Chapter 15

The _Pirate_ showed herself to be the fast ship she had always been, for we made the run up the trade in less than three weeks. Trunnell took such pride in her that all hands were tired out before we ran over the thirtieth parallel, with the scrubbing, painting, holy-stoning, etc., that he considered necessary to have her undergo before arriving in port. As mate of the ship, I had much opportunity to command the deck alone; that is, without the supervision of any one. Of course, I can't say I spent much time alone on deck, even when in charge; but I would never let social matters interfere with work sufficiently to merit a rebuke from the little skipper. He soon manifested a disposition to be alone during his watch on deck, and at first I believed this to be due to the exalted dignity of his position. It hurt me to think he should be so changed, and I pondered at the peculiarities of mankind for many days. After awhile, however, he became absorbed in a game of checkers with Mrs. Sackett which lasted two weeks. Then I forgave him. Whenever he saw Jennie and myself on deck, he would make haste to get through his business there, and dive below again. This kindly interest on his part was kept up until we raised the Delaware Capes.

How good the land smelled, and how distinctly. It seemed incredible that one could smell the land twenty miles away, almost before the color of the water began to change. Yet it was strong in the nostrils; and even one of the pigs we had not eaten, but had brought back alive, squealed incessantly, as though instinctively feeling that the voyage was over.

It was late in the afternoon, but the men were mustered aft, in the time-worn way of merchant-men, to sign off. Nearly all had bills on the slop-chest for tobacco or clothes. As each went over the poop he gazed at the line on the western horizon and smiled gladly. It meant a new life for more than one. Among the last to go was the old landsman whom Trunnell had given a chance to earn his clothes by bug-hunting. He smiled sadly at the setting sun over the dark line which meant home. Then he shook out several strings of vermin, and holding them at arm's length, stopped at the cabin window. His cheap trousers failed to reach the tops of his coarse shoes, and the gap showed the skin on meagre ankles. I was interested to know what he would take.

"What d'ye want?" asked Trunnell.

"I come for a yaller silk ban'kercheef," said he, offering the strings.

"Don't yer think ye'd better get some o' them woollens? It'll be cold on the beach."

"I got clothes a plenty. I want a yaller silk ban'kercheef. Yer got one, for Sam tole me so. I'm a-goin' ashore to Hennery's, an' I ain't goin' like no clown without a wipe. Kin I have it?"

The handkerchief was passed out, and the old fellow went forward smiling.

What a strange thing is the end of a deep-water voyage! Men who have been living together for months through suffering and hardship will go over the ship's side with a cheery farewell. They may meet for a few moments at the office to draw their pay, and then take a drink all around. That is all. They seldom see or hear of each other again. The world goes on, and they drift about, taking what part in affairs Fate has in store for them. One should come back aboard the ship the day after she makes her dock and look into the deserted forecastle and about the lonely decks, where so much has taken place, to realize man's lonely mission. The old ship-keeper, sitting alone smoking on the hatchway in the evening before unloading begins, will affront one with his presence. Where are the men, rough, honest, coarse, or even bad, that used to sit there so often in the twilight of the dog-watch? There is a strange yearning to see them again. I watched the sun go down with a feeling of mingled joy and sorrow,--joy for the return to the States, and sorrow for the parting which must soon take place between my shipmates.

When we came to an anchor and made ready to go ashore, the little giant Trunnell came up to say good-by to the ladies. I had decided to accompany them to the city.

When he shook hands, the tears ran down out of his little eyes and trickled over his bushy beard to the deck.

"I wishes ye all the best o' luck," said he, and he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, letting a small piece of paper escape and flutter to the deck. I stooped and picked it up, glancing at the writing on it. The words were:--

Mrs. William Sackett, 25 Prince St., E.C., London, Eng.

He snatched it from me and seized my hand, gripping it so hard I almost cried out.

"Go along, ye lucky dog," he cried. "Say good-by to Chips an' the rest afore ye goes ashore. We'll be berthed an' paid off when ye comes back."

I said good-by to the men at the gangway, and then helped the ladies over the side into the boat, seating myself in the stern-sheets between them.

"I should think you'd be thankful to get in at last," said Jennie.

"Yes," I whispered; "but I have no objections to sailing again as a mate."

Her hand closed upon mine behind the backboard.

"Neither have I," she breathed in return.

"Whose mate?" I asked her.

But that's an old story.