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ForthreedaysIdidmyownworkandThomasMugridge’stoo;andIflattermyselfthatIdidhisworkwell.
IknowthatitwonWolfLarsen’sapproval,whilethesailorsbeamedwithsatisfactionduringthebrieftimemyrégimelasted.
“ThefirstcleanbitesinceIcomeaboard,”Harrisonsaidtomeatthegalleydoor,ashereturnedthedinnerpotsandpansfromtheforecastle.
“SomehowTommy’sgrubalwaystastesofgrease,stalegrease,andIreckonheain’tchangedhisshirtsinceheleft’Frisco.”
“Iknowhehasn’t,”Ianswered.
“AndI’llbethesleepsinit,”Harrisonadded.
“Andyouwon’tlose,”Iagreed.“Thesameshirt,andhehasn’thaditoffonceinallthistime.”
ButthreedayswasallWolfLarsenallowedhiminwhichtorecoverfromtheeffectsofthebeating.
Onthefourthday,lameandsore,scarcelyabletosee,soclosedwerehiseyes,hewashaledfromhisbunkbythenapeoftheneckandsettohisduty.
Hesniffledandwept,butWolfLarsenwaspitiless.
“Andseethatyouservenomoreslops,”washispartinginjunction.“Nomoregreaseanddirt,mind,andacleanshirtoccasionally,oryou’llgetatowovertheside.Understand?”
ThomasMugridgecrawledweaklyacrossthegalleyfloor,andashortlurchoftheGhostsenthimstaggering.
Inattemptingtorecoverhimself,hereachedfortheironrailingwhichsurroundedthestoveandkeptthepotsfromslidingoff;buthemissedtherailing,andhishand,withhisweightbehindit,landedsquarelyonthehotsurface.
Therewasasizzleandodourofburningflesh,andasharpcryofpain.
“Oh,Gawd,Gawd,wot’aveIdone?”hewailed;sittingdowninthecoal-boxandnursinghisnewhurtbyrockingbackandforth.“W’y’asallthiscomeonme?
Itmykesmefairsick,itdoes,an’Itryso’ardtogothroughlife’armlessan’’urtin’nobody.”
Thetearswererunningdownhispuffedanddiscolouredcheeks,andhisfacewasdrawnwithpain.Asavageexpressionflittedacrossit.
“Oh,’owI’ate’im!’OwI’ate’im!”hegrittedout.
“Whom?”Iasked;butthepoorwretchwasweepingagainoverhismisfortunes.
Lessdifficultitwastoguesswhomhehatedthanwhomhedidnothate.
ForIhadcometoseeamalignantdevilinhimwhichimpelledhimtohatealltheworld.
Isometimesthoughtthathehatedevenhimself,sogrotesquelyhadlifedealtwithhim,andsomonstrously.
Atsuchmomentsagreatsympathywelledupwithinme,andIfeltshamethatIhadeverjoyedinhisdiscomfitureorpain.Lifehadbeenunfairtohim.
Ithadplayedhimascurvytrickwhenitfashionedhimintothethinghewas,andithadplayedhimscurvytrickseversince.
Whatchancehadhetobeanythingelsethanhewas?
Andasthoughansweringmyunspokenthought,hewailed:
“Inever’adnochance,not’arfachance!’
Oowastheretosendmetoschool,orputtommyinmy’ungrybelly,orwipemybloodynoseforme,w’enIwasakiddy?’Ooeverdidanythingforme,heh?’Oo,Is’y?”
“Nevermind,Tommy,”Isaid,placingasoothinghandonhisshoulder.“Cheerup.It’llallcomerightintheend.You’velongyearsbeforeyou,andyoucanmakeanythingyoupleaseofyourself.”
“It’salie!abloodylie!”
heshoutedinmyface,flingingoffthehand.“It’salie,andyouknowit.
I’malreadymyde,an’mydeoutofleavin’san’scraps.It’sallrightforyou,’Ump.Youwasbornagentleman.
Youneverknewwotitwastogo’ungry,tocryyerselfasleepwithyerlittlebellygnawin’an’gnawin’,likearatinsideyer.Itcarn’tcomeright.
IfIwasPresidentoftheUnitedStytesto-morrer,’owwoulditfillmybellyforonetimew’enIwasakiddyanditwentempty?
“’Owcouldit,Is’y?Iwasborntosufferin’andsorrer.
I’vehadmorecruelsufferin’thananytenmen,I’ave.I’vebeeninorspitalarfmybleedin’life.
I’ve’adthefeverinAspinwall,in’Avana,inNewOrleans.
IneardiedofthescurvyandwasrottenwithitsixmonthsinBarbadoes.
Smallpoxin’Onolulu,twobrokenlegsinShanghai,pnuemoniainUnalaska,threebustedribsan’myinsidesalltwistedin’Frisco.An’’ereIamnow.Lookatme!Lookatme!
Myribskickedloosefrommybackagain.
