Chapter 16 - The Boy Tar by Mayne Reid
The Inca and her Crew
On crossing the gangway, I stopped near the main-hatchway, where five or six sailors were busy with a large pile of barrels and boxes. I saw that they were lading the vessel, and with a tackle were lowering the barrels and boxes into the hold. They were in their shirt-sleeves, some with Guernsey frocks and wide canvas trousers, smeared with grease and tar. One among them wore a blue cloth jacket, with trousers of similar material, and it occurred to me that he might be the mate; for I fancied that the captain of such a big ship must be a very grand individual, and very superbly dressed.
He with the blue jacket was constantly giving orders and directions to the sailors at work, which I noticed were not always promptly obeyed; and frequently the men might be heard suggesting contrary modes of action, until a hubbub of voices would arise disputing about the proper plan for executing the work.
All this would have been different on board a man-of-war, where the order of an officer is instantly obeyed without question or remark; but on a merchant vessel it is far otherwise. The orders of the mate are often issued more as counsels than commands, and the men exercise a sort of discretion in obeying them. This is not always the case, and depends very much on the character of the mate himself; but on board the Inca the discipline did not appear to be of the strictest. What with the clatter of tongues, the “skreeking” of pulley-blocks, the rattling of boxes against each other, the bundling of trucks over the staging, and other like sounds, there was more noise than I had ever heard in my life. It quite disconcerted me at first; and I stood for some minutes in a state of half bewilderment at what I heard and saw.
After a while there was a sort of lull. The great water-butt that the sailors had been lowering down the hatchway had reached the hold below, and been rolled into its place, and this produced a temporary cessation in the noises.
Just then one of the sailors chanced to set his eyes upon me; and, after regarding me with a comic leer, cried out—
“Ho! my little marlin-spike! What might you be wantin’ aboard?—goin’ to ship, eh?”
“No,” rejoined a second; “don’t yer see he’s a captain hisself?—got his own craft there!”
This remark was made in allusion to my schooner, which I had brought along with me, and was holding in my hands.
“Schooner ahoy!” shouted a third of the men. “Whither bound?”
This was followed by a burst of laughter from all hands, who were now aware of my presence, and stood regarding me as though I was something extremely ludicrous in their eyes.
I was rather abashed by this reception on the part of the rough tars, and remained for some moments without knowing what to say or do. But I was relieved from my uncertainty by the mate in the blue jacket, who, approaching me, asked, in a more serious tone, what was my business aboard.
I replied that I wanted to see the captain. Of course I believed that there was a captain, and that he was the proper person to whom I should address myself in regard to the business I had in view.
“Want to see the captain!” echoed my interrogator. “And what might be your business with him, youngster? I’m the mate: won’t I do?”
I hesitated a moment; but seeing that it was the captain’s representative who put the question, I thought there could be no harm in frankly declaring my intentions. I replied—“I wish to be a sailor!”
If the men had laughed loud before, they now laughed louder. In fact there was a regular yell, in which the mate himself joined as heartily as any of them.
Amidst the peals of laughter, my ears were greeted with a variety of expressions that quite humiliated me.
“Look yonder, Bill!” cried one, addressing a comrade who was at some distance. “Look at the wee chap as wants to be a sailor. My eyes! You little tuppence worth o’ ha’pence, you ain’t big enough for a belayin’ pin! A see-a-lor! My eyes!”
“Does your mother know yer out?” inquired a second.
“No, that she don’t,” said a third, making reply for me; “nor his father, neyther. I’ll warrant, now, the chap has run away from home. Have you gi’n ’em the slip, little sticklebat?”
“Look here, youngster!” said the mate. “Take my advice: go back to your mother, give my compliments to the old lady, and tell her to take a turn or two of her petticoat strings round you, belay them to the leg of a chair, and keep you safe moored there for half a dozen years to come!” This advice elicited a fresh peal of laughter. I felt humiliated at this rough bantering, and knew not what reply to make. In my confusion I stammered out the words—
“I have no mother to go home to!”
This reply appeared to produce a sudden effect upon the mirth of these rude-looking men, and I could hear some of them give utterance to certain expressions of sympathy.
Not so, however, the mate, who, without changing his tone of banter, instantly rejoined—
“Well, then, go to your father, and tell him to give you a good flogging!”
“I have no father!”
“Poor little chap! it’s a horphin arter all,” said one of the tars, in a kind tone.
“No father either, you say,” continued the mate, who appeared to me an unfeeling brute; “then go to your grandmother, or your uncle, or your aunt, if you’ve got one; or go anywhere you like, but get about your business from here, or I’ll trice you up, and give you a round dozen on the buttocks; be off now, I say!”
The brute seemed fully in earnest; and, deeply mortified by the threat, I turned away in obedience to the command.
I had reached the gangway, and was about to step upon the plank, when I observed a man coming in the opposite direction—from the shore. He was dressed in the same style as a merchant or other citizen might have been, with a black frock-coat and beaver hat; but there was something in his look that told me he belonged to the sea. The complexion of his face was of that weather bronze, and there was an expression in the eyes which I knew to be characteristic of men who lead the life of the mariner. Moreover, his trousers were of blue pilot-cloth, and that gave him a sea-faring look. It struck me at the moment that he was the captain of the ship.
I was not long in doubt. On reaching the gangway, the stranger stepped aboard with an air that betokened him the master; and I heard him issue some orders in a tone that bespoke his full command of everybody within hearing.
He did not stop after going aboard, but walked on towards the quarter-deck of the vessel.
It occurred to me that I might still have some chance by addressing myself directly to him; and, without hesitation, I turned back and followed him.
In spite of some remonstrance from the mate and one or two of the men, I kept on till I had overtaken the captain just as he was about to dive down into his cabin.
I arrested his attention by plucking the skirt of his coat.
He turned round in some surprise, and inquired what I wanted with him.
In as few words as I could manage it, I made known my wishes. The only reply he made me was a laugh; and then turning round, he cried out to one of the men—
“Here, Waters! Hoist this urchin upon your shoulders, and set him ashore. Ha! ha! ha!”
Without saying another word, he stepped down the companion ladder, and disappeared out of my sight.
In the midst of my chagrin, I felt myself lifted in the strong arms of “Waters,” who, after carrying me across the staging-plank, and some yards over the wharf, deposited me upon the pavement, and thus addressed me:—
“Now, my little sprat! take Jack Waters’s advice, and keep out o’ salt-water as long as you can, else the sharks may get hold on you.”
And then, after a pause, during which he seemed to reflect about something, he inquired—
“And you’re a horphin, are ye, my little ’un? Got neyther father nor mother?”
“Neither,” I replied.
“A pity it are! I was once a horphin myself. Well, yer a spunky little chap to be wantin’ to go to sea, and ye deserve somethin’ for it. If I were captain I’d take you along; but ye see I’m only afore the mast, and kin do nothin’ for ye; but I’ll be back some day again, and maybe you’ll be bigger then. Here, take this anyhow for a keepsake, and by it you’ll remember me till sometime when you see me in port again, and who knows but then I may find a berth for you. So good-bye now! Go home again, like a good boy, and stay there till you’ve growed a bit.”
As the kind-hearted sailor said this, he handed me his knife, and turning away, walked back on board his ship, leaving me alone upon the wharf.
Wondering at his unexpected kindness, I stood gazing after him till he disappeared behind the bulwarks; and then, mechanically putting the knife in my pocket, I remained for a while without stirring from the spot.