Books: Many Cargoes
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W.W. Jacobs >> Many Cargoes
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"Why not?" inquired the other.
"I don't know," said the girl meditatively; "but sailors are generally
such scrubby little men, aren't they?"
"SCUBBY?" repeated the mate, in a dazed voice.
"I'd sooner be a soldier," she continued; "I like soldiers--they're so
manly. I wish there was one here now."
"What for?" inquired the mate, in the manner of a sulky schoolboy.
"If there was a man like that here now," said Miss Alsen thoughtfully,
"I'd dare him to mustard old Towson's nose."
"Do what?" inquired the astonished mate.
"Mustard old Towson's nose," said Miss Alsen, glancing lightly from the
cruet-stand to the portrait.
The infatuated man hesitated a moment, and then, reaching over to the
cruet, took out the spoon, and with a pale, determined face, indignantly
daubed the classic features of the provision dealer. His indignation was
not lessened by the behaviour of the temptress, who, instead of fawning
upon him for his bravery, crammed her handkerchief to her mouth and
giggled foolishly.
"Where's father," she said suddenly, as a step sounded above. "Oh, you
will get it!"
She rose from her seat, and, standing aside to let her father pass, went
on deck. The skipper sank on to a locker, and, raising the tea-pot,
poured himself out a cup of tea, which he afterwards decanted into a
saucer. He had just raised it to his lips, when he saw something over
the rim of it which made him put it down again untasted, and stare
blankly at the mantel-piece.
"Who the--what the--who the devil's done this?" he inquired in a
strangulated voice, as he rose and regarded the portrait,
"I did," said the mate.
"You did?" roared the other. "You? What for?"
"I don't know," said the mate awkwardly. "Something seemed to come over
me all of a sudden, and I felt as though I MUST do it."
"But what for? Where's the sense of it?" said the skipper.
The mate shook his head sheepishly.
"But what did you want to do such a monkey-trick FOR?" roared the
skipper.
"I don't know," said the mate doggedly; "but it's done, ain't it? and
it's no good talking about it."
The skipper looked at him in wrathful perplexity. "You'd better have
advice when we get to port, Jack," he said at length; "the last few
weeks I've noticed you've been a bit strange in your manner. You go an'
show that 'ed of yours to a doctor."
The mate grunted, and went on deck for sympathy, but, finding Miss Alsen
in a mood far removed from sentiment, and not at all grateful, drew off
whistling. Matters were in this state when the skipper appeared, wiping
his mouth.
"I've put another portrait on the mantel-piece, Jack," he said
menacingly; "it's the only other one I've got, an' I wish you to
understand that if that only smells mustard, there'll be such a row in
this 'ere ship that you won't be able to 'ear yourself speak for the
noise."
He moved off with dignity as his daughter, who had overheard the remark,
came sidling up to the mate and smiled on him agreeably.
"He's put another portrait there," she said softly.
"You'll find the mustard-pot in the cruet," said the mate coldly.
Miss Alsen turned and watched her father as he went forward, and then,
to the mate's surprise, went below without another word. A prey to
curiosity, but too proud to make any overture, he compromised matters by
going and standing near the companion.
"Mate!" said a stealthy whisper at the foot of the ladder.
The mate gazed calmly out to sea.
"Jack!" said the girl again, in a lower whisper than before.
The mate went hot all over, and at once descended. He found Miss Alsen,
her eyes sparkling, with the mustard-pot in her left hand and the spoon
in her right, executing a war-dance in front of the second portrait.
"Don't do it," said the mate, in alarm.
"Why not?" she inquired, going within an inch of it.
"He'll think it's me," said the mate.
"That's why I called you down here," said she; "you don't think I wanted
you, do you?"
"You put that spoon down," said the mate, who was by no means desirous
of another interview with the skipper.
"Shan't!" said Miss Alsen.
The mate sprang at her, but she dodged round the table. He leaned over,
and, catching her by the left arm, drew her towards him; then, with her
flushed, laughing face close to his, he forgot everything else, and
kissed her.
"Oh!" said Hetty indignantly.
