CHAPTER SIX“WHO FIRES FIRST?”John GowI“As we eat, so shall we work.”Almost immediately after leaving Amsterdam old Paterson had set up his insistent croak; from his hammock under the poop when the roaring officers called the shifting watches, on the sleety deck and aloft in the wind-taut rigging, and the last thing at night in the great cabin, even at the solemn moment of common prayer, when his captain and master slowly read the form of evening supplication, this ancient and discontented shellback continually muttered his plaint to wind and waves and willing and unwilling ears, “As we work, so shall we eat.”If looks could kill, the poor cook of theGeorgewould long since have perished amid his pots and pans, for it was when, at the appointed times, or as the emergencies of the ship demanded, old Paterson rolled with his pannikin and mess-kid to the galley that his obsessing whine became ashriek and his filmy eye burned upon the humble dispenser of the victuals with a consuming hate. Not that the cook, in himself, offended old Paterson, but because he became a symbol of oppressive shipmasters and exacting shipowners who sought to pare another penny of profit from the stringy stomachs of their ’foremasting slaves.Justice would indeed be blindfolded, nay, have no eyes at all, if she could not see that old Paterson had some cause for complaint. Little meat and less bread; rum thimbled out as reluctantly as a small boy dividing his lollipops under compulsion; a menu, in fact, made up of tepid water tinctured to the point of tantalizing with suggestions of what might, under proper conditions, have been food, made meager fare for men lashed into crying hunger by the snapping sea gales.And when still a long way from Santa Cruz, in the Azores, whither theGeorgewas bound, the twenty-four men of the crew were put on “short allowance”, old Paterson, with his croak, became a soloist now supported by a chorus. “Short allowance”—certainly, an artful misuse of the comparative degree—had always been short, and in truth could only be called shortest.At Santa Cruz they sluggishly laded the ship with beeswax, and although the chandlers pressed importunately about the skipper, he gave no orders for any considerable increase in the provisions for the homeward voyage. Were they tomake the journey back on that misnamed “short allowance?” It rather looked as though they would. Cargo was stuffed into the hold in plenty, but no fresh sides of beef came to cheer the toiling seamen; no flour, no bread, nothing but a few bottles of wine which, however, went into the great cabin and the custody of the thrifty key. Perhaps provisions would come aboard when the loading was done; at least the younger and less sophisticated men hoped, but old Paterson shook his earrings and clubbed pigtail. He had followed the sea long enough to know the character of his ship.Among the officers of the ship, the men had but one whom they could look upon as a friend,—John Gow, the second mate, a youngish man from the Orkney Islands. A capable sailor was John Gow, yet never too busy to sympathize a moment with the miseries of his men, nor too much the officer to spend a kindly word on an outcast crew. But what could a second mate do? Was he not simply a block for his superiors to kick with the expectancy that he would pass the compliment on to his subordinates? Exactly.“As we eat, so shall we work.” John Gow heard the slogan spreading like a kind of vocal slow match to the powder magazine of disaster and only smiled.When the beeswax and other cargo was in, the unmistakable notice of departure appeared in the formal reception by the captain of his charterers.The gentlemen came aboard in their best clothes and were escorted to the quarter-deck, where an awning had been spread against the sun, and a cluster of wine bottles glowed with their purple prophecy of comfort. From the waist and forward, eyes of envy and dislike turned furtively on the pleasant company aft, merry now in the exchange of compliments.“We’re starting,” cried a youth, plaintively, “and there’s no victuals aboard.”Old Paterson was not going home on an empty belly. If he knew anything in this world, he knew that much. Around him clumped a group of seamen, and somehow, probably with little premeditation, they suddenly started aft and shocked their captain by intruding on the sanctity of the quarter-deck. The merchants leaned back from their bottles and looked as though they thought the end of the world had come. Simply unheard of!Old Paterson bowed and scraped politely. “Cap’n,” he began, with the habitually humble voice before authority, “we’re on short allowance. We hope your honor ain’t agoin’ home without proper victuals aboard.”His supporters growled their amen. The captain, hardly holding himself in from hurling a chair, a bottle, a tackle block or anything handy at the presumptuous faces before him, rose up and frigidly replied that there was a steward aboard who had the care of the provisions and allcomplaints would be properly redressed. The tarry gang tumbled back to their proper sphere, leaving the captain in a muddle of embarrassment and suspicion,—embarrassment for his fractured dignity, suspicion because the intrusion indicated a perhaps germinating rebellion.Old Paterson leered at his guard of honor. “As we eat, so shall we work.”The merchants in polite course quitted the ship, and the captain, without commenting on the incident of the afternoon, ordered the anchor up and the sails shaken out. They were starting, and there was not a square meal for one, let alone twenty-four men aboard. Short—shorter—shortest allowance all the way home.The crew lagged at their work; particularly old Paterson, who crawled into the shrouds so sluggardly that the captain marked him, and in round sea terms demanded why he did not get to unfurling the sails more seamanlike. Old Paterson turned like an aged rattlesnake.“As we eat, so shall we work.”The captain caught the mutter, and so did John Gow, the second mate. The captain prudently did nothing about it; the second mate grinned and gazed innocently out at the greenish sea.
