Where Angels Fear to Tread | Page 8

the way home, I think. His
name is Gunner Meagher. I don't know how they got their names, but
they signed them and will answer to them. They are unique. Look at
that outlaw down there by the bitts. That is Poop-deck Cahill. Looks
like a prize-fighter, doesn't he? But the steward tells me that he was
educated for the priesthood, and fell by the wayside. That one close to
the hatch--the one with the red head and hang-dog jib--is Seldom
Helward. He was shot off the cro'-jack yard; he fell into the lee clew of
the cro'-jack, so we pulled him in."
"What did he do, captain?" asked the grizzled skipper.
"Threw a marlinespike at the mate."
"What made him throw it?"
"Never asked. I suppose he objected to something said to him."
"Ought to ha' killed him on the yard. Are they all of a kind?"
"Every man. Not one knew the ropes or his place when he shipped.

They're schooner sailors from the Lakes, where the captain, if he is
civil and respectful to his men, is as good as any of them. They started
to clean us up the first day, but failed, and I went to sea with them.
Since then, until lately, it has been war to the knife. I've set more bones,
mended more heads, and plugged more shot-holes on this passage than
ever before, and my officers have grown perceptibly thinner; but little
by little, man by man, we've broken them in. Still, I admit, it was a job.
Why, that same Seldom Helward I ironed and ran up on the fall of a
main-buntline. We were rolling before a stiff breeze and sea, and he
would swing six feet over each rail and bat against the mast in transit;
but the dog stood it eight hours before he stopped cursing us. Then he
was unconscious. When he came to in the forecastle, he was ready to
begin again; but they stopped him. They're keeping a log, I learn, and
are going to law. Every time a man gets thumped they enter the tragedy,
and all sign their names."
Captain Benson smiled dignifiedly in answer to the outburst of laughter
evoked by this, and the men below lifted their haggard, hopeless faces
an instant, and looked at the party with eyes that were furtive--cat-like.
The grinding of the stones prevented their hearing the talk, but they
knew that they were being laughed at.
"Never knew a sailor yet," wheezed a portly and asthmatic captain,
"who wasn't ready to sue the devil and try the court in hell when he's at
sea. Trouble is, they never get past the first saloon."
"They got a little law here," resumed Captain Benson, quietly. "I put
them all in the guardo. The consul advised it, and committed them for
fear they might desert when we lay at the dock. When I took them out
to run to the islands, they complained of being starved; and to tell the
truth, they didn't throw their next meal overboard as usual.
Nevertheless, a good four weeks' board-bill comes out of their wages. I
don't think they'll have a big pay-day in New York: the natives cleaned
out the forecastle in their absence, and they'll have to draw heavily on
my slop-chest."
"That's where captains have the best of it," said one of the mates,
jocularly--and presumptuously, to judge by his captain's frown; "we

hammer 'em round and wear out their clothes, and it's the captain that
sells 'em new ones."
"Captain," said the grizzled one, who had been scanning the crew
intently, "I'd pay that crew off if I were you; you ought to ha' let 'em
run, or worked 'em out and saved their pay. Look at 'em--look at the
devils in their eyes. I notice your mates seldom turn their backs on 'em.
I'd get rid of 'em."
"What! Just when we have them under control and useful? Oh, no!
They know their work now, and I'd only have to ship a crowd of
beach-combers and half-breeds at nearly double pay. Besides,
gentlemen, we're just a little proud of this crew. They are lake sailors
from Oswego, a little port on Lake Ontario. When I was young I sailed
on the Lakes a season or two and became thoroughly acquainted with
the aggressive self-respect of that breed. They would rather fight than
eat. Their reputation in this regard prevents them getting berths in any
but Oswego vessels, and even affects the policy of the nation. There's a
fort at Oswego, and whenever a company of soldiers anywhere in the
country become unmanageable--when their officers can't control them
outside the guard-house--the War Department at Washington transfers
them to Oswego for the tutelage they will get from the sailors. And
they