"Five bells, sir, please! Five bells, sir, please!"
This resounded all along the deck, and if we had not turned out in five minutes, then he took the number of the hammock and reported it to the commander. The owner of that hammock was planked. That is, he was brought on the quarter-deck and severely reprimanded.
Our sea-chests stood all round the deck, and as soon as we got up, our servants folded the bed-clothes, lashed up the hammocks, and trundled them away to the upper deck to be neatly stowed in the topgallant bulwarks.
But though we got up, we didn't always, if ever, begin to dress immediately. No, we used to mount to the top of our sea-chests, and with our night-shirts drawn down to cover the toes, and our knees up to our chins, squat there for perhaps a quarter of an hour, looking for all the world like a row of fan-tail pigeons.
Then we grew lively, opened our sea-chests, which, you know, contain a complete toilet service at the top, washed and towelled, skylarked, stole each others socks, and pelted each other with wet sponges. I dare say our marine servants were to be pitied in their almost fruitless endeavours to maintain order.
Ah! those dear old days are past and gone, and they will never come again!
* * * * * * * * * * *
However, although he had all night in, somehow it was quite an hour before Creggan dosed off. He was reviewing in his mind the events of the cruise, and thinking of home at the same time, anxiously too. It must have been months and months since the last batch of letters received were written, and some of his dear friends may have died since then. This thought made his heart beat uneasily.
Then he remembered that he had hurried into his hammock without saying his prayers.
But he did so now, and so felt more contented and happy.
All the scenes of the past three years then presented themselves in single file before his mind's eye. Had he done all he could for the service?
He really thought he had.
Poor old Daddy the hermit had given Creggan three maxims before he left his little island home, and the lad had always borne these in mind. They are not sentimental or namby-pamby, or I would not repeat them. They are just good, honest rules, that would help any sailor-boy to get his foot well on to the first rung of the ladder that leads to fame and fortune.
"My dear sonny," said the hermit, "mind you this, and mind it all your life:—
"First—If a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well.
"Second—'Work while it is called to-day, for the night cometh when no man can work'.
"Third—Try to see your duty and make sure of it, and when you see it, go straight for it."
* * * * * * * * * * *
But Creggan dosed off at last, and soon slept soundly enough.
When he got into the gun-room next morning, he was saluted by his merry messmates in the following fashion.
"Creggan Ogg, hillo!"
"Hillo—o—o, old Creggan!"
"Creggan, ain't you just too awfully glad for anything?"
Our hero looked from one to the other in a kind of puzzled way.
"Are you all mad?" he said.
"No, no, no, but we're nearly home, man alive!"
"He isn't half-alive! He isn't awake yet!"
Then it began to dawn upon Creggan.
He jumped up on the locker, and had a peep out through the tiny port, or scuttle-hole.
Why, it was like looking through a mirror into fairyland. The picture was very limited, it is true, but yonder, high up on a green brae, was a long, white-washed cottage with a woman at a tub washing clothes in front of it, and a brindled cow quietly chewing her cud and looking on.
And this was home at last! A little picture from dear old England!
Creggan stopped longer upon the locker than there was any need for, because the tears had sprung to his eyes, and he cared not that his chaffing messmates should witness such weakness.
Well, soon after this they got past the breakwater and well into the beautiful Sound.
Boats in swarms begin to surround her, but not a soul, woman or man, can get on board till the medical officer comes and they get pratique, a clean bill of health.
But the men are allowed to talk from the gun-ports to their friends and relatives beneath. All are anxious all are either sad or joyful.
How the wife beams when she sees her Jack's brown face peeping smilingly down.
But oh! the grief and sorrow of some poor women when they ask some other sailor about their Tom or Bill.
"Where is Bill?"
"Where is my Tom?"
It is hard, hard to answer such questions, but it must be done.
"Ah, missus," says Jack at the port, "we've been a-fightin' hard wi' bloomin' niggers, and poor Tom got scuppered!"
Some women faint. Some turn pale, dazed, and sink down stunned in the stern-sheets.
But see, yonder comes the medical officer, and in a very short time the ship is free.
Then up swarm friends and relations, and meetings and greetings are very joyful indeed. There is a rattling fire of questions and answers all over the ship, and many a jolly laugh rings shoreward over the sea.
Creggan is on the quarter-deck. He expects no one, but suddenly he is hailed.
"Creggan, old man! How you have grown!"
"Why, is it you, Willie Nugent? And you've grown too, a little paler though."
"Oh, I wish I was as brown as you, Creggan, but I'm being dragged up for a political career, you know. And I do hate it. I wish I'd been a sailor."
"And how is your father?"
"Jolly."
"And Matty?"
"Your wee sweetheart is beautiful, and we are all well. My father has a better and larger bungalow now in Skye, and we often go out to see the hermit. He looks no older. Fact, I think he is getting young again."
"Oscar?"
"Oh, he did miss you at first. But Tomnahurich has another dog now, because he thinks on your next cruise you are bound to get Oscar with you. So Kooran, and he is a beauty, will then be his companion."
"Well, you're making me so happy, Willie; but just one more question. Ever see Archie?"
Willie laughed right merrily and mischievously.
"Why, he is here, Creggan; I was keeping this bit of news to astound you."
"Archie here!"
"Yes; I'll call him up now."
Next minute, with kindly hand extended, there walked, smiling but with eyes glistening with tears of joy, a fashionably-dressed young gentleman with a budding moustache.
"Man, is it your very, very self?"
"It is no other, dear old friend."
"I'd hardly have known you, Creggan."
"Nor I you. But explain, my boy. Why all this extensive rig-out—the top hat, the morning coat, the trousers instead of the kilt? Why all this thusness? Anybody left you a fortune, Archie?"
"No, no! I've lots of money, though," laughed Archie. "I've taken a small farm for mother and Kory, and they live in a red stone house, and have horses, cows, and sheep."
"But—"
"I'll tell you in a minute. You'll mind our games of draughts with the bits of carrot and parsnip for men?"
"Indeed I do."
"Well, a draught-player in Edinburgh challenged all Scotland for £20 to play with him. After you left I often played wi' Tomnahurich. He plays well, but though I took off men of my own, I very soon whipped off all his.
"'You'll go down to Edinburgh,' he said, 'and beat this boasting fellow. I'll lend you the money.'
"'But,' says I, 'suppose I lose it?'
"'Never mind,' says he. 'Off you go.'
