Chapter Fifteen.Where Esau Had Been.“We are forgetting one thing,” said Gunson, as we drew near our resting-place; and I believe now he said it to try and cheer me on. “Perhaps while we have been away the truant may have returned.”His words had the required effect, for I hurried on by Gunson’s side, and was the first to enter and ask the landlady if Esau had been back.“Nein! nein! nein!” she cried. “Bood der Herr captain send doo dimes for you bode, and say he go doo sea mit dout you, and die schip ist gone. Ya.”“Yes, gone,” said Gunson; “and we have come back. Give us some tea and dinner together.”“Zo,” cried the landlady. “Ach you are sehr hungrig.”She hurried away nodding her head, and we heard her shrill voice giving orders directly, while Gunson began to try and cheer me up.“It’s very kind of you,” I said; “but what shall we do?”“Wait patiently, my lad. There, don’t mind about me, perhaps it’s all for the best; the schooner may get into a bad storm, and we shall be better ashore, perhaps save our lives, who knows. There, lie down on that bench, and try and have a nap.”But I couldn’t close my eyes for thinking of poor Esau. Perhaps he was dead; perhaps even then he was shut up somewhere by a gang of scoundrels who might be meaning to keep him till they could secure a ransom.Ah, what a host of thoughts of that kind came rushing through my weary head, which now began to ache terribly.In due time the landlady came in, bringing us our meal; and, signing me to take my place, Gunson seated himself and began to eat, not like a man who partakes of food for the pleasure of the meal, but as if it was a necessity to supply himself with the support required for doing a great deal of work. And I suppose it was in something like that spirit that, after he had first requested me to eat, and then ordered me sharply, I managed to force a little down.It was getting quite dark, when Gunson said suddenly—“Now is there anything else we could do—anything we have not thought of?”“The hospital,” I said suddenly, as the idea came like a flash of light.“I did not say anything to you, my lad,” replied Gunson, “but that was the first place I went to, thinking he might have been knocked down. No: try again.”But no, I could think of nothing else, and my despondency was rapidly increasing, when all at once Gunson jumped up and said sharply—“It’s too bad to destroy your belief, my lad, but I feel sure that mate of yours is playing you a dirty trick. He is a miserable coward, and hiding away. The lad has turned tail and—I’m a fool.”For at that moment, panting and exhausted with running, Esau rushed into the room, with nothing on but his shirt and trousers, and the former torn halfway across his back.“Esau!” I shouted, joyfully.“Then—you’re—not gone,” he panted hoarsely; and turning from me, he threw himself into a chair at the table and began to eat ravenously.“You young scoundrel! where have you been?” cried Gunson, angrily.“Tell you presently,” said Esau, with his mouth full. “Go and fetch the police.”“Police! no,” cried Gunson, excitedly. “Here, do as I do,” he continued; and taking out his handkerchief, he hastily made a bundle of the meat, butter, and bread we had left.“No, no,” cried Esau, “I’m so hungry.”“Eat as we go.”“Where?” I cried.“Boat. We may catch the schooner after all.”“No, no,” cried Esau; “fetch the police. They’ve got my clothes, money, everything. I’ll show you where.”“And I’ll show you where,” cried Gunson, “if you don’t come along.”“But I can’t go like this,” cried Esau.“Can’t you,” said Gunson, fiercely. “Here, hi! Frau!”The landlady came running in, and began to exclaim on seeing Esau’s state; but she was silenced directly by Gunson, who thrust a couple of dollars into her hands, and between us we hurried Esau out into the road.“But I can’t—my—”“Come along!” cried Gunson, fiercely.“And they’ll be after me directly,” panted Esau. “Said I shouldn’t go till I’d paid a hundred dollars.”“They had better come for them,” muttered Gunson between his teeth; and after that Esau suffered himself to be hurried along, consoling himself with a few bites at the piece of bread he held, as we ran on to where in the soft moonlight we could see several good-sized fishing-boats lying, with men idling near them on the shore.“Now then,” cried Gunson, quickly; “we want to be put aboard the schooner that sailed this evening. Three dollars. There she is, two miles out.”No one answered.“Four dollars!” shouted Gunson. “There’s a good light wind, and you can soon reach her.”Still no one stirred, the men staring at us in a dull, apathetic way.“Five dollars,” cried Gunson, angrily.“Say, stranger,” said one of the men, “what’s your hurry? stole suthin’?”“No,” I shouted; “but it’s as if they have. Our chests are aboard, and we’ve paid our passage.”“Come on then,” said one of the men, rousing himself. “I’ll take you for five dollars. Jump in.”He led the way to a little skiff, two more of his companions following him, and they rowed us out to one of the fishing-boats, made fast the one we had come in with the painter, cast off the buoy-rope, and began to hoist a sail, with the result that a soft pattering sound began under the boat’s bows, and she careened over and began to glide softly away, the man who had gone to the rudder guiding her safely through the vessels lying by the buoy near the shore.“There,” cried Gunson, taking off the pea-jacket he wore, and throwing it to Esau. “Put that on, my lad; and here, eat away if you’re hungry. You shall tell us afterwards where you’ve been.”“But they’ve got my money,” said Esau, in an ill-used tone.“Then we must share with you, and set you up. Think we shall catch the schooner, skipper?”“Guess we shall if this wind holds. If it changes she’ll be off out to sea, and we shall lose her. Guess you’ll pay your five dollars all the same?”“Look here,” said Gunson, roughly. “You’ve got an Englishman to deal with.”“Oh, yes; guess I see that; but you send some ugly customers out here sometimes, stranger. Not good enough for yew to keep at home.”Gunson made no answer, but sat watching the vessel, which, as it lay far out in the soft moonlight, looked faint, shadowy, and unreal.Every now and then a good puff of wind filled our sail, so that the boat rushed through the water, and our hopes rose high, far we felt that in less than an hour we should be alongside our goal; but soon after Gunson would utter an impatient ejaculation, for the wind that sent us surging through the beautiful waters of the bay, sent the schooner along rapidly too, so that she grew more faint.Once or twice I glanced back at the shore, to see how beautiful the town looked with its lights rising above lights, and all softened and subdued in the clear moonlight; but I was soon looking ahead again, for our chase was too exciting for me to take much interest in a view.Every now and then the boat tacked, and we went skimming along with her gunwale close down to the water, when we were all called upon to shift our position, the boatman evidently doing his best to overtake the schooner, which kept seeming nearer and then farther off in the most tantalising way.“Guess I didn’t ask you enough, skipper,” said the boatman. “This is going to be a long job, and I don’t think we shall dew it now.”“Do your best, man,” said Gunson quietly. “I must overtake the schooner if it is possible.”All at once the wind dropped, the sail shivered and flapped, and we lay almost without motion, but to our annoyance we could just make out the schooner with her sails well filled, gliding steadily away.The master of the boat laughed.“Wait a bit,” he said. “She won’t go on like that long. P’r’aps we shall have the wind next and she be nowhere.”Gunson glanced at the oars, but feeling that if we were to overtake the vessel it must be by means of the sails, he said nothing, but sat watching by me till we saw the schooner’s sails die away.“Gone?” I whispered.“No; she has changed her course a little and is stern on to us. There, you can see her again.”To my great delight I saw that it was so, the schooner having now turned, and she grew plainer and plainer in our sight as the moon shone full now on the other side of her sails, and we saw that she too was becalmed. Then in a few minutes our own sails filled, and we went gliding on over the glistening sea, which flashed like silver as we looked back.I uttered a sigh full of relief, for the schooner still lay becalmed, while we were now rushing through the water.“Well, my lad,” said Gunson suddenly, “we thought we had lost you. How was it? One of us thought you had turned tail, and slipped away.”“That wasn’t Mr Gordon, I know,” said Esau. “I ain’t the slipping away sort. Those chaps got hold of me again, and I don’t like going away like this without setting the police at them.”“You are best away, my lad,” said Gunson.“I don’t know so much about that,” cried Esau. “They’ve got all my money, and my knife and coat, and that new pipe.”“What new pipe?” I said sharply. “You don’t smoke.”“Nobody said I did,” replied Esau, gruffly. “Fellow isn’t obliged to smoke because he’s got a pipe in his pocket, is he?”“No, but you had no pipe in your pockets this morning, because you turned them all out before me.”“Well, then, I’d got one since if you must know.”“Why, you did not go away to buy a pipe, did you?” I said.“Why, there wouldn’t ha’ been any harm in it if I had, would there?” he said surlily, as he held one hand over the side to let the water foam through his fingers.“Then you gave us all this trouble and anxiety,” I cried angrily, “and have made us perhaps ruin our passage, because you wanted to learn to smoke.”“I didn’t know it was going to give all this trouble,” he said, in a grumbling tone.“But you see it has.”“Well, I’ve got it worse than you have, haven’t I? Lost everything I’ve got except what’s in my chest.”“And it begins to look as if you’ve lost that too, my lad,” said Gunson bitterly. “You’d better have waited a bit before you began to learn to smoke. There goes your chest and your passage money.”“Yes, and ours,” I said, as Gunson pointed to where the schooner’s sails were once more full, and she was gliding away. “Is it any use to shout and hail them?”“Stretch your breathing tackle a bit, my lad,” said the master. “Do you good p’r’aps.”“But wouldn’t they hear us?”“No; and if they did they wouldn’t stop,” said the master; and we all sat silent and gloomy, till the injury Esau had inflicted upon us through that pipe came uppermost again.“Serves you well right, Esau,” I said to him in a low voice. “You deserve to lose your things for sneaking off like that to buy a pipe. You—pish—want to learn to smoke!”I said this with so much contempt in my tones that my words seemed to sting him.“Didn’t want to learn to smoke,” he grumbled.“Yes, you did. Don’t make worse of it by telling a lie.”“Who’s telling a lie?” he cried aloud. “Tell you I wasn’t going to smoke it myself.”“Then why did you go for it?”“Never you mind,” he said sulkily, “Pipe’s gone—half-dollar pipe in a case—nobody won’t smoke it now, p’r’aps. Wish I hadn’t come.”“So do I now,” I said hotly. “You did buy it to learn to smoke, and we’ve lost our passage through you.”Esau was silent for a few moments, and then he came towards me and whispered—“Don’t say that, sir. I saw what a shabby old clay pipe Mr Gunson had got, and I thought a good noo clean briar-root one would be a nice present for him, and I ran off to get it, and bought a big strong one as wouldn’t break. And then, as I was out, I thought I’d look in at some of the stores, and see if there wasn’t something that would do for you.”“And you went off to buy me a pipe, my lad?” said Gunson, who had heard every word.“Didn’t know you was listening,” said Esau, awkwardly.“I could not help hearing. You were excited and spoke louder than you thought. Thank you, my lad, though I haven’t got the pipe. Well, how did you get on then?”“That’s what I hardly know, sir. I s’pose those chaps we had the tussle with had seen me, and I was going stoopidly along after I’d bought your pipe—and it was such a good one—staring in at the windows thinking of what I could buy for him, for there don’t seem to be anything you can buy for a boy or a young fellow but a knife, and he’d got two already, when in one of the narrow streets, Shove! bang!”“What?” I said.“Shove! bang! Some one seemed to jump right on me, and drove me up against a door—bang, and I was knocked into a passage. ’Course I turned sharply to hit out, but five or six fellows had rushed in after me, and they shoved me along that passage and out into a yard, and then through another door, and before I knew where I was they’d got me down and were sitting on me.”“But didn’t you holler out, or cry for help?”“He says didn’t I holler out, or shout for help! I should just think I did; but before I’d opened my mouth more than twice they’d stuffed some dirty old rag in,—I believe it was some one’s pocket-hankychy,—and then they tied another over it and behind my head to keep it in, right over my nose too, and there I was.”“But you saw the men,” said Gunson, who was deeply interested.“Oh yes, I saw ’em. One of ’em was that long-haired chap; and it was him whose hands run so easy into my pockets, and who got off my coat and weskit, and slit up my shirt like this so as to get at the belt I had on with my money in it. He had that in a moment, the beggar! and then if he didn’t say my braces were good ’uns and he’d change. They were good ’uns too, real leather, as a saddler—”“Well?” said Gunson. “What took place then?”“Nothing; only that long-haired chap grinned at me and kicked me twice. ’Member that policeman as took us up, Mr Gordon?”“Yes.”“I only wish I could hand that long-haired chap over to him. Strikes me they’d cut his hair very short for him before they let him go.”“But what happened next?”“Nothing, sir; only they tied my hands behind me, and then put a rope round my ankles, and then one took hold of my head and another of my feet, and they give me a swing, and pitched me on to a heap of them dry leaves like we used to see put round the oranges down in Thames Street.”“Indian corn,” said Gunson, shortly.“Yes; and then they went out, and I heard ’em lock the door, leaving me in the half dark place nearly choked with that hankychy in my mouth.”“Yes; go on, Esau,” I said eagerly. And just then the master of the boat spoke—“Say, youngster, you was in for it. They meant to hit you over the head to-night, and chuck you into the harbour after dark.”“Yes,” said Gunson.“Well, I saved ’em the trouble,” said Esau. “Oh, I just was mad about that pipe; and I seemed to think more about them braces than I did about the money, because, you see, being sewed up like in a belt I never saw the money, and I used to see the braces, and think what good ones they was, every day.”“Go on, Esau,” I said. “How did you get away?”