Chapter Seven.
First sniffs of the briny.
“He’s beginning, Meadows,” said the doctor, as they sat together in their room at the hotel, waiting for the guests of the evening.
“Think so?” said Sir John sadly.
“Of course I do,” cried the doctor.
“But it’s very pitiful to see a lad of his years shrinking like a timid girl, and changing colour whenever he is spoken to. He seems to have no spirit at all.”
“He has though, and plenty, only it’s crusted over, and can’t get out; I noticed a dozen good signs to-day.”
“A dozen?” said Sir John.
“Well, more or less. Don’t ask me to be mathematical. You’ll want to know the aliquot parts next,” said the doctor snappishly.
“I see you want your dinner,” said Sir John, with a smile.
“I do—horribly. This sea-air makes me feel ravenous. But, as I was going to say, there were abundant signs of the change beginning. He’s ashamed of his—his—”
“Well, say it—cowardice,” said Sir John sadly. “Yes, poor fellow! he is ashamed of it, as I well know.”
“But he can’t help it, weak and unstrung as he is. It will come all right, only let’s get him out of his misery, as we used to call it. Get him to make his first plunge, and he’ll soon begin to swim. Did you see what a brave fight he made of it over and over again to-day? There, I’m sure we’re right; and, my word, what a chance over this yacht.”
“Yes, it would have been folly to hesitate.”
“But it’s going to cost you a pretty penny, my friend.”
“I do not grudge it, Instow, if we can bring him back well. We’ll be off as soon as I can get the preliminaries settled.”
“These things don’t take long when a man has the money.”
“Hush!” said Sir John; “here he is. Don’t say anything to upset him.”
Jack came in, looking sad and dispirited.
“Ah, Jack, my boy, ready for dinner?”
“No, father.”
“Hah! chance for the doctor,” cried that gentleman merrily. “Let me administer an appetiser.”
“No, no, Doctor Instow; I’m sure it would do no good.”
“Wait till you hear what it is, O man of wisdom, and be more modest. You don’t know everything yet. Now then: prescription—take a walk as far as the kitchen door, wait till it is opened, and then take four sniffs quickly, and come back. That will give you an appetite, my boy, if you want one; but I don’t believe you do, for you have a lean and hungry look, as Shakespeare calls it. It’s the sea-air, Jack; I’m savage.”
“Some one coming,” said Sir John, and a minute later the waiter showed in the two guests.
Jack did not notice it himself, but others did: he ate about twice as much as he was accustomed to, and all the while, after looking upon the dinner and the visitors as being an infliction, he found himself listening attentively to Captain Bradleigh, who was set going by a few questions from the doctor, and proved to be full of observation.
“Oh no,” he said, “I’m no naturalist, but I can’t help noticing different things when I am at sea, and ashore, and if they’re fresh to me, I don’t forget them. Let me say now, though, Sir John Meadows, how glad I am that you will buy the yacht and go on this cruise. The lads are half wild with excitement, for we’ve all been, as the Irishmen call it, spoiling for something to do. It has seemed to be clean and polish for no purpose, but I told them they ought to feel very glad to have had the yacht in such a state. I trust, Sir John, that you will never have cause to regret this day’s work.”
“I have no fear,” said that gentleman. “I shall be glad, though, as soon as you receive notice of the transfer to me, if you will do everything possible toward getting ready for sea.”
“Getting ready for sea, sir? She is ready for sea. Fresh water on board, coal-bunkers full. Nothing wanted but the provisions—salt, preserved, and fresh—to be seen to, and that would take very little time. As soon as you have done your business with the owner, send me my orders, and there’ll be no time lost, I promise you.”
Jack bent over his plate, and was very silent, but he revived and became attentive when the doctor changed the subject, and began to question the captain about some of his experiences, many of which he related in a simple, modest way which spoke for its truth.
“I suppose,” said Sir John merrily, after glancing at his son, “you have never come across the sea serpent?”
The captain looked at him sharply, then at the mate, and ended by raising his eyebrows and frowning at his plate.
“That’s a sore point for a ship captain, sir,” he said at last, “one which makes him a bit put out, for no man likes to be laughed at. You see, we’ve all been so bantered about that sea serpent, that when a mariner says he has seen it, people set him down for a regular Baron Munchausen, so now-a-days we people have got into the habit of holding our tongues.”
“Why, you don’t mean to say that you have ever seen it, captain?” cried the doctor.
“Well, sir, I’ve seen something more than once that answered its description pretty closely.”
“I always thought it was a fable,” said Sir John.
“No, sir, I don’t think it is,” said the captain quickly. “As I tell you, I’ve seen a great reptile sort of creature going along through the sea just after the fashion of those water-fowl that are shot in some of the South American rivers.”
“The darters,” said Sir John; “Plotius.”
“Those are the fellows, sir; they swim with nearly the whole of their body under the surface, and look so much like little serpents that people call them snake birds. Well, sir, twice over I’ve seen such a creature—not a bird but a reptile.”
“And they are wonderfully alike in some cases,” said the doctor quietly.
“So I’ve heard, sir, from people who studied such things. Mine was going along six or seven knots an hour, with its snake-like head and neck carried swan-fashion, and raised fifteen or twenty feet out of the water as near as I could judge, for it was quite half-a-mile away. It was flat-headed, and as I brought my spy-glass to bear upon it, I could see that it had very large eyes. I kept it in sight for a good ten minutes, and could not help thinking how swan-like it was in its movements. Then it stretched out its neck, laid it down upon the water, and went out of sight.”
“And you think it was a sea serpent?”
“Something of that kind, gentlemen. Bartlett saw it too, and he was sure it was a great snake.”
“Yes, I feel sure it was,” said the mate quietly.
“Very strange,” said Sir John, who noted how Jack was drinking it all in.
