AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," ETC.

Chapter V.

LIFE ON BOARD THE "PRIDE OF THE WAVE."

When Tim first went on board the steamer which was to be his home, he thought, from the beautiful things he saw around, that he should live in a luxurious manner; but when he was shown the place in which he was to sleep, he learned that the fine things were for the passengers only, and that even comfort had been sacrificed in the quarters belonging to the crew.

He was given a berth in the forecastle, which was anything rather than a pleasant or even a sweet-smelling place, and had it not been that he had the satisfaction of having Tip with him when he went to bed, he would have cried even harder and longer than he did.

Captain Pratt had not made his appearance on the steamer that day; but the steward had told him that his duties as Captain's boy would begin next morning at breakfast, when he would be expected to wait upon the Captain at the table. The last thing Tim thought of that night was how he should acquit himself in what he felt would be a trying position, and the first thing which came into his mind when he awoke on the following morning was whether he should succeed in pleasing his employer or not.

After kissing Tip over and over again, and with many requests to him to be a good dog and not make a noise, Tim tied his pet in his narrow quarters, and then made his own toilet. He really made a good appearance when he presented himself to Mr. Rankin, the steward, that morning. His cheeks were rosy from a vigorous application of cold water and a brisk rubbing, and if he could rely upon his personal appearance for pleasing Captain Pratt, there seemed every chance that he would succeed.

During the time he had been at work the day before, Mr. Rankin took every opportunity to instruct him in his new duties, and that morning the steward gave him another lesson.

It was barely finished when Captain Pratt came into the cabin, and one look at him made Tim so nervous that he forgot nearly everything he had been told to remember.

The Captain's eyes were red, his hands trembled, while he had every symptom of a man who had been drinking hard the day before, and was not perfectly sober then.

Tim had never had any experience with drinking men; but he did not need any explanation as to the causes of the Captain's appearance, and he involuntarily ducked his head when his employer passed him.

"Now, then, what are you skulking there for, you young rascal?" shouted Captain Pratt, as he fell rather than seated himself in his chair.

"I ain't skulkin', sir," replied Tim, meekly.

"Don't you answer me back," cried the Captain, in a rage, seizing the milk pitcher as if he intended to throw it at the boy. "If you talk back to me, I'll show you what a rope's end means."

Tim actually trembled with fear, and kept a bright lookout, so that he might be ready to dodge in case the pitcher should be thrown, but did not venture to say a word.

"Now bring me my breakfast, and let's see if you amount to anything, or if I only picked up a bit of waste timber when I got you."

"What will you have, sir?" asked Tim, timidly, as he moved toward the Captain's chair.

A blow on the side of his head that sent him reeling half way across the cabin served as a reply, and it was followed by a volley of oaths that frightened him.'

"What do you mean by asking me what I'll have before you tell me what is ready? Next time you try to wait upon a gentleman, tell him what there is. Bring me some soda-water first."

This was an order that had not been provided for in the lessons given by Mr. Rankin, and Tim stood perfectly still, in frightened ignorance.

"Come, step lively, or I'll get up and show you how," roared the Captain, his face flushing to a deeper red, as his rage rose to the point of cruelty.

"Please, sir, I don't know where it is;" and Tim's voice sounded very timid and piteous.

"Don't know where it is, and been on board since yesterday! What do you suppose I hired you for? Take that, and that."

Suiting the action to the words, the cheerful-tempered man threw first a knife and then a fork at the shrinking boy, and was about to follow them with a plate, when Mr. Rankin put into Tim's hand the desired liquid.

Tim would rather have gone almost anywhere else than close to his employer just then; but the glass was in his hand, the Captain was waiting for it with a glare in his eye that boded no good if he delayed, and he placed it on the table.

"Now what kind of a breakfast have you got?" shouted Captain Pratt, as he swallowed the liquid quickly.

It was a surprise to himself that he could remember anything just then, but he did manage to repeat the names of the different dishes, and to take the Captain's order.

Although he ran as swiftly as possible from the table to the kitchen, and was served there with all haste, he did not succeed in pleasing the angry man.

"I want you to remember," said that worthy, with a scowl, "that I ain't in the habit of waiting for my meals. Another time, when you are so long, I shall give you a lesson you won't forget."

Tim was placing the dishes of food on the table when the Captain spoke, and he was so startled by the angry words, when he thought he deserved pleasant ones, that he dropped a plate of potatoes.

He sprang instantly to pick them up, but Captain Pratt was out of his chair before he could reach them, and with all his strength he kicked Tim again and again. Then, without taking any heed of the prostrate boy, who might have been seriously injured, he seated himself at the table in perfect unconcern.

Mr. Rankin helped Tim on his feet, and finding that no bones were broken—which was remarkable, considering the force with which the blows had been given—advised him to go on deck, promising that he would serve the Captain.

"But I propose that the boy shall stay here," roared the Captain. "Do you think I'm going to let him sneak off every time I try to teach him anything?"

Tim struggled manfully to keep back the tears that would come in his eyes as he stood behind the Captain's chair, but they got the best of him, as did also the little quick sobs.

The Captain appeared to grow more cheerful as he ate, and although he called upon Tim for several articles, he managed to get along without striking any more blows, contenting himself by abusing the poor boy with his tongue.

It was a great relief to Tim when that meal was ended, and Mr. Rankin told him he could eat his own breakfast before clearing away the dishes.

Tim had not the slightest desire for food then, but he did want some for Tip. Hastily gathering up the bones from Captain Pratt's plate, he ran with them to the bow, where Tip was straining and tugging at his rope as if he knew his master was having a hard time, and he wanted to be where he could help him.

Tim placed the bones in front of Tip, and then kneeling down, he put his arms around the dog's neck as he poured out his woes in his ear, while Tip tried in every way to get at the tempting feast before him.