“Well, I lay there a bit frightened at first and listened, and all was still; and then I began to wonder what you and Mr Gunson would think about me, and last of all, as I couldn’t hardly breathe, and that great rag thing in my mouth half choked me, I turned over on my face, and began pushing and pushing like a pig, running my nose along till I got the hankychy that was tight round my face down over my nose, and then lower and lower over my mouth and chin, till it was loose round my neck.”I glanced round and saw that the man who was forward had crept back, and that the other who held the sheet of the sail, and the master who was steering, were all listening attentively, while the boat rushed swiftly through the water.“Next job,” said Esau, “was to get that choking rag out of my mouth; and hard work it was, for they’d rammed it in tight, and all the time I was trying I was listening too, so as to hear if they were coming. I say, ought one to feel so frightened as I did then?”“Most people do,” said Gunson quietly.“And ’nuff to make ’em,” said the master.“Well, I kept on working away at it for what seemed to be hours,” continued Esau, “but all I could do was to get one end of the rag out between my teeth, and I couldn’t work it any further, but lay there with my jaws aching, and feeling as if I hadn’t got any hands or feet, because they’d tied ’em so tight.“It was very horrid, for all the time as I lay there I was expecting them to come back, and I thought that if they did, and found me trying to get the things off, they’d half kill me. And didn’t I wish you’d been there to help me, and then was sorry I wished it, for I shouldn’t have liked anybody to have been in such a fix.“I got so faint and dizzy at last that things began to go up and down, and round and round, and for ever so long I lay there thinking I was aboard ship again in the storm, just like when I was off my head at home with the fever I had when I was a little chap. But at last I came to again, and lay on my side wondering how I could get that horrible choking thing out of my mouth, for I couldn’t move it even now when I tried again, only hold a great piece between my teeth.“The place was very dark, only light came in here and there through cracks and holes where the knots had been knocked out of some of the boards; and as I thought I said to myself, if I could get that thing out I might call for help; but directly after I felt that I dared not, for it would p’r’aps bring some of those chaps back.“All at once, where the light came through a hole, I saw something that made my heart jump, and I wondered I had not seen it before. It was a hook fastened up against one of the joists, with some bits of rope hanging upon it. It was a sharp kind of thing, like the meat-hooks you see nailed up against the sides of a butcher’s shop; and I began rolling myself over the rustling leaves, over and over, till I was up against the side, and then it was a long time before I could get up on my knees and look up at the hook.“But I couldn’t reach it, and I had to try and get on to my feet. It took a long time, and I went down twice before I was standing, and even then I went down again; for though I did stand up, I didn’t know I had any feet, for all the feeling was gone. Then all at once down I went sidewise, and lay there as miserable as could be, for I couldn’t hardly move. But at last I had another try, getting on to my knees, and taking tight hold of the edge of one of the side pieces of wood with my teeth; and somehow or other I got on my feet again and worked myself along, nearly falling over and over again, before I could touch the hook with my chin, and there I stood for fear I should fall, and the hook run into me and hold me.”“What did you want the hook for, boy?” said the master, shifting his rudder a little, and leaning forward with his face full in the moonlight, and looking deeply interested.“What did I want the hook for?” said Esau, with a little laugh. “I’ll tell you directly.”The master nodded, and the others drew a little nearer.“What I wanted was to hold that end of the great rag in my teeth, and see if I couldn’t fix it on the hook; and after a lot of tries I did, and then began to hang back from it gently, to see if I couldn’t draw the stuff out of my mouth.”“And could you?” I said eagerly.“Yes; it began to come slowly more and more, till it was about half out, and then the sick feeling that had come over me again got worse and worse, and the hook and the great dark warehouse place swam round, and I didn’t know any more till I opened my eyes as I lay on the leaves, staring at a great wet dirty rag hanging on that hook, and I was able to breathe freely now.“I felt so much better that I could think more easily; but I was very miserable, for I got thinking about you two, and I knew I must have been there a very long time, and that the schooner was to sail at twelve o’clock, so I felt sure that you would go without me, and think I’d been frightened and wouldn’t come.”“That’s what I did think,” said Gunson; “but Mayne Gordon here stuck up for you all through.”“Thankye, Mr Gordon,” said Esau, who was gently chafing his wrists. “That’s being a good mate. No, I wouldn’t back out. I meant coming when I’d said I would. Well, next thing was to get my hands clear, and that done, of course I could easily do my legs. So I began to get up again, with my feet feeling nowhere; and as I tried, to wonder what I was going to do next, for I couldn’t see no way of getting out of a place with no windows in, not even a skylight at the top. But anyhow I meant to have that rope off my hands, and I was thinking then that if the hook could help me get rid of the rag, it might help me to get rid of the tie round my wrists.”“O’ course,” said the master. “See, lads,” he said, turning round to his two companions; “he gets the hook in threw the last knot and hitches the end out. That’s easy enough;” and the two men uttered a low growl.“Oh, is it?” said Esau. “Just you be tied up with your hands behind you for hours, and all pins-and-needles, and numb, and you try behind you to get that hook through the knot in the right place. You wouldn’t say it was easy.”“But anyways that was hard, I reckon,” said the master.“Yes, that was hard,” said Esau; “but I kep on seeming to tighten it, and the more I tried the worse it was; till all at once, as I strained and reached up behind me, I slipped a little, and the hook was fast somehow, and nearly jerked my arms out of my shoulders as I hung forward now, with my feet giving way, and I couldn’t get up again.”“If a fellow had on’y ha’ been there with a knife,” said the master, shaking his head.“Yes; but he wasn’t,” cried Esau; “and there I hung for ever so long, giving myself a bit of a wriggle now and then, but afraid to do much, it hurt so, dragging at my arms, while they were twisted up. I s’pose I must have been ’bout an hour like that, but it seemed a week, and I was beginning to get sick again, when all at once, after a good struggle, I fell forward on to my face in amongst the dry leaves. My wrists and hands were tingling dreadfully, but they did not feel so numb now; and after a bit, as I moved them gently up and down, one over the other, so as to get rid of the pain, I began to find I could move them a little more and a little more, till at last, as I worked away at them in a regular state of ’citement, I pulled one of ’em right out, and sat up comfortable with my hands in my lap.”“Well done, well done,” cried the master; and I could not help joining in the murmur of satisfaction uttered by the men.“And then yew began to look at the rope round your legs,” said one of the latter.“That I just did,” said Esau; “but my fingers were so bad it took me hours, as it seemed, before I had those knots undone.”“But yew got ’em off?” said the master. “Oh yes, I got ’em off at last, every knot undone; but when I’d unwound the rope, there I sat, feeling as if it was not a bit of use, for I could not move my feet, nor yet stand. They felt as if they were made of wood.”“Yew should have chafed ’em, stranger,” said one of the men.“Well, of course that’s what he did do, mate,” said the master, reprovingly; “and yew got ’em to work easy at last, didn’t you?”“Yes, that’s what I did do, when they would work. I had to set to and see if I couldn’t get away out of that place.”“’Fore them scallywags come back,” said the master, drawing a long breath. “That’s right.”“There was the door locked fast,” continued Esau, “and I knew I couldn’t get out that way; so as there was no windows, and the boards were all nailed down tight, the only way seemed to be through the roof.”“I know,” said the master, changing the course of the boat. “Yew meant to get up, knock off some shingles, and then let yewrself down with the two ropes tied together.”“Look here,” said Esau, ill-humouredly, “you’d better tell the story.”“No, no, stranger; go on, go on,” said the master, apologetically. “Go on, go on.”“Well, that’s just what I was going to do,” said Esau, condescendingly, “only there wasn’t any shingles that I saw, but the place was covered over with wooden slates.”“Those are what they call shingles, my lad,” said Gunson.“Oh, very well, I don’t care,” said Esau, acidly. “All I know is, I joined those two pieces of rope together, tied one end round my waist, and I was just going to climb up the side to the rafters, when I thought to myself I might meet somebody outside, who’d try to stop me; and though I felt that you two would be gone, I didn’t want to have taken all my trouble for nothing, and be locked up there again. So I had a bit of a look round, and picked out from some wood in a corner a pretty tidy bit, with a good headache at the end.”The master chuckled.“And I’d no sooner done that than I heard some one coming.”“Did yew get behind the door?” said the master hoarsely. “Yew said it was dark.”“I do wish you’d let me go on my own way,” said Esau, in an ill-used tone.“Yes, yes, yes; go on, my lad, go on,” said the master.“Why can’t you let him bide!” growled the others; and I saw Gunson looking on in an amused way, as he turned from watching the distant schooner, far enough away now.“My wrists and my ankles ache so I can’t hardly bear it,” continued Esau; “and when you keep on putting in your spoon it worries me.”“Yes, yes, my lad; I won’t do so no more.”“’Tain’t as if I was a reg’lar story-teller,” grumbled Esau. “I ain’t used to this sort o’ thing.”“Go on telling us, Esau,” I said. “They were only eager to know.”“Well,” he continued, “that’s what I did do, as it was dark. I got behind the door with that there stick in my hand, just as I heard the key rattling in the lock, and then the door was opened, and the leaves rustled, and I saw just dimly that there long-haired chap’s head come in slowly; and he seemed to me to look puzzled, as he stared at the heap of leaves as if he thought I’d crept under ’em and gone to sleep.”At this moment I looked round, to see in the bright moonlight the faces of the master and the two fishermen watching Esau excitedly, as they waited for the end of the scene he described. Gunson’s face was in shadow now, but he too was leaning forward, while, in the interest of the recollection of what he had passed through, Esau began to act as well as speak. He raised one hand as if it was still grasping the head-aching stick, and leaned toward the listeners, looking from one to the other as he spoke, and as if the narrative was intended expressly for them and not for us.“All at once,” continued Esau, “he took a stepforward toward the heap of leaves, and then another, and then he turned sharply round as if he had heard me move or felt I was close behind him. But when a man tries to jump out of the way, he don’t move so quickly as a big stick. I’d got that well up with both hands, and down it came right on his head, and there he was lying just about where him and the rest of ’em had pitched me.”“Ah!” ejaculated the master, and his two companions gave a shout and jumped up.“Sit down, will yew!” he shouted. “Want to swamp the boat. He arn’t done yet.”“Not quite,” said Esau. “I felt horrid frightened as soon as I’d done it, for fear I’d given it him too hard, and I turned to run out of the place, but I could hear a lot of men talking, so I took out the key, put it inside, and shut and locked the door. Then I clambered up the side and soon had some of those wooden slates off, to find as I crawled on to the roof that it was quite evening, and whereabouts I was to get down I couldn’t tell. I dare not stop though, for fear the others should come to look after their mate, so unfastening the rope from my waist I tied it to a rafter, slid down as far as it would reach, and hung swinging at the end, thinking that it was all no good, for you two would be gone; and then I dropped, and found myself in a yard.“Some one saw me and shouted,” continued Esau, “but I didn’t stop to hear what he had to say, for I went over first one fence and then another till I got out into a lane, at the bottom of which was a street; and then I went into one after the other, looking like a fellow begging, till I knew where I was, and got down at last to the hotel.”“And well done too!” cried Gunson, clapping him on the shoulder. “All to get me a new pipe, eh?”“Yes; and I’ll get you another too some day.”“I knew you wouldn’t leave me in the lurch, Esau,” I whispered; and then I started, for the master brought down his hand with a heavy slap on his knee.“That was a good ’un,” he cried. “There’s too many o’ them sort in ’Frisco, and it gives the place a bad name. I don’t wish that loafer any harm, but I hope you’ve killed him.”“I hope not,” I said, fervently.“Best thing as could happen to him, my lad,” said the man. “You see he’s a regular bad ’un now, and he’d go on getting worse and worse, so the kindest thing your mate could do was to finish him off. But he arn’t done it. Them sort’s as hard as lobsters. Take a deal o’ licking to get through the rind.”“Hah!” ejaculated Gunson just then.“What’s matter?”“She is leaving us behind,” said Gunson, as he looked sadly out to sea.“Now she arn’t,” said the master; “and I arn’t going to let her. Her skipper and me’s had many a argyment together ’bout his craft, and he’s precious fond o’ jeering and fleering at me about my bit of a cutter, and thinks he can sail twiced as fast. I’m going tew show him he can’t.”“Do you think you can overtake him then?” I cried eagerly.“Dunno about overtake, my lad, but I’m going to overhaul him. Here, Zeke, come and lay hold of this here tiller. You keep her full. Elim, you and me’s going to get up that forsle. I’m going tew put yew chaps aboard o’ that schooner if I sail on for a week.”“Without provisions?” said Gunson, sadly.“Who says ’thout provisions,” retorted the man. “There’s a locker forrard and there’s a locker aft, for we never know how long we may be getting back when we’re out fishing. I say I’m going to put you aboard that there schooner for the dollars as we ’greed on first, and if I don’t, why I’m more of a Dutchman than lots o’ them as comes from the east to set up business in ’Frisco. There!”
