“It would take me more than a week to do that,” replied Jerry, “if I talked as fast as I could. I can’t tell the whole story now; but I’ll tell you about some of the most important events of the voyage, and save the rest for another time.
“Well, I went straight to Boston, after I left home, and the first thing I did was to try to get a chance to go to sea. As luck would have it, I fell in with the brig Susan, bound for Valparaiso, just as she was hauling off from the wharf. They had shipped a boy the day before, but he went ashore, and hadn’t come back, and the captain told me I might take his place. So I bundled right in, without stopping to think. I didn’t know the name of the vessel, nor where she was bound, nor what wages I was to have, nor anything else. I only knew I was going to sea, and that was all I cared about.
“Before I got out of sight of land, I began to be dreadful seasick; but it isn’t worth while to tell you about that now. And, if you’ll believe me, the very first job I had to do, on board the Susan, was to clear out the pigsty! and I had to do it every day through the voyage!”
“Why, do they have pigsties on board vessels?” inquired Harriet.
“Yes, sometimes,” continued Jerry. “But our pigs were not to be killed for fresh meat,—they were a choice kind, that somebody was sending out to Valparaiso for breeding. But I thought it was rather queer, after I had run away from home to get rid of such work, that I should have to feed pigs and clean out their pen at sea. And it wasn’t many days, I tell you, before I wished myself home again. Everybody, from the captain down, cursed and cuffed and kicked me, because I was so green,—just as if I ought to have known every rope of the brig, when I never saw a brig before. If I didn’t happen to do a thing just right, down would come a rope’s-end across my shoulders, as like as not; and if I dared to say a word, I would find myself sprawling on the deck the next minute. The men, too, played off all sorts of tricks upon me.[2] And then the living was enough to sicken anybody. It was salt beef and hard bread morning, noon, and night, and week after week, only, once in a while, we were treated with stewed beans or peas, or boiled rice, or duff,—a kind of pudding made of flour. And I wish you could have seen the place where we slept. The forecastle is the name of it. It was a little, narrow, dark, and dirty hole, with berths on the sides, like shelves, where the men slept. Why, our cock-loft is a perfect parlor compared with it.”
“No wonder you wished yourself home, poor fellow!” said Mrs. Preston.
“Well, after all, mother,” continued Jerry, “it wasn’t so dreadful bad, when a fellow got used to it. In a few weeks I kind of got the hang of things, and made the best of them, and after that I got along a good deal easier. My sea-sickness went off, and I could eat my allowance with the smartest of them, salt-junk or anything they’d a mind to bring on. The weather was fine for several weeks; we’d got into a warm latitude, and the old brig made a handsome run. There was one time that we didn’t shorten sail once for a week,—she kept right along on her course, with a fair wind, without starting tack or sheet. We had some rare sport, too, about that time. We killed a shark that was hanging around the brig, for one thing. One of the men heated a brick as hot as he could, and then wrapped it up in some greasy cloths, and chucked it to him. Sharks, you know, will jump at anything you throw at them, and this fellow smelt the grease, and down went the brick, before you could say Jack Robinson. And then you ought to have seen him thrash round. Why, it looked as if the water was boiling, where he was, he lashed it so, and the spray came down upon us like a shower. But in a few minutes it was all over, and his ugly carcass rose to the top and floated off.”
“Oh, that was cruel!” said Mrs. Preston.