The Brassbounder Part 5

Ten shillings! For what, if the discounter saw to it that his man went to sea, was worth three pounds when the ship had cleared the Channel!

On the other hand, Dan Nairn, a Straits of Canso sailor-farmer (mostly farmer), had something to say.

"Waall, boy-ees, they ain't awl like that, I guess! I came acraus caow-punchin' on a Donalds'n cattle boat, an' landed in Glasgow with d.a.m.n all but a stick ov chewin' tebaccer an' two dallars, Canad'n, in my packet. I put up with a Scowwegian in Centre Street; a stiff good feller too! Guess I was 'baout six weeks or more in 'is 'aouse, an' he give me a tidy lot 'er fixin's--oilskins an' sea-boots an' awl--out 'er my month's advance."

"Oh, some is good and some ain't," said Martin. "Ah knowed a feller wot 'ad an 'ard-up boardin'-'ouse in Tiger Bay. Awl th' stiffs in Cardiff use' ter lay back on 'im w'en n.o.body else 'ud give 'em 'ouse room--hoodlums and Dagos an' Greeks wot couldn't get a ship proper. 'E 'ad rooms in 'is 'ouse fitted up wi' bunks like a bloomin' fo'cs'le, ah' 'is crowd got their grub sarved out, same's they wos at sea. Every tide time 'e wos down at th' pier-'ead wi' six or seven of 'is gang--'ook-pots an' pannikins, an' bed an' piller--waitin' their chanst ov a 'pier-'ead jump.' That wos th' only way 'e could get 'is men away, 'cos they worn't proper sailormen as c'd go aboard a packet 'n ast for a sight like you an' me. Most of 'em 'ad bad discharges or dead-'un's papers or somethin'! 'Pier-'ead jumps,' they wos, an' they wouldn't never 'a' got a ship, only f'r that feller an' 'is 'ard-up boardin'-'ouse."

Martin picked up his precious 'log' and turned to go below. "Anyways, good or bad," he said, "them 'sharks' 'as got my ol' iron fer the last month, an' if this worn't a starvation bloomin' Scotch packet, an' a crew of bloomin' know-alls, fixing me with a fancy curl of lip, we'd a _chanteyed_ th' 'dead 'orse' aft t'night an' ast th' Ol' Man t' splice the mainbrace."

He pa.s.sed into the forecastle, and through the open door we could hear him sing a s.n.a.t.c.h of the 'dead horse' _chantey_:--

"_But now th' month is up, ol' turk!_ (_An' we says so, an' we 'opes so._) _Get up, ye swine, an' look fer work!_ (_Oh! Poor--ol'--man!_)

"_Get up, ye swine, an' look fer graft!_ (_An' we says so, an' we 'opes so._) _While we lays on an' yanks ye aft!_ (_Oh! Poor--ol'--man!_)"

V

'SEA PRICE'

At first weak and baffling, the south-east trades strengthened and blew true as we reached away to the south'ard under all sail. Already we had forgotten the way of bad weather. It seemed ages since we had last tramped the weltering decks, stamping heavily in our big sea-boots for warmth, or crouching in odd corners to shelter from the driven spray, the bitter wind and rain. Now we were fine-weather voyagers--like the flying-fish and the albacore, and bonita, that leapt the sea we sailed in. The tranquil days went by in busy sailor work; we spent the nights in a sleepy languor, in semi-wakefulness. In watch below we were a.s.sured of our rest, and even when 'on deck'--save for a yawning pull at sheet or halyard when the Mate was jealous at our idling, or a brief spell at wheel or look out--were at liberty to seek out a soft plank and lie back, gazing up at the gently swaying mastheads till sleep came again. Higher and higher, as the days went by, the southern stars rose from the sea-line, while--in the north--homely constellations dipped and were lost to view. Night by night we had the same true breeze, the sea unchanged, the fleecy trade clouds forming on the sea-line--to fade ere they had reached the zenith. There seemed no end to our pleasured progress! Ah, it is good to be alive and afloat where the trades blow.

Down south, there!

But, in spite of the fine weather and the steady breeze, there were signs of what our voyage would be when the 'barefoot days' were done.

Out beyond the clear sky and tender clouds, the old hands saw the wraith of the rugged Cape that we had yet to weather. The impending wrestle with the rigours of 'the Horn' sent them to their preparations when we had scarce crossed the Line. Old Martin was the fore hand.

Now, his oilskins hung out over the head, stretched on hoops and broomsticks, glistening in a brave new coat of oil and blacking. Then Vootgert and Dutch John took the notion, and set to work by turns at a canvas wheel-coat that was to defy the worst gale that ever blew.

