CHAPTER X
"STUDPOKER BOB'S MALADY"
Like most wooden ships, the Higgins had to be pumped out twice a day, once in the morning watch and once in the second dog-watch.
A ship's pumps are worked by handle-bars on heavy flywheels, and it is probably the finest exercise in the world for your back muscles, especially if you have a bucko like Black Davis to watch over you and keep you doing sixty revolutions to the minute for half an hour without a spell.
The bosun was not such a keen muscle-developer, and in consequence the starboard watch only averaged thirty-five to forty revolutions a minute, and also had a spell-ho after fifteen minutes.
Notwithstanding this, Studpoker Bob, who had a horror of any sort of form of muscle-developing, used to let his arms go round with the brakes, and so managed that, instead of his arms pulling the brakes, the brakes pulled his arms.
This man was fast beginning to show up in his true colours.
As Broncho observed to Jack:
"That ere kyard-sharp don't surge back on a rope suffeecient to throw a calf. He's shore regyardful of his health that-away; yet he's a-distributin' views in the foc's'le like as if he's the most put-upon gent in the ship, which same views is shore fomentin' trouble."
"The man's a real waster," replied the rover. "I watched him dealing a brace game last night against Hank, Ben, and those two tenderfoots, Jimmy Green and Pinto. I believe he's got notes for most of the men's paydays already, and now, as you say, he's trying in a sneaky, underhand way to rake up trouble; but sailors always will walk blindly into the ditch, and won't be warned."
"Which his mood is shore ornery an' he's plumb wolf by nacher; but as you-alls sagely remyarks, them misguided shorthorns won't believe it none, an' listens to his howlin' like he's the President of the United States. It has me plumb wearied," and Broncho sniffed disdainfully as he slowly filled his favourite corncob.
But matters were rapidly coming to a head. The Higgins had lost the south-east trades, and was plunging into a heavy head sea under topgallant-s'ls, whilst a succession of sprays turned the forward part of the ship into a shower-bath, and ever and anon a green sea tumbled aboard and roared aft.
The wind, a dead muzzler, was slowly increasing in strength, with an edge to it which was a good foretaste of the "Roaring Forties."
To windward the sky had a dirty look, and untidy, threadbare storm-clouds swept across it, whilst in the west the sun sank into a greenish, sickly sea through a variegated mess of yellow tints.
The watch no longer went about bare-foot in thin dungarees; instead, oilskins and sea-boots were the order of the day.
At four bells, 6 p.m., the port watch went below, and as they came forward some of them presented a very curious appearance. Sam, the coloured man, had supplemented his rags with odd bits of dungaree and canvas, tied on to his body with numerous pieces of ropeyarn; whilst Jim, the boy, swaggered along in an old blanket coat of Jack's, which made him a good-sized overcoat.
The cockney went aft to relieve the wheel, a somewhat comical figure in some Piccadilly masher's discarded town coat, with velvet collar and cuffs, whilst the rest of the watch were turned out to man the pumps.
They started briskly to work at a cry of "Shake her up, boys," from the bosun.
Studpoker Bob, in his usual style, took special care lest he should inadvertently put some weight on to the brakes, and was succeeding, he thought, very well.
Jack, of course, was not the man to let the opportunity go by without a chanty, and started off with:
"Were you never down in Mobile bay?"
The whole watch thundered in the chorus with the exception of the gambler, who kept all his breath for his mutinous talk in the foc's'le.
As they swung the bars, deep came the note:
"John, come tell us as we haul away."
(Jack) "A-screwing cotton all the day."
(Chorus) "John, come tell us as we haul away.
Aye, aye, haul, aye!
John, come tell us as we haul away."
Then Jack went on:
"What did I see in Mobile Bay?"
(Chorus) "John, come tell us as we haul away."
(Jack) "Were the girls all fair and free and gay?"
(Chorus) "John, come tell us as we haul away.
Aye, aye, haul, aye!
John, come tell us as we haul away."
(Jack) "Oh! This I saw in Mobile Bay."
(Chorus) "So he tells us as we haul away."
