inside Hudgins & Hurst, towed a small table outside, and sat down heavily behind it, saying in a hoarse voice, "
Conyers
voyage, boys, come an' sign your papers."
Everyone lined up, me at the end. To the first man, who wore a sweater and checkered cloth cap, he said, "Nils, why you tryin' to read 'em? Just sign 'em. You know you can't read a line."
"Where we goin' this time, an' with what?" Nils asked Parley.
"Barbados, a little general cargo; then on to Rio, thousands o' barrels o' flour. Bring coffee home. Pay off north o' Cape Hatteras. Twelve a month."
Nils took the pen and signed while Parley said, "You know the routine. Throw your gear in that wagon over there an' jus' wait. You need any money this trip, Nils?"
Ah, hah,
I thought: the loan.
Nils shook his head and Parley said, "Well, come by an' see your ol' friend when you get back. I'll buy you a whiskey."
Nils walked to the wagon.
The second man looked very old.
"Who are you?" the saloonkeeper asked.
"Mumford."
Parley demanded, "Open your mouth, Mumford."
There wasn't a tooth in it. Parley squinted at the sailor. "How old are you?"
"Fifty-seven."
Parley grunted. "Poppycock. You been fifty-seven for twenty years.
Conyers
can't use you."
The old man's shoulders slumped and he shuffled off. I felt sorry for him.
It went that way through thirteen or fourteen more men, Parley Bakerby hiring three-quarters of them. Then, suddenly, I was at the table looking down at that nose with little, leafy red lines in it.
"Why are you here?" the shipping master asked.
I replied, "Cap'n Reddy said to sign me on as steward's boy. Dollar a week."
Parley Bakerby laughed. That's all. He made no other comment but looked at me closely as he shoved the articles toward me, pushing out the pen at the same time.
I did not get beyond the first paragraph when Bakerby said gruffly, "Boy, don't read it, just sign it. I ain't got all day."
I did as directed.
Then he shoved another paper across, and I filled that in.
While he was filling in his section, I looked at another piece of U.S. Government paper displayed on that table:
SCALE OF PROVISIONS TO BE
ALLOWED AND SERVED OUT TO CREW
DURING VOYAGE
Water
5 qts. daily
Biscuit
½ lb daily
Beef, salt
3¾ lb weekly
Pork, salt
3 lb weekly
Flour
1½ lb weekly
Potatoes
7 lb weekly
Bakerby's voice jarred my thoughts as it occurred to me that we'd be eating a lot of potatoes. "Throw your bag in that wagon," he said. There was no good-bye, good luck, or offer of a loan. By the time I picked up my seabag, he was already towing the table back into Hudgins & Hurst and I was an official crew member of the
Christine Conyers.
There was nothing special about any part of it.
Soon, along with the rest, I was walking behind the double-horse wagon, about to start my long-awaited career. After a half block of plodding, with us looking like pallbearers behind a load of canvas sacks, I maneuvered up beside Nils, who was grizzled and hunch-shouldered, with a square face and hooky nose. I told him about the skinny sailor who'd warned me not to come aboard the
Conyers.
Nils said back, "There are one or three or more of them on every ship. They ain't happy 'less they mumble 'bout food an' the work an' the cap'n an' the bosun an' the cockroaches. They ain't happy till they make everybody else unhappy. They're mostly mouth an' ain't worth a damn themselves. Sea lawyers, they're called, worse than the land kind."
So much for that. "Is the captain really crazy?"
He looked down and over to reply. "Yes an' no," with a chuckle added.
"Does he throw sugar into the sea to rise a breeze?"
"Yep. That don't make him crazy."
"He sing from the bowsprit?"
"Sometimes."
I said, "He asked whether I like music and cats."
Nils laughed. "He owns a mangy cat an' plays the pump organ an' shoots at waterspouts."
He sounded crazy to me. "They don't like him at Jordan's."