Young Houston--canny Shetlander--put aside his melodeon, and clicked and clicked his needles at a famous pair of north-country hose. Welsh John and M'Innes--'the Celtic twins'--clubbed their total outfit and were busy overhauling, while Bo'sun Hicks spent valuable time and denied us his yarns while he fortified his leaky bunk by tar and strips of canvas. Even Wee Laughlin, infected by the general industry of the forecastle, was st.i.tching away (long, outward-bound st.i.tches) at a cunning arrangement of trousers that would enable him to draw on his two pairs at once. All had some preparation to make--all but we bra.s.sbounders!

We saw no farther than the fine weather about us. Most had been 'round the Horn' before, and we should have known but there was no old 'steady-all' to ballast our c.o.c.k-a-boat, and we scorned the wisdom of the forecastle. 'Good enough t' be goin' on with,' and 'come day, go day'--were our mottoes in the half-deck. Time enough, by and by, when the weather showed a sign! We had work enough when on duty to keep us healthy! Fine days and 'watch below' were meant for lazying--for old annuals of the B.O.P., for d.i.c.ks's Standards, for the Seaside library!

Everyone knows that the short dog-watches were meant for sing-song and larking, and, perhaps, a fight, or two! What did we care if Old Martin and his mates were croak, croak, croakin' about 'standin' by' and settin' th' gear handy? We were 'hard cases,' all of us, even young Munro and Burke, the 'nipper' of the starboard watch! _We_ didn't care! _We_ could stand the racket! _Huh!_

So we lazied the fine days away, while our sea harness lay stiffening in the dark lockers.

Subtly, almost imperceptibly, the weather changed. There was a chill in the night air; it was no longer pleasant to sleep on deck. The stars were as bright, the sky as clear, the sea as smooth; but when the sun had gone, damp vapours came and left the deck chill and clammy to the touch.... 'Barefoot days' were over!

Still and all, the 'times' were good enough. If the flying-fish no longer swept from under the bows in a glistening shoal, the trades yet served us well. The days drew on. The day when we shifted the patched and threadbare tropic sails and bent our stoutest canvas in their place; the day when Sann'y Armstrong, the carpenter, was set to make strong weatherboards for the cabin skylights; the day--a cloudy day--when the spars were doubly lashed and all spare fittings sent below. We had our warning; there were signs, a plenty!

All too soon our sunny days came to an end. The trades petered out in calms and squally weather. Off the River Plate a chill wind from the south set us to 'tack and tack,' and when the wind hauled and let us free to our course again, it was only to run her into a gale on the verge of the 'Forties.' Then for three days we lay hove-to, labouring among heavy seas.

The 'buster' fairly took our breath away. The long spell of light winds had turned us unhandy for storm work. The swollen ropes, stiffened in the block-sheaves, were stubborn when we hauled; the wet, heavy canvas that thrashed at us when stowing sail proved a fighting demon that called for all our strength; the never-ending small work in a swirl of lashing water found us slow and laboured at the task.

All this was quickly noted by the Mate, and he lost no time in putting us to rights. Service in New Bedford whalers had taught him the 'Yankee touch,' and, as M'Innes put it, he was 'no' slow' with his big hands.

"Lay along here, sons," he would roar, standing to the braces.... "Lay along, sons;--ye know what sons I mean! ... Aft here, ye lazy hounds, and see me make 'sojers,' sailors!!"

With his language we had no great grievance. We could appreciate a man who said things--sailor-like and above board--but when it came to knocking a man about (just because he was 'goin' t' get his oilskins,'

when the order was 'aloft, an' furl') there were ugly looks here and there. We had our drilling while the gale lasted, and, when it cleared, our back muscles were 'waking up.'

Now--with moderate weather again--famous preparations began in the half-deck; everyone of us was in haste to put his weather armour to rights. Oilskins, damp and sticking, were dragged from dark corners.

"Rotten stuff, anyway. We'll have no more of Blank's outfits, after this," we said, as we pulled and pinched them apart. "Oh, d.a.m.n! I forgot about that st.i.tchin' on the leg of my sea-boot," said one.

"Wish I'd had time t' put a patch on here," said another, ruefully holding out his rubbers. "Too far gone for darning," said Eccles.

"Here goes," and he snipped the feet part from a pair of stockings and tied a ropeyarn at the cut!

We were jeered at from the forecastle. Old Martin went about _clucking_ in his beard. At every new effort on our part, his head went nod, nod, nodding. "Oh, them bra.s.sbounders!" he would say. "Them ruddy 'know-alls'! Wot did I tell ye, eh? Wot did I tell 'em, w'en we was a-crossin' th' Line, eh? An' them 's th' fellers wot'll be a-bossin' of you an' me, bo'sun! Comin' th' 'hard case,' like the big feller aft there!"

