"What'd I better do?" Tod asked.
"Do? Oh, Gawd! Are you a green one?" He came closer to view the boy. "Well, you don't look so bad. Take your things and throw 'em in a bunk in the seamen's fo'c'sle. Don't get the one on the port bow—that belongs to the Black Gang." He motioned the boy forward.
Tod hesitated. "The port bow?"
"Oh, what a lubber!" The watchman sighed deeply. "The port's the left side goin' for'ard, and the sta'b'rd's the right."
With tired arms, Tod dragged his things toward the ship's bows. Suddenly, he was brought up against an iron wall in which he glimpsed two doors. The one to the right he swung back, on creaking hinges. All was silent and dim within the forecastle. He threw his blankets below, then made his way down the three iron steps. He found himself in a small triangular compartment, tiered on each side with a double row of bunks. A single electric bulb shed its dim rays upon a littered table fastened to the floor in the centre, upon piles of clothing strewn about. A long guttural snore from a bunk on his right told Tod that at least one of the crew was aboard. Above him a frowsy head looked out and a sleepy voice with a cockney accent said, "Hallo, mitey," and vanished.
Tod, making the rounds of the bunks, discovered that these two were all of the crew in evidence. Upon nearly every mattress, however, sprawled a blue dunnage bag; evidently, in this way, the seamen claimed their beds. Tod found an empty one near the peak, a top bunk, and piled his blankets upon it.
"Better make your bed, mitey," said the cockney voice across the top row. "Yer don't 'ave no servants on this bloomin' ship, y'know." He pointed to the straw mattress. "Ye'll be a lucky bloke if that donkey's breakfast ain't got bloomin' livestock in it."
Tod laughed. He pulled aside the greasy brown light-curtain on its piece of string, whipped the straw mattress into shape, and spread his blankets on it. "Why aren't you ashore?" he asked in a friendly tone. "Everybody else seems to be." He glanced up at the man, who was leaning on one elbow, smoking a cigarette.
"Blimey, ain't this luck?" returned the other. "My duds all pawned and not a blarsted penny left to my nime. And me from Lunon for th' fust time! Say, ye ain't got an extra blanket, 'ave yer?" The little cockney smiled pleasantly.
"I'm rather short myself," Tod answered. "It took all my cash to get these."
"That's all right, mitey. Wot boats 'ave ye bin in?"
"This is my first."
"Ye'fust? Oh, well—ye'll l'arn—ye'll Tarn. This bloomin' boat ain't so bad. Blimey, no! I took a pier-head jump wunst into a windjammer and came round the Horn in a 'owlin' gale. But I left 'er at Valparaiso—'it the chief mite over the 'ead with th' p'int ov a marlinspike and—"
"Shut up, Toppy! Can that stuff!" a voice suddenly broke in.
Tod turned to see the other seaman roll over in his bunk.
The little cockney threw his cigarette stub to the floor, dangerously near a pair of grimy socks. "That's all right, mitey," he went on, unperturbed. "Ye drunk too much ov that bloomin' stuff—that's why ye've got a 'eadache. Go t' sleep!" He showed his yellow fangs in a wide grin.
"Go t' sleep yerself, yer scurvy limejuicer," came a muffled reply.
At the words, a smooth flow of invective came from Toppy's lips. Tod was appalled by the language. It was his first contact with a cockney sailor, and the oaths, low and obscene, disconcerted him.
Presently, he climbed to the deck; he wanted to look over this ocean tramp which was to be his abode, perhaps, for months to come. The watchman was seated upon the forward hatch, smoking a pipe.
"Well, did yer get a bunk?" he greeted.
"Sure," Tod answered. "I'm all ready for work."
The watchman chuckled. "Don't be in a hurry, kid," he advised. "You'll git enough o' that before We hit the Caribbean.—Now, I wonder what that is."
He went toward the gangway as voices from the dock struck their ears. Two more of the Araby's crew were coming aboard, arm in arm and singing boisterously. They stumbled across the deck and disappeared into the forecastle.
"Well, let 'em enjoy themselves to-night," said the watchman philosophically; "something tells me that they won't enjoy this passage, they won't. No, sir!"
He seated himself again and conversed with Tod in low tones. He was entered on the ship's articles as John Nelson of Copenhagen, but he intimated that that wasn't his real name. He only went to sea when he had to—now and then. He hated the blasted sea.
"What?" said Tod. "I thought sailors loved the sea."
The old seaman took his pipe from his mouth and laughed uproariously. "Love it! Blast my hide! Say, kid, somebody's been filling you with opium. They all hates it. Hates it! I've been on barks and steamers for thirty years, and I ain't yet ever heard a feller say he liked it. No, sir, not one!"
He puffed slowly, then went on. "You never have a home; you travel around the globe, but you only see the dirty foreign ports with their water fronts all alike. This ain't the life for a feller. No; a farm's the place he orta be. Yes, sir, sometime I'm goin' ter quit it fer good and buy a nice little chicken farm in the hills where I can't never see the old ocean. Yes, sir, I am."
A step and a low laugh sounded behind them in the gloom. "Who're you giving advice to now, Nelson?" said a voice.
"Just this kid, sir—the new mess boy," replied the man.
From his tone and the way he jerked himself erect, Tod knew that it must be one of the ship's officers, the third mate, probably, whom the watchman addressed. Tod sprang to his feet also.
"You'll never leave the sea, Nelson, you know you won't. Yes, you think you hate it all right, but you'll never be able to leave.—Captain come aboard yet, Nelson?"
"No, sir. The chief engineer is in his room, sir, that's all."
The third mate turned to Tod. "This your first trip?"
"Yes, sir."
In the dim light Tod could see that the third officer of the Araby was little more than a youth himself, certainly not more than twenty-three or four.
"Well, come with me," went on the third mate. "We'll have a look-see round the deck. It wasn't so very long ago that I made my first voyage myself."
In straightforward tones, the boy was given his orders. He was to rise at eight bells of the middle watch—four o'clock in the morning—and report to the galley amidships. Later, he must wait on the officers in the cabin aft. Not a hard job, but he must be alert.
Tod's depression left him as he listened to the even tones of the young officer. It wasn't so bad after all.
When he returned to the forward main deck, he had gone over the Araby, superficially, at least. She was a three-thousand-ton cargo carrier of ancient build with derrick supports fore and aft and a single funnel. In the amidships section she carried the engineers' cabin and the cook's galley, with the latter opening in the alleyways next to the engine-room doorways. Above this was the boat deck. Aft was the poop, containing the master's and the first mate's quarters and the officers' saloon. Tod would doubtless get to know well these quarters later on.
He seated himself again upon the hatch. The night was cold and wet, but he did not care to descend to the stuffy forecastle and try to sleep. As the hours wore on, the crew returned in little groups. Most of them stumbled up the gangway and lurched across the deck to the forecastles. At eleven, the second mate came aboard. At midnight, the captain and the first mate arrived.
The watchman heard their voices on the pier "That's them," he whispered to Tod, "and both filled to the scuppers with booze."
The gangway creaked as the two men stumbled across. "Watchman!" It was the captain's voice.
"Yes, sir."
"Third mate aboard?"
"Yes, sir."