Frank Nelson in the Forecastle; Or, The Sportman's Club Among the Whalers

by Harry Castlemon

"O, then it is all right. Dick is safe. He can swim double that distance."

"Well, I can't; but I wish I could have gone with him. I've seen two men go overboard since I've been on this craft, and if I was with 'em now among the sharks, my troubles would all be over."

Here was direct confirmation of the story the deserter had told on board the Stranger. Frank drew a long breath, and from that moment a settled determination took possession of him.

The work was all done at last, the watches told off and one of them ordered below. The one to which Frank belonged remained on deck to handle the ship, which was making long boards to gain an offing. Two or three times every hour they were called upon to trim the sails as the ship changed her course and stood off on another tack, and the rest of the time the crew lounged about the windlass. But there was none of that story-telling in which the crew of the Stranger engaged on such occasions, to make the time hang less heavily on their hands. The men sat sullen and silent, and as they were no company for Frank, he strolled aft to make an inspection of the craft which was likely to be his home for long weeks and perhaps months to come. She was different from other ships he had seen only in the number of boats she carried at her davits, and in her try-works, which were fitted up amidships. These were built of masonry, contained three large kettles, and were so constructed that a body of water could be kept under the furnace to prevent the fire from burning the deck.

Having seen all he cared to see, Frank went forward again, and leaning over the windlass thought of the friends he was fast leaving behind him and of the trapper. He hoped from the bottom of his heart that Dick had jumped overboard. If such was the case he had saved himself many an hour of suffering, and had placed himself in no danger. It was but a short distance to the shore for such a swimmer as he knew the trapper to be, and besides there were vessels constantly passing in and out of the harbor, so that on a calm night like that he had only to call for help to get it. The trapper had learned enough from the three men in the forecastle, if he could only remember it, to put Uncle Dick Gaylord on the track of the Tycoon, and perhaps matters might not turn out so badly after all. If the Stranger followed the Tycoon to Japan, his release would certainly be effected; but how would he fare in the meantime? He wished that some discontented boy who had read yellow-covered novels until he had become thoroughly disgusted with home and all its surroundings, and sighed for the wild, free, romantic life of a sailor, could be in his place just then.

A short time before Frank's watch on deck was ended, he heard a rustling in one of the bunks below, and looking into the forecastle saw that the boatswain's mate, having come to his senses, was sitting up and staring about him in great bewilderment. The old-sea dog did not know where he was, but he quickly became aware that he was aboard some craft that was in motion, and catching up his cap he sprang out of his bunk and ran up the ladder. At the top he found Frank, whom he recognised at once.

"Where are we, cap'n?" he exclaimed; "and how long have we been under way?"

The sailors belonging to the Stranger's crew were pretty well acquainted with the history of their captain and his passengers. They conceived a great respect for Frank when they learned that he had been all through the late war, and that he had, by his own unaided efforts, worked his way from the forecastle to the quarter-deck, and falling into Uncle Dick's habit, they invariably addressed him by his old naval title, and were as careful to salute him whenever they passed him as they were to salute their commander.

Before Frank had time to reply, the boatswain's mate had glanced about the deck of the whaler, and some faint suspicions seemed to creep into his mind. "This ain't the Stranger, cap'n!" said he.