Chapter Nine.

Old Calabar Cottage.

I don’t know why, excepting that the words had a kindly ring about them, in spite of the almost brusque quaintness of the address, that touched me keenly in the depressed state of mind in which I was; but, instead of answering the speaker’s pertinent question as to the reason of my grief, I now bent down my head again on my arm, sobbing away as if my heart would break.

But this only made the good Samaritan prosecute his inquiry further.

“Come, come, stow that, youngster,” said he, taking a seat beside me on the bench, where I was curled up in one corner, placing one of his hands gently on my shoulder in a caressing way. “Look up, and tell me what ails you, my lad, and if Sam Pengelly can help you, why, there’s his fist on it!”

“You—you—are very k–kind,” I stammered out between my long-drawn sobs; “but—but—no—nobody can—help me, sir.”

“Oh, nonsense, tell that to the marines, for a sailor won’t believe you,” he replied, briskly. “Why, laddie, anybody can help anybody, the same as the mouse nibbled the lion out of the hunter’s net; and, as for Mr Nobody, I don’t know the man! Look here, I can’t bear to see a ship in distress, or a comrade in the doldrums; so I tell you what, young cockbird, raise your crest and don’t look so peaky, for I’m going to help you if it’s in my power, as most likely it is—that is, saving as how it ain’t a loss by death, which takes us all, and which the good Lord above can only soothe, bringing comfort to you; and even then, why, a friendly word, and a grip o’ some un’s hand, sometimes softens down the roughest plank we’ve got to tread.

“I tell you, my hearty,” he resumed again, after a brief pause, during which my sobs ceased, “I ain’t a going to let you adrift, now I’ve borne down alongside and boarded you, my hearty—that’s not Sam Pengelly’s way; so you’d better make a clean breast of your troubles and we’ll see what can be done for ’em. To begin with, for there’s no use argufying on an empty stomach, are you hungry, eh?”

“No,” I said with a smile, his cheery address and quaint language banishing my melancholy feelings in a moment, just as a ray of sunshine or two, penetrating the surface mist, that hangs over the sea and land of a summer morning before the orb of day, causes it to melt away and disappear as if by magic, waking up the scene to life; “I had breakfast in the town about an hour ago.”

“Are you hard up?” was his next query.

“No,” I answered again, this time bursting into a laugh at the puzzled expression on his face; “I’ve got a shilling and a sixpence—there!” and I drew the coins from my pocket, showing them to him.

“Well, I’m jiggered!” murmured the old fellow to himself, taking off the straight-peaked blue cloth cap he wore, and scratching his head reflectively—as if in a quandary, and cogitating how best to get out of it. “Neither hard up or hungry! I call this a stiff reckoning to work out. I’d better try the young shaver on another tack. Got any friends?” he added, in a louder key—addressing himself, now, personally to me, not supposing that I had heard his previous soliloquy, for he had merely uttered his thoughts aloud.

This question touched me on the sore point, and I looked grave at once.

“No,” I replied, “I’ve got none left now, since Tom’s gone.”

“And who’s Tom?” he asked, confidentially, to draw me out.

Thereupon, I told him of my being an orphan, brought up by relatives who didn’t care about me, and all about my being sent to school. I also detailed, with much gusto, the way in which Tom and I had made our exit from Dr Hellyer’s academy, and our subsequent adventures in the coal brig, down to the moment when I saw the last of my chum as he steamed out of the Plymouth railway station in the Exeter train, leaving me desolate behind.

My new friend did not appear so very much amused by the account of our blowing up the Doctor as I thought he would be. Indeed, he looked quite serious about it, as if it were, no joking matter, as really it was not, but a very bad and mischievous piece of business. What seemed to interest him much more, was, what I told him of my longing for a sea-life, and the determination I had formed of being a sailor—which even the harsh treatment of the Saucy Sall’s skipper had in no degree banished from my mind.

“What a pity you weren’t sent in the service,” he said, meditatively, “I fancy you’d ha’ made a good reefer from the cut of your jib. You’re just the very spit of one I served under when I was a man-o’-war’s-man afore I got pensioned off, now ten year ago!”

“My father was an officer in the Navy,” I replied rather proudly. “He lost his life, gallantly, in the service of his country.”

“You don’t say that now?” exclaimed my questioner, with much warmth, looking me earnestly in the face; “and what may your name be, if I may be so bold? you haven’t told it me yet.”

“Martin Leigh,” I answered, promptly, a faint hope rising in my breast.

“Leigh?—no, never, it can’t be!” said the old fellow, now greatly excited. “I once knew an officer of that very name—Gerald Leigh—and he was killed in action up the Niger River on the West Coast, while attacking a slave barracoon, ten years ago come next March—”

“That was my father,” I here interposed, interrupting his reminiscences.

“Your father? You don’t mean that!”

“I do,” I said, eagerly, “I was four years old when Uncle George received the news of his death.”

“My stunsails!” ejaculated the old fellow, dashing his cap to the ground in a fever of excitement; and, seizing both my hands in his, he shook them up and down so forcibly that he almost lifted me off the seat. “Think of that now; but, I could ha’ known it from the sort o’ feeling that drew me to you when I saw you curled up here, all lonesome, like a cock sparrow on a round of beef! And so, Lieutenant Leigh was your father—the bravest, kindest officer I ever sailed under! Why, youngster, do you know who I am?”

He said this quite abruptly, and he looked as if he thought I would recognise him.

“No,” I said, smiling, “but you’re a very kind-hearted man. I’m sure, to take such an interest in a friendless boy like me.”

“Friendless boy, be jiggered!” he replied—“You’re not friendless from now, you can be sarten! Why, I was your father’s own coxswain in the Swallow, off the coast, and it was in my arms he died when he received that murdering nigger’s shot in his chest, right ’twixt wind and water. Yes! there’s a wonderful way in the workings o’ Providence—to think that you should come across me now when you needs a friend, one whom your father often befriended in old times, more like a brother than an officer! I thank the great Captain above,”—and the old fellow looked up reverently here to the blue heaven over us as he uttered these last words—“that I’m allowed this marciful chance o’ paying back, in a poor sort o’ way, all my old commander’s kindness to me in the years agone! Yes, young gentleman, my name’s Sam Pengelly, and I was your father’s coxswain. If he had ha’ lived he’d have talked to you, sure enough, about me.”

“I’m very glad to hear this,” said I; and so I was, for my hopeful surmise had proved true.

“Well, laddie—you’ll excuse my speaking to you familiar like, won’t you?”

“Call me what you please,” I answered, “I’m only too proud to hear your kind voice, and see your friendly face. I have had all nonsense about dignity and position knocked out of me long since!”

“Well, perhaps, that’s all for the best—though mind, Master Leigh, being your father’s son, you mustn’t ever forget you’ve been born a true gen’leman, and don’t you ever do an action that you’ll have cause to be ashamed on! That’s the only proper sort o’ dignity a gen’leman’s son need ever be partic’ler about, to make people recognise him for what he is; and, with this feeling and eddication, you’ll take your proper place in the world, never fear! Now, what do you think about doing, my lad? for the day is getting on, and it’s time to see after something.”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” I replied. “I should like to go to sea, as I’ve told you. Not in a coasting vessel, like the coal brig, but really to pea, so as to be able to sail over the ocean to China or Australia; and, bye-and-bye, after awhile, as soon as I am old enough and have sufficient experience, I hope to command a ship of my own.”

He had shown such sympathy towards me, that I couldn’t help telling him all the wild dreams about my future which had been filling my mind for the last two years, although I had not confided them even to Tom, for I thought he would make fun of my nautical ambition.

Instead of laughing at me, however, my new friend looked highly delighted.

“I’m blessed if you aren’t a reg’ler chip of the old block,” he said admiringly, gazing into my face with a broad smile on his weather-beaten countenance, that made it for the moment in my eyes positively handsome. “There spoke my old lieutenant, the same as I can fancy I hear him now, the morning we rowed up the Niger to assault the nigger stockade where he met his death. ‘Pengelly,’ sez he, in the same identical way as you first said them words o’ yourn, ‘I mean to take that prah,’ and, take it he did, though the poor fellow lost his life leading us on to the assault! I can see, very plain, you’ve got it all in you, the same as he; and, having been a seafaring man all my life, first in the sarvice, and then on my own hook in a small way in the coasting line, in course I honours your sentiments in wishing to be a sailor—though it’s a hard life at the best. Howsomedevers, ‘what’s bred in the bone,’ as the proverb says, ‘must come out in the flesh,’ and if you will go to sea, why, you must, and I’ll try to help you on to what you wish, as far as Sam Pengelly can; I can’t say more nor that, can I?”

“No, certainly not, and I’m much obliged to you,” I answered; for he made a pause at this point, as if waiting for my reply.

“Well, then, that’s all settled and entered in the log-book fair and square; but, as all this can’t be managed in a minute, and there’ll be a lot of arrangements to make, s’pose as how you come home along o’ me first? I’m an orphan, too, the same as yourself, with nobody left to care for or to mind me, save my old sister Jane, who keeps house for me; and she and I’ll make you as welcome as the flowers in May!”

I demurred for a moment at accepting this kind proposal, for I was naturally of a very independent nature; and, besides, the lessons I had received in my uncle’s household made me shrink from incurring the obligation of any one’s hospitality, especially that of one with whom I had only such brief acquaintanceship, albeit he was “an orphan”—a rather oldish one, I thought—“like myself.”

But my new friend would not be denied.

“Come on, now,” he repeated, getting up from the seat, and holding out a big, strong hand to me, with such a beaming, good-natured expression on his face and so much genuine cordiality in his voice, that it was impossible for me to persist in refusing his invitation; the more particularly as, seeing me hesitate, he added the remark—“leastways, that is, unless you’re too high a gen’leman to consort with an humble sailor as was your own father’s coxswain!”

This settled the point, making me jump up in a jiffey; when, without further delay, he and I went off from the Hoe, hand in hand, in the direction of Stoke, where he told me he lived.

It was now nearly the middle of December, six weeks having passed by since the memorable Sunday on which I and Tom had made a Guy Fawkes of Dr Hellyer, and run away from school—the intervening time having slipped by quickly enough while on board the coal brig at Newcastle, and during our voyage down the coast again—but the weather, I recollect, was wonderfully mild for the time of year; and, as we walked past the terraces fronting the Hoe, the sun shone down on us, and over the blue sea beyond in Plymouth Sound below, as if it had been a summer day. Indeed, no matter what the weather might have been, I think it would have seemed fine and bright to me; for, I don’t believe I had ever felt so happy in my life as I did when trudging along by Sam Pengelly’s side that morning.

“You’re a pretty strong-built chap for your age,” said Sam, as we went along. “I suppose you’re close on sixteen, eh?”

“Dear me, no,” I laughed, light-heartedly. “Why, I’m only just fourteen! I told you I was four when my poor father was killed; and that, as you yourself said, happened ten years ago, so you can calculate yourself.”

“Bless me, so you must be by all accounts; but, sure, you look fully two years older! Humph, you’re a little bit too young yet to get apprenticed to the sea regularly as I thought of; but there’s plenty o’ time for us to study the bearings of it arter we fetch home. Come along, step out. I feel kind o’ peckish with all this palavering, and thinks as how I could manage a bit of dinner pretty comfably, and it’ll be just about ready by the time we reach Stoke, as Jane’s mighty punctual to having it on the table by eight bells; step out, my hearty!”

Presently, turning off from the main road into a sort of bye-lane, my conductor finally stopped before the entrance porch of a neat little cottage, standing in a large garden of its own, that stretched away for some distance on either side. There was an orchard also in the rear, the fruit-trees of which, such was the mildness of the season, appeared ready to break into bud.

“Here’s my anchorage, laddie,” said he, with a wave of his hand—indicating the extent of his property.

“What a jolly little place!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” he replied, with pardonable pride, “I set my heart on the little cabin years ago—afore I left the navy—and I used to save up my pay and prize money, so as to buy it in time. I meant it for mother, but she died before I could manage it; and then I bought it for myself, thinking that Jane and I would live here until we should be summoned for the watch on deck above, and that arter our time Teddy, my nephew, Jane’s only boy, would have it. But, not long arter we settled down comfably, poor Teddy caught a fever, which carried him off; and Jane and I have gone on alone, ever since, with only our two selves.”

“You must miss your nephew Teddy,” I said, sympathisingly, seeing a grave look on his face.

“Yes, laddie, I did miss him very much, but now, my cockbird,” and here his face brightened up with another beaming smile, as he laid a meaning emphasis on his words, “but now I fancy, somehow or other, I’ll not miss Teddy as much as I used to; d’ye know why?”

“No,” I said, hesitatingly, and somewhat untruthfully, for I pretty well guessed what he meant.

“Then I’ll tell you,” he continued, with much feeling and heartiness of expression, “I’ve christened this here anchorage o’ mine, ‘Old Calabar,’ in mem’ry o’ the West Coast, where I sarved under your father in the Swallow, as I told you just now; and, Master Leigh, as his son, I hope you’ll always consider the little shanty as your home, free to come and go or stay, just as you choose, and ever open to you with a welcome the same as now?”

What could I say to this?

Why, nothing.

I declare that I couldn’t have uttered a word then to have saved my life.

But he did not want any thanks.

Pretending not to notice my emotion, he went on speaking, so as to allow me time to recover myself.

“Rec’lect this, laddie,” said he, “that my sister Jane and I have neither chick nor child belonging to either of us, and that your presence will be like sunshine in the house. Come along in now, my boy. I’ll give Jane a hail to let her know we’re here in harbour, so that she can pipe down to dinner. Hi—hullo—on deck there!” and, raising his voice, in this concluding shout—just as if he were standing on the poop of a vessel in a heavy gale of wind and hailing a look-out man on the fore-crosstrees—he opened the door of the cottage, motioning me courteously to enter it first.

Chapter Ten.

A Welcome Guest.

The little hall, or passage way, opening out of the porch, in which I now found myself, was like the vestibule to a museum.

It was crammed full, from floor to ceiling, with all sorts of curios, brought from foreign parts, evidently by the worthy owner of the dwelling, when returning home after his many cruisings in strange waters—conch shells from the Congo and cowries from Zanzibar; a swordfish’s broken spear from the Pacific, and a Fijian war-club; cases of stuffed humming-birds from Rio, and calabashes from the Caribbean Sea; a beautiful model, in the finest ivory work, of a Chinese junk on one side, vis-À-vis with a full-rigged English man-of-war on the other; and, above all, in the place of honour, the hideous body of a shark, displaying its systematic rows of triangularly arranged saw-like teeth, now harmless, but once ready to mangle the unwary!

All these objects, of course, immediately attracted my attention, but I had not much time for glancing round the collection; for, almost as soon as we got inside the little hall, a bright-faced middle-aged woman, with jet-black hair and eyes, the very image of my new friend, only much more comely in feature, stepped forward from a room opening out of the other end of the passage.

“Dear me, Sam, is that you?” she cried out in a voice closely resembling his in its cheery accents, although more musical by reason of its feminine ring; “I’m just dishing up, and dinner’ll be ready as soon as the pasty’s done.”

Her brother did not apparently pay any attention to this highly important announcement for the moment.

“Come here, Jane,” he said, “I’ve brought home a visitor.”

With this she advanced, courtesying, her face changing as soon as she came nearer and saw who the stranger was.

“My, Sam!” she exclaimed, “who is he? Why, he’s the very image of poor Ted!” and she raised the corner of her apron to her eyes as she spoke, as if to stop the ready-starting tears.

“Whoever do you think he is?” said Sam Pengelly, triumphantly; “look at him carefully, now. No, Jane, my woman, I don’t believe you’d ever guess!”

“Who?”

“Why, the son of my good old commander, Lieutenant Leigh, of the Swallow, him as I’ve spun you so many yarns about! Why, Jane, my woman, I found the poor little laddie a desarted young orphan on the Hoe just now. He’s friendless, with never a home to go to; and so I asked him to come along o’ me, saying as how you’d welcome him to ‘Old Calabar’ the same as I.”

“And so I will, too, Sam,” replied the other, coming up to me and speaking; “I’m main glad to see you here, young gentleman, for I’ve often heard Sam talk of your father, saying how good and kind he was to him. You’re heartily welcome to our little home. My gracious, Sam!” she added, turning aside and using her apron again; “he’s as like my Ted as two peas! I can’t help it!” and so saying, she threw her arms round my neck and kissed me.

The action somewhat confused me; for, it was the first motherly caress I had ever experienced in my life. Aunt Matilda, you may be sure, never once thought of so greeting me!

“Avast there, Jane,” laughed out Sam, much pleased at the way in which his sister had received me. “What d’ye mean by boarding my prize in that fashion? But I’m glad you think he’s like Teddy—it will make it more like old times and home-like for us to have the laddie with us.”

“Aye, and he can have Ted’s room,” answered the other—all eagerness now to see to my being completely arranged for—“I think the poor boy’s clothes will fit him too.”

“So they will, and just in time, too, for he wants a new rig,” said her brother, casting a critical eye over my wardrobe, which had not been improved by my stay on board the coal brig.

We then proceeded to enter a nice roomy old-fashioned kitchen, with a cleanly-scoured floor like the deck of a man-of-war, and all resplendent with rows of plates and burnished pewter pots and dish-covers, where we had, what I considered both then and now to be, the best dinner I had ever eaten in my life, winding up with an apple tart that had Devonshire cream spread over it like powdered sugar—a most unparalleled prodigality of luxury to my unaccustomed eyes and palate!

Afterwards, I was shown a little room at the back, looking out into the garden, which had been formerly occupied by Teddy. Of this I was now put in formal possession, along with a good stock of clothes which the bereaved mother had carefully preserved in the chest-of-drawers in one corner, just as if her boy had been still living, all ready for use. These, she now told me, with tears in her eyes, I was heartily welcome to, if I were not too proud to accept them, as, in wearing them, she said, I should make her think that she yet had poor Ted to comfort her, and I would take his vacant place in her heart. The good woman, however, with housewifely care, brought up to the room a large tub with a plentiful supply of hot water and soap, so that I might have “a thorough wash,” as she called it, before putting on the clean clothes. Thus, through the kind hospitality of brother and sister alike, before the day was out, I was as thoroughly at home in the household as if—having stepped into the lost Teddy’s shoes metaphorically as well as practically—I had lived there for years!

It would take a volume for me to tell of all the kindness I received from these people, the brother and sister vying with each other in their endeavours to make me feel comfortable and at ease with them in my new home.

Sam Pengelly, thinking it the right thing to do, wrote to Uncle George, informing him where I now was; and saying, that, if my relatives had no objection, he should like to be allowed to look after my future as if I were his own son.

To this a reply soon came, to the effect that, as I had of my own will thrown away all the advantages that had been secured for me in putting me to a good school and holding out the offer of a situation afterwards in a merchant’s office, my uncle “washed his hands of me” on account of my ungrateful and abandoned behaviour; and that, henceforth, he did not care what became of me, nor would he be answerable for my support!