“Strange, sir, because we don’t often see such things. That was in my last long voyage, a year before I was introduced to Mr Ensler, but I don’t look upon it as particularly strange. Why, I hope that before very long we shall be sailing through bright clear waters where I can show you snakes single, in pairs, and in knots of a dozen together basking at the surface in the sunshine.”
“What, huge serpents?” said Jack shortly.
“No,” replied the captain, turning upon him with a pleasant smile, while the doctor kicked at Sir John’s leg under the table, but could not reach him. “They are mostly quite small—four, five, or six feet. The biggest I ever saw was seven feet long, but I’ve heard of them being seen eight feet.”
“Yes, I saw one once seven feet nine. It was shot by a passenger on his way to Rangoon, and they got it on board,” said the mate quietly.
“Oh, but that’s nothing of a size,” said Jack.
“No, Mr Meadows,” replied the captain; “but we know it as a fact that there are plenty of sea serpents of that size, just as we know that there are adders and rattlesnakes on land.”
“Yes, poisonous serpents,” said Jack.
“So are these, sir, very dangerously poisonous. I have known of more than one death through the bite of a sea snake. But, as I was going to say, we know of adders and rattlesnakes, and we know too that there are boas and pythons and anacondas running up to eight-and-twenty and thirty feet long on land. There’s a deal more room in the sea for such creatures to hide, so why should there not be big ones as well as small there?”
“That’s a good argument,” said Sir John, “and quite reasonable.”
“And you think then,” said the doctor, “that yours which you saw were great serpents swimming on the surface?”
“No, sir, I thought they were something else.”
“What?” said Jack, with a certain amount of eagerness.
“They struck me as being those great lizard things which they find turned into fossils out Swanage and Portland way. I dare say you’ve seen specimens of them in the British Museum.”
“No,” said Jack, colouring a little, “I have never taken any interest in such things.”
“No?” said the captain wonderingly. “Ah, well, perhaps you will. Now it struck me that these things were—were— Do either of you gentlemen remember the name of them?”
“Plesiosaurus. Lizard-like,” said Sir John.
“That’s it, sir,” cried the captain, glancing at the speaker, and then looking again at Jack. “And I tell you how it struck me, and how I accounted for their being so seldom seen.”
“Yes!” said Jack, who had laid down his knife and fork, and was leaning forward listening attentively. “How did you judge that?”
“From its large eyes.”
“What had that to do with it?”
“It meant that it was a deep-sea living creature. You’ll find, if you look into such matters, sir, that things which live in very deep water generally have very large eyes to collect all the light they can.”
“But yours were living on the top of the water,” said Jack.
“To be sure,” cried the doctor, giving Sir John a sharp glance. “Come, captain, that’s a poser for you.”
“Well, no, sir,” replied the captain modestly, and with a quiet smile; “I think I can get over that. Perhaps you know that fish which live in very deep water, where the pressure is very great, cannot live if by any chance they are brought to the surface. The air-vessels in them swell out so that they cannot sink again, and they get suffocated and die.”
“But if it was their natural habit to live in deep water,” said Jack, “they would not come to the surface.”
“If they could help it, sir,” said the captain; “but when a creature of that kind is ill it may float toward the surface, and turn up as you see fishes sometimes. I fancy that my great lizard things are still existing in some places in the mud or bottom of the sea, that they are never seen unless they are in an unnatural state, and then they soon die, and get eaten up by the millions of things always on the look-out for food, and their bones sink.”
“I should like to see one,” said Jack thoughtfully.
“And I should like to show you one, sir,” said the captain. “There’s no knowing what we may see if we cruise about. Well, I’ll promise you sea-snakes and whales and sharks. I can take you too where there are plenty of crocodiles for you to practise at with a rifle. Good practice too to rid the world of some of its dangerous beasts.”
Jack shuddered, and wanted to say that he did not care to see anything of the kind, but he did not speak, and just then the captain rose from the table, drew up the blind, and looked out.
“There you are, sir,” he said. “Come and look. The lads were ready enough when I told them to light up to-night. Looks nice, don’t she?”
Jack followed to the window, to see that it was a glorious night, with the sky and sea spangled with gold, while out where he knew the yacht lay, there shone forth with dazzling brilliancy what seemed to be a silver star, and dotted about it, evidently in the rigging of the yacht, were about thirty lanterns of various colours, but only seeming to be like the modest beams of moons in attendance upon the pure white dazzling silver star.
The boy gazed in silence, impressed by the beauty of the scene, as the captain now quietly opened the window to admit the soft warm air from off the sea, while faintly heard came the sound of music from some passing boat.
“How beautiful!” said Sir John, who had come unheard behind them.
“Yes, sir,” said the captain quietly, “with the simple beauty of home; but you will have to see the grand sunrises and sunsets of tropic lands to fully understand the full beauty of God’s ever-changing ocean. But even now, Mr Meadows, I think you can hardly say you don’t like the sea.”
Jack made no reply, but drew a deep breath which sounded like a sigh.
“Well, Jack,” said Sir John, when they were about to retire that night, “what do you think of Captain Bradleigh?”
“I liked him better this evening, father,” said the boy thoughtfully. “He did not treat me as if I were a child, and he left off calling me ‘young gentleman.’”
“Good-night, Meadows,” said the doctor, a short time after; “I wish you weren’t going to spend so much money, but Jack has had his first dose of medicine.”
“Yes,” said Sir John; “and it has begun to act.”
Chapter Eight.
Ned feels the motion of the vessel.
All aboard after the preliminaries had been arranged in the most satisfactory way, Sir John’s arrangements made, and Jack, like a dejected prisoner, taken down to Dartmouth one day, following Edward, who had gone on in advance with the last of the luggage.
