Chapter 6

_Trin._ Stephano,--
_Steph._ Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! Mercy!

TEMPEST.

The life of a packet steward is one of incessant mixing and washing, of
interrogations and compoundings, all in a space of about twelve feet
square. These functionaries, usually clever mulattoes who have caught the
civilisation of the kitchen, are busy from morning till night in their
cabins, preparing dishes, issuing orders, regulating courses, starting
corks, and answering questions. Apathy is the great requisite for the
station; for wo betide the wretch who fancies any modicum of zeal, or good
nature, can alone fit him for the occupation. From the moment the ship
sails until that in which a range of the cable is overhauled, or the chain
is rowsed up in readiness to anchor, no smile illumines his face, no tone
issues from his voice while on duty, but that of dogged routine--of
submission to those above, or of snarling authority to those beneath him.
As the hour for the "drink gelt," or "buona mana," approaches, however, he
becomes gracious and smiling. On his first appearance in the pantry of a
morning, he has a regular series of questions to answer, and for which,
like the dutiful Zeluco, who wrote all his letters to his mother on the
same day, varying the dates to suit the progress of time, he not
unfrequently has a regular set of answers out and dried, in his
gastronomical mind. "How's the wind?" "How's the weather?" "How's her
head?" all addressed to this standing almanack, are mere matters of
course, for which he is quite prepared, though it is by no means unusual
to hear him ordering a subordinate to go on deck, after the answer is
given, with a view to ascertain the facts. It is only when the voice of
the captain is heared from his state-room, that he conceives himself bound
to be very particular, though such is the tact of all connected with
ships, that they instinctively detect the "know nothings," who are
uniformly treated with an indifference suited to their culpable ignorance.
Even the "old salt" on the forecastle has an instinct for a brother tar,
though a passenger, and a due respect is paid to Neptune in answering his
inquiries, while half the time the maiden traveller meets with a grave
equivoque, a marvel, or a downright mystification.

On the first morning out, the steward of the Montauk commenced the
dispensation of his news; for no sooner was he heard rattling the glasses,
and shuffling plates in the pantry, than the attack was begun by Mr.
Dodge, in whom "a laudable thirst after knowledge," as exemplified in
putting questions, was rather a besetting principle. This gentleman had
come out in the ship, as has been