"And off I went, Creggan, just the kilted ghillie I was when you left us. Well, there must have been a hundred great ladies and gentlemen to watch our ten games. They gave me a little cheer, but my opponent looked at me in proud disdain. I didn't like it, and determined to win. You know the old Cameronian motto—Whate'er a man dares he can do,—and by St. Kilda, Creggan, I soon lowered that toff's play. I won the first four games, getting his last crowned head in a fix every time.
"The room was stuffy and hot, and my head swam a bit, so he licked me in the fifth. Ah! playing in a hot room isn't like playing on the breezy cliffs, or among the wild thyme.
"Well, they opened a window, and our table was drawn near to it—and, Creggan boy, that toff never won another game.
"What cheering! what rejoicing! Why, a duchess took me in her arms and kissed me, and a tall swell caught me by the hand.
"'You dear little Highlander! You've got to come to my house to-morrow. I backed you for two thou., and I'll make you share it.'
"And now, Creggan, I'm champion player of Britain; but I've been challenged out to the States, and I hope I'll win there too."
Next day the three friends dined together at the chief hotel. Oh, such a happy night! Then, as soon as leave was obtained—the ship being paid off,—they all started for Glasgow by boat, and thence, again by boat, to the beautiful Island of Wings.
CHAPTER XV.
WELCOME BACK TO SKYE.
Creggan Ogg M'Vayne might well sing of
"A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep".
Well, any man who is worth the noble name of sailor loves his ship, and looks upon her as "home" in the real sense of the word. Nor does he long for any other while the commission lasts. But oh! when the order to return comes on board, then there is something within him that, though it may have been slumbering for years, awakes at once, and he is eager, even to excitement, to see once more the woods and flowery fields of England, or the wild straths and glens of green Caledonia.
When the boat discharged Willie and Creggan at Portree, the latter felt that he was indeed at home.
"No, Willie, we won't walk. I'm too impatient far for that."
"I'll do whatever you do, old man."
So they hired a fast horse and dogcart; the driver a man who could hold the ribbons well, the nag as sure-footed as a mule.
The day was bright and bracing, so that Creggan's spirits rose with every milestone passed.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Perhaps in no country in all the wide world is the early autumn more lovely than in our own dear Scottish Highlands. The fierce heat of summer that erst was reflected from the lofty crags and mountain brows to the straths below, is mitigated now. The grass is still green in the bonnie bosky dells, through which streamlets meander over their pebbly beds and go singing to the sea. Though the winds are whispering now among the birchen foliage, and the tall needled pine-trees, with a harsher voice than that of sweet spring-time, the tall ferns in many a quiet and sylvan nook wave wild and bonnie, their fronds of green and brown making a charming background to the crimson nodding bells of the foxglove. And the hills above are purple and crimson with heather and heath, with many a rugged crag or gray rock peeping through, which only serve to enhance their beauty.
But here in the north of Skye are no trees, though the heather is a sight to see, and so you hardly miss the dark waving pines.
"I'm just so happy," said Creggan, "that I believe I could sing."
"My dear boy," said Willie, "I already know enough about politics to be able to assure you that no act of parliament has yet been passed against singing. Heave round, as you sailors say, and give us a ditty."
"Give us a bass then, Willie."
"That I will, and the horse himself will beat time to your melody."
"Well, I'll sing you a song our bo's'n used to troll at the fo'castle head in starlight evenings, when our ship was far at sea. But I have not his voice. It is called—
THE SAILOR'S RETURN.
Bleak was the morn when William left his Nancy,
The fleecy snow frown'd on the whitened shore,
Cold as the fears that chilled her dreary fancy,
While she her sailor from her bosom tore.
To his fill'd heart a little Nancy pressing,
While a young tar the ample trousers eyed,
In need of firmness, in this state distressing,
Will checked the rising sigh, and fondly cried:
'Ne'er fear the perils of the fickle ocean,
Sorrow's all a notion,
Grief all in vain;
Sweet love, take heart,
For we but part
In joy to meet again.'
Loud blew the wind, when, leaning on that willow
Where the dear name of William printed stood,
Poor Nancy saw, tossed by a faithless billow,
A ship dash'd 'gainst a rock that topped the flood.
Her tender heart, with frantic sorrow thrilling,
Wild as the storm that howl'd along the shore,
No longer could resist a stroke so killing:
''Tis he,' she cried, 'nor shall I see him more!
Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean?
Sorrow's my portion,
Misery and pain!
Break, my poor heart,
For now we part,
Never to meet again.'
Mild was the eye, all nature was smiling,
Four tedious years had Nancy passed in grief,
When, with her children, the sad hours beguiling,
She saw her William fly to her relief!
Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her,
But soon return'd to life, to love, and joy;
While her grown young ones anxiously surround her,
And now Will clasps his girl, and now his boy.
'Did I not say, though 'tis a fickle ocean,
Sorrow's all a notion,
Grief all in vain?
My joy how sweet!
For now we meet,
Never to part again.'
As the horse went merrily trotting along the road, and the voices of those happy boys raised in song was echoed from rock and brae, little kilted lads and kirtled lassies ran out from cottage doors—for joy is infectious—to shout and wave their bonnets as long as they could see the trap.
And now, here is Uig once more. The landlady just as buxom and jolly as before, though at first she did not know Creggan.
Here a good luncheon was made, and the horse fed. Then on again for many a mile, till the gray ruins of the warlike old castle of Duntulm hove in sight, the swift rolling Minch, and, far beyond, the blue hills of Harris. And yonder, too, was the hermit's isle of Kilmara.
Some distance from the sea was Nugent's bungalow, but all were at the door to meet Willie and Creggan, the sailor-boy.
Matty could talk better English now, though still a child, and just as innocent as ever. While Creggan rested on a chair under the pretty verandah, trying to answer about a hundred questions at the same time, wee Matty climbed his knee, and with one soft arm around his neck, claimed her sailor all to herself.
Then there was the visit to the manse. More welcomes there from Rory, Maggie, and Mr. M'Ian.
Oh, it is really worth going to sea for a few years, if only to receive a welcome home like this!
The sea to-day was blue and smooth, so Willie had his skiff taken down from the manse, and with Matty in the stern-sheets—-just in the dear old way—he paddled out to visit his Daddy.