He was waiting in the station when the train came in, looking as eager and excited as a boy, and as full of delight as his young master was depressed. Captain Bradleigh was there too, and one of the yacht’s cutters hanging on at the pier, ready for rowing the party on board the Silver Star.
“The luggage, Edward?” said Sir John.
“All aboard, Sir John, and things ready in the cabins,” said the man.
“Then see that our portmanteaus are placed in the boat.”
“All in, Sir John. I set the porters to get ’em from the van.”
“Come along then, Jack, let’s take our plunge.”
Jack gave a wild look round, his eyes full of despair, but he said nothing, only felt that he was bidding good-bye to home, land, ease, and comfort for ever, and followed his father to the boat.
Two hours after they were standing out to sea, with Jack, Sir John, and the doctor watching the receding shore, the two latter feeling some slight degree of compunction at the last; but Edward was below inspecting the cabins once more, and as soon as he had done this, in spite of the yacht beginning to heel over so that the cabin floor was a good deal higher on one side than the other, he folded his arms, frowned, set his teeth, and began the first steps of a hornpipe, but before he had gone far a lurch sent him head-first toward the port bulkhead. Here he saved himself by thrusting out his hands, turned, and began again.
“Very well, uphill if you like,” he cried, and he danced from port toward starboard. But this time his legs seemed to have turned wild, and he staggered to right.
“Wo-ho! heave-ho! you lubbers!” he cried, and giving a lurch to right, but with desperate energy he saved himself from a fall, and tried to begin again.
“Now then,” he cried, “from the beginning! Wo-ho! No, I mean yo-ho!” he muttered. “Why, it’s like trying to dance on horseback. Here goes again. Tiddly-um-tum-tum! Tiddle-liddle-iddle iddle-liddle iddle-rum-tum!”—“Bang.”
Edward crashed against one of the little state-room doors, cannoned off, and came down sitting on the cabin floor.
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” cried the man. “Well, if you’re going to dance it, I’ll wait till you’ve done.”
“Anything the matter?” said a voice, and the steward came in.
“Nothing particular,” said Sir John’s man, “unless it’s the yacht gone mad.”
“Oh, this is nothing,” said the steward. “A bit lively after being at anchor so long.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Edward, rising. “You’ll soon get used to it. Not much of a sailor I suppose?”
“Not a bit of one, but mean to be. I say, who are you?”
“Steward, and I suppose you are to be my mate?”
“Oh, am I?” said Edward; “very well, anything for a change.”
The steward turned and left the cabin, for there were steps, and directly after Jack appeared at the door, tried to walk steadily to a seat, but a sudden careening over sent him to port, and he would have fallen heavily if the man had not made an effort to save him, when they went down together, the man undermost.
“Quite welcome, sir,” said Edward, struggling up and helping Jack to a seat. “Sorry I ain’t a bit fatter, sir; only if I was you I’d hold on till I get used to it, in case I’m not always there to be buffer.”
“Oh!” groaned Jack, whose face was ghastly.
“Why, Mr Jack, sir, don’t look like that. You fight it down. Feel a bit queer?”
“Horrible, Ned. Help me to get to my berth.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t cave in, sir. It’ll soon go off.”
“Will it?” groaned Jack. “I was afraid to come down for fear they should see and laugh at me. Oh, how bad I am! Why did we come?”
“I dunno, sir. It was the guv’nor’s doing. But you try and keep up.”
“It is impossible. You don’t know how bad I feel.”
“No, sir, but I know how bad I feel.”
“You!” said Jack dismally. “Surely you are not going to be ill?”
“Why not, sir? I feel just as if my works had gone all wrong, but I haven’t got time to be ill. Come on deck, sir.”
“No. Help me to my berth.”
“Right, sir,” said the man; and waiting till the vessel seemed steadier, he took tightly hold of his young master’s arm, helped him to his legs, and tried to guide him across the cabin to his little state-room; but at the first step Jack made a dive, and they went down together.
“Please, sir, this ain’t swimming lessons.”
“Let me crawl,” groaned Jack.
“No, sir, don’t do that. Here, give me your hand again. Up you gets. That’s the way. This time does it. Told you so. Here we are.”
“Don’t, please don’t talk to me,” said Jack in a low voice. “Help me into the berth.—Yes, thank you. Now go away and leave me.”
“Won’t roll out, will you, sir?”
“Don’t—don’t talk to me. Please go.”
“Poor chap!” muttered Edward. “I do wish he’d got just a little bit o’ pluck in him. But it do make you feel a bit queer. S’pose I go and shake it off on deck.”
He went up, saw that the gentlemen were right aft, and he walked forward to where the crew were busy here and there, and nodded first to one and then another in the most friendly way, as if he had known them all his life. Then he thrust his hands in his pockets, trying to look perfectly unconcerned, and balanced himself so as to try and give and take with the vessel.
But it was no good; he fought against the inevitable as long as he could, and finally staggered to the cabin hatch and descended to where Jack was lying. “Here’s a go, sir,” he cried. “I thought it only wanted a bit of pluck, and it would be all right.”
“Oh, go away,” groaned Jack. “Don’t bother me. I’m dying.”
“I’m worse than that, sir,” said the man piteously. “What’s to be done, sir?”
“Oh, go to your hammock or berth. I can’t bear to be bothered now.”
“But it will be dinner-time soon, sir, and I shall have to help wait at table. I couldn’t carry the soup or fish, sir. I couldn’t carry myself. What will the guv’nor say?”
“Ned, will you please to go!” said Jack with a groan.
“Certainly, sir; directly, sir; but I can’t move.”
“Nonsense!”
“Yes, sir, that’s what I thought about you, and that you’d only got to make a try; but it isn’t to be done.”
“Go away,” groaned Jack.
