In ship and prison

“Here you are safe on board the brig, Master Dunn, and in good season,” Captain Weston said as he grasped my hand. “I’m glad of it, for I’ve changed my mind since I left you, and we’ll heave anchor and be off tonight. First of all, however, let me introduce you to my first mate. Master Thomas Marshall, this is our second officer, Master Arthur Dunn.”

As he spoke, a young fellow, who looked scarcely older than myself, though I learned later that he was just over twenty-one, stepped forward and offered me his hand.

“I’m glad to see you, Master Dunn,” he said in a hearty way that quite won my heart, “and I welcome you on board the Young Phoenix.”

Possibly my face revealed my surprise at finding the executive officer of the vessel but a stripling, for as I took Master Marshall’s hand, the Captain remarked: “Yes, it’s the Young Phoenix—young in name and young in age, for she is only three years old, and what is more fitting than that she should have young mates? Ha! ha! ha!” and he laughed quite boisterously over his attempt at pleasantry.

For myself, I thought his laughter unseemly, and for some reason, though I could not then have told why, it grated on my ears. But the irritation I experienced was forgotten or overlooked the next moment, for, turning to two sailors who stood near, Captain Weston directed them to take my luggage down into the cabin. Then, speaking to me, he added:

“And come right along yourself, Master Dunn. I’ll show you your quarters, and have you sign the ship’s articles, and explain to you about the watches. Then we’ll be ready to get under weigh.”

In five minutes these preliminaries were attended to, in ten minutes more the anchor was hoisted, and, with all sails set, the brig was standing out of the harbor. The breeze was a good one, the vessel proved herself a good sailer, and before sundown we were out of sight of land.

I do not imagine there was ever a more complacent lad than myself when I took the second watch at eight bells, and found myself for the time in sole command of the vessel. The night was a beautiful one; the stars showed bright and clear in the deep vault over my head; the wind—a west one—bore us rapidly along our course; the brig responded to every touch of the wheel like a thing of life; and my own feelings were in keeping with my surroundings.

I walked the quarter-deck with a slow and dignified tread, occasionally pausing to direct some member of my watch to tauten a rope, or ease up a sail, or to keep a sharp lookout forward. Perhaps these commands were not always necessary, but I issued them partly to impress my men with the feeling that I, though young, was equal to the place I had been called to fill, and partly that I might test the working of the vessel and familiarize myself with her peculiarities. For, though you may not know it, each ship has her own whims and moods, and only he who is thoroughly acquainted with them can have full mastery over her.

So the minutes rolled away, each new discovery about the brig increasing my complacency and giving shape to my thoughts. Here it was less than forty hours since I had left home, and, though I had not found Captain Tucker, I was in a better berth than he would have been likely to give or find for me, thanks to my fortunate meeting with Captain Weston. My quarters on the vessel were all I could ask; the meal I had eaten at dusk had revealed the fact that the captain was a good provider; the first officer, Master Marshall, appeared to be a good sort of a fellow and one I could easily get along with. On the whole, I was better off than I had even dared to hope or expect.

So I mused, and among my musings was one that took the form of a resolve: Captain Weston should have no occasion to regret the confidence he had put in me. I would do all that was possible to win his approbation, until I had been advanced to the position of first officer. From that it would be an easy step to the command of some vessel—and when that place was reached I could go back to my native village with pride and elation. Anyway, no more forecastle for me. I was in the cabin, and there I would stay until I was Captain Dunn.

I make mention of these thoughts here, for I was soon to learn the lesson that there is a vast difference between an idle fancy and the stern reality. In fact, my complacency received a rude shock almost immediately. Walking along to Bill Howard, the oldest and most experienced sailor on board the brig, who was taking his trick at the wheel, I asked:

“How does she handle, Bill? Does she mind her helm readily?”

“I’ve seed them that does better,” he growled.

“I don’t know about that, Bill,” I retorted. “I call this a pretty fine craft.”

“She’s well ’nough, I ’spose,” he admitted with some show of reluctance. “At the same time Bill Howard wishes he wasn’t on board of her.”

