Books: Many Cargoes
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W.W. Jacobs >> Many Cargoes
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At this remark Captain Berrow took fire, and, with his temper rapidly
rising to fever heat, wrathfully repelled the scurvy insinuation in
language which compelled the respectful attention of all the other
customers and the hasty intervention of the landlord.
"Put up the stakes," he cried impatiently. "Put up the stakes, and don't
have so much jaw about it."
"Here's mine," said Berrow, sturdily handing over a greasy fiver. "Now,
Cap'n Tucker, cover that."
"Come on," said the landlord encouragingly; "don't let him take the wind
out of your sails like that."
Tucker handed over five sovereigns.
"High water's at 12.13," said the landlord, pocketing the stakes. "You
understand the conditions?-each of you does the best he can for hisself
after eleven, an' the one what gets to Poole first has the ten quid.
Understand?"
Both gamblers breathed hard, and, fully realising the desperate nature
of the enterprise upon which they had embarked, ordered some more gin. A
rivalry of long standing as to the merits of their respective schooners
had led to them calling in the landlord to arbitrate, and this was the
result. Berrow, vaguely feeling that it would be advisable to keep on
good terms with the stakeholder, offered him one of the famous cigars.
The stakeholder, anxious to keep on good terms with his stomach,
declined it.
"You've both got your moorings up, I s'pose?" he inquired.
"Got 'em up this evening," replied Tucker. "We're just made fast one on
each side of the Dolphin now."
"The wind's light, but it's from the right quarter," said Captain
Berrow, "an' I only hope as 'ow the best ship'll win. I'd like to win
myself, but, if not, I can only say as there's no man breathing I'd
sooner have lick me than Cap'n Tucker. He's as smart a seaman as ever
comes into the London river, an' he's got a schooner angels would be
proud of."
"Glasses o' gin round," said Tucker promptly. "Cap'n Berrow, here's your
very good health, an' a fair field an' no favour."
With these praiseworthy sentiments the master of the Thistle finished
his liquor, and, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, nodded
farewell to the twain and departed. Once in the High Street he walked
slowly, as one in deep thought, then, with a sudden resolution, turned
up Nightingale Lane, and made for a small, unsavoury thoroughfare
leading out of Ratcliff Highway. A quarter of an hour later he emerged
into that famous thoroughfare again, smiling incoherently, and,
retracing his steps to the waterside, jumped into a boat, and was pulled
off to his ship.
"Comes off to-night, Joe," said he, as he descended to the cabin, "an'
it's arf a quid to you if the old gal wins."
"What's the bet?" inquired the mate, looking up from his task of
shredding tobacco.
"Five quid," replied the skipper.
"Well, we ought to do it," said the mate slowly; "'t wont be my fault if
we don't."
"Mine neither," said the skipper. "As a matter o' fact, Joe, I reckon
I've about made sure of it. All's fair in love and war and racing, Joe."
"Ay, ay," said the mate, more slowly than before, as he revolved this
addition to the proverb.
"I just nipped round and saw a chap I used to know named Dibbs," said
the skipper. "Keeps a boarding-house for sailors. Wonderful sharp
little chap he is. Needles ain't nothing to him. There's heaps of
needles, but only one Dibbs. He's going to make old Berrow's chaps as
drunk as lords."
"Does he know 'em?" inquired the mate.
"He knows where to find 'em," said the other. "I told him they'd either
be in the 'Duke's Head' or the 'Town o' Berwick.' But he'd find 'em
wherever they was. Ah, even if they was in a coffee pallis, I b'leeve
that man 'ud find 'em."
"They're steady chaps," objected the mate, but in a weak fashion, being
somewhat staggered by this tribute to Mr. Dibbs' remarkable powers.
"My lad," said the skipper, "it's Dibbs' business to mix sailors'
liquors so's they don't know whether they're standing on their heads or
their heels. He's the most wonderful mixer in Christendom; takes a
reg'lar pride in it. Many a sailorman has got up a ship's side, thinking
it was stairs, and gone off half acrost the world instead of going to
bed, through him."
"We'll have a easy job of it, then," said the mate. "I b'leeve we could
ha' managed it without that, though. 'Tain't quite what you'd call
sport, is it?"
"There's nothing like making sure of a thing," said the skipper
placidly. "What time's our chaps coming aboard?"
"Ten thirty, the latest," replied the mate. "Old Sam's with 'em, so
they'll be all right."
"I'll turn in for a couple of hours," said the skipper, going towards
his berth. "Lord! I'd give something to see old Berrow's face as his
chaps come up the side."
"P'raps they won't git as far as that," remarked the mate.
