the cook stood by the galley stove, swelling with conscious dignity, as of a man whose position is unassailable—above criticism. "now then, cook!" i cried, "where's that duff?" for all answer he seized his "tormentors"—a sort of miniature pitchfork—and began jabbing them down into the seething copper. "look out, cook!" i said, in terror, "you'll bust the duff-bag, won't you?" no answer deigned he, but presently, with a mighty heave of both hands, he produced a square grey mass of something unlike anything edible that ever i had seen. this he dumped into the kid without a word, and waved his hand to bid me begone. too much amazed to speak, i bore the ugly thing into the fo'lk'sle, setting it down in the midst of my expectant watch-mates, and silently retired to my corner in hungry anticipation of some fun presently. joe approached the kid, knife and plate in hand, but on seeing the contents, drew back with a start and an exclamation of "what the —— is that?" "duff, the cook calls it," i murmured softly. "well, i'll be —— if ever i see or smelt anything like it in all my life," said he; "but p'raps it eats better'n it looks, so here goes." so saying, he attacked it with his knife, but only succeeded in removing some sodden, sloppy morsels from the outside of the lump. upon the stuff itself he could make no impression; it was like a piece of indurated gutta-percha. heavens! how he did swear. then oliver had a try; but in a minute he, too, was reciting the commination service. for the mess was hopeless. it was nothing but a mixture of flour and water, without yeast or fat, which had been roughly moulded into a square, and, without any covering, had been dropped into a cauldron of boiling, dirty sea-water. of course it had hardened and toughened, as well as attracted to itself all the suspended grime in the water, until it had emerged the outrageous abomination before us. the men's wrath was really too great for ordinary bad language; they wanted to kill somebody. presently joe snatched up the kid and rushed to the galley with it, but the cook had wisely retreated to the cabin. thither the furious men followed him, shouting in strident tones for him to "come out of that!" they wanted to speak to him. of course the old man showed himself first, blustering grandly about the impudence that thus invaded the holy calm of his cabin. this precipitated matters, and in about a minute there was a furious row. it culminated presently in joe hurling the kid and its slippery contents right into the cabin, and striding forward with a savage string of oaths to the effect that not another stroke would he do until he got something that he could eat. quiet reigned for a brief space, until presently harry, the cabin-boy, poked his nose round the fo'lk'sle door, saying with a grin, "cook's awful sorry he spiled the duff, but he's coming forrard presently with a tin o' soup and bully as soon's the old man's back's turned. don't go fer him, pore beggar! he's nearly frightened to deth." the wrath having been mostly diverted to the skipper, this proposition was not unfavourably entertained, and in due time the cook sneaked forrard with a hang-dog air, a huge tin of preserved soup under his apron. and so it came to pass that peace was patched up for the time, although this outbreak of hostilities made the way plain and easy for a succession of rows, until the skipper's authority was a thing of naught. to make matters worse we actually fell short of provisions. this was a most scandalous thing to happen, for we were only six weeks out from sydney, where all sorts of ship's consumable stores were both excellent and cheap. and we were informed by one of the apprentices that he knew for a fact that the owners had ordered captain bunker to provision the ship fully in the colonies for this very reason. we were stinted in everything; but by the connivance of the cabin-boy, harry, who used to leave the pantry door unlocked, i made many a nightly raid upon its contents, such as they were. many a time i had to crouch in its dark recesses, while the old man, prowling about on his bare feet, was peering in and inquiring querulously, "who's there? i thought i heard somebody!" the instant his back was turned i would bolt for the fo'lk'sle, with my cap full of sugar or the breast of my jumper full of cuddy biscuits, or whatever spoil was comeatable. these nocturnal depredations were a source of endless delight to the second mate. his fat sides would shake with silent laughter as he watched the stealthy glidings to and fro, and heard the mutterings of the suspicious skipper, who never dared say a wry word to him. one night, at the wheel, i was telling him how savagely hungry i was, when, to my amazement, he replied, "well, there's a meat pie on the swingin' tray, why don't ye go an' pinch it?" "what?" i said in a horrified whisper, "an' have the old man come out an' catch me! why he'd put me in irons for a month." "g'way," he muttered scornfully, "he'd never hear ye. no man thet smokes ez much ez he does is a light sleeper. you ain't got pluck enough, that's what's the matter with you. yew'd rather go hungry than run a little risk." the fact was, i didn't trust him any too much, for it occurred to me that it might fall in with his notions of fun to see the old man come out and muzzle me in the very act of embezzling that pie. his next move, however, completely dissipated all my fears. for he rolled off the hen-coop, where he had been lolling, and disappeared below, returning in a few minutes with the information that he had lashed the old man's state-room door-handles together, so that he couldn't get out if he did wake. i immediately resigned the wheel to him, shot down into the darkness, and had that pie on deck before you could count ten. i sat on the break of the poop and ate it, while the second mate steered as well as he could for laughing at the precipitous disappearance of the pie. when i had concealed it all, i replaced the empty dish on the swinging tray, and returned to the wheel. then the second mate cast adrift the lashings on the door, and all resumed its normal calm, preceding the hurricane at breakfast-time, when the loss was discovered. but there was no breach of confidence, and the vanished pie took its place among the unsolved mysteries of life for captain bunker.