“Why, what’s the trouble?” I persisted. “It can’t be they don’t give you enough to eat. I saw the supper sent down to you tonight. You don’t often get better on shipboard.”

“I wants no better, if it only continues,” he replied.

“What makes you think it won’t, Bill?” I questioned, thinking he might have been along with Captain Weston on a previous voyage and had some revelation to make. I had known of skippers who always fed their crews well until they got them out to sea. It might be this that would prove to be the weak point of the man with whom I had shipped so unceremoniously. But his reply was a question.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but have you sailed on the brig afore?”

“No, Bill, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Never, sir! and I can’t find anyone from fust mate to cabin-boy that has.”

He paused a moment, as though giving me time to take in the assertion; then he continued:

“You’s young, sir, but I can see you are a sailor. Now let me ax you a question. Does it look well for a Capt’n when goin’ out of his home port to have to ship all new men? Bill Howard says no, an’ he’d never shipped on the brig had he knowed it. Mark my word, sir, I’m no croaker, but I’ll bet ye a month’s pay we’ll both wish we were ashore ’fore we make port again. An’ ’twon’t be the craft, sir; ’twill be the ol’ man.”

“Oh! I guess it won’t turn out as bad as that, Bill,” I replied with a laugh, and walked away.

But the conceit had been knocked out of me by his words. I was not so sure that I had been wise to jump so quickly at Captain Weston’s flattering offer. I was not so certain I wished to remain on the brig longer than for that voyage. And I built no more air castles during that watch.

A few minutes before the time for the watches to change Master Marshall came on deck. Surprised at his early appearance, I went forward to meet him. As I reached his side, dark as it was, I could readily detect that he was troubled about something.

“Master Dunn,” he began immediately, “may I ask if you are well acquainted with Captain Weston? Do you know anything about his habits?”

“No, sir,” I answered with a sinking heart. “I never saw him or heard of him until about three hours before I put my foot on the brig.”

“Then I’m not the only fool on board,” he remarked quickly, and I thought he said it with considerable satisfaction. “My acquaintance with him isn’t twenty hours old.”

He was silent a moment, and then as though some explanation was necessary went on:

“I belong in Eastport, Maine. My last berth was as second mate on a brig in the West India trade. We were wrecked a week ago, and a Salem craft picked us up and brought us in there. I’d hardly stepped ashore when I met Captain Weston. He called me by name, said he knew of me, and, being in want of a first officer, would give me the place if I could arrange to sail at once. Like yourself, I’m ambitious to get ahead; it seemed too good a chance to lose, and, as he was willing to advance enough for my outfit, I promptly accepted the offer. In two or three hours I made my purchases, mailed a letter home, telling of my good luck, and came aboard. As soon as I was settled in the cabin, the Captain went over to Marblehead after you.”

“Not after me,” I interrupted, and then I explained how I came to be shipped on the vessel as second mate.

“It looks bad,” he remarked when I was done. “Captains don’t usually pick up their officers that way. But doubtless some of the crew are old hands, and we can learn from them about the Captain.”

“No,” I declared, and then I told him of the conversation I had just held with Bill Howard.

“It’s worse than I thought!” he ejaculated. “New officers and new men throughout!”

“Why, what have you discovered?” I inquired, coming at last to the question which I had for some time been eager to ask.

“You’ll see for yourself when you go below,” he replied, “though I don’t mind telling you. He’s down there drinking like a fish, and is already so he can’t tell whether he’s afloat or ashore.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s no worse than that,” I said with a sigh of relief, “for I’m sure you and I can manage the brig.”

“It isn’t that that troubles me,” he responded quickly. “But you see he’s captain whether drunk or sober, and you can never tell what freak a drunken man will take. No, Master Dunn, we are in for it, and must stand together so far as we can for our own protection and for the protection of the crew.”

“You may count on me,” I promised, and as the watches were now changing I started for the cabin.

