Chapter Eleven.
Jack’s eyes begin to open.
“No,” said Sir John, in reply to a question addressed to him by the captain, one beautiful moonlight evening, as they were running down within sight of the coast of Portugal; “unless it is necessary, or my son wishes to see the towns, I should prefer going steadily on eastward. For my part I want to get away from civilisation, and see Nature unspoiled or unimproved, whichever it is.”
“And that depends upon individual taste, eh, Jack?” said the doctor.
“I suppose so,” said the lad.
“Bah! he’s going back again,” said the doctor to himself.
“Would you like to stop at Gibraltar and see the Rock and its fortifications, Jack?”
“No, father, thank you,” said the lad.
Sir John looked disappointed, but he said quietly—
“Then we’ll go right on, captain, according to your plans. Let’s see, what were they?”
“If you wish to get right away to the East, then I propose that we just touch at Gib, and stay long enough to fill up our water-tanks and take in fresh provisions and vegetables, run straight on to Naples, do the same there again, and then make for the Canal, unless you would care to see Vesuvius. Naples and its surroundings are very fine.”
“Yes, very,” said Sir John.
“Oh yes,” growled the doctor; “but the place swarms with visitors. I want to get where we can land on some beautiful coast with our guns and collecting tackle, where we shouldn’t see a soul, unless it’s a naked savage.”
“So do I,” said Sir John. “What do you say, Jack?”
“Wherever you like, father,” said the boy resignedly; and he rose and walked right forward to where a couple of the men were on the look-out, and Mr Bartlett was walking slowly up and down with a glass under his arm.
Sir John sighed, and there was perfect silence for a few minutes.
“It is very disappointing,” he said at last.
“What is?” cried the doctor sharply. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“But he seems to take it all as a duty, and as if he was compelled to obey me.”
“And a good thing too,” cried the doctor sharply. “What’s better than for a son to feel that he is bound to obey his father? If I had been a married man instead of a surly bachelor, and I had had a son, I should have expected him to obey me and do what I thought was for his good; eh, captain?”
“Yes, sir, of course; and on your part, tried to be reasonable.”
“Of course. Well, we—I mean Sir John—is reasonable. No, he isn’t now. He wants Rome built in a day with the fresh paint on as well, and a grand procession of big drums and trumpets and soldiers with flags to march through the principal streets.”
“Come, not quite so bad as that, Instow. Don’t be cross.”
“Then don’t make me so. Now, I appeal to the captain here. Has not the boy been wandering about the deck all day with Bartlett, asking him questions about the sails, and talking to the men, and using his glass whenever there was a good bit of the land to see?”
“Well, yes.”
“Well yes, indeed! What more do you want? We can only go on two legs, we men; we can’t fly.”
“Captain Bradleigh seems of a different opinion with this yacht. He makes us swim and pretty well fly.”
“Yes, but what was Jack a month ago? Going about the house like a boy in a nightmare, or else with his hands supporting his heavy head, while he was A plus B-ing, squaring nothing, and extracting roots, or building up calculations with logs. He isn’t like the boy he was when he came on board.”
“That’s true,” said the captain quietly. “His interest is being awakened, and something else too—his appetite.”
“Yes; he certainly eats twice as much, and is not so particular as to what it is.”
“There!” cried the doctor triumphantly. “And what does that mean?”
“That the sea-air makes him hungry.”
“Bah! that isn’t all. It means that Nature keeps on asking for more bricks and mortar to go on building up the works that were begun years ago and not finished—muscle and bone and nerve, sir, so as to get him a sound body; and mind you, a sound body generally means a sound brain. Everything in a proper state of balance.”
“I suppose you are right,” said Sir John.
“Right? of course I am. Only give him time.”
“Where is he now?”
“Along with Bartlett,” said the captain.
“Yes, I can see him. They’re examining something over the bows. Found something fresh. Isn’t that a healthy sign? He was only a bit tired and bored just now. Look here, Meadows, you and I must not be too anxious, and keep on letting him see that we are watching him. Why, look at the other morning when he was just up from his sea-sickness. Do you think if I had begged him to eat that rasher of ham he would have touched it? Not he. Let him alone, and he’ll soon be coming to us.”
“Certainly that will be the best course. I should like to see though what he is doing now?”
“Better leave him alone. Sensitive chap like that, with a body like a little boy and a head like an old man, don’t want to feel that he is being led about by a nurse. But there, I must humour you, I suppose. Come away.”
The doctor set the example by rising, and they walked slowly forward, hearing Jack talking in an animated way as they drew nearer, and, as if in obedience to an order, one of the sailors trotted by them.
As they reached the port bows Jack turned round where he was leaning over the starboard side, as if to look for the man who had gone on some errand, and he caught sight of his father.
“Come and look here, father,” he cried. “Something so curious.”
“Eh? What is it?” said Sir John coolly, and, followed by the doctor, he crossed to where his son stood with the mate.
“Look over here, straight down into the black water,” said Jack.
“Hah! Yes, very beautiful, looks as if we were sailing through a sea of liquid pale gold.”
“And it’s all black where it is not disturbed. As soon as the yacht’s prow rushes through, everything is flashing out with phosphorescent light, and you can see myriads of tiny stars gliding away.”
“Yes, beautiful,” said Sir John. “Grand,” cried the doctor.
“And Mr Bartlett here says it is nothing compared to what he has seen off Java and the other islands. Look now! it’s just as if the sea as deep down as we can pierce was full of tiny stars. Oh, here’s the pail.”
The sailor had returned, and way was made for him to drop the bucket at the end of a rope down into one of the brightest parts, and bring it up full of the phosphorescent water.
Just then the doctor gave Sir John a dig in the ribs with his elbow, as much as to say, “Now, who’s right?” While mentally agreeing that his friend was, Sir John moved out of the way, so as not to receive another poke.