“That’s a good ’un,” said Sam Pengelly, as he read this. “That cranky Aunt Matilda, you told me about, laddie, must ha’ had a hand in this, sartin; for, perhaps you don’t know that I’ve diskivered as your uncle drawed what they calls a ‘compassionate allowance’ from My Lords of th’ Admiralty for your keep all them years they starved you under their roof and pretended you was livin’ on their charity!”

Sam Pengelly looked quite fierce and indignant as he made this, to me, new revelation.

“Really?” I asked him, eagerly.

“Yes, laddie, it’s true enough, for I’ve taken the pains to find it out for a fact from a friend o’ mine at head-quarters. Th’ Admiralty allers give an annual ’lowance for the support of the childer o’ them officers as is killed in action, that is when their folks are left badly off; and some one must ha’ put up your uncle to this, for he took precious good care to draw it every year you was along o’ him.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” I exclaimed, joyfully. “I only wish, though, I had known it before, so that I could have thrown it back in Aunt Matilda’s teeth when she used to tell me that I was robbing her children of their bread every meal I took in the house, taunting me with being only a pauper!”

“Never mind that now,” said Sam Pengelly—quite his composed, calm, genial self again, after the little ebullition he had given way to on my behalf. “Better let byegones be byegones. It is a good sailin’ direction to go upon in this world; for your cross old aunt will be sartin to get paid out some time or other for her treatment o’ you, I’ll wager! Howsomedevers, I’m glad we’ve got that letter from your uncle, though. You see, laddie, it cuts them adrift altogether from any claim on you; and now, if you be so minded, you can chuck in your lot with old Sam and his sister—that is, unless you want to sheer off and part company, and desart us?”

“Oh no, I’ll never do that if I can help it,” I replied, earnestly. “Why, I did not know what it was to be happy and cared for till I met you, and you brought me here to your home. I shall never willingly, now, leave you here—that is, except you want me to.”

“Then, that’ll be never,” said he, with an emphasis and a kindly smile that showed his were no empty words.

Nor did they prove to be as time rolled on.

For many months after that casual meeting of ours on the Hoe, which I little thought was going to lead to such happy consequences, the little cottage at Stoke was my home in winter and summer alike; when Nature was gay in her spring dress, and when dreary autumn came; although, it was never dreary to me, no matter what the season might be.

In the summer months I used generally to accompany Sam in the short trading trips he made in a little foretopsail schooner—of which he was the registered owner, and generally took the command—when we would fetch a compass for Falmouth or Torquay, and other small western ports; between which places and Plymouth the schooner went to and fro when wind and weather permitted.

Sometimes, tempted by the inducement that early potatoes and green peas were plentiful and cheap at Saint Mary’s, Sam would venture out as far as the Scilly Isles; and once, a most memorable voyage, we made a round trip in the little craft to the Bristol Channel and back—facing all the perils of the “twenty-two fathom sandbank” off Cape Cornwall, with its heavy tumbling sea.

This was not time wasted on my part; for I had not forgotten my ambition of being a sailor, and now, under Sam Pengelly’s able tuition I was thoroughly initiated into all the practical details of seamanship, albeit I had not yet essayed life on board ship in an ocean-going vessel.

Sam Pengelly said, that, at fourteen, I was too young to be apprenticed regularly to the sea, and that it would be much better for me to wait until I should be able to be of use in a ship, and get on more quickly in navigation. Going to sea before would only be lost time, for I could gain quite as much experience of what it was necessary for me to know in the schooner along with him, until it was time for me to go afloat in real earnest.

This was what my old friend advised; and, although he declared himself willing to forward my wishes should they go counter to his own views, I valued his opinion too highly to disagree with it, judging that his forty years’ experience of the sea must have taught him enough to know better than I about what was best in the matter.

My life, therefore, for the two intervening years, after I had run away from school and before I went actually to sea, was a very even and pleasant one—cut off completely, as it was, from all the painful past, and the associations of Aunt Matilda and Dr Hellyer’s. I had heard once from Tom, my whilom chum, it is true, telling me that his mother had persuaded him to go back to the Doctor’s establishment, and that I should not have any further communication from him in consequence—which I didn’t; and there was the one letter from Uncle George to Sam Pengelly, “washing his hands of me,” which I have already alluded to. With these, however, all connection with my former existence ceased; and I can’t say I regretted it, cherished as I now was in the great loving Cornish hearts of Sam and Jane Pengelly.

Sam would not let my education be neglected, however.

“No, no, laddie, we must keep a clear look-out on that,” he often said to me. “If I had only had eddication when I was in the sarvice, I’d ha’ been a warrant officer with a long pension now, instead o’ having a short one, and bein’ ’bliged to trust to my own hands to lengthen it out. If you wants to be a good navigator, you must study now when you’re young; for arterwards it will be no use, and you may be as smart a sailor as ever handled a ship, and yet be unable to steer her across the ocean and take advantage of all the short cuts and currents, and so on, that only experienced seamen and those well up in book knowledge can know about.”

Acting on this reasoning, he got the master of a neighbouring school to give me after-time lessons in mathematics and geography; and, in the course of a few months, I was able to be inducted into the mysteries of great circle sailing and the art of taking lunars, much to the admiration of Sam, whom I’m afraid I often took a delight in puzzling with trigonometrical phrases that sounded full of portentous difficulty, albeit harmlessly easy.

As time went on, although I was happy enough at the cottage, I was continually asking Sam if he had found me a ship yet, he having promised to “keep his eye open” and let me know as soon as he saw a good opportunity of placing me with some captain with whom I was likely to learn my nautical calling well and have a chance of getting on up the ladder; but, as regularly as I asked him the question, the old salt would give me the same stereotyped answer—“No, laddie, our ship’s not got into port yet. We must still wait for an offing!”

But at last, after many days, this anxiously awaited “offing” was, much to my satisfaction, apparently thought within reach by my old friend.

One morning I did not accompany him as usual into Plymouth after breakfast, where the old fellow regularly proceeded every morning—never feeling happy for the day unless he saw the sea before dinner. I was busily engaged trimming up a large asparagus bed in the garden, wherein my adopted mother took considerable interest.

I recollect the morning well.

It was just at the beginning of summer, and the trees were all clothed in that delicately-tinged foliage of feathery green, which they lose later on in the season, while the ground below was covered with fruit blossoms like snowflakes, a stray blue flag or daffodil just springing up from the peaty soil, gleaming out amidst the vegetable wealth around, and the air perfumed with a delicious scent, of the wallflowers that were scattered about the garden in every stray nook and corner.

Sam was late on his return.

“Eight bells,” his regular hour, had struck without his well-known voice being heard hailing us from the porch; and it was quite half-past twelve before the customary shout in the porch of the cottage told of his arrival, for I was keeping strict watch over the time, having been rendered extra hungry by my exertions in the garden—our dinner being postponed till the missing mariner came.

However, “better late than never,” says the old proverb; and here he was now—although as soon as I saw him I noticed from his face that something unusual and out-of-the-way had happened, his expression always disclosing if anything was on or in his mind, and being a sad tell-tale.

He did not wait to let me ask, though.

“Hullo!” he cried, as soon as he came into the kitchen-parlour, where the principal meal of the day was invariably partaken of, “I’ve got some news for you.”

“A ship?” I said, questioningly.

“Yes—an A1 too, my hearty.”

“Hurrah!” I exclaimed—“Going a long voyage?”

“To Callao and back again, on a round trip.”

“Better and better still,” I said, in high glee, in which Sam Pengelly shared with a kindred feeling, while his sister put up her apron to her eyes, and began to cry at the idea of my going to sea. “Is she a large vessel?”

“Aye, aye, my cockbird. A barque of a thousand tons, or more, and her name’s the Esmeralda.”

Chapter Twelve.

Making “Westing.”

She was a fine-looking barque—as Sam had explained to me beforehand, when first telling me the news of his having secured a berth for me aboard her—with a good forecastle and clean run of deck aft to the poop, saving a small deck-house amidships, on a line with the cook’s caboose, where were the separate cabins devoted to the use of the boatswain and carpenter.

Captain Billings showed us over her, pointing out the special arrangements for the comfort of his officers; and then, much to my surprise, and to that of Sam as well, for that matter, although he had stipulated for good treatment on my behalf, the skipper said that I could have an empty bunk to myself, alongside of the boatswain’s quarters.

It was almost too good to be true!

“Why, laddie, you’ll be a blessed sight better off than if you were a middy aboard a man o’ war!” said Sam, exultantly; but, whilst he was engaged showing me how to put my chest and stow my things, so as to be easily within reach and yet out of the way, in order not to encroach on the limited space at my command, our attention was drawn away from the consideration of such personal matters by the loud hail of Captain Billings ringing through the ship fore and aft—

“All hands, make sail!”

The pilot had come off from shore in the same boat with us; and, as the only thing the Esmeralda had been awaiting was the water to rise sufficiently for her to cross the bar, Cardiff being a tidal harbour, now that it was approaching the flood, it was time to make ready for a start. We were going to make a move “while the day was yet young,” so to speak, for it was only about five o’clock yet in the afternoon.

On hearing the skipper’s cry, Sam and I at once made our way aft up the ladder on to the poop, where Captain Billings was standing, shouting out his orders, according to the directions of the pilot standing beside him—that gentleman, while in charge, being commanding officer, having the precedence of a captain even on board his own ship!

I was all eagerness to assist, and anxious to enter on my duties; but the skipper motioned me aside, saying that he’d put me into a watch and give me regular work to do as soon as we had got fairly to sea, for he “didn’t want any idlers hanging round them to encumber the men.” So, acting on the principle that “a nod was as good as a wink to a blind horse,” I sheered over to the other side of the deck. Here, Sam Pengelly was standing by the taffrail, and from this coign of vantage we both watched with much interest the operation of getting the ship under weigh.

The vessel’s topsails, as I have mentioned before, were already cast loose from the gaskets and her courses hung in the brails, while she was lying in the stream, heading almost due south and facing the entrance of the harbour, into which the tide was still running and, consequently, keeping her cable as taut as a fiddle-string; but now, on the captain’s command causing the hands to man the topsail halliards and run up the yards to the mast-head, the ponderous folds of canvas expanded with the wind, which was still to the nor’-east and blowing from aft, and the ship, in spite of the incoming tide, surged up to her anchor, bringing it right under her fore foot, thus slackening the strain on the cable.

Another party of the crew, meanwhile, under the superintendence of the boatswain, had manned the windlass, bringing in the cable slack with a “slip-slap” and “click-clack” of the pall, as the winch went round, the moment the skipper’s warning cry, “Hands up anchor,” was heard from aft.

“Hove short, sir,” then sang out the boatswain.

“Up with it, then, men,” returned the skipper; and in another minute, for we were only in some six-fathom water, the anchor-stock showed itself above the surface and was run up to the cathead.

Now, free from the ground, the bows of the vessel began to rise and fall as she curtsied politely to the stream, which was just on the turn, preparing to bid adieu to Cardiff harbour; so, Captain Billings himself jumped from where he had been standing, by the pilot’s side, to the wheel, making the spokes rapidly fly round until the helm was hard up, putting the ship before the wind and steering towards the mouth of the harbour ahead.

“Sheet home!” was the next order; and, with a “yo-heave-ho,” the clews of the topsails were hauled out to the end of the yards, while the clewgarnet blocks rattled as the main sheet was brought aft; then, the yards were braced round a bit to the starboard and the vessel headed out into the Channel, with the wind on her quarter, on the port tack.

“Hoist away the jib!” shouted out Captain Billings, on this much being achieved; when the Esmeralda began to gather way, the bubbles now floating past astern as she commenced to move through the water—at first slowly, and then with more speed, as the sails, already set, filled and drew.

“Look smart there, men, and run away with those halliards,” echoed the mate, repeating the captain’s order anent the jib; and the Esmeralda, being now well under control of her helm, a picked hand came aft to take Captain Billings’ place at the wheel, of which he had retained charge until now, while another man was put in the main chains with the lead, heaving it at intervals and chanting out the soundings in a monotonous sing-song drawl of “By the mark, four,” and so on, until we reached six-fathom water, and then “The deep nine!”

All this time we had been heading over to the Somersetshire shore; but when we were a couple of miles or so out from Cardiff, the pilot told the skipper that it was time to come about, as we had got into the proper fairway of the Channel and our course now should be west instead of south.

Captain Billings didn’t need a second hint as to what he should do.

“Hands ’bout ship!” he roared out the instant the pilot had spoken, the mate and boatswain repeating as before the order after him in turn, and the man at the wheel putting down the helm instanter.

“Helm’s a lee!” shouted the skipper, the head sheets being let go as he spoke, and the jib flattened on the vessel going into stays.

“Raise tacks and sheets!” and the fore-tack and main sheets were cast-off, while the weather main brace was hauled taut.

“Mainsail haul!” was the next order; when, on the heavy yard swinging round, the Esmeralda came up to the wind slowly, as if casting a long, lingering farewell look at the Welsh coast, in deep regret at leaving it.

The head yards were then braced round, the fore-tack boarded, and the mainsheet hauled aft; after which the spanker was set, and the men sent aloft to loosen the topgallant sails, the yards of which had been crossed while we were still at anchor, so as to be ready when wanted. The ship then filled away again on the port tack, starting off with renewed speed, in a due west direction now, down the Bristol Channel, with the wind, which was on her beam, blowing at the rate of about an eight-knot breeze.

“We’ve made a good start, Pengelly,” said Captain Billings, coming up to where we were still standing, rubbing his hands cheerfully together and seemingly much at ease now that we were well under way. “It isn’t often one gets a nor’-east wind at this time of year, hereabouts, and when we do chance upon it, why, there’s no use in wasting it.”

“Sartinly not, Cap’en Billings,” responded Sam; “them’s jest my sentiments! I suppose as you’ll be a’most out of the Channel by mornin’, if the wind holds?”

“Aye, we ought to be off Ilfracombe soon after sunrise, the pilot says. Will you like to go ashore when we drop him there, eh?”

“That’ll do nicely, Cap’en,” replied Sam. “I only jest wanted for to see the last of the b’y, and I s’pected as how you’d land your pilot thereabout or at Bideford, where I told the man in charge o’ my schooner to call in for me; but it don’t matter much where I get ashore.”

“All right then,” said Captain Billings; “so, now, as the ship’s going on at a spanking rate, with no danger ahead and in charge of the pilot, suppose you and the lad come down to the cabin along with me and have a bit of something to eat, for it’s getting late? I dare say the steward’ll find us some grub somewhere, though it’s rather early in the voyage for regular meals.”

So saying, the skipper dived down the poop ladder, we two after him, when we found a well-spread table below, the sight of which pleased Sam as much as the appearance of my bunk—although, mind you, only on account of his interest in me, as there wasn’t a bit of the gourmand about him.

“See, my laddie,” said he, nudging me, and speaking in a whisper. “The cap’en ain’t a going to starve you!”

When we got on deck again, after a hearty meal, the sun had set and the evening was closing in; but, it was bright and clear overhead and the twinkling Nash lights, two white and one red, by Saint Donat’s Castle, were well away to windward on the starboard hand.

Although there was no necessity whatever for my keeping up, I was too much excited to turn in, even for the purpose of seeing how snug my new quarters were; so, Sam keeping me company, in order to have as much of me as he could—for the time was now approaching for our parting—he and I paced the poop all night, talking of all sorts of things, and planning out a wonderful future when I should be captain of a ship of my own.

Early in the morning watch, the wind lulled down to a gentle breeze, as it frequently does in summer before sunrise. This checked the ship’s rate of speed through the water considerably, so staying our progress that, instead of our arriving off Ilfracombe close on to daylight, as Captain Billings had sanguinely reckoned, it was long past eight bells and the hour of breakfast, to which we were both again invited into the cabin, before we neared the headland marking the bay sufficiently for us to heave to and signal for the pilot’s boat to come off and fetch him.

We were not long detained, however.

Hardly had the Esmeralda’s main-topsail been backed, ere a smart little cutter came sailing out towards us, with the familiar “P” and her number displayed on her spanker; so Sam hastened to bid his last farewell to me, making ready to accompany the pilot ashore.

“Good-bye, my cockbird,” said he, wringing my hand with a grip that made it wince again, a tremble the while in his voice and something suspiciously like a tear in his eye. “Keep honest, and do your duty, and never forget your father, laddie, nor old Sam Pengelly, who’ll be right glad to see you again when you return from this v’yage!”

“Good-bye, and God reward you, Sam, for all your kindness to me,” I returned, almost breaking down, and having to exercise all my self-command in order not to make an exhibition of myself before my new shipmates. “I’ll be certain to come and see you and Jane the moment I touch English ground again.”

“All right, my hearty, fare thee well,” said he, stepping into the boat of the pilot after that worthy, while the Esmeralda’s sails were let fill again on the vessel resuming her course down the Bristol Channel; but, as I bent over the taffrail, and waved my hand to Sam for the last time, I could hear his parting hail in the distance, sounding as loud almost as if he were alongside.

“Good-bye, my laddie, and good luck to the Esmeralda on her v’yage. Cap’en Billings, remember the b’y!”

“Aye, aye, my hearty, so I will,” shouted out the skipper, cordially. “Good luck to you, Pengelly!” and then the pilot made in for the land, and the ship’s yards were squared. The royals were soon afterwards sent aloft, the wind having sprung up again steadily, still from the nor’-east, as the tide began to make, and we ran now before it, almost sailing free, so as to pass to the southwards of Lundy Island and weather Hartland Point, on our way out into the open sea.

Captain Billings, seeing the wind so favourable, instead of hugging the land, determined to make all the westing he could at this the very outset of our voyage, in order to avoid the cross currents hanging about the chops of the Channel, and off the Scilly Isles—which frequently, when aided by the contrary winds they engender, drive a ship on to the French coast, and into the Bay of Biscay, thus entailing a lot of beating up to the northwards again to gain a proper westerly course.

Under these circumstances, therefore, my skipper, who I could see thus early “had his head,” as they say, “screwed on straight,” taking his point of departure from Lundy, and so bidding farewell to the land which he didn’t intend approaching again for the next few weeks if he could help it, kept a straight course by the compass due west for twenty-four hours, by the end of which time, and this was about noon on our second day out, we had cleared the Scilly Islands, passing some twenty leagues to the northward of the Bishop’s Rock. We were now well in with the Atlantic Ocean, and pursued the same direction, right before the wind, until we reached the meridian of 12 degrees 15 minutes West, when we hauled round more to the southwards, shaping a course to take us well to the westward of Madeira.

Before this, however—that is, on our first day out, shortly after we had cleared Lundy Island, and when Sam and the pilot and his cutter were out of sight, and the ship clear of “strangers”—Captain Billings called a muster of all hands aft, when he divided the crew into two watches, officered respectively by the first and second mates.

The “complement,” as they say in the Royal Navy, of the Esmeralda, I may as well state here, consisted of the skipper, Captain Billings; the two mates, one occupying the proud position of “chief of the staff,” and the other being merely an executive officer of little superior grade to one of the foremast hands; a boatswain, carpenter, sail-maker, cook, steward, and eighteen regular crew—the vessel, on account of her being barque-rigged, not requiring such a number of men in proportion to her tonnage as would have been necessary if she had been fitted as a ship, with yards and squaresails on the mizen-mast.