(Jack) "A pretty girl a-making hay."
(Chorus) "So he tells us as we haul away.
Aye, aye, haul, aye!
So he tells us as we haul away."
So the chanty ran on gaily verse after verse, the chorus raised high above the moaning of the wind and the groaning of the ship.
"Give us another!" was the general cry as the last verse finished, and away went Jack again with "A-roving":
(Jack) "In Amsterdam there lives a maid—
Mark you well what I say—
In Amsterdam there lives a maid,
And she is mistress of her trade.
I'll go no more a-roving from you, fair maid!"
(Chorus) "A-roving, a-roving, since roving's been my ruin,
I'll go no more a-roving from you, fair maid!"
This also ran its course, then Curly struck up "One more day for Johnnie":
(Curly) "Only one more day for Johnnie."
(Chorus) "One more day!"
(Curly) "Oh! rock and roll me over!"
(Chorus) "One more——"
Then the bosun most rudely interrupted the music.
Biff! Bang! Thud! "You d——d sodgering hound!" Whack! "I've watched you loafin' long enough!" Thump! and Studpoker Bob, lifted clean off his feet by a sudden muscular grasp upon his collar, was held at arm's length and fairly battered by the bosun's brawny fist. Crash! an eye closed up.
"Mercy! mercy! you're killin' me!" whined the miserable wretch.
Bish! his nose began to bleed.
"Had enough yet, you d——d Yankee tough?" growled the bosun.
"Yes, yes; lemme——"
Crack! and his two front teeth were loosened.
"By gum! that were a sockdologer!" commented Bedrock Ben.
The men had stopped working and watched the gambler getting his gruel with appreciative eyes.
"Now, then, put your back into it and no more sodgerin'!" said the bosun, as he released his iron grip.
"I'll get even with you, you durned Britisher," snarled the card-sharper, as soon as he was released, his anger overcoming his caution.
"Give me lip, will ye?" roared the bosun. "Threaten me, would ye?"
Again he seized upon Studpoker Bob, and this time did not desist from his chastening until the man dropped to the deck, beaten to a jelly and hardly able to move.
At the wheel the cockney hopped up and down with excitement, straining his neck in his eagerness to see the gambler get his hammering, and a grim smile of amusement came into Old Man Riley's keen visage, as he watched the performance with the eye of an expert from the poop rail.
Letting his victim lie where he dropped, the bosun turned to the pumps and called out, "Tune her up again, boys!" and presently came the welcome cry, "That'll do the pumps!" and the watch trooped forward.
Studpoker Bob, who had lain all this time groaning on the deck, made shift now to get to his legs, and made tracks for the foc's'le.
But the bosun was on to him again.
"Here, you there," he called, "go up an' overhaul them fore an' main t'gallant buntlines."
And up the man had to go.
It was now two bells, and Red Bill trudged slowly aft to relieve the cockney, as he owed him a wheel, and the second dog-watch being considered one of the worst wheels, the cockney had gladly consented to take an hour of that instead of the whole trick at any other time.
Diving through a curtain of spray, the rest of the watch reached the foc's'le.
Hanging up their oilskins, they proceeded to make themselves comfortable. Some crawled into their bunks for a short spell; others, with pipes alight, sat round on the chests, then yarns and chaff began to fly round.
Without it was cold and wet, nearly dark and with every prospect of a dirty night.
The wind could be heard moaning and crying, whistling and screaming through the rigging.
The ship groaned and creaked beneath the sledge-hammer blows of the heavy head sea.
The sprays rattled outside, and all was dismal and comfortless. What wonder if the watch below is one of the comforts of a sailor's life.
"Golly, byes!" burst out the cockney, as he dashed in dripping. "Poor ole Bob, didn't 'e get it socked to 'im. 'E weren't 'ollerin' for more when the bosun got through with 'im, were 'e? Sykes alive! but it were a h'awful lickin'!"
"Begob! but it takes the divil an' all to tackle that big hefty brute of a bosun; an' now he has the poor varmint overhaulin' buntlines. Be me sowl, but Bob's fair up agin' it!" said Paddy.