“Wish I could, sir. I oughtn’t to have come. It’s all through being so jolly cock-sure that I could do anything, and I can’t. Wish I was at home cleaning the plate. Oh, Master Jack, can you feel how the boat’s a-going on?”
“Yes, it’s dreadful,” sighed Jack.
“Is it going to be like this always, sir?”
“Don’t! pray don’t bother me. Can’t you see how ill I am?”
“No, sir, not now. I can only see how bad poor miserable me is. Oh dear! did you feel that, sir? she give a regular jump, just as if she went over something.—Master Jack!”
There was no reply.
“Master Jack!” groaned the man. “Oh, please, sir, don’t say you’re dead.”
“Will you go away and leave off bothering me!” cried the boy angrily.
“Wish I could, sir; I’d be glad to.”
There was a pause, during which the yacht bounded along before a fine fresh breeze. Soon Edward began again.
“Mr Jack!”
No answer.
“Mr Jack, sir!”
“Ned! will you go!”
“I can’t, sir. ’Strue as goodness, sir, I can’t.”
“Where are you?” moaned the boy, who was lying on his back staring with lack-lustre eyes up at the ceiling just above his head.
“I dunno, sir; I think I’m lying on the carpet, sir, close to the shelf I put you on.”
“Then go away somewhere; you make me feel as if I could kill you.”
“Wish you would, sir,” groaned the man. “I’d take it kindly of you.”
“Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” sighed Jack. “Oh, my head, my head!”
“Oh, mine, sir, and it ain’t nonsense at all. It’s real earnest. Why was I such a fool as to come, and why did I grin at you, and say as you was a poor-plucked ’un? It’s like a judgment on me. But I always was so conceited.”
“Call some one to help you to your berth.”
“I dursn’t, sir. If I did, those sailor chaps would see as it was all over with me and pitch me overboard.”
“Ned, you are torturing me,” said Jack; and he turned himself a little to look down at the miserable being on the floor.
“Very sorry, sir, but something’s torturing me. Do you think we’ve got as far as France yet?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Do you think, if I give master warning, he’d have me set ashore at once?”
“No,” said Jack, with a touch of exultation in his words; “I’m sure he wouldn’t. You’ll have to go with us now.”
“I couldn’t, sir, I couldn’t really. Why, I couldn’t go round this room—cabin, or whatever you call it. Oh dear! oh dear! to think of me turning all of a sudden like this! It’s awful.”
“Here, Jack! Jack, lad! Aren’t you coming on deck?” cried a voice down through the cabin skylight.
“Oh, there’s the doctor,” groaned Edward. “Why don’t he come down?”
“Jack! are you there? It’s splendid. Come up.”
“Come down, sir, please,” groaned the man.
“Hullo!” said the doctor to himself. “Why surely they’re not— Oh! they can’t be so soon.”
He hurried down the cabin steps, and came breezily into the cabin, to see at a glance the state of affairs.
“Why, Jack, my lad, this is cowardly,” he cried.
“Don’t, sir, don’t,” groaned Edward. “I said something like that. Don’t you, sir, or you may be took bad too.”
“Why you ought to be able to stand a little sea-going, my man,” said the doctor; “this is a break down. Here, make an effort and go to your berth.”
“Make an effort, sir? I couldn’t do it even if the ship was a-sinking.”
“Nonsense!”
“It’s true. I’m afraid it’s all over, and Sir John will want another man.”
“There, jump up and go to your berth. You share the same cabin as the cook and steward, don’t you?”
“I was to, sir, and it was a very small place, but there’ll be more room for them now.”
“Nonsense, I tell you; jump up.”
“Jump, sir!” groaned the man; “did you say jump?”
“Well then, crawl. Here, steward!” cried the doctor, “come and help this man to his cabin.”
“Can’t you give me something to put me out of my misery, sir?” groaned the man.
“Absurd! There, try and get on your legs. I’ll help you.” For the steward had come in promptly, smiling at the state of affairs, and poor Edward was set upon his legs.
“Come, stand up,” said the steward, for Edward’s knees gave way like the joints of a weak two-foot rule.
“Yes, stand up,” cried the doctor; “don’t be so weak, man.”
“’Tain’t me, sir, it’s my legs,” said the man faintly. “Don’t seem to have no bones now.”
“Why, Edward, I thought you were a smart manly fellow,” cried the doctor.
“That’s just what I always thought of myself, sir, but it wasn’t a bit true. Would you mind asking Sir John, sir, to have the yacht stopped and me put ashore?”
“Of course I would. It’s absurd.”
“But I shan’t be a bit of use, sir; I shan’t indeed. I’m ashamed of myself, but I can’t help it.”
“There, I know,” said the doctor kindly; “get to your berth and lie still for a few hours. You’ll be ready to laugh at your weakness before long.”
“Laugh, sir? laugh? No, I don’t think I shall ever laugh again.”
The door swung to after the man’s exit, and the doctor returned to Jack’s cabin.
“Well,” he said, “feel very queer?”
“Can’t you see, doctor?” said the boy, giving him a piteous look.
“Yes, of course I can, my lad; but lie still, and you’ll soon get over it. Some people do get troubled this way. Haven’t you read that Lord Nelson used to have a fit whenever he went to sea?”
Jack made no reply, for he was in that condition which makes a sufferer perfectly indifferent about everything and everybody, and when it is no satisfaction to know that the greatest people in the world suffered in a similar way. All they can think of then is self.
Sir John came down soon after, and sat with his son for awhile, trying to encourage him, but poor Jack hardly answered him, and at last he began to be anxious, and went to join the doctor, who was on deck chatting with the captain.
“I wish you’d go down and see to the boy,” he said; “he looks so white, I feel anxious.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders and went below, to come back at the end of five minutes.
“Well?” said Sir John anxiously.
“Usual thing; nothing to fidget about. Your man’s worse.”
