



Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, APRIL 14, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 859. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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[Illustration]

MOTHER-IN-LAW TO THE CREW.

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.


It was a beautiful summer morning. There was a light wind from the
southwest, which just tempered to a degree of endurance the blazing heat
of the full-orbed sun. A few wisps of feathery white lay slantwise
across the broad field of deep-toned blue sky, promising a change of
weather within a day's time. The sea was a vast undulating mirror of
blue, as if all the sapphires in the world and in all the other worlds
had been melted and poured into earth's majestic basin. From the rounded
<DW72>s of the broad low swells the rays of the sun danced in a million
flashes of dazzling silver. The swells themselves ran in slow, sinuous
folds to the inner bar, where they reared themselves in curving walls of
translucent green shot with bars of snow, and then with the burst of
far-off thunder fell forward into spurting, writhing acres of yeasty
foam. Softness, warmth, and languorous sparkle lay over the sea.

Far away upon the uncertain horizon loomed the black hull of an ocean
liner, cleaving her way across the polished path at twenty knots an
hour, to make a new record, homeward bound. The tense cordage of her
rigging, the strained squareness of her tapering yards, the horizontal
backward rush of the torrents of smoke from her yawning funnels gave her
the appearance of a true greyhound, with every nerve and muscle strained
in the effort at speed. Nearer the land three schooners, two loaded to
their scuppers, and one flying light, so that she seemed to sail on her
keel, were making a long leg to the southward, close-hauled on the
starboard tack. Further in yet a score of tiny sea skiffs rose and fell
on the bosom of the deep, and now and then the glitter of sunlight on
the scales of a captured fish could be seen.

Henry Hovey and his little brother George--who was not so little as he
used to be--were walking along the ocean road. Often and often they had
gone down to the old wooden pier, and sighed much because it no longer
held their interesting friend, the Old Sailor. They had met other
sailors, but none of them could tell tales of the sea; and, worse than
that, none of them knew anything about the wonderful places the Old
Sailor had seen. So Henry and George contented themselves with telling
the old tales over, and speculating on the causes of the remarkable
events related therein. On this beautiful summer day they unconsciously
wandered down to the pier, and to their surprise there was a man sitting
on the end of it. He looked so much like their old friend that they both
stopped short and gasped. Then they shook their heads sadly and walked
slowly out on the pier. As they drew near the man they saw that his
shoulders were shaking with laughter. George gripped Henry's arm and
said, "Is it a dream?"

"I don't know," answered Henry, in a whisper. "I'm afraid--"

"W'ich the same it are not!" cried a voice they well knew; and the next
instant there was the Old Sailor himself, half laughing and half crying,
dancing on one foot and holding each of the breathless boys by a hand.
"It are not no dream," continued the Old Sailor; "'cos w'y, dreams goes
by contraries, an' this are the werry identical sailor wot it used to
be, an' not no contrary wotsomever."

"Oh! when did you come?" cried George.

"Jes now."

"What?"

"Jes now. I jes come ashore. I were a-sittin' on this 'ere werry
identical pier a-lookin' fur my trunk."

The two boys gazed at their old friend in silent wonder, for they were
sure that behind that trunk there lay some mystery.

"Where is it?" asked Henry at length.

"Down there," answered the Old Sailor, pointing at the water. "Under
hatches, stove in an' sunk. I wouldn't 'a' parted with that trunk fur a
good hogshead o' baccy. 'Cos w'y; I got that there trunk in Noo Yawk the
day I shipped, an' I had her loaded right to her hatches with things to
bring home to ye. Howsumever, it were drownin' or losin' 'em, an' so me
an' the trunk got ashore--leastways I did; an' that's wot."

With these words the Old Sailor once more sat down on the end of the
pier, and the boys sat beside him. He sent one of his long searching
glances around the horizon, indulged in one of his peculiar silent
laughs, and then suddenly said,

"S'pose I was to go fur to ask ye wot kind o' wessel are that out
yonder?"

"It's an ocean liner," answered Henry.

"An' s'posin' I was to say wot are them three yonder?"

"Schooners," said George, "under all plain sail, close-hauled on the
starboard tack."

"My son," said the Old Sailor, solemnly, "you are growin' werry salt.
An' s'posin' I were to ask ye wot are that high-sided one loaded with?"

"Nothin'," said Henry. "She's flying light."

