Such were some of the observations made, as Wilson and the mate went below conversing.

  But no one exceeded the cooper in the violence with which he inveighed against the ship and every thing connected with her. Swearing like a trooper, he called the main-mast to witness, that if he (Bungs) ever again went out of sight of land in the Julia, he prayed Heaven that a fate might be his—altogether too remarkable to be here related.

  Much had he to say also concerning the vileness of what we had to eat—not fit for a dog; besides enlarging upon the imprudence of intrusting the vessel longer to a man of the mate’s intemperate habits. With so many sick, too, what could we expect to do in the fishery? It was no use talking; come what come might, the ship must let go her anchor.

  Now, as Bungs, besides being an able seaman, a “Cod” in the forecastle, and about the oldest man in it, was, moreover, thus deeply imbued with feelings so warmly responded to by the rest, he was all at once selected to officiate as spokesman, so soon as the consul should see fit to address us. The selection was made contrary to mine and the doctor’s advice; however, all assured us they would keep quiet, and hear every thing Wilson had to say, before doing any thing decisive.

  We were not kept long in suspense; for very soon he was seen standing in the cabin gangway, with the tarnished tin case containing the ship’s papers; and Jermin at once sung out for the ship’s company to muster on the quarter-deck.

  The Round-Robin.

  CHAPTER 21

  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-crane1 blown off to sea, and consorting with petrels.2

  The forlorn Rope Yarn, however, was by far the most remarkable figure. Land-lubber that he was, his outfit of sea-clothing 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,3 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 marlingspikes4 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.5

  “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 excessively uneasy, and trying to edge back, but pushed forward again. “Some of that salt horse6 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 *—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 beach-comber,”* 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.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE CONSUL’S DEPARTURE

  During the scenes just described, Doctor Johnson was engaged in examining the sick; of whom, as it turned out, all but two were to remain in the ship. He had evidently received his cue from Wilson.

  One of the last called below into the cabin, just as the quarter-deck gathering dispersed, I came on deck quite incensed. My lameness, which, to tell the truth, was now much better, was put down as, in a great measure, affected; and my name was on the list of those who would be fit for any duty in a day or two. This was enough. As for Doctor Long Ghost, the shore physician, instead of extending to him any professional sympathy, had treated him very cavalierly. To a certain extent, therefore, we were now both bent on making common cause with the sailors.

  I must explain myself here. All we wanted was to have the ship snugly anchored in Papeetee Bay; entertaining no doubt that, could this be done, it would in some way or other peaceably lead to our emancipation. Without a downright mutiny, there was but one way to accomplish this: to induce the men to refuse all further duty, unless it were to work the vessel in. The only difficulty lay in restraining them within proper bounds. Nor was it without certain misgivings, that I found myself so situated, that I must necessarily link myself, however guardedly, with such a desperate company; and in an enterprise too, of which it was hard to conjecture what might be the result. But any thing like neutrality was out of the question; and unconditional submission was equally so.

  On going forward, we found them ten times more tumultuous than ever. After again restoring some degree of tranquillity, we once more urged our plan of quietly refusing duty, and awaiting the result. At first, few would hear of it; but in the end, a good number were convinced by our representations. Others held out. Nor were those who thought with us, in all things to be controlled.

  Upon Wilson’s coming on deck to enter his boat, he was beset on all sides; and, for a moment, I thought the ship would be seized before his very eyes.

  “Nothing more to say to you, men; my arrangements are made. Go forward, where you belong. I’ll take no insolence;” and, in a tremor, Wilson hurried over the side in the midst of a volley of execrations.

  Shortly after his departure, the mate ordered the cook and steward into his boat; and saying that he was going to see how the captain did, left us, as before, under the charge of Bembo.

  At this time we were lying becalmed,1 pretty close in with the land (having gone about again), our main-top-sail flapping against the mast with every roll.

  The departure of the consul and Jermin was followed by a scene absolutely indescribable. The sailors ran about deck like madmen; Bembo, all the while, leaning against the taffrail by himself, smoking his heathenish stone pipe, and never interfering.

  The cooper, who that morning had got himself into a fluid of an exceedingly high temperature, now did his best to regain the favor of the crew. “Without distinction of party,” he called upon all hands to step up, and partake of the contents of his bucket.

