Part 39 (1/2)
Then, disdainfully flinging the silver on the desk, he exclaimed, ”There, Captain Riga, you may keep your tin! It has been in your purse, and it would give me the itch to retain it. Good morning, sir.”
”Good morning, young gentlemen; pray, call again,” said the captain, coolly bagging the coins. His politeness, while in port, was invincible.
Quitting the cabin, I remonstrated with Harry upon his recklessness in disdaining his wages, small though they were; I begged to remind him of his situation; and hinted that every penny he could get might prove precious to him. But he only cried Pshaw! and that was the last of it.
Going forward, we found the sailors congregated on the forecastle-deck, engaged in some earnest discussion; while several carts on the wharf, loaded with their chests, were just in the act of driving off, destined for the boarding-houses uptown. By the looks of our s.h.i.+pmates, I saw very plainly that they must have some mischief under weigh; and so it turned out.
Now, though Captain Riga had not been guilty of any particular outrage against the sailors; yet, by a thousand small meannesses--such as indirectly causing their allowance of bread and beef to be diminished, without betraying any appearance of having any inclination that way, and without speaking to the sailors on the subject--by this, and kindred actions, I say, he had contracted the cordial dislike of the whole s.h.i.+p's company; and long since they had bestowed upon him a name unmentionably expressive of their contempt.
The voyage was now concluded; and it appeared that the subject being debated by the a.s.sembly on the forecastle was, how best they might give a united and valedictory expression of the sentiments they entertained toward their late lord and master. Some emphatic symbol of those sentiments was desired; some unmistakable token, which should forcibly impress Captain Riga with the justest possible notion of their feelings.
It was like a meeting of the members of some mercantile company, upon the eve of a prosperous dissolution of the concern; when the subordinates, actuated by the purest grat.i.tude toward their president, or chief, proceed to vote him a silver pitcher, in token of their respect. It was something like this, I repeat--but with a material difference, as will be seen.
At last, the precise manner in which the thing should be done being agreed upon, Blunt, the ”Irish c.o.c.kney,” was deputed to summon the captain. He knocked at the cabin-door, and politely requested the steward to inform Captain Riga, that some gentlemen were on the pier-head, earnestly seeking him; whereupon he joined his comrades.
In a few moments the captain sallied from the cabin, and found the gentlemen alluded to, strung along the top of the bulwarks, on the side next to the wharf. Upon his appearance, the row suddenly wheeled about, presenting their backs; and making a motion, which was a polite salute to every thing before them, but an abominable insult to all who happened to be in their rear, they gave three cheers, and at one bound, cleared the s.h.i.+p.
True to his imperturbable politeness while in port, Captain Riga only lifted his hat, smiled very blandly, and slowly returned into his cabin.
Wis.h.i.+ng to see the last movements of this remarkable crew, who were so clever ash.o.r.e and so craven afloat, Harry and I followed them along the wharf, till they stopped at a sailor retreat, poetically denominated ”The Flashes.” And here they all came to anchor before the bar; and the landlord, a lantern-jawed landlord, bestirred himself behind it, among his villainous old bottles and decanters. He well knew, from their looks, that his customers were ”flush,” and would spend their money freely, as, indeed, is the case with most seamen, recently paid off.
It was a touching scene.
”Well, maties,” said one of them, at last--”I spose we shan't see each other again:--come, let's splice the main-brace all round, and drink to the last voyage!”
Upon this, the landlord danced down his gla.s.ses, on the bar, uncorked his decanters, and deferentially pushed them over toward the sailors, as much as to say--”Honorable gentlemen, it is not for me to allowance your liquor;--help yourselves, your honors.”
And so they did; each gla.s.s a b.u.mper; and standing in a row, tossed them all off; shook hands all round, three times three; and then disappeared in couples, through the several doorways; for ”The Flashes” was on a corner.
If to every one, life be made up of farewells and greetings, and a ”Good-by, G.o.d bless you,” is heard for every ”How d'ye do, welcome, my boy”--then, of all men, sailors shake the most hands, and wave the most hats. They are here and then they are there; ever s.h.i.+fting themselves, they s.h.i.+ft among the s.h.i.+fting: and like rootless sea-weed, are tossed to and fro.
As, after shaking our hands, our s.h.i.+pmates departed, Harry and I stood on the corner awhile, till we saw the last man disappear.
”They are gone,” said I.
”Thank heaven!” said Harry.
LXII. THE LAST THAT WAS EVER HEARD OF HARRY BOLTON
That same afternoon, I took my comrade down to the Battery; and we sat on one of the benches, under the summer shade of the trees.
It was a quiet, beautiful scene; full of promenading ladies and gentlemen; and through the foliage, so fresh and bright, we looked out over the bay, varied with glancing s.h.i.+ps; and then, we looked down to our boots; and thought what a fine world it would be, if we only had a little money to enjoy it. But that's the everlasting rub--oh, who can cure an empty pocket?
”I have no doubt, Goodwell will take care of you, Harry,” said I, ”he's a fine, good-hearted fellow; and will do his best for you, I know.”
”No doubt of it,” said Harry, looking hopeless.