Chapter Twelve.Making friends.“Well, what is it?” said the skipper gruffly, as his son followed him on deck and touched him on the arm.“Don’t you think it possible, father, that—”“That I could turn aside from what I have got to do, boy? No, I don’t.”“But he’s ill and weak, father.”“Of course he is, and he’s getting better as fast as he can. What’s more, he’s a boy—in the depth of despair now, and in half-an-hour’s time he’ll be himself again, and ready to forget his trouble.”“I don’t think he will, father.”“Don’t you? Then I do. I have had more experience of boys than you have, and I have learned how Nature in her kindness made them. Look here, Poole, I believe for the time that boys feel trouble more keenly than do men, but Nature won’t let it last. The young twig will bend nearly double, and spring up again. The old stick snaps.”The skipper walked away, leaving his son thinking.“I don’t believe father’s right,” he said. “Fitz doesn’t seem like most boys that I have met. Poor chap, it does seem hard! I don’t think I ever felt so bad as he must now. I wish I hadn’t had to come away, for it was only an excuse on father’s part. He doesn’t want me. It was only to leave the poor chap alone.”Acting upon these thoughts, Poole tried to think out some excuse for going down to the cabin again as soon as he could. But as no reasonable excuse offered itself, he waited till the half-hour was expired, and then went down without one, opened the cabin-door gently, and gravely stepped in, to stop short, staring in astonishment at the change which had come over his patient, for he was sitting bent down with his hands upon his knees at the edge of his berth, swinging his legs to and fro, with every trace of suffering gone out of the eyes which looked up sharply.If Poole Reed was surprised at the midshipman’s appearance, he was far more so at his tones and words.“Hallo!” he cried. “Thought you’d gone to fetch those fishing-lines.”“I—I—Oh, yes, I’ll get them directly,” stammered Poole.“Look sharp, then. The fish are playing about here like fun. I saw one spring right out of the water just now after a shoal. The little ones look like silver, and the big chap was all blue and gold.”“All right; I won’t be long,” cried Poole, and he hurried out, letting the door bang behind him.“Well, I was a fool to worry myself about a chap like that. Why, he doesn’t feel it a bit.”But Poole Reed was not a good judge of human nature. He could not see the hard fight that was going on behind that eager face, nor how the well-trained boy had called upon his pride to carry him through this struggle with his fate.Poole thought no more of his patient’s condition, but hurried to the boatswain, who scowled at him fiercely.“What!” he said. “Fishing-lines? Can’t you find nothing else to do, young fellow, on board this ’ere craft, besides fishing?”“No; there is nothing to do now.”“Wha-a-at!”“You know I spoke about them before. It is to amuse the sick middy.”“Yah!” came in a deep growl. “Why didn’t you say so before? Poor boy! He did get it hot that time.”“Yes,” said Poole maliciously, “and I believe it was you who knocked him down.”The grim-looking, red-faced boatswain stared at the speaker with his mouth wide open.“Me?” he said. “Me? Why, I was alongside the chap at the wheel.”“Were you?” said Poole, grinning to himself at the effect of his words. “Then it couldn’t have been you, Butters. Come on and get me the line.”“Gammon!” growled the boatswain. “You knew it warn’t all the time. Come on.”He led the way to his locker and took out a couple of square reel-frames with their cord, hooks, and sinkers complete.“Ketch hold,” he said gruffly, and then giving Poole a tin box which rattled loudly, he growled out, “Plenty of spare hooks in there. But don’t lose more than you can help. Where are you going to fish? Off the taffrail?”“No; out of the stern-window.”“What! How are you going to haul in your fish?”“Oh, I don’t know.”“See what a mess you’ll make, my lad.”“I’ll clean up afterwards,” said Poole.“I don’t believe you will get any. If you hook one you’ll knock it off in pulling it in. Why don’t you bring the poor lad up on deck and let him fish like a human being, not keep him cuddled up below there like a great gal?”“But he’s so weak, he can hardly stand.”“Set him down, then, in a cheer. Do him good, and he’ll like it all the more.”“Well, I never thought of that,” said Poole eagerly. “I will. But oh, I mustn’t forget the bait. I must go and see the Camel.”“Nonsense! Bait with a lask cut off from the first fish you catch.”“Of course,” cried Poole; “but how am I to catch that first one first?”“’M, yes,” said the boatswain, with a grim smile. “Tell you what; go and ask the Camel to give you a nice long strip of salt pork, fat and rind.”“Ah, that would do,” cried Poole; and he hurried off to the galley, where he was welcomed by the cook with a nod and wink, as he drew a little stew-pan forward on the hot plate, and lifted the lid.“Joost cast your nose over that, laddie,” he whispered mysteriously.“Eh? What for?”“It’s the middy laddie’s soup fresh made, joost luvely.”“Oh yes, splendid,” said the lad, and he hurriedly stated his wants, had them supplied, and went back to the cabin ready to prepare for catching the first fish.“Look here, Burnett,” he said, “it’ll be very awkward fishing out of this window. How’d it be if I put a cane-chair close up under the rail? Don’t you think you could manage if I helped you up there?”“I don’t know. I am afraid I couldn’t walk,” said the boy dubiously. “I’d try.”“Oh, never mind about your walking! If you’ll come I’ll run up and put a chair ready, and then come back for you. I could carry you easily enough if I got you on my back.”One moment Fitz had been looking bright and eager; the next a gloomy shade was passing over his face.“Like a sack,” he said bitterly.“Well, then, shall I make two of the lads carry you in a chair?”“No,” said the boy, brightening up again. “If I put my arm over your shoulder, and you get one round my waist, I think I could manage it if we went slowly.”“To be sure,” cried Poole, and he hurried on deck, thrust a long cane reclining chair into the place he thought most suitable, and had just finished when his father came up.“What are you about, boy?” he said; and Poole explained.“Well, I don’t know. I meant for him to come up this afternoon, but I thought that it was all over after that upset. How does he seem now?”“Just as if he were going to make the best of it, father.”“Then bring him up.”A minute later the tackle and bait were lying on the deck beside the chair, and Poole hurried down to the cabin to help his patient finish dressing, which task was barely completed when there was a tap at the door and the Camel appeared, bearing his morning “dose,” as he termed it.This was treated as a hindrance, but proved to be a valuable fillip after what the boy had gone through, and the preparation for that which was to come, so that, with the exception of once feeling a little faint, Fitz managed to reach the deck, leaning heavily upon his companion; but not unnoticed, for the mate caught sight of him from where he was on the look-out forward, and hurried up to take the other arm.“Morning, Mr Burnett,” he said eagerly. “Come, this is fine! Coming to sit in the air a bit? Oh, we shall soon have you all right now.”The boy flushed and looked pleased at the kindly way in which he was received, and as he reached the chair there was another welcome for him from the hand at the wheel, who had the look of an old man-of-war’s man, and gave him the regular salute due to an officer.“Feel all right?” said the mate.“Yes, much better than I thought.”“Fishing, eh?” said the mate. “Well, good luck to you! Come, we shan’t look upon you as an invalid now.”“Lie back in the chair a bit,” said Poole, who was watching his companion anxiously.“What for?”“I thought perhaps you might feel a little faint.”“Oh no, that’s all gone off,” cried the boy, drawing a deep long breath, as he eagerly looked round the deck and up at the rigging of the smart schooner, whose raking taper masts and white canvas gave her quite the look of a yacht.There was a look of wonder in the boy’s eyes as he noted the trimness and perfection of all round, as well as the smartness of the crew, whose aspect suggested the truth, namely, that they had had their training on board some man-of-war.From craft and crew the boy’s eyes wandered round over the sea, sweeping the horizon, as he revelled in the soft pure air and the glorious light.“How beautiful it seems,” he said, half aloud, “after being shut up so long below.”“Come, that’s a good sign,” said Poole cheerily.“What’s a good sign?” was the sharp reply.“That you can enjoy the fresh air so much. It shows that you must be better. Think you can hold the line if I get one ready?”“Of course,” said Fitz, rather contemptuously.“All right, then.”Poole turned away and knelt upon the deck, laughing to himself the while, as he thought that if a big fish were hooked the invalid would soon find out the difference. And then the boy’s fingers moved pretty quickly as he took out his junk-knife and cut a long narrow strip from the piece of fatty pork-rind with which the cook had supplied him.Through one end of this he passed the point of the hook, and then brought it back to the same side by which it had entered, so that a strip about six inches long and one wide hung down from the barbed hook. The next process was to unwind twenty or thirty yards of the line with its leaden sinker, and then drop lead and bait overboard, running out the line till the bait was left about fifty yards astern, but not to sink far, for there was wind enough to carry the schooner along at a pretty good pace, trailing the bait twirling round and round behind, and bearing no small resemblance to a small, quickly-swimming fish, the white side of the bait alternating with the dull grey of the rind, and giving it a further appearance of life and movement.“There you are,” said Poole, passing the line into the midshipman’s hands. “I will unwind some more, have fished like this before, haven’t you?”“Only a little for whiting and codlings,” was the reply. “I never got hold of anything big. I suppose we may get a tidy one here?”“Oh yes; and they are tremendously strong.”“Not so strong but what I can hold them, I dare say,” said Fitz confidently.But his confidence was not shared by his companion, who unwound the line till there was no more upon the frame, and then gave the end two or three turns about one of the belaying-pins, leaving a good many rings of loose line upon deck.There was need for the foresight, as was soon proved. Fitz was sitting leaning right back with his eyes half-closed, thoroughly enjoying the change; the trouble of the morning was for the moment numbed, and no care assailed him. He was listening as he enjoyed the sensation that thrilled the nerves of his arm as the bait and lead sinker were drawn through the water far astern with a peculiar jigging motion, and questioning Poole about the kind of fish that they were likely to encounter as far south as they then were.“You have been across here, then, before?” he said.“Oh yes; four times.”“Ever seen any sharks?”“Lots; but not out here. I saw most close in shore among the islands.”“What islands?”“Oh, any of them; Saint Lucia, Nevis, Trinidad. Pretty big too, some of them.”“Ever catch one?”“No, we never tried. Nasty brutes! I hate them.”“So does everybody, I suppose. But, I say, think we shall catch anything to-day?”“Oh yes; but you mustn’t be disappointed if we don’t. Fish swarm one day, and you can see as many as you like; another time—you go all day long and you don’t see one.”“I say, this isn’t going to be one of those days, is it? I haven’t had a bite yet. Think the bait’s off?”“Not it. That tough skin closes up round the hook, and you would almost have to cut it to get it over the barb. It makes a capital bait to stick on, but of course it isn’t half so attractive as a bit of a bright silvery fish. I’ll change it as soon as I can. I wish we had got one of those big silvered spoons. I think father’s got two or three. I will go and ask him if you don’t soon get a—”“Oh! Poole! Here! Help! I—I can’t— Oh, he’s gone!” panted the middy.For all at once his right arm received a violent jerk, and as the line was twisted round his hand he was dragged sideways, and but for Poole’s ready help would have been pulled off the chair helplessly on to the deck. Fortunately for him the skipper’s son was on thequi vive, and stopping the convalescent’s progress with one hand, he made a snatch at the line with the other.“He’s too much for you,” cried Poole. “Here, shake your hand clear of the line. I’ve got him. That’s the way. Has it hurt you?”