# Down to the Sea/The Vitality of Dennis

pp. 181–187

### THE VITALITY OF DENNIS

THE crew of the Wilmerdine came down to the dock in two express-wagons, with their dunnage, and climbed, or were lifted, over the rail; then, while the six boarding-house runners who had delivered them stood guard on the dock, and the shipping-master who had sold them went below with the captain for his money, the chief mate inspected them from the poop.
An unkempt muster it was. Three lay helpless on the deck, others leaned for support against the rail or propped themselves against their clothes-bags—of which there were eight among the twenty. Not a chest was there; but one man guarded closely a pair of new carpet slippers; one held tightly under his arm a flannel shirt; others had other single articles—sou'westers, oil-skin coats without pants, oil-skin pants without coats, dungaree overalls, mateless boots, stockings, and mittens; and one of them, the raggedest and drunkenest man erect, defied Fate and Cape Horn with an empty, three-by-two pasteboard trunk such as little girls receive at Christmas for dolls' clothing. Two only seemed to know why they were there—clean, neatly dressed fellows, who took the initiative in shouldering their bags and heading for the forecastle. They were called back to assist the three helpless ones forward, and while they were doing so the captain and shipping-master appeared.
"What d'ye think of the crew, Mr, Saltup?" asked the latter.
The mate glowered into the hard face of the shipping-master and said, contemptuously: "It'll take me a month to lick 'em into shape. I never saw a good crew shipped out o' Frisco yet."
"And ye never will in an American ship while ye treat men like wild animals," said the other, who, with his money in his pocket, felt independent and virtuous. "Ye feed them on condemned navy stores, keep them up in their watch below, and hammer them with pump-brakes; then ye expect good men to ship deep-water. All the good men are in the coasters. None o' yer crew signed articles willingly, or knew where they were goin', but two; and ye couldn't ha' got them without a cash advance 'stead of a note—ye know that, cappen."
"I know it—blast their hides. I had to have two able seamen, at least. But they'll earn their money twice over this passage. I expect you to watch that they don't jump her."
"I'll watch, but don't ye fear, cappen. Sandy and Dennis want to get home. They bought drafts with their advance and mailed them ahead to their families. If they didn't want to ride with ye they wouldn't be here now."
The crew, those who could work, were called out; mooring-chains and fenders taken in, a line passed to a tug alongside, and the Wilmerdine towed to good holding-ground, where the anchor was dropped, and the bending of sails and the "licking into shape" of the crew were begun. No clubs were needed for the latter. The hammer-like fists of the two mates—both large men—answered every purpose; and when a man failed to answer "Sir" when roared at, or did not jump quickly enough to a task, he felt the weight of one—sometimes two at once—of these fists, and, if not rendered unconscious, was further punished by boot-heels. By noon half the crew were unable to go aloft, and the forecastle bunks contained three more unconscious men. The two men spoken of had escaped physical contact with their superiors, but had received their full share of the cursings and billingsgate applied; for they were of the crew and must be impressed.
"I do be thinkin', Sandy," said one of them as they passed a head-earing on the fore topgallant yard, "that this'll be a hot ship to thravel home in."
"Aye, mun, that ut weel," answered the other. "But beggars maunna be choosers, an' thirty shillin' a week is muckle money t' pay oot t' a bardin'-hoose. We've seened articles, an' we're oot in t' stream, Dennis."
"An' it's sorry I be thot I signed; fur I don't like the color o' the mate's hair."
The royal above them was bent and furled, and when they and the men with them had finished the topgallant-sail, they came down to the lower yard, the topsails having been disposed of by another gang. The chief mate, looking up from the forecastle deck, took especial note of the seamanlike way in which Sandy and Dennis handled themselves, and when the foresail was finished, and the men were laying in to descend, he sang out to the two to remain on the yard, and he would send up the quarter-blocks—in this case a pair of triangular iron plates, containing two sheaves, through which the chain topsail sheets would pass to the bitts below, after reeving through the sheave-holes in the ends of the yard. They were to bolt this iron triangle to the underside of the sling band at the middle of the yard, then shackle on and reeve off the sheets, which were coiled in the fore-top.
They comprehended and answered respectfully. The mate fastened the quarter-blocks, with a hammer and wrench, to the bight of a buntline; they hauled them up, and proceeded with the job, while the rest of the men were driven aft to begin work on the mizzen, and the carpenter, whose duty it was to bolt on these fixtures, personally directed the job from below until finished and then resumed the work he was engaged upon—calking the fore-hatch. The mate on the poop, looking forward occasionally, saw that the two were reeving the sheets, and sang out to "bear a hand and lay aft."
