Hab Bowditch Character Analysis

He told her about the shilling he had found, and the good-luck spell. “It’s the best good-luck spell in the world. But I’ll have to do it tonight, sure, while there’s still a new moon.”

“What if you can’t see the new moon through your window?”

Nat shook his head. “That’s bad luck. I’ll have to wait till Hab is asleep, and then get downstairs in the dark, without knocking over anything, and come out here in the yard.”

Lizza’s eyes got big. “By yourself? Won’t you be afraid?”

“Not very much,” Nat said. “Anyway, I got to do it. Our luck’s just got to change. I heard Granny talking to Mother. She’s worried. She said if things don’t go better now, she didn’t know what we’d do.” Lizza shivered. Nat added quickly, “They will go better, Lizza! Honest they will! Soon as I work my good-luck spell!”

Nat remembered last winter when Hab had outgrown his coat. “Did you get cold last winter, Hab?”

“Plenty cold.”

Nat was puzzled. “But when the boys yelled at you, you always said, ‘I’m not cold. Only sissies need winter coats.’”

“Of course.” Hab frowned. “Boys don’t blubber. If something hurts, you say it doesn’t.” He looked up at the tall masts of the Freedom and grinned. “She’s a grand ship, isn’t she?”

Nat’s stomach felt hollow. What would it be like with Hab gone? But boys didn’t blubber. He bit his lips to steady them and squared his shoulders.

She and Nat went out into the dark, moonless night, and walked down Turner’s Lane and out on the wharf. Mother helped Nat find the North Star, and told him how the Big Dipper swung around it, and how to tell time by the Dipper. Then she was silent, standing with her hand on Nat’s shoulder, looking up at the stars.

Boys don’t blubber. He must remember that. Finally, Nat said, “It’s all right about school, Mother. When times are better, I’ll get to go back.”

Mother did not answer. She was still gazing up at the sky. After a while she said, “I made up a sort of saying for myself, Nat. I will lift up my eyes unto the stars. Sometimes, if you look at the stars long enough, it helps. It shrinks your day-by-day troubles back down to size.” She smiled.

Ben yawned, stretched, and led the way through the shop to where huge coils of rope were stashed. He leaned against a barrel. “Nat Bowditch, eh? I’ve heard of you. Master Watson’s brightest student you were.” He shook his head dolefully. “And now you’re becalmed. Just like I was at your age. Wouldn’t think to look at me I was bright as a dollar once, would you? But I was. Wanted to make something of myself. But I didn’t have a chance. Taken out of school, I was. Just like you. When I look at you, I can see myself as I was thirty—forty years agon. Becalmed I was. Just like you.”

Behind Nat a deep voice rumbled, “Avast there, Ben Meeker! Stow that gab about being becalmed! […] Only a weakling gives up when he’s becalmed. A strong man sails by ash breeze!”

Why, [Nat] wondered, had he ever wanted to come to sea? Why did any man choose this life?

It was all right maybe for a man who became a captain—but what about men like Keeler and Jensen—who spent their lives before the fo’c’sle? Why would they live like this for salt beef, hardtack, and twelve dollars a month?

The sixth night, just before midnight, Nat went on deck for his watch. The storm had ended; the sky was glittered with stars.

Now the meaning of the strange sailing time dawned on the crew. Nat looked at Mr. Cheevers and saw anger, amusement, and respect in his eyes. But the faces of the men before the mast were frightening to watch. Not two of the lot, Nat figured, had had the slightest intention of sailing on the Astrea. They had doubtless heard of the clever desertion of the other crew. They’d planned the same stunt, signed on for a square meal and a month’s pay. Now they faced months at sea—the terrors of the Cape—the grilling passage through the Sunda Strait—a layover in Batavia—where men died like flies.

Their baffled rage was naked on their faces.

He told her about the shilling he had found, and the good-luck spell. “It’s the best good-luck spell in the world. But I’ll have to do it tonight, sure, while there’s still a new moon.”

“What if you can’t see the new moon through your window?”

Nat shook his head. “That’s bad luck. I’ll have to wait till Hab is asleep, and then get downstairs in the dark, without knocking over anything, and come out here in the yard.”

Lizza’s eyes got big. “By yourself? Won’t you be afraid?”

“Not very much,” Nat said. “Anyway, I got to do it. Our luck’s just got to change. I heard Granny talking to Mother. She’s worried. She said if things don’t go better now, she didn’t know what we’d do.” Lizza shivered. Nat added quickly, “They will go better, Lizza! Honest they will! Soon as I work my good-luck spell!”

Nat remembered last winter when Hab had outgrown his coat. “Did you get cold last winter, Hab?”

“Plenty cold.”

Nat was puzzled. “But when the boys yelled at you, you always said, ‘I’m not cold. Only sissies need winter coats.’”

“Of course.” Hab frowned. “Boys don’t blubber. If something hurts, you say it doesn’t.” He looked up at the tall masts of the Freedom and grinned. “She’s a grand ship, isn’t she?”

Nat’s stomach felt hollow. What would it be like with Hab gone? But boys didn’t blubber. He bit his lips to steady them and squared his shoulders.

She and Nat went out into the dark, moonless night, and walked down Turner’s Lane and out on the wharf. Mother helped Nat find the North Star, and told him how the Big Dipper swung around it, and how to tell time by the Dipper. Then she was silent, standing with her hand on Nat’s shoulder, looking up at the stars.

Boys don’t blubber. He must remember that. Finally, Nat said, “It’s all right about school, Mother. When times are better, I’ll get to go back.”

Mother did not answer. She was still gazing up at the sky. After a while she said, “I made up a sort of saying for myself, Nat. I will lift up my eyes unto the stars. Sometimes, if you look at the stars long enough, it helps. It shrinks your day-by-day troubles back down to size.” She smiled.

Ben yawned, stretched, and led the way through the shop to where huge coils of rope were stashed. He leaned against a barrel. “Nat Bowditch, eh? I’ve heard of you. Master Watson’s brightest student you were.” He shook his head dolefully. “And now you’re becalmed. Just like I was at your age. Wouldn’t think to look at me I was bright as a dollar once, would you? But I was. Wanted to make something of myself. But I didn’t have a chance. Taken out of school, I was. Just like you. When I look at you, I can see myself as I was thirty—forty years agon. Becalmed I was. Just like you.”

Behind Nat a deep voice rumbled, “Avast there, Ben Meeker! Stow that gab about being becalmed! […] Only a weakling gives up when he’s becalmed. A strong man sails by ash breeze!”

Why, [Nat] wondered, had he ever wanted to come to sea? Why did any man choose this life?

It was all right maybe for a man who became a captain—but what about men like Keeler and Jensen—who spent their lives before the fo’c’sle? Why would they live like this for salt beef, hardtack, and twelve dollars a month?

The sixth night, just before midnight, Nat went on deck for his watch. The storm had ended; the sky was glittered with stars.

Now the meaning of the strange sailing time dawned on the crew. Nat looked at Mr. Cheevers and saw anger, amusement, and respect in his eyes. But the faces of the men before the mast were frightening to watch. Not two of the lot, Nat figured, had had the slightest intention of sailing on the Astrea. They had doubtless heard of the clever desertion of the other crew. They’d planned the same stunt, signed on for a square meal and a month’s pay. Now they faced months at sea—the terrors of the Cape—the grilling passage through the Sunda Strait—a layover in Batavia—where men died like flies.

Their baffled rage was naked on their faces.