That was indeed a delightful meeting, but I cannot describe it. The new dog came furious, barking at Creggan, but poor Oscar knew him at a glance, and simply went wild with joy.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Let no one ever tell me that a dog forgets a kind master. When I myself first went to sea—in the Royal Navy—I left my beautiful collie with my mother. Not only did he know me when I returned after several years, but on the day my arrival was announced mother said to him: "Tyro, doggie, your master is coming to-day". He never left the window after that. Never ceased to watch till, afar off, he could see me. Then his impatience was unbounded till the door was opened, and he came rushing down the road to meet me.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Creggan spent the night with Daddy, who had not altered a bit, but he rowed Matty home first.
That evening a strange but true tale of the sea was related to Creggan, and the mystery that surrounded his childhood was cleared up once and for ever.
It was thought best by the minister, and by Nugent also, that the hermit should break the news to the lad.
Know then, that not more than a month ago, a lady in black, still beautiful, though she must have been verging on forty, was travelling in a dog-cart through Skye, with her own maid and coachman.
Calling at the manse, M'Ian happened among other things to tell her of the strange story of the finding of Creggan in the skiff on the beach of Kilmara isle.
She seemed strangely agitated.
"Is the skiff still to the fore, and might I see it?"
"Certainly, my dear lady."
She had hardly looked at it before she almost fainted, and would have fallen had not M'Ian's strong arms supported her.
"Oh, sir, that was our boat! Is the boy still alive?"
"Yes, and at sea. We expect him back in a month. He was brought up by the hermit of Kilmara out yonder."
"Do row me over there, will you?"
"With pleasure, madam."
And the minister's own boat was launched and soon reached the island.
The hermit was mystified at first, but soon recovering, told her all the reader already knows.
Then she told her sad story.
The Sea-Swallow—her husband's ship—was lying at Harris in a little bay. He, her husband, had been, alas! drinking hard some weeks before this, but seemed quite recovered, and one day she received an invitation from the minister of the parish to go on a picnic excursion with his children to see the beauties of the island. She would be back before ten. It was autumn, and the nights were long, with bright starlight and a little frost. Her husband would not go on shore, but appeared delighted to be left in charge of the child. The mother had not been gone over two hours, and night had fallen, when he told the first to call away the skiff, a light kind of dinghy. He told him he was going on shore to the manse, and would take the child with him. He was in no way excited, but quiet and calm, and singing low to the child as he went down the gangway ladder.
The mate watched him rowing himself towards the shore, then went below.
The captain was never seen again.
His name was Mearns, and the Sea-Swallow was as much a yacht as a trader, though she did bring cargoes of fruit from Italy.
Mrs. Mearns was prostrated with grief, and for many a long week never left her bed. The most Christian conclusion she could come to was that the boat had been swamped and sunk, and both the husband and child drowned.
But the Sea-Swallow was sold, and ever since poor Mrs. Mearns had lived alone with her grief, in her beautiful home down near to Torquay.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"And this lady is—my—mother, Daddy?"
"Yes, my lad; and you will see her to-morrow."
And next day he was early on shore with Oscar, and went straight to the manse.
The lady in black came slowly up the garden path about mid-day.
Something seemed to whisper to Creggan, telling him that this was indeed his mother. He ran to meet her.
She held him at arm's-length for a few seconds, while she turned white and red by turns.
"It is indeed my long-lost son!" she cried. "Oh, heaven be praised for the dawn of this day!"
Then woman-like she relieved her feelings by weeping.
Mrs. Mearns took up her abode at the manse for two months, all the time, in fact, that Creggan spent in Skye. But she seemed quite a changed woman, and looked ten years younger at least.
She no longer wore mourning, but light-coloured, beautiful dresses. She played and sang too, in a manner that quite fascinated the minister, and she took part in all the rambles about this wild romantic island.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Well, partings came again, and with them tears and blessings. Oh, that sad word "Farewell"!
In a week after this Creggan and his mother were at Torquay. But a delightful old-fashioned wooden paddle frigate was commissioned at Plymouth. She was going on Special Service, to carry despatches here, there, and everywhere. Creggan went on purpose to see her, and though the carpenters, or wood-peckers as we used to call them, were still on board, the lad—who, by the way, had been promoted to sub-lieutenant, wore a stripe and carried a sword—liked her so much, that he made an application to be appointed to her.
His appointment came in a few days.
Then Creggan once more took the bold step of calling on the captain, and with him went Oscar.
Captain Leeward opened the door, and when the young sub-lieutenant introduced himself—
"Oh, come in, my good fellow. No, no, don't shut the door in the dear doggie's face."
So in went Creggan and in went Oscar.
"I say," said Captain Leeward, a most pleasant-faced man, "I must ask you to bring this beautiful animal with you. I have a lovely black Newfoundland, and they will be excellent companions."
Had anyone handed Creggan a cheque for £10,000, he could not have been more delighted than he was at this moment.
Then in stalked the very dog the captain had mentioned. Creggan had never seen so noble a fellow before.
He appeared a little surprised at seeing another dog in the room, but as soon as Oscar went up and licked his ear—a dog's kiss—he took to him at once, and before Creggan left they both lay asleep together before the fire.
"I've heard all about you from Captain Flint himself—rather a tartar sometimes, but possessed of a right good heart. You must stay to supper, and we'll swap yarns, you know.
"By the way," he added, "do you know that your bold messmate, Dr. Grant, has been appointed to this ship?"
"I didn't know, but I feel so pleased!"
A very delightful evening Creggan spent, till nine o'clock, then he begged leave to go.
The last thing that Captain Leeward said as he shook Creggan's hand was this:
"You saved your captain's life, lad. Your courage in presence of the enemy was conspicuous, and although the Admiralty is slow—it won't forget you!
"Good-night. Join your ship in a week's time."
"Good-night, sir. You have made me very happy."
CHAPTER XVI.
LIFE ON THE GOOD SHIP OSPREY.
It was a stormy day in the end of October when the good frigate Osprey got up steam and put out to sea.
Signals had been exchanged for an hour before this between the admiral's office and the ship. The admiral thought it most imprudent to sail on such a day.
Captain Leeward was persistent, however, and at last, like any other wilful man, he had his way.
The wind was from the east-south-east, cold and bitter and high. The air, too, was filled with sleet or snow.
When they passed the breakwater it caught her bows smartly, and slued her for a few moments out of her course. But the helmsman quickly put her up, and the strong paddles fought the water fiercely, and successfully too.
Balked in its design of driving the Osprey against the breakwater, the wind did all sorts of ill-natured things. It cut the smoke of the funnel clean off, and drove its dark wreaths to leeward; it rattled the braces, it shook the rigging; it slammed the companion doorways, swayed the hanging boats about, and dashed the spray inboard with sometimes a green sea, till everybody who had to be on deck and hadn't an oilskin on was drenched to the skin. A nasty, disagreeable old wind!
