AT eight bells, after the dog-watch, I went aft to relieve Gantline, and found him talking to the skipper. It isn’t good ship etiquette to interrupt a superior officer, so I went to leeward along the poop and gained the wheel. There I waited until the discussion ended.

Gantline was somewhat excited at a remark made by the “old man,” and was holding forth in explanation.

“No, sir,” said he; “let the boys come aboard for’ard—through the hawse-pipe, as the saying is—not in the cabin. It’s the little devils who run away and ship that make the sailors. They take to a slush-pot or tar-bucket as if there was honor in getting afoul of them. All the stinks of the fo’castle, all the hard knocks, bad grub, and every mean thing that happens in a sailor’s life—and Lord knows there are lots of them—are all taken as part of that big thing—agoing to sea. I know you want your boys to sign on, regular like. You say it protects them. Maybe it does. But I say, give me the little rascals who are full of the song of the thing. Yes, sir, you may laugh, but that’s it. They go into the thing different, and hard knocks ain’t going to hurt them much.

“You know a man has to be rough on deep water. No matter how easy he is, sometimes he gets a hard crew, and he must know how to handle them when the time comes.”

“But how about that case we were speaking of?” said the skipper; “there was the investigation, and some of the men gave Jensen a pretty rough name, considering he’s a dead man. They didn’t lay any particular blame on you.”

Gantline was somewhat disturbed in mind, and he forthwith went to leeward and spat a stream of tobacco juice into the sea. Then he came back wiping his mouth on the back of his great, horny hand, his face wearing a thoughtful look.

“You see, this is the way the thing was,” said he, stopping and throwing one leg upon the rail near where the skipper sat.

“That little fellow came aboard while we were lying at the dock in the East River. He was a dirty, ragged little rascal. I saw him sneak over the rail and dodge behind the deck-house. When I collared him he began crying, and asked me not to let the ‘cops’ get him. He begged so hard and seemed so thin a little shaver I couldn’t see him run in, so I let him down in the forepeak, and he hid behind some empty harness-casks. We were going out the next day, and I intended to see him ashore all right in the morning, and as it was past six bells then I went uptown to have a last look about.

“Two watchmen stopped me and asked if I had seen a boy come aboard, and when I asked what they wanted him for they were short enough.

“No, I ain’t much but a deep-water mate, but most men are civil enough to me.”

Captain Green smiled, but said nothing.

“A mate ain’t supposed to know much,” continued Gantline, not liking the smile, “but I didn’t have to stand on my head to take the sun the first time I crossed the line,” and he looked meaningly at the skipper, who smoked in silence.

“So when those fellows talked short and big, I just told them to hurry up to the place they were sure to fetch up in some day and went on uptown. You know what a sailor is, so you know how he spends his last night on the beach.

“I got aboard in the morning and was feeling pretty blue. After sticking my head in a pail of water I came on deck just as we got the word to clear. In a few minutes we were towing out, and I never thought of that little shaver until the next day. Then Mr. Jensen dragged him aft to the ‘old man’ by the scruff of his poor little neck.

“Crojack was feeling blue then, and he didn’t want any boys aboard, so he told the mate to flog him and turn him to with his watch.

“The poor little fellow begged hard not to get the rope’s end, but the mate wouldn’t listen.

“I can’t say I was against lamming him, for I felt he had taken advantage of me.

“Jensen went too far, though, and we came near having a set-to over the child before we were off soundings. Johnnie was cast loose and he fell down on deck. Then old Williams, the bos’n, took him into the fo’castle. After that Jensen took him in hand pretty regular.

“‘In my day,’ said he, ‘boys were taught something, and there weren’t no dudes. And the only way to get knowledge into a boy’s hide is to lam it in with a rope’s end. It stays there then.’ So he would lecture Johnnie on the wicked ways of the world, and after the poor little fellow would listen to the rigmarole and gibble gabble he would take him under the t’gallant fo’castle and lam him beyond all reason, just so he wouldn’t forget a word he told him.”

“That’s what the men said,” broke in Zack Green. “He was a ruffian to the little fellow and a d——d coward, and meaner than the wrath of Davy Jones. It’s all because he wasn’t signed on regular.”

Gantline was silent for a time, and then continued:

“He grew fat and strong and in a couple of months could go aloft with the men. He feared nothing but Jensen, and the men used to call out for fun, ‘Here comes the mate, Johnnie,’ just to hear him curse.

“Curse? Lord love ye, he could beat anything I ever heard. Why, I’ve seen the mate go for’ard to see what the men were laughing at, when it was just Johnnie calling Jensen names to them.”

“Shows how the coward was ruining him,” broke in the skipper.

“Well, he did have a queer way of training him,” went on Gantline. “He would ask him questions about navigation, too, and then lam him afterwards. One I remember.

“‘Johnnie,’ said he, ‘if this hooker should be driven clear to the Pole and steered away nor’west, how would she steer to get back, considering she had left something there she wanted to go back for, for instance.’