"Werry good too. An' may I be run down an' sunk by a bar'l o' your
mother's hot biscuit ef this here warn't the werry identical way wot it
happened. I shipped in St. Thomas as second mate onto the four-masted
schooner _Raw Tomatters_. She were bound fur Noo Yawk with an assorted
cargo o' cigarettes, pickled pigs' feet, mares' nests, and ice-cream."

"Mares' nests!" exclaimed Henry.

"Ice-cream!" cried George.

"Them's it! The mares' nests is built in the mountains by the wild
mares, an' is imported to this country for political purposes. The
ice-cream made in St. Thomas are werry bad, werry bad indeed; but it
won't melt in this here climate 'cos it are so hot where it are made,
an' so it are imported here in bricks an' sold as ice-cream candy, w'ich
the same you may have eat, but don't do so no more. Howsumever that
'ain't got nothin' to do with this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye. The
_Raw Tomatters_ are a werry big schooner, an' she got under way with a
crew o' twenty men, all told, includin' me, wot were the second mate,
an' the Cap'n's mother, w'ich the same she were the cause o' the whole
bilin'. The Cap'n's name were Janders Blue, an' he were a smallish man
with a turned-up nose, one glass eye, an' a wooden arm, w'ich the same
he got in the whalin' trade. His mother's name were Mehitabel Blue, an'
she stood six feet three, an' could lift a barrel o' salt horse. So
bein', it putty soon come to be knowed that she were not only the
Cap'n's mother, but a mother-in-law to the hull crew. The trouble with
her were that she weren't brought up among seafarin' pussons, but in a
werry respectable country town where there were more churches than
stores. She'd went down to St. Thomas on a steamer fur her health, she
said, an' were now goin' fur to make the v'yidge back with her good son.
I didn't see wot she wanted o' any more health than she had; but I
didn't say nothin', her bein' the Cap'n's mother an' me the second mate,
w'ich the same 'ain't got much to say.

"Waal, the squalls commenced fur to make up jes as soon as ever we
started to git the anchor. The old lady, wearin' a wide-brimmed straw
hat with a long red feather into 't, an' holdin' a white umbreller over
her head, stood aft alongside o' her son. Sez he, 'H'ist the outer jib.'
Sez I, 'Lively there, you swabs.' With that the old woman she shet the
umbreller down with a snap, jumped forrad in about four hops, an' sez
she ter me, sez she,

"'Wot kind o' langwidge are that ter use in the presence of a lady?'

"'Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am,' sez I to she, sez I, 'I weren't aware as
how it were onperlite,' sez I, jes like that.

"'Don't you dast to call no man no sich names ag'in w'ile I'm on this
'ere boat,' sez she; 'ef ye do, I'll git my son ter discharge ye right
off.'

"Then she h'isted the umbreller ag'in an' went aft. The men looked at me
an' I looked at them, an' we didn't none on us say nothin'; 'cos why,
there weren't nothin' to say. But blow me fur pickles ef 'twere more'n
five minutes afore she bruk out in a noo place. Bill Doosenbury, the
fust mate, he sings out fur some un to set the torps'ls.

"'Lay aloft an' loose torps'ls,' sez he. 'Lively now, you sea-cooks!'

"May I never cross the blessed hequator ag'in ef the old woman didn't
dance right up to Bill, an' fetch him a swat over the head with the
umbreller.

"'I'll not stand it,' sez she to he, sez she. 'I'll not listen to no
sich talk.'

"With that the Cap'n comes a-runnin' up to her, an' sez he, 'Mother,
wot's wrong?'

"'Wot d'ye mean, Janders Blue,' sez she to he, sez she, 'by allowin' o'
sich permiskis langwidge on your boat?'

"'W'y, mother,' sez he, 'that are reg'lar sea langwidge.'

"'Then it are got to be changed,' sez she to he, sez she, jes like that,
him bein' Cap'n of the schooner, an' she bein' his mother with a white
umbreller. She turned around to go aft ag'in, an' stopped like she were
hit herself. 'Janders Blue,' sez she, 'look at this here rope!'

"'Wot's the matter with 't, mother?'

"'It are all covered with tar!'

"'That's allers the way with 'em on ships,' sez he.

"'Nonsense!' sez she. 'I ain't a-goin' to stand it. You're all in a plot
to make this 'ere v'yidge o' mine a failure. I won't have it! Janders
Blue, you set them lazy sailors to work right off with hot water 'n'
soap a-scrubbin' that stuff off. Ugh! Tar! Ugh!'