“We are forgetting one thing,” said Gunson, as we drew near our resting-place; and I believe now he said it to try and cheer me on. “Perhaps while we have been away the truant may have returned.”
His words had the required effect, for I hurried on by Gunson’s side, and was the first to enter and ask the landlady if Esau had been back.
“Nein! nein! nein!” she cried. “Bood der Herr captain send doo dimes for you bode, and say he go doo sea mit dout you, and die schip ist gone. Ya.”
“Yes, gone,” said Gunson; “and we have come back. Give us some tea and dinner together.”
“Zo,” cried the landlady. “Ach you are sehr hungrig.”
She hurried away nodding her head, and we heard her shrill voice giving orders directly, while Gunson began to try and cheer me up.
“It’s very kind of you,” I said; “but what shall we do?”
“Wait patiently, my lad. There, don’t mind about me, perhaps it’s all for the best; the schooner may get into a bad storm, and we shall be better ashore, perhaps save our lives, who knows. There, lie down on that bench, and try and have a nap.”
But I couldn’t close my eyes for thinking of poor Esau. Perhaps he was dead; perhaps even then he was shut up somewhere by a gang of scoundrels who might be meaning to keep him till they could secure a ransom.
Ah, what a host of thoughts of that kind came rushing through my weary head, which now began to ache terribly.
In due time the landlady came in, bringing us our meal; and, signing me to take my place, Gunson seated himself and began to eat, not like a man who partakes of food for the pleasure of the meal, but as if it was a necessity to supply himself with the support required for doing a great deal of work. And I suppose it was in something like that spirit that, after he had first requested me to eat, and then ordered me sharply, I managed to force a little down.
It was getting quite dark, when Gunson said suddenly—
“Now is there anything else we could do—anything we have not thought of?”
“The hospital,” I said suddenly, as the idea came like a flash of light.
“I did not say anything to you, my lad,” replied Gunson, “but that was the first place I went to, thinking he might have been knocked down. No: try again.”
But no, I could think of nothing else, and my despondency was rapidly increasing, when all at once Gunson jumped up and said sharply—
“It’s too bad to destroy your belief, my lad, but I feel sure that mate of yours is playing you a dirty trick. He is a miserable coward, and hiding away. The lad has turned tail and—I’m a fool.”
For at that moment, panting and exhausted with running, Esau rushed into the room, with nothing on but his shirt and trousers, and the former torn halfway across his back.
“Esau!” I shouted, joyfully.
“Then—you’re—not gone,” he panted hoarsely; and turning from me, he threw himself into a chair at the table and began to eat ravenously.
“You young scoundrel! where have you been?” cried Gunson, angrily.
“Tell you presently,” said Esau, with his mouth full. “Go and fetch the police.”
“Police! no,” cried Gunson, excitedly. “Here, do as I do,” he continued; and taking out his handkerchief, he hastily made a bundle of the meat, butter, and bread we had left.
“No, no,” cried Esau, “I’m so hungry.”
“Eat as we go.”
“Where?” I cried.
“Boat. We may catch the schooner after all.”
“No, no,” cried Esau; “fetch the police. They’ve got my clothes, money, everything. I’ll show you where.”
“And I’ll show you where,” cried Gunson, “if you don’t come along.”
“But I can’t go like this,” cried Esau.
“Can’t you,” said Gunson, fiercely. “Here, hi! Frau!”
The landlady came running in, and began to exclaim on seeing Esau’s state; but she was silenced directly by Gunson, who thrust a couple of dollars into her hands, and between us we hurried Esau out into the road.
“But I can’t—my—”
“Come along!” cried Gunson, fiercely.
“And they’ll be after me directly,” panted Esau. “Said I shouldn’t go till I’d paid a hundred dollars.”
“They had better come for them,” muttered Gunson between his teeth; and after that Esau suffered himself to be hurried along, consoling himself with a few bites at the piece of bread he held, as we ran on to where in the soft moonlight we could see several good-sized fishing-boats lying, with men idling near them on the shore.
“Now then,” cried Gunson, quickly; “we want to be put aboard the schooner that sailed this evening. Three dollars. There she is, two miles out.”
No one answered.
“Four dollars!” shouted Gunson. “There’s a good light wind, and you can soon reach her.”
Still no one stirred, the men staring at us in a dull, apathetic way.
“Five dollars,” cried Gunson, angrily.
“Say, stranger,” said one of the men, “what’s your hurry? stole suthin’?”
“No,” I shouted; “but it’s as if they have. Our chests are aboard, and we’ve paid our passage.”
“Come on then,” said one of the men, rousing himself. “I’ll take you for five dollars. Jump in.”
He led the way to a little skiff, two more of his companions following him, and they rowed us out to one of the fishing-boats, made fast the one we had come in with the painter, cast off the buoy-rope, and began to hoist a sail, with the result that a soft pattering sound began under the boat’s bows, and she careened over and began to glide softly away, the man who had gone to the rudder guiding her safely through the vessels lying by the buoy near the shore.
“There,” cried Gunson, taking off the pea-jacket he wore, and throwing it to Esau. “Put that on, my lad; and here, eat away if you’re hungry. You shall tell us afterwards where you’ve been.”
“But they’ve got my money,” said Esau, in an ill-used tone.
“Then we must share with you, and set you up. Think we shall catch the schooner, skipper?”
“Guess we shall if this wind holds. If it changes she’ll be off out to sea, and we shall lose her. Guess you’ll pay your five dollars all the same?”
“Look here,” said Gunson, roughly. “You’ve got an Englishman to deal with.”
“Oh, yes; guess I see that; but you send some ugly customers out here sometimes, stranger. Not good enough for yew to keep at home.”
Gunson made no answer, but sat watching the vessel, which, as it lay far out in the soft moonlight, looked faint, shadowy, and unreal.
Every now and then a good puff of wind filled our sail, so that the boat rushed through the water, and our hopes rose high, far we felt that in less than an hour we should be alongside our goal; but soon after Gunson would utter an impatient ejaculation, for the wind that sent us surging through the beautiful waters of the bay, sent the schooner along rapidly too, so that she grew more faint.
Once or twice I glanced back at the shore, to see how beautiful the town looked with its lights rising above lights, and all softened and subdued in the clear moonlight; but I was soon looking ahead again, for our chase was too exciting for me to take much interest in a view.
Every now and then the boat tacked, and we went skimming along with her gunwale close down to the water, when we were all called upon to shift our position, the boatman evidently doing his best to overtake the schooner, which kept seeming nearer and then farther off in the most tantalising way.
“Guess I didn’t ask you enough, skipper,” said the boatman. “This is going to be a long job, and I don’t think we shall dew it now.”
“Do your best, man,” said Gunson quietly. “I must overtake the schooner if it is possible.”
All at once the wind dropped, the sail shivered and flapped, and we lay almost without motion, but to our annoyance we could just make out the schooner with her sails well filled, gliding steadily away.
The master of the boat laughed.
“Wait a bit,” he said. “She won’t go on like that long. P’r’aps we shall have the wind next and she be nowhere.”
Gunson glanced at the oars, but feeling that if we were to overtake the vessel it must be by means of the sails, he said nothing, but sat watching by me till we saw the schooner’s sails die away.
“Gone?” I whispered.
“No; she has changed her course a little and is stern on to us. There, you can see her again.”
To my great delight I saw that it was so, the schooner having now turned, and she grew plainer and plainer in our sight as the moon shone full now on the other side of her sails, and we saw that she too was becalmed. Then in a few minutes our own sails filled, and we went gliding on over the glistening sea, which flashed like silver as we looked back.
I uttered a sigh full of relief, for the schooner still lay becalmed, while we were now rushing through the water.
“Well, my lad,” said Gunson suddenly, “we thought we had lost you. How was it? One of us thought you had turned tail, and slipped away.”
“That wasn’t Mr Gordon, I know,” said Esau. “I ain’t the slipping away sort. Those chaps got hold of me again, and I don’t like going away like this without setting the police at them.”
“You are best away, my lad,” said Gunson.
“I don’t know so much about that,” cried Esau. “They’ve got all my money, and my knife and coat, and that new pipe.”
“What new pipe?” I said sharply. “You don’t smoke.”
“Nobody said I did,” replied Esau, gruffly. “Fellow isn’t obliged to smoke because he’s got a pipe in his pocket, is he?”
“No, but you had no pipe in your pockets this morning, because you turned them all out before me.”
“Well, then, I’d got one since if you must know.”
“Why, you did not go away to buy a pipe, did you?” I said.
“Why, there wouldn’t ha’ been any harm in it if I had, would there?” he said surlily, as he held one hand over the side to let the water foam through his fingers.
“Then you gave us all this trouble and anxiety,” I cried angrily, “and have made us perhaps ruin our passage, because you wanted to learn to smoke.”
“I didn’t know it was going to give all this trouble,” he said, in a grumbling tone.
“But you see it has.”
“Well, I’ve got it worse than you have, haven’t I? Lost everything I’ve got except what’s in my chest.”
“And it begins to look as if you’ve lost that too, my lad,” said Gunson bitterly. “You’d better have waited a bit before you began to learn to smoke. There goes your chest and your passage money.”
“Yes, and ours,” I said, as Gunson pointed to where the schooner’s sails were once more full, and she was gliding away. “Is it any use to shout and hail them?”
“Stretch your breathing tackle a bit, my lad,” said the master. “Do you good p’r’aps.”
“But wouldn’t they hear us?”
“No; and if they did they wouldn’t stop,” said the master; and we all sat silent and gloomy, till the injury Esau had inflicted upon us through that pipe came uppermost again.
“Serves you well right, Esau,” I said to him in a low voice. “You deserve to lose your things for sneaking off like that to buy a pipe. You—pish—want to learn to smoke!”
I said this with so much contempt in my tones that my words seemed to sting him.
“Didn’t want to learn to smoke,” he grumbled.
“Yes, you did. Don’t make worse of it by telling a lie.”
“Who’s telling a lie?” he cried aloud. “Tell you I wasn’t going to smoke it myself.”
“Then why did you go for it?”
“Never you mind,” he said sulkily, “Pipe’s gone—half-dollar pipe in a case—nobody won’t smoke it now, p’r’aps. Wish I hadn’t come.”
“So do I now,” I said hotly. “You did buy it to learn to smoke, and we’ve lost our passage through you.”
Esau was silent for a few moments, and then he came towards me and whispered—
“Don’t say that, sir. I saw what a shabby old clay pipe Mr Gunson had got, and I thought a good noo clean briar-root one would be a nice present for him, and I ran off to get it, and bought a big strong one as wouldn’t break. And then, as I was out, I thought I’d look in at some of the stores, and see if there wasn’t something that would do for you.”
“And you went off to buy me a pipe, my lad?” said Gunson, who had heard every word.
“Didn’t know you was listening,” said Esau, awkwardly.
“I could not help hearing. You were excited and spoke louder than you thought. Thank you, my lad, though I haven’t got the pipe. Well, how did you get on then?”
“That’s what I hardly know, sir. I s’pose those chaps we had the tussle with had seen me, and I was going stoopidly along after I’d bought your pipe—and it was such a good one—staring in at the windows thinking of what I could buy for him, for there don’t seem to be anything you can buy for a boy or a young fellow but a knife, and he’d got two already, when in one of the narrow streets, Shove! bang!”
“What?” I said.