Nils laughed and laughed. "That was in his drinkin' an' gamblin' days. He used to beat
Conyers
voyage, boys, come an' sign your papers."
Everyone lined up, me at the end. To the first man, who wore a sweater and checkered cloth cap, he said, "Nils, why you tryin' to read 'em? Just sign 'em. You know you can't read a line."
"Where we goin' this time, an' with what?" Nils asked Parley.
"Barbados, a little general cargo; then on to Rio, thousands o' barrels o' flour. Bring coffee home. Pay off north o' Cape Hatteras. Twelve a month."
Nils took the pen and signed while Parley said, "You know the routine. Throw your gear in that wagon over there an' jus' wait. You need any money this trip, Nils?"
Ah, hah,
I thought: the loan.
Nils shook his head and Parley said, "Well, come by an' see your ol' friend when you get back. I'll buy you a whiskey."
Nils walked to the wagon.
The second man looked very old.
"Who are you?" the saloonkeeper asked.
"Mumford."
Parley demanded, "Open your mouth, Mumford."
There wasn't a tooth in it. Parley squinted at the sailor. "How old are you?"
"Fifty-seven."
Parley grunted. "Poppycock. You been fifty-seven for twenty years.
Conyers
can't use you."
The old man's shoulders slumped and he shuffled off. I felt sorry for him.
It went that way through thirteen or fourteen more men, Parley Bakerby hiring three-quarters of them. Then, suddenly, I was at the table looking down at that nose with little, leafy red lines in it.
"Why are you here?" the shipping master asked.
I replied, "Cap'n Reddy said to sign me on as steward's boy. Dollar a week."
Parley Bakerby laughed. That's all. He made no other comment but looked at me closely as he shoved the articles toward me, pushing out the pen at the same time.
I did not get beyond the first paragraph when Bakerby said gruffly, "Boy, don't read it, just sign it. I ain't got all day."
I did as directed.
Then he shoved another paper across, and I filled that in.
While he was filling in his section, I looked at another piece of U.S. Government paper displayed on that table:
SCALE OF PROVISIONS TO BE
ALLOWED AND SERVED OUT TO CREW
DURING VOYAGE
Water
5 qts. daily
Biscuit
½ lb daily
Beef, salt
3¾ lb weekly
Pork, salt
3 lb weekly
Flour
1½ lb weekly
Potatoes
7 lb weekly
Bakerby's voice jarred my thoughts as it occurred to me that we'd be eating a lot of potatoes. "Throw your bag in that wagon," he said. There was no good-bye, good luck, or offer of a loan. By the time I picked up my seabag, he was already towing the table back into Hudgins & Hurst and I was an official crew member of the
Christine Conyers.
There was nothing special about any part of it.
Soon, along with the rest, I was walking behind the double-horse wagon, about to start my long-awaited career. After a half block of plodding, with us looking like pallbearers behind a load of canvas sacks, I maneuvered up beside Nils, who was grizzled and hunch-shouldered, with a square face and hooky nose. I told him about the skinny sailor who'd warned me not to come aboard the
Conyers.
Nils said back, "There are one or three or more of them on every ship. They ain't happy 'less they mumble 'bout food an' the work an' the cap'n an' the bosun an' the cockroaches. They ain't happy till they make everybody else unhappy. They're mostly mouth an' ain't worth a damn themselves. Sea lawyers, they're called, worse than the land kind."
So much for that. "Is the captain really crazy?"
He looked down and over to reply. "Yes an' no," with a chuckle added.
"Does he throw sugar into the sea to rise a breeze?"
"Yep. That don't make him crazy."
"He sing from the bowsprit?"
"Sometimes."
I said, "He asked whether I like music and cats."
Nils laughed. "He owns a mangy cat an' plays the pump organ an' shoots at waterspouts."
He sounded crazy to me. "They don't like him at Jordan's."
Nils laughed and laughed. "That was in his drinkin' an' gamblin' days. He used to beat
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