“What, Edward?” cried Sir John, staring. “I saw him forward there chatting with the sailors not long ago.”
“Yes, and now he’s in his berth talking to himself about what a donkey he was to come. Who knows! perhaps it will be our turn next.”
But it was not, although it began to blow hard from the west, and the sea crew rougher as the yacht dashed on.
But the next evening Edward was about again, looking rather pale, but very proud and self-satisfied, as he went to Jack’s berth.
“Don’t you feel any better yet, sir?” he said.
“No; can’t you see how ill I am?” replied Jack faintly.
“Ah, that’s because you don’t try to master it. Hasn’t Doctor Instow told you that you ought to try and get the better of it?”
“Yes; but what is the use of telling me that?” groaned Jack, with his eyes shut; but he opened them directly and gazed discontentedly at the man, as if feeling that it was hard and unfair of fate to let the servant recover while the master was so ill. “Are you quite well again?”
“Me, sir? Oh yes, sir,” said Edward carelessly.
“And I—I feel as if I shall never live to go far.”
“Ah, that’s the way of it, sir, I felt just like that; but you’ll come all right again before you know where you are. Like me to get you a bit of anything, sir? The kitchen place is splendid, and the cook would knock you up something nice in no time. What do you say to an omelet, sir?”
Jack ground his teeth at the man, and then closed his eyes and feebly turned his back.
“Poor chap, he has got it bad,” muttered the convalescent, as he went out of the cabin on tip-toe. “But I don’t think he’s quite so bad as I was, after all.”
Chapter Nine.
“When the raging seas do roar.”
Jack Meadows started up in his berth with a great fear upon him, and he started down again with the great fear turned for the moment into a great pain, caused by his having struck his forehead sharply, for about the tenth time, against the top of his berth.
“Am I never going to recollect what a miserable, narrow, boxed-up place it is,” he said to himself angrily.
Then the fear came back, and he rolled out feeling confused and horrified.
He had turned in over-night without undressing, further than taking off jacket, waistcoat, and boots, so that he was almost dressed, for he had lain down in terror to rest himself so as to be quite ready if an alarm was given that the yacht was sinking; and he knew now that he must have been asleep, for it was early morning by the pale grey light which stole in through the glass. The weather seemed to be worse, the yacht pitching and tossing, and there was a dull, creaking, horrible sound which kept on, but was smothered out at intervals by a tremendous bump, which was always followed by a sound as if the vessel had sailed up the rapids of Niagara river and then beneath the falls.
The confusion increased with the noise, and, holding on with one hand, Jack pressed the other to his forehead as he stared straight before him at a big tin box which appeared to his sleep-muddled brain to be walking about the saloon table, when he opened the tiny state-room door.
Yes, there was no mistake about it; that box was alive, just as frightened as he was by the fearful storm, and was trying to escape, for all of a sudden, after edging its way to the end of the table, it made a bound, leaped to the floor, and began to creep and jump toward the door at the foot of the cabin stairs.
“What did it all mean?” thought Jack, and he tried hard to collect himself. Yes, they came on board three or four days before, he was not sure which. He remembered that. He had been frightfully ill, and oh, so sick. He remembered that too. Then he recalled about preparing for the worst last night, when the storm increased, and thinking as he lay down in his berth, weak as a baby, that it was very grand to be able to act as his father and Doctor Instow did, for they were perfectly resigned, and he had seen them sitting down playing a game of chess with a board full of holes into which the chess-men stuck like pegs.
Then in full force his brain seemed to assert itself. The worst had come, and it was his duty to awaken his father and Doctor Instow, so that they might all save themselves by taking to one of the boats or a raft.
Boomp! Splash. U–r–r–r–r!
A wave striking the yacht’s bows—the water deluging the deck.
A spasm of fear shot through him, and he made a dash to catch up his yachting cap and pea-jacket with gilt anchor buttons which he had had on the previous night; but as soon as he quitted his hold, he was literally at sea, and the floor of his little state-room rising up, he seemed to be pitched head-first into his berth as if diving, but he managed to save himself from injury, and dropped on to the floor, crawled to his jacket, slipped it on, and then out into the saloon, to see that the tin box—one which the doctor had had brought on board full of necessaries for their fishing and collecting trips—had reached the saloon door, but could get no further.
But what was a box to a man? Jack crept to his father’s door, beat upon it, and then dragged it open to find the berth empty.
“Gone and left me,” groaned the lad in his misery and despair. “How horrible! No; he is making a raft, and will come and fetch me soon.—Oh!”
He clutched at the door to save himself, for the yacht suddenly made a dive, and he felt that they were going down into the vast depths of the sea; but he did not save himself, for the door played him false and helped to shoot him right across the saloon, and he was brought up by the door of the doctor’s tiny room.
Recovering himself he desperately clutched at the handle, dragged the door open, and as the yacht prepared for another dive, he shot in against the berth, punching its occupant heavily in the ribs, and snatching at the clothes as he held on.
The doctor uttered a deep grunt, but did not stir. “Doctor! doctor!” panted Jack. “Wake up! Quick! We’re sinking.”
“Eh? All right!” came in a deep muffled voice. “Oh, wake up, wake up!” cried Jack. “I can’t leave him to drown. Doctor! doctor!”
“All right!” came fiercely, as Jack seized the sleeper by the shoulders. “Tell ’em—only jus’ come abed.”
“Doctor! doctor!”
“Tell ’em—give—warm bath—mustard.”
“But we’re sinking,” cried Jack wildly. “Eh? Whose baby is it? What’s matter—Jack? Taken ill?”
“No, no. Quick! Come on deck.”
“Just won’t,” growled the doctor; and he turned his back and uttered a deep snore.
Jack stared in horror, and then dropped on all fours to crawl to the foot of the cabin stairs, and fetch help to drag the drowning man on deck, being fully imbued with the idea that Doctor Instow had taken some drug in his despair, so that he might be unconscious when the yacht went down.
In passing he saw that the captain’s and the mate’s berths were both empty, and, how he knew not, he crawled up the cabin stairs, looked on deck, and saw that his father was standing by the weather bulwark, and the captain close by.
There was the man at the wheel, and a couple more forward in shiny yellow tarpaulins; and as he gazed at them wildly, there was a thud and a beautiful curve over of a wave which deluged the deck and splashed the two men, but they did not stir.
He saw no more then, for the yacht careened over from the pressure on the three great sails, and it seemed to the lad that the next moment they would be lying flat upon the water, so he clung to the hatchway fittings for dear life. But the next moment the Silver Star rose from the wave in front, and literally rushed on, quivering from stem to stern like a live creature, the waves parting and hissing to form an ever-widening path of foam astern.
Jack caught the full fresh breeze in his teeth as he struggled on deck, and breathlessly staggered to the side, looking as if he were going to leap overboard; then clinging to the rail, he crept hand-over-hand to where his father now stood with the captain.
“That you, Jack?” cried Sir John. “Good-morning. Well done! Come, this is brave.”
“Splendid!” cried Captain Bradleigh. “Why you have soon come round.”
Jack woke fully to the fact now that it was a false alarm, and strove hard to get rid of the scared look with which he had come on deck for help to drag Doctor Instow up. But still he was not quite assured, for he started suddenly as, plosh! there came another rush of water over the bows. “What’s that?” he cried.
“Sea having a game with the yacht,” said the captain merrily. “Splashing her nose. Look how she rises and glides over that wave. Regular racer, isn’t she?”
“Yes, going so fast,” panted Jack breathlessly. “But—but is there no danger—of her sinking?”
“Just about as much as there would be of a well-corked-up bottle, my lad. The more you pushed her under, the more she’d bob up again. Oh no, she won’t sink.”
“I’m glad you came up,” said Sir John. “This breeze is glorious, and I never saw the sea more beautiful; look how the waves glisten where the moon falls upon them on one side, and how they catch the soft pearly light from the east on the other. It is a lovely effect.”
“Yes, father, very beautiful,” said the boy sadly. “Are we far from land, Captain Bradleigh?”
“Yes, and getting farther every minute. Don’t want any steam with this breeze. If it holds, we shall regularly race across the bay.”
“Bay?” said Jack, feeling that he must say something to keep them from seeing how nervous he was. “Mount’s Bay?”
“Mount’s Bay?” said the captain, smiling, “No; the Bay of Biscay. We passed Mount’s Bay three days ago, while you were lying so poorly in your berth. Oh, that’s nothing to mind,” he added quickly. “I was horribly bad for a week in smoother water than you’ve had; you’ve done wonders to get over it so soon.”
“Yes, you’ve done well, Jack,” said Sir John, who looked gratified by the way in which his son was behaving. “Mind! keep tight hold of the rail.”
For just then the yacht made a dive, rose, shook herself, and then, after seeming to hang poised on the summit of a green hillock, she started again with a leap.
“Yes; better hold tight till you feel more at home. One easily gets a heavy fall and bruises at first. But you’ll soon find your sea-legs, and give and swing with the vessel just as if you belonged to her.”
“Why didn’t you bring the doctor up?” said Sir John; “he is losing a glorious sight.”
“I tried hard to wake him,” replied the lad, “but he was too sleepy.”
“Yes; he likes his morning sleep,” said Sir John.
The captain walked forward to speak to the two men of the watch, and an intense longing came over the boy to undeceive his father, who had not grasped the true reason of his appearance on the deck. But try hard as he would, shame kept him silent, and he began to give way again to the nervousness which oppressed him.
“Don’t you think,” he began; but his father checked him.
“Look—look—Jack!” he said; and he pointed to something about a quarter of a mile away.
For a few moments, as it appeared and disappeared, the lad could not catch sight of it; but at last he did.
“A serpent—a huge serpent,” he cried. “Is it coming this way?”
“It, or rather they are not coming in this direction, but going on the same chase, my boy. No, it is not a serpent; serpents do not travel up and down in that fashion, though some people think they do, but undulate their bodies right and left.”
“But look, father,” cried Jack, forgetting his nervousness in the interest of what he saw. “It must be a great snake, you can make out its folds as it goes along.”
“No, you look—take a good long look, and don’t come on deck again without your binocular. That is a little shoal of seven or eight porpoises. They follow one another like that, and keep on with that rising and falling manner, coming up to breathe, and curling over as they dive down again. They do strangely resemble a great snake.”
“But breathe, father?” said Jack; “fish breathe?”
“Those are not classed as fish, my lad. They cannot exist without coming up to get air. A fish finds enough in the water which passes over its gills.”
“Yes, I’ve read that,” said Jack; “but I had forgotten.”
“Well, gentlemen, looking at the porpoises?” said the captain, coming up behind them. “Nice little school of them. They always go along like that. I used to think when I first saw them that they were like a troop of boys running along and leaping posts. They’re after a shoal of fish; mackerel perhaps. Well, Sir John, how do you think the yacht runs with this breeze?”
“Splendidly,” said Sir John.
“Breeze! Splendidly!” said Jack to himself, as he tried to restrain a shudder, for the breeze had seemed to him a storm.
“Well, sir, she’s good on every tack. I can do anything with her; I never felt a boat answer the helm as she does. But I like to hear you talk about it; I feel a sort of vanity about her, seeing she is like a child of mine, and I want to be quite convinced that you are satisfied with your hasty bargain.”
“Once for all then, Captain Bradleigh, be satisfied on that point; for I feel myself most fortunate,” said Sir John.
