“Vot de hell is de matter mit you, boy?” cried a strident voice from above. Donald turned to see the German second mate looking down at him from the poop rail.
“Nothing, sir!”
“Den if nodings is de matter,” growled the other, “you yust belay dot weepings or I gif you somedings to weep for! You go forrard dere und haul down dot Blue Peter und bring it aft here und be damned smardt aboudt it!”
Three hours a member of a ship’s company and Donald was pretty well sick of it all. Nothing of the glory, adventure and romance of the sea and ships had yet unfolded itself to his eyes. No! all he had seen was sordid wharf-side bickerings, evil women and sodden men; dirty menial work and cruel words; autocratic authority, brutality and a scoffing callousness for fine feelings. He thought of these things as he coaxed the outward-bound bunting down and clear of the mazy web of rigging aloft, but with the sight of the sky and the soaring spars and the river gulls, came new heart and determination, and he murmured to himself, “Others have gone through it and came out all right. My daddy came through it all right, and so shall I!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The tug pulled the Kelvinhaugh to the Tail of the Bank and the barque dropped her anchor there. During the journey down the river the second mate kept Donald busy on odd jobs, and several times he was in close proximity to Captain Muirhead, but the latter never even greeted him by word or look. When the tug departed, the Captain eyed the sky, cloudy and overcast, and went below to his cabin. Hinkel also went below, after ordering Donald to sweep up the poop, and he was sweeping when Mr. Nickerson came aft.
“Waal, boy, what d’ye think of it all?” he enquired blithely. “Goin’ to like it?”
“I’ll like it after a while, sir,” answered Donald with a smile. “When I get more used to the ship and the work.”