Chapter Six.How Mark Strong made Friends.“Of course we shall not be able to sail at the time down,” said the first-mate rather huffily.“Of course we shall, Gregory,” said the captain quietly. “Morgan, I’m sorry you’ve had such a job as this. Divide the men into two watches. I’ll take the first with some extra hands. Gregory and I will get on as far as we can till you and your watch are roused up. You’ll go at it fresher. Pick out the most tired men for turning-in.”“They’re all tired alike,” said the first-mate gruffly. The captain did not answer, but went aft with his son.“Rather a queer experience for you, Mark,” he said as they entered the cabin, to find that Mrs Strong was there, waiting eagerly to know what was wrong on board.Her anxieties were soon set at rest, and after a little examination of the place, the steward pointing out which were the cabins of the passengers expected to come on board the next day, Mrs Strong settled herself calmly down beneath the lamp and took out her work.“Why, mother,” said Mark, “anyone would think you were at home.”“Well,” she replied smiling, “is it not home where your father is.”The reply was unanswerable, and being too restless to stay below when all was so novel on deck, Mark soon after went to where, by the light of many lanterns, about a third of the crew, supplemented by a gang of men from the dock, were hard at work trying to restore order in the hold.“Hallo, youngster!” said a sharp voice; “don’t get in the way. Here, hallo, old what’s-your-name! Come here.”Bruff gave his tail a wag, and butted the first-mate’s leg, submitting afterwards to being patted in the most friendly manner.“Good dog that, young Strong.”The mate did not wait to hear what was said in reply, but dived down into the hold, while Mark joined his father.“This is trying to bring order out of chaos, Mark,” he said good-humouredly; and then turned sharply to look at a strange, gaunt sailor who came up and touched his hat.“Hallo! Who are you? Oh, I see; our stowaway friend!”“Yes, sir. Can I help, sir?”“Well, yes—no—you had better not try at present, my man. Get used to the deck first, and try and put some strength in your arms.”“Please, sir, I—”“That will do,” said the captain coldly. “Obey orders, and prove that you are worthy of what I have done, and what I am going to do. I don’t like professions.”The captain walked away, and the stowaway stood looking after him, while Bruff walked up and smelled him suspiciously.“Nobody don’t seem to believe in me,” said the man in a discontented tone of voice.“Try and make them, then,” said Mark, who felt repelled by the man’s servile manner.“That’s just what I’m agoin’ to do, sir,” said the man, speaking with the most villainous of low London accents.“What did you say was your name?”“David, sir; David Jimpny. He won’t bite, will he, sir?”“No. Here, Bruff, leave that alone and come here.”Mark’s declaration that the dog would not bite seemed to give the man very little confidence, and no wonder, for Bruff kept eyeing the stowaway suspiciously in a way which seemed to indicate that he was looking out for a fleshy place to seize, but to his disappointment found none, only good opportunities for a grip at a bone.Just then Small the boatswain came up from the hold, nodded at Mark, and gave one of his thumbs a jerk.“I showed you your berth, my lad, go and turn in.”The man went forward and disappeared below, while the big rough boatswain gave the captain’s son another friendly nod.“Got to be drilled,” he said. “Rough stuff to work up into a sailor. Rather have you, squire.”“Oh! I should not make a good sailor,” said Mark lingering.“Not if I took you in hand, my lad? Why, I’d make a man of you in no time. Is the skipper going to hand you over to me?”“No; I’m only going as far as Plymouth or Penzance for a trip.”“More’s the pity, my lad. Think twiced of it, and don’t you go wasting your time ashore when there’s such a profession as the sea opening of its arms to you and a arstin of you to come. Look at your father: there’s a man!”“Is he a very fine sailor?”“Is he a fine sailor!” said the boatswain staring. “What a question to ask! why, there aren’t a better one nowhere. Think twiced on it, my lad, and come all the way.”“I wish I could,” said the boy to himself as he went back to the cabin, to find his father already there; and half an hour later, after a little joking about trying to sleep on a shelf in a cupboard, Mark clumsily turned in, far too much excited by the events of the day to go to sleep, and gradually getting so uneasy in the cramped space in which he had to lie, that he came to the conclusion that it was of no use to try; and as he lay thinking that he might as well get up and go and watch the re-stowing of the cargo, he found himself down low in the darkness, occupying the long triangular place from which the stowaway had been dragged.How hot and stifling it seemed, and yet how little he felt surprised at being there, even when a strange dread came over him and he struggled to escape, with the knowledge all the time that the sailors and dock labourers were piling and ramming in cases and barrels, bales and boxes, wedging him in so closely that he knew he should never get out. Every minute his position grew more hopeless and the desire to struggle less. Once or twice he did try, but his efforts were vain; and at last he lay panting and exhausted and staring at the black darkness which suddenly seemed to have grown grey.Was he awake? Had he been to sleep? Where was he?He realised it all like a flash. He was in that cramped berth in the little cabin; and though he had not felt the approach of sleep, he must have been fast for some hours and had an attack of nightmare, from which he had awakened flat upon his back.Mark uttered a sigh of relief, changed his position, lay looking at the grey light of morning and listening to some faintly-heard sounds, and then made up his mind to get up and dress.Almost as a matter of course the result was that he dropped off fast asleep, and lay till a pleasant familiar voice cried to him that breakfast was nearly ready.Getting off the shelf was nearly as difficult as getting upon it, but Mark took his first lesson in a determined way, and entered the cabin well rested and hungry just as the captain made his appearance.“Oh, father, I feel so ashamed!” cried Mark.“Why, my lad?”“Sleeping comfortably there while you’ve been up at work all night.”“Nothing of the kind, my boy. Mr Morgan relieved us at three, and I’ve had five hours’ sleep since then. Here they come.”Mr Gregory and Mr Morgan entered the cabin directly, both looking as calm and comfortable as if nothing had disturbed them. After the first greetings the first-mate began to look round the cabin.“What’s wrong, Gregory?” said the captain.“Wrong!” said the first-mate. “Nothing. I was only looking after that dog.”“Why, surely you don’t want to send him ashore?”“Ashore, nonsense! Very fine dog, sir. I should like to have him. Ah, there you are!”For just then Bruff came slowly and sedately into the cabin from a walk round the deck, and going straight up to the mate, blinked at him, and gave his tail two wags before going under the table to lay his head in his master’s lap.“Well, Morgan, how are you getting on?” asked the captain.“Splendidly, sir. Quite like home to have a lady pouring out the coffee.”“No, no; I mean with the cargo.”“Oh! I beg pardon, sir. All right. We’re about where we were before the accident.”“Ah, I thought we should be able to sail to-day, Gregory!”“Humph!” said the first-mate. “I’ll trouble you for a little more of that fried ham, Captain Strong. Good ham, young Strong. I recommend it.”Mark was already paying attention to it, and, well rested as he was, thoroughly enjoyed his novel meal, and was soon after as eagerly feasting upon the various sights and sounds of the deck.For the next four hours all was busy turmoil. Passengers were arriving with their luggage marked “For use in cabin,” last packages of cargo were being received, a couple of van-loads of fresh vegetables were shot down upon the deck as if some one was about to start a green-grocer’s shop on the other side of the world, and the state of confusion increased to such a degree that it seemed to Mark that order could never by any possibility reign again. Wheels squeaked as ropes ran through tackle, iron chains clanged; there was a continuous roaring of orders, here, there, and everywhere; and at last, when the time for going out of dock arrived, the deck was piled up in all directions with cargo and luggage, and every vacant place was occupied by passengers, their friends, dock people, and crew.It seemed impossible for the tall three-masted ship to get out of that dock through the narrow gates ahead and into the crowded river; but, just about one o’clock, a man in blue came on board and took charge, began shouting orders to men on the quay, ropes were made fast here and there and hauled upon, and the great ship was in motion.Before many minutes had elapsed she had glided majestically into a narrow canal with stone walls, and from the high stern deck Mark saw that a pair of great gates were closed behind them, as if the ship had been taken in a trap. But no sooner was this achieved than another pair of gates was opened before her bows, and the slow gliding motion was continued till, almost before he knew it, theBlack PetrelEast Indiaman, Captain Strong, outward-bound for Colombo, Singapore, and Hong-Kong, was out in the river without having crushed any other craft.As she swung out there in the tide, a large unwieldy object which threatened to come in contact with one or other of the many ships and long black screws lying in the river, all of a sudden a little, panting, puffing steamer came alongside and, amidst more shouting, ropes were thrown and she was made fast, while another appeared off theBlack Petrel’sbows, where the same throwing of ropes took place, but this time for a stout hawser to be fastened to the rope which had come through the air in rings. Then the rope was hauled back, the stout hawser dragged aboard, a great loop at its end placed over a hook on the tug-boat, which went slowly ahead, the hawser tightened, slackened, and splashed in the water, tightened and slackened again and again, till the great steamer’s inertia was overcome without the hawser being parted, and kept by the tug at the side from swinging here and there, the great ship went grandly down the Thames.
“Of course we shall not be able to sail at the time down,” said the first-mate rather huffily.
“Of course we shall, Gregory,” said the captain quietly. “Morgan, I’m sorry you’ve had such a job as this. Divide the men into two watches. I’ll take the first with some extra hands. Gregory and I will get on as far as we can till you and your watch are roused up. You’ll go at it fresher. Pick out the most tired men for turning-in.”
“They’re all tired alike,” said the first-mate gruffly. The captain did not answer, but went aft with his son.
“Rather a queer experience for you, Mark,” he said as they entered the cabin, to find that Mrs Strong was there, waiting eagerly to know what was wrong on board.
Her anxieties were soon set at rest, and after a little examination of the place, the steward pointing out which were the cabins of the passengers expected to come on board the next day, Mrs Strong settled herself calmly down beneath the lamp and took out her work.
“Why, mother,” said Mark, “anyone would think you were at home.”
“Well,” she replied smiling, “is it not home where your father is.”
The reply was unanswerable, and being too restless to stay below when all was so novel on deck, Mark soon after went to where, by the light of many lanterns, about a third of the crew, supplemented by a gang of men from the dock, were hard at work trying to restore order in the hold.
“Hallo, youngster!” said a sharp voice; “don’t get in the way. Here, hallo, old what’s-your-name! Come here.”
Bruff gave his tail a wag, and butted the first-mate’s leg, submitting afterwards to being patted in the most friendly manner.
“Good dog that, young Strong.”
The mate did not wait to hear what was said in reply, but dived down into the hold, while Mark joined his father.
“This is trying to bring order out of chaos, Mark,” he said good-humouredly; and then turned sharply to look at a strange, gaunt sailor who came up and touched his hat.
“Hallo! Who are you? Oh, I see; our stowaway friend!”
“Yes, sir. Can I help, sir?”
“Well, yes—no—you had better not try at present, my man. Get used to the deck first, and try and put some strength in your arms.”