“It seemed to cut right into the skin,” panted Fitz. “He must be a monster. Oh, whatever you do, don’t let him go!”“No, I won’t let him go,” was the reply; “not if I can help it. He is a pretty good size. We will make a double job of it. Here, I’ll haul him in a few feet, and then you can take hold in front of me, and we will haul him in together. No, he won’t come yet. I shall have to let him run a little—I mean, we shall have to let him run a little. Now then, foot by foot. Let’s let the line run through our hands.”This was done steadily and slowly, till another fifty yards of line had been given, the fish that had been hooked darting the while here and there, and at a tremendous rate, and displaying enormous strength for a creature of its size.But it had to contend not only with the drag kept up by the boys, but the motion of the schooner as well, with the result that its strength soon began to fail, till at last it was drawn behind the gliding schooner almost inert.“There,” cried Poole; “now I think we might have him in. I was afraid to haul before for fear of dragging the hook out of its jaws. Look at that now!” he cried impatiently.“What’s the matter? Don’t say he has gone!”“Oh no, he’s not gone. Why, he is making a fresh dash for his liberty. But we can’t lift him in by the hook, and I never thought about getting a gaff.—Here, hi!” he cried. “Come here, Chips!”One of the sailors sidled up—a dry-looking, quaint man with a wrinkled face, who broke out into a smile as he saw what was going on.“Fish, sir?” he said, and his hand made a movement toward his cap. “Want me to fetch my bag of tools?”“Yes,” cried Poole. “I mean, get that long-handled gaff from down below.”“Right, sir,” and the man trotted off, leaving the two lads slowly and steadily hauling in yard after yard of the line.“Still fast on, sir?” cried the man to Fitz, as he stood what looked like a highly-educated boat-hook against the rail.Fitz made no reply, for his face was flushed and his teeth hard set in the excitement of his task.“Oh yes, we’ve got him fast enough, Chips,” said Poole. “Be very careful, for he’s a heavy one, and Mr Burnett here wouldn’t like to lose him now.”“All right, sir,” said the man, taking up the long shaft again, and lowering it down over the side. “I don’t know, though, whether I shall be able to reach him from up here. It looks like being best to get down to the rudder-chains. No; it’s all right. I shall manage him if you get him close up to the side.”“Steady! Steady!” cried Poole. “He’s making another flurry. Let him go again. No, it’s all right—all over; haul away.”By this time the great drops of perspiration were standing upon Fitz’s brow, joining, and beginning to trickle down the sides of his face; but his teeth were still hard set, and intent upon the capture he kept on hauling away as hard as his weakness would allow.“There,” cried Poole, at last. “You caught him; but you had better let me have the line to myself now to get him closer in, so that Chips can make a good stroke with the gaff and pull him right aboard.”“Yes,” said Fitz, with a sigh; “I suppose I must,” and with his countenance beginning to contract with the disappointment he felt, he resigned the line and sat back in the chair, breathing hard, gently rubbing his aching muscles, and intently watching what was going on. That did not take long, but it was long enough to attract the other men who were on deck, and they came round, to form a semi-circle behind the middy’s chair, while Poole hauled the fish closer and closer in beneath the counter, and then stayed his hand.“Can you do it now?” he cried.“Not quite. I’ll come round the other side,” replied the handler of the gaff, who, suiting the action to the word, changed his place, leaned right over the rail, almost doubling himself up, and then uttered a warning—“Ready?”“Yes,” was the reply.“Now then, half-a-fathom more.”What followed was almost instantaneous. Poole made two fresh grips at the line, pulled hard, and then with an ejaculation fell backwards on to the deck with the hooks upon his chest.“Gone!” groaned Fitz; but his exclamation was drowned in a roar of laughter from the men, and a peculiar flapping, splashing noise caused by the fish, in which the gaff had taken a good hold, bending itself into the shape of a half-moon as it was hauled over the side, giving the man saluted as Chips a violent blow with its tail, and then as it flopped down upon the deck slapping the planks with sounding blow after blow.Following directly upon the laughter there was a loud cheer, and in the midst of his excitement at the triumphant capture, Fitz heard the mate’s voice—“Well done, Mr Burnett! That’s about the finest bonito I ever saw. I thought you’d lost him, Chips.”“Nay, sir; I’d got my hook into him too tight; but it was touch and go.”“Yes, that’s a fine one,” said Poole, taking hold of the detached hook and drawing the captive round in front of Fitz’s chair.“Yes,” replied the boy, who sat back wiping his brow; “but it isn’t so big as I expected to see.”“Oh, he’s pretty big,” said the mate—“thick and solid and heavy; and those fellows have got such tremendous strength in those thin half-moon tails. They are like steel. Going to try for any more?”The mate looked at Fitz as he spoke.“It’s very exciting,” he said, rather faintly, “but I am afraid I am too tired now.”“Yes,” said the mate kindly. “I wouldn’t try to overdo it the first time you are up on deck. Lie back and rest, my lad. Send for the Camel, Poole, lad, when you have done looking at it. Now, my lads, two of you, swabs.”He turned away, and a couple of the men set to work to wash and dry the slimy deck, but waited until the little admiring crowd had looked their fill, the foremost men seeming to take a vast amount of interest in fishology, making several highly intellectual remarks about the configuration of the denizen of the deep. Before long though the real reason of their interest escaped them, for one made a remark or two about what a fine thick cut could be got from “just there,” while another opined that a boneeter of that there size ate tenderer boiled than fried.By that time Fitz’s excitement had died down, and he no longer took interest in the beautiful steely and blue tints mingled with silver and gold, that flashed from the creature’s scales. In fact, in answer to a whispered query on the part of Poole, he nodded his head and let it lie right back against the chair. This was the signal for the Camel to be fetched to help bear the big fish forward to the galley, ready for cutting up, while the two men with bucket and swab rapidly finished cleaning and drying the deck, so that the damp patches began to turn white again in the hot rays of the sun.It was all very quickly done, and then Poole began to slowly wind up the long line, giving every turn carefully and methodically so as to spread the stout hempen cord as open and separate for drying purposes as could be.He took his time, dropping in a word or two now and then, apparently intent upon his task, but keenly watching his companion all the while.“Hasn’t been too much for you, has it?” he said.“No,” replied Fitz; “not too much, for it was very interesting; but it was quite enough. I don’t quite know how it is, but I have turned so sleepy.”“Ah, you are tired. Sit quite back, and I will draw the chair over here into the shade. A nap till dinner-time up here in the air will do you no end of good, and give you an appetite for dinner. There; the sun won’t be round here for an hour.”It was easily done, the cane legs gliding like rockers over the well-polished deck, and the lad returned to his place to turn the winder where he had stood the line to dry. This process was going on rapidly, and he stopped bending over the apparatus to examine the hook and stout snood, to see that it had not been frayed by the fish’s teeth. This done, he turned to speak to Fitz again, and smiled to himself.“Well,” he said, “it doesn’t take him long to go to sleep,” for the tired midshipman’s eyes were tightly closed and he was taking another instalment of that which was to give him back his strength.
“Well, what is it?” said the skipper gruffly, as his son followed him on deck and touched him on the arm.
“Don’t you think it possible, father, that—”
“That I could turn aside from what I have got to do, boy? No, I don’t.”
“But he’s ill and weak, father.”
“Of course he is, and he’s getting better as fast as he can. What’s more, he’s a boy—in the depth of despair now, and in half-an-hour’s time he’ll be himself again, and ready to forget his trouble.”
“I don’t think he will, father.”
“Don’t you? Then I do. I have had more experience of boys than you have, and I have learned how Nature in her kindness made them. Look here, Poole, I believe for the time that boys feel trouble more keenly than do men, but Nature won’t let it last. The young twig will bend nearly double, and spring up again. The old stick snaps.”
The skipper walked away, leaving his son thinking.
“I don’t believe father’s right,” he said. “Fitz doesn’t seem like most boys that I have met. Poor chap, it does seem hard! I don’t think I ever felt so bad as he must now. I wish I hadn’t had to come away, for it was only an excuse on father’s part. He doesn’t want me. It was only to leave the poor chap alone.”
Acting upon these thoughts, Poole tried to think out some excuse for going down to the cabin again as soon as he could. But as no reasonable excuse offered itself, he waited till the half-hour was expired, and then went down without one, opened the cabin-door gently, and gravely stepped in, to stop short, staring in astonishment at the change which had come over his patient, for he was sitting bent down with his hands upon his knees at the edge of his berth, swinging his legs to and fro, with every trace of suffering gone out of the eyes which looked up sharply.
If Poole Reed was surprised at the midshipman’s appearance, he was far more so at his tones and words.
“Hallo!” he cried. “Thought you’d gone to fetch those fishing-lines.”
“I—I—Oh, yes, I’ll get them directly,” stammered Poole.
“Look sharp, then. The fish are playing about here like fun. I saw one spring right out of the water just now after a shoal. The little ones look like silver, and the big chap was all blue and gold.”
“All right; I won’t be long,” cried Poole, and he hurried out, letting the door bang behind him.
“Well, I was a fool to worry myself about a chap like that. Why, he doesn’t feel it a bit.”
But Poole Reed was not a good judge of human nature. He could not see the hard fight that was going on behind that eager face, nor how the well-trained boy had called upon his pride to carry him through this struggle with his fate.
Poole thought no more of his patient’s condition, but hurried to the boatswain, who scowled at him fiercely.
“What!” he said. “Fishing-lines? Can’t you find nothing else to do, young fellow, on board this ’ere craft, besides fishing?”
“No; there is nothing to do now.”
“Wha-a-at!”
“You know I spoke about them before. It is to amuse the sick middy.”
“Yah!” came in a deep growl. “Why didn’t you say so before? Poor boy! He did get it hot that time.”
“Yes,” said Poole maliciously, “and I believe it was you who knocked him down.”
The grim-looking, red-faced boatswain stared at the speaker with his mouth wide open.
“Me?” he said. “Me? Why, I was alongside the chap at the wheel.”
“Were you?” said Poole, grinning to himself at the effect of his words. “Then it couldn’t have been you, Butters. Come on and get me the line.”
“Gammon!” growled the boatswain. “You knew it warn’t all the time. Come on.”
He led the way to his locker and took out a couple of square reel-frames with their cord, hooks, and sinkers complete.
“Ketch hold,” he said gruffly, and then giving Poole a tin box which rattled loudly, he growled out, “Plenty of spare hooks in there. But don’t lose more than you can help. Where are you going to fish? Off the taffrail?”
“No; out of the stern-window.”
“What! How are you going to haul in your fish?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“See what a mess you’ll make, my lad.”
“I’ll clean up afterwards,” said Poole.
“I don’t believe you will get any. If you hook one you’ll knock it off in pulling it in. Why don’t you bring the poor lad up on deck and let him fish like a human being, not keep him cuddled up below there like a great gal?”
“But he’s so weak, he can hardly stand.”
“Set him down, then, in a cheer. Do him good, and he’ll like it all the more.”
“Well, I never thought of that,” said Poole eagerly. “I will. But oh, I mustn’t forget the bait. I must go and see the Camel.”
“Nonsense! Bait with a lask cut off from the first fish you catch.”