"Will you give it to me now?" said the mate, trembling at his boldness.
"Take it," said she. She leaned across the table, and, as the mate
advanced, dabbed viciously at him with the spoon. Then she suddenly
dropped both articles on the table and moved away, as the mate, startled
by a footstep at the door, turned a flushed visage, ornamented with
three streaks of mustard, on to the dumbfounded skipper.
"Sakes alive!" said that astonished mariner, as soon as he could speak;
"if he ain't a-mustarding his own face now--I never 'card of such a thing
in all my life. Don't go near 'im, Hetty. Jack!"
"Well," said the mate, wiping his smarting face with his handkerchief.
"You've never been took like this before?" queried the skipper
anxiously.
"O'course not," said the mortified mate.
"Don't you say o'course not to me," said the other warmly, "after
behaving like this. A straight weskit's what you want. I'll go an' see
old Ben about it. He's got an uncle in a 'sylum. You come up too, my
girl."
He went in search of Ben, oblivious of the fact that his daughter,
instead of following him, came no farther than the door, where she stood
and regarded her victim compassionately.
"I'm so sorry," she said "Does it smart?"
"A little," said the mate; "don't you trouble about me."
"You see what you get for behaving badly," said Miss Alsen judicially.
"It's worth it," said the mate, brightening.
"I'm afraid it'll blister," said she. She crossed over to him, and
putting her head on one side, eyed the traces wisely. "Three marks," she
said.
"I only had one," suggested the mate.
"One what?" enquired Hetty.
"Those," said the mate.
In full view of the horrified skipper, who was cautiously peeping at the
supposed lunatic through the skylight, he kissed her again.
"You can go away, Ben," said the skipper huskily to the expert. "D'ye
hear, you can go AWAY, and not a word about this, mind."
The expert went away grumbling, and the father, after another glance,
which showed him his daughter nestling comfortably on the mate's right
shoulder, stole away and brooded darkly over this crowning complication.
An ordinary man would have run down and interrupted them; the master of
the Jessica thought he could attain his ends more certainly by
diplomacy, and so careful was his demeanour that the couple in the cabin
had no idea that they had been observed--the mate listening calmly to a
lecture on incipient idiocy which the skipper thought it advisable to
bestow.
Until the mid-day meal on the day following he made no sign. If anything
he was even more affable than usual, though his wrath rose at the
glances which were being exchanged across the table.
"By the way, Jack," he said at length, "what's become of Kitty Loney?"
"Who?" inquired the mate. "Who's Kitty Loney?"
It was now the skipper's turn to stare, and he did it admirably.
"Kitty Loney," he said in surprise, "the little girl you are going to
marry."
"Who are you getting at?" said the mate, going scarlet as he met the
gaze opposite.
"I don't know what you mean," said the skipper with dignity. "I'm
allooding to Kitty Loney, the little girl in the red hat and white
feathers you introduced to me as your future."
The mate sank back in his seat, and regarded him with open-mouthed,
horrified astonishment.
"You don't mean to say you've chucked 'er," pursued the heartless
skipper, "after getting an advance from me to buy the ring with, too?
Didn't you buy the ring with the money?"
"No," said the mate, "I--oh, no--of course--what on earth are you
talking about?"
The skipper rose from his seat and regarded him sorrowfully but
severely. "I'm sorry, Jack," he said stiffly, "if I've said anything to
annoy you, or anyway hurt your feelings. O' course it's your business,
not mine. P'raps you'll say you never heard o' Kitty Loney?"
"I do say so," said the bewildered mate; "I do say so."
The skipper eyed him sternly, and without another word left the cabin.
"If she's like her mother," he said to himself, chuckling as he went up
the companion-ladder, "I think that'll do."
There was an awkward pause after his departure. "I'm sure I don't know
what you must think of me," said the mate at length, "but I don't know
what your father's talking about."
"I don't think anything," said Hetty calmly. "Pass the potatoes,
please."
"I suppose it's a joke of his," said the mate, complying.
"And the salt," said she; "thank you."
"But you don't believe it?" said the mate pathetically.