When apportioning out the hands to their several officers, Captain Billings assigned me to the starboard watch, under charge of the second mate, telling the boatswain at the same time to “keep an eye upon me,” so as to have me thoroughly initiated into the practical part of my profession.

I had not observed this latter individual previously, he having been employed forwards while I had been mostly on the poop ever since I had come on board the ship; now, however, that the skipper thus specially entrusted me to his care, I looked across the deck, when I noticed that his face seemed strangely familiar to me, although I could not exactly say how and where I had seen him before, although I puzzled my head in vain to guess who he was.

But, my quandary did not last very long; for, on Captain Billings dismissing the men after the full-dress parade he had held on the quarter-deck, the boatswain came up to me with a genial grin on his hairy face.

“Hullo, Master Leigh,” said he, “Who’d a’ thought of us two meeting ag’in like this?”

Chapter Thirteen.

An Old Acquaintance.

“What!” I exclaimed, in much amazement. “Is it really you, Jorrocks? I can hardly believe my eyes!”

“Aye, aye, it’s me sure enough,” replied my old ally of the Saucy Sall, shaking hands with great heartiness, as if he were really glad to see me again under such altered circumstances. “It’s me sure enough, Master Leigh—that is, unless I’ve got some double of a twin brother, as like me as two peas, a-sailing round in these latitudes!”

There could be no question of his identity after I had once heard the tones of his well-remembered voice; but the beard which he had allowed to grow since I had last seen him had so completely altered the expression of his face, or rather indeed its entire appearance, that there was some excuse for my not recognising him at the moment.

Jorrocks, however, he was without doubt; and, I need hardly say that I was quite as much pleased at this unexpected meeting as he seemed to be—albeit the sight of him, when I realised the fact that it was really himself and heard his cheery familiar accents, brought back in an instant to my mind the scene on board the coal brig that eventful day when the Saucy Sall’s surly skipper discovered that Tom and I had stolen a march on him, and treated us each to a dose of his sovereign specific for stowaways!

“How is it, though, Jorrocks, that you’ve abandoned the brig?” I asked him presently, when we had got over our mutual surprise at thus meeting in such an unlooked-for fashion. “I thought you were a fixture there, and didn’t know you were a regular sailor—I mean one accustomed to sea-going ships like this?”

I said this with much dignity, being greatly impressed with the responsibility of my new position; and I’m sure I must have spoken as if I were a post captain at least, addressing some subordinate officer!

Jorrocks, however, took my patronage in good part, although I could detect a faint cock of his eye, denoting sly amusement at my ridiculous assumption of superiority. This he now proceeded to “take down a peg” in his roundabout way.

“Why, bless you, Master Leigh, I sailed as able seaman in a China clipper afore you were born, and when I were that high!” he replied, laughing, putting his hand about a foot above the deck to illustrate his approximate stature at the period referred to, and representing himself to be at that time certainly a very diminutive son of Neptune.

“You must have been very young, then,” said I, a little bit nettled at his remark—thinking it a slur on my nautical experience, so bran-new as that was!

But Jorrocks went on as coolly as if I had not cast a doubt on the veracity of his statement concerning his early commencement of sailor life.

“Aye, aye,” he answered, quite collectedly, “I grant I were young, but then you must rec’lect, my lad, I got the flavour o’ the sea early in a lighthouse tower, where I was born and brought up, my father having the lantern to mind; and, since then, I’ve v’y’ged a’most to every part you could mention, and shipped in a’most every kind of craft, from an East Indyman down to a Yarmouth hoy. Bless you! I only took to the coasting line two or three years ago, when you and I first ran foul of each other; and the reason for my doing that was in cons’quence of my getting spliced, and the missus wanting me to take a ’longshore berth. Howsomedevers, I couldn’t stand it long, being once used to a decent fo’c’s’le in a proper sort of vessel v’y’ging o’er the seas in true shipshape fashion; and so, I parted company with the brig and came aboard the Esmeralda eighteen months ago come next July—a long spell for a sailor to stick to one ship without changing, but then Cap’en Billings ’s a good sort, and he made me boatswain o’ the craft last v’y’ge but one, so I hopes to remain with him longer still.”

“You like him, then?” I said, tentatively, looking him straight in the face.

“Oh, aye—first-class,” replied Jorrocks to my implied question, with much seriousness, “He’s not only a good skipper—as good as they make ’em, treating the hands as if they were men, and not dogs—but he’s a prime seaman, and knows what’s what in a gale, better nor most I’ve ever sailed with. Howsomedevers, he’ll stand no nonsense; and when he puts his foot down, you may as well give up, as you might sooner soft-sawder a trenail into a two-inch plank as get over him and shirk your duty! The old man, easy-going when you take him right, is as stiff as a porkypine when you runs foul of his hawse; so, you’d better not try on any o’ them pranks o’ yours you told me you and your messmate played off on your old schoolmaster, for Cap’en Billings has cut his eye teeth, my hearty.”

“Why, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” I exclaimed, indignantly, “what Tom and I did to Dr Hellyer was quite different, and served him right for his cruelty.”

“Aye, aye, that may be accordin’ to your notion,” said Jorrocks, sententiously; “but that schoolmaster were the skipper of his own ship, the same as Cap’en Billings is here aboard this here craft, and it ain’t right to trifle with them as is set in authority over us!”

I can’t tell what I might have replied to this appropriate little sermon that Jorrocks delivered about the mischievous and dangerous trick that Tom and I conspired together to commit, and which I have often subsequently reflected might have led to the most disastrous consequences, and perhaps injured the Doctor for life; but, at that moment, Captain Billings, seeing my old friend and I chatting together, came over to leeward, where we were standing.

“Hullo, boatswain!” he shouted out, “making friends with the youngster, eh?”

“Why, bless you, Cap’en Billings,” answered Jorrocks, touching his cap, “he and I are old shipmates.”

“Indeed! I had no idea of his having been at sea before,” said the skipper, apparently very much astonished at this news.

“Oh, aye, sir, he has,” returned my old friend, glad to be able to put in a good word for me, as he thought, after the little lecture he had just given me. “He was on board a coal brig with me two years ago, a coasting craft that plied up along shore to Noocastle and back; and you’ll find him no green hand, Cap’, but a smart able chap, one that’ll get out to the weather earing when there’s a call to reef topsails sooner than many a full-grown seaman, for he knows his way up the rigging.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” said the skipper, turning to me, with an affable smile that lighted up his twinkling blue eyes. “When Sam Pengelly told me you were a capable lad, of course, I naturally took his opinion to proceed more from personal bias than practical comment on your seamanship; but, now that I learn from Jorrocks here, on more independent testimony, that you’re no novice on board ship and have already mastered the rough rudiments of your profession in the best way possible—that of having been before the mast as a regular hand—why, you’ll be able to get on all the faster, and be able to command the deck by-and-by on your own hook. How are you up in navigation, eh?”

“I can take the sun, sir,” said I, modestly, not wishing to blow my own trumpet.

“Anything else?”

“Yes, sir, I can work out a reckoning, I believe,” I answered.

“Ha, humph, pretty good! I’ll try you by-and-by, Leigh,” said Captain Billings, turning aside for the moment to order the port watch to give one extra pull to the weather braces—“mind and bring out your sextant when you see me on deck at eight bells. I suppose you’ve got one in your chest, eh?”

“Oh yes, sir, Sam Pengelly gave me one,” I replied, and the skipper then went into the cabin while Jorrocks and I resumed our interrupted conversation.

My old friend took advantage of the opportunity to put me up to a good many wrinkles concerning my fellow-shipmates.

The mate, Mr Macdougall, who was a tall, hatchet-faced Scotsman, with high cheek-bones and a very prominent nose—Jorrocks told me, in confidence—was a tight-handed, close-fisted, cross-tempered man, ever fond of displaying his authority and working the hands to death, under the plea of preventing their idling or “hazing,” as he called it.

“I advise you not to get into a row with him, Mister Leigh, if so as you can help it; ’cause, once a chap falls foul of him in any way, he neversomedevers by no chance forgets or forgives it, nohow.”

“I shan’t give him the chance,” I answered to this, with a laugh. “I suppose he doesn’t think himself greater than the captain!”

“Ah, you just wait a bit ’fore you decide that p’int. The first mate aboard a marchint ship is a sight more powerful than a judge on the bench, as you’ll find out! The skipper allers tells him what he wishes, and the mate sees to its being done, an’ it depends what sorter fellow he is, and not on the cap’en, as to how matters go on when a vessel’s at sea; for, it’s in his power for to make things pleasant like and all plain sailing, or else to cause the crew for to smell brimstone afore their time, I tell you! That Macdougall, now, though you laugh in that light-hearted way, ain’t to be trifled with, Mister Leigh, I warn you; and if you go for to raise his dander ag’in you, why, you won’t find it worth grinning at, that’s sartin, for he’s as nasty as he’s spiteful, and every man Jack of us hates him like pizen, and wishes he were out of the ship. The skipper, I knows, wouldn’t have him aboard if he could have his own way, but he’s some connection of the owners, and he can’t help himself.”

“All right, Jorrocks, I’ll try and steer clear of him,” I said, trying to look grave, for I saw the old sailor was in earnest, and only speaking for my good. “I will endeavour to do my duty, and then he won’t have any occasion to find fault with me.”

“Ah, but you’ll have to do more than that; for, like most of them uppish chaps, if you don’t truckle under to him and purtend as how he’s the Lord Mayor, he’s safe to be down on you.”

“I’m not going to crawl under any man’s feet, first mate or no first mate!” I said, proudly. “Why, I’m a first-class apprentice, and the captain has rated me as third officer in the ship’s books.”

“Now, Mister Leigh, don’t you go on for being bumptious, now, my lad!” replied Jorrocks, laughing heartily at my drawing myself up on my dignity. “A third officer or ‘third mate,’ as we calls him, has a dog’s berth aboard a ship if he doesn’t lend his hand to anything and button to the first mate! You needn’t go for to really humble yourself afore that Macdougall; I only meant you to purtend like as how you thinks him a regular top-sawyer, and then you’ll sail along without a chance of a squall—Mr Ohlsen, the second mate, in charge o’ your watch, is an easy-going chap, and you’ll get on well enough with him.”

“All right,” I said in response, as if agreeing with his advice; but I formed my own resolution as to how I would treat the Scotsman should he try to bully me unjustly.

He would find no cringe in me, I vowed!

The rest of my shipmates, Jorrocks then went on to tell me, were a very jolly set of fellows, forming as good a crew as he’d ever sailed with—fit for anything, and all able seamen “of the proper sort.”

Haxell, the carpenter, he said, was a quiet, steady-going, solemn sort of man, with no nonsense about him, who kept himself to himself; while Sails, the sail-maker, whom I have omitted mentioning in his proper place as one of the officers ranking after the boatswain, was a cheery chap, who could sing a good song on Saturday night in the fo’c’s’le; but, the life of the crew, Jorrocks said, was Pat Doolan, the cook, an Irishman, as his name would imply. He was always ready to crack a joke and “carry on” when there was any skylarking about, besides willing to lend a hand at any time on a pinch. Jorrocks told me “to mind and be good friends with Pat,” if it were only for the sake of the pannikin of hot coffee which it was in his power to dispense in the early morning when turning out on watch in the cold.

“Ah, you were not born yesterday, Jorrocks!” I said, when he imparted this valuable bit of information to me, as one of the state secrets of the fo’c’s’le.

“No, Mister Leigh,” he answered, with a meaning wink; “I’ve not been to sea, twenty year more or less, for nothing, I tell you.”

The steward—to complete the list of those on board—was a flabby half-and-half sort of Welshman, hailing from Cardiff but brought up in London; and, as he was a close ally of the first mate, I need hardly say he was no favourite either of my friend Jorrocks, or with the crew generally—all the hands thinking that he skimped the provisions when serving them out, in deference to Mr Macdougall’s prejudices in the way of stinginess!

The Esmeralda, therefore, carried twenty-seven souls in all of living freight, including the skipper and my valuable self, besides her thousand tons of coal or so of cargo; we on board representing a little world within ourselves, with our interests identical so long as the voyage lasted.

While Jorrocks and I were talking in the waist of the ship to leeward, I observed the first mate, Mr Macdougall—who had the forenoon watch, and was in charge of the vessel for the time—approach close to the break of the poop, and stop in his walk up and down the deck once or twice, as if he were on the point of hailing us to know what we were palavering about; but something seemed to change his intention, so he refrained from calling out, as I expected, although he glowered down on Jorrocks and I, with a frown on his freckly sandy-haired face, “as if he could eat us both up without salt,” as the boatswain said, on my pointing out the mate’s proximity.

I believe Mr Macdougall took a dislike to me from the first; and the skipper’s apparent favour did not subsequently tend to make him appreciate me any the better, I could see later on.

That very day, shortly before noon, when Captain Billings came out of his cabin with his sextant, and found me all ready for him with mine, in obedience to his order, I heard Mr Macdougall utter a covert sneer behind the skipper’s back respecting me.

“Hoot, mon,” he said aside to Ohlsen, the second mate—“Old son of a gun” as the men used to call him, making a sort of pun on his name—“the old man’s setting up as dominie to teach that bairn how to tak’ a sight, you ken; did you ever see the like? These be braw times when gentlefolk come to sea for schoolin’, and ship cap’ens have to tak’ to teachin’ ’em!”

Ohlsen didn’t reply to this save by a grunt, which might have meant anything, but I was certain Macdougall was trying to turn me into ridicule.

Captain Billings, however, did not overhear the remark; and proceeded to test my accuracy with the sextant, making me take the angle of the sun and that of the distant land on the port bow. He was delighted when, afterwards, I had worked out my calculations, based on the sight taken of the sun’s altitude, and, deducting the difference of the ship’s mean time from that observed, found out that our true position on the chart was very nearly 50 degrees 55 minutes 20 seconds North and 4 degrees 50 minutes 55 seconds West, or about ten miles to the south-west of Hartland Point on the Devonshire coast. It was all a labour of love, however, for the land was still within reach, and we had not long taken our “point of departure;” while soundings could still be had, if we wished, in thirty fathom water; so, there was no necessity for our taking an observation so early in the voyage. The skipper only did it to test my knowledge, and he was perfectly satisfied with the result apparently.

“Why, Macdougall,” he said to the Scotsman, who was waiting by with an air of ill-concealed triumph on his face, hoping to hear of my failure to work out the reckoning, “he’s a better navigator than you are!”

This, you may be certain, did not please the mate, who muttered something of it’s “all being done by guess work.”

But the skipper wouldn’t have this at any price.

“No, no, Macdougall,” he replied, quickly, “it’s all fair and square calculation, such as I couldn’t have managed at his age;” then, turning to me, he added, kindly, “you stick to it, my lad, and you’ll beat us all with the sextant before we get to Callao!”

The captain desired me, also, to work out the ship’s reckoning each day and to keep a log, the same as the first mate had to do, which that individual resented as a sort of check exercised upon him, and hated me accordingly. As I afterwards found out, he was an extremely bad navigator, and ignorant of all the newest methods, such as Sumner’s, for shortening calculation, consequently, he was afraid of his errors being discovered too easily if his log should be compared every day with mine.

Unaware of all these kindly feelings towards me, Captain Billings filled up the measure of Mr Macdougall’s wrath by inviting me to come into the cabin to dine with him that day at six bells, instead of waiting until the termination of Ohlsen’s watch, and go in with him to the “second table,” as it was termed, after the skipper and first mate had finished their repast—such being the etiquette in merchant ships.

Macdougall almost boiled over with anger when he heard the skipper ask me. His freckled face looked just like a turkey’s egg—boiled!

“Vara weel, vara weel, Cap’en Billings,” said he, with a mock deference that little disguised his rage: “but I’d ha’e you to know that I didn’t ship aboard here to mess wi’ ’prentice lads.”

The skipper fired up in an instant, a light darting from his blue eyes which one would not have thought their liquid depths capable of.

“And I would have you to know, Mr Macdougall,” he retorted, quickly, uttering every word, however, with distinct emphasis, “that I’m captain of my own ship, and shall ask whom I please to my table. Steward,” he added, calling out to that worthy, who was just sauntering by into the cabin from the cook’s galley with a covered dish in his hands, “lay a plate and knife and fork for Mr Leigh; and bear in mind that he dines with me every day when his duties allow!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Owen Williams, proceeding on into his pantry with his dish, and I followed the skipper into the cabin shortly afterwards.

This was undoubtedly a blow to the mate, as I thought, sniggering over the little episode at the time; but, Mr Macdougall did not forget the fact of my having been the occasion of his getting a “dressing down” from the skipper, and he debited it carefully in his account against me, determining to pay me out for it on the first convenient opportunity—a resolution that was carried out quite soon enough for me, as you will presently learn!

Chapter Fifteen.

“A Little Unpleasantness.”

“Say, Cap’, we’ll have to strip her first,” suggested Jorrocks, when it was thus decided to carry out the contemplated measure for the relief of the ship—“if we don’t do that, we’ll have every stick taken out of her as soon as we try to wear her!”

“Oh, aye, boatswain, I haven’t forgotten that, you may be sure,” said the skipper; and the hands were then once more sent aloft to furl the main-topsail, while the mizzen trysail was hauled down and the braces manned, so as to help the vessel round with the yards the moment the helm was put up.

It was a ticklish job, though. The utmost care was necessary in order that the manoeuvre might be successfully accomplished.

Should one of the heavy rollers strike her after she had once yielded to the influence of the rudder and while coming round with the wind, before she had fully paid off—thus presenting her stern to the attack of her stubborn assailants even as she now faced them, like a stag at bay or a cat fronting a bull-dog—why, the gale would undoubtedly catch her broadside on. In such a case, the Esmeralda would be exposed at her weakest point to the full force of the wind and sea, in the same way as the deer or cat turning tail to its pursuer—with what result we on board could readily anticipate, even without the skipper’s warning words!

As Jorrocks expressed it, in the event of such a catastrophe happening, “It was all Lombard Street to a China orange we’d lose the number of our mess and sarve as food for fishes!”

Everything, therefore, depended on our seizing the right moment for putting the helm up and bringing her head round, the critical period being that between the onslaught of one of the rollers and the advent of the next; when, if the vessel answered her helm smartly, rising out of the trough of the sea ere the following wave had time to reach her, she would be away scudding in front of the gale safely, before many minutes would be past and the present peril might then be a thing to look back upon with feelings of thankfulness and satisfaction.

Captain Billings explained this to Jorrocks, while all the remaining canvas was being stripped off the vessel, with the exception of the fore-topmast staysail, which was still retained in order to assist in forcing her head round when all was ready for trying the hazardous experiment.

“You know what I want, Boatswain,” he said, sending Jorrocks forwards to watch for a favourable opening between the following waves and turn the ship—“the moment you see our chance, give the word; and then, Heaven help us to get round in time and not broach-to!”

“Aye, aye, sir, I knows what you want,” answered Jorrocks, who then proceeded to crawl as carefully towards the fore-chains, as the carpenter had come aft—bending down beneath the protection of the weather-bulwarks as he crept along the waist, and holding on by a stray rope’s-end here and there to preserve his balance—although he did this as much to prevent exposing his body as leverage for the wind to force the vessel over to leeward before the proper time, as to shield himself from its boisterous buffeting.