“Please, sir, I—”
“That will do,” said the captain coldly. “Obey orders, and prove that you are worthy of what I have done, and what I am going to do. I don’t like professions.”
The captain walked away, and the stowaway stood looking after him, while Bruff walked up and smelled him suspiciously.
“Nobody don’t seem to believe in me,” said the man in a discontented tone of voice.
“Try and make them, then,” said Mark, who felt repelled by the man’s servile manner.
“That’s just what I’m agoin’ to do, sir,” said the man, speaking with the most villainous of low London accents.
“What did you say was your name?”
“David, sir; David Jimpny. He won’t bite, will he, sir?”
“No. Here, Bruff, leave that alone and come here.”
Mark’s declaration that the dog would not bite seemed to give the man very little confidence, and no wonder, for Bruff kept eyeing the stowaway suspiciously in a way which seemed to indicate that he was looking out for a fleshy place to seize, but to his disappointment found none, only good opportunities for a grip at a bone.
Just then Small the boatswain came up from the hold, nodded at Mark, and gave one of his thumbs a jerk.
“I showed you your berth, my lad, go and turn in.”
The man went forward and disappeared below, while the big rough boatswain gave the captain’s son another friendly nod.
“Got to be drilled,” he said. “Rough stuff to work up into a sailor. Rather have you, squire.”
“Oh! I should not make a good sailor,” said Mark lingering.
“Not if I took you in hand, my lad? Why, I’d make a man of you in no time. Is the skipper going to hand you over to me?”
“No; I’m only going as far as Plymouth or Penzance for a trip.”
“More’s the pity, my lad. Think twiced of it, and don’t you go wasting your time ashore when there’s such a profession as the sea opening of its arms to you and a arstin of you to come. Look at your father: there’s a man!”
“Is he a very fine sailor?”
“Is he a fine sailor!” said the boatswain staring. “What a question to ask! why, there aren’t a better one nowhere. Think twiced on it, my lad, and come all the way.”
“I wish I could,” said the boy to himself as he went back to the cabin, to find his father already there; and half an hour later, after a little joking about trying to sleep on a shelf in a cupboard, Mark clumsily turned in, far too much excited by the events of the day to go to sleep, and gradually getting so uneasy in the cramped space in which he had to lie, that he came to the conclusion that it was of no use to try; and as he lay thinking that he might as well get up and go and watch the re-stowing of the cargo, he found himself down low in the darkness, occupying the long triangular place from which the stowaway had been dragged.
How hot and stifling it seemed, and yet how little he felt surprised at being there, even when a strange dread came over him and he struggled to escape, with the knowledge all the time that the sailors and dock labourers were piling and ramming in cases and barrels, bales and boxes, wedging him in so closely that he knew he should never get out. Every minute his position grew more hopeless and the desire to struggle less. Once or twice he did try, but his efforts were vain; and at last he lay panting and exhausted and staring at the black darkness which suddenly seemed to have grown grey.
Was he awake? Had he been to sleep? Where was he?
He realised it all like a flash. He was in that cramped berth in the little cabin; and though he had not felt the approach of sleep, he must have been fast for some hours and had an attack of nightmare, from which he had awakened flat upon his back.
Mark uttered a sigh of relief, changed his position, lay looking at the grey light of morning and listening to some faintly-heard sounds, and then made up his mind to get up and dress.
Almost as a matter of course the result was that he dropped off fast asleep, and lay till a pleasant familiar voice cried to him that breakfast was nearly ready.
Getting off the shelf was nearly as difficult as getting upon it, but Mark took his first lesson in a determined way, and entered the cabin well rested and hungry just as the captain made his appearance.
“Oh, father, I feel so ashamed!” cried Mark.
“Why, my lad?”
“Sleeping comfortably there while you’ve been up at work all night.”
“Nothing of the kind, my boy. Mr Morgan relieved us at three, and I’ve had five hours’ sleep since then. Here they come.”
Mr Gregory and Mr Morgan entered the cabin directly, both looking as calm and comfortable as if nothing had disturbed them. After the first greetings the first-mate began to look round the cabin.
“What’s wrong, Gregory?” said the captain.
“Wrong!” said the first-mate. “Nothing. I was only looking after that dog.”
“Why, surely you don’t want to send him ashore?”
“Ashore, nonsense! Very fine dog, sir. I should like to have him. Ah, there you are!”
For just then Bruff came slowly and sedately into the cabin from a walk round the deck, and going straight up to the mate, blinked at him, and gave his tail two wags before going under the table to lay his head in his master’s lap.
“Well, Morgan, how are you getting on?” asked the captain.
“Splendidly, sir. Quite like home to have a lady pouring out the coffee.”
“No, no; I mean with the cargo.”
“Oh! I beg pardon, sir. All right. We’re about where we were before the accident.”
“Ah, I thought we should be able to sail to-day, Gregory!”
“Humph!” said the first-mate. “I’ll trouble you for a little more of that fried ham, Captain Strong. Good ham, young Strong. I recommend it.”
Mark was already paying attention to it, and, well rested as he was, thoroughly enjoyed his novel meal, and was soon after as eagerly feasting upon the various sights and sounds of the deck.
For the next four hours all was busy turmoil. Passengers were arriving with their luggage marked “For use in cabin,” last packages of cargo were being received, a couple of van-loads of fresh vegetables were shot down upon the deck as if some one was about to start a green-grocer’s shop on the other side of the world, and the state of confusion increased to such a degree that it seemed to Mark that order could never by any possibility reign again. Wheels squeaked as ropes ran through tackle, iron chains clanged; there was a continuous roaring of orders, here, there, and everywhere; and at last, when the time for going out of dock arrived, the deck was piled up in all directions with cargo and luggage, and every vacant place was occupied by passengers, their friends, dock people, and crew.
It seemed impossible for the tall three-masted ship to get out of that dock through the narrow gates ahead and into the crowded river; but, just about one o’clock, a man in blue came on board and took charge, began shouting orders to men on the quay, ropes were made fast here and there and hauled upon, and the great ship was in motion.
Before many minutes had elapsed she had glided majestically into a narrow canal with stone walls, and from the high stern deck Mark saw that a pair of great gates were closed behind them, as if the ship had been taken in a trap. But no sooner was this achieved than another pair of gates was opened before her bows, and the slow gliding motion was continued till, almost before he knew it, theBlack PetrelEast Indiaman, Captain Strong, outward-bound for Colombo, Singapore, and Hong-Kong, was out in the river without having crushed any other craft.
As she swung out there in the tide, a large unwieldy object which threatened to come in contact with one or other of the many ships and long black screws lying in the river, all of a sudden a little, panting, puffing steamer came alongside and, amidst more shouting, ropes were thrown and she was made fast, while another appeared off theBlack Petrel’sbows, where the same throwing of ropes took place, but this time for a stout hawser to be fastened to the rope which had come through the air in rings. Then the rope was hauled back, the stout hawser dragged aboard, a great loop at its end placed over a hook on the tug-boat, which went slowly ahead, the hawser tightened, slackened, and splashed in the water, tightened and slackened again and again, till the great steamer’s inertia was overcome without the hawser being parted, and kept by the tug at the side from swinging here and there, the great ship went grandly down the Thames.
Chapter Seven.How Mark had a Surprise.Blackwall and Woolwich, Gravesend, and the vessel moored for the night. There a few preliminaries were adjusted, and the next morning, with the deck not quite in such a state of confusion, the vessel began to drop down with the tide.And now Mark woke to the fact that the captain was once more only a secondary personage on board, the pilot taking command, under whose guidance sails dropped down and the great ship gradually made her way in and out of the dangerous shoals and sand-banks, till, well out to sea on a fine calm day, the pilot-boat came alongside, and Captain Strong, as the pilot wished him a lucky voyage, again took command.There had been so much going on in lashing spars in their places, getting down the last of the cargo, and securing the ship’s boats, along with a hundred other matters connected with clearing the decks and making things ship-shape, that Mark saw little of his father and the officers, except at mealtimes; and hence he was thrown almost entirely in the company of his mother. There were the passengers, but they, for the most part, were somewhat distant and strange at first; but now, as the great ship began to go steadily down channel, before a pleasant south-easterly breeze, the decks were clear, ropes coiled down, hatches battened over, and there was a disposition among the strangers on board to become friendly.They were not a very striking party whom Captain Strong had gathered round his table, but, as he told Mrs Strong, he had to make the best of them. There was a curiously dry-looking Scotch merchant on his way back to Hong-Kong. An Irish major, with his wife and daughter, bound for the same place. A quiet stout gentleman, supposed to be a doctor, and three young German agricultural students on their way to Singapore, from which place, after a short stay, they were going to Northern Queensland to introduce some new way of growing sugar.But just as the passengers were growing social, and the panorama of Southern England was growing more and more beautiful, the weather began to change.Its first vagary was in the shape of a fog while they were off the Dorsetshire coast, and with the fog there was its companion, a calm.“One of a sailor’s greatest troubles,” Mr Morgan said to Mark as they were leaning over the taffrail watching the gulls, which seemed to come in and out of the mist.“But capital for a passenger who only wants to make his trip as long as he can,” said Mark laughingly.“Ah! I forgot that you leave us at Plymouth,” said the second-mate.“Penzance,” cried Mark.“That depends on the weather, young man. If that happens to be bad you will be dropped at Plymouth, and I’m afraid we are going to have a change.”The second-mate was right, for before many hours had passed, and when Start and Prawle points had been pointed out as they loomed up out of the haze upon their right, the sea began to rise. That night the wind was increasing to a gale, and Mark was oblivious, like several of the passengers, of the grandeur of the waves; neither did he hear the shrieking of the wind through the rigging. What he did hear was the creaking and groaning of the timbers of the large ship as she rose and fell, and the heavy thud of some wave which smote her bows and came down like a cataract upon her deck.“Come, Mark, Mark, my lad,” the captain said, “you must hold up. You’re as bad as your mother.”“Are we going to the bottom, father?” was all Mark could gasp out.“No, my boy,” said the captain, laughing, “I hope not. This is only what we sailors call a capful of wind.”Mrs Strong was too ill to leave her cabin, but the first-mate came to give the sea-sick lad a friendly grip of the hand, and pat poor Bruff’s head as he sat looking extremely doleful, and seeming to wonder what it all meant Mr Morgan, too, made his appearance from time to time.Then all seemed to be rising up and plunging down with the shrieking of wind, the beating of the waves, and darkness, and sickness, and misery.Was it day or was it night? How long had he been ill? How long was all this going to last?Once or twice Mark tried to crawl out of his berth, but he was too weak and ill to stir; besides which, the ship was tossing frightfully, and once when the captain came in it seemed to the lad that he looked careworn and anxious. But Mark was too ill to trouble himself about the storm or the ship, or what was to become of them, and he lay there perfectly prostrate.The steward came from time to time anxious looking and pale, but Mark did not notice it. He for the most part refused the food that was brought to him, and lay back in a sort of stupor, till at last it seemed to him that the ship was not rocking about so violently.Then came a time when the cabin seemed to grow light, and the steps of men sounded overhead as they were removing some kind of shutter.Lastly he woke one morning with the sun shining, and his father, looking very haggard, sitting by his berth.“Well, my lad,” he said, “this has been a sorry holiday for you. Come, can’t you hold up a bit? The steward’s going to bring you some tea.”“I—can’t touch anything, father; but has the storm gone?”“Thank Heaven! yes, my lad. I never was in a worse!”“But you said it was a capful of wind,” said Mark faintly.“Capful, my lad! it was a hurricane, and I’m afraid many a good ship has fared badly.”“But thePetrel’sall right, father?”“Behaved splendidly.”“Are we—nearly at Plymouth?” was Mark’s next question.“Nearly where?”“At Plymouth. I think, as I’m so ill, I’d better not go any farther. How is mother?”“Going to get up, my lad, and that’s what you’ve got to do.”“I’ll try, father. When shall I go ashore?”“If you like, at Malta, for a few hours,” said the captain drily; “not before.”“At Malta!” said Mark, raising himself upon one arm.“Yes, at Malta. Do you know where we are?”“Somewhere off the Devon coast, I suppose.”“You were, a week ago, my boy. There, get up and dress yourself; the sun shines and the sea’s calm, and in a few hours I can show you the coast of Spain.”“But, father,” cried Mark, upon whom this news seemed to have a magical effect, “aren’t we going ashore at Penzance.”“Penzance, my boy! We had one of the narrowest of shaves of going on the Lizard Rocks, and were only too glad to get plenty of sea-room. Do you know we’ve been running for a week under storm topsails, and in as dangerous a storm as a ship could face?”“I knew it had been very bad, father, but not like that. What are you going to do?”“Make the best of things, sir. Look here, Mark, you wanted to come for a voyage with me.”“Yes, father.”“Well, I said I wouldn’t take you.”“Yes, father.”“And now I’m obliged to: for I can’t put back.”“Going to take me to China?” cried Mark.“Yes, unless I put in at Lisbon, and send you home from there, and that’s not worth while.”“Father!”“What! are you so much better as that? Here, what are you going to do?”“Get up directly, father, and see the coast of Spain.”