The Osprey didn't seem to mind it a bit. She had a broad beam of her own, a strong bowsprit and jibboom, and she lifted her bows slowly, and with a sturdy disdain that showed she cared for neither wind nor sea.
Nor did the men either—every one of whom had been picked and chosen by Captain Leeward himself, every one of whom was as hardy as the vikings of old.
Before the ship was two miles from the Sound, and while standing amidships talking to Grant,—the Osprey's head being now turned to west-and-south, so that spray no longer flew inboard,—Creggan said:
"Listen, doctor; what a grand singer!"
For up from the forehatch rose high above the roar of the wind a manly voice, singing one of Dibdin's most favourite songs:—
"Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear
The mainmast by the board,
My heart with thoughts of thee, my dear,
And love well stor'd,
Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear;
The roaring winds, the raging sea;
In hopes on shore
To be once more
Safe moor'd with thee."
"Yes, he sings well. And do you know, that with the kindliest heart that ever was in sailor's breast, Captain Leeward has his peculiarities."
"Yes?"
"Yes. I've known him before, and sailed with him, always in a wooden ship. He hates an iron-clad, and he must see canvas bellying out aloft if there be a bit of wind at all. He is really an independent man, and wouldn't take a ship at all unless he had all his own way. So every man-jack is a jolly tar of the good old school, and his officers too, are, I have always found, genuine fellows. He must have somebody to dine with him every night, and it is just as often a middie as a ward-room officer. As for myself, I have always a knife and fork laid for me, and if I don't dine with Leeward I look in after dessert, and many a yarn he spins me."
"So different from Flint."
"Oh, yes; but we must never say a word against the absent."
"No."
"Hark!" cried Grant; "didn't I tell you?"
The ship's head was kept away a point or two.
Next minute the bo's'n's shrill pipe was heard. "Eep—eep—peep—peep—ee—ee—ee! All hands make sail!"
Up rattle the watches below, and aloft they went right cheerily.
Creggan had never seen a ship's sails cast loose so speedily, nor so quickly braced up.
"They are indeed good sailors, Dr. Grant."
"Yes, I told you. But look here, old fellow, just call me 'Grant', and 'douse' the 'Dr.'."
"All right, Grant," said Creggan, laughing.
The fires were now let down and the paddles thrown out of gear, and presently that old Osprey was doing ten knots an hour on a beam wind.
I suppose that Captain Leeward had some inkling of where he was going to, else he would not have held this course.
But the sealed orders were opened next morning, and he found that the Osprey was on particular service, her first destination being Venezuela.
He told his officers this, and that they might then look in at Rio and open further orders there—probably.
If, reader mine, you knew the Service as well as I do, you would remark that it was very good of the gallant Captain Leeward to be thus explicit with his officers. Many men that I know, or have known, would have shrouded themselves in their cold dignity, and to any inquiry made by an officer as to their destination, would simply have replied—
"Venezuela."
If asked, "And where next, sir?" such men would reply, "I really can't tell you at present".
Well, lads who mean to join the glorious British Navy, and serve either as young officers or boys under—
"'The flag that braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze',
must not expect their lives to be all sunshine, any more than they need expect the sea around to be always blue, rippled by balmy winds, and domed over with an azure sky, flecked with fleecy cloudlets, and at night studded with silver-shining stars.
In some ships they will find that fighting the waves is not fun by any means, because many of the best of our navy ships are sent to sea defective. Machinery—and it is marvellously intricate nowadays—may break down at an untimely moment, even in the midst of a terrible storm, and having no serviceable sail, even the largest iron-clad will then be at the mercy of the waves. Oh, how she rolls and yaws and plunges and careens at such a time!
The best sailors on board cannot keep their feet, their heads swim with the awful motion. Things break loose and play pitch-and-toss about the deck, the ward-room furniture may be all one chaotic heap, and all the while the seas are making a plaything of her, dashing over her, high as the conning tower, and rushing in cataracts fore to aft, or even vice versa. At such a time it seems as if the ocean wished to show those poor wave-beleaguered sailors how small the strongest works of man are, compared to those of God.
But independently of storms without or the breaking down of machinery, the ship may not be a happy one as far as officers and men are concerned. The crew, all told, may be a badly assorted one, and I have been in ships, only for a short spell, thank goodness, that were known on the station as "floating hells".
Much depends upon one's captain. If he is a kind-hearted, genuine fellow he can do everything to keep things smooth fore and aft. The ward-room officers take their cue from him, the gun-room follows the example which the ward-room sets them on deck or below, the midshipmen influence the warrant officers, and these in their turn the able and ordinary seamen and the first and second class boys themselves.
But I must heave ahead with my story, instead of hauling my fore-yard aback or lying-to, in order to ruminate and preach. Oh, I know my own faults, my lads; I have so much to say about sea and a life on the ocean wave, that, with a pen in my hand, I want to say it or write it all at once.
Well, Creggan hadn't been a day at sea before he found out that the Osprey was going to be a real happy ship.
They soon lost sight of land in the haze of the storm, though all day long the beautiful gulls kept sailing around the ship, tack and half-tack in the air. For these sea-gulls look upon ships as their own, because from them they receive their main supply of food; so they always follow them afar, trying, as it were, by their plaintive calls, to get them to return.
It was dark enough at eight o'clock to-night, and the gulls had all returned shorewards. The gale still raged, but the Osprey was under easy sail, and the motion was by no means disagreeable to a sailor.
Creggan had been keeping the second dog-watch, but now went below. There was first the fighting deck to pass through, where the great port-holes were, and the black, shining guns, each with its snow-white lanyard prettily coiled and lying on the breach. A fine open breezy deck, the shot and shell neatly arranged in racks around the hatchways, and the sick-bay far away forward yonder. Abaft here was the captain's quarters or saloon, with a red-coated, armed sentry walking near it, slowly fore and aft.
Then Creggan dived below. Aft again on this deck and right under the captain's quarters, only coming more forward, was the well-lighted ward-room, from which issued the sound of merry voices and laughing. Turning forward and on the port side there was first a cabin or two, and then the gun-room.
Below this was the orlop deck, where many hammocks were hung, and which was lined with two rows of dingy, dark, though white-washed cabins, lighted by day only by the round scuttle-hole, and at night by a candle hung in jimbles. These cabins were told off to warrant officers, bo's'n, carpenter, &c., &c., and to senior officers of the gun-room. But really most of these preferred a hammock just outside, for the sake of fresher air.