“Shove! bang! Some one seemed to jump right on me, and drove me up against a door—bang, and I was knocked into a passage. ’Course I turned sharply to hit out, but five or six fellows had rushed in after me, and they shoved me along that passage and out into a yard, and then through another door, and before I knew where I was they’d got me down and were sitting on me.”
“But didn’t you holler out, or cry for help?”
“He says didn’t I holler out, or shout for help! I should just think I did; but before I’d opened my mouth more than twice they’d stuffed some dirty old rag in,—I believe it was some one’s pocket-hankychy,—and then they tied another over it and behind my head to keep it in, right over my nose too, and there I was.”
“But you saw the men,” said Gunson, who was deeply interested.
“Oh yes, I saw ’em. One of ’em was that long-haired chap; and it was him whose hands run so easy into my pockets, and who got off my coat and weskit, and slit up my shirt like this so as to get at the belt I had on with my money in it. He had that in a moment, the beggar! and then if he didn’t say my braces were good ’uns and he’d change. They were good ’uns too, real leather, as a saddler—”
“Well?” said Gunson. “What took place then?”
“Nothing; only that long-haired chap grinned at me and kicked me twice. ’Member that policeman as took us up, Mr Gordon?”
“Yes.”
“I only wish I could hand that long-haired chap over to him. Strikes me they’d cut his hair very short for him before they let him go.”
“But what happened next?”
“Nothing, sir; only they tied my hands behind me, and then put a rope round my ankles, and then one took hold of my head and another of my feet, and they give me a swing, and pitched me on to a heap of them dry leaves like we used to see put round the oranges down in Thames Street.”
“Indian corn,” said Gunson, shortly.
“Yes; and then they went out, and I heard ’em lock the door, leaving me in the half dark place nearly choked with that hankychy in my mouth.”
“Yes; go on, Esau,” I said eagerly. And just then the master of the boat spoke—
“Say, youngster, you was in for it. They meant to hit you over the head to-night, and chuck you into the harbour after dark.”
“Yes,” said Gunson.
“Well, I saved ’em the trouble,” said Esau. “Oh, I just was mad about that pipe; and I seemed to think more about them braces than I did about the money, because, you see, being sewed up like in a belt I never saw the money, and I used to see the braces, and think what good ones they was, every day.”
“Go on, Esau,” I said. “How did you get away?”
“Well, I lay there a bit frightened at first and listened, and all was still; and then I began to wonder what you and Mr Gunson would think about me, and last of all, as I couldn’t hardly breathe, and that great rag thing in my mouth half choked me, I turned over on my face, and began pushing and pushing like a pig, running my nose along till I got the hankychy that was tight round my face down over my nose, and then lower and lower over my mouth and chin, till it was loose round my neck.”
I glanced round and saw that the man who was forward had crept back, and that the other who held the sheet of the sail, and the master who was steering, were all listening attentively, while the boat rushed swiftly through the water.
“Next job,” said Esau, “was to get that choking rag out of my mouth; and hard work it was, for they’d rammed it in tight, and all the time I was trying I was listening too, so as to hear if they were coming. I say, ought one to feel so frightened as I did then?”
“Most people do,” said Gunson quietly.
“And ’nuff to make ’em,” said the master.
“Well, I kept on working away at it for what seemed to be hours,” continued Esau, “but all I could do was to get one end of the rag out between my teeth, and I couldn’t work it any further, but lay there with my jaws aching, and feeling as if I hadn’t got any hands or feet, because they’d tied ’em so tight.
“It was very horrid, for all the time as I lay there I was expecting them to come back, and I thought that if they did, and found me trying to get the things off, they’d half kill me. And didn’t I wish you’d been there to help me, and then was sorry I wished it, for I shouldn’t have liked anybody to have been in such a fix.
“I got so faint and dizzy at last that things began to go up and down, and round and round, and for ever so long I lay there thinking I was aboard ship again in the storm, just like when I was off my head at home with the fever I had when I was a little chap. But at last I came to again, and lay on my side wondering how I could get that horrible choking thing out of my mouth, for I couldn’t move it even now when I tried again, only hold a great piece between my teeth.
“The place was very dark, only light came in here and there through cracks and holes where the knots had been knocked out of some of the boards; and as I thought I said to myself, if I could get that thing out I might call for help; but directly after I felt that I dared not, for it would p’r’aps bring some of those chaps back.
“All at once, where the light came through a hole, I saw something that made my heart jump, and I wondered I had not seen it before. It was a hook fastened up against one of the joists, with some bits of rope hanging upon it. It was a sharp kind of thing, like the meat-hooks you see nailed up against the sides of a butcher’s shop; and I began rolling myself over the rustling leaves, over and over, till I was up against the side, and then it was a long time before I could get up on my knees and look up at the hook.
“But I couldn’t reach it, and I had to try and get on to my feet. It took a long time, and I went down twice before I was standing, and even then I went down again; for though I did stand up, I didn’t know I had any feet, for all the feeling was gone. Then all at once down I went sidewise, and lay there as miserable as could be, for I couldn’t hardly move. But at last I had another try, getting on to my knees, and taking tight hold of the edge of one of the side pieces of wood with my teeth; and somehow or other I got on my feet again and worked myself along, nearly falling over and over again, before I could touch the hook with my chin, and there I stood for fear I should fall, and the hook run into me and hold me.”
“What did you want the hook for, boy?” said the master, shifting his rudder a little, and leaning forward with his face full in the moonlight, and looking deeply interested.
“What did I want the hook for?” said Esau, with a little laugh. “I’ll tell you directly.”
The master nodded, and the others drew a little nearer.
“What I wanted was to hold that end of the great rag in my teeth, and see if I couldn’t fix it on the hook; and after a lot of tries I did, and then began to hang back from it gently, to see if I couldn’t draw the stuff out of my mouth.”
“And could you?” I said eagerly.
“Yes; it began to come slowly more and more, till it was about half out, and then the sick feeling that had come over me again got worse and worse, and the hook and the great dark warehouse place swam round, and I didn’t know any more till I opened my eyes as I lay on the leaves, staring at a great wet dirty rag hanging on that hook, and I was able to breathe freely now.
“I felt so much better that I could think more easily; but I was very miserable, for I got thinking about you two, and I knew I must have been there a very long time, and that the schooner was to sail at twelve o’clock, so I felt sure that you would go without me, and think I’d been frightened and wouldn’t come.”
“That’s what I did think,” said Gunson; “but Mayne Gordon here stuck up for you all through.”
“Thankye, Mr Gordon,” said Esau, who was gently chafing his wrists. “That’s being a good mate. No, I wouldn’t back out. I meant coming when I’d said I would. Well, next thing was to get my hands clear, and that done, of course I could easily do my legs. So I began to get up again, with my feet feeling nowhere; and as I tried, to wonder what I was going to do next, for I couldn’t see no way of getting out of a place with no windows in, not even a skylight at the top. But anyhow I meant to have that rope off my hands, and I was thinking then that if the hook could help me get rid of the rag, it might help me to get rid of the tie round my wrists.”
“O’ course,” said the master. “See, lads,” he said, turning round to his two companions; “he gets the hook in threw the last knot and hitches the end out. That’s easy enough;” and the two men uttered a low growl.
“Oh, is it?” said Esau. “Just you be tied up with your hands behind you for hours, and all pins-and-needles, and numb, and you try behind you to get that hook through the knot in the right place. You wouldn’t say it was easy.”
“But anyways that was hard, I reckon,” said the master.
“Yes, that was hard,” said Esau; “but I kep on seeming to tighten it, and the more I tried the worse it was; till all at once, as I strained and reached up behind me, I slipped a little, and the hook was fast somehow, and nearly jerked my arms out of my shoulders as I hung forward now, with my feet giving way, and I couldn’t get up again.”
“If a fellow had on’y ha’ been there with a knife,” said the master, shaking his head.
“Yes; but he wasn’t,” cried Esau; “and there I hung for ever so long, giving myself a bit of a wriggle now and then, but afraid to do much, it hurt so, dragging at my arms, while they were twisted up. I s’pose I must have been ’bout an hour like that, but it seemed a week, and I was beginning to get sick again, when all at once, after a good struggle, I fell forward on to my face in amongst the dry leaves. My wrists and hands were tingling dreadfully, but they did not feel so numb now; and after a bit, as I moved them gently up and down, one over the other, so as to get rid of the pain, I began to find I could move them a little more and a little more, till at last, as I worked away at them in a regular state of ’citement, I pulled one of ’em right out, and sat up comfortable with my hands in my lap.”
“Well done, well done,” cried the master; and I could not help joining in the murmur of satisfaction uttered by the men.
“And then yew began to look at the rope round your legs,” said one of the latter.
“That I just did,” said Esau; “but my fingers were so bad it took me hours, as it seemed, before I had those knots undone.”
“But yew got ’em off?” said the master. “Oh yes, I got ’em off at last, every knot undone; but when I’d unwound the rope, there I sat, feeling as if it was not a bit of use, for I could not move my feet, nor yet stand. They felt as if they were made of wood.”
“Yew should have chafed ’em, stranger,” said one of the men.
“Well, of course that’s what he did do, mate,” said the master, reprovingly; “and yew got ’em to work easy at last, didn’t you?”
“Yes, that’s what I did do, when they would work. I had to set to and see if I couldn’t get away out of that place.”
“’Fore them scallywags come back,” said the master, drawing a long breath. “That’s right.”
“There was the door locked fast,” continued Esau, “and I knew I couldn’t get out that way; so as there was no windows, and the boards were all nailed down tight, the only way seemed to be through the roof.”
“I know,” said the master, changing the course of the boat. “Yew meant to get up, knock off some shingles, and then let yewrself down with the two ropes tied together.”
“Look here,” said Esau, ill-humouredly, “you’d better tell the story.”
“No, no, stranger; go on, go on,” said the master, apologetically. “Go on, go on.”
“Well, that’s just what I was going to do,” said Esau, condescendingly, “only there wasn’t any shingles that I saw, but the place was covered over with wooden slates.”
“Those are what they call shingles, my lad,” said Gunson.
“Oh, very well, I don’t care,” said Esau, acidly. “All I know is, I joined those two pieces of rope together, tied one end round my waist, and I was just going to climb up the side to the rafters, when I thought to myself I might meet somebody outside, who’d try to stop me; and though I felt that you two would be gone, I didn’t want to have taken all my trouble for nothing, and be locked up there again. So I had a bit of a look round, and picked out from some wood in a corner a pretty tidy bit, with a good headache at the end.”
The master chuckled.
“And I’d no sooner done that than I heard some one coming.”
“Did yew get behind the door?” said the master hoarsely. “Yew said it was dark.”
“I do wish you’d let me go on my own way,” said Esau, in an ill-used tone.
“Yes, yes, yes; go on, my lad, go on,” said the master.
“Why can’t you let him bide!” growled the others; and I saw Gunson looking on in an amused way, as he turned from watching the distant schooner, far enough away now.
“My wrists and my ankles ache so I can’t hardly bear it,” continued Esau; “and when you keep on putting in your spoon it worries me.”
“Yes, yes, my lad; I won’t do so no more.”
“’Tain’t as if I was a reg’lar story-teller,” grumbled Esau. “I ain’t used to this sort o’ thing.”
“Go on telling us, Esau,” I said. “They were only eager to know.”
“Well,” he continued, “that’s what I did do, as it was dark. I got behind the door with that there stick in my hand, just as I heard the key rattling in the lock, and then the door was opened, and the leaves rustled, and I saw just dimly that there long-haired chap’s head come in slowly; and he seemed to me to look puzzled, as he stared at the heap of leaves as if he thought I’d crept under ’em and gone to sleep.”
At this moment I looked round, to see in the bright moonlight the faces of the master and the two fishermen watching Esau excitedly, as they waited for the end of the scene he described. Gunson’s face was in shadow now, but he too was leaning forward, while, in the interest of the recollection of what he had passed through, Esau began to act as well as speak. He raised one hand as if it was still grasping the head-aching stick, and leaned toward the listeners, looking from one to the other as he spoke, and as if the narrative was intended expressly for them and not for us.
“All at once,” continued Esau, “he took a stepforward toward the heap of leaves, and then another, and then he turned sharply round as if he had heard me move or felt I was close behind him. But when a man tries to jump out of the way, he don’t move so quickly as a big stick. I’d got that well up with both hands, and down it came right on his head, and there he was lying just about where him and the rest of ’em had pitched me.”
“Ah!” ejaculated the master, and his two companions gave a shout and jumped up.
“Sit down, will yew!” he shouted. “Want to swamp the boat. He arn’t done yet.”
