Mr. Trunnell, Mate of the Ship Part 5

As I finished I thought I heard some one swear fiercely in a low tone. I looked over the p.o.o.p rail down to the main deck beneath, but saw no one near. The third officer seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.

"It isn't good to be too clever," said he, in the tone which was unmistakably a woman's. "When a person is good at baking cake, or 'barking cark,' as you choose to call it, the sea is a good place for them. They can look out for those who haven't sense enough to perform the function."

I had a strong notion to ask him outright if he was fitted to perform the function, but his superior air and the feeling that I might make a mistake after all and incur the displeasure of the beak-nosed skipper deterred me. But I was almost certain that our third mate was a woman.

We remained standing together in the night for a few moments while neither spoke. My advances had not received the favorable acknowledgment I had expected, and there was a distinctly disagreeable feeling creeping upon me while in this neutral presence. I was young and hot-headed, so I spoke accordingly before leaving the field, or rather deck, in retreat.

"I wish you had the distinction of belonging to the port watch."

"Why?"

"I think I might strengthen your powers of discernment regarding the relative positions of second and third mates."

"We'll see who has the better insight in regard to the matter without my being bored to that extent," said the third officer in his softest tones, and again I fancied I heard the voice of a man swearing fiercely in a low voice as if to himself. Then I turned and went aft.

"It's something queer," said Trunnell, shaking his great s.h.a.ggy head and glancing toward the break of the p.o.o.p. A step sounded on the companion ladder, and the skipper came on deck.

"Pretty dark, hey?" he said, and his quick eyes took in both Trunnell and myself comprehensively.

"Looks like we might have a spell o' weather if the wind keeps fallin',"

observed Trunnell.

"Well, I don't suppose a dark night is any worse than a bright one, and I call to mind many a time I'd give something to see it a bit blacker. Do you know where you're at?"

"She's headin' about the same, but if ye don't mind, I'll be gettin' her down gradual like to her torps'ls if the gla.s.s keeps a-fallin'. Short commons, says I, on the edge o' the monsoon."

"Short it is, my boy. Get her down low. The more she looks like you, the better she'll do, hey? What d'you think of that, Mr. Rolling? The shorter the longer, the longer the shorter--see? The sooner the quicker, eh?

Supposen the question was asked you, Mr. Rolling, what'd you say, hey?

Why is Mr. Trunnell like a lady's bouquet, hey? Why is the little man like a bunch of flowers? Don't insult him, Mr. Rolling. The sanitary outfit of the cabin is all right. 'Tain't that. No, split me, it ain't that. Think a minute."

Trunnell walked to and fro without a word, while the captain grinned. The fellow at the wheel, Bill Spielgen, a square-cut man with an angular face and enormous hands, stared sullenly into the binnacle.

"It's because he's a daisy," rapped out the skipper. "That's it, Mr.

Rolling, he's a daisy, ha, ha, ha! Split me, if he ain't, ho, ho, ho!

Shorten her down, Trunnell; you're a daisy, and no mistake."

There was a distinct smell of liquor in the light breeze, and as the skipper came within the glare of the binnacle lamp I could see he was well set up. Trunnell went to the break of the p.o.o.p and called out for the watch to clew down the fore and mizzen skysails. He was much upset at the skipper's talk, but knew better than to show it. The captain now turned his attention to the man at the wheel.

"How d'you head, Bill?" said he.

"West b' no'the," said Bill.

The skipper came to the wheel and stuck his lean face close to the quartermaster's. His glinting eyes grew to two little points and his hooked nose wrinkled on the sides as he showed his teeth while he drawled in a snarling tone:--

"D'you set up for a wit, Bill, that you joke with your captain, hey? Is that it, you square-toed, lantern-jawed swab? Would you like me to rip you up the back, or lam some of the dirt out of your hide, hey? Is that it? Don't make jokes at your captain, Bill. It's bad business."

Then he went on in a more conciliating tone:--

"Just remember that I'm a knight of a round table, or square one either, for that matter, while I'm aboard this boat, and if you forget to mention my t.i.tle of 'Sir,' every time you speak of me, you'll want to get your hide sewed on tight."

"I beg pardon, sir," said Bill, taking a fresh grip upon the spokes with his great hands.

"That's right, my son; you're a beggar aboard this here boat. Don't aspire to anything else."

"Aye, aye, sir," said the quartermaster.

"And now that you've got to your bearings, as Trunnell would say, I'll tell you a little story about a man who lost a pet dog called Willie."

I saw that it was high time for me to get forward, and slipped away. I turned in ready for a call, thinking that perhaps Trunnell was right in regard to our future prospects in the South Atlantic.

V

When I turned out for the mid-watch that night, Trunnell met me at the door of the forward cabin. It was pitch dark on deck, and the wind had died away almost entirely. The canvas had been rolled up, as it had begun to slat heavily against the masts with the heave from a long, quick swell that ran rapidly from the southward. The running gear was not new, and Trunnell was a careful mate, so the ship was down to her upper topsails on the fore and mizzen and a main t'gallant on mainmast, the courses fore and after being clewed up and left hanging.

"He's out for trouble to-night," said the little mate. "Blast him if he ain't touching the boose again."

"Who, the skipper?" I asked.

"He's been below twice during the watch, an' each time he's gettin' worse an' worse. There he comes now to the edge of the p.o.o.p."

I looked and saw our old man rolling easily across the deck to the p.o.o.p rail. There he stopped and bawled out loudly,--

"Lay aft to the main-brace."

The men on watch hesitated a moment and then came crowding aft and began to cast off the weather-brace from its belaying-pin.

It was so dark I couldn't see how many men were there, but I noticed Bill the quartermaster, and as I stood waiting to see what would happen, a little sailor by the name of Johnson, who had a face like a monkey's and legs set wide apart, so they never touched clear up to his waist, spoke out to a long, lean Yankee man who jostled me in the darkness.

"Don't pull a pound on the bleeding line. The old c.o.c.k's drunk, an' we ain't here to be hazed around decks like a pack o' d.a.m.ned boys."

The skipper, however, didn't wait to see if his order was carried out, but came down from the p.o.o.p and asked for Trunnell and myself. We went with him into the forward cabin, and he motioned us to sit down.

"Did you ever see such a lot o' confounded fools?" he said. "Here I calls for to take a pull in the main-brace, and the whole crowd of duff-eaters come layin' aft as if the skipper of a ship should blow them all off to drinks. Blast me, Trunnell, I'd 'a' thought you'd get them into better discipline. It's come to a fine state o' things when the whole crew turns to every time I get thirsty. But never mind, sing out as you says, and tell the steward what kind o' pisin you'll mix with your blood current.

Mine's the same old thing."

"It's my watch below now," said Mr. Trunnell, "an' if you'll excuse me, I'll turn in. The third mate's gone below some time ago."

"Oh, the boat's all right. It's dead calm, and she can't hurt herself floating around this ocean," said the old man. "You can take a drink before you go. Steward! Ahoy there, steward!"

"Yessir," said that active mulatto, springing out of his cabin. "Yessir; I hears yo', cap'n."

"What'll you have?" asked Thompson, addressing the mate.

Trunnell scratched his big bushy head a moment, and then suggested that a bottle of the ginger pop which the steward had in the pantry would do for him.