Arrived at the point he had selected, Jorrocks drew himself up gingerly into the fore-rigging, his hat blowing from off his head and his hair streaming out before the wind the instant he abandoned the shelter of the bulwarks. However, he had not long to remain in that exposed position.

He had waited to stand up until he heard the blow of one of the heavy billows as it careered before the gale, coming against the bows in due rotation, and the instant he heard this he raised himself erect at once, receiving part of the deluge that broke over the cathead in a fountain of spray on his exposed head and hairy face, the impromptu shower bath making him appear like a dripping merman fresh from the briny deep.

Jorrocks, however, did not mind the cold bath. He had much more serious matter on hand to take notice of it, beyond giving himself a shake like a retriever fresh from a dip.

Looking over the side to windward, as quickly as he dashed the water from his eyes, he noticed that the following wave succeeding the one which had just delivered its attack, was quite two cable lengths off—a more than usually long interval between the waves as yet.

It seemed like an interposition of Providence in our favour, I thought, noticing the lull from my station on the poop almost as soon as Jorrocks perceived it in the bows, and I feared he would have missed the opportunity.

But the boatswain was too good a seaman for that. The very instant the reflection crossed my mind that he would be too late, for the whole thing happened in the “wink of an eye,” he raised his right hand high in the air, standing up to his full height on the bulwarks, while holding on to the ratlines of the foreshrouds—thus allowing his body to act as a sort of additional headsail to aid the fore-topmast staysail, which, as I’ve said before, was the only rag the ship had on her, in forcing her bows round.

Captain Billings was watching Jorrocks even more intently than I; and, without a second’s delay, the moment the latter gave the signal that the critical point for action had arrived, he roared out in a voice of thunder, “Hard up with the helm, hard up, my men, for your lives!”

Mr Macdougall and the two seamen who were standing on either side of the wheel, clutching hold of the spokes and holding on to them with all their might, shifted it round almost as quickly as the skipper’s order was given. But they had to put all their strength into the task to overcome the resistance of the dead weight of the hull, aided as that was by the mountain of water pressing it back upon them and thus resisting their efforts to shift the helm over to port.

For a brief space of time, hardly an instant though it seemed an eternity, the ship appeared somewhat sluggish to respond to the movement of the rudder, hanging in stays and settling down into the great valley of water that loomed on our lee; but the next moment a glad cry of relief burst from all as she answered her helm, a wavering motion of her bows denoting this being then perceptible.

“Now, men, look alive,” cried the skipper. “Cast-off those lee braces here; haul round to windward sharp, and square the yards!”

These orders were executed as rapidly as they were given, the hands being ready at the braces, and only waiting for the word of command to ease the yards round. When these were squared, however, the fore-topmast staysail fluttered and filled with a jerk that made the foremast crack and tremble, the vibration shaking the ship to her centre and penetrating even as far as to the deck beneath our feet as we stood awaiting the issue of the operation—the very planks “creeping” with the concussion caused by this and the bows meeting the send of the sea.

But the power of the little staysail forward, and the effect of the exposed surface of the boatswain’s body in the rigging, both catching the wind at the same time, settled the matter.

Without making any further opposition to our wishes, the Esmeralda payed off handsomely; and, rising up on the crest of an enormous green roller, that had swept up to overwhelm her, but which now passed harmlessly under her keel instead, she surged through the water, gathering way every moment as she showed her heels to the gale, careering over the stormy billows before the blast like a mad thing, as if rejoicing in her freedom after so long being forced to lay to—although the fore-topmast staysail, which had done such good work in getting her head round, parted company as soon as the yards were braced round, blowing away to atoms, and floating off in the distance in the same kite-like fashion in which the jib had previously disappeared.

The loss, however, seemed to affect the ship’s speed but little, for she scudded off under bare poles at as great a rate as if she had all her canvas set, and was running before a ten-knot breeze.

“Thank Heaven!” I heard Captain Billings exclaim in a low voice, taking off his cap reverently, as soon as we were safely round before the wind; and I could see his lips move as if in silent prayer. In this, I confess, I joined with all my heart; for, if ever in my life I experienced the feeling of religious emotion which causes us to express our gratitude for rescue from peril, I had that feeling then!

The Esmeralda, though, was not out of all danger yet.

There was still the fear of her being pooped by the following waves, which now raced after, in anger at her having escaped their clutches; so, to lessen this possibility, the skipper had the reefed main-topsail set again, and the mizzen trysail once more hoisted, so that the ship might get through the water faster than the pursuing rollers. The strain on the masts was tremendous; but, fortunately, everything held, and under the impetus of this additional sail power she doubled her speed, bidding defiance to the harpies of the ocean that had so nearly worsted her in the combat.

It was just four bells in the afternoon watch when we got her head round before the wind, although it was not until nearly midnight that the hurricane blew itself out, the wind then dropping almost as suddenly as it had sprung up twenty-four hours before.

During all this time, only one of the watches had a short spell below, and neither the skipper, Jorrocks, nor I, had ever left the deck after the gale had begun—the only exception being Mr Macdougall, who had turned in for a caulk when we were lying-to. Had it not been, however, for the praiseworthy exertions of Pat Doolan, the Irish cook, I do not believe we should have been able to hold out so long.

The willing fellow, despite the series of liquid avalanches that were constantly flooding the ship as she took in the green seas over her bows, managed in some wonderful way or other to keep his galley fire alight, supplying us with a grateful cup of hot coffee at intervals through the harassing night; and, late in the afternoon, when we were all utterly exhausted, he served out to each of us, much to our surprise, a pannikin apiece of the most delicious pea-soup I ever tasted—“It was enough,” as one of the men said on receiving the welcome refreshment, “to have put life in a post!”

This was while our struggle with the elements yet lasted; but as soon as that was over, and when all fear of peril was dispelled by the lulling of the gale, the inevitable reaction after such protracted exertions without any recuperative rest became painfully apparent, and I was not at all sorry when Captain Billings told the hands belonging to the port watch that they might go below.

“And I fancy, Mister Leigh,” said Jorrocks to me, “we can go down and turn in too; for we ain’t a going to have another such a blow in a hurry again for a month of Sundays!”

Nor did it look like it either, the stars twinkling away in a cloudless sky, and the night being perfectly bright and clear, although there was no moon, while the rollers were rolling less angrily, as if the ocean were hushing itself down into repose at last.

There was nothing, therefore, to keep me on deck any longer; so, following the example of my old friend Jorrocks, I speedily sought my bunk, and, turning in, did not wake again until nearly noon on the following day—the good-natured skipper having given orders to Mr Macdougall not to disturb me when the starboard watch was relieved in the early morning, saying that I had earned my rest fairly by rolling two days’ duty into one, which, indeed, I believe I had!

I was up on deck again, however, in time to “tak’ the soon,” as the Scottish mate termed it in his north-country accent, for I was anxious to see how far the gale had driven the vessel off her proper course.

It was our thirteenth day out, counting from the time we “took our departure,” as navigators say, from Lundy Island; and both the skipper and I made it out, after working the reckoning, that we were as far down as the twenty-fifth parallel, although a good deal to the eastward of what our true position should be—the leeway we had made while lying-to, and our subsequent scudding for nearly twelve hours before the north-wester, having taken us much too close in towards the African continent, thus causing us to lose all that westing we had secured on our first start from the Bristol Channel, and which we had afterwards so carefully preserved, even amidst the baffling winds of the middle latitudes.

Still, this mortifying conclusion had a redeeming feature.

If we were too far to the eastwards, we were as assuredly beyond the region specially designated by Jorrocks as the “Horse Latitudes,” where the calms of Cancer hold sway; for, now, setting all plain sail before a steady breeze from off the land, we soon managed to run into the regular north-east Trades, picking them up in the next degree or two we ran down to the southward.

From this point, keeping on the starboard tack again, with the wind well on our beam, we ran for the Line; but before crossing the equator, Mr Macdougall and I, between whom relations had been somewhat strained almost from our first introduction, came to an open rupture, the “little unpleasantness” happening in this wise.

Mr Ohlsen, the second mate—“Old son of a gun,” as the crew called him, from his taciturn manner of going about his work—was still on the sick list; and Captain Billings, who had expressed himself much pleased with my behaviour since I was on board, especially during the storm, had assigned the performance of this gentleman’s duties to me.

At this Mr Macdougall was extremely indignant, remonstrating with the skipper for putting so young a lad as myself in such an important post as that of second mate.

“What are your reasons for objecting to him?” asked Captain Billings.

“Why, the loon’s but a bairn,” said Mr Macdougall, at a nonplus for some objection to my promotion.

“If he’s young,” answered the skipper, “he’s got a man’s courage and a seaman’s aptitude, which is more than I can say for some aboard here!”

“Hoot, mon, d’ye mean to eenseenuate?”

“I insinuate nothing,” interrupted Captain Billings, hotly. “If the cap fits you, why, you can wear it! Leigh is a strong, sturdy fellow, worth any two hands on a yard; and, as for navigating, he can work out a reckoning better than—than myself!”

“That mebbe, that mebbe, I dinna gang for to denee that stat’ment, Cap’en,” said the Scotsman, sneeringly, implying that I or anybody else might easily eclipse the skipper’s powers of calculation; “but I hae my doots, mon, I hae my doots.”

“You can ‘hay’ your grandmother if you like,” retorted Captain Billings, decisively; “still, it’s my order that Leigh acts as second mate until Mr Ohlsen is able to return to duty. I’m captain of this ship, Mr Macdougall, please remember!”

This was the invariable expression the skipper always made use of when he had made up his mind to anything, so the mate knew that there was no use in his trying to argue the point any further, and he left the poop, where the altercation had taken place, in a towering rage. This his freckles plainly showed, his equanimity not being restored by the ill-concealed titters of the men standing by, for they had overheard most of what had been said, and repeated the substance of the conversation to me afterwards.

I was, it is true, only sixteen at the time; but, being a sturdy, broad-shouldered chap, I looked all two years older; and I really do not think the skipper complimented me too strongly when he said I was worth a couple of hands on a yard, for, during my experience in the coal brig under Jorrocks’ tuition, I had acquired considerable proficiency and dexterity in most of a seaman’s functions, which aptitude I had further improved while sailing in Sam Pengelly’s schooner between the various ports between Plymouth and the Land’s End for two years nearly at a stretch afterwards.

My nautical education, too, as I have already mentioned, had not been neglected all the time I had been waiting to get on board a sea-going ship, for since I had joined the Esmeralda I had not lost a single opportunity for developing my book learning by practical examples in seamanship, Captain Billings encouraging me to persevere whenever he saw me inclined to laziness, and giving me all the advantage of his own training and experience; so that, by this time, I believe I was almost as competent to take charge of the ship on an emergency and navigate her to her destination, as if I had passed the Trinity House examination and received a first mate’s certificate like Mr Macdougall, whom in the mathematical part of navigation I could beat easily.

Of course, I was not up in sailor lore as to atmospheric changes and those signs and tokens which it takes a long apprenticeship to the sea thoroughly to learn; but in the ordinary work of the ship I was second to none, the men, with whom I was a prime favourite, thanks to Jorrocks, acknowledging that I could reef, hand, and steer, with any of them.

Mr Macdougall was jealous of me—that was the reason of his animosity; so he took advantage of every chance he had to discount the captain’s favour by making me in the wrong, to prove his assertion as to my incompetence to take charge of a watch.

One day I had taken an observation at noon as usual, the skipper of late leaving that operation entirely to me, for he knew Mr Macdougall would be certain to get a sight too, if only in order to have a wrangle with me as to the right position of the ship. Having made out the reckoning with a stop watch, I was busily engaged marking out our place on the chart on top of the cabin sky-light, as it was a fine day, with a pair of callipers and parallel rulers, when the Scottish mate came up to me.

“And whaur d’ye find us the noo?” said he, insinuatingly, to me.

“We’re in 1 degree 35 minutes north, and 28 degrees west; and I think ought to alter our course a trifle more to the southward to avoid the Saint Paul islets, which we must be heading for direct, steering south-west as we are now.”

“Whaur d’ye mean, bairn? There’s no land near us, I ween, save the Rocas, and that is far awa’ to the westwar’.”

“I tell you,” said I, positively, with perhaps a good deal of bumptiousness, “we’re heading on straight for those rocks there marked on the chart!”

“Why, ye’re mad—a stork staring loon!” retorted Mr Macdougall, in the most irritating way; “ye’d better gang awa’ to schule again.”

“I think you had,” I answered; “I have forgotten more than you ever learned!”

Now this was very rude and impertinent for me to remark to a man so much older than myself, and my superior officer; but I did not reflect at the moment what I said to my tormentor, for he used to nag at me every day about the very same point—my taking the sun and working out the reckoning. It was a very sore subject with him ever since the skipper praised me at his expense on our first day out.

At all events, rude or not, my reply had the desired effect of exasperating Mr Macdougall to the last pitch of endurance, for he was very easily excited.

“Gin you say that ag’in, ye onmannerly loon,” said he, foaming with passion, his pale complexion becoming paler, which made the freckles stand out prominently, “I’ll knock ye doon.”

“Will you?” I cried, “you just try it, that’s all!”

He did; and down I went on the deck, as flat as a pancake, from a well-directed blow of his brawny fist!

I was not beaten, however.

Jumping up, I faced him again, only to undergo a repetition of the flooring process; when, seeing that I with my boy’s strength was no match for him as yet, and losing my temper quite as much as he had done, I seized a large snatch-block which was lying by on the deck close to my hand, hurling it at his head with all my force.

The mate started back in terror, for the missile only missed him by half an inch, and if it had struck him would most certainly have killed him on the spot, although I did not think of that when I pitched it at him; and, just at that moment, I heard Captain Billings’ voice behind us.

Chapter Sixteen.

Breakers Ahead!

“Hullo, steady there—belay that!” exclaimed Captain Billings, half-way up the poop ladder, which he was ascending hastily, two steps at a time, “Mr—Mr Macdougall—Martin Leigh! What’s this disgraceful row about?”

I had quickly picked up a handspike when I saw that I had missed my aim with the snatch-block, while my antagonist—who, to do him justice, had plenty of pluck, and had only been startled for the moment by the heavy missile hurtling through the air close to his projecting nose—was advancing to attack me again with his fists clenched, a savage look the while on his face, as if he meant to settle me this time; but, on this interruption from the skipper, we both relinquished our hostile attitudes, Mr Macdougall slinking towards the binnacle, as if innocently engaged in studying the bearings of the compass there, and I dropping the handspike incontinently.

There was a ringing tone of command in the skipper’s voice which meant that he intended to be obeyed; but mixed with this, beyond a slight suspicion of surprise at the unexpected scene which met his gaze, there was a good deal of subdued irritation, which really was not to be wondered at.

He had been having an afternoon nap in his cabin, which was situated immediately below the deck where the mate and I had been rehearsing the little drama I have just detailed; and the noise we had made with “the movements of the piece,” to speak theatrically, having very unceremoniously disturbed his slumbers before the period he generally allowed himself for his “forty winks” had expired, his temper was not sweetened thereby beforehand, only just needing the unseemly fracas which he noticed on coming on the poop to send it up to fever-heat.

I had never seen Captain Billings so angry since I had been on board the Esmeralda; his blue eyes fairly flashed forth fire!

He took no notice of me at first, advancing towards the chief mate.

“Mr Macdougall,” said he, sharply, “I call upon you for an explanation of this—this—discreditable affair!”

“Yon dratted loon, Capting, sought me life!” replied the other, glibly. “He hove a snatch-block at me, and takkin’ the pairt of my ain defeence I was gangin’ to poonish him a wee when ye came on deck.”

“And did you give him no occasion for behaving so insubordinately, sir?” asked the skipper, looking Mr Macdougall straight in the face with a piercing glance, as if defying him to answer him untruthfully.

But the mate was too old a hand at “spinning a yarn,” as sailors term dealing in fictitious statements. He could utter a falsehood without winking once!

“Nae, sir,” said he, as cool as a cucumber, making no reference to the fact of his having twice knocked me down before I retaliated on him, “I did naething to the loon, naething at a’! I only joost reprovit him a wee for his bad language and inseelance, ye ken, an’ he oops wi’ yon block an’ heaves at me puir head. It’s joost a marcy o’ Proveedence he did nae knockit me brains oot!”

Fortunately for the Scotsman, his good or bad angel was in the ascendant at this moment, substantiating this incomplete account he gave as to what had happened. As luck would have it, too, Captain Billings had only got up the poop ladder in time to take heed of the latter part of the fray, and thus the evidence of his own eyesight corroborated apparently the mate’s assertion, that I had made a most unjustifiable assault on him.

Greatly incensed, therefore, he now turned on me.

“I saw the assault myself, Mr Macdougall; so I don’t merely take your word alone for it. What have you got to say, Leigh, in excuse for your outrageous behaviour? It’s—it’s scandalous; I could thrash you myself!”

My pride, however, was roused by the fact of his having accepted the mate’s explanation without asking me for any explanation first, and so condemning me unheard; consequently, without taking into consideration the thought that it was only proper that Captain Billings should support the authority of his chief officer unhesitatingly, I answered him rather pertly, only feeling my own wrong, and not considering what was the skipper’s obvious duty.

“If you believe Mr Macdougall,” I replied, in a rude, off-hand way, “there’s nothing for me to say.”

“You ungrateful young hound!” cried out the skipper, who, if angry before, was now as mad as a hatter at my impudence. “That’s the thanks I get, is it, for favouring you and promoting you out of your station! Listen; consider yourself disrated from this instant—do you hear?”

“Yes, I hear, Captain Billings,” said I, in a sullen voice.

“Then, heed sharply, my lad,” he retorted. “Get off this deck and go forward. Your place, henceforth, sir, will be in the fo’c’s’le, along with the other hands; and the sooner you lug that chest of yours out of the spare bunk I gave you amidships, the better!”

This was a terrible downfall; but, of course, there was no use my arguing against the skipper’s decision, the master of a merchant ship being lord paramount on board his own vessel, and having the power to make and unmake his officers, like a nautical Warwick, the whilom creator of kings!

So, much chapfallen, I withdrew from the poop; and, abandoning all my dignities as acting second mate and first-class apprentice, proceeded to make myself at home with the crew forward—much against the grain, I confess, although the men received me cordially, and took my part, not only from their liking for me personally, but from their hatred of the chief mate as well.

Mr Macdougall, I could plainly see, was cock-a-hoop at my disgrace, from the malicious grin on his freckled face.

His triumph, however, was not very long-lived.

On making me relinquish my functions on the quarter-deck, the skipper had sent for Jorrocks, telling him that he would have to take charge of Mr Ohlsen’s watch in my place.

“But I doesn’t know nothing o’ navigation, Cap’,” said the boatswain, who felt keenly my abasement, and was loth to “step into my shoes,” as it were.