To-night, Creggan, to whom one of these cabins, and a good one too, was allotted, had occasion to go below. He heard a sad moaning proceeding from a hammock, and a white, white melancholy face hanging half over the side.
"I say!"
"Yes, my lad."
"Are you the surgeon? I'm very dickey. I'm a a clerk, and I wish I had never, never left the land."
"Well, I'm sub, and the second senior member of your mess. Don't give way. I'll go and get the surgeon."
And so he did.
Kind-hearted Grant first gave him a doze of something, which I know well but must not mention, then a tumblerful of good champagne, and in five minutes' time poor little Mr. Todd was wrapt in dreamless slumber.
There were two more of Neptune's young children who wanted seeing to. Having done so, Grant went aloft again.
Then Creggan went to his quarters.
"Come along, sir," cried one of three bold middies who sat around the gun-room table when Creggan drew back the curtain; "come along, and have a hand at whist."
"Thank you, messmates, but I must feed first."
"Steward!"
"Ay ay, sorr," said an unmistakably Irish voice. "That's me, myself, sorr;" and a tallish, smart fellow, with black buttons on his short jacket, and a blue ground to his beardless face, entered the mess.
"Bring in the beef, and all kinds of fixings."
"Any dhrink, sorr?"
"No drink, thanks. What's your name?"
"M'Carthy, sorr, sure enough."
"Well, Mac, heave round."
"Be back afore ye could say knife, sorr."
Creggan made a capital supper. Then he had just one game to please the youngsters.
"I'm dying with sleep, boys," he said, "so I'll turn in. Ta-ta, see you all in the morning."
He departed, leaving them singing, and, turning in, was soon sound and fast. And thus he slept till called to keep the morning watch.
It was a little cold, but Creggan had bent on his thickest pilot jacket, and the second lieutenant soon came stumping up, and he also had on his foul-weather gear.
But the wind had gone down considerably, and with it the sea. She had lost way, too. So Mellor sent men aloft to loosen and shake out sails. The effect was magical, and with the wind well abaft the beam the Osprey pulled herself together, threw off dull sloth and went through the water like a thing of life. All along the top-gallant bulwarks forward, the spray was sprinkled as the good ship spurned the billows, but nothing came aft.
Mr. Mellor, the lieutenant, a round-faced, fair-haired young Cornishman, strode up and down the deck talking, and smoking a short clay. Creggan and he were swapping yarns—humorous yarns mostly—and exchanging experiences, and were soon as well acquainted as if they had known each other for years.
Soon after five bells, a light was seen gradually spreading over the eastern horizon, getting higher and higher momentarily. It looked at first like the reflection of a far-off city on a dark night.
But the light grew whiter and brighter.
It was gray dawn now. Then high up in the west a streak of a cloud began to glow with orange and crimson beauty. Rolling clouds on the horizon astern were lit up with a fringe of gold and carmine. Then all the east became a glory of colour that was almost dazzling, but very beautiful. The god of day was rising, and this dazzlingly-painted orient formed the curtains of his couch.
Soon now, red and fiery, his beams spread in a path of blood across the sea, and lo! it was day.
Both Creggan and Mellor spent that watch very pleasantly, and before going below the latter held out his hand, and Creggan gladly grasped it.
"Good-bye," said Mellor. "We're going to be friends, you know."
CHAPTER XVII.
MESS-ROOM FUN.
The gun-room mess of H.M.S. Osprey was by no means an overcrowded one—three middies, an assistant-paymaster, a clerk, another sub-lieutenant, Mr. Wickens,[1] and Creggan himself.
[1] My prototype for this young officer was Sydney Dickens, the son of the great novelist, with whom I was shipmate, the dearest little fellow I ever knew.—G.S.
One middie did not really belong to the mess. He was a supernumerary, going out to join the flag-ship on the South American coast.
Midshipman Robertson was a funny little fellow. Not bad-looking, but choke-full of merriment and ideas for practical jokes, and when he talked to his messmates down below, he always screwed his face into puckers and dimples with the laughter he tried in vain to conceal. He was an Edinburgh boy, while young O'Callaghan, the supernumerary, came from Killarney, and was just as Irish as the steward.
Many a droll logomachy used to take place at dinner-time between little Scottie and this Killarney lad. All in fun, of course.
Young Bobbie, as he was called, delighted to tease Paddy O'Callaghan.
"Oh, don't give Paddy another morsel!" cried Bobbie one day at dinner, as the Irish boy passed his plate to sub-lieutenant Sidney Wickens for another slice of beef.
"And why not, you Dougal Crayture?"[2] cried O'Callaghan.
[2] The red-haired Highlander in Scott's tale of "Rob Roy".
"For your own sweet sake, Paddy. I really must look after you. Coming from a land of potatoes and buttermilk and—want and woe, over-indulgence in the roast beef of Old England might have serious consequences. Indeed, indeed it might."
"Want yourself! I hurl the insinuation back. Sure, it wasn't for want that I came here."
"No, Paddy, no,—because you had too much of that at home, you know."
And the laugh was all against poor Paddy this time.
When the plum-pudding came on that day, again Bobbie held up a warning finger.
"Mind what I told you, Paddy," he said solemnly, "or I'll have to write to your mother, and she'll take you back home to look after the pigs."
"Sure it's yourself that should go home," retorted O'Callaghan. "If all reports be true, you'd make more money in bonnie Scotland than here."
"But how, Paddy darlint?"
"How? Is it yourself that asks? Didn't the Duke of Argyle—God bless him—put up rubbing-stones in every field? Well, you'd make a dacint living if you just stood beside one and sold butter and brimstone. That's for you this time!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
After the first storm the weather became glorious. A splendid breeze, that filled every sail, blew over the sparkling sea—a breeze that made every sailor's heart beat with joy, a breeze that made every man-Jack lithe and active, ay, and happy, bringing merry laughter to the lips and song from the very heart.
Captain Leeward was very proud of his ship.
"She isn't much of a fighter perhaps, you know," he said, "and I dare say a shell or two from a big gun would speedily rip her up, but she is comfortable and dry and nice, and for all the world like a yacht, and so I love her."
"You wouldn't be a sailor if you didn't, sir," said Grant, whom he was addressing. "But I never saw a ship before so prettily finished, both on the upper and fighting decks. The Lords Commissioners have been good to you."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the captain. "It is little indeed you can get out of them. I did the decorations—extra paint and gilding, and all that—out of my own pocket, doctor."