“Of course,” cried Poole; “but how am I to catch that first one first?”
“’M, yes,” said the boatswain, with a grim smile. “Tell you what; go and ask the Camel to give you a nice long strip of salt pork, fat and rind.”
“Ah, that would do,” cried Poole; and he hurried off to the galley, where he was welcomed by the cook with a nod and wink, as he drew a little stew-pan forward on the hot plate, and lifted the lid.
“Joost cast your nose over that, laddie,” he whispered mysteriously.
“Eh? What for?”
“It’s the middy laddie’s soup fresh made, joost luvely.”
“Oh yes, splendid,” said the lad, and he hurriedly stated his wants, had them supplied, and went back to the cabin ready to prepare for catching the first fish.
“Look here, Burnett,” he said, “it’ll be very awkward fishing out of this window. How’d it be if I put a cane-chair close up under the rail? Don’t you think you could manage if I helped you up there?”
“I don’t know. I am afraid I couldn’t walk,” said the boy dubiously. “I’d try.”
“Oh, never mind about your walking! If you’ll come I’ll run up and put a chair ready, and then come back for you. I could carry you easily enough if I got you on my back.”
One moment Fitz had been looking bright and eager; the next a gloomy shade was passing over his face.
“Like a sack,” he said bitterly.
“Well, then, shall I make two of the lads carry you in a chair?”
“No,” said the boy, brightening up again. “If I put my arm over your shoulder, and you get one round my waist, I think I could manage it if we went slowly.”
“To be sure,” cried Poole, and he hurried on deck, thrust a long cane reclining chair into the place he thought most suitable, and had just finished when his father came up.
“What are you about, boy?” he said; and Poole explained.
“Well, I don’t know. I meant for him to come up this afternoon, but I thought that it was all over after that upset. How does he seem now?”
“Just as if he were going to make the best of it, father.”
“Then bring him up.”
A minute later the tackle and bait were lying on the deck beside the chair, and Poole hurried down to the cabin to help his patient finish dressing, which task was barely completed when there was a tap at the door and the Camel appeared, bearing his morning “dose,” as he termed it.
This was treated as a hindrance, but proved to be a valuable fillip after what the boy had gone through, and the preparation for that which was to come, so that, with the exception of once feeling a little faint, Fitz managed to reach the deck, leaning heavily upon his companion; but not unnoticed, for the mate caught sight of him from where he was on the look-out forward, and hurried up to take the other arm.
“Morning, Mr Burnett,” he said eagerly. “Come, this is fine! Coming to sit in the air a bit? Oh, we shall soon have you all right now.”
The boy flushed and looked pleased at the kindly way in which he was received, and as he reached the chair there was another welcome for him from the hand at the wheel, who had the look of an old man-of-war’s man, and gave him the regular salute due to an officer.
“Feel all right?” said the mate.
“Yes, much better than I thought.”
“Fishing, eh?” said the mate. “Well, good luck to you! Come, we shan’t look upon you as an invalid now.”
“Lie back in the chair a bit,” said Poole, who was watching his companion anxiously.
“What for?”
“I thought perhaps you might feel a little faint.”
“Oh no, that’s all gone off,” cried the boy, drawing a deep long breath, as he eagerly looked round the deck and up at the rigging of the smart schooner, whose raking taper masts and white canvas gave her quite the look of a yacht.
There was a look of wonder in the boy’s eyes as he noted the trimness and perfection of all round, as well as the smartness of the crew, whose aspect suggested the truth, namely, that they had had their training on board some man-of-war.
From craft and crew the boy’s eyes wandered round over the sea, sweeping the horizon, as he revelled in the soft pure air and the glorious light.
“How beautiful it seems,” he said, half aloud, “after being shut up so long below.”
“Come, that’s a good sign,” said Poole cheerily.
“What’s a good sign?” was the sharp reply.
“That you can enjoy the fresh air so much. It shows that you must be better. Think you can hold the line if I get one ready?”
“Of course,” said Fitz, rather contemptuously.
“All right, then.”
Poole turned away and knelt upon the deck, laughing to himself the while, as he thought that if a big fish were hooked the invalid would soon find out the difference. And then the boy’s fingers moved pretty quickly as he took out his junk-knife and cut a long narrow strip from the piece of fatty pork-rind with which the cook had supplied him.
Through one end of this he passed the point of the hook, and then brought it back to the same side by which it had entered, so that a strip about six inches long and one wide hung down from the barbed hook. The next process was to unwind twenty or thirty yards of the line with its leaden sinker, and then drop lead and bait overboard, running out the line till the bait was left about fifty yards astern, but not to sink far, for there was wind enough to carry the schooner along at a pretty good pace, trailing the bait twirling round and round behind, and bearing no small resemblance to a small, quickly-swimming fish, the white side of the bait alternating with the dull grey of the rind, and giving it a further appearance of life and movement.
“There you are,” said Poole, passing the line into the midshipman’s hands. “I will unwind some more, have fished like this before, haven’t you?”
“Only a little for whiting and codlings,” was the reply. “I never got hold of anything big. I suppose we may get a tidy one here?”
“Oh yes; and they are tremendously strong.”
“Not so strong but what I can hold them, I dare say,” said Fitz confidently.
But his confidence was not shared by his companion, who unwound the line till there was no more upon the frame, and then gave the end two or three turns about one of the belaying-pins, leaving a good many rings of loose line upon deck.
There was need for the foresight, as was soon proved. Fitz was sitting leaning right back with his eyes half-closed, thoroughly enjoying the change; the trouble of the morning was for the moment numbed, and no care assailed him. He was listening as he enjoyed the sensation that thrilled the nerves of his arm as the bait and lead sinker were drawn through the water far astern with a peculiar jigging motion, and questioning Poole about the kind of fish that they were likely to encounter as far south as they then were.
“You have been across here, then, before?” he said.
“Oh yes; four times.”
“Ever seen any sharks?”
“Lots; but not out here. I saw most close in shore among the islands.”
“What islands?”
“Oh, any of them; Saint Lucia, Nevis, Trinidad. Pretty big too, some of them.”
“Ever catch one?”
“No, we never tried. Nasty brutes! I hate them.”
“So does everybody, I suppose. But, I say, think we shall catch anything to-day?”
“Oh yes; but you mustn’t be disappointed if we don’t. Fish swarm one day, and you can see as many as you like; another time—you go all day long and you don’t see one.”
“I say, this isn’t going to be one of those days, is it? I haven’t had a bite yet. Think the bait’s off?”
“Not it. That tough skin closes up round the hook, and you would almost have to cut it to get it over the barb. It makes a capital bait to stick on, but of course it isn’t half so attractive as a bit of a bright silvery fish. I’ll change it as soon as I can. I wish we had got one of those big silvered spoons. I think father’s got two or three. I will go and ask him if you don’t soon get a—”
“Oh! Poole! Here! Help! I—I can’t— Oh, he’s gone!” panted the middy.
For all at once his right arm received a violent jerk, and as the line was twisted round his hand he was dragged sideways, and but for Poole’s ready help would have been pulled off the chair helplessly on to the deck. Fortunately for him the skipper’s son was on thequi vive, and stopping the convalescent’s progress with one hand, he made a snatch at the line with the other.
“He’s too much for you,” cried Poole. “Here, shake your hand clear of the line. I’ve got him. That’s the way. Has it hurt you?”
“It seemed to cut right into the skin,” panted Fitz. “He must be a monster. Oh, whatever you do, don’t let him go!”
“No, I won’t let him go,” was the reply; “not if I can help it. He is a pretty good size. We will make a double job of it. Here, I’ll haul him in a few feet, and then you can take hold in front of me, and we will haul him in together. No, he won’t come yet. I shall have to let him run a little—I mean, we shall have to let him run a little. Now then, foot by foot. Let’s let the line run through our hands.”
This was done steadily and slowly, till another fifty yards of line had been given, the fish that had been hooked darting the while here and there, and at a tremendous rate, and displaying enormous strength for a creature of its size.
But it had to contend not only with the drag kept up by the boys, but the motion of the schooner as well, with the result that its strength soon began to fail, till at last it was drawn behind the gliding schooner almost inert.
“There,” cried Poole; “now I think we might have him in. I was afraid to haul before for fear of dragging the hook out of its jaws. Look at that now!” he cried impatiently.
“What’s the matter? Don’t say he has gone!”
“Oh no, he’s not gone. Why, he is making a fresh dash for his liberty. But we can’t lift him in by the hook, and I never thought about getting a gaff.—Here, hi!” he cried. “Come here, Chips!”
One of the sailors sidled up—a dry-looking, quaint man with a wrinkled face, who broke out into a smile as he saw what was going on.
“Fish, sir?” he said, and his hand made a movement toward his cap. “Want me to fetch my bag of tools?”
“Yes,” cried Poole. “I mean, get that long-handled gaff from down below.”
“Right, sir,” and the man trotted off, leaving the two lads slowly and steadily hauling in yard after yard of the line.
“Still fast on, sir?” cried the man to Fitz, as he stood what looked like a highly-educated boat-hook against the rail.
Fitz made no reply, for his face was flushed and his teeth hard set in the excitement of his task.
“Oh yes, we’ve got him fast enough, Chips,” said Poole. “Be very careful, for he’s a heavy one, and Mr Burnett here wouldn’t like to lose him now.”
“All right, sir,” said the man, taking up the long shaft again, and lowering it down over the side. “I don’t know, though, whether I shall be able to reach him from up here. It looks like being best to get down to the rudder-chains. No; it’s all right. I shall manage him if you get him close up to the side.”
“Steady! Steady!” cried Poole. “He’s making another flurry. Let him go again. No, it’s all right—all over; haul away.”
By this time the great drops of perspiration were standing upon Fitz’s brow, joining, and beginning to trickle down the sides of his face; but his teeth were still hard set, and intent upon the capture he kept on hauling away as hard as his weakness would allow.
“There,” cried Poole, at last. “You caught him; but you had better let me have the line to myself now to get him closer in, so that Chips can make a good stroke with the gaff and pull him right aboard.”
“Yes,” said Fitz, with a sigh; “I suppose I must,” and with his countenance beginning to contract with the disappointment he felt, he resigned the line and sat back in the chair, breathing hard, gently rubbing his aching muscles, and intently watching what was going on. That did not take long, but it was long enough to attract the other men who were on deck, and they came round, to form a semi-circle behind the middy’s chair, while Poole hauled the fish closer and closer in beneath the counter, and then stayed his hand.
“Can you do it now?” he cried.
“Not quite. I’ll come round the other side,” replied the handler of the gaff, who, suiting the action to the word, changed his place, leaned right over the rail, almost doubling himself up, and then uttered a warning—
“Ready?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“Now then, half-a-fathom more.”
What followed was almost instantaneous. Poole made two fresh grips at the line, pulled hard, and then with an ejaculation fell backwards on to the deck with the hooks upon his chest.
“Gone!” groaned Fitz; but his exclamation was drowned in a roar of laughter from the men, and a peculiar flapping, splashing noise caused by the fish, in which the gaff had taken a good hold, bending itself into the shape of a half-moon as it was hauled over the side, giving the man saluted as Chips a violent blow with its tail, and then as it flopped down upon the deck slapping the planks with sounding blow after blow.