"I'm the miserablest boy in the world, Tip, an' I don't know what's goin' to become of us. You don't know what a bad, ugly man Captain Pratt is, an' I don't believe I can stay here another day. But you think a good deal of me, don't you, Tip? an' you'd help me if you could, wouldn't you?"

The dog had more sympathy with the bones just then than he had with his almost heart-broken master, and Tim, who dared not stay away too long from the cabin, was obliged to let him partake of the feast at last.

When Tim returned from feeding the dog, Mr. Rankin said all he could to prevent him from becoming discouraged on the first day of service; but he concluded with these words: "I can't advise you to stay here any longer than you can help, for you ain't stout enough to bear what you'll have to take from the Captain. It'll be hard work to get off, for he always looks sharp after new boys, so they sha'n't run away; but when we get back here again, you'd better make up your mind to show your heels."

These words frightened Tim almost as much as what the Captain had said to him, for he had never thought but that he could leave whenever he wanted to. Now he felt doubly wretched, for he realized that he was as much a captive as he had ever been when he lived with Captain Babbige, whose blows were not nearly as severe as this new master's.

The Pride of the Wave made but two trips a week, and each one occupied about two days and a half. This second day after Tim had come on board was the time of her sailing, and everything was in such a state of confusion that no one had any time to notice the sad little boy, who ran forward to pet his dog whenever his work would permit of such loving act.

Among his duties was that of answering the Captain's bell, and once, when he returned from a visit to Tip, Mr. Rankin told him, with evident fear, that it had been nearly five minutes since he was summoned to the wheel-house.

While the steward was speaking, the bell rang again with an angry peal that told that the party at the other end was in anything but a pleasant mood. It did not take Tim many seconds to run to the wheel-house, and when he arrived there, breathless and in fear, Captain Pratt met him at the door.

"So the lesson I gave you this morning wasn't enough, eh?" cried the angry man, as he seized Tim by the collar and actually lifted him from his feet. "I'll teach you to attend to business, and not try to come any odds over me."

Captain Pratt had a stout piece of rope in one hand, and as he held Tim by the other, nearly choking him, he showered heavy blows upon the poor boy's back and legs, until his arm ached.

"Now see if you will remember that!" he cried, as he released his hold on Tim's collar, and the poor child rolled upon the deck almost helpless.

Tim had fallen because the hold on his neck had been so suddenly released, rather than on account of the beating; and when he struggled to his feet, smarting from the blows, the Captain said to him, "Now bring me a pitcher of ice-water, and see that you're back in five minutes, or you'll get the same dose over again."

Tim limped away, his back and legs feeling as though they were on fire, and each inch of skin ached and smarted as it never had done from the worst whipping Captain Babbige or Aunt Betsey had favored him with. He entered the cabin with eyes swollen from unshed tears, and sobs choking his breath, but with such a sense of injury in his heart that he made no other sign of suffering.

Mr. Rankin was too familiar with Captain Pratt's method of dealing with boys to be obliged to ask Tim any questions; but he said, as the boy got the water, "Try to keep a stiff upper lip, lad, and you'll come out all right."

Tim could not trust himself to speak, for he knew he should cry if he did; and he carried the water to the wheel-house, going directly from there to Tip.

The dog leaped up on him when his master came where he was, as if he wanted a frolic; but Tim said, as he threw himself on the deck beside him: "Don't, Tip—don't play now; I feel more like dyin'. You think it's awful hard to stay here; but it's twice as hard on me, 'cause the Captain whips me every chance he gets."

Tip knew from his master's actions that something was wrong, and he licked the face that was drawn with deep lines of pain so lovingly that Tim's tears came in spite of his will.

He was lying by Tip's side, moaning and crying, when old black Mose, the cook, was attracted to the spot by his sounds of suffering.

"Wha-wha-wha's de matter, honey? Wha' yer takin' on so powerful 'bout?"

Tim paid no attention to the question, repeated several times, nor did he appear to feel the huge black hand laid so tenderly on his head.

"Wha's de matter, honey? Has Cap'en Pratt been eddercatin' of yer?" Then, without waiting for a reply, he continued: "Now don' take on so, honey. Come inter de kitchen wid ole Mose, an' let him soothe ye up a little. Come, honey, come wid me, an' bring de dorg wid yer."

While he spoke the old colored man was untying the rope which fastened Tip, for he knew the boy would follow wherever the dog was led. And in that he was right, for when Tip went toward the little box Mose called a kitchen, he followed almost unconsciously.

Once inside the place where the old negro was chief, Mose took his jacket off, and bathed the ugly-looking black and blue marks which had been left by the rope, talking to the boy in his peculiar dialect as he did so, soothing the wounds on his heart as he treated those on his body.

"Now don' feel bad, honey; it's only a way Cap'en Pratt has got, an' you must git used to it, shuah. Don' let him fret yer, but keep right on about yer work jest as ef yer didn't notice him like."

Mose bathed the wounds, gave Tip such a feast as he had not had for many a day, and when it was done, Tim said to him: "You're awful good, you are; but I'm afraid the Captain will make you sorry for it. He don't seem to like me, an' he may get mad 'cause you've helped me."

"Bress yer, chile, what you s'pose ole Mose keers fur him ef he does git mad? The Cap'en kin rave an' rave, but dis niggar don' mind him more'n ef he was de souf wind, what carn't do nobody any harm."

"But—" Tim began to say, earnestly.

"Never mind 'bout any buts, honey. Yer fixed all right now, an' you go down in de cabin an' go ter work like a man; ole Mose'll keep keer ob de dorg."

Tim knew he had already been away from his post of duty too long, and leaving Tip in the negro's kindly care, he went into the cabin, feeling almost well in mind, although very sore in body.

[to be continued.]