"Oh, yes they will," said the skipper. "Dibbs is going to see to that. I
don't want any chance of the race being scratched. Turn me out in a
couple of hours."
He closed the door behind him, and the mate, having stuffed his clay
with the coarse tobacco, took some pink note-paper with scalloped edges
from his drawer, and, placing the paper at his right side, and squaring
his shoulders, began some private correspondence.
For some time he smoked and wrote in silence, until the increasing
darkness warned him to finish his task. He signed the note, and, having
put a few marks of a tender nature below his signature, sealed it ready
for the post, and sat with half-closed eyes, finishing his pipe. Then
his head nodded, and, placing his arms on the table, he too slept.
It seemed but a minute since he had closed his eyes when he was awakened
by the entrance of the skipper, who came blundering into the darkness
from his stateroom, vociferating loudly and nervously.
"Ay, ay!" said Joe, starting up.
"Where's the lights?" said the skipper. "What's the time? I dreamt I'd
overslept myself. What's the time?"
"Plenty o' time," said the mate vaguely, as he stifled a yawn.
"Ha'-past ten," said the skipper, as he struck a match, "You've been
asleep," he added severely.
"I ain't," said the mate stoutly, as he followed the other on deck.
"I've been thinking. I think better in the dark."
"It's about time our chaps was aboard," said the skipper, as he looked
round the deserted deck. "I hope they won't be late."
"Sam's with 'em," said the mate confidently, as he went on to the side;
"there ain't no festivities going on aboard the Good Intent, neither."
"There will be," said his worthy skipper, with a grin, as he looked
across the intervening brig at the rival craft; "there will be."
He walked round the deck to see that everything was snug and ship-shape,
and got back to the mate just as a howl of surprising weirdness was
heard proceeding from the neighbouring stairs.
"I'm s'prised at Berrow allowing his men to make that noise," said the
skipper waggishly. "Our chaps are there too, I think. I can hear Sam's
voice."
"So can I," said the mate, with emphasis.
"Seems to be talking rather loud," said the master of the Thistle,
knitting his brows.
"Sounds as though he's trying to sing," said the mate, as, after some
delay, a heavily-laden boat put off from the stairs and made slowly for
them. "No, he ain't; he's screaming."
There was no longer any doubt about it. The respectable and greatly-
trusted Sam was letting off a series of wild howls which would have done
credit to a penny-gaff Zulu, and was evidently very much out of temper
about something.
"Ahoy, Thistle! Ahoy!" bellowed the waterman, as he neared the schooner.
"Chuck us a rope?-quick!"
The mate threw him one, and the boat came alongside. It was then seen
that another waterman, using impatient and deplorable language, was
forcibly holding Sam down in the boat.
"What's he done? What's the row?" demanded the mate.
"Done?" said the waterman, in disgust. "Done? He's 'ad a small lemon,
an' it's got into his silly old head. He's making all this fuss 'cos he
wanted to set the pub on fire, an' they wouldn't let him. Man ashore
told us they belonged to the Good Intent, but I know they're your men."
"Sam!" roared the skipper, with a sinking heart, as his glance fell on
the recumbent figures in the boat; "come aboard at once, you drunken
disgrace! D'ye hear?"
"I can't leave him," said Sam, whimpering.
"Leave who?" growled the skipper.
"Him," said Sam, placing his arms round the waterman's neck. "Him an'
me's like brothers."
"Get up, you old loonatic!" snarled the waterman, extricating himself
with difficulty, and forcing the other towards the side. "Now, up you
go!"
Aided by the shoulders of the waterman and the hands of his superior
officers, Sam went up, and then the waterman turned his attention to the
remainder of his fares, who were snoring contentedly in the bottom of
the boat.
"Now, then!" he cried; "look alive with you! D'ye hear? Wake up! Wake
up! Kick 'em, Bill!"
"I can't kick no 'arder," grumbled the other waterman.
"What the devil's the matter with 'em?" stormed the master of the
Thistle, "Chuck a pail of water over 'em, Joe!"
Joe obeyed with gusto; and, as he never had much of a head for details,
bestowed most of it upon the watermen. Through the row which ensued the
Thistle's crew snored peacefully, and at last were handed up over the
sides like sacks of potatoes, and the indignant watermen pulled back to
the stairs.
"Here's a nice crew to win a race with!" wailed the skipper, almost
crying with rage. "Chuck the water over 'em, Joe! Chuck the water over
'em !"
