The Corral, Volume [23], Number 2, March, 1933 Page: 3
This periodical is part of the collection entitled: Corral and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Hardin-Simmons University Library.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
THE CORRAL
Ordinary Seaman
By J. G. TURNERSOMEHOW the sailor is painted as a most pic-
turesque figure, standing in the commanding
attire of a sou'wester and oilskins, the raw lash
of salt spray whipping in a bronzed face. Such
pictures are peculiarly representative of a large
number of sailors. But this is altogether a dif-
ferent story. The attire of this young chap who'd
signed on the "New Boston" was a distinct devia-
tion from the customary.
Ribald jeers from the crew he had weathered
during the past ten days. He had signed as an
ordinary seaman. He was singularly tall and frail.
Beneath bagging corduroys he wore a pair of over-
size and unwieldly sea boots that were completely
unmanageable on his pipe-stem legs.
The night he was complaining in the mess room
of the treatment the skipper had given him, he was
truly sympathy-demanding. The poor chap, sore
and seasick, had let his eyes wander off the omni-
present compass and scan the sea. The mate had
called him down several times for not keeping his
eyes on the lovers' line. He had a knack for steer-
ing, however, the first mate knew when he called
him up several days before. About four bells in
the morning the captain had stalked in the pilot
house and treated him roughly. He had said the
Kid had lengthened the shipping time until the ship
couldn't reach Le Havre on schedule. He even
told the frightened fledgling he had 'steered the
old tub clean out of the Gulf stream.' All of
which the Kid unwarily believed.
He sat with his head in his hands, staring at
the opposite bulkhead. Great red splotches out-
lined his eyes. His red lids closed lazily. He
simply couldn't get it off his mind. He told the
deck boy he was as good a quartermaster "as the
whole outfit," determinately, his eyes glowing.
An able seaman stalked in. He drew off his
gloves and blew his hands.
"Going to be a dirty night out, Matty," he was
saying to another of his own kind. "Better souse
up with lots of coffee before your watch."
The youngster was already drinking his after-
dinner cup of coffee. It was chicory and he didn't
like it, but it was something warm inside and the
Lord knows that when you're off the coast of New-
foundland in a gale you'll drink hot brine rather
than go through that with a cold interior. Hedrank in audible gulps still staring ahead. He
was not faking determination.
Up in the pilot house the second mate paused
uneasily, his shoes scraping the glistening deck as
he faced about. He tapped the barometer inter-
mittently and knit his brows. At one time he had
blown on the speaking tube and told the captain
that the "glass" was falling. It was sure to be a
whale of a night before it was over.
Swirling mottled clouds, stretching from thic red
horizon skyward in unending array of grotesque
forms, indicated to the lookout who ascended the
foc's'le head ladder that he was lucky in having
the first watch. The storm would be sure to blow
up during the green ord'nary's watch. The Kid
would be panicky he knew.
He liked standing lookout, especially watching
the sporting porpoise swimming ahead of the boat,
their trim bodies luminous with oceanic phoss
phorus. But let a gale blow up, or even so much
as a squall. Wet to the skin, hands purple and
numb, a howl in the wind while a torrent of brine
oversweeps, and that fitful screaming of the rig-
ging. No escape. It had to be borne.
There was a noticeable change in things, Cap-
tain Johnsen saw as he ascended the bridge. In
the stead of a quiet wind and sea, now there was
a rolling slush that kept breaking over the bow.
He could see the spray shooting up out of the
hawse-pipes. The wind had shifted into a norther
and blew out of a fused group of rolling thun-
derous clouds. It had taken on a new bite.
"Better call the lookout off the head. Make him
stand on the weather side o' the bridge. We don't
want no mishaps this trip. Haven't forgot that
Loggerhead hurricane in '27 as yet," he ordered,
pulling at one side of his moustache.
"Aye, aye, sir," the mate obeyed. He had a
sheaf of yellow radiograms in his hand, fresh from
the operator's cabin.
"Here is an SOS from the 'Tipperary' - she's
adrift with a broken rudder. We can pick her up
by altering our course by fifteen degrees if you
like."
"Tip-Tipperary" - ain't that Angus Derg's
vessel?"
"Yes, sir; she's bound for Tampa with heavy
cargo."
"Nu-up. Forget th' whole matter. You mustPage 3
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Periodical.
Simmons University. The Corral, Volume [23], Number 2, March, 1933, periodical, March 1933; Abilene, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth109431/m1/5/?q=%22%22~1&rotate=270: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Hardin-Simmons University Library.