But I know young people are uneasy with dialect, and so I must discontinue giving Oonee’s remarks, only adding that in ability and industry he was as prominent as he was in good-humour and wit. Fortunately for everybody, I think, the Hawaiian seamen were not anxious to terminate their engagement. They had in some mysterious way grown to like the ship and her crew (the old man they knew nothing about, of course, looking upon him much as a schoolboy looks upon x on his first introduction to algebra). All they wanted was to be allowed ashore each night after knock-off time; and this was readily granted them, on their promise to return in time for work in the morning, which promise was always faithfully kept.
But this preferential treatment was deeply resented by the rest of the foremast hands, who indeed had some right to feel aggrieved, not having had any liberty now for the best part of a year. When, however, they came aft and laid their grievances before the mate, he grimly referred them to the skipper, who was as difficult to see as a monarch. Thoroughly frightened by the mate’s determined attitude, he had slept on board every night and confined his drinking principally to his own cabin, and although he entertained a good many keen-looking visitors, he was hardly ever seen on deck. Therefore when the steward brought him word one Sunday morning that the men wished to see him, he immediately fell into what is vulgarly known as a blue funk. He could not consult with the mate, who he felt sure sent the men to him, and he felt as if he dared not meet the men, knowing very well what they wanted. At last screwing up his courage to the sticking-point, he ordered the steward to request Mr. Jenkins to step down and see him, and when the mate came to remain handy in case of accidents.
Down came the mate, making an almost involuntary wry face as he passed into the acrid atmosphere of the skipper’s state-room from the pure air above.
“You sent for me, sir?” he said, and waited.
“Ye-e-s, Mr. Jenkins,” stammered the skipper, “I want you to find out what the men want. I—I—I’m not well enough to come on deck just yet.”
“What they want, sir, and what I don’t see how they can be refused, is some liberty and money. May I remind you that they have been nearly eight months on board and have had no liberty yet?”
“Well,” answered the skipper petulantly, “let ’em go, let ’em go, but I’ve got no money for ’em. What do they mean by coming worrying me for money on the Sabbath? They ought to know better.”
The mate stood looking grimly down at the pitiful creature before him in silence for a few moments, and then said, “Do you wish me to convey this to the men then, that they go on leave to-day, but you can give them no money, and it being Sunday you can’t get any?”
“Yes, yes, that’s it, that’s it, do ’em good. If I gave ’em money they’d only spend it in drink like all the rest of the silly sailors. Thank you, Mr. Jenkins, I think I’ll get a little rest now,” and much relieved he snoodled down under the blankets again. But had he seen and been able to appreciate the bitter scorn and hatred in the mate’s face as he turned away, I do not think he would have felt so comfortable.
On deck the mate found the crew awaiting him. Without any preliminary he repeated the skipper’s message, looking straight at the men as he did so. And when they began to growl he said quietly, “Now go forrard and do your growling, I’ve given you the skipper’s words. Any complaints you have, make them to him when you meet him. In the meantime I am responsible for the discipline of the ship, and I’m going to maintain it.”