But his father had warned him that he might expect something of the sort and that he must steel his heart against it, be strong to endure and rest in the Lord, like the three holy children before the king of Babylon. So he breathed an inward prayer for strength, and drawing up to a vacant place at the table, helped himself to some food. From life-long habit he bowed his head over his plate in thanks to the Giver for a moment, and there burst out a roar of harsh laughter. But this created a diversion, for the cooper growled—
“Shet up, ye heathen, an’ don’t jeer a better man than yerselves when he’s asking a blessin’. Doan’t ye take no notice of ’em, youngster; they don’t know no better.”
C. B. gave him a grateful glance and bravely attacked his food, having a perfectly healthy appetite, and the meal proceeded in silence. But when all hands lit pipes and corn cob cigarettes, the reek of the place immediately sickened him, and turning deathly pale he hurried on deck for air. The smell of the place, full as it was of the odours of stale oil, the smoke from the lamp and the effluvia of bilge-water, was bad enough to lungs that had always been accustomed to pure air, and the added fumes of tobacco made the combination unbearable.
On deck it was beautiful; a strong breeze was blowing, and the sturdy ship under easy sail was making good way through the water. Under the brilliant moon the bold outlines of his island home were fast fading into indistinctness, and for all his high resolves he felt a pang as he thought of all that he had left and the unknown troubles he was going to meet. And then a deep kindly voice behind him said—
“Well, Mr. Man, feeling a bit homesick, are ye? That’ll wear off mighty sudden, but in the meantime you’ve got to have some clothes. Come down into the cuddy and I’ll fit ye up.”
It was the captain who had sought him out, knowing how easy it is for these islanders to get a chill when first leaving the genial climate of their home for the wide keenness of the sea, and knowing too how scantily his new recruit was provided with clothes. So together they went down into the little cabin, where, aided by the steward, Captain Taber produced a complete outfit of clothes including boots, which C. B. looked dubiously at and then shook his head merrily, saying—
“I’ve never had a boot on in my life, captain, and I’m afraid I shouldn’t be able to walk in them now.”
“True, my boy, I’d forgotten that,” laughed the skipper. “Well, we’ll cut the boots out, and now your account is twenty-two dollars, so you’d better pray for whale to enable you to pay off your score. Cart your dunnage below and get off to ye’er bunk, for I guess you’ve got the middle watch.”
C. B. gathered up his bundle of clothes and carried them to his berth, where he found several of his berth-mates had already turned in, but they were all smoking furiously. So he could only stay below long enough to get into some warm clothing, and then, feeling sick and silly, he climbed on deck again, a blanket on his arm, to seek a spot where he might sleep without fear of being suffocated. This experience of knowing not where to lay his head was totally unexpected by him, for it was the one thing his father had omitted to mention as being among the hardships of a seafaring life. And he began to wonder whether in all his career he should meet with anything harder to bear, being by nature a perfect lover of pure air.
However, he found a corner which struck him as being out of the way, and laid himself down upon the planks, drew the blanket over himself and commended himself to God, and like a perfectly healthy animal was almost immediately fast asleep. He was roughly aroused at midnight by one of the harponeers, who inquired caustically whether he thought he was going to be a passenger and have all night in. He at once sprang up and asked what his duties were, but his interlocutor turned away with a mocking laugh, muttering—