Mr. Trunnell, Mate of the Ship "Pirate"

MR. TRUNNELL




I


By some means, needless to record here, I found myself, not so many years
ago, "on the beach" at Melbourne, in Australia.

To be on the beach is not an uncommon occurrence for a sailor in any part
of the world; but, since the question is suggested, I will say that I was
not a very dissipated young fellow of twenty-five, for up to that time I
had never even tasted rum in any form, although I had followed the sea
for seven years.

I had held a mate's berth, and as I did not care to ship before the mast
on the first vessel bound out, I had remained ashore until a threatening
landlord made it necessary for me to become less particular as to
occupation.

It was a time when mates were plenty and men were few, so I made the
rounds of the shipping houses with little hope of getting a chance to
show my papers. These, together with an old quadrant, a nautical almanac,
a thick pea coat, and a pipe, were all I possessed of this world's goods,
and I carried the quadrant with me in case I should not succeed in
signing on. I could "spout it," if need be, at some broker's, and thus
raise a few dollars.

As I made my way along the water front, I noticed a fine clipper ship of
nearly two thousand tons lying at a wharf. She was in the hands of a few
riggers, who were sending aloft her canvas, which, being of a snowy
whiteness, proclaimed her nationality even before I could see her hull.
On reaching the wharf where she lay, I stopped and noticed that she was
loaded deep, for her long black sides were under to within four feet of
her main deck in the waist.

Her high bulwarks shut off my view of her deck; but, from the sounds that
came down from there, I could tell that she was getting in the last of
her cargo.

I walked to her stern and read her name in gilt letters: "Pirate, of
Philadelphia." Then I remembered her. She was a Yankee ship of evil
reputation, and although I wanted to get back to my home in New York, I
turned away thankful that I was not homeward bound in that craft. She had
come into port a month before and had reported three men missing from her
papers. There were no witnesses; but the sight of the rest of the crew
told the story of the disappearance of their shipmates, and the skipper
had been clapped into jail. I had heard of the ruffian's sinister record
before, and inwardly hoped he would get his deserts for his brutality,
although I knew there was little chance for it. He belonged to the class
of captains that was giving American packets the hard name they were
getting, so I heartily wished him evil.

As I turned, looking up at the beautiful fabric with her long, tapering,
t'gallant masts, topped with skysail yards fore and aft, and her
tremendous lower yards nearly ninety feet across, I thought what a
splendid ship she was. It made me angry to think of what a place she must
be for the poor devils who would unwittingly ship aboard her. Only a
sailor knows how much of suffering in blows and curses it cost to
accomplish all that clean paint and scraped spar.