as we crept closer and closer to our port, favoured by fine weather, discipline disappeared altogether as far as the skipper was concerned. work still went on as usual out of deference to the officers, with whom the chaps felt they had no quarrel, but if the old man opened his mouth he was sure to be insulted by somebody. i have not told—indeed, i dare not tell—a tithe of the things that were said to him; the only persons preserving any show of deference towards him being old hansen and the boys. the officers, of course, did not openly flout him—they just ignored him, while he almost cringed to them. and then one day, a week before our arrival off the mouth of the irrawaddy, harry came forrard and told us something that made sport for all hands for the rest of that voyage. everybody was hungry now, fore and aft, the commons being woefully short. but at the usual time for taking the forenoon sights for longitude, the skipper being in his state-room with the door shut, harry went to call him, supposing him to be asleep. after knocking two or three times, harry heard a muffled voice within saying, "go away, i'm at my devotions." such a statement took harry's breath away for a moment, but yielding to an uncontrollable impulse, he stooped and peeped through the keyhole. there sat captain bunker, a square tin of biscuits between his knees, a pot of jam open by his side, and his mouth bulging with the delicate food. harry had seen enough; and in ten minutes it was all over the ship. from that time forward, "don't disturb me, i'm at my devotions," was heard whenever it was possible to drag it in, until the monotonous repetition of the phrase became wearisome as a london catch-word. it annoyed the skipper almost to madness; but that only gave delight to the men, who felt that at last they had got hold of a cheap and effective way of repaying him for the hardships they were enduring through him.
we were favoured with splendid weather, although the north-east monsoon, being almost "dead on end"—that is, blowing right from the direction in which we had to go—made our progress exasperatingly slow; and as the scanty stock of bad provisions got lower and lower the gloomiest anticipations prevailed. but we managed to reach elephant point before we were quite starved, and with the utmost joy received a white pilot on board, who, finding that he was likely to hunger if he had to make any lengthened stay with us, used all his skill to get us into port quickly. there were some fine screw-tugs plying on the irrawaddy, but, of course, we could not avail ourselves of their assistance, the towage being enormously high, and our old man most anxious to curtail expenses to balance his waste in other directions. so we were treated to an exhibition of backing and filling up the river on the flood, just as the old geordie colliers do to this day up the thames: a feat of seamanship requiring a great deal of skill for its successful accomplishment. of course the tide will carry a vessel up the river, but it is necessary to keep her under control, and, with the wind blowing straight down the river, the only way of doing this is to stand across the stream, say on the starboard tack, with all sails full; then, when as far as possible has been sailed, to haul the yards aback, and go stern foremost back again. in this manner we worked up the noble stream, finding ourselves at the turn of the tide within a few miles of our destination, at a spot known as monkey point. here we anchored for the night, the rushing of the swift ebb past us keeping up a continual undertone of energy, and straining our cable out taut as if we were stemming a gale. all manner of bloodthirsty insects boarded us in battalions, lured in our direction, doubtless, by the smell of fresh supplies of food, and through their united efforts we spent a most miserable night. so much were we tormented, that when daylight called us to resume our journey we were languid and worn-out, hardly able to tear the anchor from its tremendous hold upon the thick, elastic mud forming the bed of the river. we got under way at last, however, and then another couple of hours brought us up to the anchorage off the city, where a great fleet of steamers and ships lay loading rice, mostly for india, for the relief of a famine which was then raging.
we moored with an anchor ahead and another astern, as is usual in crowded anchorages, so that the vessel, as i have before explained, swings round and round as if moored to a post, taking up little more room than her own length. in many respects this was the strangest place that i had yet visited, the pointed spires of the numerous pagodas rising out of the dense leafage giving the city a truly eastern appearance, while the lofty shining summit of the great pagoda dominated everything else. as soon as the work of furling sails and clearing up decks was done—as the skipper had hurried ashore—we were allowed the remainder of the day to rest, and, rigging up an awning over the forecastle, we proceeded to enjoy ourselves. here the boats are propelled by the boatmen in exactly the same way as a gondola is, and the way those fellows managed their cumbrous craft in the swift current was something compelling all our admiration. the native vessels, too, that came majestically gliding down from far up country laden with rice for shipment, were the most interesting that i had yet seen. they were of large size, some of them carrying fifty tons of cargo, and roofed in by a deeply slanting covering of bamboo mats to protect the cargo. both stern and bow rose in a graceful curve, while the stem often towered high in air—a perpendicular beam of teak most richly carved into elaborate designs of the quaintest and most eerie character. a tiny deck aft accommodated the steersman, who with great effort manipulated a gigantic oar working through a hole in the stern, also richly carved and decorated in some cases with gilding. but the men—the yellow, almond-eyed burmese—not satisfied with the prodigious amount of labour expended on the adornment of their craft, decorated their own bodies so elaborately that it was difficult to understand however they could have borne the tedium of the tattooing, to say nothing of the pain. no people in the world carry the practice of tattooing to such artistic lengths as the burmese universally do. every man we saw had a magnificent series of designs covering his trunk to the waist, executed in vermilion, and representing flowers, animals, and graceful whorls filling in any spaces too small to allow of anything else being tattooed there. from the waist to the knees they were tattooed in blue, the designs being plainer and not so artistic as above. they were a jolly, cheerful lot; but dignified, too, having none of the exuberance of the negro about them.