“Oh, never mind that,” replied the skipper. “Mr Macdougall will give you the courses to steer; and, if anything particular happens—which I don’t expect, with the wind we have now and us in the open sea—why, you can call me.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” answered Jorrocks, being thus foiled in his attempt at getting me reinstated, which he thought might have been the case on his pleading his inability to con the ship; and so, when Macdougall went below with the starboard watch at eight bells in the afternoon, the boatswain took charge of the deck with the relief hands—the mate telling him still to keep to the same west-sou’-west course which I had suggested to Mr Macdougall, a couple of hours or so before, should be altered to a more southerly one, and the controversy about which had caused that “little unpleasantness” between us, which had terminated so disastrously for myself.

To explain this matter properly, I should mention that, when, on our thirteenth day out, after the cessation of the north-westerly gale that had driven us to the south of the Canaries, Captain Billings discovered that we were so near in to the African coast, in taking advantage of the wind off the land he had perhaps committed an error of judgment in making an attempt to recover our lost westing, instead of pursuing a course more directly to the southwards; for, in the early part of the northern summer, the Equatorial Current begins to run with greater rapidity towards the west, causing vessels to lose much of their true direction, and the most experienced navigators recommend crossing this stream at right angles, if possible, so as to get beyond its influence as speedily as circumstances will permit, at least at that time of year, when an easterly passage of the equator is advisable.

However, the skipper acted for the best, wishing to get well to the windward of Cape Blanco and the contrary currents and variable breezes generally encountered in that vicinity; and so, the Esmeralda had therefore continued on a diagonal course across the equatorial stream even after we had picked up the regular north-east Trades, until we had reached the meridian of 25 degrees West, when we had run as far south as 8 degrees 15 minutes North.

Here, we lost the Trades that had blown us so far on our route, entering into the second great belt of calms met with in the Atlantic to perplex the mariner when essaying to pass either to the north or south of the equator—a zone of torpidity, known popularly under the name of the “Doldrums,” which was originally derived most probably from the old Portuguese phrase dolorio, “tormenting.”

This belt of calms separates the two wind zones of the north-east and south-west Trades, which meeting here, their opposing forces are neutralised, and the air they bring with them from the colder regions of the north and south, becoming rarified by the heat of the equator, passes up into the higher atmosphere, producing a stagnation of the wind currents; and hence ensue calms that vary in duration according to the position of the sun, whether north or south of the Line, calms that are sometimes accompanied by tremendous rain showers, and sometimes varied with frequent squalls and thunder and lightning, followed sometimes by thick fogs hanging on the surface of the water.

The belt of the Doldrums has an average width of some six degrees, or about five hundred miles of latitude, roughly speaking; and in crossing it we were not much more favoured than most navigators, having to knock about for seven days under a sweltering tropical sun—taking advantage of whatever little breeze we could get that aided our progress to the equator, until we emerged from the retarding influence of this zone of inactivity, some three degrees to the northward of the Line, when we fortunately succeeded in sailing into the south-east Trades almost before we expected.

We had, however, lost some little way eastwards through the sweep of the Guinea current, a stream which seems strangely enough to take its rise in the middle of the ocean, and makes a sudden set thence towards the Bight of Benin; so, Captain Billings, who appeared to be prejudiced on the subject of the western passage of the equator, instead of now trying again to shape a true south course towards our point of destination, Cape Horn, directed a parallel so as to fetch the Brazilian coast. The ship, consequently, after leaving the Doldrums was steered south-west and by west, a direction which, if preserved, would have run us on in a straight line to the Rocas, a dangerous reef stretching out into the sea off the westward peak of the island of Fernando Noronha, some eighty-four miles out from the mainland to the northward of Cape Saint Roque.

This was on our thirtieth day out from the Bristol Channel, two days before the first mate and I had come to loggerheads; and since then the vessel had kept on in the same course, closing with the equator each hour under the steady south-easterly breeze which we had with us, on the port tack, and speeding even more rapidly to the west than our skipper imagined—for, through the set of some current to the northward and westwards, our dead reckoning showed a wide discrepancy from the position of the ship by observation, as I made it on the day of the row—when, as I’ve stated, the skipper, feeling indisposed, had left me to take the sun, knowing that the mate would check my calculations.

But, as things turned out, the altercation which occurred completely took off the attention of Captain Billings from the subject; and, as I left the chart which I had been using on the top of the cabin sky-light when he ordered me to quit the poop without informing him of the serious error I had discovered, and Mr Macdougall, wise in his own conceit and confident that he and the dead reckoning were both right, did not hint of the ship’s course being wrong, on we went, with all our canvas spread, racing into the teeth of a danger which the skipper never dreamt of our being near.

The weather was now beautifully fine, the breeze tempering the heat of the sun, and flying fish and albicore playing around the vessel as we neared the equator; while, occasionally, a school of whales would spout to windward, or a shoal of porpoises, having a game of high jinks as they leaped out of the water in their graceful curves one after the other, would cross our bows backwards and forwards in sport, apparently mocking our comparatively slow progress through the sea in contrast to their own rapid and graceful movements, and showing how easily they could outstrip us when they so pleased.

I was standing on the fo’c’s’le head, sadly looking out over the bows, while the light lasted, at the moving panorama of Nature around me; the dancing waves curled up on either side of the catheads as the vessel plunged her forefoot down, and streaming aft in a long wake to leeward; the cloudless sky above; the vast solitary expanse of the horizon; the leaping fish and spouting whales—keenly alive to everything and yet my mind full of all my grievances, being especially wrathful with the skipper for accepting Mr Macdougall’s statement against me, without first allowing me to utter a word in my own defence.

It was worse than tyranny, I thought, this arbitrary conduct in disrating me unjustly!

I remained here till I heard one bell strike soon after the second dog-watch commenced; for I was waiting for Jorrocks to be relieved, as I wished to speak to him in order to get him to put in a word for me with Captain Billings, when he had calmed down and could listen to reason. While I was waiting, the evening closed in, the sun having not long set; for, in the tropics, night succeeds day with startling rapidity, there being no twilight to temper the transition between bright sunshine and darkness—the one ensuing almost immediately after the other without any “toning down,” as painters express it, to lessen the effect of the change.

Hearing, as I fancied, a whale spouting nearer than usual—these monsters of the deep making a noise as they eject the water through the spout-holes on top of their heads in a fountain of spray, after drawing it with their gills, like surf breaking on a distant shore—the sound somehow or other took back my thoughts to the chart, and I suddenly remembered what I had told the mate about the danger of the ship approaching the Islets of Saint Paul.

These are a cluster of rocks, called by the early Portuguese navigators the PeÑedo de Saint Pedro, lying almost in mid-ocean, close to the equator, in latitude zero degrees 55 minutes 30 seconds North, and longitude 29 degrees 22 minutes West; and, from the water being beyond soundings in their immediate neighbourhood, they must form the peak of some submarine mountain range. They are only about sixty feet or so in height clear above the level of the sea; and, consequently, being only visible at a comparatively short distance off—not more than a couple of leagues at the outside, even in broad daylight—and situated as the shoal is in the direct track of the trade wind, the rocks form a source of great peril to mariners traversing their bearings, especially at night time, nothing existing to give warning of their proximity until a vessel may be right on to them, as it were.

Thinking of all this, which I had read in the “Sailing Directions for the North Atlantic,” a book which the skipper had lent me to study, in order to perfect me in navigation, I felt a sudden fear lest the ship should be wrecked on the reef, making up my mind to tell Jorrocks about the error I had discovered in our position on the chart, which I determined to ask him to fetch for me, so as to show it to Captain Billings.

Jorrocks, however, was a long time coming forwards after being relieved from charge of the deck by Mr Macdougall, remaining some little time talking to him on the poop; so that it was nearly two bells, and quite dusky, when he made his way to where I was standing looking out for him, I having asked one of the hands to say that I wanted to speak with him.

“Well, Mister Leigh,” he said, on making his appearance, “here I am at last; better late nor never, as the old folks say! But that blessed Scotchman would have a long yarn with me, about goodness knows what!”

“I’m glad you’ve come,” I replied; and then I went on to tell him about my fears of peril to the ship from our vicinity to the Rocks of Saint Paul, which I was certain we were approaching every mile we ran further west.

But the boatswain was almost as incredulous of our being near the shoal as the first mate had been in the afternoon.

“Bless you, Mister Leigh, we’re miles to windward of that place,” said he with a laugh. “But it’s allers the way with your young navigators as is full chock up to the bung with book larnin’ and hasn’t had no real ’sperience o’ the sea yet! They allers fancy all sorts o’ dangers that your old seamen who’ve been a v’yage or two never thinks o’ reckonin’ on!”

However, the good-natured fellow, seeing how earnest I was in the matter, promised to take the chart to the skipper, who was lying down in his cabin again, feeling far from well of late, as, indeed, his looks lately showed—and we were all afraid he had caught the same sort of low fever like Mr Ohlsen, the second mate.

“An; I’ll tell him as mildly as I can, Mister Leigh, of this here mare’s nest as you’ve found out, so as not to make him angry with you again.”

“Thank you, Jorrocks,” I replied heartily; but, just at that moment, hearing the whales making a noise quite close to the ship’s side as I thought—although I could not see them within the limited circle of dusky light to which the surrounding gloom narrowed my vision, I said, “What a row those whales are making, are they not? They’re quite near, and yet, although it’s not dark enough yet to hide them from our gaze, there’s not a trace of one in sight!”

Jorrocks cocked his head on one side and listened; but in an instant there was a striking alteration in the quizzical look with which he had at first regarded me, under the evident idea that I had discovered another “mare’s nest.”

“By Jingo, Mister Leigh, you’re right after all!” he exclaimed, his face turning pale as if with sudden fright.

“What, do you think we’re running on the rocks I spoke about?” I asked, anxiously.

“Aye, not a doubt of it,” he answered, in the same quick way, bending his head again to listen over the side. “Either them identical ones, or else we’re on the Rocas off the Brazilian coast.”

In another moment, however, if in doubt previously, his suspicions were apparently confirmed; for, springing up again, and rushing aft as if he were suddenly possessed, Jorrocks roared out at the pitch of his voice—the words ringing like a trumpet note through the ship—

“Breakers ahead on the weather bow! Hard up with the helm—hard!”

Chapter Eighteen.

Caught in a Pampero.

“Sure an’ you must bear in mind, messmates,” commenced Pat, coming outside his galley and leaning against the side in free-and-easy fashion, “when I wint aboord that vessel in Noo Yark, I was a poor gossoon, badly off for clothes, having no more slops than I could carry handy in a hankercher.”

“Not like your splendiferous kit now,” observed Sails, the sail-maker, with a nudge in Jorrocks’ ribs to point the joke—the cook’s gear in the way of raiment being none of the best.

“No, not a ha’porth ov it,” proceeded the Irishman, taking no notice of the sarcastic allusion to his wardrobe. “To till the truth, I’d only jist what I stood up in, for I’d hard times ov it in the States, an’ was glad enough to ship in the schooner to git out ov the way ov thim rowdy Yankees, bad cess to ’em! They trate dacint Irishmen no betther nor if they were dirthy black nayghurs, anyhow! How so be it, as soon as I got afloat ag’in, I made up my mind to git some traps togither as soon as I could.”

“Let you alone for that!” interposed Sails again, maliciously.

“Arrah, be aisy now, old bradawl and palm-string, or I’ll bring ye up with a round turn!” exclaimed Pat, getting nettled at the remark.

“Why can’t you let him be?” cried the rest, thereupon. “Heave ahead, cooky;” and, so encouraged, the Irishman once more made a fresh start, declaring, however, that if he were once more interrupted they’d “never hear nothing” of what he was going to tell them, “at all, at all!”

Peace being then restored, he resumed the burden of his tale.

“As soon as the ould schooner was riddy to start with all thim mules aboard, we got a tugboat to take us in tow down the harbour out to the Narrows, as they calls the entrance to Noo Yark Bay; and whin the tug’s hawser was fetched over our bows to be fastened to the bollards I sees that the rope’s a bran-new Manilla one.

“‘Aha,’ thinks I, ‘that’s a foine pace of rope anyhow! I’ll have a bit ov you, me lad, to stow away with my duds; mayhap ye’ll come in handy by-and-bye!’ and so saying to meeself, I sings out to the chap on the tugboat a-paying out the hawser, to give me some more slack, and he heaves over a fathom or two more, which allowed me to cut off a good length, lavin’ plenty yit to belay around the bollards; an’ whin no one was lookin’ I takes the pace ov cable below and kicks it away in the forepeak, so as I could know where to foind it forenenst the time I wanted for to use it.

“Well, we sailed away from Sandy Hook down to the Line, an’ sailed and sailed, losin’ most of our mules, and making no headway, as I’ve tould you, until at last we got into the south-east Trades, same as this ship is now, and fetched down the coast to Cape Horn.

“Presently, it begins to get so could, that for want of clothing I was nearly blue-mouldy with the frost in the nights, until I could stand it no longer; but none ov the chaps had any duds to spare, an’ I was clane out of me head what for to do.

“One evening, howsoever, whin I were that blue with could as I could have sarved for a Blue Pater if triced up to the mast-head, a sinsible kind ov idea sthruck me.

“‘Be jabers,’ sez I to mesilf, ‘I’m forgettin’ that pace of Manilla hawser I’ve got stowed away; sure an’ it’ll make an illigant overall!’

“No sooner I thinks that, than down I goes to the forepeak, where I found me rope all right; and thin, thin and there, boys, I unreaves the strands, making it all into spun yarn—you know, I s’pose, as how I’m a sail-maker by rights, like Sails here, and not a reg’ler cook?”

“The deuce you are!” ejaculated Sails; “you never told us that before.”

“No fear,” replied Pat. “Faix, I don’t till you iverythin’ I knows—I larnt better nor that from the monkeys in Brazil, old ship!”

“But what did you do with the Manilla hemp arter you unrove the hawser?” asked Jorrocks, his curiosity now roused by the matter-of-fact way in which the Irishman told his story—relating it as if every word was “the true truth,” according to the French idiom.

“Why, you omahdaun, I jist worked it into a guernsey, knitting it from the nick downwards, the same as the ladies, bless ’em! do them woollen fallals that they wear round theirselves.”

“You wove it into a guernsey?” cried Sails, in astonishment.

“Aye, I did that so,” returned Pat; “and wore it, too, all round Cape Horn!”

“Then let me look at you a little closer,” cried the sail-maker, pulling Doolan towards him, and passing his hand over his nose.

“What the blazes are ye afther, man?” asked Pat, not being able to make out what the other meant by handling him in that fashion.

“Only seeing if you had my mark,” said Sails, calmly; “and here it is, by all that’s powerful!”

“Your mark, Sails? What on airth d’ye mane?”

“Why, whenever I sews up a chap in his hammock as dies at sea, which I’ve often had to do as part of the sail-maker’s duty in the many ships I’ve been in, I allers makes a p’int of sticking my needle through the corpse’s nose, to prevent him slipping out of his covering.”

“What!” ejaculated the Irishman, startled for the moment out of his native keenness of wit; “an’ is it m’aning to say as it’s a could corpus I’ve been, an’ that I’ve bin did an’ buried in the bottom of the say?”

“Aye, aye, my hearty,” answered Sails, with great nonchalance. “And I’ve sewed you up in your hammock, too, for sarten—that is, just as sure as you fetched across that there streaky mule of yourn, arter sailing over the ocean for three weeks, and made a guernsey frock out of a Manilla hawser!”

There was a regular shout of laughter from all hands at the sail-maker thus turning the tables so completely on the Irishman, who got so angry at our merriment for the moment that he retired within his caboose, slamming the half-door too, and declaring that not a single mother’s son of those present should have the taste of hot coffee again in the morning watch!

However, Pat’s fits of temper were as evanescent as they were quickly produced, and presently he was laughing and talking away as if he had not been offended, enjoying the joke Sails had against him almost as much as any of the others.

Two days after crossing the Line we sighted the Rocas, on passing the parallel of Fernando Noronha, where the Brazilians have a penal settlement; and, on the third day, we cleared the Cape of Saint Roque, which is the most projecting point of the South American continent—stretching out, as it does, miles into the Atlantic Ocean, while the coast-line on either side of it trends away in a wide sweep, away westwards, north and south, back from the sea.

After passing Saint Roque, we ran down our latitudes rapidly, the south-east Trades keeping with us until we had reached the twentieth parallel; and we fetched Rio on our forty-second day out. This was not bad time, considering the great distance we were driven out of our way by the gale, and the fact of our subsequently knocking about for a week in the Doldrums.

With regard to matters on board the ship, I may state here, that, from the date of that eventful night when the Esmeralda had so providentially escaped being wrecked on the Rocks of Saint Paul, and Captain Billings, after “dressing down” the mate, had restored me to my former position aft, Mr Macdougall had not spoken a single word to me, although I had made many overtures of peace towards him, wishing the matter to drop—nothing being so unpleasant as to be on awkward terms with any one with whom one is brought in constant contact, especially when the daggers-drawn parties are cooped up together in a vessel on the high seas.

But, no; he would not accept the olive branch.

When it was time for me to relieve his watch, the mate invariably sent one of the hands to summon me, telling me through the same medium the course to be steered, and giving what orders were necessary for the working of the ship, so that there should be no occasion for any conversation between us; and it likewise happened that when we were on deck together, as was frequently the case during the day, he always walked on the weather side of the poop, while I took the leeward place—that is, unless the skipper was there too, when of course the latter promenaded the more honourable beat, and I walked by his side, while Mr Macdougall had the lee-side then all to himself.

At meal-times also, in the cabin, he took care that we should not meet, never coming in until after I had left the table, and always rising up to go on deck should I enter while he was there.

The mate held aloof in a similar fashion from the skipper, the two never interchanging a word save with reference to the navigation of the vessel. He seemed, indeed, to have sent us both to Coventry, although Captain Billings made no comment to me on his conduct; but I did not fail to notice—what indeed was the popular belief through the ship—that, if the first mate was paying us out in this way, he did not forget to “take it out of the crew” in another and very practical mode of his own, which was by driving them as hard as a workhouse superintendent in charge of a lot of poor paupers.

To return to the ship and her voyage, I should observe that, after the south-east Trades failed us—succeeded for a short spell by light variable winds, as we kept well away from the coast, and so perhaps missed the land breeze that we might have had—we picked up the south-west monsoon, which carried us past Rio Janeiro.

The term monsoon, or “monsun,” I may explain, is derived from an Arabic word, mausim, meaning “a set time, or season of the year;” and is generally applied to a system of regular wind currents, like the Trades, blowing in different hemispheres beyond the range of those old customers with which ordinary voyagers are familiar.

From Rio we ran down in five days to the Plate River, having fine weather and making pretty good sailing all the time, as indeed we had done since crossing the Line; but, arrived off Monte Video, we soon had warning that our quiet days of progress through the water on one tack, without shifting a brace or starting a sheet, were numbered with the fortunate things of the past.

One morning, just when we were in latitude 34 degrees 55 minutes south, and 55 degrees 10 minutes West, or nearly a hundred miles off the wide estuary of the Rio de la Plata, I noticed a peculiar phenomenon.

