Mr. Trunnell, Mate of the Ship Part 10

"We'll stand by her all night," said Trunnell, "and then if the skipper doesn't care to leave her,--which he will, however,--we'll stand away again."

There was little to do, so the watch lounged around the deck and rested from the exertion of the past twenty-four hours. Chips told me I had better come forward after supper and take a smoke in his room, for they were going to come to some conclusion about the fellow Andrews. There had been some talk of putting him aboard the English ship, and if we could get the captain to agree to it, it would be done.

I loafed around until I saw a light between the crack of his door and the bulkhead. Then I slid it back, and entered.

The stuffy little box was full of men. The bos'n, a large man named Spurgen, who had quite a swagger for a merchant sailor, was holding forth to the quartermaster, Hans, on nautical operations.

"An' how'd ye do if ye had an anchor atween, decks widout nothin' to hoist it out wid?" he was saying as I came in.

Hans affirmed, with many oaths, that he'd let the "b.l.o.o.d.y hancor go bloomin' well to the bottom before he'd fool wid it." This made the bos'n angry, and he opened with a fierce harangue, accompanied by a description of the necessary manoeuvres. He also made some remarks relating to the quartermaster's knowledge of things nautical.

I took occasion to look about the little room while this was going on and my fingers warmed up some. I then seated myself on a corner of the chest near Chips to make myself easy, during which time the bos'n had gained sufficient ground to enforce silence upon his adversary, and relinquish the subject of anchors. Then came a pause during which I could distinguish the "doctor's" voice above the mutterings, and get a whiff of my own tobacco out of the haze.

"--five fat roaches; they'll cure you every time," he was saying to Chips. "It's old man Green's sure remedy, sah, yes, sah. I hearn him tole his ole mate, Mr. Gantline, when he sailed in the West Coast trade."

"Faith, ye may stave me, shipmate, but that would be an all-fired tough dish to swallow," the carpenter declared, with a wry face. "Supposen they didn't die? They would make a most eternal disagreeable cargo shiftin' about amongst your ribs. May the devil grab me, ye moke, if I wouldn't rather swell up an' bust wid th' scurvy than swallow them fellows kickin'."

"Bile 'em, white man," said the cook. "Bile 'em in er pint er water--an'

then fling 'em overboard. Who the debble would eat er roach?"

"Right ye are, shipmate," a.s.sented Chips; "'tis an aisy enough dose to take if all ye do is to throw th' critters to lor'ard. Sink me, though, if I sees th' benefit av a medicine ye fling to David Jones instead av placin' it to th' credit av yer own innerds."

"Yah, yah, Mr. Chips, but you beats me. Yes, sah, you beats me, but yer haid is thick. Yes, sah, yer haid is thick ernuff, yah, yah," laughed the "doctor." "What would yer do but drink the water, white man? yes, sah, drink the water for the acid in the critter. It's salt in yer blood makes scurvy, from libbin' so long er eatin' nuffin' but salt junk. Lime juice is good, ef the ole man gives it to yer straight, but he nebber does. No, sah, dat he nebber do. It's too expensive. Anyways, it doan' hab no strength like er roach, ner no sech freshness, which am de main pint after all."

Seeing himself out of the talk, and having completely growled down the quartermaster, the bos'n started another subject. This was a tirade against bad skippers and crimps who stood in too thick with the shipping commissioners, and whom he swore were in league with each other and the devil. He was an old sailor, and his seamed face was expressive when launching into a favorite subject. Here was Jim's chance, and he spoke out. "Whatever became of Jameson, what was took off by Andrews?" he asked Chipps.

"Was he doped?" I asked.

"Didn't ye niver hear tell from O'Toole an' Garnett? They was Andrews's mates for a spell, until th' Irishman, G.o.d bless him, knocked him overboards an' nearly killed him in a scuffle on th' India Docks."

"Cast loose; I want to hear," said the bos'n.

There was a moment's silence, and Chips looked at me as though questioning the senior officer of his watch. Then he fixed himself comfortably on the chest by jamming himself against the bulkhead, locking his hands about his knees, blowing smoke in a thick cloud.

I heard the hail of Trunnell from the bridge during this pause, asking about a t'gallant leach-line. Thinking it well to take a look out, I did so to see if the men obeyed his orders, and found them rather slow slacking the line. This made it necessary for me to take a hand in matters and instil a little discipline among them, which kept me on deck for some minutes.

IX

When I had a chance to slip back into the forward house, Chips had already "cast loose" and was in full swing.

"There ain't no use of tellin' everything one sees aboard ship," he was saying, "for you know whin things happen on deep water th' world ain't much th' wiser fer hearing about them. There ain't no telegraphs, an'

th' only witnesses is the men concerned--or the wimmen. The men may or mayn't say a thing or two after getting the run av th' beach, but as th' critters have to wait half a year afore getting there, the news av th' occurrence wears off an' regard for the effects on th' teller takes place. It's just as often as not th' men keep mum. You know that as well as I do.

"This same Andrews as is forrads in irons was running the _Starbuck_ with Jameson as mate, an' old Garnett as second under him. Ye all know that old pirit. But this time he didn't have any hand in Andrews's game.

