“What, up aloft? H’m, yes, no! They’re so used to it that it has ceased to be dangerous, my boy. Use is second nature. It would be dangerous for you or me.”
Mark followed, and the captain showed him his cabin.
“You’re a lucky one,” he said. “There’s a place all to yourself. Are you going to stay aboard?”
“Yes, father. I’ve sent my bag, and mother is going to meet me here this evening.”
“That’s right. Now I must be off to see the owners. Keep out of the way as well as you can. I suppose you will find plenty to amuse yourself.”
Mark said, “Oh, yes!” but he felt as if there was going to be very little that was amusing; and as he saw his father go toward the gangway and speak to the first-mate, who seemed to reply with a surly nod, the office of captain seemed of less account than ever.
The scene was not inspiriting. It was a dull, cold, cheerless afternoon in May; the deck was one chaos of bales, packages, and boxes. Ropes were lying about as if there was no such thing as order on board a ship. Forward there was a pile of rusty chain, and if the new-comer stirred a step he was sure to be in somebody’s way; and when, in response to a hoarse “by yer leave,” he moved somewhere else, it was to find himself in a worse position still.
Bruff quite shared his feelings, and showed it by shivering from time to time, and, after getting behind Mark, trying to drive his head between his master’s legs, an attempt that was always met by a rebuff, for Mark had not yet gained his sea-legs and taken to walking with his feet very wide apart.
But all the same there was a deal to notice, and by degrees the lad grew interested as he wondered how it was possible for the yawning hatch in the middle of the deck to swallow up such an endless number of crates and boxes, bales and packages, of all kinds. While what seemed more astonishing was the fact, that as fast as the cargo disappeared more was brought aboard from the quay, where it was unloaded from vans and carts.
“Here, hi! young Strong!” cried the mate suddenly. “Come here.”