The wind was blowing from the northward of west, while the atmosphere was bright and clear, so that the horizon was extended to almost double its ordinary distance; but, although no land was to be seen anywhere in sight, myriads of little winged insects began all at once to hover over us, just as if we were close in shore under the lee of some tropical forest, while our hands, clothes, faces, and the ship’s rigging as well, began to be covered with long, white, hair-like webs, similar to those woven by spiders in a garden shrubbery! I couldn’t make it out at all, feeling inclined to view the matter as one of those extraordinary freaks of Nature, which even science is unable to throw any light on—phenomena that are every now and then exhibited to us, as if only to show our ignorance of the workings of the invisible Power around us guiding the movements and physical cosmogony of our sphere; but Jorrocks, who was a thorough seaman, believing in portents, and thinking that everything unusual at sea was sent for a purpose, and “meant something,” advised my calling the skipper.

“I ’specs, Mister Leigh,” said he, “as how there’s a squall brewing, or summat, for they’re pretty plentiful down here when the wind bears round to the west.”

“All right, Jorrocks; I’ll give him a hail,” I replied; and leaving the boatswain in charge of the deck, it being my watch, I went down to wake up the skipper, he having only turned in just before I came on duty.

“How’s the glass?” asked Captain Billings, as soon as I had roused him and told him what I had observed.

“I didn’t think of looking at it, sir,” I replied.

“Then do so at once,” he said; “a sailor should never fail to consult his barometer, even when the weather is apparently fine, for it gives warning of any change hours, perhaps, before it may occur. It is an unswerving guide—more so than the wind and sky in some latitudes.”

I hastened now to look at the instrument, and noticing that it had fallen, I reported the fact to the skipper as he was dressing.

“Ah,” said he, “then that has occurred since I turned in;” and, completing his toilet rapidly, he soon followed me on deck, whither I returned at once.

In the short interval of my absence below, however, there was a marked alteration in the scene.

The wind had dropped to the faintest breeze, which presently, too, died away, succeeded by a dead stillness of the atmosphere, while the sea became like glass, except where an occasional heave of the unbroken surface betrayed the restless force beneath that seeming calm; and, instead of the clear sky and wide-stretching horizon melting into the azure distance, which had previously struck me with admiration, a thick haze had crept up over the heavens from the westwards, which, extending right up to the zenith, had soon shut out the bright sunlight, making it darker than night—the air becoming at the same time chill and cold.

I had not much leisure, though, to note the pictorial effects of the scene; for I heard the skipper’s voice behind me.

“By Jove, Leigh!” he exclaimed, “we’re going to have one of those pamperos, as they call them, that come off the mouth of the Plate; and we’ll have all our work cut out for us to be ready in time. Call the other watch, boatswain!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jorrocks; and quickly his familiar hail rang out fore and aft, as he rapped on the scuttle forwards—

“All ha–a–ands take in sail!”

We were carrying a full spread of canvas at the time; but the men, tumbling out of their bunks with a will, not having had much of that sort of work lately, were soon clambering up the rigging, furling the royals and topgallant sails—I amongst them, you may be sure, having been the first, as usual, on the main royal yard.

“Now, men, take in the flying jib,” cried Captain Billings, when we had come below, having so far stripped the ship for the coming fight; and the headsail was stowed, the spanker and trysail were brailed, the courses hauled up and the yards squared, when we awaited the attack of the pampero.

“It’ll soon be on us now,” said the skipper, seeing that the heavens became blacker and blacker to the westwards; and presently it came!

A streak of vivid lightning shot out from the blue-black storm-clouds that were hung over the ship like a funeral pall, lighting up the surrounding gloom and making it appear all the more sombre afterwards from the momentary illumination; and then, with a crash of thunder—that seemed as if the sky above was riven open, it was so awfully loud and reverberating—the tornado burst upon us, accompanied by a fierce blast of wind, that almost took the ship aback, and would have sent her down beneath the water in an instant to a certainty if we had been under sail.

“Let fly everything!” shouted the skipper; and the halliards being cast loose, the topsails came down on the caps by the run; when the Esmeralda, paying off from the wind, began to exhibit her old form of showing her heels to the enemy—tearing away through the sea with all her sheets flying.

Along with the pampero came a terrific shower of hail that lacerated our faces and almost took away our breath for the moment; but, never heeding this, on the skipper issuing his orders, we were up aloft again reefing topsails in a jiffey, and, as soon as the halliards had been manned and the yards rehoisted, the courses were furled and the jib hauled down, the fore-topmast staysail being set in its place. Everything being now made snug, the vessel was brought once more round to her course on the starboard tack, heading a little to the westward of south.

To the hail succeeded a heavy storm of rain; and then, the pampero having blown itself out by its sudden frenzy, a short calm now came on, after which the wind chopped round to the old quarter, the southwards and eastwards, bringing us back again to the port tack as we steered between the Falkland Islands and the South American continent—keeping in closer to the land now, for any fresh wind that might spring up would be certain to come from off shore.

The day of the pampero, however, did not pass by before another incident happened on board the Esmeralda.

When “all hands” were called, of course Mr Macdougall came up too; and, although he did not go aloft the same as I did to help in reefing topsails and furl the canvas—for he was neither so young nor so active as myself, and besides, it was not his place as first mate of the ship thus to aid the crew in doing the practical part of their duty—yet, on deck, he was of much assistance to the skipper in seeing that his different orders were promptly executed at the moment required; being not chary either of lending a hand at a brace when help was necessary, and exerting himself as much as any one, in a way very unusual for him.

So now, when the pampero had passed away and the excitement was over, Captain Billings, in his joyful exuberance of feeling at the Esmeralda having weathered the peril, went up to him and shook hands cordially.

“Hurrah, Macdougall!” he exclaimed, “the old barquey has been too much for my River Plate bully of a pampero.”

“Aye, mon, she’s weethered it weel, I ween,” replied the mate, accepting the proffered pledge of restored friendship; and he was shaking away at the skipper’s fist as if he was never going to relinquish its grasp, when, suddenly, the calm came on that I have mentioned, and the sails flapped against the masts heavily, shaking the ship and making the rigging vibrate.

Both Mr Macdougall and the skipper looked aloft, impelled by the same instinct, as they stood aft, the mate close to the taffrail; when, at that instant, the spanker boom swinging round, the lee sheet—not being hauled taut—caught the mate athwart his chest and swept him incontinently over the side!

I was on the opposite side of the deck, witnessing with much satisfaction the mode in which he and the skipper had made up their differences, the feud having lasted for over a fortnight; but, on seeing the accident, was for a moment horror-struck.

However, I soon recovered myself.

“Man overboard!” I shouted out, with all the power of my lungs; and then, without hesitation, I plunged after Mr Macdougall into the sea.

Chapter Nineteen.

On Fire In The Hold!

The wind had dropped to a calm, as I’ve mentioned, just before this; but the sea was still running high, with those heavy waves that get up in a moment in the lower latitudes as soon as it begins to blow. But I never thought of this when I plunged in to the mate’s rescue.

When I was at Dr Hellyer’s, the only two things I ever really learnt that were of any use to me in my after-life were, a substantial grounding in mathematics—thanks to “Smiley”—which subsequently made the study of navigation easy to me when Sam Pengelly put me under charge of a tutor; and, secondly, the art of swimming, the place where the school was situated and the practice of taking out the boys on the beach for the purpose every day, offering great facilities to any one with the least aptitude for taking to the water and possessed of a desire to learn how to support himself in it.

Now, therefore, I found the second of these acquirements to stand me in good stead—the consciousness of knowing how to swim, not only giving me the courage to leap over the vessel’s side after the unfortunate man, but also enabling me to decide what to do when I found myself battling with the waves on my errand of succour.

The Esmeralda’s quarter was a good height from the sea level; so, on my diving off, what with this and the impetus of my leap, I went considerably below the surface, coming up panting for breath some distance away from the ship, which, having still a little way on her, besides offering a considerable surface of hull for the waves to act upon, was drifting further and further off each instant.

I had no concern about this, though, the only impression on my mind being the necessity of getting hold of Mr Macdougall as soon as I could; and when I had recovered from the half-suffocating feeling produced by my impromptu long dive beneath the Atlantic rollers, I raised myself on the top of one of these, and proceeded to look for the first mate, who ought, I thought, to be pretty close to me.

The water struck bitterly cold, as I trod it down in order to elevate myself as much as I could and so have a wider view around, for it made my limbs feel as if cramp was coming on; but I kicked out vigorously, and the sensation passing off I began to feel more at home in the water, and as confident as if I were bathing off the shore at Beachampton—albeit I was now having a bath in the middle of the Southern ocean, with my ship almost half a mile from me by this time!

I did not see Mr Macdougall anywhere at first, so I feared that the force with which the boom sheet had come against his chest might have so injured him as to paralyse his movements when he fell overboard; but, presently, when I rose on the crest of another huge rolling billow that took me up a little higher aloft, I saw him struggling in one of the watery valleys between the ridges of the waves about half a cable’s length away to the windward of me, so that I was between him and the ship, whose sails alone now were all I could see of her from my low position in the water.

Catching sight of him, at once inspired me with fresh courage, making me as buoyant as a cork; and I faced the task before me, offering up a heartfelt prayer that I might accomplish it successfully.

“Hold up, Mr Macdougall! I’m coming to help you!” I cried out as loudly as I could, for he seemed just then, from the look of despair I saw on his face, to be on the point of chucking up his hands and allowing himself to sink to the bottom, impressed probably with the hopelessness of attempting to reach the vessel. Then, striking out with a good strong breast-stroke, which is worth all your fancy side business in rough water, I made towards him; although, having to go against the set of the sea, I found it much harder work than merely keeping myself afloat, which was all that I had previously tried to do, without actually swimming.

He did not hear my shout, being to windward; but, when I rose presently on another wave-crest nearer him, I could perceive that he saw me, from the way in which he raised one of his arms in his excitement—the effect of which was, of course, to cause his head to go under and make him believe his last hour was come.

“Help, help!” he screamed, when he got above the surface again, spluttering out words and water together; “I’m droonin’, mon—help, mon, help!”

I could hear him distinctly from my being to leeward, and as I was much nearer to him now, I cried out again to encourage him—

“Hold on, Mr Macdougall! I’ll be with you in a minute!”

Then, with half a dozen strong, sturdy strokes, aided by a wave that worked him towards me, I was by his side.

He was utterly exhausted, having, like most unpractised swimmers, pumped himself out by splashing about with short jerky movements of his hands and legs, which only wearied him without advancing him through the opposing billows or assisting him to keep up; and, on my coming up to him, as all drowning men in similar circumstances invariably do, he made a frantic clutch at me, when, if he had succeeded in grasping me, we should both have sunk to the bottom.

But I took very good care he should not touch me, for Tom Larkyns and I when at Hellyer’s used to make a practice in fun of pretending we were going down when out bathing, and the one or other of us who acted the part of rescuer would always study how to approach the feigning drowner, so as to help him effectually without incurring any risk of being pulled below the surface; so, on Mr Macdougall stretching out his clutching hands, endeavouring to get hold of me, I was quite on my guard to avoid his grip.

Diving below him, I seized him by the back of the neck, his long sandy hair, which was streaming with water, enabling me to take a firm grip.

“Don’t try to hinder me,” I cried hurriedly between breaths, for the sea was very rough, and it wasn’t easy to speak. “Keep perfectly quiet, and I’ll save you.”

The Scotsman gave a wriggle or two, but, like most of his countrymen, he had a good deal of common sense and self-command, which made him remain passive after a bit; when, throwing myself on my back, I floated, dragging his head across my body, so that he might rest awhile and recover himself before trying to swim towards the ship.

Presently he endeavoured to look round, so as to see who it was that had come to his assistance.

“Hold hard!” I said. “You mustn’t move, or I’ll have to let you go;” for, I can state, it was a difficult job supporting him in that way, and it took all my paddling to keep our united weight up.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “I ken the voice—eet’s you, Leigh, eesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mr Macdougall, it’s me,” said I. “Do you feel better now?”

But he did not answer me for a moment, although I felt a tremble go through his frame.

A moment afterwards, with what sounded like a sob, he cried out, “You brave laddie! To theenk that you of all ithers should ha’ coom to save a reckless loon lik’ me, the noo! It’s a joogement on me for me cruel leeing again’ you, boy; you’ve heapit coals o’ fire on me head!”

“Never mind that now, Mr Macdougall,” I said. “We’ve got to see about getting back to the ship, and then we can let bygones be bygones! Have you got your breath back now?”

“Eh?”

“Do you think you can manage to put a hand on my shoulder, and rest quiet in the water while I tow you along?”

“Aye, I’ll try it, laddie.”

“Mind, you mustn’t clutch hold of me too hard,” I cried; and, easying him off from my chest, I turned round again in the water.

He sank about a foot at first from the change of position, but, keeping strict heed to my injunctions, and gripping my shoulder with a grasp of iron, he was presently floating half alongside and half behind, with his head well out of the water, as I struck out to where I could still see the ship as we rose every now and then at intervals on the crests of the following waves; although, when we descended again between the intervening hollows, we seemed shut in by a wall of sea.

The pampero having blown off from the pampas inland—whence the local name for these tornadoes—had come from the westwards, and, of course, the set of the waves, even after the wind had ceased to move them, continued in a south-westerly direction, whither the Esmeralda had also been carried away from us, the exposed surface of her hull drifting her more rapidly away than such tiny atoms as we presented to the influence of the rollers. When, therefore, Mr Macdougall was so far recovered as to permit of my attempting to regain the ship, she was already quite a mile off, if not more!

As I looked at her distant sails, which came in sight when we got atop of the billows, they seemed to be gliding further and further away each fresh time that I saw them, showing that there was no wind; so, knowing that a boat would have to pull all that distance against a heavy head sea in order to fetch us, I almost despaired of our being picked up.

No one but those who have undergone a similar experience, can imagine the utter loneliness that strikes upon the heart of a solitary swimmer, struggling in the middle of the ocean for dear life. The sea never looks so terribly wide and vast as then, the sky never so far off, as he gazes upwards in piteous entreaty; while the elements appear to mock his puny efforts to reach the receding vessel containing his comrades of a moment ago, who now seem basely leaving him to perish!

These thoughts flashed through my mind as I struck out in the direction of the Esmeralda. All the sins and omissions of my past life then rose before my mental kaleidoscope, making me conscious of my unpreparedness to die, and yet want of justification to live; but I struck out bravely nevertheless, and I need hardly say, I did not whisper a word of my fears to the mate, who kept silent and motionless the while, without incommoding my efforts.

My strokes got slower and slower, for the wash of the sea over us every now and then was terribly fatiguing; for, although I was very strong for my age, and powerfully built, still the strain of supporting Mr Macdougall besides myself, was more than I was able to manage—the strongest man couldn’t have done it.

He saw this even before I did, and took away his hand from my shoulder.

“Let me bide, laddie,” he said. “You’ve doon your best to save me, but you canna do’t mair; gang awa’ and save your ain sel’.”

“No I won’t, Mr Macdougall,” I cried, stopping and treading water for a minute or two, while he imitated my example. “If I’m saved, you shall be saved; and if you drown, I’ll drown too!”

“That’s bravely said, laddie,” he replied, “but your streength will na let you bear my lumpy karkus. I’m a meesereeble sinner, ye ken, and it’s na richt as a brave lad lik’ you should lose his ain life for a worthless loon lik’ me!”

“No more of that, Mr Macdougall!” I cried, stoutly. “I made up my mind to try and save you when I jumped overboard after you; and save you now I will, with God’s help—so there’s no use trying to prevent me! Now put your hand on my shoulder again, for it’s time for us to be moving on after our rest.”

The short “spell off” from swimming had rested me, and I struck out once more with renewed vigour, my progress with the mate in tow being now much more rapid, for the sea was calming down, beginning to feel the cessation of the wind.

“We’ll reach the ship, never fear!” I said presently, seeing her still in the distance when we rose upon a wave from the watery abyss in which the previous dialogue had taken place.

“I hope so, laddie, I hope so,” said Mr Macdougall, but his words did not sound very cheering, and I went on swimming hard, saying nothing further. By-and-bye, just when my strength began to fail again, and I felt that I could never get over the distance that separated us from the vessel, I saw to my joy a large object floating near.

“Hullo!” I cried, “here’s a boat, or raft, or something in sight; cheer up, Mr Macdougall, we’re saved!”

But, he was so worn out with the exposure, and his previous efforts to keep up before I went to his assistance, that he had now almost lost the power of speech, only moaning something like “Eh, laddie?” behind me.

I saw, therefore, that I must now trust entirely to my own exertions for our joint safety—the more so since that, as the mate lost his consciousness, although still keeping hold of me in the way I had directed him, his limp, passive weight pressed me down lower and lower in the water; so, putting out all my energies for a final effort, and clenching my teeth together with grim determination, I struggled forward, swimming as hard as I could towards the floating object I had seen, and which I had caught sight of only just in time.

One stroke—two—three—and a roller throws me back again. I renew the contest—another stroke, accompanied by as vigorous a kick out as I can manage, with Mr Macdougall’s prostrate body touching my legs; and then—I clutch hold of the thing at last—hurrah!

It was a large hencoop, which used to be fixed on the starboard side of the Esmeralda’s poop; so I suppose some one must have pitched it overboard after me the moment I gave the alarm.

But, no matter when it was sent adrift or why, it now saved both our lives; for I don’t believe I could have swum a stroke further, while as for Mr Macdougall, he was already like a man dead.

There was a piece of rope lashed round the coop, and with this I at once made the mate fast to it, raising his head well up, and shouting in his ears to revive him.

In a minute or two, he opened his eyes, and appeared more like himself, a smile spreading over his face, as if in thankfulness for escaping death.

As for me, I was as right as a trivet now that I had come across such a splendid raft; and, climbing on top, and balancing myself so as not to let it lurch over, I proceeded to look for the ship—which I had almost forgotten while striving to reach this nearer haven of refuge.

No sooner, however, had I mounted the hencoop, which floated nearly a foot above the surface, even with my weight on it—for it was a big piece of woodwork, with plenty of timber in it, and as light as a cork—than I felt a faint current of air blowing in my face from a direction quite opposite to that of the drift of the waves, the tops of which now began to curl and break off.

“Hullo, the wind has changed!” I sang out to Mr Macdougall, as he looked up at me to hear my report; and then, glancing round, there I saw the Esmeralda, with her yards squared, approaching us rapidly, the breeze having caught her up long before it reached us.

I could have shouted aloud for joy.

“Cheer up, Mr Macdougall!” I said, repressing my emotion as much as it lay in my power. “The ship is making for us, and we’ll be on board again in a brace of shakes.”

“Nae, ye’re jookin’, laddie!” he cried despairingly. “She’ll never reach us ’fore dark.”

“Aye, but she will, though,” I replied, as she was nearing us so fast that I could now see her hull, which had before been invisible; and, almost as I spoke the words, she rose higher and higher, until I could make out an object at the mast-head like a man on the look-out for us and signalling, for I could see his arms move.

“Hurrah! she’s coming up fast now!” I cried, to convince Mr Macdougall; when, seeing my excitement, he at last believed the good news, the effect on him being to cause him to burst into a passion of tears, of which I took no notice, leaving him to recover himself.