  But it was quite plain that, before offering to intoxicate others, he had taken the wise precaution of getting well tipsy himself. He was now once more happy in the affection of his shipmates, who, one and all, pronounced him sound to the kelson.2

  The Pisco soon told; and, with great difficulty, we restrained a party in the very act of breaking into the after-hold in pursuit of more.

  All manner of pranks were now played.

  “Mast-head, there! what d’ye see?” bawled Beauty, hailing the main-truck through an enormous copper tunnel. “Stand by for stays,”3 roared Flash Jack, hauling off with the cook’s axe, at the fastenings of the main-stay. “Looky out for ’qualls!” shrieked the Portuguese, Antone, darting a handspike through the cabin skylight. And “Heave round cheerly, men,”4 sung out Navy Bob, dancing a hornpipe on the forecastle.

  CHAPTER 23

  THE SECOND NIGHT OFF PAPEETEE

  Toward sunset, the mate came off, singing merrily, in the stern of his boat; and in attempting to climb up the side, succeeded in going plump into the water. He was rescued by the steward, and carried across the deck with many moving expressions of love for his bearer. Tumbled into the quarter-boat, he soon fell asleep, and waking about midnight, somewhat sobered, went forward among the men. Here, to prepare for what follows, we must leave him for a moment.

  It was now plain enough, that Jermin was by no means unwilling to take the Julia to sea; indeed, there was nothing he so much desired; though what his reasons were, seeing our situation, we could only conjecture. Nevertheless, so it was; and having counted much upon his rough popularity with the men to reconcile them to a short cruise under him, he had consequently been disappointed in their behavior. Still, thinking that they would take a different view of the matter, when they came to know what fine times he had in store for them, he resolved upon trying a little persuasion.

  So on going forward, he put his head down the forecastle scuttle, and hailed us all quite cordially, inviting us down into the cabin; where, he said, he had something to make merry withal. Nothing loth, we went; and throwing ourselves along the transom, waited for the steward to serve us.

  As the can circulated, Jermin, leaning on the table and occupying the captain’s arm-chair secured to the deck, opened his mind as bluntly and freely as ever. He was by no means yet sober.

  He told us we were acting very foolishly; that if we only stuck to the ship, he would lead us all a jovial life of it; enumerating the casks still remaining untapped in the Julia’s wooden cellar. It was even hinted vaguely, that such a thing might happen as our not coming back for the captain; whom he spoke of but lightly; asserting, what he had often said before, that he was no sailor.

  Moreover, and perhaps with special reference to Doctor Long Ghost and myself, he assured us generally, that if there were any among us studiously inclined, he would take great pleasure in teaching such the whole art and mystery of navigation, including the gratuitous use of his quadrant.

  I should have mentioned, that previous to this, he had taken the doctor aside, and said something about reinstating him in the cabin with augmented dignity; beside throwing out a hint, that I myself, was in some way or other to be promoted. But it was all to no purpose; bent the men were upon going ashore, and there was no moving them.

  At last he flew into a rage—much increased by the frequency of his potations—and with many imprecations, concluded by driving every body out of the cabin. We tumbled up the gangway in high good-humor.

  Upon deck every thing looked so quiet, that some of the most pugnacious spirits actually lamented that there was so little prospect of an exhilarating disturbance before morning. It was not five minutes, however, ere these fellows were gratified.

  Sydney Ben—said to be a runaway Ticket-of-Leave-Man,* and for reasons of his own, one of the few who still remained on duty—had, for the sake of the fun, gone down with the rest into the cabin; where Bembo, who meanwhile was left in charge of the deck, had frequently called out for him. At first, Ben pretended not to hear; but on being sung out for again and again, bluntly refused; at the same time, casting some illiberal reflections on the Mowree’s maternal origin, which the latter had been long enough among sailors to understand as in the highest degree offensive. So just after the men came up from below, Bembo singled him out, and gave him such a cursing in his broken lingo, that it was enough to frighten one. The convict was the worse for liquor; indeed the Mowree had been tippling also, and before we knew it, a blow was struck by Ben, and the two men came together like magnets.