“This is good grub,” he said between mouthfuls. The last bite went into his mouth but a corner of it fell to the deck. Oh, if he wouldn’t see it I’d wait until he left the wheel and pick it up and eat it myself! I stood guard from my perch on the skylight over that piece on the deck. When Oleson came to relieve him, Nelson’s big bare foot stepped on the piece of cake by accident and ground it into some tobacco juice on the deck!
Fred Nelson was a Dane. He had yellow hair and light blue eyes. He was about thirty years old, and as strong as three average men. He was the only man I had ever seen that had gold hairs on his chest—and those curly ones. He was different from the rest of the crew. He wouldn’t let me play strip poker. When he looked at me he made me wish I didn’t wear overalls. I imagined there was an expression in his eyes of hunger when he looked at me, yet he avoided speaking to me whenever he could. He had been on the ship for six years and never in all that time did he show fear in a storm or shirk the hardest job.
I did everything that I could to worship at his feet, without letting him know of it. One hot night, about a week after the duff cake disappointment, I was sleeping in the lifeboat which was hung over the stern. I awoke and through half-closed eyes I saw Nelson hacking a curl of hair off my head with his pocket knife. He was breathing fast as if he had been running hard. I began to tremble from head to foot and a pounding in my head and throbbing in my chest nearly made me burst, but something inside told me to pretend I was still asleep. After he took my curl he walked softly away and disappeared forward. I never let Nelson learn that I knew what he had done. Somehow I felt it was a secret he wanted to keep. I began to keep away from Stitches and Father. I just wanted to hide where no one could see how I felt.
Nelson never acted as though he had cut off my hair that quiet night. A few days later I heard him telling Swede and Bulgar his ambition as the three of them sat whittling sticks in the scupper near the mizzen mast.
“I stuck by this barge ’cause I’m workin’ for a job of second mate. Ever since I left the old country I been plannin’ to get officer’s papers,” he said.
“There ain’t nothin’ in being a second mate. Responsibility at sea and standin’ watch in port. Not for me!” volunteered Swede with all the contempt in his voice he could master.
“Some day I’ll have a ship of my own,” went on Nelson, “and she’ll be the fastest full-rigger afloat.”
“You mean you’re going to be a Captain Nelson?” I asked. He looked straight at me. Again I felt my face flush hotly. “Yes, and there ain’t going to be no women-kind on my ship when I’m Skipper. Women belongs on land,” he answered.
I couldn’t stand it, I fled aft and hid again—away from myself.
“What are you moping around about, Joan?” Father asked me that night. “Lately you been pale as a white squall, and so quiet you must be sick. What’s the matter with you?”