It was the heart of the Arctic summer and the high hills that rose all about the town were green with deep grass—it looked as if it would reach a man's waist—and with wild flowers. I was surprised to see such a riot of blooms in this far northern , but there they were, and every off-shore breeze was sweet with their . The village was enough, but the country looked and, as the day after we dropped anchor was Sunday and nothing to do aboard, the crew to ask for a day's liberty . Bill White, the Englishman, and Slim, our Royal Life Guardsman, agreed to act as the forecastle's ambassadors to the cabin. They dressed up in their smartest clothes and went aft to interview Captain Shorey on the quarter-deck. White made the speech of the occasion and the forecastle's request in his best . Captain Shorey silently at his cigar. "I'll see about it," he said. That closed the incident as far as the captain was concerned. We got no shore leave.
As the day wore away and the desired permission failed to materialize, the forecastle became at what it considered the skipper's ungraciousness. Slim waxed particularly indignant.
"He'll 'see about it,'" Slim . "He never had no idea of letting us go in the first place. He's a cold-blooded son of a sea cook—that's what he is—and as for me, I'll never do another tap of work aboard the hooker."
This was strong language. Of course, none of us took it seriously, feeling sure Slim would reconsider by the next morning and turn to for work with the rest of us. But we did not know Slim. Bright and early Monday morning, the men on deck and went to work, but Slim remained in his .
Having rowed our whale bone to the dock and stored it in a to await the first steamer for San Francisco, a boat's crew towed three or four hogsheads roped together ashore for water. Another boat went ashore for coal. Those left aboard the brig were put to work in the hold near the main hatch under the of Mr. Winchester. The mate suddenly Slim's absence.
"Where's Slim?" he asked.
Nobody answered.
"He didn't go ashore in the boats," said the mate. "Where is he?"
Someone volunteered that Slim was sick.
"Sick, eh?" said the mate.
He off to the forecastle .
"Slim," he sang out, "what's the matter with you?"
"I'm sick," responded Slim from his bunk.
"If you're sick," said the mate, "come aft and report yourself sick to the captain."
In a little while, Slim back to the cabin. A few minutes later wild yells came from the cabin. We stopped work. The mate seemed to think we might rush to the rescue.
"Get busy there," he roared. " that cask around."
The yells broke off. We went to work again. For a half hour, there was silence in the cabin. We wondered what had happened. Slim might have been murdered for all we knew. Finally Slim emerged and went silently forward. We noticed a large shaved spot on the top of his head where two long strips of court-plaster formed a black cross.
The first thing Slim did after getting back to the forecastle was to take one of his blue shirts and, while none of the officers was looking, shin up the ratlines and hang it on the fore-lift. This is an old-time sailor sign of and means trouble aboard. The mate soon spied the shirt swinging in the breeze.
"Well, I'll be darned," he said. "Jump up there one of you and take that shirt down."
No one stirred. The mate called the cabin boy and the young Kanaka brought down the shirt. Slim told us at dinner time all about his adventure in the cabin.
"I goes down in the cabin," said Slim, "and the captain is with his hands in his pants pockets, smiling friendly-like. 'Hello, Slim,' he says. 'Sit down in this chair.' I sits down and the captain says, 'Well, my boy, what's the matter with you?' 'I'm sick,' says I. 'Where do you feel bad?' he says. 'I ache all over,' says I. He steps over in front of me, still with that little smile on his face. 'I've got good medicine a............