"You have zeal for the Service, then?"
"Not a bit of it. The Admiralty hold out no encouragement for men to be zealous. But I have zeal for my own comfort, and you won't catch me in a box-heater (ironclad), or a torpedo-boat either, if I can help it."
In the captain's private cabin was a large sealed box of private despatches. This, on being opened, was found to contain letters for war-ships both at the Azores and Bermuda. So the vessel's course was changed to a more southerly direction, and on she sped, with stun'sails set.
Well might Leeward be proud of the appearance of his ship's decks. Brass-work shone like burnished gold; hard wood glittered like boatman beetles. Never a rope's-end was left uncoiled; the decks themselves, scrubbed early every morning, were as white as piano-keys, and so were even the capstan bars; while the sailors themselves, with their brown, hardy faces, were dressed in white trousers and jackets of blue.
It was not a temperance ship, yet, although the man who did the day's cooking for each mess of sixteen men had a plentiful allowance of rum, no one was ever reported by the master-at-arms as being even a trifle the worse of drink. On fine evenings Captain Leeward encouraged games. Ship's quoits was a favourite pastime, so was the running high-leap; hop-step-and-jump; and leap-frog, once begun, would be kept up all round the deck till the men were ready to drop. Of course, with the swaying of the ship, the men had many a tumble, but this only added to the general mirth and merriment.
Don't imagine, dear reader, that the gun-room officers took no part in these sports. They couldn't keep out of them, and Paddy and little Scottie might have been seen vaulting over each other, time about, as if their very lives depended on it.
Dr. Grant must have his little joke at times, and one day he announced to the officers of the gun-room mess that he was in a mood to offer a first, second, and third prize for the winners at standing high-leap.
Next forenoon the sports came off. Well, the ship that day was rolling rather, so that it was a difficult thing to stand at all.
However, everyone had the same chance, so the game came off. Creggan made a fairly good third, but Paddy and Bobbie tied for first.
"It's you and me, old stupidnumerary," cried Scottie. "You first. Ignis via—fire away!"
The rod was lowered several pegs, and the "stupid-numerary" cleared it easily.
So did Bobbie.
Up another peg, again the same, and so on till some inches over four feet.
Now, as Paddy was about to leap, the ship gave a bit of a bob, and the poor "stupidnumerary" kicked off the rod and fell on the softest part of his body.
"Hurrah!" cried Bobbie. "Scotland's going to clear it!"
He waited a few seconds till the Osprey was on an even keel, then sprang over it like a bird.
He had won, and the cheering was deafening, even Hurricane Bob the Newfoundland and Oscar joined in and made the welkin ring, while Bobbie pretended to clap his wings and crow.
Then all hands, including the victorious trio, drew aft to be present at the distribution of the prizes.
"Midshipman Robertson—First Prize."
Bobby sprang forward with alacrity and received—a mustard leaf.
"What is this for?" he said, with a droll look.
"Damp it," said the doctor, "and put it on your face to make you blush. I'm sure nothing else can."
"Midshipman O'Callaghan—Second Prize."
Up came the supernumerary and received—an ounce of Epsom salts.
"But, doctor, dear," cried Paddy, "what am I to do with them, at all, at all?"
"Swallow them, lad, to draw the blood from your head.
"Third Prize—a box of rhubarb pills."
Creggan laughed.
"Pills," said Dr. Grant, "and medicine of nearly every sort, are the best things in the world for the inside—of a rat's hole."
Creggan thanked him, and retired.
That evening the captain gave a dinner-party, invited to which were Creggan, Grant, and the second lieutenant.
It was a pretty little dinner. The captain's cook was really a chef, and the steward a smart young fellow from Austria, whom he had picked up at a London hotel, and who now acted also in the capacity of valet and took the greatest interest in all his master said and did. They say that no man is ever a hero to his valet, but it is the exception that proves the rule.
Antonio Brisha was that exception.
Both Hurricane Bob and Oscar were among the invited guests to the dinner-party.
Now there was only one drawback to Hurricane Bob's presence either outside or inside the captain's quarters. He was so black that the steward, who, when the ship was rolling a bit had to keep his eye on the dish he was carrying so as to balance it, could not see him in the gloaming, and more than once he had tumbled right over the honest dog, while the dish was smashed and the joint of meat continued the journey on its own account.
On such occasions Antonio used to say "Bother!" only he said it more so.
But on this particular evening everything passed off delightfully. When told they must behave, "Oh, certainly, sir", the dogs seemed to reply, and Hurricane Bob at once jumped up and on to the captain's beautiful sofa—the room was furnished like a lady's boudoir.
But Oscar, with his bonnie face and long sable coat, was not going to lie on the deck any more than his companion. So he not only leapt upon the sofa, but from thence on to the top of the piano, there lying down on the loose sheets of music with his chin upon his fore-paws, so that he commanded a bird's-eye view of the table and everything thereon—the snow-white cloth, the bright silver, the sparkling cruets and crystal, the flowers, and the fairy-lights.
"Oh, sir," cried Creggan half-rising, "shall I turn him out?"
"Not a bit of it. Let poor Oscar lie there, he has more good qualities than many a Christian."
Oscar moved not. But he shook his bushy tail by way of thanks.
During this delightful little dinner-party, the conversation was quite untrammelled by anything like conventionality—free and easy, as a sailor's dinner should be. No one attempted to restrain himself from laughing, if there was a good thing said; and, as is the case wherever sailors meet, the conversation changed from one tack to another, often going right about, like a ship in a sea-way, if any new subject suggested itself.
"Yes, Captain Leeward," said Grant, "I believe I will have another small slice of that most delicious beef. Ah, sir," he added, "I fear we won't live like this all the cruise. Fighting cocks aren't in it, sir."
The captain laughed as he helped his doctor.
"Ever been nearly starved, sir?"
"I can't really say I have. You?"
"Oh yes," replied the Doctor, "more than once. But on one occasion, while slaver-hunting on the East Coast of Africa in the little P——, our mess ran into debt. The commander was honest to a fault, and determined we should live on ship's provisions—salt junk, pork, peas, &c., with rancid butter and barrelled eggs—ugh!—till we cleared off our debt. But this wasn't the worst, for our ship's stores had run short, and it would be months before we could get another supply, so we were put six upon four."
Creggan looked inquiringly.