Blackwall and Woolwich, Gravesend, and the vessel moored for the night. There a few preliminaries were adjusted, and the next morning, with the deck not quite in such a state of confusion, the vessel began to drop down with the tide.
And now Mark woke to the fact that the captain was once more only a secondary personage on board, the pilot taking command, under whose guidance sails dropped down and the great ship gradually made her way in and out of the dangerous shoals and sand-banks, till, well out to sea on a fine calm day, the pilot-boat came alongside, and Captain Strong, as the pilot wished him a lucky voyage, again took command.
There had been so much going on in lashing spars in their places, getting down the last of the cargo, and securing the ship’s boats, along with a hundred other matters connected with clearing the decks and making things ship-shape, that Mark saw little of his father and the officers, except at mealtimes; and hence he was thrown almost entirely in the company of his mother. There were the passengers, but they, for the most part, were somewhat distant and strange at first; but now, as the great ship began to go steadily down channel, before a pleasant south-easterly breeze, the decks were clear, ropes coiled down, hatches battened over, and there was a disposition among the strangers on board to become friendly.
They were not a very striking party whom Captain Strong had gathered round his table, but, as he told Mrs Strong, he had to make the best of them. There was a curiously dry-looking Scotch merchant on his way back to Hong-Kong. An Irish major, with his wife and daughter, bound for the same place. A quiet stout gentleman, supposed to be a doctor, and three young German agricultural students on their way to Singapore, from which place, after a short stay, they were going to Northern Queensland to introduce some new way of growing sugar.
But just as the passengers were growing social, and the panorama of Southern England was growing more and more beautiful, the weather began to change.
Its first vagary was in the shape of a fog while they were off the Dorsetshire coast, and with the fog there was its companion, a calm.
“One of a sailor’s greatest troubles,” Mr Morgan said to Mark as they were leaning over the taffrail watching the gulls, which seemed to come in and out of the mist.
“But capital for a passenger who only wants to make his trip as long as he can,” said Mark laughingly.
“Ah! I forgot that you leave us at Plymouth,” said the second-mate.
“Penzance,” cried Mark.
“That depends on the weather, young man. If that happens to be bad you will be dropped at Plymouth, and I’m afraid we are going to have a change.”
The second-mate was right, for before many hours had passed, and when Start and Prawle points had been pointed out as they loomed up out of the haze upon their right, the sea began to rise. That night the wind was increasing to a gale, and Mark was oblivious, like several of the passengers, of the grandeur of the waves; neither did he hear the shrieking of the wind through the rigging. What he did hear was the creaking and groaning of the timbers of the large ship as she rose and fell, and the heavy thud of some wave which smote her bows and came down like a cataract upon her deck.
“Come, Mark, Mark, my lad,” the captain said, “you must hold up. You’re as bad as your mother.”
“Are we going to the bottom, father?” was all Mark could gasp out.
“No, my boy,” said the captain, laughing, “I hope not. This is only what we sailors call a capful of wind.”
Mrs Strong was too ill to leave her cabin, but the first-mate came to give the sea-sick lad a friendly grip of the hand, and pat poor Bruff’s head as he sat looking extremely doleful, and seeming to wonder what it all meant Mr Morgan, too, made his appearance from time to time.
Then all seemed to be rising up and plunging down with the shrieking of wind, the beating of the waves, and darkness, and sickness, and misery.
Was it day or was it night? How long had he been ill? How long was all this going to last?
Once or twice Mark tried to crawl out of his berth, but he was too weak and ill to stir; besides which, the ship was tossing frightfully, and once when the captain came in it seemed to the lad that he looked careworn and anxious. But Mark was too ill to trouble himself about the storm or the ship, or what was to become of them, and he lay there perfectly prostrate.
The steward came from time to time anxious looking and pale, but Mark did not notice it. He for the most part refused the food that was brought to him, and lay back in a sort of stupor, till at last it seemed to him that the ship was not rocking about so violently.
Then came a time when the cabin seemed to grow light, and the steps of men sounded overhead as they were removing some kind of shutter.
Lastly he woke one morning with the sun shining, and his father, looking very haggard, sitting by his berth.
“Well, my lad,” he said, “this has been a sorry holiday for you. Come, can’t you hold up a bit? The steward’s going to bring you some tea.”
“I—can’t touch anything, father; but has the storm gone?”
“Thank Heaven! yes, my lad. I never was in a worse!”
“But you said it was a capful of wind,” said Mark faintly.
“Capful, my lad! it was a hurricane, and I’m afraid many a good ship has fared badly.”
“But thePetrel’sall right, father?”
“Behaved splendidly.”
“Are we—nearly at Plymouth?” was Mark’s next question.
“Nearly where?”
“At Plymouth. I think, as I’m so ill, I’d better not go any farther. How is mother?”
“Going to get up, my lad, and that’s what you’ve got to do.”
“I’ll try, father. When shall I go ashore?”
“If you like, at Malta, for a few hours,” said the captain drily; “not before.”
“At Malta!” said Mark, raising himself upon one arm.
“Yes, at Malta. Do you know where we are?”
“Somewhere off the Devon coast, I suppose.”
“You were, a week ago, my boy. There, get up and dress yourself; the sun shines and the sea’s calm, and in a few hours I can show you the coast of Spain.”
“But, father,” cried Mark, upon whom this news seemed to have a magical effect, “aren’t we going ashore at Penzance.”
“Penzance, my boy! We had one of the narrowest of shaves of going on the Lizard Rocks, and were only too glad to get plenty of sea-room. Do you know we’ve been running for a week under storm topsails, and in as dangerous a storm as a ship could face?”
“I knew it had been very bad, father, but not like that. What are you going to do?”
“Make the best of things, sir. Look here, Mark, you wanted to come for a voyage with me.”
“Yes, father.”
“Well, I said I wouldn’t take you.”
“Yes, father.”
“And now I’m obliged to: for I can’t put back.”
“Going to take me to China?” cried Mark.
“Yes, unless I put in at Lisbon, and send you home from there, and that’s not worth while.”
“Father!”
“What! are you so much better as that? Here, what are you going to do?”
“Get up directly, father, and see the coast of Spain.”