Then followed rather a learned discourse from the doctor on the peculiarities of the wonderful little creatures which swarmed in the bucket, whose contents in the light seemed to be so much clear sea-water, but which in the darkness flamed with light as soon as it was disturbed by a hand being passed quickly through.
“Why, it makes my hand tingle and smart just slightly,” said Jack.
“Oh yes,” said the mate. “If you bathe in a sea like this you can feel quite an irritation of the skin, while the large jelly-fish sting like a nettle.”
“Then are these jelly-fish?”
“Yes, almost invisible ones,” replied the doctor.
“But it seems so strange. Why is it?” said Jack.
“Well, we know that fish prey upon these things wholesale, and my theory is that the tiny things have the stinging power as a defence by day, and the ability to light up to make the fish think they will burn their mouths at night and leave them alone. Sounds absurd, eh? But I believe that’s it.”
Jack spent an hour having bucketfuls of water drawn up from the spots where the luminous cold fire seemed to burn most fiercely, the mate and Edward, called in to assist, entering into the business with the greatest of enthusiasm, and helping, after Sir John and the doctor had gone, in another way, fetching tumblers and a glass globe from the steward, Edward having to carry these well-filled into the cabin, where, chuckling to himself, the doctor brought out his small microscope, and using a tiny water-trough designed for the purpose, proceeded to examine these little wonders of the world.
Gibraltar was reached a couple of days later, and a very brief stay made, Jack contenting himself with watching the huge mass of rock with his binocular. Then away over the rather rough sea, with a favourable wind, they ran for Naples, where it grew calmer, and at night the slow from the summit of the burning mountain was seen reflected on the clouds, while by day these clouds could be seen to be of smoke.
On again for the Canal, and the doctor confided to Sir John his belief that he was a little anxious now.
“It will be so tremendously hot down the Red Sea, that I’m afraid it will upset the lad; so as you are getting up steam for the run through the Canal, if the wind is light or contrary, I should use the screw till we get to Aden.”
“And make up our coal-bunkers there,” said the captain. “Yes; good advice, sir, for that is about the hottest place I know; but it’s not often we get a contrary wind for the Silver Star. She’ll sail closer to the wind’s eye than anything I ever saw.”
“But I feel disposed to say, steam through to Aden,” said Sir John anxiously, “for if the wind is north-west, we shall have it like a furnace from the African desert.”
“Yes, sir,” said the captain, smiling, “but, according to my experience, it isn’t much better from the Arabian side. There’s no getting over it: the Red Sea might almost be called the Red-hot sea.”
The business going on in the engine-room seemed to be a break in what so far had been rather a monotonous voyage, and, to the father’s great satisfaction the following morning, he came suddenly upon Jack ascending to the deck, wiping his face, and followed by the mate, just as they were slowly steaming into the Canal.
Sir John said nothing, but noted that the lad went with the mate right aft, where they stood leaning over and gazing down at where the screw was churning up the water, the mate explaining its fish-tail-like action and enormous power in propelling the yacht.
“Have an eye upon him, Instow,” said Sir John; “the heat is getting intense, and it can’t be good for him to go down into that engine-room.”
“Just as if I ever had my eyes off him,” replied the doctor. “You let me be.”
“But he seemed to be dripping with perspiration.”
“Best thing for him. Open his pores, which have been shut up all his life. Grand thing for him. He couldn’t be going on better. I was afraid that the heat would depress him, and lay him on his back: don’t you see that so long as he keeps active he will not feel it so much?”
“I am not a doctor,” said Sir John simply. “I suppose you are right.”
“Well, give me a fair chance, old fellow. You’ve had your turn with the bow, and made an old man of him.”
“Not I—his masters.”
“Well, let me now try if I can’t make a boy of the old man. Look at him. Can you believe it?”
Jack walked by them, in his white duck suit and pith hat, just then, with the mate.
“Find it too hot, father? Shall I fetch your white umbrella?”
“No, no, thank you, my boy; I’m going to sit under the awning and watch the shipping. But—er—don’t expose yourself to the heat too much; the sun has great power.”
“Yes, it is hot,” said Jack quietly, “but I like it.”
“Yes, Mr Jack, sir,” said Edward, who had overheard his master’s remarks, “and so do I like it; but it’s a sort of country where you feel as if you would like to have a great deal of nothing to do, and lie about on the sand like the niggers. I’ve just been watching ’em, and it seems to me that they don’t eat much, nor drink much. You see ’em nibbling a few dates, or swallowing lumps of great green pumpkins.”
“Melons, Ned,” said Jack, correcting him.
“Melons, sir? Yes, I know they call ’em melons, but they’re not a bit better than an old pumpkin at home, or an old vegetable marrow gone to seed. I know what a melon is, same as Mackay grows at home, red-fleshed and green-fleshed, and netted. They’re something like; but as for these—have you tried one, sir?”
“No.”
“Then you take my advice, sir. Just you don’t try ’em, for they’re about the poorest, moshiest-poshiest things you ever tasted.”
“But the people here seem to like them.”
“Oh yes, they like ’em, sir. They seem as if they’d eat anything, and I suppose that’s why their skins are so black. But, as I was saying, they don’t seem to want beef, or mutton, or pickled pork, and yet they get fat. It’s the sunshine, I believe. They go on swallowing that all day long. I mean to try how it acts as soon as I get a good chance.”
“You’re quite lazy enough without doing that,” said Jack, laughing.
“Now I do call that ’ard, Mr Jack, sir—reg’lar out an’ out hard. I’m sure I never neglects anything. You don’t want, nor Sir John neither, anything like so much valeting as you do at home. There’s no boots to brush, nor clothes neither. I’m sure, sir, I never neglected you, only just for that little bit when I seemed to be standing on my head because my legs wouldn’t hold me up—now, have I, sir?”
“Oh no. You’ve always been very attentive, Ned.”
“Then that’s why I call it ’ard, sir. Ever since you’ve been growing sharp and quick, and wanting to do something else besides read, you’ve been getting ’arder to me, sir, and I don’t like it.”