“‘Steer away nor’west, sir? Get back, sir? Why, just the opposite direction, southeast’

“‘Now, how in the name of Davy Jones can a vessel get to the Pole steering southeast, hey?’ he would yell. ‘What’s the matter with you? I’ll give you till the watch is called to answer, and if you don’t, I’ll peel you fore an’ aft.’”

“A cowardly, ignorant fool, sure enough,” said the skipper.

Gantline bit off a fresh chew of tobacco and stowed it carefully in his cheek.

“Still,” he went on, slowly, “when the weather got cold he saw the poor boy shivering one day, and he went aft and bought him a new set of slops, good and warm. He must have paid half a month’s wage for them, for the old man never gave things away off the Horn. You may say it wasn’t much, but he did it, anyway.

“It was July when we got off the Cape. You know how it is in that month. Cold, dark, stormy weather, with the giant nor’west sea rolling down from the Pacific. We had been knocking about now, too, for three weeks and were down below 61° south, so it was hard enough. The cold was terrible. Nearly all of us were badly frozen. There wasn’t any floating ice, but the log-line broke from the weight of ice frozen to it as it dipped and rose with the ship.

“It was dark nearly all the time and so gloomy, even when it wasn’t blowing hard; all hands were used up. Jensen kept Johnnie warmed up just the same, and I guess he thought it helped him.

“One day it got still. The wind died away entirely, and the maintop-sail—the only rag we had on her—began to jerk fore and aft, slatting loud as the ship rolled her channels under in a great live sea that came rolling down on us from the north’ard.

“It was so dark at six bells in the afternoon the forms of the men loomed strange like through the gloom as they walked fore and aft in the gangways. It was my watch on deck; but there was nothing to do, so I sat on the step to windward on the poop and smoked to keep warm.

“The mate came on deck after a little while to take a look around, and he called Johnnie to coil down some running rigging at the mizzen.

“‘The bloody glass has fallen an inch since eight bells,” said he, coming to where I sat.

“‘It is sort of bad looking,’ said I, ‘and I don’t quite like the quick run of this sea,—seems to go faster than ever, as if something was behind it.’ And as I spoke the old hooker rammed her nose clear to her knight-heads into a living hill. It rolled under us silently, and the slatting of the topsail and rush of water in the channels were the only sounds it made. The voices of the men jarred on my ears, strange like.

“All of a sudden a long, hoarse cry broke from the gloom and silence to windward.

“‘What’s that?’ asked Johnnie, and he dropped the rope.

“‘That’s the Cape Horn devil,’ said the bos’n, grinning; ‘every time he winks his eye he gives er yell, an’ wice wersa; see?’

“‘Cape Horn thunder,’ growled Jensen; ‘you an’ me will disagree somewhat, Williams, if you try an’ scare the boy like that. Jump, blast you, and lay up on that foreyard an’ see if there ain’t some serving wanted on that weather lift. Git!’

“‘Cape Horn h——,” he went on to Johnnie. ‘That ain’t nothing but a bleeding old penguin, and may the devil take his infernal soul.’

“Johnnie didn’t know any more than he did before he spoke, so he kept looking out of the clew of his eye to windward while he worked. The mate was strange and queer when he heard that cry. I don’t know what it was, but it sounded like some one calling out of that great blackness. Jensen went below, and when he came on deck I smelled rum on his breath.

“Soon the cry was repeated, and I must say it did have a depressing effect.

“‘Sure sign of westerly wind,’ said Jensen, as he lit his pipe and walked fore and aft. ‘Better make all snug for’ard there, for, by hookey, it looks as if we were goin’ to have a fracas.’

“I went for’ard and saw all snug and then came aft again. The old man had come on deck, and I could see on his face the glow of his pipe as he drew it. He was standing close to the rail and looking hard to the north’ard.

“‘I don’t believe a barometer is any good in these here latitudes,’ I heard Jensen say to him. ‘I’ve seen the glass way below the centre of a West India hurricane an’ no more wind than now for days on end.’

“It wasn’t five minutes afterwards that I felt a puff, and the topsail came aback with a crack. The old man was on the break of the poop in a second, bawling, ‘All hands wear ship; hard up the wheel!’

“The men jumped for the braces, but it was nearly ten minutes before we got way on her. The wind came slowly. By the time she paid off it had increased, and came harder and harder at every puff, so before we had her braced around on the port-tack it was snorting away in true Cape Horn style. Soon we were switching into it at a great rate, and the big sea that took us fair on the port-bow made a nasty mess on the main-deck, while the maintop-sail with the sheet slacked off, to spill some of the wind out of it, bellied out like some huge monster in the gloom overhead.

“There was nothing more to do, so when the watch was changed I turned in, and after wedging myself into my bunk I fell asleep.

“It seemed as though I had hardly closed my eyes before there was a sharp banging at my door. I turned out, and opening it found Johnnie standing in the for’ard cabin with the water dripping from his shining oil-skins and blowing his fingers to try and get them warm.