Chapter Eight.How Captain Jack came on Deck.“Yes, my lad, you’ve had a narrow squeak for it,” said the first-mate, shaking hands. “You’re in for it now.”He patted Mark’s shoulder as he stood gazing over the port bulwark at a dim blue line.“I couldn’t get to you more, Mark, my lad,” said the second-mate, “but you’ll be all right now. We’ve had a rough time.”“And to think of you coming all the way with us after all!” said the boatswain in a pleasant growl. “Here, I’m going to make a sailor o’ you.”Mark was alone soon after, when Billy Widgeon came up smiling to say a few friendly words, and directly after a thin pale sailor came edging along the bulwarks to say feebly:“I see you’ve been very bad too, sir. I thought once we should have been all drowned.”Mark had an instinctive dislike to this man, he could not tell why, and as he felt this he was at the same time angry with himself, for it seemed unjust.The man noted it, and sighed as he went away, and even this sigh troubled its hearer, for he could not make out whether it was genuine or uttered to excite sympathy.There was some excuse, for Mr David Jimpny’s personal appearance was not much improved by the composite sailor suit he wore. His trousers were an old pair of the captain’s, and his jacket had been routed out by the boatswain, both officers being about as opposite in physique to the stowaway as could well be imagined. In fact, as Mark Strong saw him going forward he could not help thinking that the poor fellow looked better in his shore-going rags.Then his manner of coming on board had not been of a kind to produce a favourable impression.“I can’t help it,” said Mark aloud. “I don’t want to jump upon the poor fellow, but how can we take to him when even one’s dog looks at him suspiciously.”“I shouldn’t set up my dog as a model to go by if I were you,” said a voice at his elbow; and turning suddenly, with his face flushing, Mark found that the second-mate was at his elbow.“I didn’t know that I was thinking aloud,” said Mark.“But you were, and very loudly. I don’t wonder at your not liking that man: I don’t. Perhaps he’ll improve though. We will not judge him yet. So you’re coming all the way with us?”“Yes.”“I’m glad of it. Be a change for you, and for us too. This is rather different to what we’ve been having, eh?”“Why, it’s lovely!” cried Mark. “I didn’t think the weather could be so beautiful at sea.”“Nor so stormy, eh?”“I didn’t notice much of the storm,” said Mark. “I was too ill.”“Ah! it is bad that first attack of ‘waves in motion,’ as I call it. But that’s all past, and we shall have fine weather, I daresay, all the rest of the voyage. One never gets much worse weather than we have near home.”“Was much damage done,” asked Mark, “in the storm?”“Nothing serious. We were just starting after all our faulty rigging had been replaced. If we had been coming home after a voyage it might have been different. One or two sails were blown to shreds, but the old ship behaved nobly.”“I wish I had not been so ill,” said Mark thoughtfully.“So do I, my lad; but why do you speak so?”“Because I should have liked to be on deck.”“Ah! well, you need not regret your sickness, for you would not have been on deck. It was as much as we could do to hold our own and not get washed overboard. That’s worth looking at.”He pointed, as he spoke, to a blue line of hills away to the east bathed in the brilliant sunshine, while the water between them and the shore seemed to be as blue, but of another shade.“Spain!” said Mark. “How lovely!”“Portugal, my lad. Yes, it’s pretty enough, but I’ve often seen bits of the Welsh coast look far more lovely. Don’t you run away with the idea that you are going to see more beautiful countries than your own.”“Oh, but, Mr Morgan, Spain, and Italy, and Egypt, and Ceylon, and Singapore, they are all more beautiful than England.”“They’re different, my lad,” said Morgan, laughing, “and they look new to you and fresh; but when the weather’s fine, take my word for it there’s no place like home.”“Oh, but I thought—”“You were going to see Arabian Night’s wonders, eh? Well, you will not, my lad. Of course there are parts of foreign countries that are glorious. I thought Sydney harbour a paradise when I first saw it; but then I had been four months at sea, and the weather horrible. Hallo! here’s an old friend. He always disappears when the weather’s bad, and buries himself somewhere. I think he gets down among the stores. Mind your dog!”Mark caught Bruff by the collar, for he was moving slowly off to meet Billy Widgeon, who was coming along the deck in company with a large monkey of a dingy brownish-black. The sailor was holding it by one hand, and the animal was making a pretence of walking erect, but in a very awkward shuffling manner, while its quick eyes were watching the dog.“I’ve brought the captain to see you, Mr Mark, sir,” said Billy grinning. “He hasn’t been well, and only come out of his berth this morning. Here, Jack, shake hands with the gent.”“Chick, chicker—chack, chack,” cried the monkey; and turning sharply, he gave Billy’s detaining hand a nip with his teeth, sharply enough to make the man utter an exclamation and let go, when the monkey leaped on to the bulwark, seized a rope, and went up it hand over hand in a quadrumanous manner to a height that he considered safe, and there held on and hung, looking down at the dog, chattering volubly the while.“He don’t like the looks on him, sir,” said Billy grinning. “I told him he was a nipper. I say, look at ’em. Haw! haw!”The scene was curious, for as soon as Bruff was set at liberty he stared up at the monkey and began walking round and round, while after carefully lifting its tail with one hand, as if in dread that it might be seized, an act which would have required a ten-feet jump, the monkey went on chattering loudly as if scolding the dog for being there.“What would be the consequences if we fetched the monkey down?” said the second-mate, laughing and watching the two animals.“Bruff would kill him,” said Mark decidedly.“He would have to catch him first, and the monkey is wonderfully strong. But we must have no fighting. Let’s see if we can’t make them friends. Can you manage your dog?”“Oh, yes!” said Mark laughing. “I can make him do what I like. Here, Bruff.”The dog came to him sidewise, keeping an eye on the monkey; and as soon as Morgan saw that Bruff was held by the collar he turned to the monkey.“Here, Jack, come down!”The monkey paid no heed, but swung himself to and fro, straining out his neck to peep round the mate and get a look at the dog.“Do you hear, sir! come down!” cried the mate.He was now so near that he could reach within a yard of where the active animal hung, and it looked down in his face with a comical look, and began to chatter, as if remonstrating and calling his attention to the dog, which uttered a low growl.“Quiet, Bruff!” cried Mark.“If you don’t come down, Jack, I’ll heave you overboard.”There was another voluble burst of chattering, but the monkey did not stir.“Shall I fetch him down, sir?” said Billy grinning.“Yes, but don’t scare him.”“I won’t scare him, sir. Here, Jack, old man, come down.”The monkey turned sharply at the sound of his voice, and chattered at him.“All right! I hears what you says,” replied Billy solemnly; “but the young gent’s got tight hold of the dog, and he won’t hurt you. Down you comes!”The situation was ludicrous in the extreme, for, as if the monkey understood every word, and was angrily protesting and pointing out the danger, he kept on chattering, and bobbed his head from side to side.“Yes, that’s all right enough,” continued Billy, “but you’re a coward, that’s what you are. Down you come!”Another fierce burst of chattering, and the rope shaken angrily.“Well, I’ve asked you twice,” cried Billy. “Here goes once more. Down you comes!”If ever monkey said, “I won’t,” Jack did at that moment; but he changed his tone directly, for Billy ran to the bulwarks and began to unfasten the rope from the belaying-pin about which it was twisted, when, probably from a vivid recollection of having once been shaken off a rope, and apparently ignorant of the ease with which he could have escaped up into the rigging, the monkey began to slide down, uttering a low whining sound, and allowed the sailor to take him in his arms, but only to cling tightly to his neck.“Ah, it’s all werry fine for you to come a-cuddling up like that! You bit me just now.”The monkey moaned and whined piteously, and kept its eyes fixed upon the dog, who was watching him all the time.“Ah, well: I forgives you!” said Billy. “Now, then, sir, what next?”“Bring him to the dog.”“But he thinks the dog’s going to eat him, sir.”“Then let’s teach him better,” said Mark. “Here, Bruff, make friends here.”Bruff looked up at his master and gave his tail a couple of wags. Then turning to the monkey again he seemed lost in thought.“He won’t bite now, will he, sir?” said Billy.“No, he’s all right; but will the monkey bite?”“Not he, sir. I should like to catch him at it. Now, Jack,” he continued, with one arm round his companion, “shake hands.”He held the animal forward toward Bruff, who was watching him stolidly, and gave his head a shake.This act produced a frightened start on the monkey’s part, and another burst of chattering.“Better let him go,” said Morgan. “I daresay they’ll get used to one another by and by.”“He’ll do it, sir; give him time,” said Billy. “Now, Jack, give us your hand. You just pat his head. Sure he won’t bite, sir?”“Certain,” cried Mark.“It’s all right: do you hear, stoopid? Ah! would you bite? You do, and I’ll chuck yer overboard. Now, then.”In spite of the monkey’s struggles he forced one hand to within reach of the dog’s head, and pressed it down till he could pat it with the thin black fingers.Bruff whined, but he was held by the collar, and suffered the touch without other protest, while, as if relieved by finding that his hand was neither burned nor bitten off, the monkey made no resistance the second time, ending by touching the dog himself, and, as if overcome by curiosity, struggling to be free, and squatting down and examining the interior of his new acquaintance’s ears.Bruff half-closed his eyes and made no resistance, and, cautiously loosening his hold upon the collar but kneeling ready to seize him at the least inimical display, Mark watched the little comedy which went on.For after a rigid examination of one ear, and a loud chattering, probably a lecture upon its structure, Jack pulled the head over and proceeded to examine the other ear, after which he made several pokes at the dog’s eyes, and held his head while he looked into them as if they were something entirely new, all of which Bruff submitted to in the calmest manner.“They will not fight now,” said the second-mate laughing.It was evident they would not, for the dog suddenly leaped up and ran away with the monkey in chase, the one big-headed and clumsy, the other all activity and life; and for the next ten minutes they were careering about the deck, chasing each other and in the best of companionship, the game ending by Jack making a rush and clambering into one of the boats, where he lay panting and gazing over the side at the dog, who crouched, blinking up at him with his tongue out, waiting for him to come down.
“Yes, my lad, you’ve had a narrow squeak for it,” said the first-mate, shaking hands. “You’re in for it now.”
He patted Mark’s shoulder as he stood gazing over the port bulwark at a dim blue line.
“I couldn’t get to you more, Mark, my lad,” said the second-mate, “but you’ll be all right now. We’ve had a rough time.”
“And to think of you coming all the way with us after all!” said the boatswain in a pleasant growl. “Here, I’m going to make a sailor o’ you.”
Mark was alone soon after, when Billy Widgeon came up smiling to say a few friendly words, and directly after a thin pale sailor came edging along the bulwarks to say feebly:
“I see you’ve been very bad too, sir. I thought once we should have been all drowned.”
Mark had an instinctive dislike to this man, he could not tell why, and as he felt this he was at the same time angry with himself, for it seemed unjust.
The man noted it, and sighed as he went away, and even this sigh troubled its hearer, for he could not make out whether it was genuine or uttered to excite sympathy.
There was some excuse, for Mr David Jimpny’s personal appearance was not much improved by the composite sailor suit he wore. His trousers were an old pair of the captain’s, and his jacket had been routed out by the boatswain, both officers being about as opposite in physique to the stowaway as could well be imagined. In fact, as Mark Strong saw him going forward he could not help thinking that the poor fellow looked better in his shore-going rags.
Then his manner of coming on board had not been of a kind to produce a favourable impression.
“I can’t help it,” said Mark aloud. “I don’t want to jump upon the poor fellow, but how can we take to him when even one’s dog looks at him suspiciously.”
“I shouldn’t set up my dog as a model to go by if I were you,” said a voice at his elbow; and turning suddenly, with his face flushing, Mark found that the second-mate was at his elbow.
“I didn’t know that I was thinking aloud,” said Mark.
“But you were, and very loudly. I don’t wonder at your not liking that man: I don’t. Perhaps he’ll improve though. We will not judge him yet. So you’re coming all the way with us?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad of it. Be a change for you, and for us too. This is rather different to what we’ve been having, eh?”
“Why, it’s lovely!” cried Mark. “I didn’t think the weather could be so beautiful at sea.”
“Nor so stormy, eh?”
“I didn’t notice much of the storm,” said Mark. “I was too ill.”
“Ah! it is bad that first attack of ‘waves in motion,’ as I call it. But that’s all past, and we shall have fine weather, I daresay, all the rest of the voyage. One never gets much worse weather than we have near home.”
“Was much damage done,” asked Mark, “in the storm?”
“Nothing serious. We were just starting after all our faulty rigging had been replaced. If we had been coming home after a voyage it might have been different. One or two sails were blown to shreds, but the old ship behaved nobly.”
“I wish I had not been so ill,” said Mark thoughtfully.
“So do I, my lad; but why do you speak so?”
“Because I should have liked to be on deck.”
“Ah! well, you need not regret your sickness, for you would not have been on deck. It was as much as we could do to hold our own and not get washed overboard. That’s worth looking at.”
He pointed, as he spoke, to a blue line of hills away to the east bathed in the brilliant sunshine, while the water between them and the shore seemed to be as blue, but of another shade.
“Spain!” said Mark. “How lovely!”
“Portugal, my lad. Yes, it’s pretty enough, but I’ve often seen bits of the Welsh coast look far more lovely. Don’t you run away with the idea that you are going to see more beautiful countries than your own.”