“Oh, nonsense. I’ve only laughed at you sometimes.”
“Well, sir, look at that. You never used to laugh at me at home, nor you usen’t to order me about, nor you usen’t to—well, you never used to do nothing, sir, but read.”
Jack frowned, and reddened a little.
“I put out your clothes and boots for you, and you put ’em on—just what I liked to put for you. You used to get up when I called you, and you’d have eat anything that was put before you, and said nothing. While now you’re getting particular about your food even, and you order me about—and I won’t say bully me, because it ain’t quite true; but you’ve said lots o’ sharp things to me, and I feel ’mazed like sometimes to hear you, for it don’t sound like you at all. It’s just as if you’d got yourself changed, sir.”
“Perhaps I have, Ned, for I feel changed,” said the boy.
“Yes, sir, you are changed a lot, and I hope it’s right.”
“I hope so, Ned,” said Jack, and he walked away.
“Don’t even use his legs like he did a month ago. I can’t quite understand it, but it ain’t my business. Couldn’t have been right for him to be always sitting over a book, and when he got up, looking as if he was still all among the Romans and Greek ’uns. But it seems so sudden like, and as if he might go back again. But I s’pose we shall see.”
Chapter Twelve.
A finny prize.
The run through the Canal did not seem monotonous to Sir John, for a new feeling of satisfaction was growing within him, and everything looked bright. The crew appeared contented, and the work went on with an ease and regularity that was pleasant to see. The various objects of interest were pointed out, but Jack paid very little attention to them, his attention being principally taken up by the working of the yacht, and he was, in spite of the heat, up and down several times, the engine, with its bright machinery and soft gliding movements, so full of condensed power, having a strange fascination for him.
Then they were out in the Red Sea, with its sandy and sun-baked mountains, and the water flashing like molten silver.
Here it was perfectly calm, and Jack watched when the speed was increased; and as the captain wished to show Sir John what the yacht could do under pressure, the order for full speed ahead was given by the touch of an index, and they cut through the dazzling water, sending up an arrow-shaped wave of displacement, and for the next two miles going at a tremendous rate.
Then all at once the captain began to give orders, and the neatly-furled canvas was cast loose and hoisted, for puffs of air came from the northeast like as if from a furnace mouth, and away they glided once more. The fires were drawn, the steam blown off, and their rate decreased, though it was not far behind that of one of the great steamers which passed them on its way to China.
Once well on their way, lines were brought out from the little magazine and furnished with sinkers of lead selected by the mate to suit the speed at which glittering silvered artificial baits were thrown out to drag forty or fifty yards behind; but though every kind of lure on board was tried, hours and hours went by without a touch. But long before this Jack had turned to the mate, who was leaning over the stern on the opposite side.
“Isn’t this very stupid?” he said.
“Oh no,” said Mr Bartlett merrily. “It’s a capital practice for patience.”
“I don’t know that I want to practise patience,” said the lad thoughtfully. “But I say, I felt it when we started. Surely the fish will not be stupid enough to bite at these baits.”
“It does not seem like it,” said the mate, smiling.
“They will sometimes when the water’s a bit rougher and we’re going fast, but they are too clever for us to-day.”
“Then we can give up,” said Jack with a sigh of relief.
“Give up? No, that will never do. If we could only catch one fish, we could use it to cut up for bait.”
“Ugh! the cannibals,” cried Jack.
“Yes, plenty of fish are; but as we haven’t one, and don’t seem as if we can catch one, I’ll go below and see if the cook can help me to a bit of pork skin to cut into a bait or two.”
He made his line fast and went forward, while, standing now in the shadow cast by the great sail behind him, Jack held the line in a quiet listless way, gazing at the distant mountains and wondering at the beauty of the colour with which they glowed in the pure air. He felt calm and restful, and the soft sensuous warmth of the wind was pleasant. It was restful too this gliding over the sea, with the yacht gently rising and falling and careening over to the breeze. The trouble of the days to come seemed farther off, and for a few moments the germs of a kind of wonderment that he should have looked upon this voyage as a trouble began to grow in his mind.
Then he was roused from his pleasant musings as if by an electric shock attended by pain. The line he had coiled round his hand suddenly tightened with a jerk which wrenched at his shoulder and cut into his fingers, and he uttered a shout for help which made the man at the wheel turn to look. A big black-haired fellow, who was busy with a marline-spike and a piece of rope, dropped both and ran to the lad’s help, but not before he had brought his left hand up to help his right, taking hold of the fishing-line and holding on with the feeling that the next minute he would be dragged overboard, but too proud to loose his hold all the same.
“Got him, sir?” said the sailor. “I’ve got something,” panted Jack. “It’s horribly strong.”
“They are in here. Let him go.”
“What!” cried Jack indignantly; “certainly not.”
“I don’t mean altogether, sir. Let him run, or the hook will break out.”
“But how?”
“You’ve plenty of line on the winch, sir; let him have some loose to play about and tire himself.”
“Oh yes, I see; but it’s jerking dreadfully.” The man picked up the big wooden winch upon which the line was wound and held it fast.
“Now, sir, hold on tight with your left hand, while you untwist the line from your right. That’s the way. Now catch hold tight and let the wheel run slowly. There’s a hundred yards more here. It will let him tire himself. That’s it, he won’t go very far; then you can wind in again—giving and taking till he leaves off fighting.”
“Hallo! here, Mr Meadows,” cried the mate; “this is hardly fair. Why you’re the best fisherman after all. That’s it, let him go every time he makes a dart like this: now he’s slacking again. Wind up, sir, wind up.”
Jack obeyed very clumsily, for it wanted practice to hold the big wooden winch steady with one hand while he wound with the other, and before he had recovered ten yards the fish made a fresh dart, not astern, but away nearly at right angles with the course of the ship, tiring itself by having to drag the now curved line through the water.
“Now again,” cried the mate; “wind—wind.”