"I hope I may turn into a bloomin' Sally Growler ef the Cap'n didn't do
jes wot she told him. Ye never in the hull course o' your life see sich
a ridikalous sight as sailor-men a-scrubbin' the tar off their own
riggin'. An' that weren't the wust o' 't. Byme-by, o' course, it come on
night, and the side-lights were set. Now it so happened that we had a
strong breeze on the starboard beam that night, an' we was putty well
hove over. Mrs. Blue she come on deck jes after the lights was sot, an'
she vowed as how she were tired o' the starn part o' the wessel, an'
were a-goin' to walk up an' down forrad. She came along to the fok's'le
deck an' got down on the lee side to walk up an' down. Jes as soon as
she done that she seed the red light in the port riggin'. She let out a
yawp as almost killed the wind, and called fur Bill Doosenbury. He come
a-runnin' half scart to death, fur fear she'd got hurt. But she sez to
him, sez she:

"'Take that nasty red light down. It hurts my eyes.'

"'But, ma'am,' sez Bill, 'that's our side light.'

"'Waal,' sez she, 'put it on t'other side, and put the green one over
here. I don't mind green.'

"'Couldn't you walk on t'other side?' sez Bill.

"'No, I couldn't,' sez she; 'you know it's too windy up there. You
change them lights!'

"Bill tried to tell her why it couldn't be did, but she wouldn't listen
to him. She hollered fur the Cap'n, an' he come forrad, an' findin' out
wot were the matter, offered to put out both lights, blow me fur a
herrin' ef he didn't.

"'Wot!' sez she, 'an' leave me in the dark to fall down an' break my
neck?'

"An' with that she set up a weepin' an' wailin' that her son didn't love
her, till I'm blowed ef the old man didn't go an' shift the lights to
suit her. An' then we had to put on double lookouts fur fear we'd run
into somethin'. O' course soon's she went below we shifted 'em back. In
the mid-watch 't come on to blow putty fresh, and I, bein' on watch,
sung out a few orders about reefin', an' the watch jumped to work. Up
come the old woman in a long night-gown an' a red flannel night-cap, two
steps at a time.

"'Wot d'ye mean,' she yells, 'a-raisin' such a racket up here at this
time o' night? It's time all decent people was in bed. Shame on ye!
Shame on ye! Roisterin' an' carousin' out here this way! Go to bed, ye
miserable sinners, go to bed!'

"I tried to explain to her as how the schooner'd got to be worked
through the night.

"'Nonsense!' sez she to me, sez she;'my son Janders'd never make no man
work all night. He'd stop the ship an' have a night watchman to mind her
till mornin'. This are some o' your doin'. You're the wust o' the hull
lot. Th' idee of your bein' out this time o' night. You're old nuff to
know better!'

"By that time the Cap'n were on deck, an' somehow he coaxed her to go
below an' stay there. But the werry next mornin' she were at 't ag'in.
We started in to wash down decks, an' up she come without her hat on an'
her hair all up in yaller curl-papers. She tuk one look along the deck,
an' then she bruk out:

"'Waal, of all the oncivilized ways o' cleanin' a floor I must say I
'ain't never seed nothin like that. Squirtin' onto 't with a hose!
Janders! Janders! Come out here!'

"The Cap'n come on deck lookin' putty tired, an' she sez to he, sez she:

"'I won't stand it--I won't! Make them lazy men git soap an' water an'
scrubbin'-brushes, an' git right down on their knees an' scrub the floor
honest. Th' idee o' squirtin' onto 't!'

"An' by the great hook block we had to do 't. Right down onto our knees,
es ef we wus so many old women hired out fur to do cookin', washin', an'
ironin! Waal, ye may keel-haul me an' copper-bottom me on top o' my head
with yaller paper ef I didn't begin fur to git putty mad. I made up my
mind that the next thing o' that sort wot the old girl called out fur us
to do were not a-goin' fur to be did. Waal, it weren't so werry long
afore the trouble bruk loose. We had a little more wind than we wanted
day afore yistiddy, an' afore we could git the torps'ls clewed down
there were a hit of a split in one ov 'em. Yistiddy I got my sail needle
an' palm an' were a-startin' to go up to mend the sail. The old woman
stopped me an' asked me wot I were a-goin' to do. She looked at me an'
at the sail needle an' the palm, an' then she let go:

"'I 'ain't never seed sich an old heathen in the hull course o' my
life,' sez she. 'The idee o' climbin' up there an' riskin' your life
w'en you could have the sail brung down! An' then to try to sew it with
sich things as them! I won't stand it, that are all I got to say.'

"I told her that were the way them things was allers did at sea, an' she
vowed it were time sich nonsense were changed. Then