“Thank you, sir, thank you!” cried the captain warmly. “That will do then; I will not refer to it again. By the way, Mr Jack, now you are getting your sea-legs, you will have to begin your education.”
“My education?” said the lad, staring. “Yes, sir; you must not go on a two or three years’ cruise without making a thorough sailor of yourself, so as soon as you feel yourself fit, I’m ready to teach you to box the compass, and a little navigation.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Jack coldly, and the tips of his horns, that, snail-like, were beginning to show signs of coming out, disappeared.
The captain gave Sir John a meaning look, and went on.
“You gentlemen will find Bartlett a capital fellow, and very useful. He’s quite at home over all kinds of sea-fishing, and you had better begin to give him a hint, Mr Jack, that you’ll want a good deal of his help. Capital knowledge of sea-fish; not book knowledge, but practical. It’s of no use now with the yacht going at this rate, but when we get into calmer waters.”
“Shall we soon get into calmer water?” said Jack anxiously.
“Oh yes. We’re going due south now, and shan’t be long first. I dare say by the time we have passed Cape Finisterre, and are running down the Spanish coast, you will find it smooth enough. Like an early cup of tea, gentlemen?”
“I? No,” said Sir John, “I’ll wait for breakfast. What do you say, Jack?”
Jack said nothing, but looked disgusted.
“Don’t like the idea of taking anything of course, sir,” said the captain; “but wait a little, I’m quite a doctor over these troubles, and I’ll give you some good news.”
“I’m sure he will be grateful for it,” said Sir John, for Jack was silent.
“Here it is then,” said the captain bluffly; “and you may believe it, for I know. You’ve had a sharp little spell since we left port; but it’s over now, and, as we say, you’re quite well, thank you.”
“I quite well?” cried the lad indignantly; “I feel wretchedly bad.”
“And think me very unfeeling for talking to you like this,” said the captain, smiling; “but I’m nothing of the kind. Of course you feel wretchedly ill. Faint and weak, and as if you could never touch food again. That’s why I wanted you to let the steward bring you a cup of tea. Human nature can’t go without food for three or four days without feeling bad.”
“Of course not,” said Sir John.
“But now look here, Mr Jack, I talked about good news, and told you that you were well now. Here’s the proof. There’s a nice stiff breeze on, the water’s very lively, and the yacht’s dancing about so that we shall have to mind how we handle our breakfast-cups; and look at you! You are holding on because you haven’t learned to give and take with the springs in your legs, but you are taking it all quite calmly. Why, the other day as soon as we began to careen over a bit, the doctor had to take you below. Now do you see the difference?”
“No,” said Jack. “You cannot tell how ill I feel.”
“My dear lad, I know exactly,” said the captain. “Come, pluck up your courage; we’re going to have a glorious day, and the wind will drop before noon. Take my advice: go below to have a good tubbing, and dress yourself again, and by breakfast-time you’ll be beginning to wonder that you should have felt so queer; and mind this, sea-sickness isn’t a disease: it’s a—well, it’s a— Ah, here’s the doctor. Morning, Doctor Instow, you’re just in time. What is sea-sickness?”
“A precious nuisance for those who are troubled with it,” said the doctor heartily. “Morning. Morning, Meadows. Why, Jack, lad, this is grand. You’ve quite stolen a march on me. I say, you mean you’re over your bit of misery then. My word, what a jolly morning. Hullo! going below?”
“Yes,” said Jack quietly, as he began to move toward the cabin hatch.
“Take my arm, Mr Jack,” said the captain kindly.
“No, thank you,” said the lad. “I want to get to be able to balance.”
Sir John said nothing, but stood with the others watching the lad’s unsteady steps till he disappeared.
“He’ll do now, sir,” said the captain.
“Do?” cried the doctor; “I should think he will. Why, Meadows, he has got all the right stuff in him: it only wants bringing out. Nothing like the sea for a lad, is there, captain?”
“Nothing, sir,” said that gentleman. “It makes a boy manly and self-reliant. He may turn out a bit rough, but it’s rough diamond. Sir John, pray don’t you think from what I say that I’m one of those carneying, flattering sort of chaps who ought to be kicked all round the world for the sneaks they are. What I say is quite honest. That’s a fine lad of yours: he’s as nervous now as a girl, and no wonder, seeing how weak and delicate he is, but I watched him this morning, and he’s fighting it all down like a fellow with true grit in him, at a time too when he’s feeling downright bad. You won’t hardly know him in a month.”
Sir John nodded and walked away, to go and stand by himself looking out to sea.
“Whew!” whistled the captain, turning to the doctor. “I hope I haven’t offended our chief.”
“Offended him? no,” said the doctor, taking his arm and walking him off in the other direction. “It’s all right, captain. You spoke out the truth, and he’ll tell you before the day’s out that he is obliged. Poor fellow! he is very tender-hearted about his boy. Lost the lad’s mother, you see, and he worships him. But you’re quite right, my plan’s good, and I shall bring him back a healthy man.”
“You shall, doctor, for we’ll all try and help you; there!”
Chapter Ten.
Jack begins to come round.
“Oh dear, I do feel so ashamed of myself,” said the doctor at breakfast that morning. “Edward, bring me another egg, and some more of that ham.”
“Well, sir, if you do,” said the captain, smiling, “I ought to be, but I’m not. More coffee, Sir John?”
“Thanks, no, I’m taking tea. Jack, my boy, will you try another cup?”
The lad hesitated for a moment, and then drew aside for Edward to refill his cup, with which he had been eating sparingly of some well-made toast.
“Find that rather stale, Mr Jack?” said the captain.
“No; it is very nice,” said the lad. “Ah, the toasting takes it off. Four days out. That’s as long as we go with the same bread. Begin making our own to-morrow.”