Jack’s inclination said, “Give the line over to the man who understands it,” but pride said “No”; and he wound away till the wheel was nearly jerked from his hands by a fresh dart made by the captive.
And so it went on for some minutes, till the fish began to show symptoms of becoming exhausted; so did Jack, upon whose face the perspiration was standing in beads.
“Here, Lenny,” cried the mate, “go and get the big gaff-hook. We shall have this fellow.”
The man ran forward, and Jack, with eyes fixed, began to play his fish with a little more nous, but it was terribly hard work.
“Tell me when you’re tired,” said the mate.
“Now.”
“Shall I play him for you?”
“No, no! Don’t touch it,” cried Jack, who was unaware for some moments that he had an audience to look on.
“Oh no, I won’t touch till you tell me,” said the mate.
“Bravo!” cried the doctor; “capital. Well done, Jack, that’s the way. I ought to have been here. Why you’ve got hold of a thumper.”
So it proved, for the fish showed no sign of giving in for another quarter of an hour, and various were the comments made as to the probability of its being got on deck; but at last the darts grew shorter and shorter, and far astern they saw a gleam from time to time of something silvery and creamy as there was a wallowing and rolling on the surface, and now the mate took hold of the keen hook attached to a light ten-foot ash pole.
“Perhaps you’d like to gaff him, Doctor Instow,” said the mate.
“No, no,” replied the doctor. “Fair play. You two were fishing. Land him yourself.”
“What shall I do now?” said Jack, who was panting with his exertions.
“Let the winch go down on the deck, and haul the fish in hand over hand till you get him close in.”
Jack followed his instructions, and the captive, completely exhausted, now came in fast enough, proving to be far larger than any of those present had expected to see, but about a tenth of what Jack had imagined from the strength the creature had displayed. In fact there had been moments when the lad had again been calculating whether at one of the fiercest rushes he would not have to let go and so escape being dragged over the rail.
But now, half drowned by being drawn through the water, the fish came in slowly and quietly, the lad having all the hauling to himself, till, leaning over, the mate made a dart and a snatch with the great gaff-hook, the weight on Jack’s arms suddenly ceased, and, helped by the big dark sailor, Mr Bartlett hauled the prisoner quickly in over the rail, for it to lie beating the white boards with sounding slaps of its crescent-moon-shaped tail.
“Well done!” cried Sir John. “What brilliant colours!”
“Hah! yes,” cried the doctor. “This is something like fishing. What is it, captain?”
“Oh, one of the great mackerel tribe fellows they have in the Mediterranean. It isn’t a bonito, for it’s too big, but just as bright in its colours. Can’t be a small tunny come down through the Canal, can it?”
“I’m puzzled,” said the mate, bending over the beautiful prize. “It may be; but whatever it is, Mr Meadows here has had a fine stroke of luck, and we shall have fish for dinner.”
Jack flushed with the excitement of the capture, and stood looking on at the beauty of the creature’s colours in the bright sunshine, while the mate placed the end of the gaff-pole between its jaws before attempting to extract the great triple hook which hung by a swivel beneath the silvered shining bait.
“I should say it is one of the bonitos,” said the doctor thoughtfully. “It has that slimness just before the tail fin spreads out, and there are plenty of flying fish here, of course.”
“Plenty, sir,” said the captain. “I dare say if you go forward you’ll see them beginning to skip out of the water, startled by the yacht. Seen any yet, Mr Jack?”
“Not yet,” was the reply.
“Yes,” said the doctor, “I think that’s what it is. They chase the flying fish, and this fellow must have taken your long spoon-bait for one of them. Don’t you think so, Bartlett?”
“Yes, sir, you are right; but without exaggeration I never saw so fine a one as this. Why,” he continued, clasping his hands round the thin part near the tail and raising the fish for a few moments before letting it fall back on the white boards, “it is very little short of forty pounds.”
“It must be quite that,” cried the doctor. “Well, it’s always the way, the new beginner catches the biggest fish. I should have liked to hook that fellow. Did he pull much, Jack?”
“Dreadfully. My arms feel strained by the jerks it gave.”
“I congratulate you, my boy,” said Sir John. “It is a beauty.”
Then the captain spoke:
“When you’ve done admiring it, gentlemen, there is some one else would like to have a word. I mean the cook. This fellow is fresh now, but they go off at a tremendous rate, and it will be worthless in a few hours. Pass the word there for the cook.”
The word was passed, and the worthy in question came up smiling.
“What do you say to him?” said the captain. “Too big and coarse?”
“Oh no, sir,” cried the man. “I’ll answer for it I can send some cutlets off it that will be excellent, and make plenty for the crew as well.”
It seemed a pity to Jack for the beautifully coloured prize to be handed over, but already some of the bright tints were fading, and as soon as it was borne off the mate made a sign to Lenny, who brought a swab and a bucket to remove the wet and slime.
“What do you say to another turn, Mr Meadows?” said the mate, smiling.
Jack smiled and began to rub his shoulder, so the tackle was hung in loops to dry, and the lad went forward to watch the flying fish spin out of the water and glide along upon their transparent wing-like fins; and he returned to watch the beautiful little creatures again and again as, evidently taking the hull of the yacht for some huge pursuing fish, they darted up from under her counter to drop back far away after their forced journey, and swim on till they gathered force and with swallow-like skim took another flight.
“Isn’t it near dinner-time?” he said at last to the doctor, who was by his side watching the flights.
“Must be, I should say,” was the reply, as that gentleman glanced at his watch. “Yes: close upon it. Glad of it, for I begin to feel a bit peckish in spite of this heat. I wonder what your fish will be like.”
He soon learned, for the cook was right, and all pronounced it excellent; but there was something more than ordinary flavour about the fish from the Red Sea, and the doctor gave Sir John a meaning look, one to which Jack’s father responded by a short nod.
Edward had had his opinions too, about his young master—opinions which sometimes made him look pleased, at others shake his head.