Following directly upon the laughter there was a loud cheer, and in the midst of his excitement at the triumphant capture, Fitz heard the mate’s voice—
“Well done, Mr Burnett! That’s about the finest bonito I ever saw. I thought you’d lost him, Chips.”
“Nay, sir; I’d got my hook into him too tight; but it was touch and go.”
“Yes, that’s a fine one,” said Poole, taking hold of the detached hook and drawing the captive round in front of Fitz’s chair.
“Yes,” replied the boy, who sat back wiping his brow; “but it isn’t so big as I expected to see.”
“Oh, he’s pretty big,” said the mate—“thick and solid and heavy; and those fellows have got such tremendous strength in those thin half-moon tails. They are like steel. Going to try for any more?”
The mate looked at Fitz as he spoke.
“It’s very exciting,” he said, rather faintly, “but I am afraid I am too tired now.”
“Yes,” said the mate kindly. “I wouldn’t try to overdo it the first time you are up on deck. Lie back and rest, my lad. Send for the Camel, Poole, lad, when you have done looking at it. Now, my lads, two of you, swabs.”
He turned away, and a couple of the men set to work to wash and dry the slimy deck, but waited until the little admiring crowd had looked their fill, the foremost men seeming to take a vast amount of interest in fishology, making several highly intellectual remarks about the configuration of the denizen of the deep. Before long though the real reason of their interest escaped them, for one made a remark or two about what a fine thick cut could be got from “just there,” while another opined that a boneeter of that there size ate tenderer boiled than fried.
By that time Fitz’s excitement had died down, and he no longer took interest in the beautiful steely and blue tints mingled with silver and gold, that flashed from the creature’s scales. In fact, in answer to a whispered query on the part of Poole, he nodded his head and let it lie right back against the chair. This was the signal for the Camel to be fetched to help bear the big fish forward to the galley, ready for cutting up, while the two men with bucket and swab rapidly finished cleaning and drying the deck, so that the damp patches began to turn white again in the hot rays of the sun.
It was all very quickly done, and then Poole began to slowly wind up the long line, giving every turn carefully and methodically so as to spread the stout hempen cord as open and separate for drying purposes as could be.
He took his time, dropping in a word or two now and then, apparently intent upon his task, but keenly watching his companion all the while.
“Hasn’t been too much for you, has it?” he said.
“No,” replied Fitz; “not too much, for it was very interesting; but it was quite enough. I don’t quite know how it is, but I have turned so sleepy.”
“Ah, you are tired. Sit quite back, and I will draw the chair over here into the shade. A nap till dinner-time up here in the air will do you no end of good, and give you an appetite for dinner. There; the sun won’t be round here for an hour.”
It was easily done, the cane legs gliding like rockers over the well-polished deck, and the lad returned to his place to turn the winder where he had stood the line to dry. This process was going on rapidly, and he stopped bending over the apparatus to examine the hook and stout snood, to see that it had not been frayed by the fish’s teeth. This done, he turned to speak to Fitz again, and smiled to himself.
“Well,” he said, “it doesn’t take him long to go to sleep,” for the tired midshipman’s eyes were tightly closed and he was taking another instalment of that which was to give him back his strength.
Chapter Thirteen.A question of duty.The wind was paradoxical. A succession of calms and light breezes from adverse quarters—in short, as bad as could be for the schooner’s expedition.But, on the other hand, the days grew into weeks in a climate that might be called absolutely perfect, and from his first coming on deck and helping in the capture of the bonito, Fitz Burnett advanced by steps which became long strides on his journey back to health.With the disappearance of suffering, away went all bad temper with the irritation that had caused it. The boy had lain in his berth and thought every night before going to sleep about his position and his helplessness, and had fully come to the conclusion that though the people among whom he was, skipper, officers and men, were in a way enemies, he could not be held accountable for anything they did, and as they had treated him throughout with the greatest kindness, it would be ungracious on his part to go, as he termed it, stalking about on stilts and making himself as disagreeable to them as he would be to himself.“Old Reed’s quite right, after all,” he said, “though I don’t like it a bit. I must make the best of my position. But only let me get half a chance, and I shall be off.”The boy then, as he rapidly recovered his strength, went about the deck amongst the men, and became what he termed extremely thick with Poole. There were times when he felt that they were becoming great friends, for Poole was a thoroughly intelligent lad who had had a good deal of experience for one of his years; but in these early stages of his recovery, so sure as there was a little change in the weather, with the damp or wind, twinges of pain and depression of spirits attacked the midshipman; the physical suffering introduced the mental, and for a few hours perhaps Fitz would feel, to use his own words, as disagreeable as could be.It was during one of these attacks that the idea came back very strongly that he was not doing his duty as an officer. He worked himself up into the feeling that he was behaving in a cowardly way now that he had great opportunities, and that if he did not seize one of these it would be to his disgrace.“I ought to do it,” he said, “and I will. It only wants pluck, for I have got right on my side. It is almost as good as having the gunboat and her crew at my back. It’s one of those chances such as we read of in history, where one fellow steps out to the front and carries all before him. I did not see it so clearly before as I do now. That’s what I ought to do, and I am going to do it. Poole will think it abominably ungrateful, and his father will be horribly wild; but I have got my duty to do, and it must be done, so here goes.”But “here” did not go, for on second thoughts matters did not seem quite so clear; but a day or two after, when the notion had been steadily simmering in his mind it seemed at last to be quite done, and shutting his eyes to all suggestions regarding impossibility or madness, he made his plunge.Fitz was not well. The weather had grown intensely hot, and unconsciously he was suffering from a slight touch of fever, which he complained about to Poole, who explained to him what it was, after reference to his father, and came back to him with a tiny packet of white crystals in some blue paper, and instructions that he was to take the powder at once.“Fever, is it?” said Fitz, rather sourly. “One couldn’t be catching fever out here in the open sea. I shall see your father myself. Why didn’t he come on deck yesterday?”“Because he isn’t well. He’s got a touch of fever too. He had got the bottle out of the medicine-chest, and was taking a dose when I went into his cabin.”“What!” cried Fitz. “Then he’s caught the fever too?”“Oh no; he caught it years ago, on the Mosquito Coast, and now and then when we get in for a change of weather like we have just had, it breaks out again and he’s very ill for a few days; but he soon comes round.”“But I was never on the Mosquito Coast,” cried Fitz impatiently. “I never caught a fever there, and I couldn’t catch one like that of your father.”“No,” said Poole; “father was talking about it, and he said yours was a touch due to your being susceptible after being so much hurt. That’s how he said it was. Now then, come down to the cabin and take your physic like a good boy.”“I am not going to do anything of the sort,” said Fitz shortly. “I took plenty while I was ill and weak, and you could do what you liked with me. But I am strong enough now, and if what I feel is due to the weather, when it changes the trouble will soon go off.”“I dare say it will,” said Poole, laughing; “but you needn’t make a fuss about swallowing this little scrap of bitter powder. Come on and take it like a man.”“Don’t bother,” said Fitz shortly, and he walked away right into the bows, climbed out on to the bowsprit, and sat down to think.“He’s a rum chap,” said Poole, as he stood watching him, and putting the powder back into his pocket. “He makes me feel as if I liked and could do anything for him sometimes, and then when he turns cocky I begin to want to punch his head.”Poole turned and went down into the cabin, where his father was lying in his berth looking flushed and weary, and evidently suffering a good deal.“Well, boy,” said the skipper; “did he take his dose?”“No, father. He’s ready to kick against everything now.”“Well,” said the skipper shortly, “let him kick.”Fitz was already kicking as he sat astride the bowsprit, looking out to sea and talking excitedly to himself.“Yes,” he said, “I like them, and we have got to be very good friends; but I have got my duty to do as a Queen’s officer, and do it I will. Why, it’s the very chance. Like what people call a fatality. That’s right, I think. Just as if it were made on purpose. Of course I know that I am only a boy—well, a good big boy, almost a man; but I am a Queen’s officer, and if I speak to the men it is in the Queen’s name. And look at them too. They are not like ordinary sailors. I have not been on board this schooner and mixing with them and talking to them all this time for nothing. It was plain enough at first, and I was nearly sure, but I made myself quite. Nearly every one of them has been at some time or other in the Royal Navy—men who have served their time, and then been got hold of by the skipper to sign and serve on board his craft. They are a regular picked crew of good seamen fit to serve on board any man-of-war, and I wonder they haven’t been kept. They weren’t all trained for nothing. See how well they obey every order, as smart as smart. That means training and recollecting the old discipline. Why, if I talk to them right they won’t stop to think that I am only a middy. I shall speak to them as an officer, and it will come natural to them to obey—in the Queen’s name. It is my duty too as an officer, and as an officer it means everything—midshipman, lieutenant, captain or admiral—an admiral is only an officer, and at a time like this I am equal to an admiral—well, say captain. I don’t care, I’ll do it.—All these rough plucky chaps of course wouldn’t be afraid of me as a boy; they’d laugh at me. Of course I know that; but it will be the officer speaking—yes, the officer.”The middy’s head began metaphorically to swell out until it seemed to grow very big indeed, making him feel quite a man—and more.“Yes,” he said, “I’ll do it. I must do it. Now’s the time, and I should be an idiot if I neglected such a chance.”Drawing a deep breath, he turned his head slowly, and assuming as careless a manner as he could command, he looked back inboard beneath the swelling sails, to see that several of the men were lying asleep in the shade, while others were smoking and chatting together. The boatswain was not visible, and the mate was apparently below, the after part of the vessel being vacant save that the man at the wheel was standing with outstretched hands resting upon the spokes, moving his lower jaw slowly as he worked at his succulent quid.Poole was still below with his father in the cabin, so that to the middy’s way of thinking he had the deck to himself. He took another deep breath, and with his heart beating heavily, swung himself round, laid hold of a rope, and climbed inboard again, when assuming a nonchalance he did not feel as he dropped upon the deck, he thrust his hands into his pockets, mastered the desire to run, and beginning to whistle, stalked slowly aft till he reached the companion-hatch, and began to descend the steps without a sound.Now was the critical time, for as he went down he could see that the cabin-door was shut, and hear the dull burr, burr, burr-like murmur of the captain’s voice talking to his son.Half-way down Fitz stopped short, for he heard a movement as if Poole were crossing the cabin, and if he came out now the opportunity was gone.The middy felt the sensation as of a spasm attacking his chest, and as he paused there, half suffocated, he trembled with anger against himself for losing such a chance; but the sound within the cabin ceased, the captain’s voice went murmuring on once more, and the suffocating sensation passed away, leaving the boy ready to seize his opportunity, and quick as thought he descended the last few steps, paused at the cabin-entry, and raising his hand quickly and silently, secured the outer door.
The wind was paradoxical. A succession of calms and light breezes from adverse quarters—in short, as bad as could be for the schooner’s expedition.
But, on the other hand, the days grew into weeks in a climate that might be called absolutely perfect, and from his first coming on deck and helping in the capture of the bonito, Fitz Burnett advanced by steps which became long strides on his journey back to health.