“Not quite,” said Esau. “I felt horrid frightened as soon as I’d done it, for fear I’d given it him too hard, and I turned to run out of the place, but I could hear a lot of men talking, so I took out the key, put it inside, and shut and locked the door. Then I clambered up the side and soon had some of those wooden slates off, to find as I crawled on to the roof that it was quite evening, and whereabouts I was to get down I couldn’t tell. I dare not stop though, for fear the others should come to look after their mate, so unfastening the rope from my waist I tied it to a rafter, slid down as far as it would reach, and hung swinging at the end, thinking that it was all no good, for you two would be gone; and then I dropped, and found myself in a yard.
“Some one saw me and shouted,” continued Esau, “but I didn’t stop to hear what he had to say, for I went over first one fence and then another till I got out into a lane, at the bottom of which was a street; and then I went into one after the other, looking like a fellow begging, till I knew where I was, and got down at last to the hotel.”
“And well done too!” cried Gunson, clapping him on the shoulder. “All to get me a new pipe, eh?”
“Yes; and I’ll get you another too some day.”
“I knew you wouldn’t leave me in the lurch, Esau,” I whispered; and then I started, for the master brought down his hand with a heavy slap on his knee.
“That was a good ’un,” he cried. “There’s too many o’ them sort in ’Frisco, and it gives the place a bad name. I don’t wish that loafer any harm, but I hope you’ve killed him.”
“I hope not,” I said, fervently.
“Best thing as could happen to him, my lad,” said the man. “You see he’s a regular bad ’un now, and he’d go on getting worse and worse, so the kindest thing your mate could do was to finish him off. But he arn’t done it. Them sort’s as hard as lobsters. Take a deal o’ licking to get through the rind.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Gunson just then.
“What’s matter?”
“She is leaving us behind,” said Gunson, as he looked sadly out to sea.
“Now she arn’t,” said the master; “and I arn’t going to let her. Her skipper and me’s had many a argyment together ’bout his craft, and he’s precious fond o’ jeering and fleering at me about my bit of a cutter, and thinks he can sail twiced as fast. I’m going tew show him he can’t.”
“Do you think you can overtake him then?” I cried eagerly.
“Dunno about overtake, my lad, but I’m going to overhaul him. Here, Zeke, come and lay hold of this here tiller. You keep her full. Elim, you and me’s going to get up that forsle. I’m going tew put yew chaps aboard o’ that schooner if I sail on for a week.”
“Without provisions?” said Gunson, sadly.
“Who says ’thout provisions,” retorted the man. “There’s a locker forrard and there’s a locker aft, for we never know how long we may be getting back when we’re out fishing. I say I’m going to put you aboard that there schooner for the dollars as we ’greed on first, and if I don’t, why I’m more of a Dutchman than lots o’ them as comes from the east to set up business in ’Frisco. There!”
Chapter Sixteen.Emulating the Cornishmen.Unwittingly we had made friends with the master of the little fishing craft and his men; and as we sat watching them in the moonlight, and looking away at the schooner, which always stood out in the distance faint and misty, as if some thing of shadow instead of real, a spar was got out from where it was lashed below the thwarts, and run out over the bows, a bolt or two holding it in its place, while the stays were made fast to the masthead and the sides of the boat. Then a large red sail was drawn out of the locker forward, bent on, run up, and the boat heeled over more and more.“Don’t capsize us,” said Gunson. “Can she bear all that sail?”“Ay, and more too. If we capsized yew we should capsize ourselves too, and what’s more, our missuses at home, and that wouldn’t do. We won’t capsize yew. Only sit well up to the side, and don’t mind a sprinkle of water now and then. I’m going to make the old girl fly.”He chuckled as he saw the difference the fresh spread of canvas had made in the boat’s progress, and, taking the tiller now himself, he seemed to send the light craft skimming over the sea, and leaving an ever-widening path of foam glittering in the moonlight behind.“That’s different, my lads, eh?” the master said, with a fresh chuckle. “Yew see yew were only kind o’ passengers before—so many dollar passengers; now yew’re kind o’ friends as we wants to oblige, while we’re cutting yonder skipper’s comb for him. Say, do yew know what they do in Cornwall in England? I’ll tell yew. When they want to make a skipper wild who’s precious proud of his craft, they hystes up a bit more sail, runs by him, and then goes aft and holds out a rope’s end, and asks him if they shall give him a tow. That’s what I’m going to do to the schooner’s skipper, so don’t you fret no more. You hold tight, and you shall be aboard some time.”“I hope we shall,” said Gunson quietly; but I could feel that there was doubt in his tones, and as I looked at the shadowy image away there in the offing, the case seemed very hopeless indeed.We had been sailing for some time now, but the distance from the city was not very great, the wind not having been favourable. Consequently our course had been a series of tacks to and fro, like the zigzags of a mountain road. Still we had this on our side—the schooner had to shape her course in the same way, and suffer from the constant little succession of calms as we did.The confident tone of our skipper was encouraging, but we could not feel very sure when we saw from time to time that the schooner was evidently leaving us behind. But we had not calculated on our man’s nautical knowledge, for as we got further out he began to manoeuvre so as to make shorter tacks, and at last, when the moon was rising high in the heavens, and we were getting well out from under the influence of the land, the easy way in which the course of the boat could be changed gave us a great advantage, and towards midnight our hopes rose high.“There,” said our skipper, “what do yew say now? That’s a little craft to move, ain’t she?”“Move? she flies,” said Gunson; “but with this wind, arn’t you carrying too much sail?”“Not enough,” said the skipper gruffly. “You let me alone. Only thing that can hurt us is a spar going, and they won’t do that. That there mast and bowsprit both came from up where you’re going—Vancouver Island. There’s some fine sticks of timber up there.”We eased off the way of the boat a little, for water was lapping over the bows, and even he had tacitly agreed that we were heeling over more than was quite safe.“Swab that drop o’ juice up,” he growled; and one of the men quietly mopped up the water, of which there was not enough to bale.“She must see us now,” said Gunson, after another long interval, during which we all sat holding on by the gunwale.“See us? Oh, she sees us plain enough.”“Then why doesn’t she heave to?”“Skipper’s too obstint. Perhaps he don’t think there’s any one aboard, for it’s misty to make anything out in the moonlight, even with a glass. P’r’aps he knows the boat again, and won’t take no heed because it’s me. But you wait a bit; we’re going through the water free now, eh, squire?”“You’ll sink her directly,” said Esau, who had already grasped the fact that a vessel was always “she.”“Not I. I say, you didn’t expect a ride like this t’night, did yew?”“No,” said Esau, whose attention was all taken up with holding on to the side.“No, not yew. Steady, my lass, steady,” he said softly, as the boat made a plunge or two. “Don’t kick. Say, youngster, any message for that there chap as you hit?”“Yes; tell him I’ll set the police to work if ever I come back here.”“Right. I’ll tell him. I know where to find him.”“Where will that be?” I said, wondering whether he meant the very worst; and I breathed more freely as I heard his answer.“In the hospital, lad, in the hospital. They’ll have to mend the crack in his head, for I dessay your mate here hit as hard as he could.”“I did,” said Esau.And now we sat in silence gazing at the moonlit water, with its wonderful flecks of silvery ripple, then at the misty schooner, and then across at the lights of the city; while I wondered at the fact that one could go on sailing so long, and that the distance looked so small, for a mile at sea seemed to be a mere sham.“What do yew say now?” said the master an hour later. “Shall we overhaul her?”“Yes, we must catch her now,” said Gunson, excitedly. “Don’t overdo it when we are so near success.”“Yew let me alone; yew let me be,” he grumbled. “I’m going to putt yew aboard that craft, first, because I think yew all ought to be helped; and second, because I want to show the schooner’s skipper that he arn’t everybody on these shores.”On we went through the silver water, with the path behind us looking like molten metal, and the wind seeming to hiss by us and rattle in the boat’s sails, we went so fast. Every now and then from where I sat I could look down and see that the lee bulwark almost dipped under water, but always when it was within apparently half an inch of the surface the master eased the boat and it rose a little.The schooner was going on the opposite tack to ours, so that when at last we crossed her we seemed so near that one might have hailed; but in obedience to the master’s wish we passed on in silence, so as to let him enjoy the triumph of over-sailing the bigger vessel, and then hailing her after the Cornwall fashion of which he had boasted.“Now,” he said, “we’re ahead.” And almost at that moment there was a loud crack, the mast went by the thwarts, and the sails lay like the wings of a wounded bird upon the silvery sea.
Unwittingly we had made friends with the master of the little fishing craft and his men; and as we sat watching them in the moonlight, and looking away at the schooner, which always stood out in the distance faint and misty, as if some thing of shadow instead of real, a spar was got out from where it was lashed below the thwarts, and run out over the bows, a bolt or two holding it in its place, while the stays were made fast to the masthead and the sides of the boat. Then a large red sail was drawn out of the locker forward, bent on, run up, and the boat heeled over more and more.
“Don’t capsize us,” said Gunson. “Can she bear all that sail?”
“Ay, and more too. If we capsized yew we should capsize ourselves too, and what’s more, our missuses at home, and that wouldn’t do. We won’t capsize yew. Only sit well up to the side, and don’t mind a sprinkle of water now and then. I’m going to make the old girl fly.”
He chuckled as he saw the difference the fresh spread of canvas had made in the boat’s progress, and, taking the tiller now himself, he seemed to send the light craft skimming over the sea, and leaving an ever-widening path of foam glittering in the moonlight behind.
“That’s different, my lads, eh?” the master said, with a fresh chuckle. “Yew see yew were only kind o’ passengers before—so many dollar passengers; now yew’re kind o’ friends as we wants to oblige, while we’re cutting yonder skipper’s comb for him. Say, do yew know what they do in Cornwall in England? I’ll tell yew. When they want to make a skipper wild who’s precious proud of his craft, they hystes up a bit more sail, runs by him, and then goes aft and holds out a rope’s end, and asks him if they shall give him a tow. That’s what I’m going to do to the schooner’s skipper, so don’t you fret no more. You hold tight, and you shall be aboard some time.”
“I hope we shall,” said Gunson quietly; but I could feel that there was doubt in his tones, and as I looked at the shadowy image away there in the offing, the case seemed very hopeless indeed.
We had been sailing for some time now, but the distance from the city was not very great, the wind not having been favourable. Consequently our course had been a series of tacks to and fro, like the zigzags of a mountain road. Still we had this on our side—the schooner had to shape her course in the same way, and suffer from the constant little succession of calms as we did.
The confident tone of our skipper was encouraging, but we could not feel very sure when we saw from time to time that the schooner was evidently leaving us behind. But we had not calculated on our man’s nautical knowledge, for as we got further out he began to manoeuvre so as to make shorter tacks, and at last, when the moon was rising high in the heavens, and we were getting well out from under the influence of the land, the easy way in which the course of the boat could be changed gave us a great advantage, and towards midnight our hopes rose high.
“There,” said our skipper, “what do yew say now? That’s a little craft to move, ain’t she?”
“Move? she flies,” said Gunson; “but with this wind, arn’t you carrying too much sail?”
“Not enough,” said the skipper gruffly. “You let me alone. Only thing that can hurt us is a spar going, and they won’t do that. That there mast and bowsprit both came from up where you’re going—Vancouver Island. There’s some fine sticks of timber up there.”
We eased off the way of the boat a little, for water was lapping over the bows, and even he had tacitly agreed that we were heeling over more than was quite safe.
“Swab that drop o’ juice up,” he growled; and one of the men quietly mopped up the water, of which there was not enough to bale.
“She must see us now,” said Gunson, after another long interval, during which we all sat holding on by the gunwale.
“See us? Oh, she sees us plain enough.”
“Then why doesn’t she heave to?”
“Skipper’s too obstint. Perhaps he don’t think there’s any one aboard, for it’s misty to make anything out in the moonlight, even with a glass. P’r’aps he knows the boat again, and won’t take no heed because it’s me. But you wait a bit; we’re going through the water free now, eh, squire?”
“You’ll sink her directly,” said Esau, who had already grasped the fact that a vessel was always “she.”
“Not I. I say, you didn’t expect a ride like this t’night, did yew?”
“No,” said Esau, whose attention was all taken up with holding on to the side.
“No, not yew. Steady, my lass, steady,” he said softly, as the boat made a plunge or two. “Don’t kick. Say, youngster, any message for that there chap as you hit?”
“Yes; tell him I’ll set the police to work if ever I come back here.”
“Right. I’ll tell him. I know where to find him.”
