The Galley Boy

By nightfall, I woke up. The small cabin rocked slowly from side to side; there was vibrations and the ship's hull trembled and the clapper board made a noise like a low tattoo. I switched on the light and lay on the bunk fully clothed. Then I heard a noise; there, outside of the cabin, some object was dragging along the deck; the storm hatch crashed and something was shovelled overboard. Suddenly there were a growing of voices and a great tramping of feet running by the ladder up to the boat deck, then there was a tumult which sounded like a number of persons were gathered on the deck, outside of my cabin. What was this all about?

I unlocked the door and pushed it ajar, and peeping out to darkness I saw two human figures standing beside the rail. The scene was illuminated by weak lamp on the bulkhead and I saw fine lustre of the wet iron rail behind the men, and behind all that, there was the dark, raw emptiness of the sea, where the sound of the waves and the moan of the wind was heard. One of the standing men wore an old military blouse and a woollen hat was pulled over his head. Another man, who was standing next to the first one, was half-facing the light; he seemed be a lean, lightly dressed Negro. The yellow spotlight from the door cut out across the darkness, and hit the couple standing on deck; white eyeballs flashed and the white sweatband stood out with clear stripe against the black skin of neck. I shut the door. I didn't know what the time was. I lay down half-awake on the bunk. Later, how much later I have no knowledge; someone was pounding on the door and there was shouting outside: "It's six o'clock! Wake up, you!"

It was quarter-past six as I staggered into the mess room, where I found Rissa sitting with a cup of coffee in front of her, smoking a cigarette. She was a large woman with dark hair; her upper lip was covered with fair, black hair. When she spoke there was deep alto in her tone. She could have been about age of thirty or less; the strong eyebrows and thick, dark hair gave her a stout expression; by all accounts she appeared to have a strong character. When I stepped in, she glanced at me.

"I was told that your door was locked. Is it true?" she asked.

I replied, "Who told you"?

"The sea watch told me that the door was locked," she said.

I nodded.

" You don't keep the door locked at sea. Shore people locked their doors, but not seamen on the open sea. If something happens, you will be locked in there and will go down with the ship. Try to remember it. Now you have to bring the coffee up to the bridge."

At half-past six, under the direction of Rissa, I collected cups upon the tray; the moody cook pushed buns on the tray and I held it in balance and started to climb up the ladder that led up to the bridge; the way was steep and slippery. Step by step I rose; the higher I got, the more the ship was rolling. Each step asked for hard labour and all the time the ship rolled and plunged. Single-handed, I struggled up and finally managed stand up on the bridge in front of the closed sliding door of the wheelhouse.

The chief mate, wearing a long fur coat, pulled the door open. I held the tray with straight hands toward him. "What the hell are you up to? Take it in. All the way there," At the same moment the ship swung and I plunged into the wheel-house, thrown by the impetuous inclination of the ship and without reduced my speed I crossed and was hurled into the navigation cabin, then under the ship's reverse movement I had stopped and thrust the tray on the chart table. When slowly returning across the wheelhouse, I had time to notice the steering wheel on my left side and behind it was standing on the low platform the seaman who I had seen the previous night talking with the black man on deck. Later I get know him called as Metros!

With greedy eyes I looked about the environment. The wheel-house was paneled in teak and there was a brass binnacle near the front window. At my right hand was the engine telegram, and behind the row of numerous windows was seen the great view of the extensive sea. I went out to the wing of the bridge and remained in place for a moment. It was a good stage to see around, there was an almost unhampered panorama over the ship and far out over the sea. The general colour of the sea was grey, so was the sky above. I was struck by this infinite expanse around me. The ship rolled slowly; the standing rigging and all the fixed wires and ropes rose diagonally up and were affixed to the mast under the black cross tree. Looking backward I could see how the stern rose and fell at even intervals. The wake, with its straight line of foam, remained behind the ship. Through the cold grey sea the ship proceeds, the undulating line behind it was as straight as an arrow. We drove before the wind; the grey waves lifted their manes in the same direction as the ship was heading. The black smoke of burned coal was drifting with the wind and got down close by the waves. It was quiet; the greatest noise in this environment was the sound of the rising and falling waves and the hiss of the bow wave. Aloft from the rigging I could hear slow hum of the light breeze.

I learned my duty; there was the daily cabin cleaning onboard. Following Rissa's instructions, I began to clean the first engineer's cabin.

The cabin was very scantily furnished; there was a tiny writing table, a short sofa and a high bunk, insulated by curtains, and the wardrobe in the corner. The cabin was bare like a cage; there wasn't anything like a family portrait on view - no photographs of any kind! Not even a calendar with pictures of half-naked girls, which were so popular among the seamen.

Faint booming was heard from the floor; I bent down to see, then opened the bunk box under the bed and found there a row of empty Vodka bottles rolling up and down with the cycle of ship's motion. The door opened and first engineer came in the cabin. He was a stubby, strongly built man, with a flat nose; the corner of his eye was thick like a boxer's, but on his moon-round face played a benevolent smile. He was Polish, and except his native language he was not able to speak any other; he had a couple words of German and two or three words of English, just what the doctor ordered for his duty in the engine room. Lack of communication between the crew was not an obstacle; everywhere the work in ships, on the ocean or local trade, is similar-there is not a need to speak. With the ship being at sea, there in the engine room, he hadn't company with speak to; the stokers, when shovelling coal into the greedy furnaces almost incessantly, they were poor conversationalists, and if they weren't drunk they were sick from the previous drinking-bout and very taciturn.

The engineer conjured up a bottle of vodka, poured half a glass, and then extended it toward me. I understood that he wished to toast for the newcomer. I swallowed down a mouthful of strong liquid, then with pantomime gestures I told him that had a lot fetch and carry to do and, lifting up my items from the floor, I leave.

Harry Tobin