The Life of a Ship, R. M. Ballantyne [good e books to read .txt] 📗

and ordered a sea-chest, he went home to his mother, who was very sad at the thought of parting with him. When the day of departure came she gave him a great deal of good advice, which Davy promised, with tears in his eyes, to remember. Then she gave him a little Bible and a kiss, and sent him away. His father took him to the beach, where the ship’s boat was waiting for him; and, as the old man took off his cap, and raising his eyes to heaven, prayed for a blessing on his little son, Davy, with watery eyes, looked around at the big ships floating on the water, and, for the first time, wished that he was not going to sea.

In a few minutes he was on board the “outward-bound” ship. This is what we say of ships when they are going out to sea; when they return from a voyage we say that they are “homeward-bound.” The Fair Nancy was a noble ship, and as she hoisted her snow-white sails to a strong wind, (a stiff breeze, as Ben Block called it), she looked like a white cloud. The cloud seemed to grow smaller and smaller as Davy’s father and mother watched it from the shore; then it became like a little white spot on the faraway sea; then it passed over the line where the water meets the sky, and they saw it no more!

After Davy had cried a great deal, and wished very often that he had not been so determined to leave home, he dried his eyes and began to take great interest in the curious things he saw around him. What surprised him most of all was, that although he actually was at sea, he could not see the sea at all! This was because the sides of the ship, which are called “bulwarks,” were so high that they quite prevented the little boy from seeing overboard. Davy soon found an opening in the bulwarks, however, which his friend Ben called the “gang-way,” through which he could see the water and the ships and boats that were sailing there. And when he mounted the high part of the deck in front of the ship, which is called the “forecastle,” or when he went upon the high deck at the stern of the ship, which is called the “poop,” then he could see all round. And what a wonderful and new sight it was to Davy! His cottage was gone! The beach, and the pier where the nets used to hang, were gone. The trees and fields were all gone, and there was nothing but sea, sea, sea, all round, so that the Fair Nancy seemed the only solid thing in the whole wide world! But poor Davy did not look or wonder long at this, for the breeze freshened, and the waves rose, and the ship plunged, and Davy felt very queer about the stomach! There is a man in every ship called the “steward,” and everybody loves that man, because he goes about from morning till night trying to do people good and to make them happy. He looks after breakfasts, dinners, teas, and suppers. He answers every one who calls, and gets for everybody anything that they want. He is never ill, never in a hurry, never in a bad temper; in fact, he is a very charming man.

Now, when the steward saw Davy with a pale face, and red eyes, and awfully seasick, he went up to him with a smile, and said, “Sick, my lad? you’ll soon get used to it. Always sick when you first go to sea. Come below and I’ll give you summat to do you good, and tumble you into your hammock.” By going below the good steward meant going below the deck into the cabin. A ship is just like a large house, divided into a number of rooms—some of which are sitting rooms, some store and provision rooms, some kitchens and pantries, closets and cupboards; and there are two or three flats in some ships, so that you can go up or down stairs at your pleasure. When Davy went down the ladder or stair, which is called the “companion,” and followed the steward through many rooms full of all kinds of things that seemed to be all in confusion, and saw the sailors sitting, and smoking, and laughing, and talking on chests and tables, he almost believed that he was in a house on shore; but then he remembered that houses on shore don’t dance about and roll, first on one side and then on the other, and plunge forwards and then backwards; so he sighed and put his hands to his breast, which felt very uncomfortable.

“Here’s your hammock,” said the steward; “all the sailors sleep in these things, and this one is yours.” So saying, he lifted Davy from the ground and tossed him into bed. The “hammock” is a long piece of canvas drawn in round an iron ring at each end. To this ring a number of cords are attached, and the hammock is slung by them to the beams of the ship. In the bed thus formed the blankets are put; and a very snug bed it is, as it swings about with the ship. Davy soon fell asleep, but he was quickly wakened again by the horrible noises on deck. Ropes were thrown about, men’s feet were stamping, pieces of wood were falling, doors were banging, masts were creaking, the wind was howling; in short, Davy thought it must be a terrible storm and that they should all be lost. But the steward said to him, in passing, “It’s only a stiff breeze, youngster;” so he turned round and went to sleep again. For two days and two nights did Davy lie there—very sick! On the morning of the third day he awoke much refreshed, and felt strongly inclined to eat his blankets! As he lay wondering how he was to get down out of his hammock without breaking his neck, he heard his friend Ben Block conversing with a man in another hammock who had never been to sea before and was very, very sick.