“Young governor’s going it,” he muttered, as he stood near watching the fishing. “Fancy him getting excited over hooking a fish, and holding on by the line. Beats anything I ever knew of before. There, you never know what’s in a boy till you begin to get it out of him. Why that line must have cut his hands awful, but he never reg’larly ’owled about it, only rubbed the places a bit when he got a chance. Wonder whether the doctor’s giving him some kind of physic as makes him come out like this. If he is, I should like to have a dose or two to bring me up to the mark. It’s wonderful what a change he’s made.”
Edward ceased for a few moments.
“Wonder how he gives it him, and what he takes it in. He don’t know he’s taking it, that’s for certain. It must be on the sly, or I should have seen it, and the glass and spoon. That’s it. He puts it in his coffee; I’ll be bound to say that’s it—in his coffee. I’ll be on the watch.”
“Dunno why I should though,” said the man, after a few moments’ musing. “’Tain’t my place to know anything about it, and if it does him good, where’s the harm? And it is doing him good, that’s for certain; but I should like to know what it is, and when he gives it.”
Chapter Thirteen.
Beginning to grow backward.
“Regular volcanic cinder heap, Jack,” was Sir John’s not new opinion of sun-scorched Aden, where, while the coal-bunkers were filled up again, the lad had amused himself by inspecting the place with his glass as he sat contentedly under the awning, preferring to submit to the infliction of the flying coal-dust to a hot walk through the arid place. Then he leaned over the side and half-contemptuously threw threepenny-bits and sixpences into the clear water in response to the clamouring young rascals who wanted to scramble for them far below and show their swimming and diving powers.
“Come on board,” cried the doctor, blowing his nose hard and coughing to get rid of the black dust. “Sacks counted, iron stopper put back in the pavement, and the wagon’s gone, Jack.”
The lad looked up at him as if wondering whether he had gone out of his senses.
“What are you staring at, sober-sides?” cried the doctor. “I know it’s poor joking, but I’d have done better if I could. Hallo! what’s the matter?” he continued, as, in what seemed to be a motiveless way, the boy threw sixpence over the side. “Got too much money?”
“No: look!” said Jack.
The doctor glanced over the rail to where the bright piece of silver was sinking fast and flashing as it turned over, while two merry little young scamps were diving down after it, racing to see which would get first to the coin. This soon disappeared in the disturbed water, while the figures of the boys grew more and more shadowy and distorted by the varying refraction.
“My word!” cried the doctor, “how the little niggers can dive! Look: here they come again.”
It was curious to see them rising with the water growing more still as their frantic struggles ceased, and their forms grew plain as they rose quickly, one dark head suddenly shooting up like a cork on a pike line after the fish had rejected the bait, and its owner showing a brilliantly white set of teeth as he shouted, “Nurrer! nurrer!”
The next moment a second head shot into the brilliant sunshine, the boy’s lips opening into a wide grin of delight as he showed his white clenched teeth with the captured sixpence held between them.
“Tell him to put it in his pocket, Jack,” cried the doctor. “Puzzle him, eh? Hold your noise, you chattering young ruffians,” he shouted. “Come, a dozen of you. Here, Jack, I’m going to waste a shilling, for it won’t do the young vagabonds any good. It’s only encouraging them to run risks of asphyxiating themselves or getting caught some day by the sharks.”
He held up a shilling as he spoke, and quite a dozen boys of all sizes splashed in out of canoes, and left the pieces of wood and one old boat to which they clung. They came swimming about near where the doctor and Jack looked over, shouting, splashing each other, and generally clamouring for the piece of money to be thrown in.
“Ah! we must have a race for this,” said the doctor, and he drew himself up and made a feint of throwing the shilling.
There was a rush like a pack of black water spaniels going after a thrown stick, but the boys had been tricked too often by passengers stopping at Aden in the regular steamers, and they did not go far, but turned round, treading water and shouting.
“Come back then,” cried the doctor. “Here, close to the yacht.”
In all probability the boys did not comprehend a word, but the gestures made with the hand containing the shilling brought them all back, and they ranged themselves in a line close in, and shouted and splashed away till the doctor, whose left hand had been in his pocket, threw the shilling shining and twinkling through the sunny air as far as he could.
Away went the boys with a tremendous rush, making the water foam, and naturally the biggest and strongest took the lead, leaving three little fellows well behind.
The doctor had anticipated this, and drew their attention with a shout, at the same time holding up another shilling, and as they turned to swim back, he suddenly dropped the coin about six feet away from the yacht’s side, where the water was still.
Plop! down went one little fellow, who rose up, turned over, sent his heels gleaming in the sunshine, and disappeared, as plop! plop! down went the two others.
“Just like a lot of dabchicks,” cried the doctor; “now we shall see them race for it. See the shilling, Jack?”
“Yes; here it goes.”
“Yes, and here they come. Look at them. Why, they go down faster than the coin. It’s wonderful.”
Wonderful it was, for the dark little figures glided through the crystal water like seals, and every motion could be followed till the coin was reached and ceased to twinkle as it sank. Then once more the dark figures grew plainer and rose and rose, but somehow more and more astern, and Jack looked startled.
“Why, there must be a tremendous current here,” he cried. “They’re being swept away. A boat! a boat!”
The doctor looked as much startled as his companion, but a very gentle vibration enlightened them the next moment, for the engine was once more in motion, the screw revolving slowly, and the Silver Star’s prow was gradually coming round in answer to the helm, till she pointed straight for the open sea, where the throbbing and quivering of the vessel increased as she went easily ahead, and then faster still over the perfectly calm water, for there was not a breath of air.
Then away and away through the burning sunshine the yacht glided, with the sea glistening like damascened steel frosted with silver, till the mountains above the coaling port grew distant; and away over the burning Afric sands there was a wondrous orange glow which deepened into fire, vermilion, crimson, purple, and gold of the most refulgent hues, and soon after it was night. It seemed to Jack as he stood gazing forward that they were gliding on between two vast purply black basins studded with stars, which were larger and brighter than any he had seen before, while deeper and deeper in the wondrous depths there were more and more, till the farthest off seemed like clusters and patches of frosted gold.
