True to Captain Hathaway's thoughts, Jim was assigned to do nearly
every grungy or filthy task that no one else would have the least
consideration for attempting.
Scrubbing all four decks required at least two weeks of bending over on the
knees to eliminate every speck of dust, soot or whatever was unsightly on
the wooden floors.
At least Jim only had to do this for only the two weeks; afterwards, the
top deck had to be mopped once a day and the lower ones every week. Then
there was washing the stateroom windows, the railings, scrubbing the galley
surfaces, polishing the control station on the poop deck, mopping the mast
platforms and then washing, rinsing, drying and putting away the dishes,
utensils, pans, pots and cups after every dinnertime. Jim was familiar with
hard work but it never ceased to leave him in a zombie-like trance every
night when he finished by 12 on the clock's face. Those first weeks were
filled with the same routine of work, work, more work, little food and no
play. It wasn't that anyone really thought or believed that Jim was a pest,
a hindrance or a bother. It was just standard procedure for those who
served as cabin boy or girl to take on the lowly, dirt jobs. Jim also felt
that the captain desired to test him so she could know what sort of
character and personality he had. Nevertheless, he kept his demeanor and
never got angry.
Somehow, it reminded him mightily of his experience aboard the R.L.S. Legacy. Long ago on the trip to Treasure Planet, Silver had stated that he, Jim, wouldn't have a bite of anything without permission. Well, Jim was to strong-willed and fierce to let the old rogue control him but he also didn't want to give Silver more reason to be angry with him. So he never complied and passed many days without a crumb of food. Even when helping Silver prepare a succulent, delicious entrée or dish, Jim used all of his willpower to keep himself in check; and when the entire crew was in the galley supping on stew, bread, jerky and fruit, Jim was topside working or below deck by himself The hunger deepened his sullenness but his pride wouldn't allow himself to "give-in" to Silver's authority. And the old space salt somehow never took notice until one night when Jim was badly injured by Scroop. The arachnid-like Mantavorian purposely smashed Jim's left rib cage by throwing him into the mainmast and snapped his right arm at the elbow—all because Jim had tried to give him a toothbrush and toothpaste for his breath. Upon discovery and a close look at Jim's injuries, Silver had noted that along with the heavily bruised and swollen right arm and chest that Jim had lost a dangerous amount of weight. At first, Silver was angry with Jim for what he believed was Jim's fault for "provoking" the nasty rigger. But Jim argued that and eventually convinced his superior that he wasn't the sort who picked fights (because no one had taught him)—he only stood up for himself. "And why's it yeh've been starvin' yerself like this lad? Yeh think a hunk'o spit'n fire like yerself ain't worth keepin' alive? Or'sit yeh'v given up on yerself?" Jim hung his head at this. "I don't even know if I'm anything at all. I guess....I once did. But ...now...sigh...I don't even think I'm ever gonna be...worth anything. " Silver's look changed dramatically to one of compassionate sadness. He gave a big, deep sigh. "What kind of pap could'a been so heartless as ta let yeh get this far down?" Jim understood this to be a rhetorical question; maybe the cyborg really did understand his inner feelings. "Jimbo, listen to me—and listen good: From now one, tings'is going ta be different. When Morph here wakes ya up in mornin', yeh come'n get yerself sume breakfast; I'll not let anyone, even a sassy sprig like yerself give out on me while we're on this ship. An' after that, yeh hop to yer morning chores—swab the deck, clear off any sponge barnacles and mop down the hull. Make sure that the entire ship is sparkling and trim 'for anyting else." Jim just kept his curious gaze as Silver kept talking while checking on the meat roasting on the spit over the burner. "Finish that 'n then yeh report back here for the heat of the day. I'll teach yeh how'ta make a good'n hearty feast just as good for an admiral—and I'll give yeh all the know-how that's ta be learned 'bout ship's 'n voyages 'n crews 'n stars 'n tings that yeh've never seen before." Then, turning to face Jim with his hands on his hips, he smirked. "And if the captain tinks that yer ready, I'll even learn ya how ta be as good a sailor or rigger than even Scroop himself can't be. And best of all, I'll even give ya a some learning on how to fight someone so that nobody can put ya down ever."
These words kept rolling around and around in Jim's head as the starlight from the sun, Sparnicius, slowly disappeared from the horizon. Jim was a few mop strokes from completing the bow area when Mr. Trump came walking along with his gaze upon the deck. Jim heard footsteps behind him, turned around and saw Mr. Trump walking along absentmindedly without looking where he was going. "Uh...", Jim began. Mr. Trump looked up with a surprised look. "Oh, um, well, Hello there young, uh, ummmm.....Jeffrey?" "Jim." "Oh yes, yes, yes, Jim, of course its Jim, how careless of me to forget. Um, well, Master Jim, I was just out pondering and was hoping someone else would be awake to see our first up-close glimpse of our destination." Jim just stared back in a perplexed stare. Mr. Trump noticed his misunderstanding look, cleared his throat and further elaborated. "That is to say... we shall be crossing over into the Chautauqua Barrens tonight." "Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that. Um, I uh, have to go below to...you know, get ready to bunk down. I'll come back after I'm all squared away." "Very well then, I'll be here, lad."
Jim walked away to the stairs and tramped down to his bunk on the third deck. Once there, he pulled the curtain closed, turned his solar-lit lamp up just enough to emit the weakest amount of light and pulled out his big bag of personal belongings from under the berth. He unbuttoned the top buttons and opened the seam quietly as possible. He waited a few moments to listen for any little noises that might indicate somebody was nearby. When he heard nothing, he continued by rummaging through his bag until he found and extracted several wooden cases, three long, dark brown ones and two smaller squares crafted of hickory wood. He stacked all but one on the bed, put that one on his lap, flipped the latched and got to work.
