Читать книгу A Son of the Sea - John Arthur Barry - Страница 7

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THE fact of the second mate being laid by the heels was a distinct gain to Torre, who felt but little sympathy for his tyrant's plight, and hailed live advent of M'Cutcheon junior in Phillips's place with heartfelt satisfaction.

It goes without saying that the Andromeda's crew were not too well fed. Few sailors' forecastles, even in these latter days, are noted for plenty, although, undoubtedly, the average quality is better than of old. But in the Andromeda's case, unfortunately, Messrs Derrick, Deadeye and Scupper had allowed Captain M'Cutcheon a lump sum to "find" the crew with. Consequently the provisions he had been able to provide, and at the same time make a few pounds for himself, were not altogether what the Board of Trade might have approved. In fact some of the stuff came well under the description of

"High old Gover'ment stores

That had been to war with the Boers,

And sailed the waves to free the slaves on Africa's burnin' shores!

Game old Gover'ment tack,

That had fought with the Brown and the Black,

And now was agoin' to finish its days in the belly of Merchant Jack."

For the first few weeks there had been a lot of growling, but the majority of the crew, being foreigners, "knuckled under" submissively—or appeared to do so, when they, after one or two remonstrances, perceived the hopelessness of redress—and ate their rusty pork, mahogany-textured "salt-horse," and frowsy biscuit in silence without further complaint

"That's the beauty o' Dutchmen," remarked M'Cutcheon to his son. "They'll eat maist anythin'! Mind, Jock, when ye come to be a master, yersel, to always pick your crew of 'em. Gude sailor-men, too, are they; an', aboon a', they've deegestions like an ostreedge. See till 'em, hoo weel they've settled doun after the first grummle or twa! An' ye ken, Jock, that chandler Bobstay's victual is, as ane micht say, auld."

"An' stinkin', an' hard as the hobs o' hell, an' salt as Lot's wife!" added the acting-second mate with a grin. "D'ye think I had nane o' it whiles in the omnibus? Ye're not earnin' an ower gude name for the firm, father; although, certainly, ye canna mak them a much waur ane than they've gotten a'ready."

"Hoots!" exclaimed M'Cutcheon, "less talk out o' ye! Gang for'ard an' set that fore-topmast stuns'l, shipshape this time, or I'll disrate ye."

Mrs M'Cutcheon, whose parents kept a butcher's shop in the Mile End Road, rarely opened her lips to anybody. She was so impressed by the obligations of her position as the captain's wife, that she declined to run any risk of compromising it by the slightest appearance of familiarity with the officers or apprentices—even though her stepson was now one of the former. So, beyond a sharp admonition now and then as to the manner in which he was to hold the "biby" she was too lazy to nurse herself, and for which her husband was too mean to hire a maid, Torre gained nothing by this, his most hated duty of all.

The loss of three able seamen had so grievously weakened the Andromeda's crew, however, that presently Torre found himself gradually being made more use of. He learned to take his trick at the wheel, represented, since the smash, by four hand-spikes lashed crossways to the boss of the tiller. Also, he was aloft much more than formerly; and the fowls being dead, and the pigs slaughtered, rendered further services towards them unnecessary. Even on the coarse fare supplied in the omnibus or, perhaps, actually because of it, and an ever sharpened appetite, the boy grew stronger and stouter in amazing fashion. Still, as a "first voyager," to his share fell all the most dirty and disagreeable work of the ship, together with the uncomfortable knowledge that, unless changes took place in the personnel of the omnibus, the next trip, and possibly the next alo, might find him still the latest comer, and still doomed to the menial servitude of fetch and carry, rub and polish, dragging coals, and feeding and cleaning stock. And the idea troubled the boy not a little.

One night, emboldened by the settled look of the weather, and the fine breeze that sung so steadily after her, the second mate, perhaps thinking to surprise his father, loosed and set the double fore, main, and mizzen topgallant'sls, under which increased area of canvas the ship tore along with her lee-rail at times almost level with the water, and a sound aloft as if a whole gale was now booming in the bellies of the fresh sails.

It was four bells—ten o'clock—in the first watch. And though heartily wishing he had left well alone, young M'Cutcheon determined to carry on until twelve o'clock before taking the extra canvas off her. But in about another hour the wind increased to such an extent that, even to his eye, it became manifest that, if he did not at once reduce the pressure on his spars, he would lose some of them. To add to his trouble, the mate, aroused by the increased list, and the sound of rushing water outside his cabin door, came on the poop and, after calling him all the Scotch idiots he could think of, ordered him to at once turn the hands up and shorten sail.

Torre was sent to rouse out the watch below. To his surprise there was a light in the forecastle, and not only the watch below but the one on deck were there. A light was burning, too; and some one was singing a song.

But at Torre's summons the lamp was dowsed, and the crowd stumbled out on deck. By this time the upper topgallant yards were on their caps, with the canvas wildly flapping and banging—the apprentices having let go the halliards.