With the disappearance of suffering, away went all bad temper with the irritation that had caused it. The boy had lain in his berth and thought every night before going to sleep about his position and his helplessness, and had fully come to the conclusion that though the people among whom he was, skipper, officers and men, were in a way enemies, he could not be held accountable for anything they did, and as they had treated him throughout with the greatest kindness, it would be ungracious on his part to go, as he termed it, stalking about on stilts and making himself as disagreeable to them as he would be to himself.
“Old Reed’s quite right, after all,” he said, “though I don’t like it a bit. I must make the best of my position. But only let me get half a chance, and I shall be off.”
The boy then, as he rapidly recovered his strength, went about the deck amongst the men, and became what he termed extremely thick with Poole. There were times when he felt that they were becoming great friends, for Poole was a thoroughly intelligent lad who had had a good deal of experience for one of his years; but in these early stages of his recovery, so sure as there was a little change in the weather, with the damp or wind, twinges of pain and depression of spirits attacked the midshipman; the physical suffering introduced the mental, and for a few hours perhaps Fitz would feel, to use his own words, as disagreeable as could be.
It was during one of these attacks that the idea came back very strongly that he was not doing his duty as an officer. He worked himself up into the feeling that he was behaving in a cowardly way now that he had great opportunities, and that if he did not seize one of these it would be to his disgrace.
“I ought to do it,” he said, “and I will. It only wants pluck, for I have got right on my side. It is almost as good as having the gunboat and her crew at my back. It’s one of those chances such as we read of in history, where one fellow steps out to the front and carries all before him. I did not see it so clearly before as I do now. That’s what I ought to do, and I am going to do it. Poole will think it abominably ungrateful, and his father will be horribly wild; but I have got my duty to do, and it must be done, so here goes.”
But “here” did not go, for on second thoughts matters did not seem quite so clear; but a day or two after, when the notion had been steadily simmering in his mind it seemed at last to be quite done, and shutting his eyes to all suggestions regarding impossibility or madness, he made his plunge.
Fitz was not well. The weather had grown intensely hot, and unconsciously he was suffering from a slight touch of fever, which he complained about to Poole, who explained to him what it was, after reference to his father, and came back to him with a tiny packet of white crystals in some blue paper, and instructions that he was to take the powder at once.
“Fever, is it?” said Fitz, rather sourly. “One couldn’t be catching fever out here in the open sea. I shall see your father myself. Why didn’t he come on deck yesterday?”
“Because he isn’t well. He’s got a touch of fever too. He had got the bottle out of the medicine-chest, and was taking a dose when I went into his cabin.”
“What!” cried Fitz. “Then he’s caught the fever too?”
“Oh no; he caught it years ago, on the Mosquito Coast, and now and then when we get in for a change of weather like we have just had, it breaks out again and he’s very ill for a few days; but he soon comes round.”
“But I was never on the Mosquito Coast,” cried Fitz impatiently. “I never caught a fever there, and I couldn’t catch one like that of your father.”
“No,” said Poole; “father was talking about it, and he said yours was a touch due to your being susceptible after being so much hurt. That’s how he said it was. Now then, come down to the cabin and take your physic like a good boy.”
“I am not going to do anything of the sort,” said Fitz shortly. “I took plenty while I was ill and weak, and you could do what you liked with me. But I am strong enough now, and if what I feel is due to the weather, when it changes the trouble will soon go off.”
“I dare say it will,” said Poole, laughing; “but you needn’t make a fuss about swallowing this little scrap of bitter powder. Come on and take it like a man.”
“Don’t bother,” said Fitz shortly, and he walked away right into the bows, climbed out on to the bowsprit, and sat down to think.
“He’s a rum chap,” said Poole, as he stood watching him, and putting the powder back into his pocket. “He makes me feel as if I liked and could do anything for him sometimes, and then when he turns cocky I begin to want to punch his head.”
Poole turned and went down into the cabin, where his father was lying in his berth looking flushed and weary, and evidently suffering a good deal.
“Well, boy,” said the skipper; “did he take his dose?”
“No, father. He’s ready to kick against everything now.”
“Well,” said the skipper shortly, “let him kick.”
Fitz was already kicking as he sat astride the bowsprit, looking out to sea and talking excitedly to himself.
“Yes,” he said, “I like them, and we have got to be very good friends; but I have got my duty to do as a Queen’s officer, and do it I will. Why, it’s the very chance. Like what people call a fatality. That’s right, I think. Just as if it were made on purpose. Of course I know that I am only a boy—well, a good big boy, almost a man; but I am a Queen’s officer, and if I speak to the men it is in the Queen’s name. And look at them too. They are not like ordinary sailors. I have not been on board this schooner and mixing with them and talking to them all this time for nothing. It was plain enough at first, and I was nearly sure, but I made myself quite. Nearly every one of them has been at some time or other in the Royal Navy—men who have served their time, and then been got hold of by the skipper to sign and serve on board his craft. They are a regular picked crew of good seamen fit to serve on board any man-of-war, and I wonder they haven’t been kept. They weren’t all trained for nothing. See how well they obey every order, as smart as smart. That means training and recollecting the old discipline. Why, if I talk to them right they won’t stop to think that I am only a middy. I shall speak to them as an officer, and it will come natural to them to obey—in the Queen’s name. It is my duty too as an officer, and as an officer it means everything—midshipman, lieutenant, captain or admiral—an admiral is only an officer, and at a time like this I am equal to an admiral—well, say captain. I don’t care, I’ll do it.—All these rough plucky chaps of course wouldn’t be afraid of me as a boy; they’d laugh at me. Of course I know that; but it will be the officer speaking—yes, the officer.”
The middy’s head began metaphorically to swell out until it seemed to grow very big indeed, making him feel quite a man—and more.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ll do it. I must do it. Now’s the time, and I should be an idiot if I neglected such a chance.”
Drawing a deep breath, he turned his head slowly, and assuming as careless a manner as he could command, he looked back inboard beneath the swelling sails, to see that several of the men were lying asleep in the shade, while others were smoking and chatting together. The boatswain was not visible, and the mate was apparently below, the after part of the vessel being vacant save that the man at the wheel was standing with outstretched hands resting upon the spokes, moving his lower jaw slowly as he worked at his succulent quid.
Poole was still below with his father in the cabin, so that to the middy’s way of thinking he had the deck to himself. He took another deep breath, and with his heart beating heavily, swung himself round, laid hold of a rope, and climbed inboard again, when assuming a nonchalance he did not feel as he dropped upon the deck, he thrust his hands into his pockets, mastered the desire to run, and beginning to whistle, stalked slowly aft till he reached the companion-hatch, and began to descend the steps without a sound.
Now was the critical time, for as he went down he could see that the cabin-door was shut, and hear the dull burr, burr, burr-like murmur of the captain’s voice talking to his son.
Half-way down Fitz stopped short, for he heard a movement as if Poole were crossing the cabin, and if he came out now the opportunity was gone.
The middy felt the sensation as of a spasm attacking his chest, and as he paused there, half suffocated, he trembled with anger against himself for losing such a chance; but the sound within the cabin ceased, the captain’s voice went murmuring on once more, and the suffocating sensation passed away, leaving the boy ready to seize his opportunity, and quick as thought he descended the last few steps, paused at the cabin-entry, and raising his hand quickly and silently, secured the outer door.
Chapter Fourteen.A bold stroke.Fitz Burnett did not pause to think of the rights or wrongs of his proceedings, but smothered up everything in the belief that he was doing his duty.He would not even pause to consider whether his ideas were possible or impossible; everything was swallowed up in action, and with feverish energy he hurried back on deck to make the most use of the flying moments while he could.Hurrying forward to where the men were dozing, smoking, and thinking, he signed to those who noticed his approach, and called to the others.“Now, my lads!” he cried.The men sprang up wonderingly, apparently influenced by old traditions, and in no wise surprised to find the young officer about to give them some order.“Look here, my lads,” he said, in a low, quick, excited voice; “a word with you! I know you were all ABs to a man.”“Ay, ay, sir!” said the nearest sailor at whom he looked.“Old men-of-war’s men,” continued Fitz to another.“Ay, ay, sir! That’s right,” said the sailor.“It is my duty to make you, a crew of good men and true, know exactly how you stand.”The listeners looked wonderingly at the excited boy, and then at one another, as if asking for the meaning of these unusual words.“Look here,” continued Fitz, “you have all been good fellows to me since I have been aboard.”“Ay, ay, sir! Why not?” said one of the men, with his face broadening into a hearty grin.“And that’s why I, an officer in the Navy, feel friendly disposed to a set of smart fellows who used to serve the Queen.”“Ay, ay, sir! We served the Queen,” came in a murmur.“You did it in ignorance, no doubt, but in what you are doing you are offenders against the law, and may at any time be taken, and perhaps be strung up to the yardarm after a short trial. Certainly you will be severely punished.”A low murmur of dissent, almost derision, came from the little knot of men, and one of them laughed.“You don’t believe me,” cried Fitz. “It is true. And now listen to what I say, one and all; I call upon you in the Queen’s name to obey my orders, for I take possession of this schooner as an officer in Her Majesty’s service. In the Queen’s name!”There was a low murmur of mingled surprise and derision at this.“Silence, there!” cried Fitz. “I know that I am a very young officer to speak to you, but I am in the Queen’s Navy, and I order you in Her Majesty’s name to obey all my commands. I am going to sail at once for Kingston, where I have no doubt there will be a man-of-war on the station, and if you behave well I shall speak to the captain and get him to make it easy for you, but of course I shall give up the skipper and his son as prisoners.”“Here, say something, Chips,” growled one of the men; and the carpenter spoke out.“Say, squire, won’t that be rather hard on them?”“Silence, sir! How dare you! That is not the way for a common sailor to address an officer.”“Beg pardon, sir, but I am not a common sailor; I am a hartisan. Why, you know—the Chips.”There was a titter here.“Attention!” roared Fitz. “This is no laughing matter, my lads. Perhaps each man’s life, certainly his liberty, is at stake.”“Ay, ay, sir!” came in a growl.“That’s better,” said Fitz. “Now, I don’t want to be hard on you, my lads.”“Hear, hear! Thank you, sir,” cried the carpenter.“And I should be sorry to be harsh to any man; but once more, as an officer in the Royal Navy, I have got my duty to do, and I mean to do it.”“Ay, ay, sir!” came again, in a low acquiescent growl. “But he needn’t keep on a-telling us.”“Those men who stand by me and do their duty in navigating this vessel shall have ample pay and reward.”“What about prize-money, sir?” shouted a voice.“There’ll be no prize-money.”The men groaned.“But there will be reward in the shape of salvage, my lads. I, single-handed, have taken this schooner as a prize to the gunboatTonans, commanded by Captain Glossop, whose officer I am. She will be condemned and sold, and those who help me loyally will have their reward. Now then, every man stand forward who is ready to do his duty by me.”At that moment there was a sharp tapping heard from below.