“‘Eight bells, sir,’ said he, ‘an’ the mate wants you, sir.’

“‘All right; how is it now?’ I said.

“‘Bad night, sir, and plenty of water on deck.’

“I buttoned on my sou’wester and followed Johnnie to the cabin door. It was on the lee side, so there was no trouble getting out.

“As I stepped on deck I saw that the gale had increased in force, and the dull booming roar overhead told that the old ship was standing up to it manfully.

“She was plunging and switching into a giant sea, and every now and then a huge mass of water fell on deck with a tremendous crash and roared off to leeward through the water-ways.

“We kept clear of the main-deck and joined the rest of the watch on the poop, where some of them had stayed to keep clear of the water.

“As my eyes were almost blinded at first from the flying drift, I couldn’t make out anything, but soon they got accustomed to the darkness and water, and I looked about me.

“The maintop-sail was still holding with the foot rope stretching and bending until it was almost on the yard, but the sheet, being slacked off, eased it, while the way the wind roared out from under the foot of the sail told plainly of the pressure.

“To leeward, on the main-deck, the foam showed ghastly white, and it was evident that the waist was full of ice-cold water. I soon made out the forms of the rest of the watch huddled behind the for’ard house, swinging their arms to keep their hands warm. The old man stood on the break of the poop holding on to the pin-rail and beside him stood the mate, both watching the maintop-sail as it surged and strained at the clews.

“I saw in a moment that if the sail went there would be nothing to do but run for it, as it was all two men at the wheel could do to hold her up to it as it was.

“While I was looking at the sail I heard a loud crack like a gun and saw the lee-clew part from the yard-arm. It was gone to ribbons in a second, but the weather-clew still held.

“‘Goose-wing it!’ roared the old man, and Jensen bawled for all hands to lay out on that yard.

“The men for’ard saw what had happened even if they didn’t hear the mate. Just as they started aft to the main-rigging a tremendous sea rolled right over the weather-rail. The for’ard house saved the men, but they were up to their waists in cold water and held back.

“‘Lay out on that yard!’ bawled Jensen, and we fought our way along the weather-rail to the backstays. ‘Lay out there!’ and his voice rose to a screech, for it was duff or dog’s belly, as the saying is, and it meant life or death for all hands.

“In the gloom I saw a slight form spring into the ratlines and go aloft hand over hand. Then the men followed, while Jensen was bawling, ‘Come down, you devil’s limb! come down, or I’ll skin you!’

“But Johnnie was leading the way over the futtock-shrouds, so I grabbed the ratlines and went up with the rest.”

Here Gantline stopped for a moment and expectorated violently down the weather-side most unsailorly.

“And didn’t that coward Jensen go along, or was he too scared?” asked Captain Green.

Gantline wiped his mouth and continued, slowly, “He may or may not have been scared. He went aft. Johnnie gained the yard first with Williams close behind him, and they started out to leeward with the watch following.

“The yard-arm was jumping and springing under the shock of flying canvas, and it was all a good sailor could do to hold on. The men soon passed a line under the sail and got it on the yard amidships, while Johnnie, knife in hand, cut away the flying canvas from the bolt-rope to leeward.

“It was bitter work on that yard-arm in that freezing gale, and it took a long time to get the sail ‘goose-winged,’—that is, with the bunt on the yard and the weather-clew drawing,—and when we got through my hands were so nearly frozen I could hardly hold on to a rope.

“The mate was on the poop, and we had just finished lashing the sail, when I felt the vessel take a tremendous heave to windward.

“‘Hold hard!’ I yelled, for I knew what was coming. With a great heave she rolled to leeward, and above the roar I heard the smothering rush of water as the sea went over her.

“From the darkness to leeward I heard a sharp cry, and, looking to where I had last seen Johnnie, I saw he was gone.

“I grasped the topsail clew-line and slid down to the deck. Making my way aft somehow, I found the old man and one of the men at the wheel holding on to a rope that trailed taut over the lee-quarter, while the old man was bawling for some one to lay aft and help pull it in.

“I grabbed hold and we hauled it in together. A dark lump came over the side and I grabbed hold of it and pulled it aboard. It was all that was left of Jensen. He had seen Johnnie go, and had gone after him with the line around his waist.

“The old man said nothing, but took his shoulders and I took his feet and we carried him below. He was as dead as could be. A sea had hove him under the ship’s counter as she squatted, and the top of his head was stove flat.

“The old man didn’t say much, but I could see by the light of the lamp there was more water in his eyes than that of the flying drift.

“The next day the carpenter sewed the mate up in canvas, along with some sheet-lead. The old man read the service in spite of the gale, and then he raised his hand.

“The men of the mate’s watch tilted the plank he was laying on, and the white bundle went to leeward with a heavy plunge.

“Just at that minute the long, hoarse cry of a penguin broke on our ears from the darkness to the s’uth’ard. That was all.”

Zach Green sat smoking, but said nothing. Gantline turned and noticed me. Then he spat his quid overboard, and, giving me the course for my watch, went slowly forward.