Mr. Trunnell, Mate of the Ship "Pirate". T. Jenkins Hains

spoke, as if he wished to impart some information, and had not quite determined upon the time and place. I took the hint and smiled knowingly, and then glanced askance at the steward.

      "Faith, he's all right," blurted out Chips; "his skin is a little off th' color av roses, but his heart is white. We're wid ye, see?"

      "With me for what?" I asked.

      "Anything," he replied. "To go back, to go ahead. There's a fellow forrads who says go back while ye may."

      "An' it's bloody good advice," said the steward, in a low tone.

      "I'm not exactly in command aboard here," I said.

      "D'ye know who is?" asked Chips.

      "His name is Thompson, I believe," I answered coldly, for I did not approve of this sudden criticism of the skipper, much as I disliked his style.

      "See here, mate, ye needn't think we're fer sayin' agin the old man, so hark ye, don't take it hard like. Did ye iver hear tell av a sailorman a-callin' a line a 'rope' or a bloomin' hooker like this a 'boat'? No, sir, ye can lay to it he's niver had a ship before; an' so says Jim Potts, the same as passed th' line fer ye this mornin'. Kin I pass ye the junk? It's sort o' snifty fer new slush, but I don't complain."

      "What's the matter with the meat?" I asked, glad to change the conversation.

      "Jest sort o' snifty."

      "That's what," corroborated the steward, looking at me. "Jest sort o' smelly like fer new junk."

      "What has Jim Potts got against the old man?" I asked. "You said he didn't believe the skipper had been in a ship before."

      "Nothin' I knows of, 'cept he was hot fer turnin' back this mornin' an' tried to get th' men to back him in comin' aft."

      "Do you mean it's mutiny?"

      "Lord, no; jest to blandander ye inter tackin' ship. He most persuaded Mr. Trunnell, an' wid ye too, 'twould ha' been no mutiny to override the new skipper, an' land th' other in th' caboose."

      Much as I would have liked to get ashore again, I knew there was no immediate prospect of it. The skipper would not hear of any such thing. As for Trunnell acting against orders, I knew from what I had seen of this sturdy little fellow he would obey implicitly any directions given him, and at any cost. There was no help for it now. We would be out for months with the ruffian skipper forward and the strange one aft. I said nothing more to the carpenter or steward, for it was evident that there had been some strong arguments used by Jim Potts against the regularity of the ship's company. The more I thought of this, the more I was astonished, for the young landsman was not forced to come out in the ship, and had almost been left, as it was. I went on deck in a troubled frame of mind, and determined to keep my eye on every one who approached me, for the voyage had the worst possible beginning.

      There was much to be done about the main deck, so I busied myself the entire afternoon getting the running gear cleared up and coiled down shipshape. The skipper stood near the break of the poop much of the time, but gave no orders, and I noticed that Jim the sailor, or landsman, kept away from his vicinity. Sometimes it seemed as though the captain would follow his movements about the deck forward with his keen eyes.

      It was Trunnell's dog-watch that evening, and by the time the bells struck the vessel was running along to the westward under royals, with the southerly breeze freshening on her beam. She was a handsome ship. Her long, tapering spars rose towering into the semi-gloom overhead, and the great fabric of stretched canvas seemed like a huge cloud resting upon a dark, floating object on the surface of the sea, which was carried along rapidly with it, brushing the foam to either side with a roaring, rattling, seething, musical noise. At least, this is the picture she presented from the forecastle head looking aft. Her great main yard swung far over the water to leeward, and the huge bellying courses, setting tight as a drumhead with the pressure, sent the roaring of the bow-wave back in a deep booming echo, until the air was full of vibration from the taut fabric. All around, the horizon was melted into haze, but the stars were glinting overhead in promise of a clear night.

      I left the forecastle head and came down on the main deck. Here the six-foot bulwarks shut off the view to windward, but little of the cool evening breeze. The men on watch were grouped about the waist, sitting on the combings of the after-hatch, or walking fore and aft in the gangways to keep the blood stirring. All had pea coats or mufflers over their jumpers, for the air was frosty. The "doctor" had washed up his pots and coppers for the evening, and had made his way toward the carpenter's room in the forward house, where a light shone through the crack of the door.

      On nearly all American ships the carpenter is rated as an officer, but does not have to stand watch, turning out only during the day-time or when all hands are called in cases of emergency. The cook, or "doctor," as he is called, also turns in for the night, as do the steward and cabin boys; the steward, however, generally has a stateroom aft near those of the mates, while the "doctor" bunks next his galley. The carpenter having permission to burn a light, usually turns his shop or bunk-room into a meeting place for those officers who rate the distinction of being above the ordinary sailor. Here one can always hear the news aboard ships where the discipline is not too rigid; for the mates, bos'n, "doctor," steward, and sometimes even the quartermasters, enjoy his hospitality.

      Trunnell was on the poop, and the captain was below. I had a chance to get a little better insight into the natures of my shipmates if I could join in their conversation, or even listen to it for a while. My position as second mate was not too exalted to prohibit terms of intimacy with the carpenter, or, for that matter, even the bos'n.

      I took a last look to windward, over the cold southern ocean, where the sharp evening breeze was rolling the short seas into little patches of white. The horizon was clear, and there was no prospect for some time of any sudden call to shorten sail. The sky was a perfect blue vault in which the stars were twinkling, while the red of the recent sunset held fair on the jibboom end, showing that the quartermaster at the wheel knew his business. I edged toward the door of the house, and then seeing that my actions were not creating too much notice from the poop, I slid back the white panel and entered. The fog from damp clothes and bad tobacco hung heavy in the close air and made a blue halo about the little swinging lamp on the bulkhead. Chips, who was sitting on his sea-chest, waved his hand in welcome, and the "doctor" nodded and showed his white teeth. The bos'n was holding forth in full swing in an argument with one of the quartermasters, and Jim, the fellow I noticed in the morning, was listening. He arose as I entered, as also did the quartermaster, but the rest remained seated. I waved my hand in friendly acknowledgment and lit my pipe at the lamp, while they reseated themselves.

      "Yah, good mornin' to ye—if it ain't too late in the day," said Chips. "Sit ye down an' listen to me song, for 'tis a quare ship, an' th' only thing to do is to square our luck wid a good song. Cast loose, bos'n."

      We were all new men to the vessel except the carpenter, and had never even sailed in the same ship before on any previous voyage. Yet the bos'n "cast loose" without further orders, and the "doctor" joined in with his bass voice. Then Chips and the rest bawled forth to the tune of "Blow a man down," and all the dismal prospect of the future in an overloaded ship, with bad food and a queer skipper, was lost in the effort of each one trying to out-bellow his neighbor. Sailors are a strange set. It takes mighty little to please one at times when he should, with reason, be sad; while, again, when everything is fair, nothing will satisfy his whims.

      When the yarn spinning and singing were over, I turned out for my first watch well pleased with my shipmates.

IV

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      During the following days all hands were so busy bending new sails and reeving running gear for our turn of the Cape that there was little time for anything else. Much of this work could have been avoided had the ship been under better command when she cleared, but Trunnell had no authority to do anything, and the agents were waiting until the skipper took command and could attend to the necessary overhauling.