“WHO FIRES FIRST?”
John Gow
“As we eat, so shall we work.”
Almost immediately after leaving Amsterdam old Paterson had set up his insistent croak; from his hammock under the poop when the roaring officers called the shifting watches, on the sleety deck and aloft in the wind-taut rigging, and the last thing at night in the great cabin, even at the solemn moment of common prayer, when his captain and master slowly read the form of evening supplication, this ancient and discontented shellback continually muttered his plaint to wind and waves and willing and unwilling ears, “As we work, so shall we eat.”
If looks could kill, the poor cook of theGeorgewould long since have perished amid his pots and pans, for it was when, at the appointed times, or as the emergencies of the ship demanded, old Paterson rolled with his pannikin and mess-kid to the galley that his obsessing whine became ashriek and his filmy eye burned upon the humble dispenser of the victuals with a consuming hate. Not that the cook, in himself, offended old Paterson, but because he became a symbol of oppressive shipmasters and exacting shipowners who sought to pare another penny of profit from the stringy stomachs of their ’foremasting slaves.
Justice would indeed be blindfolded, nay, have no eyes at all, if she could not see that old Paterson had some cause for complaint. Little meat and less bread; rum thimbled out as reluctantly as a small boy dividing his lollipops under compulsion; a menu, in fact, made up of tepid water tinctured to the point of tantalizing with suggestions of what might, under proper conditions, have been food, made meager fare for men lashed into crying hunger by the snapping sea gales.
And when still a long way from Santa Cruz, in the Azores, whither theGeorgewas bound, the twenty-four men of the crew were put on “short allowance”, old Paterson, with his croak, became a soloist now supported by a chorus. “Short allowance”—certainly, an artful misuse of the comparative degree—had always been short, and in truth could only be called shortest.
At Santa Cruz they sluggishly laded the ship with beeswax, and although the chandlers pressed importunately about the skipper, he gave no orders for any considerable increase in the provisions for the homeward voyage. Were they tomake the journey back on that misnamed “short allowance?” It rather looked as though they would. Cargo was stuffed into the hold in plenty, but no fresh sides of beef came to cheer the toiling seamen; no flour, no bread, nothing but a few bottles of wine which, however, went into the great cabin and the custody of the thrifty key. Perhaps provisions would come aboard when the loading was done; at least the younger and less sophisticated men hoped, but old Paterson shook his earrings and clubbed pigtail. He had followed the sea long enough to know the character of his ship.
Among the officers of the ship, the men had but one whom they could look upon as a friend,—John Gow, the second mate, a youngish man from the Orkney Islands. A capable sailor was John Gow, yet never too busy to sympathize a moment with the miseries of his men, nor too much the officer to spend a kindly word on an outcast crew. But what could a second mate do? Was he not simply a block for his superiors to kick with the expectancy that he would pass the compliment on to his subordinates? Exactly.
“As we eat, so shall we work.” John Gow heard the slogan spreading like a kind of vocal slow match to the powder magazine of disaster and only smiled.
When the beeswax and other cargo was in, the unmistakable notice of departure appeared in the formal reception by the captain of his charterers.The gentlemen came aboard in their best clothes and were escorted to the quarter-deck, where an awning had been spread against the sun, and a cluster of wine bottles glowed with their purple prophecy of comfort. From the waist and forward, eyes of envy and dislike turned furtively on the pleasant company aft, merry now in the exchange of compliments.
“We’re starting,” cried a youth, plaintively, “and there’s no victuals aboard.”
Old Paterson was not going home on an empty belly. If he knew anything in this world, he knew that much. Around him clumped a group of seamen, and somehow, probably with little premeditation, they suddenly started aft and shocked their captain by intruding on the sanctity of the quarter-deck. The merchants leaned back from their bottles and looked as though they thought the end of the world had come. Simply unheard of!
Old Paterson bowed and scraped politely. “Cap’n,” he began, with the habitually humble voice before authority, “we’re on short allowance. We hope your honor ain’t agoin’ home without proper victuals aboard.”
His supporters growled their amen. The captain, hardly holding himself in from hurling a chair, a bottle, a tackle block or anything handy at the presumptuous faces before him, rose up and frigidly replied that there was a steward aboard who had the care of the provisions and allcomplaints would be properly redressed. The tarry gang tumbled back to their proper sphere, leaving the captain in a muddle of embarrassment and suspicion,—embarrassment for his fractured dignity, suspicion because the intrusion indicated a perhaps germinating rebellion.
Old Paterson leered at his guard of honor. “As we eat, so shall we work.”
The merchants in polite course quitted the ship, and the captain, without commenting on the incident of the afternoon, ordered the anchor up and the sails shaken out. They were starting, and there was not a square meal for one, let alone twenty-four men aboard. Short—shorter—shortest allowance all the way home.
The crew lagged at their work; particularly old Paterson, who crawled into the shrouds so sluggardly that the captain marked him, and in round sea terms demanded why he did not get to unfurling the sails more seamanlike. Old Paterson turned like an aged rattlesnake.
“As we eat, so shall we work.”
The captain caught the mutter, and so did John Gow, the second mate. The captain prudently did nothing about it; the second mate grinned and gazed innocently out at the greenish sea.