"I mean, Creggan," said Mr. Grant, "that six men—the number in our mess—had to live on the allowance of four, and share it as well as they could.
"We had plenty of biscuits, however, but so full of dust and weevils were they, and so black with the attentions the huge cockroaches had paid them, that before we could eat them they had to be fried in bacon fat.
"There was no growling or snarling, however, we were all very young, and formed as jolly a little mess as anyone could wish to be member of.
"I was caterer. It was a red-letter day, or two even, if, while on shore at say Mozambique, I could fall in with a sucking-pig."
"You requisitioned it?" said the captain.
"That's it. I used to say, Piggie, I arrest you in the Queen's name. Piggie spoke out, but I used to hand it to my marine, and he stopped the squealing.
"Huge yams roasted in the engine-room ashes, we thought a dish fit to set before a king. One yam, with pepper, salt, butter, and fried biscuit, would make a midnight supper for four of us. Then we could sleep.
"Sometimes on shore I stumbled across an Arab who had a few ostrich's eggs for sale, and again we were in clover."
"Are they very large, Grant?" said Creggan.
"Well, one broken and made into a kind of mash was all that six of us could eat for breakfast, flanked, of course, by a morsel of salt pork. After such a breakfast as this we would go singing on deck. We did manage to shoot some gulls now and then, and when skinned they didn't taste so very fishy.
"One day we caught a young shark; he made some trouble on deck, but gave up the ghost at last, and submitted to be cut up and shared with all the crew.
"Flying-fish wouldn't come near us, but a bonito was sometimes hooked, and when inshore we got bucketfuls of rock-oysters. So we didn't do so badly upon the whole, except when far out in the Indian Ocean making a long passage from one island to another.
"We took a Bishop of Central Africa[3] and a Doctor of Divinity down with us to the Cape—a three weeks' voyage from Zanzibar. It was then we suffered most, for even the skipper's "prog" ran short, and as we couldn't have the Church suffer, we used to give them some of our scanty allowance, in return for which Captain Mill never failed to send us a bottle of wine—we had no rum. We mulled that bottle of port at eventide, steeped weevily biscuits in it, then drank and yarned and sang.
[3] Bishop Tozer.
"While eating our miserable dinner our chief conversation turned upon the 'spreads' we had enjoyed at English hotels, and the 'feeds' we meant to have when we once more reached
'The home of the brave and the free'."
"Well," said Captain Leeward, "your yarn, doctor, reminds me, that when I was a mite of a middle, only thirteen years of age, and that is longer ago than I like to believe, I was serving in the old flagship Princess Royal, on the China station, the ward-room mess, which contained some sprigs of nobility, got terribly into debt.
"This was a serious matter for the chief engineer, a plain-going old fellow, who had a wife and healthy family at home in England, and for the staff-commander, or master also. But the latter undertook to cater for a time, so as to free the mess from debt. He was to cater on the most economical principles. I may tell you, however, that between the chief engineer and master there was almost a blood feud. But the former, although objecting to expenses, dearly loved a good luncheon, and this was the meanest meal of the day.
"The chief would come below, give one glance over the table, then sink into his chair as sulky as a badger. Then didn't the wags around the mess-table tease him anyhow."
At this point of the yarn there was a smart knock at the ward-room door, the midshipman, or rather the midshipmite, of the watch entered, and, saluting the captain, told him that there was a clear light far away on the weather bow, and so low in the water was it, that the first lieutenant thought it must be in a boat, and that as the light was being waved about as if to attract attention, the men must be in distress.
"Is there much wind?"
"No, sir; we're not doing more than two knots an hour."
"Well, bear up towards the mysterious light, anyhow, and let me know again when you get alongside."
"Ay ay, sir," said Bobbie, backing astern and shutting the door carefully after him.
"Now, sir," said Grant, "perhaps you'll finish your yarn."
"Oh, certainly."
CHAPTER XVIII.
ST. ELMO'S FIRE.
"I was saying," he went on, "when Mr. Robertson came in, that knowing the chief engineer's weakness, they chaffed him unmercifully.
"'Dalison,'[1] one would say, 'allow me to send you some liver?'
[1] Not the chief's real name.
"'No, thank 'ee,' gruffly from the chief, as he leant back in his chair and frowned.
"'May I help you to some tripe, Dalison?' This from another tormentor.
"'No, thank 'ee.'
"'A morsel of kidney or heart, Dalison?'
"'No, thank 'ee.'
"Then he would bang his fist on the table, shouting, 'None of your hoffals (offals) for me! Stooard, bring in a lump o' bread and the blue cheese!'"
After the rippling laughter ceased, the captain, cracking a walnut, continued:
"Chaff was much more common in the service in those days than it is now, and if a brother officer had any peculiarity, he was sure to catch it hot.
"Dr. R—— was a grumpy old surgeon that I was shipmate with. He was not only grumpy, but surly and uncongenial towards his fellows. He was generally a little late for breakfast, and on his entering the ward-room detested being talked to.
"Here was food for game, and as soon as he came in, every officer all round the table had a kind word and inquiry for him.
"'Oh, good-morning, doctor.'
"'How have you slept, doctor?'
"'How do you feel on the whole, this morning?'
"'I trust I see you well?'
"At first he merely growled and grunted, but at last getting fully exasperated he would suddenly turn round and roar out:
"'Oh, good-morning! Good-morning! Good-morning! Hang the whole lot of you!'"
"Capital!" cried Grant. "Give us just one more doctor's yarn, Captain Leeward."
"Well, then, this next one hinges upon an admiral as well as a doctor. This gallant officer was always fancying himself ill, though there was never anything of the slightest importance the matter with him, and was never happy unless his fleet-surgeon, a dear little Irishman, paid him a daily visit and ordered medicine.
"A certain pill used to be prescribed, and was found to be most efficacious.
"But one day the admiral, or 'Ral', as he was called for short, gave a great dinner-party, and many mighty magnates, gentlemen and ladies as well, came off shore. Among the guests was, of course, the Irish fleet-surgeon.
"During the dinner the admiral somewhat inopportunely called out:
"Oh, doctor, those pills you gave me last are by far the best ever I've had. You must let me have the prescription when we pay off. What are they composed of?'
"Now, the good doctor did not half-relish the notion of 'shop' being brought on the tapis at so fashionable a dinner-party, so he answered with emphasis:
"'What are they made of? Why, bread! Bread, sir; nothing else!'