“What’s that?” cried Fitz sharply, though he perfectly well knew.“It’s the skipper, sir, a-opening his eyes, I think,” said the carpenter. “You’ve woke him up, talking like that, and he’s coming on deck with a pair of revolving bulldogs, to begin potting us all round. Here, who’s coming below?”“Silence, sir; and keep your places.”The carpenter stepped back behind the rest, and the next moment there rang out a most perfect imitation of the crow of a bantam cock, which was followed by a roaring outburst of merriment from the men.Fitz turned scarlet with rage.“How dare—” he began.“Ahoy! On deck, there!” came faintly from the cabin, followed by a heavy sound of beating and kicking.One of the men made a start aft for the companionway, followed by two more, but Fitz stepped before them.“Stop!” he shouted fiercely.“On deck, there! Do you hear? Open this door!” came from below.“Take no notice,” shouted Fitz, “until I give orders. Here, you carpenter; where’s the arm-chest?”“Down in the cabin, sir.”“No, no; I mean the other one—the men’s.”“Arn’t no nother one, sir. We always goes to the captain’s tool-chest when we’ve got anybody as wants killing, or any job of that kind on hand!”“Ahoy, there!” came from below once more, and then the sharp report of a pistol, a crash, and Poole came bounding up on deck, revolver in hand.Just as he came into sight the skipper’s voice was heard distinctly—“Lay hold of the first mutineer, Poole, and drag him down here.”“That’s meant for you, Mr Fitz, sir,” said the carpenter with a chuckle, and the men roared again.Fitz turned upon him, white as ashes, like an angry dog about to bite.“Silence, you insolent scoundrel!” he shouted.“What’s the meaning of this, Burnett?” cried Poole.“This, sir,” said the lad haughtily, stepping forward to meet him, laying one hand on his shoulder, and making a desperate snatch at the revolver; “I seize this schooner in the Queen’s name. Now, my lads, make this boy your prisoner.”Poole clapped the pistol behind him as he shook himself free.“Look here, sir,” he cried; “have you gone mad?”“Do you hear, men?” cried Fitz, seizing him again. “Forward! You, Poole, in the Queen’s name, surrender!”Not a man stirred, all standing in a group looking on, some wonderingly, some thoroughly amused, while the carpenter whispered—“All right, lads; let them fight it out. Of all the cheek!”“Did you say, You Poole or You fool?” said the skipper’s son quietly; “because one of us seems to be behaving very stupidly. Take your hand off my collar. This pistol’s loaded in five chambers, and was in six till I blew the lock off the cabin-door.—Quiet, I tell you, before there’s an accident. Why, you must have gone off your head.”“Did you hear what I said, men?” shouted Fitz furiously. “In the Queen’s name, make this boy your prisoner! Here, you, boatswain, take the lead here and obey my orders.” For that individual had just made his appearance on deck.“What’s the row, young gentlemen? Here, you, Squire Poole, put away that six-shooter. If you and Mr Fitz here has fell out, none of that tommy-rot nonsense. Use your fists.”“Boatswain,” cried Fitz haughtily, “I, as an officer, seize this schooner in the Queen’s name.”“What, has she telled you to, sir? I never heared her come aboard.”“No trifling, man. For your own sake, obey my orders. Seize this lad, and then make sail for the nearest British port.”The boatswain took off his cap and scratched his head, looking at the boys in a puzzled way, while Poole made no further resistance, but resigned himself to being held, as he kept the pistol well behind his back.“Do you hear me, men?” shouted Fitz, his heart sinking with despair the while, as he noted the smiling looks of every face before him, and felt what a miserable fiasco he had made.“Oh yes, I can hear you, sir,” said the boatswain. “I’d be precious deaf if I didn’t; but you’re giving rather a large order, taking a lot on yourself now as the skipper’s lying in dock. Any one would think as you had got a gunboat’s well-manned cutter lying alongside, and I don’t see as it is. What was that there shot I heard?”“I blew the lock off the cabin-door by my father’s orders,” cried Poole. “We were locked in.”“Ho!” said the boatswain. “Then this ’ere’s been what they used to call aboard a ship I was in, a hen-coopde main. I don’t quite exactly know what it means, but it’s something about shutting up prisoners in a cage. But don’t you think, young gentleman, you have been making a big mistake? But oh, all right—here’s the skipper hisself coming on deck.”Fitz turned sharply towards the companion-hatch, to see the head and shoulders of the skipper as he stood there holding on by the combings, and swaying to and fro, looking very ill and weak. His voice, too, sounded feeble as he said huskily, addressing the boatswain—“Is there any boat alongside, Butters?”“I arn’t seen one, sir,” replied the boatswain.“Any cruiser within sight?”“No, sir.”“Where’s Mr Burgess?”“Down below, sir. I’m afraid he’s got the fever too.”“Tut-tut-tut!” ejaculated the skipper. “There, I needn’t ask any questions. I have heard and seen enough. Mr Burnett, come here. No? Well, stay where you are. My good lad, have you been too much in the sun, to begin playing such a silly prank as this? There, no more nonsense!” he added sternly, and with his voice gathering in force. “It is evident to me that you don’t know what stuff my men are made of. But I’m too weak to stand talking here. Come and lend me a hand, Poole. You, my young filibuster, had better come below with me, where you can talk the matter over like a man. Ha, ha, ha!” he added, with a peculiar laugh. “There, I’m not angry with you, my boy. I must say I admire your pluck; but you must see how absurd all this is!”The midshipman’s hands had dropped to his sides, and a strange, hopeless, bitterly despondent look made his face display so many incipient wrinkles, the germs, so to speak, of those which in manhood would some day mark his frank young features.“It’s all over,” he groaned to himself; “they are all laughing at me. I wish I were overboard! What an idiot I have been!”The laugh was there all ready in the eyes of the crew, and ready to burst out in a roar, as, thrusting the revolver into his breast, Poole ran to his father’s side, and steadied him as he went back into the cabin; but not a sound was heard till the way was quite clear and Fitz stood alone looking wildly about him like some hunted animal seeking a place of refuge where he might hide. But the lad’s choice was limited to the cook’s galley, the cable-tier, and the forecastle-hatch, none of which would do.There were only two courses open, he felt, and one was to end his troubles by going overboard, the other to surrender like a man, obeying the skipper’s orders and following him below—anywhere to be out of sight of the jeering crew, whose remarks and mirthful shouts he momentarily expected to hear buzzing about his devoted head. And hence it was that as soon as the companion-hatch was clear he drew himself up to his full height—it did not take much doing, for it is very hard work for a boy to look like a man—and gazing straight before him, walked haughtily to the cabin-hatch and disappeared.The men seemed to have been holding their breath; their faces relaxed into smiles and grins, and the carpenter exclaimed—“Chips and shavings! Bantams aren’t—”In another moment there would have been a roar of derisive laughter, but Butters growled out hoarsely and sternly—“Stand by! D’y’ hear? Steady, my lads! None of that ’ere! Grinning like a set of Cheshire cats! What have you got to sneer at? My word! My word! And a boy like that! That’s what I call genuine British pluck! What a hofficer he’d make!”“Ay, ay!” cried the carpenter. “Right you are. All together, lads! He is the right sort! Three cheers!”They were given, with the boatswain pining in, and Fitz winced as he heard them down by the cabin-door; but he was himself again directly, for there was no jarring note of derision in the sound.
Fitz Burnett did not pause to think of the rights or wrongs of his proceedings, but smothered up everything in the belief that he was doing his duty.
He would not even pause to consider whether his ideas were possible or impossible; everything was swallowed up in action, and with feverish energy he hurried back on deck to make the most use of the flying moments while he could.
Hurrying forward to where the men were dozing, smoking, and thinking, he signed to those who noticed his approach, and called to the others.
“Now, my lads!” he cried.
The men sprang up wonderingly, apparently influenced by old traditions, and in no wise surprised to find the young officer about to give them some order.
“Look here, my lads,” he said, in a low, quick, excited voice; “a word with you! I know you were all ABs to a man.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” said the nearest sailor at whom he looked.
“Old men-of-war’s men,” continued Fitz to another.
“Ay, ay, sir! That’s right,” said the sailor.
“It is my duty to make you, a crew of good men and true, know exactly how you stand.”
The listeners looked wonderingly at the excited boy, and then at one another, as if asking for the meaning of these unusual words.
“Look here,” continued Fitz, “you have all been good fellows to me since I have been aboard.”
“Ay, ay, sir! Why not?” said one of the men, with his face broadening into a hearty grin.
“And that’s why I, an officer in the Navy, feel friendly disposed to a set of smart fellows who used to serve the Queen.”
“Ay, ay, sir! We served the Queen,” came in a murmur.
“You did it in ignorance, no doubt, but in what you are doing you are offenders against the law, and may at any time be taken, and perhaps be strung up to the yardarm after a short trial. Certainly you will be severely punished.”
A low murmur of dissent, almost derision, came from the little knot of men, and one of them laughed.
“You don’t believe me,” cried Fitz. “It is true. And now listen to what I say, one and all; I call upon you in the Queen’s name to obey my orders, for I take possession of this schooner as an officer in Her Majesty’s service. In the Queen’s name!”
There was a low murmur of mingled surprise and derision at this.
“Silence, there!” cried Fitz. “I know that I am a very young officer to speak to you, but I am in the Queen’s Navy, and I order you in Her Majesty’s name to obey all my commands. I am going to sail at once for Kingston, where I have no doubt there will be a man-of-war on the station, and if you behave well I shall speak to the captain and get him to make it easy for you, but of course I shall give up the skipper and his son as prisoners.”
“Here, say something, Chips,” growled one of the men; and the carpenter spoke out.
“Say, squire, won’t that be rather hard on them?”
“Silence, sir! How dare you! That is not the way for a common sailor to address an officer.”
“Beg pardon, sir, but I am not a common sailor; I am a hartisan. Why, you know—the Chips.”
There was a titter here.
“Attention!” roared Fitz. “This is no laughing matter, my lads. Perhaps each man’s life, certainly his liberty, is at stake.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” came in a growl.
“That’s better,” said Fitz. “Now, I don’t want to be hard on you, my lads.”
“Hear, hear! Thank you, sir,” cried the carpenter.
“And I should be sorry to be harsh to any man; but once more, as an officer in the Royal Navy, I have got my duty to do, and I mean to do it.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” came again, in a low acquiescent growl. “But he needn’t keep on a-telling us.”
“Those men who stand by me and do their duty in navigating this vessel shall have ample pay and reward.”
“What about prize-money, sir?” shouted a voice.
“There’ll be no prize-money.”
The men groaned.
“But there will be reward in the shape of salvage, my lads. I, single-handed, have taken this schooner as a prize to the gunboatTonans, commanded by Captain Glossop, whose officer I am. She will be condemned and sold, and those who help me loyally will have their reward. Now then, every man stand forward who is ready to do his duty by me.”
At that moment there was a sharp tapping heard from below.
“What’s that?” cried Fitz sharply, though he perfectly well knew.
“It’s the skipper, sir, a-opening his eyes, I think,” said the carpenter. “You’ve woke him up, talking like that, and he’s coming on deck with a pair of revolving bulldogs, to begin potting us all round. Here, who’s coming below?”
“Silence, sir; and keep your places.”
The carpenter stepped back behind the rest, and the next moment there rang out a most perfect imitation of the crow of a bantam cock, which was followed by a roaring outburst of merriment from the men.
Fitz turned scarlet with rage.
“How dare—” he began.
“Ahoy! On deck, there!” came faintly from the cabin, followed by a heavy sound of beating and kicking.
One of the men made a start aft for the companionway, followed by two more, but Fitz stepped before them.