“Where will that be?” I said, wondering whether he meant the very worst; and I breathed more freely as I heard his answer.
“In the hospital, lad, in the hospital. They’ll have to mend the crack in his head, for I dessay your mate here hit as hard as he could.”
“I did,” said Esau.
And now we sat in silence gazing at the moonlit water, with its wonderful flecks of silvery ripple, then at the misty schooner, and then across at the lights of the city; while I wondered at the fact that one could go on sailing so long, and that the distance looked so small, for a mile at sea seemed to be a mere sham.
“What do yew say now?” said the master an hour later. “Shall we overhaul her?”
“Yes, we must catch her now,” said Gunson, excitedly. “Don’t overdo it when we are so near success.”
“Yew let me alone; yew let me be,” he grumbled. “I’m going to putt yew aboard that craft, first, because I think yew all ought to be helped; and second, because I want to show the schooner’s skipper that he arn’t everybody on these shores.”
On we went through the silver water, with the path behind us looking like molten metal, and the wind seeming to hiss by us and rattle in the boat’s sails, we went so fast. Every now and then from where I sat I could look down and see that the lee bulwark almost dipped under water, but always when it was within apparently half an inch of the surface the master eased the boat and it rose a little.
The schooner was going on the opposite tack to ours, so that when at last we crossed her we seemed so near that one might have hailed; but in obedience to the master’s wish we passed on in silence, so as to let him enjoy the triumph of over-sailing the bigger vessel, and then hailing her after the Cornwall fashion of which he had boasted.
“Now,” he said, “we’re ahead.” And almost at that moment there was a loud crack, the mast went by the thwarts, and the sails lay like the wings of a wounded bird upon the silvery sea.
Chapter Seventeen.“It’s them.”“Wal,” said the master, “reckon that arn’t quite such a good stick as I thout it war.”I sat looking despondently at the wreck, for the accident had happened just as I felt sure of our overtaking the schooner, which was rapidly gliding away from us again, when Esau caught hold of my arm.“I say, arn’t going to the bottom, are we?”“All our trouble for nothing, I’m afraid, my lads,” said Gunson.“What are yew two looking at?” roared the master. “Going to let them two sails drag down under the boat? Haul ’em in, will yew!”These words startled the two men into action, and they began to loosen the ropes and haul in the sails rapidly, prior to getting the broken mast on board.“Wal, might ha’ been worse,” said the master, giving his head a scratch; “but there goes your dollars, mister, for a new stick.”“I’ll pay for it,” said Gunson, quickly. “Could you rig up the broken spar afresh?”“Guess I’m going to try.”“Do you think they could hear us on the schooner if we all shouted together?”“No, I don’t, my lad. If I had, I would have opened my mouth to onced. Here, let me come by; them two’s going to sleep. I want to fix that stick up again. I won’t be able to give the schooner a tow this time. He’s beat me, but I’ll do it yet.”He set to work getting out the broken stump, which was standing jagged above the thwart, and looked at it thoughtfully.“Make a nice bit o’ firewood for the old woman,” he said, as he laid it down forward before beginning to examine the broken end of the mast.“Guess yew arn’t got such a thing as a saw in your pocket, hev you, either on yew?” he continued, with a grim smile. “Not yew! One never has got what one wants in one’s pocket. Lend a hand here, Elim, never mind about them stays. Don’t shove: them sharp ends ’ll go through the bottom. If they do, one of you youngsters ’ll hev to putt your leg through the hole to keep the water out. Now, Zeke, never mind the sail. Hyste away.”Between them they raised the broken mast, which was now about three feet shorter, tightened the ropes, and, just as the schooner was coming back on the next tack, to pass us about half a mile away, the master said—“They ought to see as we’re in trouble, but I ’spect they’re nearly all asleep. Here, all on yew be ready, and when I cry,hail! open your shoulders, and all together give ’em a goodahoy! Not yet, mind—not till I speak. Lot o’ little footy squeaks arn’t no good; we must have a big shout. Guess we shan’t haul up the sail till we’ve tried whether they’ll lay to.”The schooner came nearer and nearer, with her sails growing so plain that even the ropes that held them glistened white in the moonlight, and looking so beautiful as she glided smoothly onward, that for the moment I forgot our predicament; but I was roused up at last by the master’s voice.“All together!” he said, quietly. “Hail!”Our voices rose high in a discordant shout.“Now again,” cried the master.Our voices rose once more, and then another shout broke the stillness of the soft night air; but the schooner glided on, her sails hiding everything, so that we did not see a soul on board save the man at the wheel, whose white face gleamed for a few moments as it emerged from the black shadow cast by the great mainsail.“They’re all asleep,” cried the master, fiercely. “Here, lay holt, Zeke. I say, squire, take holt o’ the tiller, and keep her straight. Hyste away, Elim, we’ll show ’em the rope’s end yet.”“Look!” cried Gunson, quickly.“Eh? Why, they did hear us,” cried the master, in a disappointed tone. “Why didn’t they hail back? Shan’t show him the rope’s end arter all.”For the schooner glided slowly round till she was head to wind; and instead of her sails curving out in the moonlight, they were now dark, save where they shivered and flapped to and fro, so that a part of the canvas glistened now and then in the light.“Ahoy!” came faintly from her decks, for she was a quarter of a mile away; and in a few minutes a boat dropped over the side with a splash, and four men began to row toward us.“There you are,” said the master, grimly; “they’ll take you aboard now. Going up the Fraser, arn’t you?”“Yes, I hope so,” said Gunson, as he thrust his hand into his pocket, and then handed some money to the old man, who took it with a dissatisfied grunt, and turned it over in his rough hand.“What’s this?” he said roughly; “ten dollars. There, we said five. Take them back.” He held out half the money. “No, no: bargain’s a bargain. Lay holt.”“But the broken spar?”“Don’t you fret yewrself about that. I’m going to show it to him as sold it to me, and make him take it again. There, good luck to you all. Good-bye, youngsters; and if you find any gold up yonder, bring me back a little bit to make a brooch for my old missus.”Gunson pressed him to keep the money, but he refused angrily.“Shake hands, all on yew, and good-bye. I meant to put you all aboard, and I’ve done it, arn’t I?”“Indeed you have,” I said; “and we are very grateful.”“That’s right, lad,” he said, shaking hands warmly; after which the others held out their hands, and to my great satisfaction Gunson said—“Will you let me give these two a dollar each?”“Oh, very well,” grunted the master. “If yew’ve got so much money to throw away, yew can dew it.”“Hillo!” came from the fast-nearing boat, “what’s the matter?—sinking?”“No,” roared the master. “Sinking indeed! What yer going off and leaving all your passengers behind for?”“Oh,” said a gruff voice, “it’s them.”It was the skipper of the schooner who spoke, and a quarter of an hour later we were on board his vessel, waving our caps to the master and his two sturdy fisher-lads, as, with their shortened sails now filling, the boat began to glide rapidly back, while the schooner’s head was turned once more for the open sea.“Thought you warn’t coming,” said the skipper, gruffly, after seeing that the little boat was swinging safely from the davits.“Yes, it was a close shave,” replied Gunson, who hardly spoke again to us, but went below; and soon after we two were fast asleep, forgetful of all the past troubles of the day.
“Wal,” said the master, “reckon that arn’t quite such a good stick as I thout it war.”
I sat looking despondently at the wreck, for the accident had happened just as I felt sure of our overtaking the schooner, which was rapidly gliding away from us again, when Esau caught hold of my arm.
“I say, arn’t going to the bottom, are we?”
“All our trouble for nothing, I’m afraid, my lads,” said Gunson.
“What are yew two looking at?” roared the master. “Going to let them two sails drag down under the boat? Haul ’em in, will yew!”
These words startled the two men into action, and they began to loosen the ropes and haul in the sails rapidly, prior to getting the broken mast on board.
“Wal, might ha’ been worse,” said the master, giving his head a scratch; “but there goes your dollars, mister, for a new stick.”
“I’ll pay for it,” said Gunson, quickly. “Could you rig up the broken spar afresh?”
“Guess I’m going to try.”
“Do you think they could hear us on the schooner if we all shouted together?”
“No, I don’t, my lad. If I had, I would have opened my mouth to onced. Here, let me come by; them two’s going to sleep. I want to fix that stick up again. I won’t be able to give the schooner a tow this time. He’s beat me, but I’ll do it yet.”
He set to work getting out the broken stump, which was standing jagged above the thwart, and looked at it thoughtfully.
“Make a nice bit o’ firewood for the old woman,” he said, as he laid it down forward before beginning to examine the broken end of the mast.
“Guess yew arn’t got such a thing as a saw in your pocket, hev you, either on yew?” he continued, with a grim smile. “Not yew! One never has got what one wants in one’s pocket. Lend a hand here, Elim, never mind about them stays. Don’t shove: them sharp ends ’ll go through the bottom. If they do, one of you youngsters ’ll hev to putt your leg through the hole to keep the water out. Now, Zeke, never mind the sail. Hyste away.”
Between them they raised the broken mast, which was now about three feet shorter, tightened the ropes, and, just as the schooner was coming back on the next tack, to pass us about half a mile away, the master said—
“They ought to see as we’re in trouble, but I ’spect they’re nearly all asleep. Here, all on yew be ready, and when I cry,hail! open your shoulders, and all together give ’em a goodahoy! Not yet, mind—not till I speak. Lot o’ little footy squeaks arn’t no good; we must have a big shout. Guess we shan’t haul up the sail till we’ve tried whether they’ll lay to.”
The schooner came nearer and nearer, with her sails growing so plain that even the ropes that held them glistened white in the moonlight, and looking so beautiful as she glided smoothly onward, that for the moment I forgot our predicament; but I was roused up at last by the master’s voice.
“All together!” he said, quietly. “Hail!”
Our voices rose high in a discordant shout.
“Now again,” cried the master.
Our voices rose once more, and then another shout broke the stillness of the soft night air; but the schooner glided on, her sails hiding everything, so that we did not see a soul on board save the man at the wheel, whose white face gleamed for a few moments as it emerged from the black shadow cast by the great mainsail.
“They’re all asleep,” cried the master, fiercely. “Here, lay holt, Zeke. I say, squire, take holt o’ the tiller, and keep her straight. Hyste away, Elim, we’ll show ’em the rope’s end yet.”
“Look!” cried Gunson, quickly.
“Eh? Why, they did hear us,” cried the master, in a disappointed tone. “Why didn’t they hail back? Shan’t show him the rope’s end arter all.”
For the schooner glided slowly round till she was head to wind; and instead of her sails curving out in the moonlight, they were now dark, save where they shivered and flapped to and fro, so that a part of the canvas glistened now and then in the light.
“Ahoy!” came faintly from her decks, for she was a quarter of a mile away; and in a few minutes a boat dropped over the side with a splash, and four men began to row toward us.
“There you are,” said the master, grimly; “they’ll take you aboard now. Going up the Fraser, arn’t you?”
“Yes, I hope so,” said Gunson, as he thrust his hand into his pocket, and then handed some money to the old man, who took it with a dissatisfied grunt, and turned it over in his rough hand.
“What’s this?” he said roughly; “ten dollars. There, we said five. Take them back.” He held out half the money. “No, no: bargain’s a bargain. Lay holt.”
“But the broken spar?”
“Don’t you fret yewrself about that. I’m going to show it to him as sold it to me, and make him take it again. There, good luck to you all. Good-bye, youngsters; and if you find any gold up yonder, bring me back a little bit to make a brooch for my old missus.”
Gunson pressed him to keep the money, but he refused angrily.
“Shake hands, all on yew, and good-bye. I meant to put you all aboard, and I’ve done it, arn’t I?”
“Indeed you have,” I said; “and we are very grateful.”
“That’s right, lad,” he said, shaking hands warmly; after which the others held out their hands, and to my great satisfaction Gunson said—
“Will you let me give these two a dollar each?”
“Oh, very well,” grunted the master. “If yew’ve got so much money to throw away, yew can dew it.”
“Hillo!” came from the fast-nearing boat, “what’s the matter?—sinking?”
“No,” roared the master. “Sinking indeed! What yer going off and leaving all your passengers behind for?”
“Oh,” said a gruff voice, “it’s them.”
It was the skipper of the schooner who spoke, and a quarter of an hour later we were on board his vessel, waving our caps to the master and his two sturdy fisher-lads, as, with their shortened sails now filling, the boat began to glide rapidly back, while the schooner’s head was turned once more for the open sea.
“Thought you warn’t coming,” said the skipper, gruffly, after seeing that the little boat was swinging safely from the davits.
