“Good!” said Captain Jeb. “It’s a square, honest name. You’re shipped, Dan Dolan. I guess thar ain’t no need for signing papers. This little chap will bear witness. You’re shipped as second mate in the ‘Lady Jane’ now and here.”
XII.—The Second Mate.—A Confab.
Then Neb’s bell clanged out for dinner, that was served on the long table in the cabin, shipshape, but without any of the frills used on land. There was a deep earthen dish brimming with chowder, a wonderful concoction that only old salts like Neb can make. It had a bit of everything within Killykinick reach—clams and fish and pork and potatoes, onions and peppers and hard-tack,—all simmering together, piping hot, in a most appetizing way, even though it had to be “doused” out with a tin ladle into yellow bowls. There was plenty of good bread, thick and “filling”; a platter of bacon and greens, and a dish of rice curried after a fashion Neb had learned cruising in the China Sea. Last of all, and borne in triumphantly by the cook himself, was a big smoking “plum duff” with cream sauce. There is a base imitation of “duff” known to landsmen as batter pudding; but the real plum duff of shining golden yellow, stuffed full of plums like Jack Horner’s pie, is all the sailor’s own.
Dan plunged at once into his new duties of second mate. Both Jeb and Neb were well past seventy, and, while still hale and hearty, were not so nimble as they had been forty years ago; so a second mate, with light feet and deft hands, proved most helpful, now that the “Lady Jane” had taken in a double crew.
Dan cleared the table and washed the dishes with a celerity bewildering to the slow brain dulled by the marline spike. He swabbed up the galley under Neb’s gruff direction; he fed the chickens and milked the cow. For a brief space in two summers of his early life, Dan had been borne off by an Angel Guardian Society to its Fresh Air Home, a plain, old-fashioned farmhouse some miles from his native city; and, being a keen-eyed youngster even then, he had left swings and seesaws to less interested observers, and trudged around the fields, the henhouse, the dairies, the barns, watching the digging and the planting, the feeding and the milking; so that the ways of cows and chickens were not altogether beyond his ken.
“Sure and yer board and keep was to be paid for with the rest, lad,” said Brother Bart, kindly.
“I don’t want it paid, Brother,” replied Dan. “St. Andrew’s does enough for me. I’d a heap rather work for myself out here.”
“Whether that is decent spirit or sinful pride I’m not scholar enough to tell,” said the good Brother in perplexity. “It takes a wise man sometimes to know the differ; but I’m thinking” (and there was a friendly gleam in the old man’s eyes) “if I was a strapping lad like you, I would feel the same. So work your own way if you will, Danny lad, and God bless you at it!”
Even heartier was the well-wishing of Captain Jeb after his first day’s experience with his second officer.
“You’re all right, matie!” he said, slapping Dan-on the shoulder. “There will be no loafing on your watch, I kin see. You’re the clipper build I like. Them others ain’t made to stand rough weather; but as I take it, you’re a sort of Mother Carey chicken that’s been nested in the storm. And I don’t think you’ll care to be boxed up below with them fair-weather chaps. Suppose, being second mate, you swing a hammock up on the deck with Jeb and me?”