“But if you don’t have sailors, how can you sail the bark?” asked Tom. “And why don’t you want sailors anyway?”
“The mates an’ the four boat steerers sail the ship,” explained the old fellow. “Thought I told ye all ’bout sech things long ago. An’ the cooper an’ steward lend a han’, providin’ they’re needed, an’ arter we’ve broke in the greenies they’ll han’le the ol’ bark. Why don’ we want sailor men? ’Cause sailors ain’t any use ’board a whaler. Fust place they growl an’ cause trouble, secon’ place they desart at the fust po’t an’ third place they won’t work fer lays. Now I gotter be a-gittin’ along an’ lookin’ arter things. The ol’ man’s given orders we’re a sailin’ at ebb tide to-morrer, so ye boys be on han’ before ten.”
Despite their eagerness to go on the cruise, and their excitement, still the boys felt a touch of homesickness and a lump in their throats as they bade good-by to their parents and their boy friends, the following morning, and realized that they would not see the quiet, shady streets of Fair Haven or their own comfortable homes for twelve long months or more.
When they reached the Hector they found Captain Edwards, the second mate, the four boat steerers, the cooper, the cook and a carpenter on board. The second mate, or officer, was a long, lanky, down-east fellow with a ghastly scar across one cheek and which they learned had been received when his ship had been sunk by a German U-boat a few months previously. The boat steerers were all Portuguese from the Cape Verde Islands; the cook was a coal-black negro from Jamaica; the cooper was a blond-headed Swede and the carpenter a tiny, dried-up, white-haired Irishman. Soon after the boys were aboard, two boats approached loaded with men and with old Cap’n Pem in the first. Running alongside, the men scrambled and clambered onto the deck and as they stared stupidly about, the boys thought they never had seen such a rough, unkempt, disreputable-looking lot of men. Sixteen in all, there was not one of their number who was not ragged and dirty. They were of every age, color and nationality from a tousled-headed, pop-eyed “boy” to a gray-headed, red-nosed, old rascal fully sixty, and several were negroes. But they had scant time to look about at their new surroundings for scarcely was the last one on board, before the second mate began to give orders, hustling the new hands about, and putting them to work, and while some were inclined to loaf and others were surly and answered back, the majority fell to and evidently did their best to follow instructions, although it was plain that the mate’s words held little meaning for them. Then the capstan was manned, a tug drew alongside and, as the boat steerers joined the men at the handspikes and walked the heavy cable in, their voices broke into the old, old chantey of Sally Brown:
“Oh, Sally Brown of New York City,
Aye Sally,—Sally Brown,
Of pretty Sal this is a ditty,
I’ll spend my money on Sally Brown!”
So sang the men as the great anchor rose slowly to the catheads, and a moment later, the tug’s propeller churned the water and the boys saw the docks and buildings of New Bedford slipping slowly astern. The crowd on the piers and moored ships shouted and waved hats and handkerchiefs. The tug gave a farewell toot and the boys’ voyage had begun.
CHAPTER III
THERE SHE BLOWS!
No sooner had the bark commenced to move down the harbor, than a magic change appeared to take place. At the wheel, one of the boat steerers stood staring ahead and deftly gave the spokes a twirl as he kept the Hector to the tug’s course. Back and forth on the quarter-deck strode Captain Edwards, hands behind back and hat pulled low over his eyes. At the break of the poop, stood old Cap’n Pem, his ancient, peaked cap jammed on one side of his head, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows and his bushy brows drawn together in a frown. Below him, stood the lanky second officer, Mr. Kemp, barking out sharp, quick orders. From the galley, a slender column of smoke rose upwards, showing the cook was already at work. The crew were busy here and there under the directions of the boat steerers and the carpenter was wedging down a hatch cover. It was evident that strict discipline was now in order and the boys, resolved to do their part and to act as though they were bona fide members of the crew, commenced coiling down ropes that trailed across the decks. As they did so, Mr. Kemp grinned and Cap’n Pem winked at the skipper who stopped an instant in his stride to glance at the busy boys.
Then, Cap’n Pem’s voice roared out orders to loosen sails and the two boys, anxious to show their skill and knowledge, as well as their willingness, ran nimbly up the ratlines and were the first out on the yards. One by one the great topsails were unfurled and halliards were manned.
“They call me Hanging Johnny,
Away-e-Oh!
They call me Hanging Johnny,
So hang, boys, hang.”