“Yes, it was a close shave,” replied Gunson, who hardly spoke again to us, but went below; and soon after we two were fast asleep, forgetful of all the past troubles of the day.
Chapter Eighteen.British Columbia.When I awoke next morning it was blowing hard, and the timbers of the schooner were groaning and creaking so dismally, that when every now and then a wave struck the bows, Esau turned to me and shook his head, “Next big one as comes ’ll knock her all to pieces.”We did not care much for our breakfast, for more than one reason, and were glad to get on deck, where we found Gunson talking with the skipper, or I should say Gunson talking, and the old captain rolling an eye, or giving a short nod now and then. Away to our right lay the coast of California, with its pale-coloured bare-looking cliffs appearing anything but attractive; and as we tossed about in the little schooner, I could not help thinking how different it was to the great clipper-ship in which we had sailed round the Horn.We were soon glad to go below again, and there, as Esau could not get at his chest, which was down in the hold, he was glad to accept the loan of a blue jersey from one of the sailors, so as to set Gunson’s jacket at liberty.It was almost a repetition of our experience in theAlbatrossfor some days, only in this case we could have gone on deck at any time; but there was no temptation to do so, for it meant holding on by the side, and being soaked by the spray which kept on flying aboard.During those days Esau passed the greater part of his time lying down, and about once an hour he got into the habit of lifting his head, and looking at me fixedly.“I say,” he would begin.“Yes?”“Don’t think I shall take to sailoring;” and I agreed with him that other lines would be pleasanter.It was not that we were so very cowardly, for the sailors we spoke to all agreed that it was one of the worst trips they had ever had along the coast; and we afterwards heard that the skipper had been very anxious more than once. But there is always an end to bad weather; and the morning came when I went on deck to find sky and sea of a lovely blue, and away to my right a glorious green land, with swelling hills, forests of pines, and beyond them, dazzlingly white in the bright sunshine, the tops of two snow-capped mountains.As I leaned aft, gazing at the beautiful land, my spirits began to grow brighter, and I was turning round to go down and fetch Esau to come and see the place, when I found that Gunson had come on deck too, and was looking at me in his peculiar manner which always repelled me.“Is that British Columbia?” I said, to break an awkward silence, for he stood perfectly silent, fixing me with that one piercing eye.“No, not yet—that’s Yankee-land still. We’ve got to get into the Straits yet before we can see our country.”“Straits—Gibraltar?” I said thoughtlessly; and then I felt red in the face at my stupidity.“Not exactly, my lad,” he said, laughing. “Why, my geography is better than yours. The straits we go through are those of Juan de Fuca, the old sailor who discovered them. But from what I know of it, the country is very much the same as this. Think it will do for you?”“It is lovely,” I cried, enthusiastically.“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, and speaking in a quiet soft way that seemed to be very different from his appearance; “a lovely land—a land of promise. I hope your people will all get up yonder safe and sound. It is a long, weary task they have before them.”“Can’t be worse than ours has been,” I said.“Well, no, I suppose not; but very trying to those poor women. Look here, my lad,” he said, after a pause, “how are you going to manage when you get ashore at Victoria?”“Start at once for Fort Elk.”“How?”“Get somebody who knows the way to tell us, and then walk on a few miles every day. It can’t be very difficult to find if we keep along the river bank.”“Along the towing-path, eh?”“Yes, if there is one,” I said, eagerly.“Towing-path! Why, you young innocent,” he cried, angrily, “don’t you know that it’s a fierce wild mountain-torrent, running through canons, and in deep mountain valleys, with vast forests wherever trees can grow, all packed closely together—sometimes so close that you can hardly force your way through?”“I did not know it was like that,” I said; “but we must make the best of it, I suppose. If we can’t go twenty miles a day we must go fifteen.”“Or ten, or five, or one,” he cried, with a contemptuous laugh. “Why, Mayne, my lad, that last will often be the extent of your journey.”I looked at him in dismay.“You have no friends then at Victoria—no introductions?”I shook my head.“And you do not even seem to know that Victoria is on an island, from which you will have to cross to the mouth of the Fraser.”“I’m afraid I am very ignorant,” I said, bitterly; “but I am going to try to learn. I suppose there are villages here and there up the country?”“Perhaps a few, not many yet; but you will find some settler’s place now and then.”“Well, they will be English people,” I said, “and they will help us.”“Of course.”“Where are you going?” I asked suddenly.He gave a little start, and his face relaxed.“I?” he said quickly, and he looked as if he were going to take me into his confidence; but just then Esau came on deck to stand looking shoreward, and Gunson turned cold and stern directly. “Don’t know for certain,” he replied. “Morning, my lad,” to Esau, and then walked forward to speak to the skipper.“There, Esau,” I said eagerly; “that’s something like a country to come to,” for the fresh beauties which were unfolding in the morning sun made me forget all Gunson’s suggestions of difficulties.“Yes, that’s something like,” said Esau. “What makes those big hills look so blue as that?”“They are mountains, and I suppose it’s the morning mist.”“Mountains!” said Esau, contemptuously, “not much o’ mountains. Why, that one over yonder don’t look much bigger than Primrose Hill.”“Not much,” said Gunson, who was walking back with the skipper. “Very much like it too, especially the snow on the top. How far is that mountain off?” he added, turning to the skipper.“Hunard miles,” grunted the person addressed.“Look here,” whispered Esau, as soon as we were alone, for the skipper and Gunson went below, “I don’t say that he hasn’t been very civil to us, and he helped us nicely about getting on here, but I don’t like that chap. Do you?”“I really don’t know,” I said with a laugh.“Well, I do know. He looks at one with that eye of his, as if he was thinking about the money in your belt all the time.”“He can’t be thinking about yours,” I said drily.“Oh dear! I forgot that,” said Esau. “But all the same, I don’t like a man with one eye.”“But it isn’t his fault, Esau.”“No, not exactly his fault; but it sets you against him, and he’s got so much pump in him.”“Pump?”“Yes; always getting out of you everything you are going to do, and who you are, and where you come from.”“Yes, he does question pretty well.”“He just does. Very well, then; I want to know who he is, and where he comes from, and what he’s going to be up to. Do you know?”“No, not in the least.”“Same here. Well, I don’t like a man who’s so close, and the sooner we both shake hands with him, and say good-bye, the better I shall like it.”“Well, Esau, I’m beginning to feel like that,” I said, “myself.”“That’s right, then, and we shan’t quarrel over that bit o’ business. Soon be there now, I think, shan’t we?”“To-morrow about this time,” said a familiar voice; and we both started, for Gunson was standing close behind us. “Didn’t you hear me come up?”“No,” I said hurriedly; and he laughed a little, rather unpleasantly, I thought, and walked forward to stand with his elbows on the bulwark watching the distant shore.“There!” whispered Esau. “Now would a fellow who was all right and square come and listen to all we said like that? Seems to be always creeping up behind you.”“I don’t think he did that purposely.”“Well then, I do. You always take his part, no matter what I say; and it sometimes seems to me as if you were pitching me over, so as to take up with him.”“That’s right, Esau,” I replied. “That is why we sailed off together, and left you in the lurch.”Esau pressed his lips together, gave his foot a stamp, and then pushed close up to me.“Here,” he said, “punch my head, please. Do. I wish you would. My tongue’s always saying something I don’t mean.”I did not punch Esau’s head, and the little incident was soon forgotten in the interest of the rest of our journey. For we sailed on now in bright sunshine, the uneasy motion of the schooner was at an end, and there was always something fresh to see. Now it was a whale, then a shoal of fish of some kind, and sea-birds floating here and there. Then some mountain peak came into view, with lovely valleys and vast forests of pines—scene after scene of beauty that kept us on deck till it was too dark to see anything, and tempted us on deck again the moment it was light.By midday we were in the port of Victoria, where the skipper began at once to discharge his cargo, and hence we were not long before our chests were on the rough timber wharf, side by side with those of Gunson, who left us in charge of them while he went away.“Wish he wouldn’t order us about like that,” cried Esau, angrily; “let’s go away, and let some one else look after his traps.”“We can’t now,” I said.“But we don’t want him with us any more. I say, I don’t think much of this place.”“It’s very beautiful,” I said, looking away over the sea at beautiful islands, and up at the wooded hills in view.“But it looks just like being at home in England. I expected all kinds of wonderful things in a foreign country, and not to be sitting down on one’s box, with sheds and stacks of timber and wooden houses all about you. We can get that at home.”I was obliged to own that everything did look rather home-like, even to some names we could see over the stores.“And do you know where the skipper’s going as soon as he has unloaded?”“No,” I said.“Up to some place with a rum name here in this island, to get a load of coals to take back. They only had to call it Newcastle to make it right. What are you looking at over yonder?”“Those beautiful mountains across the sea, rising up and up in the sunshine. That’s British Columbia, I suppose, and it must be up among those mountains that our river runs, and where Fort Elk lies.”“All right, I’m ready. How are we to go?”“We shall have to find out when some boat sails across I suppose. Let’s go and find the captain, and ask him where we ought to go to get a night’s lodging.”“Here he comes back,” said Esau.“The skipper?”“No, Gunson. Now let’s say good-bye to him, and part friends.”“There’s a little steamer goes across to the settlement at the mouth of the river this afternoon,” said Gunson; “so we’ll have your chests carried down. Here, you two can get some kind of dinner in that place, where you see the red board up. You go on and get something ready; I’ll join you as soon as I’ve seen your chests on board. The boat starts from close by here.”“No, no,” whispered Esau; “we mustn’t trust him, because—”Esau stopped, for he had glanced at Gunson, and found his eye fixed upon him searchingly.“I said I would see your chests safely on board, my lad,” he said sternly. “I suppose you’ll trust me, Gordon?”“Of course I will,” I cried, eagerly; for I was ashamed of Esau’s suspicions.“Go on then and order some dinner,” he said; and Esau accompanied me unwillingly to the rough kind of tavern.“It’s like madness,” Esau kept on saying. “You see if he don’t go off with our chests, and then where shall we be?”“Grumbling because I was so weak as to trust him. Never mind; I’m hungry. Let’s have something to eat.”We ordered it, and partook of a thoroughly hearty, English-looking meal; but Gunson did not come, and as soon as Esau had finished, he suggested that we should go and look after him.“But he said we were to wait for him here.”“Yes, but I’m going to look for my chest,” cried Esau. “I don’t see any fun in losing that.”“Nonsense! Don’t be so suspicious,” I said; and we waited on a full hour, with Esau growing more and more fidgety, and by degrees infecting me with his doubts.All at once we heard from the distance the ringing of a bell, and the Englishman who, as he called it, “ran the place,” came up to us.“Didn’t I hear you two say that you were going by the steamer ’s afternoon?”“Yes,” I said.“Well then, look sharp, or you’ll lose the boat. She’s just off.”I glanced at Esau, and as soon as he had paid we set off at a run, reaching the little steamer just as she was being cast off from the wharf.“He ain’t here,” cried Esau, excitedly. “What shall we do—stop?”“No,” I said; “let’s go on. We may find our chests on board.”“Yes,” he said, sarcastically; “may. Well, we can come back again. Oh, what a set of thieves there are abroad.”We were by this time on deck, and after a quick glance round, I pitched upon a man who seemed to be either skipper or mate.“Were two chests sent on board here belonging to us?”“One-eyed man with ’em?” he said, looking at us curiously.“Yes,” I cried eagerly.“All right. Down below.”“There, Esau,” I cried, gripping him by the arm. “What do you deserve now?”“Punch o’ the head, I suppose. Well, hooroar! and I’m glad we’ve got rid of him at last.”“I don’t know,” I said. “I should have liked to shake hands first.”“Come, lads, what a while you’ve been,” said Gunson, coming up out of the cabin. “I told that boy to say you were to make haste.”“What boy?” I said.“The one I sent. Didn’t he tell you?”I shook my head.“Went to the wrong place, perhaps. Boxes are all right below yonder.”“But how are you going to get ashore?” I said, wonderingly.“Same as you do.”“But—”“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I thought I’d come across with you, and see you well on your way. Esau there wouldn’t be comfortable without me. I don’t know when I became such friends with any one before as I have with him. Well, did you get a good dinner?”He fixed Esau with his eye, and I saw the perspiration begin to stand in little drops on my companion’s forehead, as he stammered out something about “good-dinner.”“But what about yours?” I said.“Oh, I was afraid of some muddle being made with our luggage, so I stopped and got something to eat here.”“Our luggage?” I said.“Oh yes,” he replied with a curious laugh. “Mine is below too.”
When I awoke next morning it was blowing hard, and the timbers of the schooner were groaning and creaking so dismally, that when every now and then a wave struck the bows, Esau turned to me and shook his head, “Next big one as comes ’ll knock her all to pieces.”
We did not care much for our breakfast, for more than one reason, and were glad to get on deck, where we found Gunson talking with the skipper, or I should say Gunson talking, and the old captain rolling an eye, or giving a short nod now and then. Away to our right lay the coast of California, with its pale-coloured bare-looking cliffs appearing anything but attractive; and as we tossed about in the little schooner, I could not help thinking how different it was to the great clipper-ship in which we had sailed round the Horn.
We were soon glad to go below again, and there, as Esau could not get at his chest, which was down in the hold, he was glad to accept the loan of a blue jersey from one of the sailors, so as to set Gunson’s jacket at liberty.
It was almost a repetition of our experience in theAlbatrossfor some days, only in this case we could have gone on deck at any time; but there was no temptation to do so, for it meant holding on by the side, and being soaked by the spray which kept on flying aboard.
During those days Esau passed the greater part of his time lying down, and about once an hour he got into the habit of lifting his head, and looking at me fixedly.
“I say,” he would begin.
“Yes?”
“Don’t think I shall take to sailoring;” and I agreed with him that other lines would be pleasanter.
It was not that we were so very cowardly, for the sailors we spoke to all agreed that it was one of the worst trips they had ever had along the coast; and we afterwards heard that the skipper had been very anxious more than once. But there is always an end to bad weather; and the morning came when I went on deck to find sky and sea of a lovely blue, and away to my right a glorious green land, with swelling hills, forests of pines, and beyond them, dazzlingly white in the bright sunshine, the tops of two snow-capped mountains.
As I leaned aft, gazing at the beautiful land, my spirits began to grow brighter, and I was turning round to go down and fetch Esau to come and see the place, when I found that Gunson had come on deck too, and was looking at me in his peculiar manner which always repelled me.
“Is that British Columbia?” I said, to break an awkward silence, for he stood perfectly silent, fixing me with that one piercing eye.
“No, not yet—that’s Yankee-land still. We’ve got to get into the Straits yet before we can see our country.”
“Straits—Gibraltar?” I said thoughtlessly; and then I felt red in the face at my stupidity.
“Not exactly, my lad,” he said, laughing. “Why, my geography is better than yours. The straits we go through are those of Juan de Fuca, the old sailor who discovered them. But from what I know of it, the country is very much the same as this. Think it will do for you?”
“It is lovely,” I cried, enthusiastically.
“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, and speaking in a quiet soft way that seemed to be very different from his appearance; “a lovely land—a land of promise. I hope your people will all get up yonder safe and sound. It is a long, weary task they have before them.”
“Can’t be worse than ours has been,” I said.
“Well, no, I suppose not; but very trying to those poor women. Look here, my lad,” he said, after a pause, “how are you going to manage when you get ashore at Victoria?”
“Start at once for Fort Elk.”
“How?”
“Get somebody who knows the way to tell us, and then walk on a few miles every day. It can’t be very difficult to find if we keep along the river bank.”
“Along the towing-path, eh?”
“Yes, if there is one,” I said, eagerly.
“Towing-path! Why, you young innocent,” he cried, angrily, “don’t you know that it’s a fierce wild mountain-torrent, running through canons, and in deep mountain valleys, with vast forests wherever trees can grow, all packed closely together—sometimes so close that you can hardly force your way through?”
“I did not know it was like that,” I said; “but we must make the best of it, I suppose. If we can’t go twenty miles a day we must go fifteen.”
“Or ten, or five, or one,” he cried, with a contemptuous laugh. “Why, Mayne, my lad, that last will often be the extent of your journey.”
I looked at him in dismay.
“You have no friends then at Victoria—no introductions?”
I shook my head.
“And you do not even seem to know that Victoria is on an island, from which you will have to cross to the mouth of the Fraser.”
“I’m afraid I am very ignorant,” I said, bitterly; “but I am going to try to learn. I suppose there are villages here and there up the country?”
“Perhaps a few, not many yet; but you will find some settler’s place now and then.”
“Well, they will be English people,” I said, “and they will help us.”
“Of course.”
“Where are you going?” I asked suddenly.
He gave a little start, and his face relaxed.
“I?” he said quickly, and he looked as if he were going to take me into his confidence; but just then Esau came on deck to stand looking shoreward, and Gunson turned cold and stern directly. “Don’t know for certain,” he replied. “Morning, my lad,” to Esau, and then walked forward to speak to the skipper.
“There, Esau,” I said eagerly; “that’s something like a country to come to,” for the fresh beauties which were unfolding in the morning sun made me forget all Gunson’s suggestions of difficulties.
“Yes, that’s something like,” said Esau. “What makes those big hills look so blue as that?”
“They are mountains, and I suppose it’s the morning mist.”
“Mountains!” said Esau, contemptuously, “not much o’ mountains. Why, that one over yonder don’t look much bigger than Primrose Hill.”
“Not much,” said Gunson, who was walking back with the skipper. “Very much like it too, especially the snow on the top. How far is that mountain off?” he added, turning to the skipper.
“Hunard miles,” grunted the person addressed.
“Look here,” whispered Esau, as soon as we were alone, for the skipper and Gunson went below, “I don’t say that he hasn’t been very civil to us, and he helped us nicely about getting on here, but I don’t like that chap. Do you?”
“I really don’t know,” I said with a laugh.
“Well, I do know. He looks at one with that eye of his, as if he was thinking about the money in your belt all the time.”
“He can’t be thinking about yours,” I said drily.
“Oh dear! I forgot that,” said Esau. “But all the same, I don’t like a man with one eye.”
“But it isn’t his fault, Esau.”
“No, not exactly his fault; but it sets you against him, and he’s got so much pump in him.”
“Pump?”
“Yes; always getting out of you everything you are going to do, and who you are, and where you come from.”
“Yes, he does question pretty well.”
“He just does. Very well, then; I want to know who he is, and where he comes from, and what he’s going to be up to. Do you know?”
“No, not in the least.”
“Same here. Well, I don’t like a man who’s so close, and the sooner we both shake hands with him, and say good-bye, the better I shall like it.”
“Well, Esau, I’m beginning to feel like that,” I said, “myself.”
“That’s right, then, and we shan’t quarrel over that bit o’ business. Soon be there now, I think, shan’t we?”
“To-morrow about this time,” said a familiar voice; and we both started, for Gunson was standing close behind us. “Didn’t you hear me come up?”
“No,” I said hurriedly; and he laughed a little, rather unpleasantly, I thought, and walked forward to stand with his elbows on the bulwark watching the distant shore.
“There!” whispered Esau. “Now would a fellow who was all right and square come and listen to all we said like that? Seems to be always creeping up behind you.”
“I don’t think he did that purposely.”
“Well then, I do. You always take his part, no matter what I say; and it sometimes seems to me as if you were pitching me over, so as to take up with him.”
“That’s right, Esau,” I replied. “That is why we sailed off together, and left you in the lurch.”
Esau pressed his lips together, gave his foot a stamp, and then pushed close up to me.
“Here,” he said, “punch my head, please. Do. I wish you would. My tongue’s always saying something I don’t mean.”
I did not punch Esau’s head, and the little incident was soon forgotten in the interest of the rest of our journey. For we sailed on now in bright sunshine, the uneasy motion of the schooner was at an end, and there was always something fresh to see. Now it was a whale, then a shoal of fish of some kind, and sea-birds floating here and there. Then some mountain peak came into view, with lovely valleys and vast forests of pines—scene after scene of beauty that kept us on deck till it was too dark to see anything, and tempted us on deck again the moment it was light.
By midday we were in the port of Victoria, where the skipper began at once to discharge his cargo, and hence we were not long before our chests were on the rough timber wharf, side by side with those of Gunson, who left us in charge of them while he went away.
“Wish he wouldn’t order us about like that,” cried Esau, angrily; “let’s go away, and let some one else look after his traps.”
“We can’t now,” I said.
“But we don’t want him with us any more. I say, I don’t think much of this place.”
“It’s very beautiful,” I said, looking away over the sea at beautiful islands, and up at the wooded hills in view.
“But it looks just like being at home in England. I expected all kinds of wonderful things in a foreign country, and not to be sitting down on one’s box, with sheds and stacks of timber and wooden houses all about you. We can get that at home.”
I was obliged to own that everything did look rather home-like, even to some names we could see over the stores.
“And do you know where the skipper’s going as soon as he has unloaded?”
“No,” I said.
“Up to some place with a rum name here in this island, to get a load of coals to take back. They only had to call it Newcastle to make it right. What are you looking at over yonder?”
“Those beautiful mountains across the sea, rising up and up in the sunshine. That’s British Columbia, I suppose, and it must be up among those mountains that our river runs, and where Fort Elk lies.”
“All right, I’m ready. How are we to go?”
“We shall have to find out when some boat sails across I suppose. Let’s go and find the captain, and ask him where we ought to go to get a night’s lodging.”
“Here he comes back,” said Esau.
“The skipper?”
“No, Gunson. Now let’s say good-bye to him, and part friends.”
“There’s a little steamer goes across to the settlement at the mouth of the river this afternoon,” said Gunson; “so we’ll have your chests carried down. Here, you two can get some kind of dinner in that place, where you see the red board up. You go on and get something ready; I’ll join you as soon as I’ve seen your chests on board. The boat starts from close by here.”
“No, no,” whispered Esau; “we mustn’t trust him, because—”
Esau stopped, for he had glanced at Gunson, and found his eye fixed upon him searchingly.
“I said I would see your chests safely on board, my lad,” he said sternly. “I suppose you’ll trust me, Gordon?”
“Of course I will,” I cried, eagerly; for I was ashamed of Esau’s suspicions.
“Go on then and order some dinner,” he said; and Esau accompanied me unwillingly to the rough kind of tavern.
“It’s like madness,” Esau kept on saying. “You see if he don’t go off with our chests, and then where shall we be?”
“Grumbling because I was so weak as to trust him. Never mind; I’m hungry. Let’s have something to eat.”
We ordered it, and partook of a thoroughly hearty, English-looking meal; but Gunson did not come, and as soon as Esau had finished, he suggested that we should go and look after him.
“But he said we were to wait for him here.”
“Yes, but I’m going to look for my chest,” cried Esau. “I don’t see any fun in losing that.”
“Nonsense! Don’t be so suspicious,” I said; and we waited on a full hour, with Esau growing more and more fidgety, and by degrees infecting me with his doubts.
All at once we heard from the distance the ringing of a bell, and the Englishman who, as he called it, “ran the place,” came up to us.
“Didn’t I hear you two say that you were going by the steamer ’s afternoon?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well then, look sharp, or you’ll lose the boat. She’s just off.”
I glanced at Esau, and as soon as he had paid we set off at a run, reaching the little steamer just as she was being cast off from the wharf.
“He ain’t here,” cried Esau, excitedly. “What shall we do—stop?”
“No,” I said; “let’s go on. We may find our chests on board.”
“Yes,” he said, sarcastically; “may. Well, we can come back again. Oh, what a set of thieves there are abroad.”
We were by this time on deck, and after a quick glance round, I pitched upon a man who seemed to be either skipper or mate.
“Were two chests sent on board here belonging to us?”
“One-eyed man with ’em?” he said, looking at us curiously.
“Yes,” I cried eagerly.
“All right. Down below.”
“There, Esau,” I cried, gripping him by the arm. “What do you deserve now?”
“Punch o’ the head, I suppose. Well, hooroar! and I’m glad we’ve got rid of him at last.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I should have liked to shake hands first.”
“Come, lads, what a while you’ve been,” said Gunson, coming up out of the cabin. “I told that boy to say you were to make haste.”
“What boy?” I said.
“The one I sent. Didn’t he tell you?”
I shook my head.
“Went to the wrong place, perhaps. Boxes are all right below yonder.”
“But how are you going to get ashore?” I said, wonderingly.
“Same as you do.”
“But—”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I thought I’d come across with you, and see you well on your way. Esau there wouldn’t be comfortable without me. I don’t know when I became such friends with any one before as I have with him. Well, did you get a good dinner?”
He fixed Esau with his eye, and I saw the perspiration begin to stand in little drops on my companion’s forehead, as he stammered out something about “good-dinner.”
“But what about yours?” I said.
“Oh, I was afraid of some muddle being made with our luggage, so I stopped and got something to eat here.”
“Our luggage?” I said.
“Oh yes,” he replied with a curious laugh. “Mine is below too.”