“Oh, but, Mr Morgan, Spain, and Italy, and Egypt, and Ceylon, and Singapore, they are all more beautiful than England.”
“They’re different, my lad,” said Morgan, laughing, “and they look new to you and fresh; but when the weather’s fine, take my word for it there’s no place like home.”
“Oh, but I thought—”
“You were going to see Arabian Night’s wonders, eh? Well, you will not, my lad. Of course there are parts of foreign countries that are glorious. I thought Sydney harbour a paradise when I first saw it; but then I had been four months at sea, and the weather horrible. Hallo! here’s an old friend. He always disappears when the weather’s bad, and buries himself somewhere. I think he gets down among the stores. Mind your dog!”
Mark caught Bruff by the collar, for he was moving slowly off to meet Billy Widgeon, who was coming along the deck in company with a large monkey of a dingy brownish-black. The sailor was holding it by one hand, and the animal was making a pretence of walking erect, but in a very awkward shuffling manner, while its quick eyes were watching the dog.
“I’ve brought the captain to see you, Mr Mark, sir,” said Billy grinning. “He hasn’t been well, and only come out of his berth this morning. Here, Jack, shake hands with the gent.”
“Chick, chicker—chack, chack,” cried the monkey; and turning sharply, he gave Billy’s detaining hand a nip with his teeth, sharply enough to make the man utter an exclamation and let go, when the monkey leaped on to the bulwark, seized a rope, and went up it hand over hand in a quadrumanous manner to a height that he considered safe, and there held on and hung, looking down at the dog, chattering volubly the while.
“He don’t like the looks on him, sir,” said Billy grinning. “I told him he was a nipper. I say, look at ’em. Haw! haw!”
The scene was curious, for as soon as Bruff was set at liberty he stared up at the monkey and began walking round and round, while after carefully lifting its tail with one hand, as if in dread that it might be seized, an act which would have required a ten-feet jump, the monkey went on chattering loudly as if scolding the dog for being there.
“What would be the consequences if we fetched the monkey down?” said the second-mate, laughing and watching the two animals.
“Bruff would kill him,” said Mark decidedly.
“He would have to catch him first, and the monkey is wonderfully strong. But we must have no fighting. Let’s see if we can’t make them friends. Can you manage your dog?”
“Oh, yes!” said Mark laughing. “I can make him do what I like. Here, Bruff.”
The dog came to him sidewise, keeping an eye on the monkey; and as soon as Morgan saw that Bruff was held by the collar he turned to the monkey.
“Here, Jack, come down!”
The monkey paid no heed, but swung himself to and fro, straining out his neck to peep round the mate and get a look at the dog.
“Do you hear, sir! come down!” cried the mate.
He was now so near that he could reach within a yard of where the active animal hung, and it looked down in his face with a comical look, and began to chatter, as if remonstrating and calling his attention to the dog, which uttered a low growl.
“Quiet, Bruff!” cried Mark.
“If you don’t come down, Jack, I’ll heave you overboard.”
There was another voluble burst of chattering, but the monkey did not stir.
“Shall I fetch him down, sir?” said Billy grinning.
“Yes, but don’t scare him.”
“I won’t scare him, sir. Here, Jack, old man, come down.”
The monkey turned sharply at the sound of his voice, and chattered at him.
“All right! I hears what you says,” replied Billy solemnly; “but the young gent’s got tight hold of the dog, and he won’t hurt you. Down you comes!”
The situation was ludicrous in the extreme, for, as if the monkey understood every word, and was angrily protesting and pointing out the danger, he kept on chattering, and bobbed his head from side to side.
“Yes, that’s all right enough,” continued Billy, “but you’re a coward, that’s what you are. Down you come!”
Another fierce burst of chattering, and the rope shaken angrily.
“Well, I’ve asked you twice,” cried Billy. “Here goes once more. Down you comes!”
If ever monkey said, “I won’t,” Jack did at that moment; but he changed his tone directly, for Billy ran to the bulwarks and began to unfasten the rope from the belaying-pin about which it was twisted, when, probably from a vivid recollection of having once been shaken off a rope, and apparently ignorant of the ease with which he could have escaped up into the rigging, the monkey began to slide down, uttering a low whining sound, and allowed the sailor to take him in his arms, but only to cling tightly to his neck.
“Ah, it’s all werry fine for you to come a-cuddling up like that! You bit me just now.”
The monkey moaned and whined piteously, and kept its eyes fixed upon the dog, who was watching him all the time.
“Ah, well: I forgives you!” said Billy. “Now, then, sir, what next?”
“Bring him to the dog.”
“But he thinks the dog’s going to eat him, sir.”
“Then let’s teach him better,” said Mark. “Here, Bruff, make friends here.”
Bruff looked up at his master and gave his tail a couple of wags. Then turning to the monkey again he seemed lost in thought.
“He won’t bite now, will he, sir?” said Billy.
“No, he’s all right; but will the monkey bite?”
“Not he, sir. I should like to catch him at it. Now, Jack,” he continued, with one arm round his companion, “shake hands.”
He held the animal forward toward Bruff, who was watching him stolidly, and gave his head a shake.
This act produced a frightened start on the monkey’s part, and another burst of chattering.
“Better let him go,” said Morgan. “I daresay they’ll get used to one another by and by.”
“He’ll do it, sir; give him time,” said Billy. “Now, Jack, give us your hand. You just pat his head. Sure he won’t bite, sir?”
“Certain,” cried Mark.
“It’s all right: do you hear, stoopid? Ah! would you bite? You do, and I’ll chuck yer overboard. Now, then.”
In spite of the monkey’s struggles he forced one hand to within reach of the dog’s head, and pressed it down till he could pat it with the thin black fingers.
Bruff whined, but he was held by the collar, and suffered the touch without other protest, while, as if relieved by finding that his hand was neither burned nor bitten off, the monkey made no resistance the second time, ending by touching the dog himself, and, as if overcome by curiosity, struggling to be free, and squatting down and examining the interior of his new acquaintance’s ears.
Bruff half-closed his eyes and made no resistance, and, cautiously loosening his hold upon the collar but kneeling ready to seize him at the least inimical display, Mark watched the little comedy which went on.
For after a rigid examination of one ear, and a loud chattering, probably a lecture upon its structure, Jack pulled the head over and proceeded to examine the other ear, after which he made several pokes at the dog’s eyes, and held his head while he looked into them as if they were something entirely new, all of which Bruff submitted to in the calmest manner.
“They will not fight now,” said the second-mate laughing.
It was evident they would not, for the dog suddenly leaped up and ran away with the monkey in chase, the one big-headed and clumsy, the other all activity and life; and for the next ten minutes they were careering about the deck, chasing each other and in the best of companionship, the game ending by Jack making a rush and clambering into one of the boats, where he lay panting and gazing over the side at the dog, who crouched, blinking up at him with his tongue out, waiting for him to come down.
Chapter Nine.How the Stowaway stowed himself.Glorious weather with the coasts of Africa and Europe visible together as they passed the straits. Then lovely summer days with pleasant winds as they sailed along the Mediterranean. The passengers were nearly always on deck, basking in the morning sunshine or taking refuge under the awning. The Scotch merchant took snuff; the three German students, who all wore spectacles and seemed exactly alike, leaned over the side in a row, smoked big meerschaum pipes, looked round-faced and bibulous, and very often uttered the wordZo. The stout doctor read books all day long; and the Irish major followed he captain everywhere, to declaim against the injustices practised in the army. “Injustices, sor, which have kept me down to meejor when I ought to have been a gineral;” and as he talked Mrs Major worked with Mrs Strong, and watched her daughter, a pretty bright girl of twelve, who passed her time between her books and watching the three German students as she tried to recollect which was which.“Ah, captain,” said the major to him one day, as they were all gazing at a large steamer that was passing them easily, “you won’t understand me. You’re a backward man, or you’d be in command of a fast steamer instead of a slow sailing ship.”“Sailing ships are quite dangerous enough, major, without having hundreds of tons of coal aboard, and a large fire roaring night and day. Fires are risky things aboard ship.”“Not if there’s a properly disciplined crew on board, sor,” said the major. “Bah!”He cocked his cap on one side, and leaned forward to watch the passing steamer.“I hope we should do our duty if we did have a fire, discipline or no discipline,” said the captain gruffly, and the subject dropped.It was a trifling incident, but it set several people on board thinking. It was, however, soon forgotten, and with the sea, as Billy Widgeon said, as smooth as a mill-pond, and all sail set, the great East Indiaman continued her course, the journey now being thoroughly enjoyable.There were plenty of little incidents occurring to keep the trip from being monotonous. About every twenty-four hours Mr Gregory was finding fault with David Jimpny, who seemed to be one of those unfortunates who never succeed. From scraps of his history, which he insisted upon retailing to Mark when he could find him alone, it seemed that his life had been so many scenes of trouble.“I’m a-trying hard, sir, as hard as I can, to be a sailor, but I don’t get on. My hands never seem to manage ropes, and it’s no use for Mr Gregory to bully me. I daren’t go up these rope ladders; if I did I know I should be drowned.”In spite of this Mr Gregory one day ordered him aloft, and the poor fellow managed to get up as high as the mainmast head, when he seemed entirely to lose his nerve, and, letting his legs slip in between the shrouds, he clung there with his hands clutching the ratlines, and holding on for life.“Go on up, sir; go on up,” shouted the first-mate, and his hoarse orders attracted the attention of the passengers. But the poor fellow did not move, and growing tired at last, the mate ordered him to come down.This order was of as much effect as those which preceded it, the man remaining motionless.“If this was only the royal navy,” cried the mate, “I’d have you spread-eagled up there and lashed to the rigging till you got used to it. Here, where are you going, youngster?”