“Stop!” he shouted fiercely.
“On deck, there! Do you hear? Open this door!” came from below.
“Take no notice,” shouted Fitz, “until I give orders. Here, you carpenter; where’s the arm-chest?”
“Down in the cabin, sir.”
“No, no; I mean the other one—the men’s.”
“Arn’t no nother one, sir. We always goes to the captain’s tool-chest when we’ve got anybody as wants killing, or any job of that kind on hand!”
“Ahoy, there!” came from below once more, and then the sharp report of a pistol, a crash, and Poole came bounding up on deck, revolver in hand.
Just as he came into sight the skipper’s voice was heard distinctly—
“Lay hold of the first mutineer, Poole, and drag him down here.”
“That’s meant for you, Mr Fitz, sir,” said the carpenter with a chuckle, and the men roared again.
Fitz turned upon him, white as ashes, like an angry dog about to bite.
“Silence, you insolent scoundrel!” he shouted.
“What’s the meaning of this, Burnett?” cried Poole.
“This, sir,” said the lad haughtily, stepping forward to meet him, laying one hand on his shoulder, and making a desperate snatch at the revolver; “I seize this schooner in the Queen’s name. Now, my lads, make this boy your prisoner.”
Poole clapped the pistol behind him as he shook himself free.
“Look here, sir,” he cried; “have you gone mad?”
“Do you hear, men?” cried Fitz, seizing him again. “Forward! You, Poole, in the Queen’s name, surrender!”
Not a man stirred, all standing in a group looking on, some wonderingly, some thoroughly amused, while the carpenter whispered—
“All right, lads; let them fight it out. Of all the cheek!”
“Did you say, You Poole or You fool?” said the skipper’s son quietly; “because one of us seems to be behaving very stupidly. Take your hand off my collar. This pistol’s loaded in five chambers, and was in six till I blew the lock off the cabin-door.—Quiet, I tell you, before there’s an accident. Why, you must have gone off your head.”
“Did you hear what I said, men?” shouted Fitz furiously. “In the Queen’s name, make this boy your prisoner! Here, you, boatswain, take the lead here and obey my orders.” For that individual had just made his appearance on deck.
“What’s the row, young gentlemen? Here, you, Squire Poole, put away that six-shooter. If you and Mr Fitz here has fell out, none of that tommy-rot nonsense. Use your fists.”
“Boatswain,” cried Fitz haughtily, “I, as an officer, seize this schooner in the Queen’s name.”
“What, has she telled you to, sir? I never heared her come aboard.”
“No trifling, man. For your own sake, obey my orders. Seize this lad, and then make sail for the nearest British port.”
The boatswain took off his cap and scratched his head, looking at the boys in a puzzled way, while Poole made no further resistance, but resigned himself to being held, as he kept the pistol well behind his back.
“Do you hear me, men?” shouted Fitz, his heart sinking with despair the while, as he noted the smiling looks of every face before him, and felt what a miserable fiasco he had made.
“Oh yes, I can hear you, sir,” said the boatswain. “I’d be precious deaf if I didn’t; but you’re giving rather a large order, taking a lot on yourself now as the skipper’s lying in dock. Any one would think as you had got a gunboat’s well-manned cutter lying alongside, and I don’t see as it is. What was that there shot I heard?”
“I blew the lock off the cabin-door by my father’s orders,” cried Poole. “We were locked in.”
“Ho!” said the boatswain. “Then this ’ere’s been what they used to call aboard a ship I was in, a hen-coopde main. I don’t quite exactly know what it means, but it’s something about shutting up prisoners in a cage. But don’t you think, young gentleman, you have been making a big mistake? But oh, all right—here’s the skipper hisself coming on deck.”
Fitz turned sharply towards the companion-hatch, to see the head and shoulders of the skipper as he stood there holding on by the combings, and swaying to and fro, looking very ill and weak. His voice, too, sounded feeble as he said huskily, addressing the boatswain—
“Is there any boat alongside, Butters?”
“I arn’t seen one, sir,” replied the boatswain.
“Any cruiser within sight?”
“No, sir.”
“Where’s Mr Burgess?”
“Down below, sir. I’m afraid he’s got the fever too.”
“Tut-tut-tut!” ejaculated the skipper. “There, I needn’t ask any questions. I have heard and seen enough. Mr Burnett, come here. No? Well, stay where you are. My good lad, have you been too much in the sun, to begin playing such a silly prank as this? There, no more nonsense!” he added sternly, and with his voice gathering in force. “It is evident to me that you don’t know what stuff my men are made of. But I’m too weak to stand talking here. Come and lend me a hand, Poole. You, my young filibuster, had better come below with me, where you can talk the matter over like a man. Ha, ha, ha!” he added, with a peculiar laugh. “There, I’m not angry with you, my boy. I must say I admire your pluck; but you must see how absurd all this is!”
The midshipman’s hands had dropped to his sides, and a strange, hopeless, bitterly despondent look made his face display so many incipient wrinkles, the germs, so to speak, of those which in manhood would some day mark his frank young features.
“It’s all over,” he groaned to himself; “they are all laughing at me. I wish I were overboard! What an idiot I have been!”
The laugh was there all ready in the eyes of the crew, and ready to burst out in a roar, as, thrusting the revolver into his breast, Poole ran to his father’s side, and steadied him as he went back into the cabin; but not a sound was heard till the way was quite clear and Fitz stood alone looking wildly about him like some hunted animal seeking a place of refuge where he might hide. But the lad’s choice was limited to the cook’s galley, the cable-tier, and the forecastle-hatch, none of which would do.
There were only two courses open, he felt, and one was to end his troubles by going overboard, the other to surrender like a man, obeying the skipper’s orders and following him below—anywhere to be out of sight of the jeering crew, whose remarks and mirthful shouts he momentarily expected to hear buzzing about his devoted head. And hence it was that as soon as the companion-hatch was clear he drew himself up to his full height—it did not take much doing, for it is very hard work for a boy to look like a man—and gazing straight before him, walked haughtily to the cabin-hatch and disappeared.
The men seemed to have been holding their breath; their faces relaxed into smiles and grins, and the carpenter exclaimed—
“Chips and shavings! Bantams aren’t—”
In another moment there would have been a roar of derisive laughter, but Butters growled out hoarsely and sternly—
“Stand by! D’y’ hear? Steady, my lads! None of that ’ere! Grinning like a set of Cheshire cats! What have you got to sneer at? My word! My word! And a boy like that! That’s what I call genuine British pluck! What a hofficer he’d make!”
“Ay, ay!” cried the carpenter. “Right you are. All together, lads! He is the right sort! Three cheers!”
They were given, with the boatswain pining in, and Fitz winced as he heard them down by the cabin-door; but he was himself again directly, for there was no jarring note of derision in the sound.
Chapter Fifteen.A miss-fire.Fitz Burnett felt the next moment as if it would be easier to do that which had never fallen to his lot—board with an excited crew an enemy’s ship, as he stood there for a few brief moments at the cabin-door listening to the heavy breathing and movements of the skipper, sounds which he knew meant that he was being helped back into his berth. For the cabin-door had swung to, and he could see nothing of that which was passing within.But the task had to be done, and the men’s cheer, rightly interpreted, seemed to have heartened him up, so that feeling more himself, he waited till he heard a heavy sigh of relief which told its own tale, and then giving the door a thrust, he stepped into the little cabin, to face its owner lying extended upon his back.Seeing Poole standing by his father’s head, facing him, he waited motionless for a few moments.“Hah! That’s better!” sighed the skipper. “Get me the quinine-bottle out of the chest, my boy. This fever has made me as weak as a rat.”Poole moved to one of the lockers at once, leaving the way clear for his father to see the young midshipman where he stood; and the boy set his teeth as the skipper’s fierce fiery eyes seemed to look him through and through.“Now for it,” thought Fitz, as he held his breath. “What will he say?”He was not long kept in doubt, for the skipper spoke at once, not with some furious denunciation, not with mocking contempt of the childish effort of which the lad had been the hero, but in a quiet, easy-going tone, strangely contrasted with the fierce look in his eyes.“Oh, there you are, my lad,” he said. “Do you see what work these tropic fevers can make of a strong man? Why, if you had only had me to deal with you would have had it all your own way. There, come and sit down, and let’s have a palaver.”“I can stand, sir, thank you,” said the boy coldly, “and you needn’t exert yourself to talk. I know all that you would say, and I confess at once that I have failed. But,” he added excitedly, “I am not sorry, not a bit. I felt it my was duty under the circumstances, and I feel now that I might have succeeded, and that it would have been right.”“Of course you do,” said the skipper quietly. “But there, come and sit down here, all the same. That’s right. We can talk more easily now. One moment; just open that window a little wider. This place is like an oven, and I want cool air.—Hah! That’s better.”He lay with his head thrown back and his eyelids half-closed.“Well,” he said at last, good-humouredly, and with a smile beginning to play about his rugged face, with the effect of sending a thrill of anger through the boy’s frame, as he flashed out furiously—“Don’t laugh at me, sir! Put me in irons; punish me as much as you like; but don’t jeer at me. I can’t bear that.”“Steady, my boy, steady!” said the skipper quietly. “You must cool down now. Why, Burnett, my lad, you had better furl up all your romantic sails and let’s talk like men. I am not going to put you in irons, I am not going to punish you. What nonsense! Why, when I was your age and just as thoughtless, if I had been placed in your position I might likely enough have tried on just such a trick. It will be a lesson for you to follow out the old proverb, ‘Look before you leap.’ You can’t see it now, but some day I have no doubt that you will feel that it was a mad idea, attempted because you didn’t know the people among whom you had been cast, nor thought it out so as to see how impossible it all was for a boy like you—a lad like you, single-handed, but with all a man’s pluck, and even unarmed, to make yourself master of my little craft. It was rather a big venture to make, my lad; don’t you think it was?”“No, sir,” said the lad firmly. “I had something else behind me.”“What, the belief that my lads only wanted a leader to turn against me?”“No, sir; that I was backed up, as an officer of the Queen, by the whole power of the law.”“Oh, I see,” said the skipper. “Yes. Exactly. That’s all very big and grand, and it might act sometimes and in some places, and especially when there are men well-armed to back it up as well; but if you had thought it out, my lad, I think you would have seen that it could have had no chance here.—Oh, that my dose, Poole? Half or full?” he continued, as he raised his hand to take a little silver mug which his son had brought.“Only half, father,” replied the lad. “You had a full dose just before you went to sleep.”“To be sure; so I did,” said the skipper, whose hand was trembling as he took the cup.—“It’s of no use to ask you to drink with me, Mr Burnett?”Fitz shook his head.“No, I suppose not,” continued the skipper; “but we are going to be good friends, all the same.”Fitz watched the sick man as he drained the cup.“Ah! Bitter stuff! If you just think of the bitterest thing you ever tasted and multiply it by itself, square it, as we used to call it at school, you would only come near to the taste of this. But it’s not a nasty bitter, sickly and nauseous and all that, but a bitter that you can get almost to like in time.—Thank you, Poole,” and he handed back the cup. “It makes me feel better at once. Nasty things, these fevers, Squire Burnett, and very wonderful too that a man, a strong man, should be going about hale and hearty in these hot countries, and then breathe in something all at once that turns him up like this. And then more wonderful still that the savage people lower down yonder in South America—higher up, I ought to say, for it was the folk amongst the mountains—should have found out a shrub whose bark would kill the fever poison and make a man himself again. They say—put the cup away, Poole—that wherever a poisonous thing grows there’s another plant grows close at hand which will cure the ill it does, bane and antidote, my lad, stinging-nettles and dock at home, you know. I don’t know that it holds quite true, but I do know that there are fevers out here, and quinine acts as a cure. But there’s one thing I want to know, and it’s this, how in the name of all that’s wonderful these South American people first found it out.”Fitz looked at him in a puzzled way. “What does he mean,” he thought, “by wandering off into a lecture like this?” The skipper smiled at him as if he read his thoughts. “Hah!” he said. “I am beginning to feel better now. The shivers are going off. Not such a bad doctor, am I? You see, one always carries a medicine-chest, but one has to learn how to use it, and I have been obliged to pick up a few things. I shouldn’t be at all surprised some day if I have to doctor you for something more than a crack on the head. Look here, Poole,” he continued, with a broad, good-humoured smile crossing his features, “come into consultation. What do you think? Our friend here is a bit too hot-blooded. Do you think he need be bled? No, no; don’t flush up like that, my lad. It was only my joke. There,” he cried, holding out his hand, which had ceased to tremble—“shake. I’ll never allude to it again. You did rather a foolish thing, but it is all over now—dead and buried, and we are going to be just as good friends as we were before, for I like you, my lad, none the less for the stuff of which you are made—the pluck you have shown. But take my advice; don’t attempt anything of the kind again. Fate has put you into this awkward position. Be a man, and make the best of it. Some day or other you will be able to say good-bye to us and go back to your ship, feeling quite contented as to having done your duty. Come now, let’s shake hands and begin again.”He held out his hand once more, and after a moment’s hesitation, Fitz, who dared not trust himself to speak, placed his own within it, to have it held in a firm, warm pressure for some moments before it was released.“There,” said the skipper, smiling, “I am coming out in a nice soft perspiration now, and I feel as if that bit of excitement has done me good. Here, Poole, I’m tired, and I think that I can sleep and wake up better. Burnett, my lad, perhaps you would like to stay below the rest of the day.—Poole, mix Mr Burgess a dose. You know how many grains. Tell him I can’t come to him myself, and see that he takes it. It’s my orders, mind. These attacks are sharp but short. I’m half asleep already. Oh, by the way—”He stopped short, drawing a heavy breath.“By the way, I—”He was silent again.“I—Poole.”“Yes, father,” said the lad softly.“Are you there?”“Yes, father.”The boys exchanged glances.“I—I think—Hah!”The skipper was fast asleep.The two lads remained silent for a few moments, watching the sleeper, and then Poole looked full in his companion’s eyes and slowly took out the revolver which he had thrust into his breast, before raising the hammer and bringing the cartridge-extractor to bear so that one after another the charges were thrust out, each to fall with a soft tap upon the cabin-table, after which the chambers were carefully wiped out, and the weapon put back into a holster close to the head of the berth, the cartridges being dropped into the little pouch attached to the belt.When all was done, steadily watched by Fitz the while, Poole raised his eyes to his companion once again.“Shall we do as you and father did just now?” he asked.“Yes,” said Fitz slowly and sadly, “if you will.”“Will?—Of course!”The two lads shook hands.
