21. CHAPTER XXI.
PROCEEDINGS OF THE CONSUL.
The order was instantly obeyed, and the sailors ranged themselves,
facing the consul.
They were a wild company; men of many climes—not at all
precise in their toilet arrangements, but picturesque in their
very tatters. My friend, the Long Doctor, was there too; and
with a view, perhaps, of enlisting the sympathies of the consul
for a gentleman in distress, had taken more than ordinary pains
with his appearance. But among the sailors, he looked like a
land-crane blown off to sea, and consorting with petrels.
The forlorn Rope Yarn, however, was by far the most remarkable
figure. Land-lubber that he was, his outfit of seaclothing
had long since been confiscated; and he was now fain
to go about in whatever he could pick up. His upper garment
—an unsailor-like article of dress which he persisted in wearing,
though torn from his back twenty times in the day—was
an old “claw-hammer-jacket,” or swallow-tail coat, formerly
belonging to Captain Guy, and which had formed one of his
perquisites when steward.
By the side of Wilson was the mate, bareheaded, his gray
locks lying in rings upon his bronzed brow, and his keen eye
scanning the crowd as if he knew their every thought. His
frock hung loosely, exposing his round throat, mossy chest, and
short and nervous arm embossed with pugilistic bruises, and
quaint with many a device in India ink.
In the midst of a portentous silence, the consul unrolled his
papers, evidently intending to produce an effect by the exceeding
bigness of his looks.
“Mr. Jermin, call off their names;” and he handed him a list
of the ship's company.
All answered but the deserters and the two mariners at the
bottom of the sea.
It was now supposed that the Round Robin would be produced,
and something said about it. But not so. Among the
consul's papers, that unique document was thought to be perceived;
but, if there, it was too much despised to be made a
subject of comment. Some present, very justly regarding it as
an uncommon literary production, had been anticipating all
sorts of miracles therefrom; and were, therefore, much touched
at this neglect.
“Well, men,” began Wilson again after a short pause, “although
you all look hearty enough, I'm told there are some
sick among you. Now then, Mr. Jermin, call off the names
on that sick-list of yours, and let them go over to the other
side of the deck—I should like to see who they are.”
“So, then,” said he, after we had all passed over, “you are
the sick fellows, are you? Very good: I shall have you seen
to. You will go down into the cabin, one by one, to Doctor
Johnson, who will report your respective cases to me.
Such as he pronounces in a dying state I shall have sent ashore;
the rest will be provided with every thing needful, and remain
aboard.”
At this announcement, we gazed strangely at each other, anxious
to see who it was that looked like dying, and pretty nearly
deciding to stay aboard and get well, rather than go ashore and
be buried. There were some, nevertheless, who saw very
plainly what Wilson was at, and they acted accordingly.
For my own part, I resolved to assume as dying an expression
as possible; hoping, that on the strength of it, I might
be sent ashore, and so get rid of the ship without any further
trouble.
With this intention, I determined to take no part in any
thing that might happen, until my case was decided upon. As
for the doctor, he had all along pretended to be more or less
unwell; and by a significant look now given me, it was plain
that he was becoming decidedly worse.
The invalids disposed of for the present, and one of them
having gone below to be examined, the consul turned round to
the rest, and addressed them as follows:
“Men, I'm going to ask you two or three questions—let one
of you answer yes or no, and the rest keep silent. Now then:
Have you any thing to say against your mate, Mr. Jermin?”
And he looked sharply among the sailors, and, at last, right
into the eye of the cooper, whom every body was eying.
“Well, sir,” faltered Bungs, “we can't say any thing against
Mr. Jermin's seamanship, but—”
“I want no buts,” cried the consul, breaking in: “answer
me yes or no—have you any thing to say against Mr. Jermin?”
“I was going on to say, sir; Mr. Jermin's a very good man;
but then—” Here the mate looked marlingspikes at Bungs;
and Bungs, after stammering out something, looked straight
down to a seam in the deck, and stopped short.
A rather assuming fellow heretofore, the cooper had sported
many feathers in his cap; he was now showing the white one.
“So much then for that part of the business,” exclaimed Wilson,
smartly; “you have nothing to say against him, I see.”
Upon this, several seemed to be on the point of saying a
good deal; but disconcerted by the cooper's conduct, checked
themselves, and the consul proceeded.