“Up to see what’s the matter,” said Mark coolly; and swinging himself up he began to climb the rigging.It was his first attempt, and as his feet began to make acquaintance with the ratlines he awoke for the first time to the fact that though they looked just like a ladder to climb it was a very different matter. They gave and the shrouds felt loose and seemed to sway; the height above looked terrific, and the distance below to the deck quite startling. That clean-boarded deck, too, appeared as if it would be horribly hard to fall upon; but a doubt arose in his mind as to what would be the consequences if he slipped—would he fall with a crash upon the deck, or slip part of the way down the shrouds, and be shot off into that extremely soft place, the sea?The idea was so startling that he glanced down at it, to see that it looked gloriously clear and sunlit—transparent to a degree; but the great ship was gliding through it swiftly, and he knew that he would go down and down with the impetus of his fall, and come up somewhere in the current to be carried far astern in the troubled water in the wake of the ship.How long would it take them to get down a boat? and what would become of him while he was waiting? He could swim as boys do swim in an ordinary way, who learn in some river or pool at school; but that was very different to being left astern in the sea with the ship going eight or nine knots an hour; and he felt that he would be drowned before help could come.Then there were the sharks!He did not know that there were any sharks, but his brain suggested to him that there would certainly be at least one big fellow whose back fin would be seen cutting the water as he glided towards his victim, his cross-cut mouth with its cruel, triangular saw-edged teeth ready; and then there would be the water stained with blood, and as he rose to the surface without, say, a leg, he would hear his mother’s despairing shriek, and then—He had got up about a dozen ratlines while his imagination had painted all that picture for him, and the result was that he set his teeth hard and went on climbing, but thoroughly realising the while how it was David Jimpny, the miserable stowaway, had lost his nerve, and was now clinging above him in that absurd attitude, with his legs stuck through between the shrouds.Another minute and he was as high, holding on with both hands, and listening to the buzz of voices on deck, but particularly careful not to look down again.“I’ll think about what I’m doing,” he said to himself, “and then I sha’n’t be afraid.”“Hullo! Jimpny,” he said aloud, “what’s the matter?” and, setting one hand at liberty, he gave the man a slap on the shoulder.“Don’t, don’t! Pray, don’t touch me, or I shall fall,” groaned the wretched man.“Nonsense! you won’t fall. Get up through that hole on to the woodwork.”“What, is it you, Mr Strong, sir?”“Me? yes. I’ve come up to see what’s the matter.”“Oh, take care, sir, or you’ll tumble overboard.”“Nonsense! you’ve only got to hold tight,” cried Mark to his own astonishment, for he could not understand how the man’s cowardice should make him brave.“I—I did hold tight. I am holding tight, sir, but I daren’t move. Oh, I do feel so giddy. What shall I do?”“Try and be a man,” said Mark. “The mate’s horribly cross with you. Here, hold tight with your hands and draw your legs out.”“I—I daren’t stir,” groaned the wretched man, “I should fall if I did. My head’s all of a swim.”“Yes, because you frighten yourself,” said Mark.“Now then, Strong,” cried the mate, “is that fellow asleep?”“No, sir, he’s coming down directly.”“Coming down!” growled the mate. “There, take care of him and mind he don’t fall.”“You hear what he says,” whispered Mark. “Come on up here. I’ll go first and show you the way.”Truth to tell Mark did not want to go any higher, but under the circumstances he felt bound, terrible as it looked, and the remainder of the climb over the man’s head was not made any the pleasanter by the poor wretch moaning out—“Oh, don’t! oh, don’t! You’ll push me off! You’ll fall! I know you’ll fall.”But Mark did not fall, and though he chose the easier way up he did display some courage, and lay flat down to extend a hand to his miserable companion.“There, take hold of my hand. I’ll help you,” he said.The man shook his head—wisely, perhaps, for Mark’s help would not have been great as far as sustaining him went.“I can’t—I daren’t move,” he said. “It’s as bad as being shut up in the hold. Please call for help.”“Ahoy, there!” shouted a familiar voice. “What are you doing, Mark?”“Trying to help this man, father.”“Here, Jimpny,” shouted the captain, “get up, sir. Don’t hang in the rigging there like that.”The man moaned, and only clung the closer.“Do you hear, sir?” cried the captain; but the man was livid, and as he gazed wildly up at Mark, the lad lowered himself down, thrust an arm round one of the ropes, and took a firm grasp of his collar.“What’s the matter, Mark?” cried the captain.“He’s going to faint, I think.”“Here, Small, up aloft with a rope there,” cried the captain, “and make it fast round him.”The boatswain seized a coil of line and trotted to the other side of the deck. Mark saw him cross, but was astonished to see how soon he appeared at the mast-head.“Hold tight, youngster,” he said, “I’ll soon give him his physic.”“What are you going to do?” cried Mark.“Hang him. You’ll see,” said the boatswain with a chuckle.Jimpny groaned and seemed to cling spasmodically to the shrouds as the great seaman slipped the end of the rope round him and made it fast. After which he passed the other end of the rope over a stay and lowered it down to the deck.“Ready below?” he shouted.“All right!” came up.“You get a bit higher, youngster. That’s your sort. Now, my London prime, let go with them hands.”“No, no,” groaned the unfortunate man. “I dare not.”“Then I shall have to make you,” roared the boatswain. “Heave ahead there!”The rope tightened and there was a tremendous strain upon the man’s chest, while, by a dexterous snatch, Small jerked one of the clinging hands free and thrust Jimpny off the shroud, making him swing round in the air, and this helped to jerk the other hand from its grip.“Now you have him. Down he goes.”It was all so rapidly done that it took Mark’s breath away. One minute the miserable man was clinging there half fainting, the next he was swinging in the air and being slowly lowered down to the deck.“You don’t want sarving that way, my lad,” said the boatswain laughing. “Catch hold o’ that rope and slide down. I’ll go this way.”Mark shrank for a moment but seized the rope the next, and slid down so quickly that his hands felt uncomfortably warm, and he reached the deck as Billy Widgeon was unfastening the rope from round Jimpny’s chest.“Nice sorter sailor that, Captain Strong,” said Mr Gregory sourly.“Yes,” said the captain quietly. “Don’t send him aloft again. Let him help the cook.”“Help the cook! Do you want to poison us, sir?”“No. The man has no nerve, but he may prove himself useful some other way.”“You are a brave boy,” said a pleasant silvery voice behind Mark, and turning sharply round, it was to see the major’s little daughter hurrying toward the cabin, in which she disappeared.“There, go below,” said the mate angrily, “and don’t show yourself to me again for a week.”The stowaway rose and crept away, looking sideways at the sea, and somehow Mark could not help feeling sorry for his pitiful case.Mark did not feel as if he had been brave, and as they sat at tea that evening and he looked across at where Mary O’Halloran was seated with her mother, he said to himself that if she knew all he had thought up aloft and what his sensations were she would have looked upon him as an impostor.He felt so uncomfortable all that evening, and worried, that he longed to get away by himself, for the conversation seemed to be all about him.“I should make a soldier of him,” said the major to Captain Strong. “The only career for a brave boy, sir, in spite of the disgraceful management at the War Office.”Mark winced, and glanced towards those peaceful young gentlemen, the German agricultural students; but they were all three beaming upon him with their spectacles, looking about as round in the face and as inexpressive as so many enlarged buns.He glanced at the little Scottish merchant, but he took snuff and nodded at him.The stout doctor was looking at him and making notes in a memorandum book, as if he were writing down an account of the affair.Mr Morgan was on deck; but Mr Gregory, as soon as their eyes met, deliberately winked at him.He turned his gaze upon his father, to find that he was thoughtfully watching him; while, after receiving a friendly shake of the head from Mrs Major and a merry look from Mary, who seemed to be enjoying his confusion, as a last resource the lad looked at his mother, to find she had ready for him a tender smile.“And she put three extra lumps of sugar in my tea,” said Mark to himself. “I never felt so ashamed of anything in my life.”To make matters worse, the major began in a loud voice to talk about the heroic deeds of boys as found in history, and though the saloon cabin was hot enough before, it seemed now to Mark that it was tropical, and he was only too glad to go out on deck and wipe his streaming face in the company of Bruff and Jack the monkey, who, from becoming the companion of the dog, was willing enough to transfer some of his friendliness to the dog’s master.But even here he was not left in peace, for Billy Widgeon came up to compliment him on his climbing.“Look ye here, Mr Strong, sir, you’ll do it. You come up with me and we’ll go right up to the main-topgallant cross-trees to-morrow. I’ll see as you don’t fall.”“Oh, bother the climbing!” cried Mark. “I wish there wasn’t a bit of rigging in the ship.”“But we couldn’t get on without rigging, Mr Mark, sir,” said the little sailor taking the impatient words literally. “See how them sails is spread. Rigging’s a fine thing, sir; so’s a ship. You be a sailor, sir, and when you’re a skipper you have me for your bosun. I aren’t so big as old Small, but I’d put a deal o’ heart into it, and keep the men up to the mark.”“Oh, I shall never be a captain,” said Mark impatiently.“I don’t know so much about that, sir. All the lads says as it was wonderful the way you went up after the rat.”“After the what!”“Rat, sir. The lads calls that stowaway chap the rat because he made hisself a hole down in the cargo. Lor’ a me, think of a thing like that calling hisself a man!”“But he has been half starved, Billy, and kicked about in the world. Perhaps if you’d been brought down as low you would have been as great a coward.”“Hah! I never thought o’ that,” said Billy scratching his head. “I say, Mr Mark, sir, how you do put things. But no, sir, you aren’t right—leastwise not quite, you see; because if I’d been brought down like that, and felt as scared as he did, I wouldn’t have let anyone know, fear o’ being laughed at.”“You don’t know and I don’t know, so we can’t discuss it,” said Mark. “Here, what are you going to do?”“Ketch Master Jack and take him to his snuggery. He’s a-getting into bad habits since your dog’s come aboard, sir. Monkeys is a sooperior sort o’ animal, and the men’s been talking it over.”“Talking it over?”“Yes, sir. They says as a monkey’s next door to a man. Not as I thinks so.”“Then what do you think, Billy?”“Oh, I think he lives several streets off, sir; but the men thinks tother, and they says as though it’s all werry well for a monkey to play with a dog and be friends, just as a man might; it’s going down hill like for him to make a habit o’ sleeping in a dog-kennel.”“Nonsense! the monkey’s happy enough with the dog.”“So was a mate o’ mine with the Noo Zeeling savages, after cutting away from his ship; but our old skipper said he ought to be ashamed of hisself for going and living that way, and them beginning to tattoo him in a pattern. He said he was a-degrading of hisself, and fetched him aboard, saying as if he wanted tattooing some of his messmates should mark his back with a rope’s end. No, sir, we thinks a deal o’ that monkey—our crew does—and we don’t want to see him go wrong.”“What stuff! My Bruff is quite as intelligent an animal as your monkey. Suppose I said he should not associate with the ugly brute?”“No, no, sir: Jack aren’t ugly,” said Billy Widgeon in protest. “He aren’t handsome, but no one can’t say as he’s ugly; while that dog—”“Oh, he isn’t handsome either, but it’s absurd to draw the line between the two animals like that.”“Well, sir, I tell you what the men says; and they thinks a deal o’ Jacko, and looks after his morals wonderful. We do let him chew tobacco, though it don’t agree with him, ’cause he will swaller it; but as to a drop o’ rum, why, Old Greg nearly chucked a man overboard once for giving him a tot, and Small the boatswain stopped one chap’s grog for a week for teaching Jack to drink. We thinks a deal of that monkey, sir.”“And I think a deal of my dog, and keep him a deal cleaner than Jack. But I don’t want them to be together. Take Jack away.”