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He absurdly insisted upon my addressing him as Mr.Mugridge, and his behavior and carriage were insufferable as he showed me my duties.Besides my work in the cabin, with its four small staterooms, was supposed to be his assistant in the galley, and my colossal ignorance concerning such things as peeling potatoes or washing greasy pots was a source of unending and sarcastic wonder to him.He refused to take into consideration what I was, or, rather, what my life and the things I was accustomed to had been.This was part of the attitude he chose to adopt toward me; and Iconfess, ere the day was done, that hated him with more lively feelings than I had ever hated any one in my life before.
This first day was made more difficult for me from the fact that the Ghost , under close reefs, (terms such as these I did not learn till later), was plunging through what Mr.Mugridge called an "'owlin' sou'easter."At half-past five, under his directions, I set the table in the cabin, with rough-weather trays in place, and then carried the tea and cooked food down from the galley.In this connection cannot forbear relating my first experience with a boarding sea.
"Look sharp or you'll get doused," was Mr.Mugridge's parting injunction, as I left the galley with a big tea-pot in one hand, and in the hollow of the other arm several loaves of fresh-baked bread.One of the hunters, a tall, loose-jointed chap named Henderson, was going aft at the time from the steerage, (the name the hunters facetiously gave their midships sleeping quarters), to the cabin.Wolf Larsen was on the poop, smoking his everlasting cigar.
"'Ere she comes.Sling yer 'ook!" the cook cried.
I stopped, for I did not know what was coming, and saw the galley door slide shut with a bang.Then I saw Henderson leaping like a madman for the main rigging, up which he shot, on the inside, till he was many feet higher than my head.Also I saw a great wave, curling and foaming, poised far above the rail.I was directly under it.My mind did not work quickly, everything was so new and strange.I grasped that I was in danger, but that was all.I stood still, in trepidation.Then Wolf Larsen shouted from the poop:
"Grab hold something, you -- you Hump!"
But it was too late.I sprang toward the rigging, to which might have clung, and was met by the descending wall of water.What happened after that was very confusing.I was beneath the water, suffocating and drowning.
My feet were out from under me, and I was turning over and over and being swept along I knew not where.Several times I collided against hard objects, once striking my right knee a terrible blow.Then the flood seemed suddenly to subside and I was breathing the good air again.I had been swept against the galley and around the steerage companionway from the weather side into the lee scuppers.The pain from my hurt knee was agonizing.I could not put my weight on it, or, at least, I thought I could not put my weight on it; and I felt sure the leg was broken.But the cook was after me, shouting through the lee galley door:
"'Ere, you! Don't tyke all night about it! Where's the pot? Lost overboard?
Serve you bloody well right if yer neck was broke!"I managed to struggle to my feet.The great tea-pot was still in my hand.I limped to the galley and handed it to him.But he was consuming with indignation, real or feigned.
"Gawd blime me if you ayn't a slob.Wot're you good for anyw'y, I'd like to know? Eh? Wot're you good for anyw'y? Cawn't even carry a bit of tea aft without losin' it.Now I'll 'ave to boil some more.
"An' wot're you snifflin' about?" he burst out at me, with renewed rage.
"'Cos you've 'urt yer pore little leg, pore little mamma's darlin'."I was not sniffling, though my face might well have been drawn and twitching from the pain.But I called up all my resolution, set my teeth, and hobbled back and forth from galley to cabin and cabin to galley without further mishap.Two things I had acquired by my accident: an injured kneecap that went undressed and from which suffered for weary months, and the name of "Hump," which Wolf Larsen had called me from the poop.Thereafter, fore and aft, I was known by no other name, until the term became a part of my thought-processes and identified it with myself, thought of myself as Hump, as though Hump were I and had always been I.
It was no easy task, waiting on the cabin table, where sat Wolf Larsen, Johansen, and the six hunters.The cabin was small, to begin with, and to move around, as I was compelled to, was not made easier by the schooner's violent pitching and wallowing.But what struck me most forcibly was the total lack of sympathy on the part of the men whom served.I could feel my knee through my clothes, swelling, and swelling, and I was sick and faint from the pain of it.I could catch glimpses of my face, white and ghastly, distorted with pain, in the cabin mirror.All the men must have seen my condition, but not one spoke or took notice of me, till I was almost grateful to Wolf Larsen, later on, (I was washing the dishes), when he said:
"Don't let a little thing like that bother you.You'll get used to such things in time.It may cripple you some, but all the same you'll be learning to walk.
"That's what you call a paradox, isn't it?" he added.
He seemed pleased when I nodded my head with the customary "Yes, sir.""I suppose you know a bit about literary things? Eh? Good.I'll have some talks with you sometime."And then, taking no further account of me, he turned his back and went up on deck.
That night, when I had finished an endless amount of work, was sent to sleep in the steerage, where I made up a spare bunk.I was glad to get out of the detestable presence of the cook and to be off my feet.To my surprise, my clothes had dried on me and there seemed no indications of catching cold, either from the last soaking or from the prolonged soaking from the foundering of the Martinez.Under ordinary circumstances, after all that I had undergone, I should have been fit for bed and a trained nurse.