“O, yes, sir!” replied Bob, with a smile, as much as to say, “I thought any body could do that.”
“Then see if the amounts of these bills are correct,” continued the captain. “That will do, Tom. I am done with you.”
The latter, however, made no move to leave the cabin, until the second mate, who, standing at the head of the companion way, had heard all that passed, exclaimed:
“Up you come, sonny! Pitch into that wood-pile; and mark what I say,” he continued, as Tom slowly and reluctantly ascended to the deck, his face all wrinkled up as if he was on the point of crying—“mark what I say! You’ll never be any thing but a foremast hand the longest day you live.”
Tom, too angry to reply, walked toward his wood-pile, and resumed his work. This was, by far, the severest blow he had yet experienced, and one would suppose that it ought to have convinced him that he was sadly wanting in many things a boy of his age ought to know, and that it would be well for him to lose no time in making up his deficiencies. But, as usual, such was not the case. He had given up all hopes of ever becoming a sailor, and, during the homeward voyage, all attempts on the part of the officers to teach him any thing were simply useless. Bob White pursued a different course. He attended faithfully to his duties about decks, never failed to improve every opportunity to pick up even the smallest items of information, and nearly every day Tom enjoyed the satisfaction of hearing him praised by both officers and men, while of himself they scarcely took any notice whatever. Thus, week after week passed, and, as the Savannah neared home, Tom, who had only been kept within bounds through fear of punishment, began to place less restraint upon his actions. He became, if possible, still more inattentive to his duties, and, what little he did accomplish, was so badly done that some one was obliged to do the work over after him. At last, the schooner arrived within a day’s sail of Newport. If nothing unusual happened, she would be safely moored at Mr. Newcombe’s wharf by the afternoon of the next day. Tom was on watch until midnight; and when he turned into his bunk, it was with the determination of doing no more work as long as he remained on board the vessel. The next morning he was awakened as usual, at five o’clock, but, instead of obeying the summons, he remained in bed. The mate waited fully a quarter of an hour for him; but finding that Tom was not likely to make his appearance, he went down into the forecastle, resolved to give him a lesson, the remembrance of which would go with him through that day, at least. Tom heard him coming, and turning his face to the bulkhead, he closed his eyes as if asleep. But this did not turn the officer from his purpose, for, lifting Tom in his arms, he carried him to the deck, and, in spite of his struggles and promises of better behavior in future, threw him headlong into a cask that had that morning been filled with salt water to wash down the decks. The cask was deep, and, when Tom’s hands rested on the bottom, nothing but the soles of his boots could be seen above the water. This bath seemed to have washed all his bad habits out of him, especially his laziness, for he kept steadily at work at his wood-pile during the entire day, without once stopping, except for his dinner. His mind was fully as busy as his arms, for he was constantly repeating to himself the charges he intended to bring against the crew of the schooner, and he could not repress a smile of triumph, when he thought how they would feel when they found themselves discharged from his father’s service. Four o’clock in the afternoon came at length, and, once, as Tom looked toward the village which was then in plain view, he saw a small steamer coming out of the harbor to meet them. He was not, however, allowed to cease his work, for the mate kept him busy at his wood-pile, until the Savannah was made fast to the wharf, and Tom saw his father come on board. Taking no notice of his son’s pitiful looks, which told him as plainly as words that he had not enjoyed the voyage, Mr. Newcombe inquired, as soon as the greeting was over:
“Well, Tom, how do you like a sailor’s life? I suppose you intend to go out in the Savannah again!”
“O, no, I don’t, either!” drawled Tom. “I knew I couldn’t learn to be a sailor. I’ve been treated worse than a dog on board this vessel. Now, father, I want you to discharge—”
Tom was about to begin his complaints at once, but at this moment the captain of the schooner approached, and Mr. Newcombe turned to speak to him. He was provoked because his father did not pay more attention to him, as he regarded his business of more importance then the captain’s; besides, he saw several of the sailors, who knew what he was about to say, laughing at him.
However, knowing that he would have plenty of time in which to state his grievances to his father, before the schooner sailed again, Tom shook his head at them in a threatening manner, and went down into the forecastle to pack his bed-clothes. As soon as this was accomplished, he sprung ashore, and started for home at the top of his speed.