There was not a breath of air when they went on deck after dinner, and with the exception of the throbbing and humming of the engine and propeller, and soft whish of the sea as it was divided and swept along the sides, all was wonderfully still. But the silence was soon after broken by a sharp call from somewhere forward, a clear musical voice rang out, and then, sounding very sweet and melodious on the soft air, the men began glee-singing, showing that they had good voices among them and no little knowledge of singing in parts. They were simple old glees and madrigals, and no doubt the surroundings helped, but Jack sat listening and thinking he had never heard music so sweet and beautiful before.
“Why, captain,” said Sir John, “this is a surprise.”
“Is it, sir? Hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?” echoed Sir John and the doctor in a breath.
“Bartlett’s fond of a bit of music, and he has a good voice too, but he is so precious modest you can’t get him to sing alone; he’s singing with the men though now. He trains them a bit when we’re not busy, and they like it. Nothing pleases men like them more than singing in chorus; you see, they’re most of them Cornish and Devon lads, and they take naturally to it. Many’s the time I’ve heard the fishermen going out on calm evenings to their fishing-ground singing away in parts, so that you’d think that they had been well taught, and perhaps not one of them knowing a note of music.”
The glee-singing went on for about an hour, and ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Then the watch was set, and after standing leaning over the bows gazing at the glittering stars reflected in the deep water, and seeing the phosphorescent creatures add to the lustre as they were disturbed by the yacht’s prow, or some large fish darting away, Jack heaved a deep sigh and turned to go aft to the cabin.
“Unhappy, my boy?” said a voice at his elbow, which made the lad start and remain silent for a few moments, utterly unable to give expression to his feelings, before he said softly—
“No, father, not unhappy, but low-spirited and sad.”
“Sad, my boy?” said Sir John.
“No, it isn’t sad, because somehow, father, it makes me feel happy, and—and I can’t explain it, but I never felt that I cared to stand and look at the sea and sky like this before. It seems so grand and beautiful, and as if—as if—”
“The great book of Nature was being opened to you for the first time, my boy. Yes; this wonderful soft air, this glorious star-lit heaven, and the silence of the ocean through which we are gliding, impress me too in a way I cannot explain. But tell me now, my boy, are you sorry we came?”
“Sorry!” cried Jack excitedly, as he caught at his father’s arm. “No; glad.”
That night the melody of one of the old West-country ditties the men had sung in parts seemed to lull Jack Meadows to rest, and he slept one of those deep healthy slumbers which give us the feeling when we awake on a bright sunny morning, that a strange vigour is running through our veins, and that it is a good thing to live.
Chapter Fourteen.
Doctor Instow paints a picture—with his tongue.
A quick run with a favourable wind across to Colombo, a very brief stay, and then on again. There were baffling winds and a sharp storm, during which it was found necessary to get up steam, but the yacht was as good in foul weather as in fair, and to Jack’s great satisfaction he found that, in spite of the pitching and tossing of the vessel, he was not ill, but found a strange pleasure in being on deck in mackintosh and leggings, watching the yacht careen over and race through the foam. Every now and then a wave would appear gliding along like some huge bank of water, ready to roll over them and sweep the deck, but the well-trained hands at the wheel sent her racing up the watery slope, to hang poised for a few moments and then rush down again.
“Isn’t it glorious, Jack, my lad?” said the doctor, wiping the spray out of his eyes and off his beard, just in the height of the storm. “I don’t know how you find it, but it excites me.”
“I like it,” said Jack quietly; “it seems so grand, and as if the yacht was laughing at the waves and tossing them off to right and left. I wonder whether Captain Bradleigh would let me steer.”
“I hope not,” said the doctor, with a droll look of puzzledom in his face. “Why, what’s come to you, you reckless young scamp? No, thank you. If you’re going to be indulged in any luxuries of that kind, I’m going to land at Penang or Singapore, and make my way home by the next boat that touches.”
Jack laughed.
“Don’t believe it,” he said. “But doesn’t it seem as if it would be nice to have full command of the yacht like that, and send her here and there just as one liked?”
“Can’t say that my desires run in that groove, Jack, my lad; I’m quite content to play the part of looker-on. But this storm is grand, and it’s splendid to see how the little vessel shakes the water off her and rushes through it all. But I did want some calmer weather; we haven’t done a bit of fishing since we left the Red Sea, and I meant to try every day. Well, captain, how long is this going to last?”
“Another twelve hours, I should say,” replied the captain, “and then we shall have calm weather all the way to Singapore, and with the exception of a few thunderstorms, light winds among the islands.”
It turned out exactly as the captain had said. The weather calmed rapidly, and their run down to the equator, between the Malay peninsula and Sumatra, was in brilliant hot weather all through the morning; while early in the afternoon, with wonderful regularity, there came on a tremendous thunderstorm, with peals heavier and lightning more vivid than anything Jack had ever encountered, and then at the end of a couple of hours all was clear again, and the evening was comparatively cool and beautifully fine.
Singapore was so fresh and attractive that of necessity a few days were spent there, before a fresh start was made for a cruise through the islands in the region which was now exciting Jack’s expectations. Soon after they were passing great heavy-looking junks with their Celestial crews, or light Malay prahus with their swarthy, coffee-coloured sailors in tartan skirts, in whose folds at the waist the formidable wavy dagger known as a kris was worn, the handle, like the butt of a pistol in form, carefully covered by the silk or cotton sarong to indicate peace.
“If you see one of them with the handle bare,” said the mate to Jack, “one has to look out, for it means war.”
Malay prahus were so thoroughly connected in the lad’s reading with piracy, that he looked curiously at the first they encountered, and eagerly scanned the calm, rather scornful faces of the men who apathetically stood about the bamboo deck, and watched the passing of the swift, white-sailed yacht, while they distorted their cheeks by slowly chewing something within.