Andrews wanted to marry the girl Jameson had, an' whin he found he had lost her he played his devil's trick.

"Jameson hadn't been married a week afore Andrews took him around b' th'

foot av Powell Street in 'Frisco an' set up some drinks. That's the last any one sees av Jameson fer a year or more on th' West Coast, fer whin he comes to, he was at sea on that old tank, th' _Baldwin_, an' old man Jacobs would as soon have landed him on th'moon as put him ash.o.r.e."

"A purty bloomin' mean trick," interrupted the bos'n.

"Th' poor divil did have a hard time av it, fer he wasn't a very fierce sort o' chap. He ware a gentil spoken, kind-hearted feller, an' ye know well enough how a man what isn't made of iron wud git along wid Jacobs or his mates. They hazed him terrible; an', as they ware one hundred an'

seventy days an' nights to Liverpool, he took the scurvy. Ye can reckon what was left av him afterwards. Whin he left th' hospital, he was glad enough to ship on a Chilean liner to get even as far to the West Coast as Valparaiso.

"He ware aboard this Dago, puttin' in, whin he saw th' _Starbuck_ standin' out o' th' harbor. His wife ware on th' quarter-deck--"

"That's the way with most women," snarled the bos'n, interrupting.

"I don't know about that," continued Chips. "You see, after he had been gone a few months, an' Andrews had been hangin' around all th' time gettin' in his pisonous work, she began to have a little faith in th'

villain. It wasn't long afore he convinced her Jameson had deserted, fer he proved fair enough he had shipped aboard th' _Baldwin_, without so much as saying good-by. There ware plenty of men to back him on that, includin' th' boatman what rowed them aboard. Finally, partly by blandanderin' an' a-feelin' around, fer th' poor gal ware now alone in th' world, he got her to step aboard th' bleedin' hooker _Starbuck_ the day he ware ready for sea. Thin he jest stood out--an'--an'--well, after they'd been out six months th' matter ended as far as Jameson ware concerned.

"Jameson took the news hard whin he got th' run av th' beach, but he was that kindly disposed chap an' went along th' best he could until th' war broke out. He ware still waitin' at Valparaiso whin they drafted him into the Dago army, an' he was lucky enough to be on th' side what got licked. Then there ware no use waitin' there fer th' _Starbuck_ to come in again, so he made a slant for Peru as they niver took no pris'ners.

Two weeks afterwards Andrews came in again fer nitrates wid Garnett an'

O'Toole fer mates--"

"Lucky fer Andrews he wasn't there," said the bos'n; "he'd have had his ornery hide shot full of holes."

"What's th' use av ye talking like a fool?" said Chips. "Is shootin' up a feller a-goin' to undo a wrong like that? Th' shootin' was all done on th' other side, an' Andrews is sound yet an' aboard this here ship. Some men think av other things besides revenge. Especially kind-hearted fellers like Jameson what niver cud hurt no one. As soon as some av Jameson's friends who knew of th' affair told his wife, she wint right into th' cabin where Andrews was, an' afore he knew what she ware up to, she had shot herself. Andrews paid her funeral expenses, an' buried her in th' little Dago cemetery out forninst th' city gate. An' thin Garnett, who didn't know av his skipper's diviltry, sware vengeance on th' husband who deserted her, fer she ware gentil and kind wid th' men forrads."

Here Chips paused and gave me a sidelong look as he refilled his pipe.

Then he lit it and smiled hopefully.

"They ware a quare pair, them mates, Garnett an' O'Toole," he said. "What one wasn't th' other was, and _wice wersa_. They lay there two months loadin' on account o' th' war having blocked th' nitrate beds.

"Wan day O'Toole saw an old woman come limpin' along th' dock where th'

_Starbuck_ lay. She hobbled on to th' gang-plank an' started aboard, an'

O'Toole began to chaff Garnett. He waren't half bad as a joker.

"''Pon me whurd, Garnett,' sez he, 'I do belave your own mother is comin'

aboard to visit ye--but no, maybe it's yer swateheart, fer ye have an uncommon quare taste, ye know. B' th' saints, ye ware always a bold one fer th' ladies.'

"We ware lying in th' next berth, not twenty feet away, an' from where I sat on th' rail I cud hear thim talk an' see what was a-goin' on.

"'Stave me,' says old Garnett, solemn like, 'that's true enough. Sink her fer a fool, though, to be a-comin' down here to win back an old windjammer like me--What? ye mean that old hag driftin' along the deck?

Blast you for a red-headed sh.e.l.l-back, d'ye s'pose I'd take up wid wimmen av your choice? No, I never makes a superior officer jealous;' an' wid that he takes out his rag an' mops th' dent in th' top av his head where there's no hair nor nothin' but grease, an' he draws out his little pestiverous vial av peppermint salts an' sniffs.

"'Faith, an' ye'll need to clear yer old head, ye owld raskil, ye've been too gay fer onct,' says O'Toole.

"She ware a tough-lookin' old gal, an' her hat brim flopped over her face. O'Toole met her an' pointed to Garnett.

"'If it's th' leddy-killer av th' fleet ye're afther, there he Stan's.'

"Th' old woman looked an' stopped.