"Oh, don't be silly," said the girl calmly. "What does it matter whether
I do or not?"
"It matters a great deal," said the mate gloomily. "It's life or death
to me."
"Oh, nonsense," said Hetty. "She won't know of your foolishness. I won't
tell her."
"I tell you," said the mate desperately, "there never was a Kitty Loney.
What do you think of that?"
"I think you are very mean," said the girl scornfully; "don't talk to me
any more, please."
"Just as you like," said the mate, beginning to lose his temper.
He pushed his plate from him and departed, while the girl, angry and
resentful, put the potatoes back as being too floury for consumption in
the circumstances.
For the remainder of the passage she treated him with a politeness and
good humour through which he strove in vain to break. To her surprise
her father made no objection, at the end of the voyage, when she
coaxingly suggested going back by train; and the mate, as they sat at
dummy-whist on the evening before her departure, tried in vain to
discuss the journey in an unconcerned fashion.
"It'll be a long journey," said Hetty, who still liked him well enough
to make him smart a bit, "What's trumps?"
"You'll be all right," said her father. "Spades."
He won for the third time that evening, and, feeling wonderfully well
satisfied with the way in which he had played his cards generally, could
not resist another gibe at the crestfallen mate.
"You'll have to give up playing cards and all that sort o' thing when
you're married, Jack," said he.
"Ay, ay," said the mate recklessly, "Kitty don't like cards."
"I thought there was no Kitty," said the girl, looking up, scornfully.
"She don't like cards," repeated the mate. "Lord, what a spree we had.
Cap'n, when we went to the Crystal Palace with her that night."
"Ay, that we did," said the skipper.
"Remember the roundabouts?" said the mate.
"I do," said the skipper merrily. "I'll never forget 'em."
"You and that friend of hers, Bessie Watson, lord how you did go on!"
continued the mate, in a sort of ecstasy. The skipper stiffened suddenly
in his chair. "What on earth are you talking about?" he inquired
gruffly.
"Bessie Watson," said the mate, in tones of innocent surprise. "Little
girl in a blue hat with white feathers, and a blue frock, that came with
us."
"You're drunk," said the skipper, grinding his teeth, as he saw the trap
into which he had walked.
"Don't you remember when you two got lost, an' me and Kitty were looking
all over the place for you?" demanded the mate, still in the same tones
of pleasant reminiscence.
He caught Hetty's eye, and noticed with a thrill that it beamed with
soft and respectful admiration.
"You've been drinking," repeated the skipper, breathing hard. "How dare
you talk like that afore my daughter?"
"It's only right I should know," said Hetty, drawing herself up. "I
wonder what mother'll say to it all?"
"You say anything to your mother if you dare," said the now maddened
skipper. "You know what she is. It's all the mate's nonsense."
"I'm very sorry, cap'n," said the mate, "if I've said anything to annoy
you, or anyway hurt your feelings. O' course it's your business, not
mine. Perhaps you'll say you never heard o' Bessie Watson?"
"Mother shall hear of her," said Hetty, while her helpless sire was
struggling for breath.
"Perhaps you'll tell us who this Bessie Watson is, and where she lives?"
he said at length.
"She lives with Kitty Loney," said the mate simply.
The skipper rose, and his demeanour was so alarming that Hetty shrank
instinctively to the mate for protection. In full view of his captain,
the mate placed his arm about her waist, and in this position they
confronted each other for some time in silence. Then Hetty looked up and
spoke.
"I'm going home by water," she said briefly.
THE CAPTAIN'S EXPLOIT
It was a wet, dreary night in that cheerless part of the great
metropolis known as Wapping. The rain, which had been falling heavily
for hours, still fell steadily on to the sloppy pavements and roads, and
joining forces in the gutter, rushed impetuously to the nearest sewer.
The two or three streets which had wedged themselves in between the
docks and the river, and which, as a matter of fact, really comprise the
beginning and end of Wapping, were deserted, except for a belated van
crashing over the granite roads, or the chance form of a dock-labourer
plodding doggedly along, with head bent in distaste for the rain, and
hands sunk in trouser-pockets.