Joe obeyed willingly, until at length, to the skipper's great relief,
one man stirred, and, sitting up on the deck, sleepily expressed his
firm conviction that it was raining. For a moment they both had hopes of
him, but as Joe went to the side for another bucketful, he evidently
came to the conclusion that he had been dreaming, and, lying down again,
resumed his nap. As he did so the first stroke of Big Ben came booming
down the river.
"Eleven o'clock!" shouted the excited skipper.
It was too true. Before Big Ben had finished, the neighbouring church
clocks commenced striking with feverish haste, and hurrying feet and
hoarse cries were heard proceeding from the deck of the GOOD INTENT.
"Loose the sails!" yelled the furious Tucker. "Loose the sails! Damme,
we'll get under way by ourselves!"
He ran forward, and, assisted by the mate, hoisted the jibs, and then,
running back, cast off from the brig, and began to hoist the mainsail.
As they disengaged themselves from the tier, there was just sufficient
sail for them to advance against the tide; while in front of them the
Good Intent, shaking out sail after sail, stood boldly down the river.
* * * * *
"This was the way of it," said Sam, as he stood before the grim Tucker
at six o'clock the next morning, surrounded by his mates. "He came into
the 'Town o' Berwick,' where we was, as nice a spoken little chap as
ever you'd wish to see. He said he'd been a-looking at the GOOD INTENT,
and he thought it was the prettiest little craft 'e ever seed, and the
exact image of one his dear brother, which was a missionary, 'ad, and
he'd like to stand a drink to every man of her crew. Of course, we all
said we was the crew direckly, an' all I can remember after that is two
coppers an' a little boy trying to giv' me the frog's march, an'
somebody chucking pails o' water over me. It's crool 'ard losing a race,
what we didn't know nothink about, in this way; but it warn't our
fault?-it warn't, indeed. It's my belief that the little man was a
missionary of some sort hisself, and wanted to convert us, an' that was
his way of starting on the job. It's all very well for the mate to have
highstirriks; but it's quite true, every word of it, an' if you go an'
ask at the pub they'll tell you the same."
MATED
The schooner Falcon was ready for sea. The last bale of general cargo
had just been shipped, and a few hairy, unkempt seamen were busy putting
on the hatches under the able profanity of the mate.
"All clear?" inquired the master, a short, ruddy-faced man of about
thirty-five. "Cast off there!"
"Ain't you going to wait for the passengers, then?" inquired the mate.
"No, no," replied the skipper, whose features were working with
excitement. "They won't come now, I'm sure they won't. We'll lose the
tide if we don't look sharp."
He turned aside to give an order just as a buxom young woman,
accompanied by a loutish boy, a band-box, and several other bundles,
came hurrying on to the jetty.
"Well, here we are, Cap'n Evans," said the girl, springing lightly on to
the deck. "I thought we should never get here; the cabman didn't seem to
know the way; but I knew you wouldn't go without us,"
"Here you are," said the skipper, with attempted cheerfulness, as he
gave the girl his right hand, while his left strayed vaguely in the
direction of the boy's ear, which was coldly withheld from him. "Go down
below, and the mate'll show you your cabin. Bill, this is Miss Cooper, a
lady friend o' mine, and her brother."
The mate, acknowledging the introduction, led the way to the cabin,
where they remained so long that by the time they came on deck again the
schooner was off Limehouse, slipping along well under a light wind.
"How do you like the state-room?" inquired the skipper, who was at the
wheel.
"Pretty fair," replied Miss Cooper. "It's a big name for it though,
ain't it? Oh, what a large ship!"
She ran to the side to gaze at a big liner, and as far as Gravesend
besieged the skipper and mate with questions concerning the various
craft. At the mate's suggestion they had tea on deck, at which meal
William Henry Cooper became a source of much discomfort to his host by
his remarkable discoveries anent the fauna of lettuce. Despite his
efforts, however, and the cloud under which Evans seemed to be
labouring, the meal was voted a big success; and after it was over they
sat laughing and chatting until the air got chilly, and the banks of the
river were lost in the gathering darkness. At ten o'clock they retired
for the night, leaving Evans and the mate on deck.
"Nice gal, that," said the mate, looking at the skipper, who was leaning
moodily on the wheel.
"Ay, ay," replied he. "Bill," he continued, turning suddenly towards
the mate. "I'm in a deuce of a mess. You've got a good square head on
your shoulders. Now, what on earth am I to do? Of course you can see how
the land lays?"
"Of course," said the mate, who was not going to lose his reputation by
any display of ignorance. "Anyone could see it," he added.
"The question is what's to be done?" said the skipper.
"That's the question," said the mate guardedly.
"I feel that worried," said Evans, "that I've actually thought of
getting into collision, or running the ship ashore. Fancy them two women
meeting at Llandalock."