just across the river, opposite to where we lay, was a great saw-mill, where a herd of a dozen elephants were gravely occupied in drawing teak-logs from rafts in the water up through the mud, and piling them in stacks well above high-water mark. they worked in couples, and seemed to need no directing what to do. two or three natives lounged about among them; but every effort they made was apparently the result of their own initiative as far as could be seen. they worked in couples—sedately, ponderously; but the sum-total of their labour was quite in keeping with their huge bulk. one enormous beast was apparently the foreman (our fellows called him the bo'sun). he roamed about leisurely, bearing in his trunk a couple of yards of massive chain, which he flourished now and then as if it were a scourge which he would use upon his toiling charges should he see fit to encourage them to more strenuous effort. but as we stared at the strange sight with intense interest, there was a jet of steam from the mill, a deep whistle sounded, and on the instant every elephant dropped whatever he had in his trunk and, with quickened steps, made for his quarters. it was "knock-off time."
work proceeded in a very easy-going fashion, for the captain had taken up his quarters on shore and did not return for several days, being supposed by all of us to have entered upon a steady course of spree. we got the hold ready to receive the cargo, and did such other duties as were required of us, without any undue strain upon our energies, while our bumboatman kept us well supplied with all such luxuries, in the way of fruit, soft-tack, eggs, etc., as sailors delight in in indian ports. matters proceeded in this way until one day an order came off from the skipper that an anchor-watch must be kept. this meant that, instead of one man keeping watch all night, and being free from any other duty, every man must take one hour's watch in addition to his day's work. now, this sort of vigil is only kept during a temporary anchorage, never as a harbour duty; and, consequently, there was an instant refusal to obey unless the day's work was shortened. the officers, having no authority to do this, refused to entertain the idea, and the result was that no regular watch was kept at all. two or three nights passed until, in the midst of a tremendous storm of thunder, lightning, and rain, i was roused by old hansen with the words, "tom, id's your vatch, und de olt man's 'longside, kigging up de fery teufel 'cause dere's nopody avake." i was lying on the forecastle head under the awning, nearly stifled with the heat; and, muttering a blessing upon the old man, i pulled off my sole garment, and sallied forth into the black, steaming deluge in the costume of adam before the fall. as i reached the gangway the old man just climbed on board; and at that moment a flash of lightning revealed everything as if in full noonday glare—especially my shining white skin. he was just angry drunk; and the sight of me standing there, naked and not ashamed, nearly made him split with rage. he howled like a hyena for the mate, who, startled beyond measure, came rushing out of his cabin into the flood. turning savagely to him, the skipper, almost unintelligibly, demanded the reason of this disgraceful state of affairs—pointing to me, standing, like lot's wife, under the incessant play of the lightning. it was an irresistibly funny tableau. over the rail peered the black faces and glaring eyeballs of the hindu boatmen who had brought the skipper off, their impassive faces showing no sign of the wonder they must have felt at these unprecedented proceedings. the hissing downpour of rain descended pitilessly, its noise almost drowning the infuriated voice of captain bunker, who, foaming with rage, berated the saturnine mate. every other second we were all invisible to each other—the darkness engulfed us. then a rending glare of white light revealed us all again, standing as if posing for our portraits. the mate tired of it first, and, turning to me, said grimly, "go an' get some close on. y'ought ter be 'shamed o' yerself comin' aft like that." i instantly retreated forrard, while the old man, still raging, followed the mate as he returned to his cabin without deigning a word of reply. i rigged myself hurriedly and came aft again, prepared to keep the rest of my watch under the poop-awning in such comfort as i could. but i had hardly lit a cigar (the rupee a hundred sort), and settled myself cosily in the skipper's long chair, when that restless man emerged from the companion and strolled towards me. i did not stir—indeed, it was too late, since i was caught. i could only brazen it out. at first i feared his rage would choke him, for he gasped as if the flow of eloquence was literally strangling him in its frantic efforts to find a vent. suddenly he made two steps towards me, gurgling as he did so, "git off my poop or i'll kick ye down the steps!" i sprang lightly out of my seat and stood on the defensive, saying nothing, but backing cautiously to the ladder, which i descended with my face towards him. i heard no more of him afterwards, for my watch was soon over, and my relief, one of the apprentices, came on watch at once. next day there was a regular inquiry into the vexed anchor-watch question; and, after much heated discussion, it was arranged that we should resume[314] work one hour later each morning and keep regular watch one hour each through the night. as soon as this was settled our worthy chief departed on shore again; and there, to our great relief, he remained.
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