“Oh! dear me,” sighed the sick man, “where are we now?”

“Don’t know,” answered Ben; “we’ve been drove pretty far out of our course to the nor’ard, I guess. It’s a dead calm.”

“A dead what?” said the sick man faintly.

“Why, a dead calm,” replied Ben. “When there’s no wind it’s a calm, and when there’s no motion at all, either in the air or in the water, except the swell o’ the sea, it’s a dead calm. D’ye understand?”

“Is it fine weather, Ben?” cried Davy cheerfully.

“Yes, lad, it is,” replied the sailor.

On hearing this Davy sprang, or, as the sailors call it, tumbled out of bed. He tried to get out of it; but not being used to hammocks, he was awkward and fell plump on the floor! However, he was not hurt; and throwing on his jacket, he ran up on deck.

Well might Davy’s heart leap and his voice shout at the beautiful sight that met his gaze when he reached the forecastle. The sea was like one wide beautiful mirror, in which all the clouds were clearly reflected. The sun shone brightly and glittered on the swell on which the ship rolled slowly; and the only sound that could be heard was the gentle flapping of the loose sails, now and then, against the masts.

“Have you had breakfast, youngster?” inquired the captain of the ship, laying his hand on Davy’s head.

“No, sir, not yet,” answered the boy.

“Run below, then, and get it, and after you’ve done come to me. We must put you to work now, lad, and make a sailor of you.”

The steward soon gave Davy as much food as he could eat; then he sprang up the companion ladder, and, running to the poop where the captain was, touched his cap, saying—

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Very good, my lad,” said the captain, sitting down on the skylight, or window on the deck, which gives light to the cabin below. “Do you see that little thing on top of the mainmast like a button?”

“Do you mean the truck?” said Davy.

“Oh, you know its name, do you? well, do you think you could climb up to it?”

“I’ll try,” cried Davy, springing towards the mast.

“Stay!” shouted the captain; “not so fast, boy. You’d tumble down and break your neck if you tried to climb to the truck the first time you ever went up the mast. But you may go to the ‘maintop.’ That’s where you see the lower mast joined to the top mast. Climb up by those rope ladders—the ‘shrouds,’ we call them.” Away went Davy, and was soon halfway up the shrouds; but he went too fast, and had to stop for breath. Then he came to the mass of woodwork and ropes at the head of the lower mast. Here he had great difficulty in getting on; but, being a fearless boy, he soon succeeded. The captain then called to him to go out to the end of the “yardarm.”

Yards are the huge cross beams fastened to the masts to which the sails are fixed. The “main-yard” is the largest. The mainsail is attached to it.

Davy soon crept out nearly to the end, but when he got there the yard became so small and the ropes upon it were so few and slack, that the poor boy’s courage began to fail. He looked down at the water, which seemed to be terribly far below him. At that moment the ship made a lurch or plunge, Davy lost his hold, and with a loud cry fell headlong from the yard into the sea. In a moment Ben Block, who had been watching him, jumped overboard; a boat was lowered, and in less than ten minutes Ben was picked up with Davy clinging to him.

Not long after this they drew near the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, and were beginning to think of the end of their voyage. But one night while Davy lay sound asleep in his warm hammock, he was startled by a cry on deck, which was followed by a loud order for “all hands” to tumble up and shorten sail. The sailors are usually called “hands” at sea. In a moment Davy was on deck, with only his trousers and shirt on. But he could not see anything, the night was so dark, and he could scarcely hear anything except the howling of the wind.

“Take in all sail!” roared the captain. The men rushed to obey, and Davy was so well accustomed to the work that he too climbed to his usual place on the main topsail yard and began to haul in the sail. He could barely see the man next to him, and it was with difficulty he kept his hold of the yard, while the ship tossed and plunged in the waves. When nearly all sail was taken in the ship went easier, and the men assembled on the deck to await further orders. The gale increased, and suddenly the small bit of the fore-topsail that was hoisted burst into shreds with a clap like thunder, and carried away the fore-topmast with all its yards and rigging, part of the bowsprit, and the top of the mainmast. “Clear away the wreck!” shouted the captain. Some of the men ran for axes, and began to cut the ropes that fastened the broken masts to the ship, for there was a danger of the ship striking against them and knocking a hole in her side while she plunged. Still the gale increased, and the mizzen topmast went overboard. The “mizzen” is the mast nearest to the stern. It is the smallest of the three. The lightning now began to flash, and the thunder to roar, while the crew of the Fair Nancy stood on her deck