"Beastly night," said Captain Bing, as he rolled out of the private bar
of the "Sailor's Friend," and, ignoring the presence of the step, took a
little hurried run across the pavement. "Not fit for a dog to be out
in."
He kicked, as he spoke, at a shivering cur which was looking in at the
crack of the bar-door, with a hazy view of calling its attention to the
matter, and then, pulling up the collar of his rough pea-jacket, stepped
boldly out into the rain. Three or four minutes' walk, or rather roll,
brought him to a dark narrow passage, which ran between two houses to
the water-side. By a slight tack to starboard at a critical moment he
struck the channel safely, and followed it until it ended in a flight of
old stone steps, half of which were under water.
"Where for?" inquired a man, starting up from a small penthouse formed
of rough pieces of board.
"Schooner in the tier, Smiling Jane," said the captain gruffly, as he
stumbled clumsily into a boat and sat down in the stern. "Why don't you
have better seats in this 'ere boat?"
"They're there, if you'll look for them," said the waterman; "and you'll
find 'em easier sitting than that bucket."
"Why don't you put 'em where a man can see 'em?" inquired the captain,
raising his voice a little.
The other opened his mouth to reply, but realising that it would lead to
a long and utterly futile argument, contented himself with asking his
fare to trim the boat better; and, pushing off from the steps, pulled
strongly through the dark lumpy water. The tide was strong, so that they
made but slow progress.
"When I was a young man," said the fare with severity, "I'd ha' pulled
this boat across and back afore now."
"When you was a young man," said the man at the oars, who had a local
reputation as a wit, "there wasn't no boats; they was all Noah's arks
then."
"Stow your gab," said the captain, after a pause of deep thought.
The other, whose besetting sin was certainly not loquacity, ejected a
thin stream of tobacco-juice over the side, spat on his hands, and
continued his laborious work until a crowd of dark shapes, surmounted by
a network of rigging, loomed up before them.
"Now, which is your little barge?" he inquired, tugging strongly to
maintain his position against the fast-flowing tide.
"Smiling Jane" said his fare.
"Ah," said the waterman, "Smiling Jane, is it? You sit there, cap'n, an'
I'll row round all their sterns while you strike matches and look at the
names. We'll have quite a nice little evening."
"There she is," cried the captain, who was too muddled to notice the
sarcasm; "there's the little beauty. Steady, my lad."
He reached out his hand as he spoke, and as the boat jarred violently
against a small schooner, seized a rope which hung over the side, and,
swaying to and fro, fumbled in his pocket for the fare.
"Steady, old boy," said the waterman affectionately. He had just
received twopence-halfpenny and a shilling by mistake for threepence.
"Easy up the side. You ain't such a pretty figger as you was when your
old woman made such a bad bargain."
The captain paused in his climb, and poising himself on one foot,
gingerly felt for his tormentor's head with the other Not finding it, he
flung his leg over the bulwark, and gained the deck of the vessel as the
boat swung round with the tide and disappeared in the darkness.
"All turned in," said the captain, gazing owlishly at the deserted deck.
"Well, there's a good hour an' a half afore we start; I'll turn in too."
He walked slowly aft, and sliding back the companion-hatch, descended
into a small evil-smelling cabin, and stood feeling in the darkness for
the matches. They were not to be found, and, growling profanely, he felt
his way to the state-room, and turned in all standing.
It was still dark when he awoke, and hanging over the edge of the bunk,
cautiously felt for the floor with his feet, and having found it, stood
thoughtfully scratching his head, which seemed to have swollen to
abnormal proportions.
"Time they were getting under weigh," he said at length, and groping his
way to the foot of the steps, he opened the door of what looked like a
small pantry, but which was really the mate's boudoir.
"Jem," said the captain gruffly.
There was no reply, and jumping to the conclusion that he was above, the
captain tumbled up the steps and gained the deck, which, as far as he
could see, was in the same deserted condition as when he left it.