“Have you enough to eat, aboard? answer me, you man who
spoke before.”
“Well, I don't know as to that,” said the cooper, looking ex
cessively uneasy, and trying to edge back, but pushed forward
again. “Some of that
salt horse ain't as sweet as it might
be.”
“That's not what I asked you,” shouted the consul, growing
brave quite fast; “answer my questions as I put them, or I'll
find a way to make you.”
This was going a little too far. The ferment, into which the
cooper's poltroonery had thrown the sailors, now brooked no
restraint; and one of them—a young American who went by
the name of Salem[6]
—dashed out from among the rest, and
fetching the cooper a blow, that sent him humming over toward
the consul, flourished a naked sheath-knife in the air, and burst
forth with “I'm the little fellow that can answer your questions;
just put them to me once, counselor.”
But the “counselor” had no more questions to ask just then;
for at the alarming apparition of Salem's knife, and the extraordinary
effect produced upon Bungs, he had popped his head
down the companion-way, and was holding it there.
Upon the mate's assuring him, however, that it was all over,
he looked up, quite flustered, if not frightened, but evidently
determined to put as fierce a face on the matter as practicable
Speaking sharply, he warned all present to “look out;” and
then repeated the question, whether there was enough to eat
aboard. Every one now turned spokesman; and he was assailed
by a perfect hurricane of yells, in which the oaths fell
like hailstones.
“How's this! what d'ye mean?” he cried, upon the first lull;
“who told you all to speak at once? Here, you man with the
knife, you'll be putting some one's eyes out yet; d'ye hear,
you sir? You seem to have a good deal to say, who are you,
pray; where did you ship?”
“I'm nothing more nor a bloody beech-comber,”[7]
retorted
Salem, stepping forward piratically and eying him; “and if
you want to know, I shipped at the Islands about four months
ago.”
“Only four months ago? And here you have more to say
than men who have been aboard the whole voyage;” and the
consul made a dash at looking furious, but failed. “Let me
hear no more from you, sir. Where's that respectable, gray-headed
man, the cooper? he's the one to answer my questions.”
“There's no 'spectable, gray-headed men aboard,” returned
Salem; “we're all a parcel of mutineers and pirates!”
All this time, the mate was holding his peace; and Wilson,
now completely abashed, and at a loss what to do, took him by
the arm, and walked across the deck. Returning to the cabin-scuttle,
after a close conversation, he abruptly addressed the
sailors, without taking any further notice of what had just
happened.
“For reasons you all know, men, this ship has been placed
in my hands. As Captain Guy will remain ashore for the
present, your mate, Mr. Jermin, will command until his recovery.
According to my judgment, there is no reason why
the voyage should not be at once resumed; especially, as I
shall see that you have two more harponeers, and enough
good men to man three boats. As for the sick, neither you
nor I have any thing to do with them; they will be attended
to by Doctor Johnson; but I've explained that matter before.
As soon as things can be arranged—in a day or two, at farthest
—you will go to sea for a three months' cruise, touching here,
at the end of it, for your captain. Let me hear a good report
of you, now, when you come back. At present, you will continue
lying off and on the harbor. I will send you fresh provisions
as soon as I can get them. There: I've nothing more
to say; go forward to your stations.”
And, without another word, he wheeled round to descend
into the cabin. But hardly had he concluded, before the incensed
men were dancing about him on every side, and calling
upon him to lend an ear. Each one for himself denied the
legality of what he proposed to do; insisted upon the necessity
for taking the ship in; and finally gave him to understand,
roughly and roundly, that go to sea in her they would not.
In the midst of this mutinous uproar, the alarmed consul
stood fast by the scuttle. His tactics had been decided upon
beforehand; indeed, they must have been concerted ashore,
between him and the captain; for all he said, as he now
hurried below, was, “Go forward, men; I'm through with
you: you should have mentioned these matters before: my
arrangements are concluded: go forward, I say; I've nothing
more to say to you.” And, drawing over the slide of the
scuttle, he disappeared.
Upon the very point of following him down, the attention
of the exasperated seamen was called off to a party who had
just then taken the recreant Bungs in hand. Amid a shower
of kicks and cuffs, the traitor was borne along to the forecastle,
where—I forbear to relate what followed.