A few minutes later a frightful cry rang out from forward, followed by shouts from Sandy, who was seen frantically descending the fore rigging, and from the carpenter, who appeared round the corner of the forward house, white of face, and holding his right arm tightly.
"Man fallen from aloft, sir," he called, and groaned with his own pain. Forward they tumbled—the two mates and the men on deck—and looked on a horrid sight. Dennis lay sprawled on the deck, one leg on the fore-hatch, the other doubled under him, while his neck was twisted so that he looked over his shoulder. His face was covered with blood, and he breathed in short, jerky gasps, which spoke of nothing but punctured lungs.
"Put him in his bunk," said the mate, as he viewed the sufferer.
They attempted to raise him, but the gasps were merged in a hoarse, rattling groan, and they desisted.
"Let him be," said the mate; "get his mattress out and lay him on it. Rig a whip to the fore-yard, some o' you; this is a hospital job."
And while Sandy bent over him and enjoined him by all that was dear in their memory and friendship to speak to him and not to die, the whip was rigged, the mattress brought, and poor Dennis tenderly lifted to a softer bed. A passing tug was hailed, whose captain willingly agreed to land the injured man; a broad plank was slipped under the mattress, to which the whip was bridled, and Dennis—now still and quiet—mattress, dunnage, and all, was lifted out of the ship he regretted signing in, and sent ashore in charge of the second mate and Sandy, who begged, with a face of misery, to be allowed to accompany his friend to the hospital. "For, sir, we've been sheepmuts an' freends seeven year the noo, an' if Dennis is to dee, I maun be wi' him," he said, and the mate in consenting proved that somewhere in his salt-seasoned anatomy he had a remnant of a heart. But he cautioned the second mate to watch the Scotchman and bring him back.
This officer returned alone an hour later, and reported to the captain and mate a wondrous thing, and a shameful thing—that no sooner was the dying man lifted to the dock, with his dunnage, by the tug men, than he sprang to his feet, shouldered his bag, uttered an Irish whoop, and, accompanied by his sorrowful friend Sandy, raced up the wharf and entered the short streets close by. He had pursued, but lost them around the first corner, and, after notifying a policeman, had come back for instructions.
But, in spite of instructions and actions on the part of the furious captain and the police, Dennis and Sandy were not found, and the ship sailed for Liverpool without them, with her carpenter nursing a black-and-blue shoulder for two idle weeks. For Dennis had come down hard.
At Liverpool, where, of course, the crew deserted, the mystery was explained. The carpenter went ashore one evening, and, passing an eating-saloon, was accosted by a man in the doorway, whom he knew. It was Sandy.
"Come awa', Cheeps," he said. "Come; Dennis'll be vera glad t' see ye. He swears ye ware t' savin' o' him."
The carpenter shook hands with the Scot and was drawn within, where, seated at a table, behind a huge mug of ale, was Dennis, bright-eyed and wholesome. "An', Cheeps," went on Sandy, after the greetings and an order for more ale, "could ye inform me aboot ma clothes. I had a boony ootfit—brawn-new. Wha got them?"
"Who got 'em? Why, the men, of course. If it wasn't for that bag of yours they'd ha' frozen off the Horn. Your shirts never got cold nor your oil-skins dry till we struck the trades this side. What did you come around in?"
We shipped in the Harley Castle a fortnight on, Cheeps," said Sandy, abstractedly. "Weel, weel, an' I've lost my clothes. But it's a' for t' best. I'm sawtisfied."
"Satisfied! You ought to be, with sixty dollars advance that you never earned. But what I want to know is, how this Irishman can break himself to pieces and then run like a scared jackass."
"Dead aisy, Chips," grinned Dennis. "Up on the yard we seed they were all aft an' clus inboard, an' cudent see us in the slings. An' you were beneath us, engaged with your corkin'-mallet, unsuspicious like; and Sandy here, at my request, slugged me on the nose—wance, twiste—murder! but it hurt; an' I smeared the blood from me nose all over me face, an' shuk hands wid Sandy—fur I didn't know how he'd make it—and shlid down the topsa'l sheets till I was six feet above ye, Chips. By the powers, ye looked temptin'! An' then I jumped—"
"And came down boots first on my neck, and yelled blue murder, and stretched out and died," interrupted the carpenter. "I've heard that a Jew can't make a living in Scotland and Ireland. Now I know why." But a grin of forgiveness overspread the carpenter's face as he added: "It looks as though the drinks were on me, boys—something stronger than ale, too, What'll it be?"