As soon as they appeared, Torre perceived at once that both watches were hopelessly drunk. There was not a sober man amongst them. Some one let go the upper fore-topsail halliards, and some one the main. Losing their footing, the men skulldragged about in the lee scuppers amongst the water, whilst Mr Sinclair, the chief mate, roared like a bull at them, enforcing his words with oaths and kicks. But they only jeered at him. Very quickly now, the captain came on deck, just in time to see three of the topgallant sails laughing at him through ominous and ever-widening rents.

Of course they put the helm up and kept away, but too late to save the canvas. And the scene, with the crew helpless, or only just sensible enough to be mischievous in letting go things that should be kept fast; the whipping and slatting of the ragged sails aloft; the shouts of the passengers, who had volunteered to assist when they learned how matters stood; together with the bawling of the drunken seamen, and the fall inboard of big seas at intervals, was something to remember. As for the captain, he just stood and "swoor at lairge"; whilst, with the help of the sailmaker, carpenter, cook, steward, and apprentices, after hours of hard work the ship was snugged, and once more kept on her course.

At daybreak the fore-hatch was taken off and an exploring party sent below. Their report again brought M'Cutcheon himself on the scene. The Andromeda, not being a full ship, one could walk almost erect over the cargo fore and aft. And the havoc that had been played with the latter was terrible. Cases of tinned meats, fish, milk, biscuits, sweets, vegetables, etc., etc., lay almost everywhere in dozens and scores, all partially or wholly emptied. Apparently, however, the cargo-broachers had only within the last day or two succeeded in finding spirits; for though there were lots of rifled casks of bottled Lager beer, whose effect upon such seasoned stomachs would be about equal to toast and water, only a couple of cases of strong drink were broken into. These contained Marie Brizard rum of the finest quality, mild but strong, and were evidently accountable for the fiasco of the preceding night.

This morning the men stood sulkily about, watching the boatswain and his aides as they kept adding to the pile of "empties" gradually accumulating on deck. Nothing had been thrown overboard. And at this the mate was inwardly jubilant. For missing cargo he would have been held responsible. But here was proof as to the correctness of his tally in London. The men knew this as well as he did. But Mr Sinclair was rather a favourite.

At last the tale seemed complete. It reached from galley to forecastle-head, packed high as the bulwarks—all cases and casks that had contained eatables or drinkables. Boxes of jewellery—gold and silver watches and chains—and clothing had been opened, but fastened carefully down again with their contents untouched. The men had been foraging for empty stomachs, not for their pockets.

The passengers stood by, rather interested. They had more than once been in the forecastle at meal times. And more than once had conveyed saloon remnants thither under cover of darkness.

"If I were to put such stuff on the table of my men's hut at Ngori, they'd throw it to the dogs!" had exclaimed Barker.

He was the only returning Australian. The other four were more or less unhealthy young persons taking the round voyage for their bodies' sake. And they all watched curiously as the red face of the captain grew redder and redder, and his thick apoplectic neck visibly swelled and rolled over his shirt collar whilst he tried vainly to control his passion.

Meanwhile, both watches, port and starboard, looked on apparently without interest, puffing at their pipes, but showing in their unsteady limbs, unkempt hair, salt-sodden faces and bloodshot eyes very plainly the result of their late debauch—an unsavoury enough seeming crowd, in proportion of three foreign to one British. At last M'Cutcheon turned to them.

"D'ye see yon?" he asked, sternly pointing to the pile.

Some one laughed; and a German replied defiantly, "Yah! und ver good dey vos. Mein Gott, subbose ve no ged 'em, ve die mit sdarvation."

"I'll starve ye, ye meeserable villain!" burst out the captain furiously. "I'll see that ye'll get what ye've been workin' for—sax months' hard labour in Darlinghurst, the meenit we reach Sydney. Nae satisfied wi' my gude victuals, ye must gang awa an' brak cargy to fill yer tarry bellies wi'! Ma conscience! but I'll work ye up, lads, for this bit spree! I'll tak it oot o' ye! I'll let ye ken that Jock M'Cutcheon's na to be jokit wi' in sic fashin' as ye've been attemptin'! I'll stap yer ploys frae this oot—"

"Oh, give us a rest," interrupted a sailor, "an talk English. Why, yer wuss nor a bloomin' Dutchman yerself! If yer hadn't starved us on yer blasted old stores, which was part o' the same lot as was in the Hark when she run ashore, why, we'd ha' left yer cargo alone. Git out, ye bloomin' sailor-killer!"

As M'Cutcheon stood, actually gasping at this salute, another man took up the parable. Altogether a superior sort of customer, this, who spoke with a rather refined accent, and who, in spite of the traces of the recent "spree," was evidently a smart and fairly educated seaman—probably a mate forced to ship before the mast, as so many certificated men have to do in these days.

"Look here, Captain," said he, "there's not the least doubt we've done wrong (M'Cutcheon snorted angrily), and that you can get us six months in Sydney gaol, if you like. But I, for one, know Sydney well. And I also know Captain Brown, of the Marine Board, and other folk who have to do with seafaring matters. And I think, when we show the Magistrate specimens of the stuff you've been trying to feed us on, that, if he doesn't say at once this business serves you right, he'll, anyhow, let us off easy. Also I have friends, journalists in the City, and I'll take care that a fair sample of our rations goes to each of their offices. I suppose you know what that means? We may go to gaol, Captain, but you'll get such a showing up as you'll remember all your days, I can tell you that!"

