The Yarn of Old Harbour TownRussell, William Clark
General
The Yarn of Old Harbour Town
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 20th century; Historical fiction; Sea stories
The cabin dinner-hour on board the _Minorca_ was one o'clock. When Mr
Lawrence first met Mr Eagle, and perceived that he was little superior
to a working hand before the mast, he had made up his mind to hold no
intercourse with him outside the absolute requirements of the ship's
routine. He had told him plainly that he desired to dine alone, and
that when the mate's duty kept him on deck he, Mr Lawrence, would
relieve him after he had finished his meal. This arrangement perhaps
secretly pleased Mr Eagle, even on the spot when it was first named,
for he easily witnessed in Mr Lawrence a man so out and away superior
to himself that he judged he would feel like taking a great liberty
every time he sat down with the master of the ship.
The dinner was served this day at one o'clock. The humpbacked steward
brought the dishes aft from the galley or caboose, as the little
cooking place used to be called. The ship had only just come out of
port, and she had brought with her a stock of fresh provisions, meat,
and vegetables, and the like, which would supply the cabin and the
forecastle with fresh messes for some days. Mr Lawrence had also caused
a couple of hen-coops to be filled with poultry.
In those times sailors lacked the addition of the harness cask and
bread barge, to the bitter wooden beef and the coarse worm-eaten
ship's biscuit which science and experience have contributed to the
scurvy-making fare which seamen are obliged to eat. Yet a sort of
provision was made to supplement the brine-hardened meat and the worms
of the sailor's bread. The captain of a man-of-war, for instance, at
sea, would breakfast on coffee, toast, potted beef and tongue, sliced
_à la_ Vauxhall. Whole legs of mutton were tinned.
Mr Lawrence sat down alone in the plain little cabin of the _Minorca_
on this the first day of the vessel's sailing, and upon the table were
placed by Paul a boiled fowl, a piece of boiled bacon, a round of cold
fresh beef boiled, a dish of sausages, and two or three dishes of
vegetables. Paul having already received instructions placed a tray
furnished for a meal beside his master on the table; and Mr Lawrence
cut some fowl and bacon, adding vegetables, and filled a small tumbler
with red wine, and then, stepping to the door of the berth in which
Lucy Acton was confined, he almost noiselessly inserted the key and
softly shot the latch, and resumed his seat, and Paul, bearing the tray
of food, knocked on the door, and receiving no reply entered, and the
motion of the ship upon a long, steady heave of swell slammed the door
to after him.
Mr Lawrence, with his back turned upon this cabin door, heard Lucy's
voice, but not what she said. If Paul answered her his voice was so
sunk by the awfulness of her presence, by all that she meant being
at sea, by all that she had typified to this forlorn vagrant when on
shore, that his accents were inaudible in the cabin.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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