Mother Careys Chicken | Page 8

such thing as order on board a ship. Forward there was a pile of rusty chain, and if the new-comer stirred a step he was sure to be in somebody's way; and when, in response to a hoarse "by yer leave," he moved somewhere else, it was to find himself in a worse position still.
Bruff quite shared his feelings, and showed it by shivering from time to time, and, after getting behind Mark, trying to drive his head between his master's legs, an attempt that was always met by a rebuff, for Mark had not yet gained his sea-legs and taken to walking with his feet very wide apart.
But all the same there was a deal to notice, and by degrees the lad grew interested as he wondered how it was possible for the yawning hatch in the middle of the deck to swallow up such an endless number of crates and boxes, bales and packages, of all kinds. While what seemed more astonishing was the fact, that as fast as the cargo disappeared more was brought aboard from the quay, where it was unloaded from vans and carts.
"Here, hi! young Strong!" cried the mate suddenly. "Come here."
Mark walked up to him hastily as he stood near the gangway, talking to a custom-house officer.
"Oh, there you are! Look here, which is it--wasp or bee!"
"Wasp or bee, sir--which?"
The customs-officer laughed, and Mark coloured up, but Mr Gregory stood with his red nose shining and his pimply face as hard and cold as a statue's.
"Which? Why, you--come aboard to idle or work?"
"I don't know, sir. Can I do anything?"
"How should I know? I should say not, by the look of you. Will you try?"
"Yes, sir. I should be glad to," cried Mark.
"Come, that's better. Take that piece of chalk, and tally."
"I--I don't know how."
"Bah! what do they teach boys at schools nowadays? Do you mean to tell me you can't make a mark and keep count of those barrels of beer they're going to bring on board?"
"Why, of course I can, sir."
"Then why did you say you couldn't?"
"You told me to tallow something, sir."
"I didn't! Here, catch hold of the chalk and make a mark there against every one that's rolled on board. Hallo, ugly! you're there then!" continued the mate, suppressing a smile and addressing Bruff, who gave him a sour look and went behind his master.
Mark took the chalk, and for the next half-hour he was busy checking the barrels. This done there was a succession of boxes to be accounted for in the same way, and after them a hundred sacks, the arrival of the latter putting the mate in a furious passion.
"For two straws I wouldn't have them aboard," he roared. "They were to have been delivered a week ago, and here are we kept waiting like this."
And still the vessel kept on swallowing up cargo, the riggers gave the finishing touches to the vessel's ropes and sails, and the confusion appeared to grow worse instead of better; but in spite of a low-spirited sensation, Mark was fain to confess to himself that he had been interested if not amused, when the least sailor-like man he had seen on board came from the cabin-door and spoke to the mate, who gave a slight nod, and the man went back.
The former individual then went to the big opening in the deck:
"Below! Morgan!" he shouted.
"Ahoy!" came from somewhere in the interior of the great vessel, and directly after a pleasant, manly, brown face appeared above the steps.
"Take charge; I'm going to have some tea."
"All right! Who's this?"
"Skipper's cub," said the first-mate shortly. "Here, boy, come along."
The new arrival gave him a friendly nod, and Mark's first sensation was that he would have preferred to stay with him, but the first-mate looked back, and he followed quickly into the cabin, where the sight of a comfortable meal, with clean cloth, and an appetising odour, changed the current of his thoughts.
"Engines that work want coal and water," said the mate gruffly. "We've been at work; let's coal. Sit down."
Mark obeyed, and Bruff crept under his seat.
"You've brought that dog with you, then?"
"He came, sir."
"Same thing. I hate dogs. Take off that cover."
Mark obeyed, and there was a steaming dish of fried steak and onions, looking tempting in the extreme.
"Now, then, will you carve or be old woman?"
"I--I'll carve," said Mark, for though he had a suspicion that to be old woman meant pouring out the tea, he was not sure.
"Go ahead, then, my lad. Plates hot?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's your style. Don't be afraid of the onions. No ladies aboard."
Mark helped the steak, and the mate poured out the tea and hewed a couple of lumps off a cottage-loaf.
"There you are," he said; "and make much of it. No steaks and new bread at