The whole ship's company was down on Bertie. They were down on his eyeglass, on his nice khaki clothes, on his revolver, on his voice, which subtly implied that they were nothing, and much less than zero. And every one on board, with the exception of the skipper, and the chief officer and the chief engineer, who came from Paisley, and was probably a brother of the man who owned to coming from there, but urged in extenuation, 'sure as deeth I canna help it,' knew that something was brewing among the aristocrats who looked after the horses which boded Bertie no good. Forder, of course, knew it, and said nothing. The third officer knew it, and said a good deal to the steward, who hated Bertie worse than poison for telling him how to run his business. Bob Wadd and Green, and the rest of the deck-hands, smelt it. They smelt it like Bob Wadd's gasworks, and rubbed their hands joyously. The firebrands down below used most horrible language on the subject, and wished that they could have Bertie in a bunker for a watch to show him what running Cardiff coal in an iron barrow was like.
'Blimy, and stri-me-pink, but I fair 'ytes to ketch saight of 'im,' said the boss of the whole gang of stokers. 'Thet vice of 'is syin' "aw, aw," maikes me feel saime's I did first taime I was blasted fool enough to come to sea. I wunner wod them blokes of 'orse-keepers 'as put up for 'im! I 'opes it's somethin' that'll larn 'im.'
He smote the burning fire with his rake as if he was preparing a place for Bertie, and slammed in a few shovels of coal vengefully. But then stokers are stokers, and hard nuts to deal with, and few men know them, and those who do often wish they didn't. It's no soft job in a stokehold when the thermometer marks 120°, and what little wind there is, is a following breeze.
And Bertie walked round quite unconscious of his doom. But he was conscious, somehow, that every one smiled at him. Old Wadd grinned and so did Green. As he went along the alleyway and by the ash-shoot, the stokers taking air in that agreeable locality showed their white teeth and made remarks, audible but unintelligible, as he passed. One-eyed Venezuela grimaced like a damaged idol, and said something blasphemous but humorous in South American Spanish. Some of the deckhands said, 'What cheer! Let her scoot,' as they passed him. Arizona said to Ben something about being knocked as high as Gilroy's kite, and Ben said, 'Aw, hell, aw, what?' The insolent and debauched Major, who was only saved from dying of drink by going at intervals where he couldn't get it, put a penny in his left eye when he saw Bertie. And a boy from New Orleans, an elegant young ruffian of the hoodlum type, yelled out 'Bertie!' from an obscure corner of shadow. In his heart Bertie began to wonder whether he had the crowd down to such a fine point as he had imagined. But he hardened his heart and said, 'Aw,' and flourished his gun, his nice new gun, and talked horse till Ben Wilkins said insolently, 'Ain't Mr. Fortescue a smart Aleck?' and Bertie thought it was a compliment.
'Ter-morrer's the day of judgment,' said Arizona, as he lay on a bale of hay and squealed with laughter. He went round the 'tween-decks and told the horses so, rubbing their muzzles and pleasing the poor things very much. For he understood them as he did men, and loved them, perhaps, a trifle better.
'Ain't it a pity, horses, that you warn't endowed by a gen'rous Providence with a just sense of the ridik'lous? If, by a special dispensation, you was so endowed, you'd smile to know that Bertie, who talks horse like a burro, will be showed his real rank in nature and decorated with the newest thing in orders.'
He shook his head and again addressed his equine friends.
'Boys, you're goin' to the war and will see many jackasses in high places, but not a burro among 'em equal in jackassery to Mr. Bertie Fortescue. Did you say you'd hev a bit of hay, my son? Here you are, then, and good night to you.'
Everything went on wheels next day, and, save for one little uproar, caused by Bertie's not understanding what a Spaniard said, there was no trouble. Bertie talked severely to the unintelligent ass who didn't understand English, and a row was only saved by Arizona, who could yap Mexican wau-wau like a native of the country. The Spaniard said something not to be written, beginning with 'mucho,' and Bertie said he accepted the apology, and put away his gun.
'We're getting along first-rate, aw,' said Bertie, and so the whole ship's company said when night fell, and the stars came out and looked down on the pilgrimage of the Pilgrim on a calm sea, with just enough breeze from the east of north to make the windsails worth their positions in the general scheme of things. And at 5.30 P.M. the men took their grub, having watered and fed the eager and impatient cargo, and Ben Wilkins said the 'order' was ready.