“Werry sorry, Mr Mark, sir. Mean no offence,” said Billy apologetically; “but it’s the men, sir. They think a deal o’ that monkey.”Billy went forward with a chain and a strap to where a kennel had been made for Bruff, by turning a flour barrel on its side and wedging it between two hencoops, and here, greatly to the vexation of the chickens, who lived in dread of Jack’s long hairy arm and clever fingers, which were always stretching through the bars to pull their feathers, the monkey had—to use Billy’s words—“just turned in.” The barrel held the two animals tightly, and there they were cuddled up together in the most friendly manner, Jack with his head right in towards the end, Bruff with his long black muzzle to the front, and Jacko’s tail moving up and down in regular motion as he breathed.“Here! you’ve got to come home,” cried Billy, making a dash at the monkey’s legs, but he started back as quickly as he went forward, for Bruff sprang up, and, twitching his ears, burst into a furious fit of barking, while Jack got behind him and chattered his defiance.“Well, that’s a rum game,” said Billy, rubbing his nose with a rusty link of the chain he held; “think o’ them two sticking up for one another like that.”“Now, then, which is the more intelligent animal?” said Mark, laughing.“Well, sir, I dunno, but if so be as you’d take your dog away—”“No,” said Mark quietly, “I sha’n’t interfere. The monkey’s happier there than down in your stuffy forecastle.”“Which I won’t deny as it is stuffy, sir, far from it,” said Billy; “but when you get used to the smell you don’t mind, and I’m sure Jack likes it. So call away your dog.”“No,” said Mark, “you may get him away if you like.”“Well, if so be as I must, I must,” said the little sailor. “The men says they wants Jacko, and—Lor’ a me!”As he spoke he had gone down on one knee to reach into the barrel and get hold of Jack’s leg, but at the angry remonstrative cry of the monkey as he felt it seized, Bruff made so furious an attack upon the sailor that he started back and rolled over, to find Bruff spring upon his chest.“Hold hard, mate; don’t bite. I gives up,” said Billy quietly. “Call him off, Mr Mark, sir.”But the lad had already caught the dog by the collar, and dragged him away growling.Just then Jack sprang out of the barrel chattering loudly, and bounded toward the main hatchway. Bruff followed as if understanding the call, and as the monkey sprang down the dog leaped after him, but did not descend the steps so cleverly as his quadrumanous friend, the fact being made plain to those on deck by a loud scratching and scuffling noise, followed by a heavy bump.“That there’s the dog,” said Billy sitting up and scratching his ear. “His head’s too heavy for going down them steps nose fust. Think we can catch Jack now?”“No, that you will not,” said Mark, laughing at his companion’s troubled face. “Did Bruff frighten you?”“S’pose he did, sir. He made me feel mortal queer for a minute. But I s’pose he wouldn’t bite. Here, they may fetch the monkey theirselves,” he continued, rising slowly; “I shan’t try no more; and if his manners is spylte by ’sociating with dogs it aren’t my fault.”Billy Widgeon went forward toward the forecastle in his calm even-tempered way, and Mr Morgan, who had been looking on from the poop-deck, came and joined Mark, to stand talking with him as they leaned over the side gazing up at the transparent starry sky, or down at the clear dark sea, while they listened to the rushing water as the great ship glided on under quite a cloud of canvas. The night was now dark, with the ship’s sailing lanterns and the glow from the cabin-windows showing faintly and casting reflections upon the unruffled sea.“Suppose we were to run on to another ship, Mr Morgan,” said Mark at last, breaking a long silence. “What then?”“If we kept such a bad look-out, and they did the same, most likely we should go to the bottom, perhaps both of us; but you turn in and leave all that to the watch.”
Glorious weather with the coasts of Africa and Europe visible together as they passed the straits. Then lovely summer days with pleasant winds as they sailed along the Mediterranean. The passengers were nearly always on deck, basking in the morning sunshine or taking refuge under the awning. The Scotch merchant took snuff; the three German students, who all wore spectacles and seemed exactly alike, leaned over the side in a row, smoked big meerschaum pipes, looked round-faced and bibulous, and very often uttered the wordZo. The stout doctor read books all day long; and the Irish major followed he captain everywhere, to declaim against the injustices practised in the army. “Injustices, sor, which have kept me down to meejor when I ought to have been a gineral;” and as he talked Mrs Major worked with Mrs Strong, and watched her daughter, a pretty bright girl of twelve, who passed her time between her books and watching the three German students as she tried to recollect which was which.
“Ah, captain,” said the major to him one day, as they were all gazing at a large steamer that was passing them easily, “you won’t understand me. You’re a backward man, or you’d be in command of a fast steamer instead of a slow sailing ship.”
“Sailing ships are quite dangerous enough, major, without having hundreds of tons of coal aboard, and a large fire roaring night and day. Fires are risky things aboard ship.”
“Not if there’s a properly disciplined crew on board, sor,” said the major. “Bah!”
He cocked his cap on one side, and leaned forward to watch the passing steamer.
“I hope we should do our duty if we did have a fire, discipline or no discipline,” said the captain gruffly, and the subject dropped.
It was a trifling incident, but it set several people on board thinking. It was, however, soon forgotten, and with the sea, as Billy Widgeon said, as smooth as a mill-pond, and all sail set, the great East Indiaman continued her course, the journey now being thoroughly enjoyable.
There were plenty of little incidents occurring to keep the trip from being monotonous. About every twenty-four hours Mr Gregory was finding fault with David Jimpny, who seemed to be one of those unfortunates who never succeed. From scraps of his history, which he insisted upon retailing to Mark when he could find him alone, it seemed that his life had been so many scenes of trouble.
“I’m a-trying hard, sir, as hard as I can, to be a sailor, but I don’t get on. My hands never seem to manage ropes, and it’s no use for Mr Gregory to bully me. I daren’t go up these rope ladders; if I did I know I should be drowned.”
In spite of this Mr Gregory one day ordered him aloft, and the poor fellow managed to get up as high as the mainmast head, when he seemed entirely to lose his nerve, and, letting his legs slip in between the shrouds, he clung there with his hands clutching the ratlines, and holding on for life.
“Go on up, sir; go on up,” shouted the first-mate, and his hoarse orders attracted the attention of the passengers. But the poor fellow did not move, and growing tired at last, the mate ordered him to come down.
This order was of as much effect as those which preceded it, the man remaining motionless.
“If this was only the royal navy,” cried the mate, “I’d have you spread-eagled up there and lashed to the rigging till you got used to it. Here, where are you going, youngster?”
“Up to see what’s the matter,” said Mark coolly; and swinging himself up he began to climb the rigging.
It was his first attempt, and as his feet began to make acquaintance with the ratlines he awoke for the first time to the fact that though they looked just like a ladder to climb it was a very different matter. They gave and the shrouds felt loose and seemed to sway; the height above looked terrific, and the distance below to the deck quite startling. That clean-boarded deck, too, appeared as if it would be horribly hard to fall upon; but a doubt arose in his mind as to what would be the consequences if he slipped—would he fall with a crash upon the deck, or slip part of the way down the shrouds, and be shot off into that extremely soft place, the sea?
The idea was so startling that he glanced down at it, to see that it looked gloriously clear and sunlit—transparent to a degree; but the great ship was gliding through it swiftly, and he knew that he would go down and down with the impetus of his fall, and come up somewhere in the current to be carried far astern in the troubled water in the wake of the ship.
How long would it take them to get down a boat? and what would become of him while he was waiting? He could swim as boys do swim in an ordinary way, who learn in some river or pool at school; but that was very different to being left astern in the sea with the ship going eight or nine knots an hour; and he felt that he would be drowned before help could come.
Then there were the sharks!
He did not know that there were any sharks, but his brain suggested to him that there would certainly be at least one big fellow whose back fin would be seen cutting the water as he glided towards his victim, his cross-cut mouth with its cruel, triangular saw-edged teeth ready; and then there would be the water stained with blood, and as he rose to the surface without, say, a leg, he would hear his mother’s despairing shriek, and then—
He had got up about a dozen ratlines while his imagination had painted all that picture for him, and the result was that he set his teeth hard and went on climbing, but thoroughly realising the while how it was David Jimpny, the miserable stowaway, had lost his nerve, and was now clinging above him in that absurd attitude, with his legs stuck through between the shrouds.
Another minute and he was as high, holding on with both hands, and listening to the buzz of voices on deck, but particularly careful not to look down again.
“I’ll think about what I’m doing,” he said to himself, “and then I sha’n’t be afraid.”
“Hullo! Jimpny,” he said aloud, “what’s the matter?” and, setting one hand at liberty, he gave the man a slap on the shoulder.
“Don’t, don’t! Pray, don’t touch me, or I shall fall,” groaned the wretched man.
“Nonsense! you won’t fall. Get up through that hole on to the woodwork.”
“What, is it you, Mr Strong, sir?”
“Me? yes. I’ve come up to see what’s the matter.”
“Oh, take care, sir, or you’ll tumble overboard.”
“Nonsense! you’ve only got to hold tight,” cried Mark to his own astonishment, for he could not understand how the man’s cowardice should make him brave.
“I—I did hold tight. I am holding tight, sir, but I daren’t move. Oh, I do feel so giddy. What shall I do?”
“Try and be a man,” said Mark. “The mate’s horribly cross with you. Here, hold tight with your hands and draw your legs out.”
“I—I daren’t stir,” groaned the wretched man, “I should fall if I did. My head’s all of a swim.”
“Yes, because you frighten yourself,” said Mark.
“Now then, Strong,” cried the mate, “is that fellow asleep?”
“No, sir, he’s coming down directly.”
“Coming down!” growled the mate. “There, take care of him and mind he don’t fall.”
“You hear what he says,” whispered Mark. “Come on up here. I’ll go first and show you the way.”
Truth to tell Mark did not want to go any higher, but under the circumstances he felt bound, terrible as it looked, and the remainder of the climb over the man’s head was not made any the pleasanter by the poor wretch moaning out—
“Oh, don’t! oh, don’t! You’ll push me off! You’ll fall! I know you’ll fall.”
But Mark did not fall, and though he chose the easier way up he did display some courage, and lay flat down to extend a hand to his miserable companion.
“There, take hold of my hand. I’ll help you,” he said.
The man shook his head—wisely, perhaps, for Mark’s help would not have been great as far as sustaining him went.
“I can’t—I daren’t move,” he said. “It’s as bad as being shut up in the hold. Please call for help.”
“Ahoy, there!” shouted a familiar voice. “What are you doing, Mark?”
“Trying to help this man, father.”
“Here, Jimpny,” shouted the captain, “get up, sir. Don’t hang in the rigging there like that.”
The man moaned, and only clung the closer.
“Do you hear, sir?” cried the captain; but the man was livid, and as he gazed wildly up at Mark, the lad lowered himself down, thrust an arm round one of the ropes, and took a firm grasp of his collar.
“What’s the matter, Mark?” cried the captain.
“He’s going to faint, I think.”
“Here, Small, up aloft with a rope there,” cried the captain, “and make it fast round him.”
The boatswain seized a coil of line and trotted to the other side of the deck. Mark saw him cross, but was astonished to see how soon he appeared at the mast-head.
