- end_line
- 10196
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:14.843Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10120
- text
- irresistible necessity of decamping from terra-firma in order to evade
the constables.
These white-fingered gentry must be light-fingered too, they say to
themselves, or they would not be after putting their hands into our
tar. What else can bring them to sea?
Cogent and conclusive this; and thus Harry, from the very beginning,
was put down for a very equivocal character.
Sometimes, however, they only made sport of his appearance; especially
one evening, when his monkey jacket being wet through, he was obliged
to mount one of his swallow-tailed coats. They said he carried two
mizzen-peaks at his stern; declared he was a broken-down quill-driver,
or a footman to a Portuguese running barber, or some old maid’s
tobacco-boy. As for the captain, it had become all the same to Harry as
if there were no gentlemanly and complaisant Captain Riga on board. For
to his no small astonishment,—but just as I had predicted,—Captain Riga
never noticed him now, but left the business of indoctrinating him into
the little experiences of a greenhorn’s career solely in the hands of
his officers and crew.
But the worst was to come. For the first few days, whenever there was
any running aloft to be done, I noticed that Harry was indefatigable in
coiling away the slack of the rigging about decks; ignoring the fact
that his shipmates were springing into the shrouds. And when all hands
of the watch would be engaged _clewing up a t’-gallant-sail,_ that is,
pulling the proper ropes on deck that wrapped the sail up on the yard
aloft, Harry would always manage to get near the _belaying-pin, so_
that when the time came for two of us to spring into the rigging, he
would be inordinately fidgety in making fast the _clew-lines,_ and
would be so absorbed in that occupation, and would so elaborate the
hitchings round the pin, that it was quite impossible for him, after
doing so much, to mount over the bulwarks before his comrades had got
there. However, after securing the clew-lines beyond a possibility of
their getting loose, Harry would always make a feint of starting in a
prodigious hurry for the shrouds; but suddenly looking up, and seeing
others in advance, would retreat, apparently quite chagrined that he
had been cut off from the opportunity of signalizing his activity.
At this I was surprised, and spoke to my friend; when the alarming fact
was confessed, that he had made a private trial of it, and it never
would do: _he could not go aloft;_ his nerves would not hear of it.
“Then, Harry,” said I, “better you had never been born. Do you know
what it is that you are coming to? Did you not tell me that you made no
doubt you would acquit yourself well in the rigging? Did you not say
that you had been two voyages to Bombay? Harry, you were mad to ship.
But you only imagine it: try again; and my word for it, you will very
soon find yourself as much at home among the spars as a bird in a
tree.”
But he could not be induced to try it over again; the fact was, _his
nerves could not stand it;_ in the course of his courtly career, he had
drunk too much strong Mocha coffee and gunpowder tea, and had smoked
altogether too many Havannas.
At last, as I had repeatedly warned him, the mate singled him out one
morning, and commanded him to mount to the main-truck, and unreeve the
short signal halyards.
“Sir?” said Harry, aghast.
“Away you go!” said the mate, snatching a whip’s end.
“Don’t strike me!” screamed Harry, drawing himself up.
“Take that, and along with you,” cried the mate, laying the rope once
across his back, but lightly.
“By heaven!” cried Harry, wincing—not with the blow, but the insult:
and then making a dash at the mate, who, holding out his long arm, kept
him lazily at bay, and laughed at him, till, had I not feared a broken
head, I should infallibly have pitched my boy’s bulk into the officer.
“Captain Riga!” cried Harry.
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