Martin was right, and we felt properly humbled when we sneaked forward in search of a.s.sistance. Happily, in Dan Nairn we found a cunning cobbler, and for a token in sea currency--a plug or two of hard tobacco--he patched and mended our boots. With the oilskins, all our smoothing and pinching was hopeless. The time was gone when we could scrub the sticky mess off and put a fresh coating of oil on the fabric.

Ah! We pulled long faces now and thought that, perhaps, sing-song and larking, and d.i.c.ks's Standards and the Seaside Library are not good value for a frozen soaking off the Horn!

But there was still a haven to which we careless mariners could put in and refit. The Captain's 'slop chest'--a general store, where oilskins were 'sea priced' at a sovereign, and sea-boots could be had for thirty shillings! At these figures they would have stood till they crumbled in a sailor-town shop window, but 50 S. is a world away from Broomielaw Corner, and we were glad enough to be served, even if old Niven, the steward, did pa.s.s off old stock on us.

"Naw! Ye'll no' get ye'r pick! Yell jist tak' whit 's gien' ye ... or nane ava'!"

Wee Laughlin was a large buyer. He--of us all--had come to sea 'same 's he was goin' t' church!' A pier-head jump! So far, he had borrowed and borrowed, but even good-natured Dutch John was learning English, and would say, "Jou come to _mein haus, und_ stay mit me," or "_Was fur_ jou nod trink less _und_ buy somet'ings," at each wily approach.

On the day when 'slops' were served out, the Pride of Rue-en' Street was first at the cabin door. As he was fitted and stepped along forward with his purchases, the bo'sun saw him, and called: "h.e.l.lo!

Oilskins an' sea-boots an' new shirts, eh? I see ye're outward bound, young feller!" Laughlin leered and winked cunning-like.

"What d'ye mean by outward bound," asked Munro. "We're all outward bound, an't we?"

"Of course; of course," said Hicks. "All outward bound! But w'en I says it that wye, I mean as Lawklin is a-spendin' of 'is 'dibs,' ...

meanin' t' desert w'en we gets out! If 'e don't 'op it as soon as we anchors in 'Fris...o...b..y, ye kin call me a ruddy Dutchman!"

"Desert? But that's serious?"

"Ho no! Not there it ain't! Desertin' 's as easy as rollin' off a log, ... out there! D'ye think th' queer-fella' is goin' t' pay them prices for 'is kit, if 'e wos goin' t' stop by her in 'Frisco? Not much 'e ain't! An' ye kin tike it as a few more is goin' t' 'op it, or ye wouldn't see so many of 'em aft 'ere for their bloomin' 'sundries'!"

"_Wel, wel_, now! These prices is not pad, indeed," said Welsh John, who had joined us. "I haf paid more than three shillin' for a knife pefore!"

"_Heh! Heh!_" The bo'sun laughed. "When a 'Taffy' that's a-buyin'

says that, ye may say it's right! ... But, blimy--the boot's on th'

other foot w'en it's 'Taffy' as is a-sellin'! _Heh! Heh!_ There wos Old Man Lewis of th' _Vanguard_, o' Liverpool, that I signed in!

Blimy! 'e could tell ye wot 'sea price' is!"

"Good ol' 'sea price,'" said Martin. "Many an' 'appy 'ome, an' garden wit' a flagstaff, is built o' 'sea price'!"

"Right, ol' son! Right," continued the bo'sun. "Old Man Lewis owned a row of 'em, ... down in Fishguard.... I sailed in th' _Vanguard_ out o' Liverpool t' Noo York an' then down south, 'ere--boun' t' Callao.

Off th' Falklan's, the Old Man opens out 'is bloomin' slop-chest an'

starts dealin'. A pound for blankits wot ye c'd shoot peas through, an' fifteen bob for serge shirts--same kind as th' Sheenies sells a'

four an' tanner in th' Mawrsh! Of course, n.o.body 'ud buy 'em in at that price, though we wos all 'parish rigged'--us bein' 'bout eight months out from 'ome. If we 'ad been intendin' t' leave 'er, like th'

queer-fella, there, it 'ud a bin all right, but we 'ad 'bout twenty-five poun' doo each of us, an' we wasn't keen on makin' th' Old Man a n'ansome presint!"

"How could he get that?"

"'Ow could 'e get it? Easy 'nuff, in them days! As soon as we 'ad a bin over th' rail, 'e 'ud 'ave us down in 'is bloomin' book--slops supplied--five pun' 'ere--six pun' there--an' so on! ... Well, I was sayin' as we was goin' south, round th' 'Orn! Winter time it was--an'

cold! Cruel! Ye couldn't tell who ye'r feet belonged to till ye 'ad ye'r boots off. West an' sou'-west gales, 'ard runnin', ... an' there we wos, away t' h.e.l.l an' gone south' o' th' reg'lar track!

"I wos at the wheel one day, an' I 'eard th' Old Man an' th' Mate confabbin' 'bout th' ship's position.