Mr. Trunnell, Mate of the Ship "Pirate"

by T. Jenkins Hains

"Avast heavin' on that tackle," he bawled. Then he turned to me. "You're right, Rolling, we've lost a fortune an' the rascal too, but it ain't no use making bigger fools of ourselves. Stow the boat. After that send Johnson aft to me with a pair o' scissors. You an' Tom can set the watches, fer ye see I'm capting of her now. Ye might say, on the side like, that the first burgoo eater what comes along the weather side o' the poop while I'm on deck will go over the rail. There's a-goin' to be some discipline aboard the hooker, or I'll—well, there ain't no tellin' just what I won't do. I'm capting o' this here ship, an' ye might jest as well muster the men aft to hear the news."

Then he disappeared down the companion aft, and I sent Johnson to him with the shears as he had ordered.

When Trunnell came on deck again in the evening, his beard was a sight to be remembered. It looked as though a rat had nibbled it in spots. His hair was equally well done by the artist, but Jackwell's last order had been obeyed. The men were mustered aft, and Trunnell announced that he was the man they wanted to stand from under. They remained silent until Johnson suggested that three cheers be given for the new skipper. Then all hands bawled themselves hoarse. That was all. I was now the first mate and took my meals at the cabin table, where Jennie and her mother had been wondering at Trunnell's dexterity with his knife. The little mate appeared to realize that a certain amount of dignity and dress were necessary for the maintenance of correct discipline aboard, and he accordingly changed his shirt once a week and wore a new coat of blue pilot cloth. He sat at the head of the table, and went through his knife-juggling each meal, to the never ending amusement of Jennie, and admiration of Gunning, who swore that, "dey ain't no man afloat cud do dat no better." He, however, came through the rest of the cruise without even cutting his lip.

My duties and rating being those of a first mate, I had no longer the pleasure of being intimate with Chips and the rest forward. The carpenter, steward, and "doctor" had the quartermaster, Tom, from Trunnell's watch for a second mate and companion at the second table. Tom was a Yankee and a good companion, so the change was satisfactory all around. I sometimes looked in at the carpenter's room in the forward house, where he and a few chosen spirits would be holding forth upon some nautical subject, but I had to cut my visits short, for they worried Trunnell. Being suddenly raised did not quite inspire the necessary respect in his eyes, unless the person promoted showed unmistakable dignity and authority by dressing down all who came in contact with him. For some time it was pretty hard to speak to our little skipper. He disliked anything he imagined might tend to lessen the discipline aboard and had a horror of a mate or captain being familiar with the men.

My room was still in the forward cabin, but I now spent much time in the saloon, and helped Trunnell to shift his belongings aft to Jackwell's cabin. The truculent knave had left little behind him save a lot of old clothes, bonds which were not negotiable, and some wrappers used by the bank of Melbourne for doing up packets of bills. Upon one of these was a mark of fifty pounds sterling, showing that Jackwell's assets, unless enormous, could be made to fit in a very small space. He probably carried all he owned upon his person.

We went through everything in the cabin carefully, but the only thing of interest discovered was the photograph of a plump young woman torn fairly in two, the lower half bearing the inscription in Jackwell's handwriting, "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

I had found this in the chart case and had examined it some minutes without comment, when Miss Sackett took it from me. She gazed at it a moment, and cried out, "Why! it's the third mate."

I instantly seized it again and looked carefully at the features, and then it was plain enough. There he was, in a neat fitting bodice, the curly blond hair stylishly dressed, and the plump cheeks showing just the faintest trace of the dimples of our former third officer. I looked at the back of the photograph. It had the name of a Melbourne artist upon it, and beneath, in a female hand, the written words, "Yours lovingly, Belle."

Trunnell heard Jennie's exclamation and came up. He took the picture from me and gazed long at the face. Then he gave a sigh which sounded like a blackfish drawing in air, handed it back to me, and went up the companionway, scratching his head in the manner he did when much disturbed. He said not a word, nor did he mention Mr. Bell's name, and that night at supper he never raised his eyes from his plate. Afterward in the mid-watch he came on the poop and walked fore and aft for three long hours without so much as speaking to me or asking the man at the wheel the vessel's course. He finally went below, carrying the odor of grog along with him. He came on deck many nights after this and walked fore and aft in silence, as though brooding over some unpleasant subject, and we were clear of the trade and knocking about in the uncertain latitudes before he appeared to be anything like himself again.

I avoided any subject relating to the earlier part of the voyage and tried to cheer him. I thought he had suffered keenly, and was glad when he stopped drinking and looked me in the eyes without letting his gaze fall in confusion. Sometimes I caught myself wondering at the reticence of the men who had rowed him to the burnt wreck that night, but I found that no one had boarded her except Trunnell and he had sent the boat astern.