"Ye scoondrel," roared the Captain, shaking his fist at him, "so ye're the ringleader! A broken man, maist likely, wi' a met's or, mebbe, a skipper's certeefiket in yer kist. Pit the airns on him, bo'sun, an' bring him aft. I'll hae no domd sea-lawyers runnin' loose aboord ma ship."

But as the boatswain advanced, dangling a pair of great rusty handcuffs, a dozen sheath knives flashed out and he stopped short. Three of the men, too, who had rushed into the forecastle, appeared handling revolvers as if they knew how to use them. The passengers, except Barker, beat a hasty retreat aft. The cause of the demonstration alone remained unmoved, smoking calmly, and leaning against the windlass.

But, presently, throwing his pipe overboard, he said, "Put those things up, boys, or they'll be calling it mutiny, or some such rot. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the Old Man don't think it's something of the sort already, to judge by his looks. I'm perfectly willing to go aft—if he'll only lock me up in the store-room." And so saying, he advanced and offered his hands for the cuffs, and was led away, and confined in a spare berth next to the second mate's.

"Now then, lads!" exclaimed Mr Sinclair briskly, seeing that the skipper, whose empurpled face had become mottled with white patches at the sight of so much cold steel, remained silent, "Now then, lads! Turn to and get all that stuff below again."

"Is the skipper goin' to give us that six months chokee when he gits to Sydney?" asked one.

"Oui," chimed in a Frenchman angrily, "is it dat ve come to ze preezon parce que ve veel our estomacs, zat 'e sall kip, vat you call 'im, hempty? Sacre nom! 'E is von big vool if 'e tink ve vork no more only for preezon!"

"That's it, Frenchy," confirmed the first speaker, as low polyglot growls of assent went around. "Is we to go to gaol in Sydney?"

"Yes," replied the captain, having got over his momentary qualm, "an' for as long as I can mak' them gie it ye."

"Then sail yer cussed ship there!" answered the man, turning and entering the forecastle, followed immediately by the rest of the crew.

Then ensued a curious state of affairs. The men's food was stopped. But they did not seem to mind. The weather was very cold, and it could be seen that with a couple of oil drums they had constructed a sort of stove in the forecastle, fed, of course, by coals of which, from the situation of the fore-peak, they were enabled to procure any quantity. New sails ought to have been bent in place of the three topgallant sails; but in the prevailing heavy weather, and with so few hands, this was out of the question. Also, the captain and his mates had to take their trick at the wheel. Running as the Andromeda was, with a high following sea, it was not safe to trust an apprentice to steer alone; so, what with a man at the lee-wheel, now and again, intervals were short between wheels and look-outs. Indeed, it was almost trick and tie,¹ especially o' nights. Thinking it safer to get his lower topgallant sails off, the skipper had them stowed, a task that gave his scratch crew all they knew how to perform; for, considering her size, the Andromeda's sails were very heavy. She could have carried them, and the other ones too, easily just then. And the passage was being spoiled,—a maddening reflection to M'Cutcheon, and one that prevented him from taking the upper topsails and mainsail off his ship, as he might have yet done in time. Whilst the apprentices and the boatswain, sailmaker and carpenter, etc., were at work aloft, the men lounged about for'ard, smoking, and freely criticising the proceedings. What they were living on puzzled the captain.

¹ From wheel to look-out and back again without a rest.

"I'm thinkin', Mr Sinclair," said he, "that we'll hae to search the fok'sle. They must ha' proveesions hid there. They canna get at the cargy again?"

"No, sir," replied the mate; "I was down to-day, and nothing's been disturbed. They won't pick that new lock on the hatch very easily. I suppose they have a store of stuff hidden away under their bunks, or somewhere. They may have foreseen and provided against their supplies being stopped."

"If you insist on searching their quarters there'll be bloodshed," remarked Mr Barker bluntly. "And, Captain," he added, "I speak for the rest of the passengers when I say that some arrangement should be come to. We don't want to spend more time than can be helped pottering about the Southern Ocean in this style."

The skipper looked at him dourly. He himself was getting very tired of taking so active a part in working the ship. But he had been robbed, scared, and defied by his men, a matter he could in no way make up his mind to stomach. If he could but sight a warship! But, as he knew, few of them had any business in these latitudes. Well, at all risks, he must try and manage, at least as far as Adelaide. Yes, the latter port for choice! Reflection had told him that his prisoner might, as he promised, make matters uncomfortable for him in Sydney. He had seen a specimen of ships' stores produced in a Colonial police court once before, and the accompanying comments had been unpleasant to listen to. But he saw no way out of his present dilemma.

Meanwhile, baby and brasswork, alike, were neglected in these days, so far, at least, as Torre was concerned. He was kept, like everybody else, constantly going about other business.

As Mr Sinclair guessed, the men had a reserve of food. But this was getting low, and indeed they were anxiously considering the advisableness of helping themselves by force, when what might have been foreseen happened.