children. I

remember one old captain I sailed with in the China Seas. Fight? He

loved it, ashore and afloat, and was very proud of his ability, claiming

that he never took the count. The latter I know to be true. We left

ports while I was sailing with him, where much furniture was easily

adaptable for firewood.

When in the home port where his wife was, if he had spent more than she

allowed him, I would have to make up the difference. She would come down

to the ship and say: "Herman, come here, I want you to do so and so." He

would look at me, but never ashamed, and say, "Well, what in Hell can I

do?"

"But, Captain, I want your advice on so and so."

"Never mind now," he would say, "till I steer her away. You know she

don't like you too well anyhow. She heard all about the fight we had in

Yokohama with the rickshaw men." Away they would go, arm in arm, a very

happy couple.

The Flying Bo'sun: A Mystery of the Sea · 第 7 / 29 章