Tramping on Life Part 24

... I have left something out.

At the beginning of the voyage Captain Schantze housed a flock of two dozen chickens in a coop under the forecastle ... in order to insure himself of fresh eggs during the voyage....

And for fresh meat, he had a huge sow hauled aboard--to be killed later on....

One morning, when I went forward to fetch the captain's and mates'

breakfast, I found the cook all white and ghastly....

"What's the matter, Cook?"

"To-day's the day I've got to butcher the sow," he complained, "and I'd give anything to have someone else do it ... I've made such a pet of her during the voyage ... and she's so intelligent and affectionate ...

she's decenter than lots of human beings I've met."

I kept to the cabin while the butchering was going on.

The cook, the next day, with tears streaming down his face, told me how trusting the sow had been to the last moment....

"I'll never forget the look in her eyes when she realised what I had done to her when I cut her throat."

"And I'll never be able to eat any of her. I'd throw it up as fast as it went down ... much as I do like good, fresh pork."

The s.h.i.+p-boys, Karl and Albert, always stole the eggs, the captain was sure, as soon as they were laid, though he was never able to catch them at it.

"Run," he would shout hurriedly to me, "there! I hear the hens cackling.

They've laid an egg."

I'd run. But there'd be no egg. Someone would have reached the nest, from the forecastle, before I did.

Because the eggs were always stolen as soon as laid, the captain decreed the slaughter of the hens, too ... not a rooster among them ... the hens were frankly unhappy, because of this....

The last hen was to be slain. Pursued, she flew far out over the still ocean. Further and further she flew, keeping up her heavy body as if by an effort of will.

"Come back! Don't be such a d.a.m.n fool!" I shouted in my excitement.

Everybody was watching when the chicken would light ... how long it could keep up....

As soon as I shouted "come back!" the bird, as if giving heed to my exhortation, slowly veered, and turned toward the s.h.i.+p again. Everybody had laughed till they nearly sank on deck, at my nave words.

Now a spontaneous cheer went up, as the hen slowly tacked and started back....

It was still weather, but the s.h.i.+p was moving ahead....

"She won't make it!"

"She will!"

Another great shout. She lit astern, right by the wheel. Straightway she began running forward, wings spread in genuine triumph.

"Catch her!" shouted the mate.

n.o.body obeyed him; they stood by laughing and cheering, till the hen made safety beneath the forecastle head.

She was spared for three days.

"If you ever tell the captain on us," First Mate Miller threatened, as he and the second mate stood over a barrel of k.u.mmel, mixing hot water with it, to fill up for what they had stolen, "if you ever tell, I'll see that you go overboard--by accident ... when we clear for Iqueque, after we unload at Sydney."

"Why should I tell? It's none of my business!"

I had come upon them, as they were at work. The cook had sent me into the store-room for some potatoes.

Miller, the first mate, was quite fat and bleary-eyed. He used to go about sweating clear through his clothes on warm days. At such times I could detect the faint reek of alcohol coming through his pores. It's a wonder Schantze didn't notice it, as I did.

Sometimes, at meals, the captain would swear and say, sniffing at the edge of his gla.s.s, "What's the matter with this d.a.m.ned brandy ... it tastes more like water than a good drink of liquor."

As he set his gla.s.s down in disgust, the mates would solemnly and hypocritically go through the same operation, and express their wonder with the captain's.

Finally one of the latter would remark sagely, "they always try to palm off bad stuff on s.h.i.+ps."

In spite of my fear of the mates, I once had to stuff a dirty dish-rag down my mouth to keep from laughing outright. The greasy rag made me gag and almost vomit.

"And what's the matter with you?" inquired Schantze, glaring into the pantry at me, while the two mates also glowered, for a different reason.

"You skinny Yankee," said the captain, taking me by the ear, rather painfully, several days after that incident, "I'm sure someone's drinking my booze. Could it be you, in spite of all your talk about not drinking? You Anglo-Saxons are such dirty hypocrites."

"Indeed, no, sir,--it isn't me."

"Well, this cabin's in your care, and so is the storeroom. You keep a watch-out and find out for me who it is.... I don't think its Miller or the second mate ... it must be either the cook or that old rogue of a sailmaker....

"Or it might be some of the crew," he further speculated, "but anyhow, it's your job to take care of the cabin, as I said before....