Such a sudden light broke in upon the square head of the mate, that he
nearly whistled with the brightness of it.
"But you ain't engaged to this one?" he cried.
"We're to be married in August," said the skipper desperately. "That's
my ring on her finger."
"But you're going to marry Mary Jones in September," expostulated the
mate. "You can't marry both of 'em."
"That's what I say," replied Evans; "that's what I keep telling myself,
but it don't seem to bring much comfort. I'm too soft-'earted where
wimmen is concerned, Bill, an' that's the truth of it. D'reckly I get
alongside of a nice gal my arm goes creeping round her before I know
what it's doing."
"What on earth made you bring the girl on the ship?" inquired the mate.
"The other one's sure to be on the quay to meet you as usual."
"I couldn't help it," groaned the skipper; "she would come; she can be
very determined when she likes. She's awful gone on me, Bill."
"So's the other one apparently," said the mate.
"I can't think what it is the gals see in me," said the other
mournfully. "Can you?"
"No, I'm blamed if I can," replied the mate frankly.
"I don't take no credit for it, Bill," said the skipper, "not a bit. My
father was like it before me. The worry's killing me."
"Well, which are you going to have?" inquired the mate. "Which do you
like the best?"
"I don't know, an' that's a fact," said the skipper. "They 've both got
money coming to 'em; when I'm in Wales I like Mary Jones best, and when
I'm in London it's Janey Cooper. It's dreadful to be like that, Bill."
"It is," said the mate drily. "I wouldn't be in your shoes when those
two gals meet for a fortune. Then you'll have old Jones and her brothers
to tackle, too. Seems to me things'll be a bit lively."
"I hev thought of being took sick, and staying in my bunk, Bill,"
suggested Evans anxiously.
"An' having the two of 'em to nurse you," retorted Bill. "Nice quiet
time for an invalid."
Evans made a gesture of despair.
"How would it be," said the mate, after a long pause, and speaking very
slowly; "how would it be if I took this one off your hands."
"You couldn't do it, Bill," said the skipper decidedly. "Not while she
knew I was above ground." "Well, I can try," returned the mate shortly.
"I've took rather a fancy to the girl. Is it a bargain?"
"It is," said the skipper, shaking hands upon it. "If you git me out of
this hole, Bill, I'll remember it the longest day I live."
With these words he went below, and, after cautiously undoing W. H.
Cooper, who had slept himself into a knot that a professional
contortionist would have envied, tumbled in beside him and went to
sleep.
His heart almost failed him when he encountered the radiant Jane at
breakfast in the morning, but he concealed his feelings by a strong
effort; and after the meal was finished, and the passengers had gone on
deck, he laid hold of the mate, who was following, and drew him into the
cabin.
"You haven't washed yourself this morning," he said, eyeing him closely.
"How do you s'pose you are going to make an impression if you don't look
smart?"
"Well, I look tidier than you do," growled the mate.
"Of course you do," said the wily Evans. "I'm going to give you all the
chances I can. Now you go and shave yourself, and here--take it."
He passed the surprised mate a brilliant red silk tie, embellished with
green spots.
"No, no," said the mate deprecatingly.
"Take it," repeated Evans; "if anything'll fetch her it'll be that tie;
and here's a couple of collars for you; they're a new shape, quite the
rage down Poplar way just now."
"It's robbing you," said the mate, "and it's no good either. I ain't got
a decent suit of clothes to my back."
Evans looked up, and their eyes met; then, with a catch in his breath,
he turned away, and after some hesitation went to his locker, and
bringing out a new suit, bought for the edification of Miss Jones,
handed it silently to the mate.
"I can't take all these things without giving you something for 'em,"
said the mate. "Here, wait a bit."
He dived into his cabin, and, after a hasty search, brought out some
garments which he placed on the table before his commander.
"I wouldn't wear 'em, no, not to drown myself in," declared Evans after
a brief glance; "they ain't even decent."
"So much the better," said the mate; "it'll be more of a contrast with
me."
After a slight contest the skipper gave way, and the mate, after an
elaborate toilette, went on deck and began to make himself agreeable,
while his chief skulked below trying to muster up courage to put in an
appearance.
"Where's the captain?" inquired Miss Cooper, after his absence had been
so prolonged as to become noticeable.
"He's below, dressin', I b'leeve," replied the mate simply.
Miss Cooper, glancing at his attire, smiled softly to herself, and
prepared for something startling, and she got it; for a more forlorn,
sulky-looking object than the skipper, when he did appear, had never
been seen on the deck of the Falcon, and his London betrothed glanced at
him hot with shame and indignation.
