Little Eve Edgarton
CHAPTER I "But you live like such a fool--of course you're bored!" drawled the Older Man, rummaging listlessly through his pockets for the ever-elusive match. "Well, I like your nerve!" protested the Younger Man with unmistakable asperity. "Do you--really?" mocked the Older Man, still smiling very faintly. For a few minutes then both men resumed their cigars, staring blinkishly out all the while from their dark green piazza corner into the dazzling white tennis courts that gleamed like so many slippery pine planks in the afternoon glare and heat. The month was August, the day typically handsome, typically vivid, typically caloric. It was the Younger Man who recovered his conversational interest first. "So you think I'm a fool?" he resumed at last quite abruptly.
But the note of roughness and blackguardism was not always sounded on
American ships. We find, in looking over old memoirs, that more than one
vessel was known as a "religious ship"--though, indeed, the very fact that
few were thus noted speaks volumes for the paganism of the mass. But the
shipowners of Puritan New England not infrequently laid stress on the
moral character of the men shipped. Nathaniel Ames, a Harvard graduate who
shipped before the mast, records that on his first vessel men seeking
berths even in the forecastle were ordered to bring certificates of good
character from the clergyman whose church they had last attended. Beyond
doubt, however, this was a most unusual requirement. More often the
majority of the crew were rough, illiterate fellows, often enticed into
shipping while under the influence of liquor, and almost always coming
aboard at the last moment, much the worse for long debauches. The men of a
better sort who occasionally found themselves unluckily shipped with such
a crew, have left on record many curious stories of the way in which
sailors, utterly unable to walk on shore or on deck for intoxication,
would, at the word of command, spring into the rigging, clamber up the
shrouds, shake out reefs, and perform the most difficult duties aloft.
[Illustration: THE BUG-EYE]
Most of the things which go to make the sailor's lot at least tolerable
nowadays, were at that time unknown. A smoky lamp swung on gimbals
half-lighted the forecastle--an apartment which, in a craft of scant 400
tons, did not afford commodious quarters for a crew of perhaps a score,
with their sea chests and bags. The condition of the fetid hole at the
CHAPTER I "But you live like such a fool--of course you're bored!" drawled the Older Man, rummaging listlessly through his pockets for the ever-elusive match. "Well, I like your nerve!" protested the Younger Man with unmistakable asperity. "Do you--really?" mocked the Older Man, still smiling very faintly. For a few minutes then both men resumed their cigars, staring blinkishly out all the while from their dark green piazza corner into the dazzling white tennis courts that gleamed like so many slippery pine planks in the afternoon glare and heat. The month was August, the day typically handsome, typically vivid, typically caloric. It was the Younger Man who recovered his conversational interest first. "So you think I'm a fool?" he resumed at last quite abruptly.