“Hold tight, youngster,” he said, “I’ll soon give him his physic.”
“What are you going to do?” cried Mark.
“Hang him. You’ll see,” said the boatswain with a chuckle.
Jimpny groaned and seemed to cling spasmodically to the shrouds as the great seaman slipped the end of the rope round him and made it fast. After which he passed the other end of the rope over a stay and lowered it down to the deck.
“Ready below?” he shouted.
“All right!” came up.
“You get a bit higher, youngster. That’s your sort. Now, my London prime, let go with them hands.”
“No, no,” groaned the unfortunate man. “I dare not.”
“Then I shall have to make you,” roared the boatswain. “Heave ahead there!”
The rope tightened and there was a tremendous strain upon the man’s chest, while, by a dexterous snatch, Small jerked one of the clinging hands free and thrust Jimpny off the shroud, making him swing round in the air, and this helped to jerk the other hand from its grip.
“Now you have him. Down he goes.”
It was all so rapidly done that it took Mark’s breath away. One minute the miserable man was clinging there half fainting, the next he was swinging in the air and being slowly lowered down to the deck.
“You don’t want sarving that way, my lad,” said the boatswain laughing. “Catch hold o’ that rope and slide down. I’ll go this way.”
Mark shrank for a moment but seized the rope the next, and slid down so quickly that his hands felt uncomfortably warm, and he reached the deck as Billy Widgeon was unfastening the rope from round Jimpny’s chest.
“Nice sorter sailor that, Captain Strong,” said Mr Gregory sourly.
“Yes,” said the captain quietly. “Don’t send him aloft again. Let him help the cook.”
“Help the cook! Do you want to poison us, sir?”
“No. The man has no nerve, but he may prove himself useful some other way.”
“You are a brave boy,” said a pleasant silvery voice behind Mark, and turning sharply round, it was to see the major’s little daughter hurrying toward the cabin, in which she disappeared.
“There, go below,” said the mate angrily, “and don’t show yourself to me again for a week.”
The stowaway rose and crept away, looking sideways at the sea, and somehow Mark could not help feeling sorry for his pitiful case.
Mark did not feel as if he had been brave, and as they sat at tea that evening and he looked across at where Mary O’Halloran was seated with her mother, he said to himself that if she knew all he had thought up aloft and what his sensations were she would have looked upon him as an impostor.
He felt so uncomfortable all that evening, and worried, that he longed to get away by himself, for the conversation seemed to be all about him.
“I should make a soldier of him,” said the major to Captain Strong. “The only career for a brave boy, sir, in spite of the disgraceful management at the War Office.”
Mark winced, and glanced towards those peaceful young gentlemen, the German agricultural students; but they were all three beaming upon him with their spectacles, looking about as round in the face and as inexpressive as so many enlarged buns.
He glanced at the little Scottish merchant, but he took snuff and nodded at him.
The stout doctor was looking at him and making notes in a memorandum book, as if he were writing down an account of the affair.
Mr Morgan was on deck; but Mr Gregory, as soon as their eyes met, deliberately winked at him.
He turned his gaze upon his father, to find that he was thoughtfully watching him; while, after receiving a friendly shake of the head from Mrs Major and a merry look from Mary, who seemed to be enjoying his confusion, as a last resource the lad looked at his mother, to find she had ready for him a tender smile.
“And she put three extra lumps of sugar in my tea,” said Mark to himself. “I never felt so ashamed of anything in my life.”
To make matters worse, the major began in a loud voice to talk about the heroic deeds of boys as found in history, and though the saloon cabin was hot enough before, it seemed now to Mark that it was tropical, and he was only too glad to go out on deck and wipe his streaming face in the company of Bruff and Jack the monkey, who, from becoming the companion of the dog, was willing enough to transfer some of his friendliness to the dog’s master.
But even here he was not left in peace, for Billy Widgeon came up to compliment him on his climbing.
“Look ye here, Mr Strong, sir, you’ll do it. You come up with me and we’ll go right up to the main-topgallant cross-trees to-morrow. I’ll see as you don’t fall.”
“Oh, bother the climbing!” cried Mark. “I wish there wasn’t a bit of rigging in the ship.”
“But we couldn’t get on without rigging, Mr Mark, sir,” said the little sailor taking the impatient words literally. “See how them sails is spread. Rigging’s a fine thing, sir; so’s a ship. You be a sailor, sir, and when you’re a skipper you have me for your bosun. I aren’t so big as old Small, but I’d put a deal o’ heart into it, and keep the men up to the mark.”
“Oh, I shall never be a captain,” said Mark impatiently.
“I don’t know so much about that, sir. All the lads says as it was wonderful the way you went up after the rat.”
“After the what!”
“Rat, sir. The lads calls that stowaway chap the rat because he made hisself a hole down in the cargo. Lor’ a me, think of a thing like that calling hisself a man!”
“But he has been half starved, Billy, and kicked about in the world. Perhaps if you’d been brought down as low you would have been as great a coward.”
“Hah! I never thought o’ that,” said Billy scratching his head. “I say, Mr Mark, sir, how you do put things. But no, sir, you aren’t right—leastwise not quite, you see; because if I’d been brought down like that, and felt as scared as he did, I wouldn’t have let anyone know, fear o’ being laughed at.”
“You don’t know and I don’t know, so we can’t discuss it,” said Mark. “Here, what are you going to do?”
“Ketch Master Jack and take him to his snuggery. He’s a-getting into bad habits since your dog’s come aboard, sir. Monkeys is a sooperior sort o’ animal, and the men’s been talking it over.”
“Talking it over?”
“Yes, sir. They says as a monkey’s next door to a man. Not as I thinks so.”
“Then what do you think, Billy?”
“Oh, I think he lives several streets off, sir; but the men thinks tother, and they says as though it’s all werry well for a monkey to play with a dog and be friends, just as a man might; it’s going down hill like for him to make a habit o’ sleeping in a dog-kennel.”
“Nonsense! the monkey’s happy enough with the dog.”
“So was a mate o’ mine with the Noo Zeeling savages, after cutting away from his ship; but our old skipper said he ought to be ashamed of hisself for going and living that way, and them beginning to tattoo him in a pattern. He said he was a-degrading of hisself, and fetched him aboard, saying as if he wanted tattooing some of his messmates should mark his back with a rope’s end. No, sir, we thinks a deal o’ that monkey—our crew does—and we don’t want to see him go wrong.”
“What stuff! My Bruff is quite as intelligent an animal as your monkey. Suppose I said he should not associate with the ugly brute?”
“No, no, sir: Jack aren’t ugly,” said Billy Widgeon in protest. “He aren’t handsome, but no one can’t say as he’s ugly; while that dog—”
“Oh, he isn’t handsome either, but it’s absurd to draw the line between the two animals like that.”
“Well, sir, I tell you what the men says; and they thinks a deal o’ Jacko, and looks after his morals wonderful. We do let him chew tobacco, though it don’t agree with him, ’cause he will swaller it; but as to a drop o’ rum, why, Old Greg nearly chucked a man overboard once for giving him a tot, and Small the boatswain stopped one chap’s grog for a week for teaching Jack to drink. We thinks a deal of that monkey, sir.”
“And I think a deal of my dog, and keep him a deal cleaner than Jack. But I don’t want them to be together. Take Jack away.”
“Werry sorry, Mr Mark, sir. Mean no offence,” said Billy apologetically; “but it’s the men, sir. They think a deal o’ that monkey.”
Billy went forward with a chain and a strap to where a kennel had been made for Bruff, by turning a flour barrel on its side and wedging it between two hencoops, and here, greatly to the vexation of the chickens, who lived in dread of Jack’s long hairy arm and clever fingers, which were always stretching through the bars to pull their feathers, the monkey had—to use Billy’s words—“just turned in.” The barrel held the two animals tightly, and there they were cuddled up together in the most friendly manner, Jack with his head right in towards the end, Bruff with his long black muzzle to the front, and Jacko’s tail moving up and down in regular motion as he breathed.
“Here! you’ve got to come home,” cried Billy, making a dash at the monkey’s legs, but he started back as quickly as he went forward, for Bruff sprang up, and, twitching his ears, burst into a furious fit of barking, while Jack got behind him and chattered his defiance.
“Well, that’s a rum game,” said Billy, rubbing his nose with a rusty link of the chain he held; “think o’ them two sticking up for one another like that.”
“Now, then, which is the more intelligent animal?” said Mark, laughing.
“Well, sir, I dunno, but if so be as you’d take your dog away—”
“No,” said Mark quietly, “I sha’n’t interfere. The monkey’s happier there than down in your stuffy forecastle.”
“Which I won’t deny as it is stuffy, sir, far from it,” said Billy; “but when you get used to the smell you don’t mind, and I’m sure Jack likes it. So call away your dog.”
“No,” said Mark, “you may get him away if you like.”
“Well, if so be as I must, I must,” said the little sailor. “The men says they wants Jacko, and—Lor’ a me!”
As he spoke he had gone down on one knee to reach into the barrel and get hold of Jack’s leg, but at the angry remonstrative cry of the monkey as he felt it seized, Bruff made so furious an attack upon the sailor that he started back and rolled over, to find Bruff spring upon his chest.
“Hold hard, mate; don’t bite. I gives up,” said Billy quietly. “Call him off, Mr Mark, sir.”
But the lad had already caught the dog by the collar, and dragged him away growling.
Just then Jack sprang out of the barrel chattering loudly, and bounded toward the main hatchway. Bruff followed as if understanding the call, and as the monkey sprang down the dog leaped after him, but did not descend the steps so cleverly as his quadrumanous friend, the fact being made plain to those on deck by a loud scratching and scuffling noise, followed by a heavy bump.
“That there’s the dog,” said Billy sitting up and scratching his ear. “His head’s too heavy for going down them steps nose fust. Think we can catch Jack now?”
“No, that you will not,” said Mark, laughing at his companion’s troubled face. “Did Bruff frighten you?”
“S’pose he did, sir. He made me feel mortal queer for a minute. But I s’pose he wouldn’t bite. Here, they may fetch the monkey theirselves,” he continued, rising slowly; “I shan’t try no more; and if his manners is spylte by ’sociating with dogs it aren’t my fault.”
Billy Widgeon went forward toward the forecastle in his calm even-tempered way, and Mr Morgan, who had been looking on from the poop-deck, came and joined Mark, to stand talking with him as they leaned over the side gazing up at the transparent starry sky, or down at the clear dark sea, while they listened to the rushing water as the great ship glided on under quite a cloud of canvas. The night was now dark, with the ship’s sailing lanterns and the glow from the cabin-windows showing faintly and casting reflections upon the unruffled sea.
“Suppose we were to run on to another ship, Mr Morgan,” said Mark at last, breaking a long silence. “What then?”
“If we kept such a bad look-out, and they did the same, most likely we should go to the bottom, perhaps both of us; but you turn in and leave all that to the watch.”