“Now, see here, shipmates!” exclaimed another, an old sailor with whom Tom had always been a great favorite, “it has gone far enough, now. Don’t bother the life out of the lad. Never mind ’em, sonny,” he added, patting Tom on the head, “you’ve got the right stuff in you, and you’ll make a sailor-man yet. Jack, just throw his donnage over this way. Now, Tommy, here’s a bunk that don’t seem to be in use; let me tumble up your bed for you.”
The man meant to do Tom a kindness; and the sailors, seeing him thus defended, at once ceased tormenting him; and, it is probable that if he had kept silent, he might have been allowed to sleep in peace. But Tom’s ill-nature could not be suppressed. He considered that he had been grossly insulted by both the captain and the second mate. He was very indignant at the sailors for addressing him in such disrespectful language, and he was resolved to show them, one and all, that he regarded them as beneath his notice. Roughly jerking his bed-clothes from the sailor’s hand, he pushed him away from the bunk, exclaiming:
“Let me alone. I don’t want any of your help. I’ll have you all discharged the moment we reach home again. You forget that my father owns this schooner.”
“No, I don’t, Tommy,” said the sailor. “But don’t be foolish, now. You’ll always have a friend in Jack Waters.”
“Get away from me,” shouted Tom. “I don’t want your friendship. All I ask of you is, to let me alone.”
The man, seeing that Tom was in a very bad humor, sprang into his bunk, leaving the young sailor to himself. The latter soon had cause to regret that he had been so imprudent, for the new members of the crew, who were all strangers to Tom, began to laugh at and ridicule him worse than ever. Every exhibition of anger on his part only brought loud shouts of derision from the sailors; and Tom, seeing there was no chance for escape, finally spread his bed in one of the bunks, and, crawling into it, covered his head with the blankets. There he lay, thinking over his situation, and studying up plans to revenge himself upon the sailors. He was surprised, angry, and discouraged; surprised, because there had been a great change in the captain and the older members of the crew, for which he could not account. On shore, they had always treated him with the greatest respect; but now, they seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him. He was angry, because he—Tom Newcombe, the son of the richest man in Newport—had been addressed as “sonny.” Besides, the second mate had dared to lay violent hands upon him, and the sailors seemed ready to carry out the system of persecution that had been commenced in the cabin. And he was discouraged, because he saw all his bright hopes of one day becoming the master of a fine vessel disappearing like the mists of the morning. What encouragement had he to persevere in his determination to become an accomplished navigator and seaman, if he was to be subjected to such treatment as he had just received? None whatever. If the two hours he had passed on board the schooner were a fair sample of the life he would be compelled to lead for the next six months, he had already had enough of following the sea.
“O, I can’t stand it!” said Tom to himself. “I didn’t think I would have to sleep in the forecastle. That captain isn’t the gentleman I thought he was. I wonder what made father send me to sea? I knew I couldn’t be a sailor, and there’s no use in trying. I wish I was at home again!”
It was long after midnight before he fell asleep, and, even then, he was not allowed to rest in peace. It seemed to him that he was awakened every five minutes by orders shouted down into the forecastle. Some one was constantly moving about; and every man that passed by his bunk, brushed against him and pulled the blankets off on the deck. The air of the forecastle was hot and almost stifling; and this, together with the rocking of the vessel, presently made Tom sea-sick as well as home-sick. He grew worse and worse, and finally began to be afraid that he was going to die. The sailors, who were not long in finding out what was the matter with him, again began to torment him, and finally, in his desperation, Tom heartily wished that the schooner and all on board, himself included, might go to the bottom. Rolling and tossing about on his hard bed, he passed a most uncomfortable night, and morning brought him no relief from his troubles. At the first peep of day, the second mate came into the forecastle; but, seeing at a glance, poor Tom’s condition, he again went on deck, leaving him to his meditations. Shortly after this, a sailor entered, bearing in his hand a covered dish, with which he approached Tom’s bunk, saying: