Chapter VIII: In Strange Quarters

I have my own theory as to just what becomes of us when we--the real, thinking we, that is--enter that somewhat uncanny realm which men have agreed to let ignorance call unconsciousness. But this is neither the time nor place to air it.

Sufficient to state, now, that from the moment I felt the chill of the waters of the bay, and strangled in its brine, I knew nothing of what we name actuality until I was sensible of an easy, steady sway of body as I was rocked cradlewise.

A distinctly delicious semiconsciousness made me forget a decided stiffness and cramp of muscle, and it was with reluctance that I opened a tentative eye.

I am not ordinarily one of those who jump up immediately upon wakening, anyway.

And slowly it was that the nature of my surroundings came to me.

A faint swish directly beside the bunk whereon I found I was lying proved to come from a hung-up suit of Cape Ann oilskins; and a further exploring peek beyond revealed several rows of bunks like my own.

A ladder of steep incline, topped by a hatch; a semicircle of seat lockers; tar in the air, and a faint reek of bilge--the combination ended all conjecture.

A hearty chuckle from directly alongside my head made me up-on-elbow for a nearer scan of the chuckler.

I have never seen a bundle of more jovial rotundity, or a larger. A perfect giant of a man he was, with good nature popping from him. And a sailor he was to the gnarled crooks of his “fishhook” fingers, which at this moment were ramming home a husky charge of palm-rolled cut plug into a broken-stemmed “ha’penny clay.”

“Ho, ho!” he burbled when he saw that I had caught sight of him. “An’ where away now, m’ bucko?”

I passed a hand over my features, and my question was trite enough:

“Where am I?”

Again merriment rippled in folds up and down him as he replied:

“On board the _Ruby Light_, m’ lad, and a better vessel’s keel was never laid!”

“_Ruby Light?_” I echoed hesitatingly, for a bit of mistiness still held me. “Why, I thought--that is----”

“That is,” he rumbled gleefully, “this here’s about the last place you expected ter come ter life in. An’ mebbe it are jest about the last place you’d ’a’ picked out. He, he! Shouldn’t wonder, m’ lad, shouldn’t wonder!” And he drifted off into a falsetto titter.

But there certainly was no malice in his merriment; it seemed rather to make me a comrade.

“But how in thunder did I get here?” My voice was putting on more heartiness. “And who----”

“Hold on, now Billy-boy! One at a time, and slow,” he chided. “As to the how and the who, why--I m’self was the who; an’ a good long boat hook was the how. Managed ter ketch under the belt as you slid by our quarter during said episode last night. An’, by time, boy, you were heavier’n you look, shore!”

“But what I should like to know is, why----”

“An’ that thar’s just what I’m going ter pass up ter sooperiors. Orders is orders, y’ know, matie; an’ I shore am some strong when it comes to ’em. But I tell you what I can do an’ it ought’r sound like screeching good news; I can tumble a cup o’ b’iling hot coffee into you. Eh, what? A mug along ’ith some salt horse?”

“Sounds good to me!” I strove to echo his strain, as I threw my legs over the side of the bunk. “But how about my clothes?” For the first time I realized that I was wearing nothing but a coarse, sailor’s blue flannel shirt.

“Right t’ hand, an’ bone dry!” he chortled, as he edged his huge bulk through a narrow opening, beyond which I caught the glow of a small “shipmate” range.

Next instant he reappeared with my clothes over his arm.

“Did m’ best, laddie, ter get ’em into some sort o’ shape. Kind o’ draggled they was, as is natural. An’ the shoes are durned stiff, believe me. But they’ll come around----”

“Well, I should say!” said I, delighted to get into my own togs, “and I don’t see how you managed to get ’em as good as you did.”

The old fellow had actually made a pretense of pressing the trousers, though truth compels me to say that he had run the seams decidedly awry.

I was surprised to see how weak I was, for, even though there was scarcely any sea running, I lurched abominably as I put on my trousers.

“Coffee’s in order!” he announced, and once more sought the range.

Two minutes after I had drained that mug and chewed off some chunks of “junk,” and I was still doing business at the old stand.

“And now,” said I, “next?”

“Well,” came the hearty response, “seein’s I’m the doctor, why, I jest says the deck for yourn. Besides, them’s the orders.”

Before I mounted the ladder I stood before the old fellow, and put out my hand.

“My name’s Tom Grey,” said I, “and somehow I’m not much when it comes to thanks; but----”

“Aw, shucks!” he roared back at me, as he fairly enveloped my hand with his big paw. “Nawthin’ ’tall! Kind o’ fun, ’twas, fishin’ you out thataway! Besides, I warn’t doing nothin’ but obeyin’ orders; an’ as mebbe I’ve before let out, I’m quite some when it comes t’ orders. Yep! Why, any o’ the lads on deck’ll second the motion that old Steve, bos’n o’ this here _Ruby Light_, jest eats ’em--orders, that is. Now, tumble out and mind your eye, matie. Me fer a cat nap.”

Whereupon he rolled into the bunk I had quitted.