Tramping on Life. Harry 1883-1960 Kemp
the Sailors' Aid Society, I'll be rolling in money … then you can be sorry for the captain."
Sydney Harbour … the air alive with sunlight and white flutterings of sea gulls a-wing … alive with pleasure boats that leaned here and yon on white sails.
Now that we were safe in harbour, I hesitated whether to run away or continue with the ship. For I had signed on to complete the voyage, via Iqueque, on the West Coast of South America, to Hamburg … I hesitated, I say, because, on shipboard, you're at least sure of food and a place to sleep. …
Karl and I had been set to work at giving the cabin a thorough overhauling. We fooled away much of our time looking into the captain's collections of erotic pictures and photographs … and his obscene books in every language.
And we discovered under the sofa-seat that was built against the side, a great quantity of French syrups and soda waters. So we spent quite a little of our time in mixing temperance drinks for ourselves.
Cautiously I spoke to the cook about what Karl and I were doing. For he knew, of course, that I knew of his marauding … and of the mates' and sailmaker's … so it was safe to tell him.
"You'd better be careful," the cook admonished me.
"But what could Captain Schantze want with so many bottles of syrup and soda water aboard?"
"The English custom's officer who comes aboard here is an old friend of Schantze's, and a teetotaler … so the captain always treats him to soda water."
"But Karl and I have drunk it all up already," I confessed slowly.
"You'll both catch a good hiding then when he calls for it and finds there is none."
The next day the customs man came aboard.
"Have a drink, Mr. Wollaston?" Schantze asked him.
"Yes, but nothing strong," for probably the tenth occasion came the answer.
Then offhandedly, the captain—as if he had not, perhaps, said the same thing for ten previous voyages: "I have some fine French soda water and syrup in my private locker, perhaps you'd like some of that, Mr. Wollaston?"
Mr. Wollaston, whose face and nose was so ruddy and pimply anyone would take him for a toper, answers: "Yes, a little of that Won't do any harm, Captain!"
"Karl!—Johann!" We had been listening, frightened, to the colloquy. We came out, trembling.
"Look under the cushions in my cabin … bring out some of the syrup and soda water you find there."
"Very well, sir!"
We both hurried in … stood facing each other, too scared to laugh at the situation. The captain had a heavy hand—and carried a heavy cane when he went ashore. He had the cane with him now.
After a long time: "You tell him there is none," whispered Karl.
"Well, what's wrong in there?" cried Schantze impatiently.
"We can't find a single bottle, sir!" I repeated, louder.
"What? Come out here! Speak louder! What did you say?"
"We can't find a single bottle, sir!" I murmured, almost inaudibly.
Then Karl, stammering, reinforced me with, "There are a lot of empty bottles here, sir!"
"What does this mean? Every voyage for years I have had soda and French syrup in my locker for Mr. Wollaston."
"Oh, don't mind me," deprecated the little customs man, at the same time as furious as his host.
Karl had already began to blubber in anticipation of the whipping due. The captain laid his heavy cane on everywhere. The boy fell at his feet, bawling louder, less from fear than from the knowledge that his abjectness would please the captain's vanity and induce him to let up sooner.
"Now you come here!" Schantze beckoned me.
He raised the cane at me. But, to my own surprise, something brave and strange entered into me. I would not be humiliated before a countryman of my mother's, that was what it was!
I looked the captain straight in the eye.
"Sir, I did not do it, and I won't be whipped!"
"Wha-at!" ejaculated Schantze, astonished at my novel behaviour.
"I didn't touch the syrup." Karl looked at me, astonished and incredulous at my audacity, through his tear-stained face.
The captain stepped back from me.
I must be telling the truth to be behaving so differently.
"Get to your bunk then!" he commanded.
I obeyed.
"Who is he?" … I heard the little customs man ask the skipper; "he doesn't talk like an Englishman."
"He isn't. He just a damn-fool Yankee boy I picked up in New York."
They had rounded Franz up and locked him away. The captain was determined to frustrate his little scheme for reimbursement, which he had by this time guessed.
I lie. I must tell the truth in these memoirs.
I had told on him.
But my motive was only an itch to see what would then take place. But when I saw that the issue would be an obvious one: that he would merely be spirited forth to sea again, and this time, forced to work, I felt a little sorry for the man. At the same time, I admit I wanted to observe the denouement myself, of his case … and as I now intended to desert the ship, it would have to take place in Sydney.
So, on the second night of Franz's incarceration, when nearly everybody was away on shore-leave, I took the captain's bunch of keys, and I let the shanghaied man, the mutineer, the man from Alsace-Lorraine—out!
It was not a very dark night. Franz stole along like a rat till he reached the centre of the dock. There he gave a great shout of defiance … why, I learned later. …
The Lord Summerville, which had, after all, beat us in by two days, despite Captain Schantze's boast, was lying on the other side of our dock. And her mate and several sailors thus became witnesses of what happened.
The shout brought, of course, our few men who remained on watch, on deck, and over on the dock after Franz … who allowed himself to be caught … the dock was English ground … the ship was German … a good point legally, as the canny Franz had foreseen.
His clothes were almost torn from his body.
Miller accidentally showed up, coming back from shore. And he joined in.
"Come back with us, you verfluchte Alsatz-Lothringer."
The Englishmen from the Lord Summerville now began calling out, "Let him alone!" and "I say, give the lad fair play!"
Some of them leaped down on the dock in a trice.
"Who the hell let him out?" roared the mate.
I stood on deck, holding my breath, and ready to bolt in case Franz betrayed me. But nevertheless my blood was running high and happy over the excitement I had caused by unlocking the door.
"No one let me out. I picked the lock. Will that suit you?" lied Franz, protecting me.
"What's the lad been and done?" asked the mate of the Lord Summerville.
"I was shanghaied in New York," put in Franz swiftly, "and I demand English justice."
"And you shall get it, my man!" answered the mate proudly, "for you have been assaulted on English ground, as I'll stand witness."
A whistle was blown. Men came running. Soon Franz was outside the jurisdiction of Germany.
The next day Captain Schantze stalked about, hardly speaking to Miller. He was angry and laid the blame at the latter's door.
"Miller, why in the name of God didn't you guard that fellow better?