"Whatever have you got those things on for?" she whispered.
"Work, my dear--work," replied the skipper.
"Well, mind you don't lose any of the pieces," said the dear suavely;
"you mightn't be able to match that cloth."
"I'll look after that," said the skipper, reddening. "You must excuse me
talkin' to you now. I'm busy."
Miss Cooper looked at him indignantly, and, biting her lip, turned away,
and started a desperate flirtation with the mate, to punish him. Evans
watched them with mingled feelings as he busied himself with various
small jobs on the deck, his wrath being raised to boiling point by the
behaviour of the cook, who, being a poor hand at disguising his
feelings, came out of the galley several times to look at him.
From this incident a coolness sprang up between the skipper and the
girl, which increased hourly. At times the skipper weakened, but the
watchful mate was always on hand to prevent mischief. Owing to his
fostering care Evans was generally busy, and always gruff; and Miss
Cooper, who was used to the most assiduous attentions from him, knew not
whether to be most bewildered or most indignant. Four times in one day
did he remark in her hearing that a sailor's ship was his sweetheart,
while his treatment of his small prospective brother in-law, when he
expostulated with him on the state of his wardrobe, filled that hitherto
pampered youth with amazement. At last, on the fourth night out, as the
little schooner was passing the coast of Cornwall, the mate came up to
him as he was steering, and patted him heavily on the back.
"It's all right, cap'n," said he. "You've lost the prettiest little girl
in England."
"What?" said the skipper, in incredulous tones.
"Fact," replied the other. "Here's your ring back. I wouldn't let her
wear it any longer."
"However did you do it?" inquired Evans, taking the ring in a dazed
fashion.
"Oh, easy as possible," said the mate. "She liked me best, that's all."
"But what did you say to her?" persisted Evans.
The other reflected.
"I can't call to mind exactly," he said at length. "But, you may rely
upon it, I said everything I could against you. But she never did care
much for you. She told me so herself."
"I wish you joy of your bargain," said Evans solemnly, after a long
pause.
"What do you mean?" demanded the mate sharply.
"A girl like that," said the skipper, with a lump in his throat, "who
can carry on with two men at once ain't worth having. She's not my
money, that's all."
The mate looked at him in honest bewilderment.
"Mark my words," continued the skipper loftily, "you'll live to regret
it. A girl like that's got no ballast. She'll always be running after
fresh neckties."
"You put it down to the necktie, do you?" sneered the mate wrathfully.
"That and the clothes, cert'nly," replied the skipper.
"Well, you're wrong," said the mate. "A lot you know about girls. It
wasn't your old clothes, and it wasn't all your bad behaviour to her
since she's been aboard. You may as well know first as last. She
wouldn't have nothing to do with me at first, so I told her all about
Mary Jones."
"You told her THAT?" cried the skipper fiercely.
"I did," replied the other. "She was pretty wild at first; but then the
comic side of it struck her--you wearing them old clothes, and going
about as you did. She used to watch you until she couldn't stand it any
longer, and then go down in the cabin and laugh. Wonderful spirits that
girl's got. Hush! Here she is!"
As he spoke the girl came on deck, and, seeing the two men talking
together, remained at a short distance from them.
"It's all right, Jane," said the mate; "I've told him."
"Oh!" said Miss Cooper, with a little gasp.
"I can't bear deceit," said the mate; "and now it's off his mind, he's
so happy he can't bear himself."
The latter part of this assertion seemed to be more warranted by facts
than the former, but Evans made a choking noise, which he intended as a
sign of unbearable joy, and, relinquishing the wheel to the mate, walked
forward. The clear sky was thick with stars, and a mind at ease might
have found enjoyment in the quiet beauty of the night, but the skipper
was too interested in the behaviour of the young couple at the wheel to
give it a thought. Immersed in each other, they forgot him entirely, and
exchanged little playful slaps and pushes, which incensed him beyond
description. Several times he was on the point of exercising his
position as commander and ordering the mate below, but in the
circumstances interference was impossible, and, with a low-voiced good-
night, he went below. Here his gaze fell on William Henry, who was
slumbering peacefully, and, with a hazy idea of the eternal fitness of
things, he raised the youth in his arms, and, despite his sleepy
protests, deposited him in the mate's bunk. Then, with head and heart
both aching, he retired for the night.
There was a little embarrassment next day, but it soon passed off, and
the three adult inmates of the cabin got on quite easy terms with each
other. The most worried person aft was the boy, who had not been taken
into their confidence, and whose face, when his sister sat with the
mate's arm around her waist, presented to the skipper a perfect study in
emotions.
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