dot painted on the barrel and never so much as missing by more than the few inches allowable for the hunting of the sperm whale. Mr Rawlings pronounced himself satisfied and Hawk were appointed a standby -what sees that the whaleboat's equipment be all ship-shape before launching and what can be called upon to crew if someone be ill or unable to take their place for some other reason.
It's a terrible disappointment to me that I can't hunt whale with me brother. Hawk ain't happy neither, and makes me say this for him to the mate. Hawk tells Rawlings of me previous life as a timber getter, where I gathered strength in me arms and back. But Rawlings only laughs. 'A whaleboat be no place for a boy of your size, lad. I would not have you on my conscience nor as a danger to the other crew.'
'Tell him I'll be responsible for you,' Hawk signals to me with his hands.
I translates once again and Rawlings smiles thinly at Hawk. 'Are you now the captain of my whaleboat?' I can see his patience is sore tried and he dismisses us with a backward wave of his hand. 'Go on now, be away with you!'
So here I is, Tommo the brave, standing on two wooden rungs at the top o' the mainmast on a two hour watch, searching for the spout of a whale but not allowed to join in the hunt. And me without a drink for one hundred and six days. If I does see a pod of whale, I've a good mind to look the other way. But that would be stupid. Two other men, one on each of the other masts, are also set to looking and the first to spot a whale receives a week's extra rations. It's food Hawk would relish, as he never seems to get enough to eat.
I'm forever worried about Hawk's hunger and have set about trying to satisfy it with fishing. As little lads, before we was took, Hawk and me were good fishermen, but he lost the skill of it when Mary put him to book-learning and clerking, and then sent him to England to learn about growing hops.
Hawk still talks o' London Town sometimes, though he sees it through different eyes to Ikey's. He were in Kent, studying the art of agriculture, with little money. He'd pen letters for the farm workers, many of 'em Irish, Tipperary men and the like, wanting to send word to their colleens or dear parents at home. For sixpence a letter, he'd write the most tender love letters, though he knows nothing of love or women. His letters be so sweet the eyes of his customers would fill with tears, and it got so that before a note were dispatched, it would be read to the whole gathering for their enjoyment. So successful did Hawk become with his flowery phrases that most of his Saturday afternoons were spent in this pursuit, and it made him sufficient coin to go up to London Town by train of a Sunday.
With sixpence for a cup o' tea and a sticky bun, and another for a pint of ale, Hawk would take the omnibus to the East End and Whitechapel, visiting all the places Ikey told us of. In our childhood dreams, London Town were a place o' palaces and broad streets where everyone were a toff and Ikey much respected, a prince amongst men! Alas, Hawk found the palaces and grand houses but these was outnumbered a thousand to one by the hovels of the poor and unfortunate what crawled like ants in every dark corner. Yet these was the very places Ikey meant when he'd spoke to us of .the throbbing heart o' the great city.
'Ikey's corner of the world was mostly rags, poverty and drunkenness,' Hawk reckons. He tells of how often in winter it never grows light, the smog from the coal fires and factories closin' out the sun. When the weather got warmer the stench were unbearable and attacked his delicate nostrils long before the train pulled into Waterloo station. The fumes made his nose drip and his lungs wheeze, so that after a few hours he longed to be back in the fresh countryside. In winter, walking the streets in the cold, wet and dark, the terrible stench were gone, swallowed by the frost and snow. But this were a time o' despair for our
It's a terrible disappointment to me that I can't hunt whale with me brother. Hawk ain't happy neither, and makes me say this for him to the mate. Hawk tells Rawlings of me previous life as a timber getter, where I gathered strength in me arms and back. But Rawlings only laughs. 'A whaleboat be no place for a boy of your size, lad. I would not have you on my conscience nor as a danger to the other crew.'
'Tell him I'll be responsible for you,' Hawk signals to me with his hands.
I translates once again and Rawlings smiles thinly at Hawk. 'Are you now the captain of my whaleboat?' I can see his patience is sore tried and he dismisses us with a backward wave of his hand. 'Go on now, be away with you!'
So here I is, Tommo the brave, standing on two wooden rungs at the top o' the mainmast on a two hour watch, searching for the spout of a whale but not allowed to join in the hunt. And me without a drink for one hundred and six days. If I does see a pod of whale, I've a good mind to look the other way. But that would be stupid. Two other men, one on each of the other masts, are also set to looking and the first to spot a whale receives a week's extra rations. It's food Hawk would relish, as he never seems to get enough to eat.
I'm forever worried about Hawk's hunger and have set about trying to satisfy it with fishing. As little lads, before we was took, Hawk and me were good fishermen, but he lost the skill of it when Mary put him to book-learning and clerking, and then sent him to England to learn about growing hops.
Hawk still talks o' London Town sometimes, though he sees it through different eyes to Ikey's. He were in Kent, studying the art of agriculture, with little money. He'd pen letters for the farm workers, many of 'em Irish, Tipperary men and the like, wanting to send word to their colleens or dear parents at home. For sixpence a letter, he'd write the most tender love letters, though he knows nothing of love or women. His letters be so sweet the eyes of his customers would fill with tears, and it got so that before a note were dispatched, it would be read to the whole gathering for their enjoyment. So successful did Hawk become with his flowery phrases that most of his Saturday afternoons were spent in this pursuit, and it made him sufficient coin to go up to London Town by train of a Sunday.
With sixpence for a cup o' tea and a sticky bun, and another for a pint of ale, Hawk would take the omnibus to the East End and Whitechapel, visiting all the places Ikey told us of. In our childhood dreams, London Town were a place o' palaces and broad streets where everyone were a toff and Ikey much respected, a prince amongst men! Alas, Hawk found the palaces and grand houses but these was outnumbered a thousand to one by the hovels of the poor and unfortunate what crawled like ants in every dark corner. Yet these was the very places Ikey meant when he'd spoke to us of .the throbbing heart o' the great city.
'Ikey's corner of the world was mostly rags, poverty and drunkenness,' Hawk reckons. He tells of how often in winter it never grows light, the smog from the coal fires and factories closin' out the sun. When the weather got warmer the stench were unbearable and attacked his delicate nostrils long before the train pulled into Waterloo station. The fumes made his nose drip and his lungs wheeze, so that after a few hours he longed to be back in the fresh countryside. In winter, walking the streets in the cold, wet and dark, the terrible stench were gone, swallowed by the frost and snow. But this were a time o' despair for our
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