About 35 minutes later, Jim emerged from the stairs in his personal outfit that he'd worn for over 4 years: the tan shirt with the black jacket, his dark kaki-green pants along with his surfer boots. Turning towards the bow of the Ulterior, he stepped across the now-shiny poplar and ash deck to where Mr. Trump still leaned with a fervent stare. Stopping at the starboard quarter, Jim followed the quartermaster's gaze out into the Etherium.
Somehow, it reminded him mightily of his experience aboard the R.L.S. Legacy. Long ago on the trip to Treasure Planet, Silver had stated that he, Jim, wouldn't have a bite of anything without permission. Well, Jim was to strong-willed and fierce to let the old rogue control him but he also didn't want to give Silver more reason to be angry with him. So he never complied and passed many days without a crumb of food. Even when helping Silver prepare a succulent, delicious entrée or dish, Jim used all of his willpower to keep himself in check; and when the entire crew was in the galley supping on stew, bread, jerky and fruit, Jim was topside working or below deck by himself The hunger deepened his sullenness but his pride wouldn't allow himself to "give-in" to Silver's authority. And the old space salt somehow never took notice until one night when Jim was badly injured by Scroop. The arachnid-like Mantavorian purposely smashed Jim's left rib cage by throwing him into the mainmast and snapped his right arm at the elbow—all because Jim had tried to give him a toothbrush and toothpaste for his breath. Upon discovery and a close look at Jim's injuries, Silver had noted that along with the heavily bruised and swollen right arm and chest that Jim had lost a dangerous amount of weight. At first, Silver was angry with Jim for what he believed was Jim's fault for "provoking" the nasty rigger. But Jim argued that and eventually convinced his superior that he wasn't the sort who picked fights (because no one had taught him)—he only stood up for himself. "And why's it yeh've been starvin' yerself like this lad? Yeh think a hunk'o spit'n fire like yerself ain't worth keepin' alive? Or'sit yeh'v given up on yerself?" Jim hung his head at this. "I don't even know if I'm anything at all. I guess....I once did. But ...now...sigh...I don't even think I'm ever gonna be...worth anything. " Silver's look changed dramatically to one of compassionate sadness. He gave a big, deep sigh. "What kind of pap could'a been so heartless as ta let yeh get this far down?" Jim understood this to be a rhetorical question; maybe the cyborg really did understand his inner feelings. "Jimbo, listen to me—and listen good: From now one, tings'is going ta be different. When Morph here wakes ya up in mornin', yeh come'n get yerself sume breakfast; I'll not let anyone, even a sassy sprig like yerself give out on me while we're on this ship. An' after that, yeh hop to yer morning chores—swab the deck, clear off any sponge barnacles and mop down the hull. Make sure that the entire ship is sparkling and trim 'for anyting else." Jim just kept his curious gaze as Silver kept talking while checking on the meat roasting on the spit over the burner. "Finish that 'n then yeh report back here for the heat of the day. I'll teach yeh how'ta make a good'n hearty feast just as good for an admiral—and I'll give yeh all the know-how that's ta be learned 'bout ship's 'n voyages 'n crews 'n stars 'n tings that yeh've never seen before." Then, turning to face Jim with his hands on his hips, he smirked. "And if the captain tinks that yer ready, I'll even learn ya how ta be as good a sailor or rigger than even Scroop himself can't be. And best of all, I'll even give ya a some learning on how to fight someone so that nobody can put ya down ever."
These words kept rolling around and around in Jim's head as the starlight from the sun, Sparnicius, slowly disappeared from the horizon. Jim was a few mop strokes from completing the bow area when Mr. Trump came walking along with his gaze upon the deck. Jim heard footsteps behind him, turned around and saw Mr. Trump walking along absentmindedly without looking where he was going. "Uh...", Jim began. Mr. Trump looked up with a surprised look. "Oh, um, well, Hello there young, uh, ummmm.....Jeffrey?" "Jim." "Oh yes, yes, yes, Jim, of course its Jim, how careless of me to forget. Um, well, Master Jim, I was just out pondering and was hoping someone else would be awake to see our first up-close glimpse of our destination." Jim just stared back in a perplexed stare. Mr. Trump noticed his misunderstanding look, cleared his throat and further elaborated. "That is to say... we shall be crossing over into the Chautauqua Barrens tonight." "Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that. Um, I uh, have to go below to...you know, get ready to bunk down. I'll come back after I'm all squared away." "Very well then, I'll be here, lad."
Jim walked away to the stairs and tramped down to his bunk on the third deck. Once there, he pulled the curtain closed, turned his solar-lit lamp up just enough to emit the weakest amount of light and pulled out his big bag of personal belongings from under the berth. He unbuttoned the top buttons and opened the seam quietly as possible. He waited a few moments to listen for any little noises that might indicate somebody was nearby. When he heard nothing, he continued by rummaging through his bag until he found and extracted several wooden cases, three long, dark brown ones and two smaller squares crafted of hickory wood. He stacked all but one on the bed, put that one on his lap, flipped the latched and got to work.
About 35 minutes later, Jim emerged from the stairs in his personal outfit that he'd worn for over 4 years: the tan shirt with the black jacket, his dark kaki-green pants along with his surfer boots. Turning towards the bow of the Ulterior, he stepped across the now-shiny poplar and ash deck to where Mr. Trump still leaned with a fervent stare. Stopping at the starboard quarter, Jim followed the quartermaster's gaze out into the Etherium.