“I don’t know, lad. It ’s breezing up a bit, and it ’s like enough the old man ’s afraid he ’ll overrun whatever he ’s aiming for. He did n’t say anything to me about it. You might ask him what he means by it.”
I laughed. Captain Nelson was on deck, standing just forward of the after house, where he had a clear view of all that went on aloft. In view of what happened, I think he had a definite purpose in being there.
When the men were sent aloft to handle sail it was the established custom for the boatsteerers to take the yardarms. The other men would lay out along the yard in accordance with their speed and activity, the fattest and the laziest getting the bunt of the sail; but however good a man might be, it was his duty to give way to the boatsteerers. The yardarms were the places of honor, as the duties there called for the greatest skill and quickness. Joe Miller was good, but he was neither as skilful nor as quick as Smith. Smith knew it, as we all did. He may have craved the chance to show off before the men, or it may have been only a part of his scheme to exalt Smith and to bring into disrepute all in authority; but he reached the crosstrees two jumps ahead of Miller, and was on the footropes before him.
Miller stopped for a moment and ordered Smith to come in and let him pass. Smith paid no attention to the order. Miller repeated it, but Smith was already at the lee yardarm, and he looked back at Miller and snarled silently—like a cat—fixing him with those opaque china-blue eyes of his. A fight on a yard with Smith was not to Miller’s liking, and he looked down on deck, where Mr. Snow stood. Mr. Snow bravely bellowed out the order once more, but Smith paid no attention, affecting not to hear. Mr. Snow had turned away immediately, and after a moment’s hesitation, Miller went to work next to Smith. The other men on the yard had hard work to suppress their snickers.
Captain Nelson had observed it, as he observed almost everything. He told Mr. Snow to send Smith aft.
The Clearchus was an old ship, and had single topsails—not divided into upper and lower topsails, as they were on all of the later vessels. It made an enormous sail, clumsy and hard to handle. When they had the foretopsail reefed and the men had come down, Smith came aft. Captain Nelson was waiting for him.
“My man,” he said very sternly and quietly, “you have disobeyed orders again. I warn you for the third time—and the last time. The next time I shall act, and suddenly. You ’ll do well not to let the next time happen. Not a word from you!” he added, for Smith was about to speak. “Go forward!”
Smith turned—smiling, I guessed, when his back was turned to the captain—and went forward. My heart was in my throat for a few minutes. Anything might have happened. I had dim forebodings as I turned in that night, picturing to myself a repetition of what happened on the Junior, and I lay awake for some time. I do not know that I was frightened; rather, I think, it was the elation with which I anticipated a fight, and it was excitement which kept me awake. I had my mind made up to stay awake all night, but it takes a good deal to keep a healthy boy awake all night when he is in the open air all day, with the wind from thousands of miles of ocean blowing upon him, and when I awoke with a start it was daylight.
Everything was serene when I got on deck. The wind was high from the southwest, with an occasional screeching gust; but the sky was clear, the sun showed bright, and the Clearchus slogged along, pitching and rolling. I had my model with me, for I was as anxious to show it and have it admired as a child with a new toy. Indeed, that was exactly what I was.
In these various exhibitions two hours passed. At the end of that time I found myself with Starbuck and the Prince standing by the starboard rail, just forward of the gangway. They saw Peter, called to him, and he joined us. Starbuck had the model in his hand, turning it from side to side, and gazing at it soberly.