Frank Brown, Sea Apprentice

by Frank Thomas Bullen

“Oh no,” answered the ancient mariner, “only on the passage home, about three months and a half. And then, you see, as they had the full flavour of it while they was aloading her, they’d got so used to it they wouldn’t notice it when they got to sea. It wasn’t near so bad then, although it was wuss nor what it is now. But lord bless you, sir, this ain’t nothin’. I ben shipmates with a cargo of creosoted sleepers out to Bonos Aires, an’ the stuff was that strong our noses useter bleed when we come in the fo’c’sle. An’ all the grub was flavoured with strong tar, so that when we did get some fresh grub we’d lost our taste. Didn’t get it back, either, for a jolly long time. Now guanner only makes your grub a bit high-flavoured, sort of gamey, like as I’m told the gentry fancies their vittles. It all depends upon taste, and sailors ain’t supposed to have any.”

Turning to his son, Mr. Brown said, “My boy, this is very different from what you expected, isn’t it? There isn’t much romantic adventure here, only dirt, discomfort, and squalor. I’m afraid you’ll repent very sorely of your decision.”

“Oh no, Dad,” eagerly responded Frank, “I knew I should have to rough it, everybody has to that goes to sea. And I expect she’ll be very different when we get to sea and all the crew on board.”

“Ah, that she will,” interrupted the shipkeeper; “you wouldn’t know her when once the crew’s settled down to work and cleaned her up. It’s no place to judge a ship in dock, when there’s been nobody by her for a week or two except a shipkeeper. She gets all neglected like an empty house without a caretaker.”

Frank’s face shone with gratitude for the comfort, and even Mr. Brown looked less worried as he realised the truth of what the old man said. But he could not help feeling grieved to think how all the little niceties of life in which his son had been brought up would be out of the question here—the little den pointed out to him as the “half-deck,” or boys’ apartment, being no larger than the boot-room at home, or about six feet square, and with absolutely no fittings of any kind except the four bunks. However, he reasoned that Frank would look at these things in a different light altogether, and, stifling a sigh, he tipped the old man liberally and took his departure, saying no more to his son on the subject that day.

Next day they said good-bye to their friend Captain Burns, who promised to correspond with them, and left Lytham for home, Frank almost bursting with pride as he donned his new uniform and thought of the sensation he would make among his friends at Dewsbury. He tried hard not to be self-conscious, but it was a complete failure, for he knew how his sisters were gloating over him and saw how fondly yet sadly his mother’s eyes dwelt upon her handsome boy, looking so smart and manly in his new rig.

It was all like a glorious golden dream, and if ever a boy was happy he was. He did not even begrudge the delay, though it would be ten days before he was due to join his ship, because it would give him time to enjoy his triumph while pretending that he was only anxious to get away.

What a lovely time he had, to be sure, filling the hearts of all his boy friends with black envy of his luck, as they called it, being made much of by everybody, and seeing his father and mother grow prouder of him every day as if he was a young hero. Indeed it was a good job for him that the time was short, or he would have been utterly spoiled, for every one did their best to turn his head.

But the time flew by, and at last the eventful morning arrived when he must go. He was to make the journey to Liverpool alone because business claimed his father, and his mother was not strong enough for such a trial. But that only made him feel prouder of his independence, and although he could not help feeling a lump in his throat as he stood at the carriage window and waved farewell to his parents and sisters on the platform, he speedily forgot them in boy fashion as he lolled back in his seat and assumed the air of a man while the train sped swiftly towards Liverpool.

Arriving at the Exchange Station, he skipped nimbly out upon the platform and gazed around him, somewhat bewildered at the noise and bustle, until he caught sight of the burly figure of Captain Burns, who, according to his promise, was there to meet him. They were soon in a cab, and, with Frank’s chest and bag on top, threaded the crowded streets towards the dock. Neither of them said much, for although Frank had a thousand questions to ask, he was, like most boys, shy with his elders, and Captain Burns had put on the “Captain” for the occasion.