“What do you think about Yankees now?” Ted asked her teasingly.
Clare almost stammered in her eagerness to reassure us. “Oh!” she cried. “I’d like you now even if you were French or Turquoise!”
We made several trips into the magnificent Atherton tablelands of the interior, where dense jungle, crater lakes, rolling grassland, giant anthills and, everywhere, the typical dusty gray-green of the ever-present eucalyptus trees gave us a different feeling for the Australian scene. It was frustrating to be unable to get even farther from the seacoast, to experience the peculiar isolation and beauty of the “outback” and the renowned hospitality of those who live there.
During this stopover we had another flare-up of crew trouble, or rather, a lot of suppressed minor grievances had accumulated and become critical. This was something we were beginning to recognize as a pattern in our East-West relations, inevitable because of our very different backgrounds and philosophies. The American way (or, at least, my way) is to speak freely and openly, to discuss problems as they arise, and to leave little doubt in anyone’s mind about my reactions to events. Our companions, on the other hand, had been reared in a tradition of reticence, submission, and fatalism. They kept their feelings to themselves and looked upon my occasional outbursts as signs of weakness. Moreover, the idea of a free and open discussion of differences of opinion was completely alien to them. They did not overlook or forget, however, with the result that every once in a while the pressure of accumulated misunderstandings or dissatisfactions would mount until some ridiculously small incident would bring our relations to a head.
Such an occasion arose in Cairns. I had called the gang topside one morning to help get a drum of fuel on board. Mickey, as usual, was slow to respond, and I called him rather sharply a second time. Almost at once, he emerged from his forward hatch, clad only in a pair of gaudily striped underpants.
“Go below and get dressed!” I commanded sharply, thinking he was being deliberately insolent.
“You never mind!” Mickey flared, unable to express himself in English.
“You can’t come up here in your underwear!” I spoke hotly, furious at what I considered an insult to the ship and family.
Immediately Nick, as hot-tempered as I, flung himself into the fray. “Not your business what Mickey wears!” he challenged.
My own problems with Nick had been many—open insurrection, like the one in the North Pacific, or simply sullen withdrawal, when he disapproved one of my decisions. Since he was, technically, first mate, and at most times a good and responsible shipmate, I felt the need of his cooperation. I decided that now was as good a time as any to have it out, so I called a conference of all the men in the hope that, somehow, we could achieve a meeting of minds.