"And serve him right. The amount of work he does wouldn't bother a child," remarked Jack scornfully.
"Oh, Bob's orl right. 'Is trouble is weakness. 'Ow can 'e work? That bloke ain't got more strength than a 'edge-sparrer; 'is 'ealth is give h'out."
"Who told you that?" asked Jack.
"'E did 'imself, 'bout two days back."
"And whatever is the malady of this here weak-kneed kyard-sharp?" inquired Broncho, in his slow, polite way.
"'E sez as 'ow h'it's consumption which 'as 'im in its gruesome clutches."
"I ain't heard him kaufin' none," remarked the cowboy suspiciously. "I cuts the trail one time of a gent who cashes in from that cawpse-makin' complaint, an' he shore coughs a heap plentyful, an' that loud an' wideflung you couldn't bed-down in the same teepee with him an' make any sort o' success o' slumber. His kaufin' that-away shore puts a bull-moose to shame."
"Now, see 'ere, ducky, I ain't er-sayin' as 'ow that ain't the general racket; but Bob, 'e sez to me, sezzee, 'I'm past the korfin' styge; h'I just spits up my lungs in chunks; h'I ain't the strength to korf,'" returned the cockney doggedly.
"I ain't in line for no sech flapdoodle as that," drawled Broncho. "He ain't goin' to fool this old he-coon none that-away. Why, consumption can no more make a play without kaufin' than smallpox can without spots."
"'Ave it 'ow you loike—h'I just tells you what 'e sez, that's h'all," retorted the cockney angrily.
"Thet's right, pard; but I reckons Broncho calls the deal correct when he says that consumption ain't no more than a low-grade malady without kaufin'. It's kaufin' that makes it the clean-sweep disease that it is," joined in old Bedrock Ben.
"Bedad thin," commented Pat, "Bob's sick with consumption, but the disaise ain't after makin' him ill at all."
"The man's as strong and well as you or I," exclaimed Curly hotly, poking his head out of his bunk.
"I ain't sayin' but that if Studpoker Bob's got consumption prowlin' around him, it ain't been an' staked out its claim an' started in to work diggin' out his innards by now, after the energy the bosun displays on him," went on Ben.
"And that ain't no bluff, neither. The bosun shore puts a heap o' zest into the game, an' after bein' upheaved an' jumped on that-away, I reckons Bob don't get so much bliss as he did," agreed Broncho.
At this moment, Jim, who had just been to strike one bell, dived in glistening with wet.
"It's blowin' up hard; it'll be 'All hands to the crojjick' at eight bells, the bosun says," he announced.
"What's that, sonny? All hands at eight bells? An' it's our first watch below! Hell take the sea, anyhow," growled old Ben.
"We're in for a night of it. Listen to the wind," observed Curly.
There was a general rush for oilskins and rubbers.
"You'll want lashings on your oilskins to-night, Broncho," remarked Jack, as he knotted a deep-sea lashing round his waist.
"An' what's the aim in life o' these here lashin's?"
"Ter keep the bloomin' water out, er course," jerked out the cockney, as he struggled with a sea-boot.
"Where's that 'ere sufferin', consumption-stricken gent, Studpoker Bob, all this time?" asked old Ben, looking round the foc's'le.
"He's warmin' an' repa'rin' himself in the galley, and havin' a chin-chin with Lung," returned Jim.
"And he calls himself an American citizen," grunted Ben, in great disgust. "I'd sooner exchange views with a pra'rie-dog or a gopher than one o' them heathens from the Orient. They're all right to wash clothes or toss flapjacks or sech-like plays, but to shake dice with 'em—no, sirree, that's what I calls plumb degradin'."
As he spoke the thundering voice of the bosun was heard.
"A-l-l h-a-n-d-s s-h-o-r-t-e-n s-a-i-l!"
Sure enough it was about time, for the wind was shrieking through the rigging with more strength every minute, and at every plunge the heavily pressed vessel sent the sprays right over her. The lee-scuppers were full, and a succession of dollops poured over the weather rail.