“What’s that fellow doing?” said Jack, handing his double glass to the mate, who gave a quick glance through and handed it back. “Look for yourself.”
Jack resumed his inspection of the prahu’s deck, for it was not above forty yards away.
“Doing something with a bit of—I don’t know what, which he has taken out of a little bag.”
“Betel-nut from one of the palms which grow in these parts,” said the mate.
“Now he has slowly taken a leaf out of the same bag.”
“Sirih leaf; a kind of creeping pepper plant which runs up trees,” said the mate.
“And now he is opening a little brass box, which has something that looks like a white paint.”
“Lime,” said the mate, “lime of a very fine kind, made by burning shells.”
“And he is spreading some of it with one finger upon the leaf.”
“Yes! See what he does next.”
“Rolled the piece of nut in it and put it in his mouth.”
“Yes,” said the mate; “all the Malays do this betel-chewing.”
“What for?”
“It is a habit like our sailors chewing tobacco. The Malays think it is good for them, and keeps off all choleraic attacks.”
“Does it?” asked Jack.
“Ah, that I can’t say. You must take the doctor’s opinion.”
But Jack was too much interested in watching the prahu, which, in spite of only having matting sails, sped along over the calm water at a rapid rate, and he went on questioning his companion.
“They seem fierce-looking fellows, and as if they could do a deal of mischief. Are they such terribly bloodthirsty people?”
“Certainly not,” said the mate. “I have always found the better-class Malays simple, gentlemanly, and courteous if they are properly treated; but if injured, I believe they can be treacherous and relentless.”
“But I remember once reading how bloodthirsty the Malay pirates are.”
“I don’t think the English, Spanish, or French pirates were much better,” said the mate, laughing. “Pirates are generally the scum of the ports they sail from; reckless, murderous ruffians. But I should say that of all pirates out in the East, the gentle, placid, mild-looking Chinaman makes the worst; for he thinks nothing of human life, his own or any one else’s.”
“But there are no pirates now, of course,” said Jack quietly.
The mate turned and looked him in the eyes.
“Do you want me to tell you some murderous narrative?”
“Oh no; I don’t care for such things. I know, of course, that there used to be plenty.”
“So there are now,” said the mate. “They have hard work to carry on their piracies; but every now and then we have a bad case. They mostly come from the Chinese coast; but they are made up of ruffians of all kinds.”
Jack was silent for a few moments.
“I heard Captain Bradleigh say that the men were all trained to use the small-arms,” he said at last quietly. “Would they fight if we were attacked?”
The mate hummed over a bit of a once popular song, beginning, “We don’t want to fight, but by Jingo if we do.”
“That pretty well expresses the nature of English sailors, sir,” he said quietly. “They don’t want to fight, and never would if they were left alone. But if they do fight—well, Mr Jack, if they do they hit very hard.”
Jack laughed merrily, to the great satisfaction of two gentlemen across the deck, who turned their heads so as not to seem as if they noticed anything.
“I dare say,” continued the mate, “you remember how it was at school; you never wanted to fight, but when you had to I suppose you hit hard?”
Jack was silent again, and at last said quietly—
“I never did have a fight at school.”
During the next few days they sailed slowly on at a short distance from the coast of the long island of Java, and except that the weather was very hot, and that they could see in the distance mountain after mountain rising up like a huge, blunt cone, several of them showing a cloud of smoke drifting slowly away before the wind, sailing here seemed in nowise different from by the coast of Spain or Portugal. But Jack was to see the difference before long.
One evening over dinner their plans were discussed, the captain saying—
“Then I understand, Sir John, that you quite leave the choice to me?”
“Certainly. We have not sailed these thousands of miles for the sake of visiting towns and show places. Take us to some one of the islands such as you described to me; uninhabited if you can. If you could cast anchor by one never yet trodden by the foot of man, so much the better.”
“Ah, that I can’t promise you, sir,” replied the captain, “for the people out this way are nearly all venturesome sailors, and for any number of years have put to sea in the most crazy of bamboo craft, and set sail to land where they could, some of them even going in mere canoes. So you see we may come upon people in the most unexpected places. But I have several islands in my mind’s eye, between here and the east end of New Guinea, where you gentlemen may collect to your hearts’ content.”
“Birds?” cried the doctor.
“Birds, sir? Yes; some of the most beautifully coloured to be found on the face of the earth. Parrots, cockatoos, birds of paradise, sun-birds, something like the little humming-birds of the West Indies and South America. Oh yes; you’ll find as many birds as you want.”
“Butterflies?” asked Jack.
“Yes, and moths, some of them bigger than a cheese-plate.”
“Flies, of course?” said Sir John.
“Oh yes, sir, and beetles too, some of the ugliest you can imagine, and some of them looking as if made of burnished metal. Then of course you’ll have plenty of fireflies and mosquitoes too.”
“Of course we shall get them,” said Sir John. “But what about serpents?”
“Plenty, sir, sea and land; curious lizards too.”
“There will be no animals to shoot,” said the doctor rather regretfully.
“Tigers, elephants, or leopards? No, not unless we make for the mainland. But there is a great deal of unexplored country on the coast of New Guinea and Borneo, and there’s no knowing what we might come across. There are elephants in Borneo, and our old friend the orang-outang.”
“Let’s try one of the smaller islands first,” said Sir John. “I’m getting eager to begin doing something.”
“I can’t exist much longer doing nothing but parade up and down this deck. My joints are growing up. How do you feel, Jack?” said the doctor.
“Lazy. I feel as if I could go on doing nothing for any length of time.”