Once there, I found Master Marshall had not overstated the situation. The room was filled with the odor of rum, and a glass and bottle, both empty, sat upon the table, while the skipper was lying on the floor, now entirely overcome with the liquor he had drunk; and there he still lay four hours later when I again went on deck.

It was not, in fact, until the next day at noon that he came on deck, and I never knew a greater change in the appearance of any person within the same length of time than there was in him. From the neatly dressed, affable gentleman who had received me as I stepped on board the brig, he had now become the ill-kept, blear-eyed, irascible sot. Ignoring Master Marshall and myself, though both of us were near the wheel, he walked rapidly down to the galley, where the cook was issuing food to the men. Confronting that personage just as he came through the door of the caboose, his hands full of dishes, he angrily demanded:

“Who told you to give all that grub to those land-lubbers?”

“You did, sir,” stammered the man in great alarm. “Indeed, sir, I haven’t given them a single thing more than you told me.”

“Take that for your impudence,” the irate officer cried, and with his huge fist he struck the fellow a blow which sent him sprawling down the deck, while the dishes he carried rolled to the opposite rail.

“Now, sir,” he shouted as the unfortunate cook regained his feet, “hear me! You are to give the men just one-half what you’ve been doing until further orders, and mark! if I catch you adding a single pound to that, I’ll tie you to the mast and give you twenty lashes with the cat.”

“I’ll do just as you say, sir,” the man meekly promised, as he began to pick up his stray utensils.

That was the beginning of the brutal incidents we were called to witness or experience through the remainder of our voyage. I have no heart to write them out in detail here. But let me say I have followed the sea for well nigh sixty years now, sailing on all kinds of vessels and with all sorts of masters, but I never saw the equal of Captain Weston for meanness or brutality. The men were starved and beaten and worked nearly to death. I am sure there would have been more than one fatality but for the courage and tact of Master Marshall. When the captain was in his drunken stupors, he would issue extra food to the men on his own responsibility, and so make up to them in a measure that from which they were unjustly deprived. In more than one instance, when the commander in some ugly mood had ordered a sailor to the lash, he would contrive to put off the punishment until later, and, on the skipper’s returning once more to his cups, the man was allowed to go. But there were scores of times when he could do nothing, for the Captain liked to do the lashing with his own hands.

For a wonder I escaped any direct altercation with the Captain until we had sighted the Bayona islands off the coast of Spain. It was early morning, the sky was overcast, and a heavy wind was blowing from the north-east. I was in charge of the deck and had sent Bill Howard up the mainmast to belay a rope which had broken loose. He completed his task, and started on his return to the deck. Just then a sudden gust of wind took off his tarpaulin, and sent it scaling toward the cabin hatch. It reached there as the Captain poked his head out for a squint at the weather, and struck him in the face with a force that must have stung him severely. With an oath he leaped to the deck, and, discovering Bill bareheaded, he turned upon him with the fury of a maniac.

“You low-lived cur,” he hissed. “I’ll teach you better than to throw your hat at me! Here, Master Dunn, tie the villain to the mast, and I’ll give him forty blows with the cat.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, it was the wind that took off Bill’s hat,” I started to explain.

“So you will excuse his devilish trick, hey?” he shouted even more furiously. “Well, let me tell you he shall be whipped, and what is more, you shall give him the blows yourself. Here, men, tie that fellow to the mast there.”

The last words were addressed to two sailors who stood near him and they sullenly obeyed.

“Bring me the cat,” the angry officer commanded when poor Bill, with his back stripped bare, had been bound to the stick.

One of the sailors soon appeared with the ugly lash, and the skipper, turning to me, remarked with a satanic grin:

“Here, take this, Master Dunn, and for every blow you give that does not draw blood on yonder fellow’s back, you yourself shall receive two.”

My blood boiled within me, but I answered him calmly enough:

“Never, sir! You may lash me, kill me, as you please, but Bill is innocent and not a blow will I strike.”

There was an instant hush, as the sailors, aghast at my temerity, held their breath, and the wind itself lulled as though anxious to know the outcome of my defiance. Then with the roar of a maddened bull, Captain Weston leaped toward me.