Just then Edward handed Doctor Instow a goodly rasher of broiled ham, upon which was a perfectly poached egg; and directly after the man came round behind Jack, and quietly placed before him, with a whisper of warning that the plate was very hot, another rasher of ham, and at the first sight of it the lad began to shrink, but at the second glance, consequent upon a brave desire not to show his repugnance, he saw that it was a different kind of rasher to the doctor’s, and that there was no egg. It was small and crisp and thin, of a most beautiful brown, with scarcely any fat, and showing not a drop in the hot plate. There was a peculiar aroma, too, rising from it, grateful and appetising, and after sipping at his fresh hot cup of tea—the second—twice, Jack broke off another fragment of his crisp toast and ate it slowly.
A minute passed away, his four companions eating in sea-going fashion, which is rather costly to the person that caters, and they were talking aloud meantime, but every one present made a point of not taking the slightest notice of the sensitive lad.
That hot tea at the first mouthful of the first cup was nauseating, and Jack glanced toward the door and waited before venturing upon a second. But that second mouthful was not so bad, and it seemed to him that the captain certainly had good tea provided. Then Jack had broken off a scrap of the brown toast and eaten it, feeling at the end of a minute or two that he had never before known what well-made toast was like.
And so he had gone on very slowly, but certainly surely, till that piece of broiled ham—just such a piece as might tempt an invalid—was placed before him by Edward, who winked afterwards at the steward.
Jack would have resisted with scorn the suggestion that he was an invalid, and he was in utter ignorance of the doctor having entered into a conspiracy with the steward and cook just before they sat down; but that triumvirate had conspired all the same, and the result was that dry toast and that thin shaving of brown ham, which from the moment it was placed under his nose began to tempt him.
What wonder! Three days lying in a berth aboard ship, three days of hardly touching food; and now at last sitting at a pleasant breakfast-table in an exasperating appetite-sharpening atmosphere, which came in through the open window along with the bright sunshine, while four people were cheerily chatting and eating away like men who knew how good breakfast can be.
Then, too, there was that insidious preparation—that sending in of skirmishers of dry toast to attack the enemy before a bold advance was made with the ham.
Was it strange then that after another glance round, and telling himself that it was really to keep the others from thinking him too squeamish, Jack daintily cut off a tiny brown corner of the fragrant, saline, well-flavoured ham, and placed it in his mouth?
No: it did not disgust him in the least, and he ate it, and then glanced half-guiltily at the doctor, who was bending over his plate and gilding one of his own ham fragments with yolk of egg; but the doctor had very heavy eyebrows, and from behind them he had been watching the lad’s acts, and as he saw him begin to cut another piece a little browner than the last, he winked to himself twice, and then burst out with—
“I say, captain; I suppose when we get into smoother water we might get a bit of fresh fish for the table?”
“Oh, yes, something of the mackerel kind; eh, Bartlett?”
The mate entered into the conversation directly, and in a quiet, modest way chatted about the possibilities of success, but advised waiting until the yacht was gliding steadily before a light breeze.
Still nobody turned to say a word to Jack, who sat and listened, growing by degrees a little interested over some remarks that were made about “the grains,” which gradually began to take shape before him as a kind of javelin made on the model of Neptune’s trident, and which it seemed had a long thin line attached to its shaft, and was thus used to dart at large fish when they were seen playing about under the vessel’s counter, though what a vessel’s counter was, and whether it bore any resemblance to that used in a shop, the lad did not know.
It was somewhere about the time of the last remarks being made by the mate, in which “the grains” were somehow connected with the bobstay, that Jack proceeded to cut another fragment of that crisp juicy ham; but he did not cut it, for the simple reason that there was none left to utilise the knife and fork, which he laid together in his plate with a sigh.
And somehow just the most filmy or shadowy idea of the possibility that the steward might ask him if he would take a little more crossed his mind, along with a kind of wondering thought that if the man did, what he would say in reply.
But the man did not ask, and Jack glanced at the toast-rack, which was, like his tea-cup, empty.
There was a pause now in the conversation, the captain looked inquiringly round, and then tapped the table lightly and said grace.
“Like to see how we take observations by and by, Mr Jack?” he said.
“With a telescope?” said Jack quickly, feeling relieved that no one asked him how he felt now.
“Well, yes, we do use a little glass in the business attached to the sextant. But you thought I meant observations of the land?”
“Yes.”
“No, we are far away from land now. We take our observations from the sun at twelve o’clock, and then I can give you the exact spot where we are upon the chart.”
“That’s curious,” said Jack.
“Yes, sir; curious, but quite commonplace now. It’s worth noticing though how cleverly scientific men have worked it out for us, and what with our instruments, the chronometer, and the nautical almanac, we only want a bit of sunshine to be able to find out our bearings and never feel afraid of being lost.”
“I’ll come and see how it’s done.”
“Do, sir, at noon; and you’ll like to see the heaving of the log as well.”
The captain was right; the wind dropped—and quite suddenly—a good hour before noon, and Jack found himself beginning to feel a little hungry and hollow inside just about the time when the sextant was brought out, but he felt interested in what was being done, and found himself beginning to think that perhaps after all there might be something during the voyage to compensate for the deprivations he was to suffer with respect to his regular studies and his books.
It was curious, too, how little he began to think of the rising and falling of the vessel, as she glided over the waves, which were rough enough, and sparkled brilliantly in the sunshine; but the fore-part of the deck was dry now and warm, while the yacht looked picturesque and cheery, with the crew busy over various matters connected with the navigation.
But nobody made the slightest allusion now to his having been ill, or asked how he felt, and the colour came into the lad’s cheeks once as he caught his father’s eyes, which somehow seemed to wear a more contented and satisfied look, but he only said quietly—
“I say, Jack, lad, do you think we could sit down in a chair now without being shot out?”
Jack felt obliged to reply, so he said—
“Let’s try.”