“Here, this won’t do,” cried the doctor in mock horror. “’Bout ship, captain, and let’s get back home, or else to one of these wonderful islands that make my mouth water. Let me see, something of this kind: a beach of coral with the waves always rolling over and breaking in foam, so that just within there is a beautiful blue lagoon of water, calm as a lake. Across the lake stretched right and left golden sands, at the back of which are cocoa-nut groves, with their great fern-like leaves rustling in the sea-breeze, crabs and fish scuttling about beneath them; and farther on where the land commences to rise the glorious tropic forest begins, trailed with orchids and wonderful creepers. Great palms rise like columns, and huge trees of the fig persuasion spread and drop down at several spots to form green bowers, and capital places to make huts. Monkeys climbing about. Birds swarming—nesting or swinging by the rotan canes. Farther on the land rising and rising, and all forest till it begins to be seamed with valleys, or rather deep gorges which run up to the central mountain, from which they radiate all round down toward the sea, and all of them forming glorious collecting grounds for naturalists. Then higher up the air growing cooler, save for a peculiar hot puff now and then with a taste in it of sulphurous steam. Then the trees growing thinner and not so majestic, but the flowers more abundant and the valleys more moist, where the streams trickle down; and here and there are little waterfalls, over which in the spray enormous fronds spread their green lace-work and sparkle with the fine pearly dew which is formed by the spray from the falling water. Here an icy spring of crystal purity gushes from amongst the mossy stones, and oddly enough a little farther on we come upon another spring, from which steam rises, but the water itself is of wonderful clearness, so hot that you cannot bear your hand in it, and the basin is composed of delicate pinky-white as beautiful as the inside of some of the shells which lie in the glorious marine garden at the bottom of the lagoon which spreads all round the island. We push on and at last leave the trees behind, to find the vegetation curiously dwarfed, masses and tufts of wiry grass, and we have to tramp over sandy, cindery stuff which gives way under our feet, and sets some of the big stones in motion. For we have come upon a slope which grows steeper and steeper, and runs up and up, till, quite breathless, we stop short among the great grey masses of pumice-stone and glassy obsidian which cut our boots. We look about and see from where we are over one side of the island, in whose centre we nearly stand. The forest is glorious, the lagoon looks like turquoise, and the coral reef which forms a breakwater round the place seems from our great height to be one mass of creamy foam, while beyond it stretching far and wide is the glorious sapphire sea. We are terribly hot with our climb, but the air here is splendidly invigorating, and we turn to finish our last hit of a few hundred feet over loose lava, pumice, and scoria. It is hard work, but we give one another a hand, and at last we stand at the edge of a tremendous depression like a vast cup in the top of the mountain, whose other side, similar to that on which we stand, is a mile away, while below its the cup is brimming with the verdure which runs up from a lovely blue lake a thousand feet below. All is beautiful, so beautiful, that it seems to take away our breath, for flowers are all about, the gorgeous butterflies are on the wing, noisy paroquets are climbing head up or head down, and there is nothing to show that we are on the edge of the crater of some tremendous volcano, but we catch sight of a thin thread of steam rising to form a cloud over a bare rock-strewn patch on one side. That tells us the fierce gases below are not quite extinct, but are smouldering ready to burst out at any time, sending forth the fiery rain to destroy the verdure, torrents of molten stone to run in streams down to the sea, or a flood of boiling mud to turn the lovely island into a wilderness. All is so beautiful that we can hardly turn away to begin our descent to where the yacht is lying in the lagoon, which forms a perfectly safe port into which it has been towed by the crew. But go down we must, for we are choking with thirst—at least I am, through talking; so long, and I’ll trouble you, steward, for another glass of water.”
“Oh,” cried Jack, who had been drinking in every word, his face flushed and eyes bright with excitement as he pictured mentally the glorious place the doctor had described, “what a cruel mockery to raise one’s expectations like that. It’s like waking one suddenly from a beautiful dream.”
“Don’t quarrel with him, my boy. I say, Jack! I did not know the doctor could be so florid.”
“I didn’t either,” said the doctor, laughing, “not till I tried.”
“Capital!” cried the mate, clapping his hands softly.
“Yes, excellent,” said the captain, smiling, with a peculiar twinkling about the eyes. “But it seems to me, Sir John, that you do not need any guide.”
“Why not?”
“Because I see the doctor has been there.”
“I never was farther from home than Switzerland in my life.”
“That’s strange,” said the captain, “for that’s the very island I am making for now.”
“Oh! won’t do,” said the doctor. “Mine was all exaggeration, built up out of old books of travels.”
“The description was perfect, sir,” said the captain quietly. “Eh, Bartlett?”
“Photographic,” said the mate.
“Come, come, gentlemen, that won’t do,” said the doctor merrily. “I gave rein to my fancy. I knew that the coral islands are very lovely, and the volcanic islands very grand, and so I said to myself, I’ll paint a regular tip-top one, such as ought to please friend Jack here, and I joined the volcanic on to the coral and astonished myself.”
“And me too,” said Sir John, laughing.
“And disappointed me horribly,” said Jack; “I really thought there was such a place.”
“So there is, Mr Jack, and we’re sailing for it now,” said the captain quietly.
“Aha! Which?” cried the doctor merrily, as he felt that he was trapping the captain fast,—“coral or volcanic?”
“Both, sir,” said the latter, and he looked at Jack as he spoke. “There are plenty of islands where a volcano has risen from the sea, and the coral insects in the course of ages have built a rampart of limestone to act as a breakwater, and thus prevented the lava and pumice from being washed away. The island I am making for is one of these.”
“But not so beautiful,” cried Jack.
“Well,” said the captain, “our friend here the doctor did lay the paint on very thick in the picture he drew, and used all the brightest colours he had in his knowledge-box; but after all Nature’s colours are purer and lovelier than any we can mix, and well as he painted he did not quite come up to the mark; and I think, sir, that when we’ve climbed up to the top of the mountain you will say the same.”
“Oh!” cried Jack rapturously, and he turned to his father.
“If!” said the captain, very emphatically.
“If? If what?” said Jack.
“There has not been an eruption, and the whole island blown away.”
Jack felt as if some one had suddenly poured cold water all down his back.