“I will confess to you, Kelly, that it was an experience I appreciated more than I thought I would,” Duff replied. “But I think I’ll stay ashore for a while.”
“MacCallister,” Norton said. “The cap’n wants a word with you before you leave. He said to send you to his cabin.”
“The cap’n’s cabin?” Kelly said. “I’ve been sailing man and boy for fifteen years, I’ve never been in the cap’n’s cabin.”
Captain Powell’s cabin took up most of the area under the quarterdeck, stretching from side to side and back to the stern where a spread of windows let in the light. There was a large bed, a desk, and a chart table. He was standing at the chart table using a compass and ruler on the chart that was before him.
Duff knocked, lightly, on the door to the cabin.
“Come in, Mr. MacCallister,” Captain Powell said. Looking up, he smiled when he saw what Duff was wearing. “Now I must say, that is more befitting a gentleman than the clothes you have been wearing for the last three weeks. Buy it from the clothing merchant, did you?”
“Aye, sir, I felt I no longer had the right to Peters’s clothes.”
“Mr. MacCallister, I kept a close eye on you during this voyage. You had an inauspicious beginning, sneaking on board as you did.” He paused, waiting for some response from Duff. “I’m glad to see that you aren’t refuting me. You did stow away, did you not?”
“Aye, sir,” Duff admitted.
“Yes, well, as I say, you had a most inauspicious beginning, but, a most commendable voyage. You did not shirk your duties. You performed them with a skill that one would expect from a much more experienced sailor, to say nothing of your saving Kelly’s life.
“I watched the men around you as well. And while it is often difficult for a new sailor to break into a crew, tight-knit as they tend to be, the men liked and respected you. I’m told that when you came aboard, you introduced yourself to Jiggs as Captain MacCallister. Are you a captain, Mr. MacCallister?”
“Aye. I am a captain—that is—I was a captain in the 42nd Foot, Third Battalion of the Royal Highland Regiment of Scotts. It is the regiment we call the Black Watch.”
Captain Powell smiled, and nodded his head. “Yes, I knew you were officer material. I think, with my recommendation, you could ship out again for Red Ball as a ship’s officer. Serve as a warrant or lieutenant for a few cruises, then you could one day command your own ship. What would you think about that?”
“I think it is very flattering, and I believe you would be most kind to make such a recommendation, Captain, but I do not think the sea is for me. I think I will stay on dry land for a while.”
“I shall not try to change your mind,” Captain Powell said. “But just know that if you ever have a desire to go to sea again, look me up. I will be happy to sponsor you.”
“I appreciate that, Captain, more than I can say.”
When Duff returned to steerage to pick up his bag, the other sailors stood, respectfully.
“Here now, what is all this?” Duff asked.
“Is it true that you are to be a ship’s officer?” Kelly asked.
“No,” Duff said. “Now why would I leave the fo’ castle?”
Kelly smiled broadly. “Fine lad that you are, I knew you were one of us.”
“Well, not entirely,” Duff replied. “If I were to ship out again, it would be with you men, for I’ve served with no finer group of men anywhere. But, it’s ashore for me. I want to see some of America.”
“Then perhaps you’ll have dinner with us tonight at the Port of Call,” Kelly asked.
“I would be honored,” Duff said.
The Port of Call restaurant was less than a block away from the docks. The sign in front was a wooden representation of a three-masted schooner. The bill of fare exhibited its international flavor by offering cuisine from a dozen countries, from Moo Goo Gai Pan to Avocat et Oeufs à la Mousse de Crabe, from kidney pie to Southern fried chicken.
There was a kaleidoscope of sound inside as sailors from a dozen countries carried on spirited conversations in their own languages. Everything was going well until a big Frenchman was walking by the table of the sailors from the Hiawatha. Just as he drew even with the table, Dowling, one of the Hiawatha crew, chose that moment to stand up so that he could go relieve himself. He pushed his chair back into the path of the Frenchman, and the French sailor stumbled but did not fall.
“Oh, beg your pardon, mate, I didn’t see you coming,” Dowling said.
“Cochon Américain typique, aussi aveugle que vous êtes stupide,” the Frenchman mumbled.
“Vous êtes des ceux qui sont aveugles et stupides. Mon ami s’est excuse, mais vous êtes trop le rustre pour être gracieux,” Duff said.
The Frenchman had called Dowling a blind, stupid pig, and Duff had responded by saying that Frenchman was the one who was blind and stupid, and too much the boor to accept an apology. The Frenchman’s eyes grew large when he heard Duff speak.
“Yes, I speak French,” Duff said.
The Frenchman started to walk away and Duff turned his attention back to his friends at the table. A moment later Kelly yelled, “MacCallister, look out!”
Duff turned just in time to see that the Frenchman had picked up a chair and had the chair raised high, preparatory to bringing it down on Duff’s head. Duff rolled off his seat just as the Frenchman brought the chair crashing down on the table, breaking the plate Duff was eating from and sending food flying.
Shouting in anger for having missed, the Frenchman raised his chair again and turned toward Duff. From the floor, Duff sent a whistling kick into the Frenchman’s groin. The Frenchman dropped the chair and grabbed himself, doubled over with pain.
While he was still doubled over, Duff leaped up from the floor, grabbed the Frenchman by the scruff of his neck and the back of his shirt, then started across the floor with him, moving him toward the door. One of the waiters saw what had happened and what was now happening, and he opened the front door, just as Duff pushed the big Frenchman through it. The Frenchman fell forward, his face landing in a pile of horse apples.
When Duff went back into the restaurant, everyone inside stood and applauded, even including the other Frenchmen.
“Claude is—as Americans would say, a sorry son of a bitch,” one of the French sailors said. “It is about time someone gave him his due.”
When Duff returned to the table, he saw that his broken plate had been replaced with a new, fresh serving of haggis, taties, and neeps.
“I don’t know how you can eat that,” Kelly said. “But the waiter brought you another serving, on the house.”
Duff awakened the next morning to the sounds of the city. Just outside the window of his hotel he heard a train going by on an elevated track. From the street, five stories below, he could hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the ringing sound of iron-rimmed wheels rolling on the paved road. Getting out of bed, Duff moved to the window to have his first real look at New York. With five- and six-story buildings on either side of the street, he felt as if he were looking down a canyon.
The street was filled with pedestrians and vehicles, hundreds of people strolling to and fro, and dozens of large freight wagons, omnibuses, elegant carriages, buckboards, and surreys. In addition to surface traffic, there was also an elevated railroad and a spiderweb maze of telephone, telegraph, and electric lines. His room had electric lights, and the notice on the dresser proudly proclaimed that telephone service was available in the lobby.
Duff had heard of a telephone, but he had never seen one, and wasn’t exactly sure how one would work. But after getting dressed, he walked down to the lobby to see how one went about using the phone.