I’llbecoughin’bloodbeforeeyghtbells.’Owcanitbemydeuptome,Iarsk?’Oo’sgoin’todoit?Gawd?’
OwGawdmust’ave’atedmew’en’esignedmeonforavoyageinthisbloomin’worldof’is!”
Thistiradeagainstdestinywentonforanhourormore,andthenhebuckledtohiswork,limpingandgroaning,andinhiseyesagreathatredforallcreatedthings.
Hisdiagnosiswascorrect,however,forhewasseizedwithoccasionalsicknesses,duringwhichhevomitedbloodandsufferedgreatpain.
Andashesaid,itseemedGodhatedhimtoomuchtolethimdie,forheultimatelygrewbetterandwaxedmoremalignantthanever.
SeveraldaysmorepassedbeforeJohnsoncrawledondeckandwentabouthisworkinahalf-heartedway.
Hewasstillasickman,andImorethanonceobservedhimcreepingpainfullyalofttoatopsail,ordroopingwearilyashestoodatthewheel.
But,stillworse,itseemedthathisspiritwasbroken.
HewasabjectbeforeWolfLarsenandalmostgrovelledtoJohansen.NotsowastheconductofLeach.
Hewentaboutthedecklikeatigercub,glaringhishatredopenlyatWolfLarsenandJohansen.
“I’lldoforyouyet,youslab-footedSwede,”IheardhimsaytoJohansenonenightondeck.
Thematecursedhiminthedarkness,andthenextmomentsomemissilestruckthegalleyasharprap.
Therewasmorecursing,andamockinglaugh,andwhenallwasquietIstoleoutsideandfoundaheavyknifeimbeddedoveraninchinthesolidwood.
Afewminuteslaterthematecamefumblingaboutinsearchofit,butIreturneditprivilytoLeachnextday.
HegrinnedwhenIhandeditover,yetitwasagrinthatcontainedmoresincerethanksthanamultitudeoftheverbositiesofspeechcommontothemembersofmyownclass.
Unlikeanyoneelseintheship’scompany,Inowfoundmyselfwithnoquarrelsonmyhandsandinthegoodgracesofall.
Thehunterspossiblynomorethantoleratedme,thoughnoneofthemdislikedme;whileSmokeandHenderson,convalescentunderadeckawningandswingingdayandnightintheirhammocks,assuredmethatIwasbetterthananyhospitalnurse,andthattheywouldnotforgetmeattheendofthevoyagewhentheywerepaidoff.
(AsthoughIstoodinneedoftheirmoney!
I,whocouldhaveboughtthemout,bagandbaggage,andtheschooneranditsequipment,ascoreoftimesover!)
Butuponmehaddevolvedthetaskoftendingtheirwounds,andpullingthemthrough,andIdidmybestbythem.
WolfLarsenunderwentanotherbadattackofheadachewhichlastedtwodays.
Hemusthavesufferedseverely,forhecalledmeinandobeyedmycommandslikeasickchild.
ButnothingIcoulddoseemedtorelievehim.
Atmysuggestion,however,hegaveupsmokinganddrinking;thoughwhysuchamagnificentanimalasheshouldhaveheadachesatallpuzzlesme.
“’TisthehandofGod,I’mtellin’you,”isthewayLouisseesit.“’Tisavisitationforhisblack-hearteddeeds,andthere’smorebehindandcomin’,orelse—”
“Orelse,”Iprompted.
“Godisnoddin’andnotdoin’hisduty,thoughit’smeasshouldn’tsayit.”
IwasmistakenwhenIsaidthatIwasinthegoodgracesofall.
NotonlydoesThomasMugridgecontinuetohateme,buthehasdiscoveredanewreasonforhatingme.
Ittookmenolittlewhiletopuzzleitout,butIfinallydiscoveredthatitwasbecauseIwasmoreluckilybornthanhe—“gentlemanborn,”heputit.
“Andstillnomoredeadmen,”ItwittedLouis,whenSmokeandHenderson,sidebyside,infriendlyconversation,tooktheirfirstexerciseondeck.
Louissurveyedmewithhisshrewdgreyeyes,andshookhisheadportentously.
“She’sa-comin’,Itellyou,andit’llbesheetsandhalyards,standbyallhands,whenshebeginstohowl.
I’vehadthefeelivitthislongtime,andIcanfeelitnowasplainlyasIfeeltheriggingivadarknight.She’sclose,she’sclose.”
“Whogoesfirst?”Iqueried.
“NotfatoldLouis,Ipromiseyou,”helaughed.
“For’tisinthebonesivmeIknowthatcomethistimenextyearI’llbegazin’intheoldmother’seyes,wearywithwatchin’ivtheseaforthefivesonsshegavetoit.”
“Wot’s’ebeens’yin’toyer?”ThomasMugridgedemandedamomentlater.
“Thathe’sgoinghomesomedaytoseehismother,”Ianswereddiplomatically.
“Inever’adnone,”wastheCockney’scomment,ashegazedwithlustreless,hopelesseyesintomine.
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