watches was gone through. I found myself in the chief
mate's or "port" watch (they called it "larboard," a term I had never
heard used before, it having long been obsolete in merchant ships),
though the huge negro fourth mate seemed none too well pleased that
I was not under his command, his being the starboard watch under the
second mate.

As night fell, the condition of the "greenies," or non-sailor portion of
the crew, was pitiable. Helpless from sea-sickness, not knowing where
to go or what to do, bullied relentlessly by the ruthless petty
officers--well, I never felt so sorry for a lot of men in my life. Glad
enough I was to get below into the fo'lk'sle for supper, and a brief
rest and respite from that cruelty on deck. A bit of salt junk and
a piece of bread, i.e. biscuit, flinty as a pantile, with a pot of
something sweetened with "longlick" (molasses), made an apology for a
meal, and I turned in. In a very few minutes oblivion came, making me as
happy as any man can be in this world.

CHAPTER II. PREPARING FOR ACTION

The hideous noise always considered necessary in those ships when
calling the watch, roused me effectively at midnight, "eight bells."
I hurried on deck, fully aware that no leisurely ten minutes would be
allowed here. "Lay aft the watch," saluted me as I emerged into the keen
strong air, quickening my pace according to where the mate stood waiting
to muster his men. As soon as he saw me, he said, "Can you steer?" in
a mocking tone; but when I quietly answered, "Yes, sir," his look of
astonishment was delightful to see. He choked it down, however, and
merely telling me to take the wheel, turned forrard roaring frantically
for his watch. I had no time to chuckle over what I knew was in store
for him, getting those poor greenies collected from their several holes
and corners, for on taking the wheel I found a machine under my hands
such as I never even heard of before.

The wheel was fixed upon the tiller in such a manner that the whole
concern travelled backwards and forwards across the deck in the maddest
kind of way. For the first quarter of an hour, in spite of the September
chill, the sweat poured off me in streams. And the course--well, if was
not steering, it was sculling; the old bumboat was wobbling all
around like a drunken tailor with two left legs. I fairly shook with
apprehension lest the mate should come and look in the compass. I had
been accustomed to hard words if I did n