"There was a momentary silence around the table, and everyone looked aghast to see how the reply would be taken. But the admiral was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word, and always most considerate for the feelings of others. He saw that he had touched on a very unpleasant theme, so he smiled kindly, and passed it off by saying in his quiet way:
"'Well, well, well, such is Faith!'
"But the pills were really rhubarb after all."
* * * * * * * * * * *
So with pleasant chat a whole hour passed away, and then once more the midshipmite Bobbie knocked at the door.
"It is a boat, sir. Five poor men in it. Two lying apparently dead under the thwarts. The first lieutenant has hauled the fore-yard aback and is sending some men over the side."
The Osprey, I may say here, had already visited the lovely fairy isles called The Azores, and was now well out into the Atlantic, steering about west-sou'-west.
The captain's room was soon emptied now, all going on deck. The night was very clear and starry, with a bright scimitar of a moon slowly sinking in the west.
Yes, Bobbie was right. Two men were dead, and the other three could scarcely speak, owing to sheer exhaustion.
"We'll hear their story to-morrow. Dr. Grant, I'll leave them in your charge."
"I shall see to them, sir," said Grant.
Then he shouted "Sentry!"
"Ay ay, sir."
"Pass the word for the sick-bay man."
In another quarter of an hour the poor fellows, English merchantmen, were snug and warm in hammocks. Grant ordered some beef-tea, with a modicum of brandy, and they soon fell sound asleep.
But so weak were they next day that the doctor forbade their talking, and it was three whole days before they were strong enough to tell their story.
A TERRIBLE TALE OF THE SEA.
There was no false pride about Captain Leeward of H.M. paddle-frigate Osprey. Some commanding officers that I have known would have had one of these unfortunate castaways to tell his story in the sick-bay. But instead of this the captain told the doctor to bring him in to his quarters.
He was a brown-faced, hardy, bearded sailor, but his cheeks were hollow now from his want of food and terrible suffering.
One hand was tied up in a sling.
He bowed and scraped as he came in, and if ever a sailor looked shy he did.
He gave just one glance around him, and then looked at Leeward's pleasant smiling face. The glance reassured him.
"Why, jigger me," he said, hitching up his trousers with one hand, "jigger me, sir, if ever I cast anchor in such a pretty saloon as this afore. Easy chairs, sofa, piano, fiddle and all, to say nothing about flowers and fairy-lights. Cap'n Leeward, sir, I ain't in a dream, am I? Mebbe the doctor here will 'blige by sticking a pin in me, up to the blessed head, if I am."
"Never a dream, Mr. Goodwin. Well, if you will bring yourself to an anchor, we'd like to hear your story. Have a little wine, sir?"
"Purser's wine is the only sort as suits me, sir."
"Steward, the rum!"
A tumbler and wine-glass were placed before the good sailor. The latter he pushed aside. Then, while the castaway held the tumbler with all the four fingers turned towards the captain, the steward filled it fully four inches. This is what is called "a bo's'n's nip".
"A little water, my lad?"
"No, sir, no; not for me. This rum is too good to be drowned."
He quaffed it, sighed, and put down the empty tumbler.
"Ah, sir!" he said, "now that very word 'drowned' makes me shiver. I've been, on and off, boy and man, at sea for well-nigh twenty years. Just entered as a boy, a tow-headed lad of Liverpool. Nothing to do till I growed a bit 'cepting to empty cook's ashes and pail, look after the dogs and ship's cat, feed the monkeys, and get kicked about all over the deck by anybody who wanted to stretch his legs a bit.
"But I grew into an able seaman at last. After'n which I gets to be second mate o' a Newcastle collier. Then fust mate. Then I up and studies for my certificate. You wouldn't think it, mebbe, of a rough chap like me, but I passed with flying colours, and steered homewards, wi' stunsails 'low and aloft, jolly happy now.
"I meets some maties, and two more overhauled me. So what could I do but go with 'em to wet my certificate.
"Sakes alive, cap'n! but I'd blush like a wirgin even now, if I weren't so brown and weather-beaten that ye wouldn't notice it.
"For, sir, I awoke next morning with a two-horse headache, and a tongue like kippered salmon. Clothes all on too, boots and all. I'd turned in all standing, but couldn't remember who'd brought me into port.
"Never mind, sir. 'Twere a lesson to me I ain't going to forget. Thankee, sir, I will have just another nip.
"But I s'pect, cap'n, I'm a kind o' hinderin' you I always do take longer time to tune my fiddle than to play my tune.
"Well, sir, it ain't more'n six weeks since I sailed from Glasgow, in what I might call the sailing steamer-barque Ossian. Our orders were to visit Azores, Madeira, St. Helena, Ascension, on our way to the Cape and Madagascar, and our supercargo, a business Scot, was to deal everywhere, for cash or goods, for we were laden up with 'notions' as the Yank calls 'em.
"Well, cap'n, our ship was as nice a craft as ever I stepped on board of, and the crew, too, was on the whole fairish; only too many blessed foreigners among them to please me. Most o' these'll work, ay, and sing too, in fair weather and fair wind, but they ain't no hand, sir, at reefin' topsails in a dirty night, wi' green seas a-tumbling in, and mebbe the yard-arms 'most a-touching the water every time the ship leans over.
"And we had dirty weather all along; sometimes 'twould be blowin' so hard we wouldn't be doin' more'n two knots against wind and sea, full steam up.
"We dawdled about the islands a bit, and the fine weather sort o' come at last, cause we was told to sail all we could and save the coals.
"We weighed at last, and had made a good offing into the Atlantic, 'cause it had occurred to Brown, the supercargo, that he could do a bit of honest biz at Bermuda, and the man was all in the interest of his owners.
"Some two or three hundred miles to the west here, we got into a circular storm and suffered severely. Our foremast was torn out of her, and two men slipped overboard in clearing away the wreck.
"Thankee, cap'n; but mind ye, this makes my third nip. Howsomedever, it's as mild as cocoa-nut milk.
"When we got clear away from that baby tornado, we was pretty nearly all wreck, gentleman. Bulwarks anyhow, mainyard even fallen (a rare accident), and our very winch half-throwed up on its end.
"But worse were to come, cap'n.
"First and foremost the weather got finer, but there was a strange kind o' a haze in the sky that I didn't like. That shortened the sunbeams considerable, and brought night and darkness aboard of us before they was due; and the moon couldn't well be 'xpected to shine through clouds that the sun hadn't been able to tackle. We managed to step jury-mast and bend new sails. But the wind was nothin' to signify now, and I made bold to tell the skipper that he ought to clue and get up steam.