Presently, I could not only perceive the Esmeralda, but a boat also ahead, to which the man I had noticed in the foretop was making motions.

“We’re all right now, Mr Macdougall,” I said.

“I thought they wouldn’t desert us! They have launched a boat, and it is pulling towards us now. Let us give them a hail; raise your voice, sir—one, two, three—now then. Boat ahoy!”

The mate did not help the chorus much, his voice being too weak as yet, and his lungs probably half full of salt water; but still, he joined in my shout, although those in the boat were too far off to hear it.

“We must hail them again,” I said, “or else they’ll pass to windward of us. Come, Mr Macdougall, one more shout!”

This time our feeble cry was heard; and a hearty cheer was borne back down on the breeze to us, in response, the men in the boat pulling for us as soon as they caught our hail.

In another five minutes, it seemed, but perhaps it was much less—the tension on one’s nerves sometimes making an interval of suspense appear much longer than it really is—the Esmeralda’s jolly-boat was alongside our little raft, with the two of us tumbled into the stern-sheets, amidst a chorus of congratulations and handshakings from Jorrocks, who was acting as coxswain; and, before we realised almost that we were rescued, we were safe on board the old ship again.

It was all like a dream, passing quite as rapidly!

The skipper, when I climbed the side ladder which had been put over for us, assisted up by a dozen pairs of willing hands, almost hugged me, and the crew gave me three cheers, which of course gratified my pride; but, what I valued beyond the praises bestowed on me for jumping overboard after Mr Macdougall—which was a mere act of physical courage which might have been performed by any water-dog, as I told Jorrocks—was the consciousness that I had made a friend of one who had previously been my enemy, returning good for evil. It was owing to this only, I fervently believe, that my life was preserved in that perilous swim!

Mr Macdougall was ill for some days afterwards, the shock and exposure nearly killing him; still, before the end of the week he was able to return to duty, a much changed man in every respect. Thenceforth, he treated the men with far greater consideration than previously, and he was really so painfully humble to me that I almost wished once or twice that he would be his bumptious, dogmatic old self again. However, it was all for the best, perhaps, for we all got on very sweetly together now, without friction, and harmony reigned alike on the poop and in the fo’c’s’le.

The south-easterly wind, which had sprung up so fortunately for our rescue, lasted the Esmeralda until she had run down the coast of Patagonia to Cape Tres Puntas, some three hundred and twenty miles to the northward of the Virgins, as the headlands are called that mark the entrance to the Straits of Magellan.

Of course, our skipper did not intend to essay this short cut into the Pacific, which is only really practicable for steamers, as the currents through the different channels are dangerous in the extreme, and the winds not to be relied on, chopping round at a moment’s notice, and causing a ship to drop her anchor in all sorts of unexpected places; but he intended to go through the Straits of Le Maire, instead of going round Staten Island, and thus shorten his passage of Cape Horn in that way.

However, when, on our fifty-ninth day out, we were nearing the eastern end of Staten Island, the wind, which had of late been blowing pretty steadily from the northward of west, hauled round more to the southward, and being dead against the Le Maire channel, we were forced to give the island a wide berth, and stand to the outside of it.

It was fine light weather, with clear nights, all the time we had been sailing down the coast; for we could see the Magellan clouds, as they are called, every evening. These are small nebulae, like the Milky Way, which occupy the southern part of the heavens, immediately above Cape Horn, whose proximity they always indicate.

Shortly after our passing Staten Island, however, a change came, the wind blowing in squalls, accompanied by snow and sleety hail, and the sea running high as it only can run in these latitudes; but still, everything went well with us until we were about 55 degrees South and 63 degrees West, when a violent gale sprang up from the north-west.

Everything was hauled down and clewed up, the ship lying-to under her reefed main-topsail and fore-topmast staysail, and Captain Billings was just saying to me that I was now going to have “a specimen of what Cape Horn weather was like,” when I noticed Mr Macdougall—who had been making an inspection of the ship forwards—come up the poop ladder with his face much graver than usual, although, as a rule, his expression of countenance was not the most cheerful at any time.

“Whatever is the matter with Mr Macdougall?” I said to Captain Billings. “I’m certain something has happened, or he would not look so serious!”

“Bless you, Martin, you mustn’t judge by his phiz. I daresay the men have only been skylarking in the fo’c’s’le, and it doesn’t please him.”

But it was something far more important than that which had occasioned the gravity of the mate’s face, as the skipper soon heard; for, on Mr Macdougall coming up close to us, he whispered something in the skipper’s ear which made him turn as white as a sheet.

“Martin, Martin,” he said to me, dropping his voice, however, so that the men might not hear the terrible news before it was absolutely necessary to tell them, “the coals are on fire in the main hold!”

Chapter Twenty One.

Herschel Island.

“Maircy on us!” exclaimed Mr Macdougall, who at that moment was just gingerly passing down the standard compass to Jorrocks, the boatswain, standing up in the stern-sheets of the long-boat alongside, and stretching up his hands as carefully to receive the precious instrument; and the sudden blinding flash of the explosion and concussion of the air that it caused, almost made him drop this in his fright. “Whateever on airth ees that noo?”

“Matter?” repeated the skipper after him coolly, taking in cause and effect at a glance. “Why, the gas generated by the heated coal in the hold has blown out the forepeak, that’s all! It is providential, though, that the wrench which the foremast gave to the deck-beams and bulkhead there when it carried away, so far weakened the ship forwards as to enable the gas to find vent in that direction, otherwise the entire deck would probably have been blown up—when it would have been a poor look-out for all of us here aft!”

“Gudeness greecious!” ejaculated the mate again, blinking bewilderedly, like an owl unexpectedly exposed to daylight; but Captain Billings did not waste time in any further explanations or unnecessary words.

“I hope nobody’s hurt! Run forwards, Leigh, and see,” he said to me.

Fortunately, however, all had escaped without a scratch, although fragments of the knees and other heavy portions of the vessel’s timbers had been hurled aloft and scattered in all directions, as if a mine had been sprung below—the woodwork descending afterwards in a regular hailstorm on our heads, blown into small pieces no bigger than matches, and mixed up with a shower of blazing sparks and coal-dust, making us all “as black as nayghurs,” as Pat Doolan said.

The stump of the foremast, in particular, described a graceful parabolic curve in the air, coming down into the water in close proximity to the bows of the long-boat—where, under the supervision of the boatswain, the steward and the carpenter were stowing provisions under the thwarts, making the two almost jump out of their skins. It descended into the sea with the same sort of “whish” which the stick of a signal rocket makes when, the propelling power that had enabled it previously to soar up so majestically into the air above being ultimately exhausted, it is forced to return by its own gravity to its proper level below, unable to sustain itself unaided by exterior help at the unaccustomed height to which it was temporarily exalted.

And in this respect, it may be observed here, although I do not believe the remark is altogether original, that a good many human rockets may be encountered in our daily life, which exhibit all the characteristic points and weaknesses of the ordinary material model that I have likened them to—composed of gunpowder and other explosive pyrotechnic substances, and familiar to all—for, they go up in the same brilliant and glorious fashion, and are veritable shining lights in the estimation of their friends and the fickle testimony of public opinion; only, alas, to descend to the ordinary level of every-day mortals, like the rocket-stick comes down in the end!

I need hardly say, though, that I had no thought of these reflections now; for, immediately after the explosion forwards, the flames which mounted aloft with it burst forth with full vigour, released from the confined space of the hold to which they had been previously limited, and the entire fore-part of the ship, from the waist to the knight-heads, became a mass of fire, the cavity disclosed by the riven deck adjacent to the fo’c’s’le being like a raging volcano, vomiting up clouds of thick yellow smoke from the glowing mass of ignited coal below, which almost suffocated us, as the ship went too slowly through the water for the vapour to trail off to leeward.

The mainmast was still standing, with the mainsail set before the southerly wind, that was blowing in towards the land, the force of the explosion not being vented much further aft than the windlass bitts; but, almost as we looked, tongues of flame began to creep up the main rigging, and the huge sail was presently crackling away like tissue paper to which a lighted match has been applied, large pieces of the burning material being whirled in the air.

The heat now became unbearable, and Captain Billings, much to his grief, saw that the time had come for him to abandon the ship.

“We must leave her, Leigh,” said he to me, with as much emotion as another person might have displayed when wishing a last farewell to some dearly-loved friend or relative. “There is no good in stopping by the old barquey any longer, for we can’t help her out of her trouble, and the boats may be stove in by the falling mainmast if they remain alongside much longer. Poor old ship! we’ve sailed many a mile together, she and I; and now, to think that, crippled by that gale and almost having completed her v’yage, she should be burnt like a log of firewood off Cape Horn!”

“Never mind, sir,” said I, sympathisingly. “It has not happened through any fault of yours.”

“No, my lad, I don’t believe it has, for a cargo o’ coal is a ticklish thing to take half round the world; as more vessels are lost in carrying it than folks suppose! However, this is the last we’ll ever see of the old Esmeralda, so far as standing on her deck goes; still, I tell you what, Leigh, you may possibly live to be a much older man than I am, but you’ll never come across a ship easier to handle in a gale, or one that would go better on a bowline!”

“No, sir, I don’t think I shall,” I replied to this panegyric on the doomed vessel, quite appreciating all the skipper’s feelings of regret at her destruction; but just then the flames with a roar rushed up the main hatch, approaching towards the poop every moment nearer and nearer.

This at once recalled Captain Billings from the past to the present.

“Have you got everything aboard the boats?” he sang out in his customary voice to Mr Macdougall, his tones as firm and clear as if he had not been a moment before almost on the point of crying. “Are all the provisions and water in?”

“Aye, aye, an’ stoowed awa’, too, Cap’en,” answered the mate, to whom had been entrusted the execution of all the necessary details. “A very thin’s aboord, and naething forgot, I reecken.”

“Then it’s time we were aboard, too,” said the skipper. “Boatswain, muster the hands!”

Jorrocks didn’t have to tap on the deck with a marlinspike now to call them, in the way he used to summon the watch below to reef topsails in the stormy weather we had off Madeira and elsewhere; for the men were all standing round, ready to start over the side as soon as the skipper gave the word of command to go.

Captain Billings then called over the list of the crew from the muster roll, which he held in his hand along with the rest of the “ship’s papers”—such as the Esmeralda’s certificate of registry, the manifest of the cargo, and her clearance from the custom-house officers at Cardiff; when, all having answered to their names, with the exception of the two invalids, Mr Ohlsen, and Harmer, the seaman, both of whom were already in the long-boat, the skipper gave the word to pass down the gangway, apportioning seven hands in all to the jolly-boat, under charge of Mr Macdougall, and the remainder of our complement to the long-boat, under his own care.

Including the invalids, we were seven-and-twenty souls in all—now compelled to abandon our good ship, and trust to those two frail boats to take us to the distant coast of Tierra del Fuego, of which we were not yet even in sight; and it was with sad hearts that we went down the side of this poor Esmeralda for the last time, quitting what had been our floating home for the two months that had elapsed since we left England, for the perils we had encountered in her had only endeared her the more to us!

Captain Billings was the last to abandon the ship; lingering not merely until we had descended to the boats, seven in one and nineteen as yet only in the other without him, but waiting while we settled ourselves along the thwarts; when, turning round, he put his feet on the cleats of the side ladder and came down slowly, looking up still at the old vessel, as if loth to leave her in such an extremity.

The jolly-boat had been already veered astern on receiving her allotted number, the long-boat only waiting alongside for the skipper, with a man in the bows and another amidships, fending her off from the ship’s side with a couple of boat-hooks, so that the little barque should not dash against the hull of the bigger one, now she was so loaded up—a collision would have insured destruction to all in her, the huge billows of the Southern Ocean rolling in at intervals, and raising her so high aloft as to overtop the ship sometimes, and again carrying her down right under the Esmeralda’s counter, thus making her run the risk of being stove in every instant.

It was too perilous a proximity; so, as soon as Captain Billings had got down into the stern-sheets, he gave the order to shove off.

“Easy her away gently, men,” he said, as he took up the tiller lines, watching with a critical eye the movements of the men amidships and in the bow, as they poled the boat along the side of the ship until it passed clear of her by the stern. “Be ready there with your oars, sharp!”

In another moment the boat was tossing about in the open sea, the height and force of the waves becoming all the more apparent now that we had lost the protection of the Esmeralda’s lee. The flames just then, as if angry at our having escaped them, darted up the mizzen rigging, and presently enveloped the poop in their blaze, so that the whole ship was now one mass of fire fore and aft, blazing like a tar-barrel.

The skipper would have liked to have lain by and seen the last of the vessel, but there was too much sea on, and the wind seemed getting up again; so, knowing how treacherous the weather was in the vicinity of the Cape of Storms, he determined, for the safety of those under his charge, to make for the land as speedily as possible—an open boat not being the best craft in the world to be in, out on the ocean, when a gale is about!

As Captain Billings could see, the wind was blowing on shore, in the very direction for us to go; and, as the rollers were racing towards the same goal, the only way for us to avoid being swamped by them was to travel at a greater rate forwards than they did, or else we would broach-to in the troughs of the waves, when a boat is apt to get for the moment becalmed, from the intervening wall of water on either side stopping the current of air, and taking the breeze out of her sails.

The long-boat was fitted with a couple of masts, carrying a large mainsail and a mizzen, both of which the skipper now ordered to be set, the former close-reefed to half its size. A bit of a staysail was also hoisted forwards in place of the jib, which was too large for the wind that was on; and then, it was wonderful to see the way the long-boat began to go through the water when the sail was put on her! She fairly raced along, dragging astern the jolly-boat, which we had taken in tow, the little craft leaving a curly wave in front of her cutwater, higher than her bows, and looking as if it were on the point of pouring over on top of those in her.

It was now late in the afternoon of this, our sixty-third day out of port; and, as the sun sank to rest in the west, away in the east, according to our position in the boat, there was another illumination on the horizon.

It was that caused by the burning ship. But it did not last so long: the fire of coals and wood could not vie with that of the celestial orb.

We could still see the blazing hull, as we rose every now and then on the crest of the rollers; while, when we could not perceive it from the subsidence of the waves under the boat’s keel, making us sink down, a pillar of smoke, floating in the air high above the Esmeralda in a long fan-like trail, and stretching out to where sky and sea met in the extreme distance, told us where she was without any fear of mistake.

Soon after we had quitted the vessel the mainmast, when half consumed, tumbled over the side; and, presently, the burning mizzen, which had been standing up for some time like a tall fiery pole, disappeared in a shower of sparks.

The end was not far off now.

As we rose on the send of the next sea, Captain Billings, by whose side I was sitting in the stern-sheets of the long-boat, grasped my arm.

“Look!” he said, half turning round and pointing to where the burning ship had last been seen.

She was gone!

The smoke still hung in the air in the distance, like a funeral pall; but the wind was now rapidly dispersing it to leeward, there being no further supply of the columns of cloud-like vapour that had originally composed it.

Soon, too, the smoke had completely disappeared, and the horizon was a blank.

“All’s over!” cried the skipper, with a heavy sigh.

All was over, indeed; for, whatever fragments of the ill-fated Esmeralda the remorseless fire may have spared, were now, without doubt, making their way down to the bottom of that wild ocean on which we poor shipwrecked mariners were tossing in a couple of frail boats—uncertain whether we should ever reach land in safety, or be doomed to follow our vessel’s bones down into the depths of the sea!

Night fell soon after this; but the long-boat still held her way, running before the wind, and steering a nor’-nor’-west course by compass. We had now been going in that direction some two hours or more, and the skipper calculated that we were some thirty miles off the Wollaston Islands, which we ought to fetch by daylight next morning.

Fortunately, it was a bright clear night, although there was no moon, only the stars twinkling aloft in the cloudless azure sky; and, thus, we were able to watch the waves so as to prevent them pooping us when two seas ran foul of each other, which they frequently did, racing against the wind, and eager, apparently, to outstrip it. Still, the most careful steering was necessary, and Jorrocks had to have out an oar astern, in order to aid the skipper’s control of the tiller, when he put the helm up or down suddenly so as to get out of the wash of the breakers.

The jolly-boat, too, occasioned us much uneasiness; for when the tow-rope slackened at these moments of peril, she ran the chance of slewing round broadside on to the sea. However, thanks to the interposing aid of Providence, we got through the dangers of the night, and day dawned at last.

It was a terribly anxious watch, though, for all hands—especially for the skipper and Jorrocks, and the men told off to hold the sheets of the sails; for these latter couldn’t be belayed, having to be hauled taut or let go at a moment’s notice.

With the advent of day came renewed hope, in spite of our not being able yet to see land—nothing being in sight ahead or astern, to the right or the left, but the same eternal sea and sky, sky and sea, which the rising sun, although it lent a ray of radiance to the scene, only made infinitely more dreary and illimitable.

Towards noon, however, away on the port bow, the peak of a snow-topped mountain was perceived just above the horizon.

“Hurrah!” cried Captain Billings. “There’s our old friend Cape Horn! Another couple of hours straight ahead, and we ought to rise those islands I was speaking of. Do you see the Cape?” he shouted out across the little intervening space of water to Mr Macdougall in the jolly-boat.

“Aye, aye—and it’s a glad seeght!” replied the mate, to which statement all hands cheered. Some provisions, which, through the thoughtful precaution of the skipper and the assistance of Pat Doolan, had been cooked before being placed on board, were now served out around—the long-boat the while steadily progressing on her course, now hauled a bit more to the westwards of north.

About three o’clock in the afternoon another cheery hail broke the stillness that reigned amongst us; for we were all too anxious to talk, and those of the crew who were not attending to the sheets of the sails had composed themselves to sleep, under the thwarts amidships and on the gratings aft.

“Land, ho!”

The cry came from a man on the look-out in the bows; and the announcement was received with a ringing shout, for the heavens were beginning to get overcast, and the wind was rising, promising that, should we be compelled to remain afloat another night, we should not find it quite so pleasant as our experiences of the past one, in spite of what we then thought the dangerous character of the following waves; and, if it came on to blow in addition, the heavy running sea which we had then to contend with would be mere child’s play in comparison with what we might expect would get up in an hour or two.

But, the nearness of the land led us to hope that we should not experience any further risk of being swamped. Long before sunset we approached it close enough to see where we were going.

The nearest shore was that of an island, with high mountain peaks, but of little apparent extent, looking, as we saw it, barely a mile long. Near this were three or four other islands, although further to the northwards; while on the extreme left, some miles to the westwards, was the high snow-white peak which the skipper had said was Cape Horn, standing on a little island of its own that stretched out into the sea to a more southerly point than any of the other islets composing the archipelago.

“Why, sir,” said I to Captain Billings, “I always thought that Cape Horn was part of the mainland, jutting out from the end of Tierra del Fuego—that’s what my school geography taught, at all events!”

“Oh, no,” he replied. “It is on an island, sure enough, as all mariners know, although these chaps that write books for schools may not think it island enough to mention the fact. Where it stands is called Horn Island, and the next large one beyond it Wollaston Island; but I’m going to make for that little one ahead, as it is the nearest.”

