I loitered about awhile, and then, for want of something
better to do, fell to carving a railing with my knife.
Somebody said, in an insinuating, admonitory voice:
“Now, say—my friend—don’t
you know any better than to be whittling the ship
all to pieces that way? You ought to know better
than that.”
I went back and found the deck sweep.
“Who is that smooth-faced, animated outrage
yonder in the fine clothes?”
“That’s Captain L****, the owner of the
ship—he’s one of the main bosses.”
In the course of time I brought up on the starboard
side of the pilot-house and found a sextant lying
on a bench. Now, I said, they “take the
sun” through this thing; I should think I might
see that vessel through it. I had hardly got
it to my eye when someone touched me on the shoulder
and said deprecatingly:
“I’ll have to get you to give that to
me, Sir. If there’s anything you’d
like to know about taking the sun, I’d as soon
tell you as not—but I don’t like
to trust anybody with that instrument. If you
want any figuring done—Aye, aye, sir!”
He was gone to answer a call from the other side.
I sought the deck-sweep.
“Who is that spider-legged gorilla yonder with
the sanctimonious countenance?”
“It’s Captain Jones, sir—the
chief mate.”
“Well. This goes clear away ahead of anything
I ever heard of before. Do you—now
I ask you as a man and a brother—do you
think I could venture to throw a rock here in any
given direction without hitting a captain of this
ship?”
“Well, sir, I don’t know—I
think likely you’d fetch the captain of the
watch may be, because he’s a-standing right yonder
in the way.”
I went below—meditating and a little downhearted.
I thought, if five cooks can spoil a broth, what
may not five captains do with a pleasure excursion.
We plowed along bravely for a week or more, and without
any conflict of jurisdiction among the captains worth
mentioning. The passengers soon learned to accommodate
themselves to their new circumstances, and life in
the ship became nearly as systematically monotonous
as the routine of a barrack. I do not mean that
it was dull, for it was not entirely so by any means—but
there was a good deal of sameness about it. As
is always the fashion at sea, the passengers shortly
began to pick up sailor terms —a sign that
they were beginning to feel at home. Half-past
six was no longer half-past six to these pilgrims
from New England, the South, and the Mississippi Valley,
it was “seven bells”; eight, twelve, and
four o’clock were “eight bells”;
the captain did not take the longitude at nine o’clock,
but at “two bells.” They spoke glibly
of the “after cabin,” the “for’rard
cabin,” “port and starboard” and
the “fo’castle.”
