Frank Brown, Sea Apprentice

by Frank Thomas Bullen

And I think there can be little doubt but that in his mad rage he would have killed this man of nearly twice his strength, but that the skipper, who had come on deck to take a last look at the weather before turning in, heard something unusual, and came forward to see what it was. He snatched at Frank, being the uppermost, and tore the frantic lad off his foe. The second mate struggled to his feet and rushed at Frank again, held as he was in the grip of the skipper. He had been in American ships, where it is the humane custom for one officer to hold a man tightly while another batters him out of all resemblance to humanity. It is a characteristically American feat, but, fortunately for Frank, Captain Jenkins was not built that way. Holding the second mate off with one sturdy arm, he said sternly, “What does this mean, Mr. Jacks.”

“I’ll kill the ——” gasped the infuriated ruffian. “I’ll cut his liver out. I’ll——”

“Look here,” shouted the skipper, “if you don’t cool down I shall heat up, and then you’ll wish you hadn’t. Now then, Frank, what’s the matter?”

It was no easy task for Frank to reply. Rage and shame made him almost speechless, but at last he gasped out the shameful story and told just the plain truth. When he had finished, Captain Jenkins said soothingly, “There, there, that’ll do, my boy, you’re over-excited. Go and turn in, I’ll arrange for your watch.” And off Frank went, glad enough to get away.

When he had gone, the skipper turned to the second mate and said, “Now, Mr. Jacks, what devil possessed you to go and assault one of my apprentices, and one too that’s as good a man as any we’ve got in the ship. I know the value of muscle and of a little punching occasionally, but to go and strike a lad who’s doing man’s work, that those fellows in the forecastle are paid for doing, why, you must be an infernal cur yourself to dream of such a thing. Now mark, that lad is in your watch and I shan’t take him out of it, so as to give you an opportunity of doing the right thing by him. And you’ll get a chance to win your character back as a man by the way you treat the crew. If I find you let them skulk and put their work on the lads, nothing shall save you from going forrard as one of them. You must behave man-fashion, and above all treat that good lad properly, or I’ll make you wish you’d been dead before you shipped with me.”

“Better let me go ashore at once, cap’n,” replied the discomfited man; “there’s no room for a second mate between the skipper and his favourites.”

“Well, in the first place, you’re not going ashore; in the next, I have no favourites. As long as man, boy, or officer does his proper work, he’ll get justice from me, and if you do your duty you’ll be all right. Now go and turn in, I’ll see about things till midnight. Good night,” and they separated.

I need not recount the eventless hours until 4 A.M., when the cook was called to prepare coffee. That comforting beverage was ready at five and all hands were called, with the warning that it would be “Man the windlass” in half-an-hour. They were all sober by this time, but in a state of abject misery, and the prospect of mounting the forecastle head and heaving up the anchor was to them a terrible one. Nevertheless the work had to be done, for the tide was making strongly and the tug was waiting.

It was now that the second mate found full scope for his evil temper, for the poor wretches were continually taking shelter below from the bitter blast, and were quite regardless of his oaths and blows until he dragged them out by main force, and then if they were not closely watched they would scramble below again. Heart-breaking work, indeed, for both sides, but down underneath, where the big muddy links of the cable were lying hauled back in darkness and filth and biting cold by the four young gentlemen’s sons, certainly not less so. And one of those boys at any rate could not help feeling disheartened, apart altogether from his work. He knew—how could he help knowing?—how well he had done his work hitherto, and now to be cuffed and cursed like a dog—it made his brain burn as it would never have done had he been dragged up to it. But still he persevered with his work, for it had become a habit with him, even though he had lost heart.

In this wise, and by superhuman efforts on the part of those who really did work, the anchor was hove up and secured, and the clumsy ship, lying like a balloon upon the water by reason of her ballast trim, was headed down the darksome river again, while the miserable crew were kept going in order to prepare them for the work that would presently fall to them, when, the tug having left, the ship would need her own canvas under which to sail. The grey, dreary morning came, and a good breakfast of lobscouse was served out, which put some life into the men, and even infused a little cheerfulness into the grim forecastle whence all hope seemed fled.