“And what is that called?” I asked.

“Herschel Island, after the great astronomer,” answered the skipper. “I’ve been here before, my lad, and recognise the whole lot of them, and that is how I come to know about ’em.”

“Are any people living there?” said I, presently, the boat nearing the island so quickly that we could see a line of white beach, with the waves breaking on it, lying below the chain of mountain ridges that ran across it “fore and aft,” as a sailor would describe it.

“Only cannibals,” replied the skipper, placidly.

“Cannibals on Herschel Island, and we going there!” I exclaimed, half astonished, half frightened.

“Aye, they are there or thereabouts; but, at all events, we’re going to land on Herschel Island, as it’s a case with us of any port in a storm! Look out there, forwards!” he called out a moment or two after to the men. “Be ready to down the mainsail when I give the word. Steady with the sheets. Now!”

And, with a grating noise, the boat’s keel struck the shore, carried forwards on the top of a huge wave, whose backwash, however, dragged us back into the deep the next second, slewing the head of the boat round at the same time, so that she hung broadside on.

“Out oars, men—out oars for your life!” shouted the skipper, seeing the terrible danger that now threatened us in the very moment of safety; but, before the order could be executed, the long-boat was upset, and we were all tumbling about in the surf!

Chapter Twenty Two.

An Austral Aurora.

A wild cry went up to Heaven as we struggled for dear life in the water, battling with the under-tow of the in-rolling waves, which tried to drag us down in their angry clutches; but first one and then another emerged dripping on the sands, even Mr Ohlsen having saved himself without help, although he had been snugly tucked up in his hammock a moment before, and was lying down in the stern-sheets when the boat capsized.

Poor Harmer, however, whose broken leg was only fresh set, and the bones not united, was unable to put out a hand on his own behalf, and seeing he had not gained the beach with the others, I looked eagerly about for him, knowing that in his crippled state it was almost impossible for him to have got ashore.

Just then, his head appeared some twenty feet out from the land, in the midst of the boiling surf, with his hands stretched out in mute entreaty to us, appealing for succour as he was being carried out rapidly to sea.

Who could refrain from venturing in again to rescue him?

Certainly not I; and, as I dashed in, Pat Doolan followed my example, the cook uttering a wild Irish yell that had the effect of animating several of the rest of the sailors to lend us a helping hand, although they had not the pluck to dash in too.

“Hooroo, boys!” he shouted. “Follow me leader, ye spalpeens, and let us say who’ll raich the poor drowning chap first! Ould Oireland for iver!”

He reached Harmer almost as soon as I, and the two of us took hold of him together—the poor fellow, however, being already insensible, made no effort whatever to keep up and help himself, and was absolutely limp in our grasp.

We managed to swim back in with our burden on the top of a roller, well enough; but when we tried to secure our footing on the shore, the under-tow took us out again, although Pat Doolan flung himself face downwards on the sand, clutching it with one of his hands while he held the half-drowned man with the other in the same way as I did. Once, twice, we made the attempt; and yet, in spite of our desperate struggles, both of us putting forth all our strength, the backwash of the waves laughed at our resistance, floating us back again out into deep water. At our third try, however, and it would have been the last, for we were both exhausted by this time, the men on the beach—who had formed a line holding on to one another, Jorrocks being foremost and Captain Billings next, wading in up to their necks in the sea—managed to catch hold of us, when we were dragged out by sheer force; Pat and I, with Harmer between us, all lumped together in a confused mass, and the hands hauling us in with a “Yo, heave ho!” as if they were pulling at the topsail halliards or getting the main tack aboard!

My swim after Mr Macdougall was nothing to this, although I had then battled with the sea for over an hour, while now the Irishman and I had not been ten minutes over our fight with the remorseless waves; but it was a terrific contest whilst it lasted, and albeit we had both come off victorious, thanks to the timely assistance of our comrades, we were nearly worsted, and so utterly pumped out that another five minutes of it would have ended the matter very differently. As it was, I had to lie on the sands, whither Jorrocks had lifted me beyond the reach of the tide, for a considerable period before I could either move or speak, while Pat Doolan was in an equally sorry plight.

When I at last gained my voice, I stammered out a question—

“How’s Harmer?” I asked, anxiously.

But Captain Billings, who was beside me, lifting up my head tenderly with his arm placed round me, shook his head sadly.

“Poor fellow,” he said; “you did your best, but he must have been gone before you reached him. He’s quite dead—you were too late to save him!”

I declare this news affected me more than all I had gone through; and, whether from weakness, or from the reaction after such violent exertion producing a feeling of hysteria, I cannot tell; all I know is, that I turned my face away from the kind-hearted skipper who was supporting me, and cried like a child—I, who thought myself then a man!

Meanwhile, as I found out when I had recovered from my emotion and was able to stand up and look about me, my shipmates had not been idle in trying to retrieve the effects of our unfortunate landing; for which the skipper upbraided his own carelessness, laying the blame on himself, and saying that he ought to have known better than to have tried to rush the boat in with such a ground swell on!

The tow-rope of the jolly-boat had been cast-off shortly before we approached the shore, Captain Billings hailing Mr Macdougall and telling him to bring her head to the sea, and lay off until we got ashore; so, there she was, riding in safety, about half a cable’s length out, beyond reach of the surf, while we were tumbling about in it after the long-boat had upset us so unexpectedly without ceremony.

Mr Macdougall was about to pull in at once, on seeing the contretemps, but the skipper, the moment he fetched the shore, and before I had gone in after Harmer, had directed him still to keep off and get a line ready to heave in, as by that means those in the jolly-boat would not only be able to land in a better way than ourselves, but, also, some portion of the stores of our boat might be recovered, as well as the craft itself—the long-boat having only turned over, and still floating in the midst of the breakers, bobbing up and down bottom upwards.

This task was now being proceeded with by all hands.

Forming again a line, as when they had dragged Pat Doolan and myself out—the men holding each other’s hands, for they had no rope as yet to tackle on to—several articles near in shore had been already picked up; and, now that I was all right again, the skipper at once set about getting the jolly-boat in, besides trying to secure the long-boat.

Each, amongst other necessary parts of his equipment, had been provided with a coil of strong half-inch line, in addition to their proper painters, and on Captain Billings singing out to the first mate, and telling him what to do, the jolly-boat with her six oars manned was backed in just beyond reach of the surf. The end of the line, which Mr Macdougall held ready with a sounding-lead attached to it to make it swing further, was then hove ashore.

It fell short, some ten feet out in the midst of the eddy caused by the backwash, but the leading hand of the long-boat’s crew, after one or two dives in the surf, in which he got knocked down and rolled over, succeeded finally in grasping the sounding-lead.

Then, with a loud hurrah, the end of the line was hauled in towards us, communication being thus established with those in the jolly-boat. The stay the rope afforded steadied her in the water, so that she rode more easily, which made the next operation, that of getting hold of the overturned long-boat, more practicable, and not as likely to jeopardise her safety as would otherwise have been the case.

The coil of rope was fully a hundred feet long, and of sufficient length to pass twice between the jolly-boat ashore and back again, leaving a few spare yards over; so, first throwing over a grapnel to anchor her head out to the sea, the water being only some three fathoms deep where she was riding, and the men in her being now wanted for something else besides rowing to keep her from drifting in, the other end of the line was belayed, and the boat easied in with the utmost care, two of the hands still keeping to their oars, until she reached the wrecked boat.

Then Haxell, the carpenter, pluckily volunteered to jump over the side, and try, by diving underneath, to catch hold of the long-boat’s painter or some of her headgear, all attempts to reach such by the aid of a boat-hook being impossible from the motion of the two boats in the restless water. After a bit, the taciturn but useful man obtained the object in view, dragging out from below the long-boat’s stern the very tow-rope with which we had been previously pulling the jolly-boat along while sailing towards the land, before casting her off, and our subsequent upset.

This rope was now fastened to the shore-line with a double hitch, and our lot on the beach hauling in, we presently had the satisfaction of seeing the stern of our own craft working in towards us, the jolly-boat still remaining out beyond reach of the rollers, until the long-boat had grounded; when, seeing a proper opportunity, she too was got in safely—without, however, any previous upset, like ours, and indeed without her taking in any perceptible quantity of water so as to damage her cargo or give her crew a ducking, all of whom, with the exception of Haxell, who of course had sought a bath of his own accord, getting to land dry-shod, unlike us, who had been drenched from head to foot, and were now shivering with cold, the temperature of the air being below freezing point.

It was now high-water, as Captain Billings observed from the marks on the shore; so, as nothing more could then be done towards getting the long-boat further in and righting her, and the hands were pretty well tired out with their exertions, he called a rest as soon as the jolly-boat was hauled up well beyond reach of the waves, which still broke threateningly on the beach—impelled by the force of the wind, now blowing a stiff gale from the south-west, and covering the beach with breakers that sent showers of foam over us, even when we had moved many yards away.

“Spell O!” sang out the skipper. “Boatswain, pipe down the men to dinner.”

We had to encroach on the jolly-boat’s stores, the provisions being divided between the two boats although our craft, being the larger of the two, had of course carried the major portion. This could, however, only now be looked upon as lost; for the seawater must have spoilt everything eatable.

However, as the crew had gone through a good deal of hardship, the skipper did not attempt to ration them down to any smaller allowance on this our first evening on Herschel Island; and so, when a fire was built up, and some hot coffee brewed by Jorrocks, who usurped Pat Doolan’s functions on this occasion, the Irishman being still too weak from his efforts to rescue poor Harmer to be of much use yet, we all had a hearty meal, feeling much the better thereby.

After this, the skipper told the men to lie down round the fire, which we found very grateful when the sun had set, besides its enabling us to dry our wet clothes; but the crew were warned that they would have to rouse up about midnight, when Captain Billings expected the tide would have gone down sufficiently to enable us to get the long-boat out of danger, and turn her over on the beach beyond high-water mark.

I confess that I went off to sleep at once; and neither the shaking of Jorrocks, nor the noise the men made in righting the long-boat, served to wake me up till it was broad daylight next morning, when I opened my eyes to find the sun shining down on a calm sea that hardly made a ripple on the beach, with the long-boat upright in her proper position, alongside the jolly-boat, and high and dry ashore.

There was a delicious smell of something cooking in one of Pat Doolan’s galley pots, hung gipsy fashion over a roaring fire, and superintended by the Irishman, now himself again. A large tent had also been rigged up by the aid of the boat sails and tarpaulins, making the place have the appearance of a cosy encampment, and offering a pleasant change to the desolate look it had worn the previous afternoon—when the sea was roaring in, hurling a deluge of foam on the beach, and we, wet and forlorn, were endeavouring to save the flotsam and jetsam of the long-boat’s cargo.

“Sure an’ you’re a foine gintleman, taking it aisy,” said Pat Doolan, when I went up to him. “An’ is it a pannikin o’ coffee you’ll be afther wanting, this watch?”

“I shouldn’t refuse it if you offered it,” said I, with a laugh.

“Be jabers, you’re the bhoy for the coffee!” he replied cheerily. “An’ its meeself that’s moighty proud to sarve you. Sure an’ I don’t forgit how you thried, like a brave gossoon, to save that poor chap last night!”

“Ah!” I ejaculated, feeling melancholy when he thus brought up Harmer’s fate, which had passed out of my mind for the moment. “But you did your best, too, Pat.”

“Bad was the bist then, alannah, bad cess to it!” said he. “There, now, Mister Leigh, dhrink your coffee an’ ha’ done with it. The poor chap’s gone, and we can’t call him back; but have you heard tell of the news? Misther ‘Old-son-of-a-gun’ is moighty bad this morning, too, and the skipper think’s he’s a going too, by the same token!”

“Indeed!” I cried, turning towards the tent, seeing Captain Billings standing close by it. The news was too true. The wetting and shock to the system had completed what a low fever had begun, and Mr Ohlsen’s days—nay, hours—were numbered. Ere the sun had again set, we had to mourn the loss of the second of our shipmates!

Towards evening of this day, the wind got up again even more fiercely than it had done the night before—the heavy southern billows rolling in again upon the beach with a terrible din, although they could do no harm now to either of our boats, both being snugly sheltered beyond their reach.

But when it grew dark, we witnessed a wonderful phenomenon.

It made many of the seamen believe that they were dreaming over again the scene connected with the burning of the Esmeralda; while others went almost wild with terror, fancying that the end of the world was come—or that, at all events, the natural display we saw of the greatest wonder of the arctic and antarctic worlds, was a portent of fresh disasters to us, greater than all we had already passed through!

The heavens were as black as death all around, with no moon. Not a star to be seen; when, all at once, the whole horizon glowed with a living fire, lighting up the ocean in front of us, and reflecting upwards and outwards from the snow-covered peaks on the background of water beyond the beach. The wave-tossed surface of the sea changed to a bright vermilion tint, making it look like a lake of raging flames. Through the crimson sky, streaks of brighter light shot across at intervals from right to left, and back again from left to right, in coruscations of darting sparks that would ever and anon form themselves into crosses and diamonds of different shapes; while, in the middle of this wonderful transformation scene, the wind blew with immense force, howling over sea and land with a wild shriek and deep diapason, accompanied by blinding showers of hail and sleet and snow, that made us all creep under the folds of the canvas of our tent for shelter.

“What is this? What does it mean?” I asked Captain Billings, who seemed the only one of us unmoved by the unwonted sight, that had as much terror as grandeur about it.

“It is what is called an Austral aurora—the aurora Australis, as scientific men term it; though, how it is caused and what it is occasioned by, I’m sure I can’t explain to you, my lad. All I know is this, that it is never seen in the vicinity of Cape Horn without a stiff gale and rough weather following in its track; so we had better all of us look out for squalls!”

Chapter Twenty Four.

At Home Again.

Sam Pengelly started up, and looked at me as if he thought I was a ghost.

“What, laddie, is it you really?” he exclaimed, peering into my face with his own, which, usually as florid as a peony, was now all white with emotion; while his lips trembled nervously as he spoke. “Why,” he said, after a close inspection to see whether I was actually Martin Leigh or else some base impostor assuming his voice and guise, “it is the young cockbird, by all that’s living—ain’t I glad!” And, then, throwing his arms round me in a bear-like hug, he almost squeezed every particle of breath out of my body.

“Now, come along,” he said presently, when he could speak again, the kind-hearted fellow’s joy choking him at first, and preventing him from uttering a syllable; though he sighed, and drew his breath again in a long sigh like a sob, and finally cleared his throat with a cough that might have been heard on Drake Island.

“Where?” I asked.

“Why, to Old Calabar Cottage, in course!” he replied, indignantly. “Do you think Jane won’t be glad to see you? Why, she’s been fretting her heart into fiddle-strings arter you all these last six months that you never wrote, thinking you was gone down to Davy Jones’s locker!”

“I’m very sorry I couldn’t write from Melbourne,” I said. “We were so hurried that I had hardly time to get once ashore. You got my other letters, though, eh?”

“Oh, aye,” replied Sam, as we went along the familiar old Stoke road that I knew so well, although it was now so long since I had seen it. “You’ve been main good in writin’, laddie, an’ I don’t know what Jane would ha’ done without your letters. She thinks you’re Teddy still, I believe, and seems to have got fonder than ever of you since you left. Do you know what the woman did when Cap’en Billings came to tell us how he’d seen you, and you was goin’ on first-rate?”

“No, I’m sure I can’t say,” I answered.

“Blest if she didn’t throw her arms round his neck and kiss him—just because he had last seen you!”

I did not laugh at this, as Sam did; I only thought of the great affection, which, so undeserved by me, I had drawn from Jane Pengelly’s great heart!

Presently, we came in sight of the cottage.

There it was, porch, creepers, and all, just as I had left it, only now the glow of the fuchsias had gone, with that of the scarlet geraniums and other flowers of summer; still, the autumn tints of the Virginian creeper, hanging down in festoons of russet and yellow and red from the roof, gave all the colouring that was wanted.

Sam opened the door and walked in, as usual; but it was before his usual time for returning from Plymouth, so Jane came out of the kitchen in surprise—this I could hear, for I remained without in the porch till he had warned her of my coming.

“Deary me, Sam, you are early,” she said. “Why, the pasty won’t be done for an hour and more.”

“What, have you got a Mevagissey pie ag’in for dinner?”

“Yes, Sam,” she replied.

“Now, that’s curious,” Sam said.

I could almost have felt certain that I knew what he was doing when he spoke those words in that way. He must have taken off his hat and begun scratching his head reflectively with the other hand, I’m certain!

“Curious?” repeated Jane. “Why?”

“Why, because we had it for dinner when the poor laddie left us.”

“Deary me!” exclaimed Jane, her voice full of alarm. “There’s no tidings of any harm come to he, surely!”

“No, no, Jane, my woman,” said he, “the lad’s all right; ’fact, I’ve—I’ve seen him this morning.”

“This morning!” cried she, all excitement. “Why, what are you holding the door back for? It’s him—he’s here!”

And, in another moment, my second mother, as I shall always call her, was clinging round my neck with almost more than a mother’s love for me—if that were possible!

“Deary me!” she said a little while after, “isn’t he like Teddy, now?”

Sam burst out laughing.

“Why, Teddy was a slim boy of fourteen, and this laddie here’s a fine strapping fellow, nearly six feet high, and as broad in the beam as a Dutch sloop!”

However, Jane wouldn’t be convinced but that I was the very image of her own lost child; and, as I had all her wealth of affection in consequence, I’m sure I have no reason to complain.

I took up my quarters at “Old Calabar Cottage,” as Sam loved to hear people call it, rolling out the full name himself with great gusto; and, in a little while, as things went on in the old way, I got so accustomed to everything around me that I could almost fancy my first voyage and the burning of the Esmeralda were a dream, as well as all my later experiences of the sea.

But, after a time, I began to long again to be on the deep, desiring once more to be daring its dangers and glorying in that “life on the ocean wave” which, once tasted by the true-born sailor, can never be given up altogether. I had just begun to deliberate with myself as to what sort of ship I should seek, and whither I would prefer to voyage for my next trip, when Sam came back from Plymouth one morning brimful of news.

“Well, laddie—who d’ye think I met to-day?” he called out to me, almost before he was quite inside the house.

“I’m sure I can’t guess,” I replied. “Who?”

“Why, Cap’en Billings, my cockbird!”

“Captain Billings!” I said, with surprise. “I thought he was in China.”

“No, but he’s going there this voyage.”

“This voyage?” I repeated questioningly, after Sam had said the words.

“Aye, laddie; he’s got a bran’ new ship, which the owners of the Esmeralda have had built, and just made him skipper of. And, what do you think, laddie?”

“I’m sure I can’t tell,” said I.

“He’s going to have a bran’ new second mate, who he hears has just got his certificate from the Trinity House Board—that is, if he’ll accept the berth under his old captain.”

“What!” I exclaimed, breathless with excitement, “does he offer to take me with him as he promised?”

“Aye, laddie, the berth’s open to you if you’ll have it, he says. Will you go?”

“Go?” I repeated, “of course I will!”

And so it came about that I am going to sail under my old skipper again.

The End.