Fitz Burnett felt the next moment as if it would be easier to do that which had never fallen to his lot—board with an excited crew an enemy’s ship, as he stood there for a few brief moments at the cabin-door listening to the heavy breathing and movements of the skipper, sounds which he knew meant that he was being helped back into his berth. For the cabin-door had swung to, and he could see nothing of that which was passing within.
But the task had to be done, and the men’s cheer, rightly interpreted, seemed to have heartened him up, so that feeling more himself, he waited till he heard a heavy sigh of relief which told its own tale, and then giving the door a thrust, he stepped into the little cabin, to face its owner lying extended upon his back.
Seeing Poole standing by his father’s head, facing him, he waited motionless for a few moments.
“Hah! That’s better!” sighed the skipper. “Get me the quinine-bottle out of the chest, my boy. This fever has made me as weak as a rat.”
Poole moved to one of the lockers at once, leaving the way clear for his father to see the young midshipman where he stood; and the boy set his teeth as the skipper’s fierce fiery eyes seemed to look him through and through.
“Now for it,” thought Fitz, as he held his breath. “What will he say?”
He was not long kept in doubt, for the skipper spoke at once, not with some furious denunciation, not with mocking contempt of the childish effort of which the lad had been the hero, but in a quiet, easy-going tone, strangely contrasted with the fierce look in his eyes.
“Oh, there you are, my lad,” he said. “Do you see what work these tropic fevers can make of a strong man? Why, if you had only had me to deal with you would have had it all your own way. There, come and sit down, and let’s have a palaver.”
“I can stand, sir, thank you,” said the boy coldly, “and you needn’t exert yourself to talk. I know all that you would say, and I confess at once that I have failed. But,” he added excitedly, “I am not sorry, not a bit. I felt it my was duty under the circumstances, and I feel now that I might have succeeded, and that it would have been right.”
“Of course you do,” said the skipper quietly. “But there, come and sit down here, all the same. That’s right. We can talk more easily now. One moment; just open that window a little wider. This place is like an oven, and I want cool air.—Hah! That’s better.”
He lay with his head thrown back and his eyelids half-closed.
“Well,” he said at last, good-humouredly, and with a smile beginning to play about his rugged face, with the effect of sending a thrill of anger through the boy’s frame, as he flashed out furiously—
“Don’t laugh at me, sir! Put me in irons; punish me as much as you like; but don’t jeer at me. I can’t bear that.”
“Steady, my boy, steady!” said the skipper quietly. “You must cool down now. Why, Burnett, my lad, you had better furl up all your romantic sails and let’s talk like men. I am not going to put you in irons, I am not going to punish you. What nonsense! Why, when I was your age and just as thoughtless, if I had been placed in your position I might likely enough have tried on just such a trick. It will be a lesson for you to follow out the old proverb, ‘Look before you leap.’ You can’t see it now, but some day I have no doubt that you will feel that it was a mad idea, attempted because you didn’t know the people among whom you had been cast, nor thought it out so as to see how impossible it all was for a boy like you—a lad like you, single-handed, but with all a man’s pluck, and even unarmed, to make yourself master of my little craft. It was rather a big venture to make, my lad; don’t you think it was?”
“No, sir,” said the lad firmly. “I had something else behind me.”
“What, the belief that my lads only wanted a leader to turn against me?”
“No, sir; that I was backed up, as an officer of the Queen, by the whole power of the law.”
“Oh, I see,” said the skipper. “Yes. Exactly. That’s all very big and grand, and it might act sometimes and in some places, and especially when there are men well-armed to back it up as well; but if you had thought it out, my lad, I think you would have seen that it could have had no chance here.—Oh, that my dose, Poole? Half or full?” he continued, as he raised his hand to take a little silver mug which his son had brought.
“Only half, father,” replied the lad. “You had a full dose just before you went to sleep.”
“To be sure; so I did,” said the skipper, whose hand was trembling as he took the cup.—“It’s of no use to ask you to drink with me, Mr Burnett?”
Fitz shook his head.
“No, I suppose not,” continued the skipper; “but we are going to be good friends, all the same.”
Fitz watched the sick man as he drained the cup.
“Ah! Bitter stuff! If you just think of the bitterest thing you ever tasted and multiply it by itself, square it, as we used to call it at school, you would only come near to the taste of this. But it’s not a nasty bitter, sickly and nauseous and all that, but a bitter that you can get almost to like in time.—Thank you, Poole,” and he handed back the cup. “It makes me feel better at once. Nasty things, these fevers, Squire Burnett, and very wonderful too that a man, a strong man, should be going about hale and hearty in these hot countries, and then breathe in something all at once that turns him up like this. And then more wonderful still that the savage people lower down yonder in South America—higher up, I ought to say, for it was the folk amongst the mountains—should have found out a shrub whose bark would kill the fever poison and make a man himself again. They say—put the cup away, Poole—that wherever a poisonous thing grows there’s another plant grows close at hand which will cure the ill it does, bane and antidote, my lad, stinging-nettles and dock at home, you know. I don’t know that it holds quite true, but I do know that there are fevers out here, and quinine acts as a cure. But there’s one thing I want to know, and it’s this, how in the name of all that’s wonderful these South American people first found it out.”
Fitz looked at him in a puzzled way. “What does he mean,” he thought, “by wandering off into a lecture like this?” The skipper smiled at him as if he read his thoughts. “Hah!” he said. “I am beginning to feel better now. The shivers are going off. Not such a bad doctor, am I? You see, one always carries a medicine-chest, but one has to learn how to use it, and I have been obliged to pick up a few things. I shouldn’t be at all surprised some day if I have to doctor you for something more than a crack on the head. Look here, Poole,” he continued, with a broad, good-humoured smile crossing his features, “come into consultation. What do you think? Our friend here is a bit too hot-blooded. Do you think he need be bled? No, no; don’t flush up like that, my lad. It was only my joke. There,” he cried, holding out his hand, which had ceased to tremble—“shake. I’ll never allude to it again. You did rather a foolish thing, but it is all over now—dead and buried, and we are going to be just as good friends as we were before, for I like you, my lad, none the less for the stuff of which you are made—the pluck you have shown. But take my advice; don’t attempt anything of the kind again. Fate has put you into this awkward position. Be a man, and make the best of it. Some day or other you will be able to say good-bye to us and go back to your ship, feeling quite contented as to having done your duty. Come now, let’s shake hands and begin again.”
He held out his hand once more, and after a moment’s hesitation, Fitz, who dared not trust himself to speak, placed his own within it, to have it held in a firm, warm pressure for some moments before it was released.
“There,” said the skipper, smiling, “I am coming out in a nice soft perspiration now, and I feel as if that bit of excitement has done me good. Here, Poole, I’m tired, and I think that I can sleep and wake up better. Burnett, my lad, perhaps you would like to stay below the rest of the day.—Poole, mix Mr Burgess a dose. You know how many grains. Tell him I can’t come to him myself, and see that he takes it. It’s my orders, mind. These attacks are sharp but short. I’m half asleep already. Oh, by the way—”
He stopped short, drawing a heavy breath.
“By the way, I—”
He was silent again.
“I—Poole.”
“Yes, father,” said the lad softly.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, father.”
The boys exchanged glances.
“I—I think—Hah!”
The skipper was fast asleep.
The two lads remained silent for a few moments, watching the sleeper, and then Poole looked full in his companion’s eyes and slowly took out the revolver which he had thrust into his breast, before raising the hammer and bringing the cartridge-extractor to bear so that one after another the charges were thrust out, each to fall with a soft tap upon the cabin-table, after which the chambers were carefully wiped out, and the weapon put back into a holster close to the head of the berth, the cartridges being dropped into the little pouch attached to the belt.
When all was done, steadily watched by Fitz the while, Poole raised his eyes to his companion once again.
“Shall we do as you and father did just now?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Fitz slowly and sadly, “if you will.”
“Will?—Of course!”
The two lads shook hands.