Anxious to get some idea of the time, he staggered to the side and
looked over. The tide was almost at the turn, and the steady clank,
clank of neighbouring windlasses showed that other craft were just
getting under weigh. A barge, its red light turning the water to blood,
with a huge wall of dark sail, passed noiselessly by, the indistinct
figure of a man leaning skilfully upon the tiller.
As these various signs of life and activity obtruded themselves upon the
skipper of the Smiling Jane, his wrath rose higher and higher as he
looked around the wet, deserted deck of his own little craft. Then he
walked forward and thrust his head down the forecastle hatchway.
As he expected, there was a complete sleeping chorus below; the deep
satisfied snoring of half-a-dozen seamen, who, regardless of the tide
and their captain's feelings, were slumbering sweetly, in blissful
ignorance of all that the Lancet might say upon the twin subjects of
overcrowding and ventilation.
"Below there, you lazy thieves!" roared the captain; "tumble up, tumble
up!"
The snores stopped. "Ay, ay!" said a sleepy voice. "What's the matter,
master?"
"Matter!" repeated the other, choking violently. "Ain't you going to
sail to-night?"
"To-night!" said another voice, in surprise. "Why, I thought we wasn't
going to sail till Wen'sday."
Not trusting himself to reply, so careful was he of the morals of his
men, the skipper went and leaned over the side and communed with the
silent water. In an incredibly short space of time five or six dusky
figures pattered up on to the deck, and a minute or two later the harsh
clank of the windlass echoed far and wide.
The captain took the wheel. A fat and very sleepy seaman put up the
side-lights, and the little schooner, detaching itself by the aid of
boat-hooks and fenders from the neighbouring craft, moved slowly down
with the tide. The men, in response to the captain's fervent orders,
climbed aloft, and sail after sail was spread to the gentle breeze.
"Hi! you there," cried the captain to one of the men who stood near him,
coiling up some loose line.
"Sir?" said the man.
"Where is the mate?" inquired the captain.
"Man with red whiskers and pimply nose?" said the man interrogatively.
"That's him to a hair," answered the other.
"Ain't seen him since he took me on at eleven," said the man. "How many
new hands are there?"
"I b'leeve we're all fresh," was the reply. "I don't believe some of 'em
have ever smelt salt water afore."
"The mate's been at it again," said the captain warmly, "that's what he
has. He's done it afore and got left behind. Them what can't stand
drink, my man, shouldn't take it, remember that."
"He said we wasn't going to sail till Wen'sday," remarked the man, who
found the captain's attitude rather trying.
"He'll get sacked, that's what he'll get," said the captain warmly. "I
shall report him as soon as I get ashore."
The subject exhausted, the seaman returned to his work, and the captain
continued steering in moody silence.
Slowly, slowly darkness gave way to light. The different portions of the
craft, instead of all being blurred into one, took upon themselves
shape, and stood out wet and distinct in the cold grey of the breaking
day. But the lighter it became, the harder the skipper stared and rubbed
his eyes, and looked from the deck to the flat marshy shore, and from
the shore back to the deck again.
"Here, come here," he cried, beckoning to one of the crew.
"Yessir," said the man, advancing.
"There's something in one of my eyes," faltered the skipper. "I can't
see straight; everything seems mixed up. Now, speaking deliberate and
without any hurry, which side o' the ship do you say the cook's galley's
on?"
"Starboard," said the man promptly, eyeing him with astonishment.
"Starboard," repeated the other softly. "He says starboard, and that's
what it seems to me. My lad, yesterday morning it was on the port side."
The seaman received this astounding communication with calmness, but, as
a slight concession to appearances, said "Lor!"
"And the water-cask," said the skipper; "what colour is it?"
"Green," said the man.
"Not white?" inquired the skipper, leaning heavily upon the wheel.
"Whitish-green," said the man, who always believed in keeping in with
his superior officers.
The captain swore at him.
By this time two or three of the crew who had over-heard part of the
conversation had collected aft, and now stood in a small wondering knot
before their strange captain.
"My lads," said the latter, moistening his dry lips with his tongue, "I
name no names--I don't know 'em yet--and I cast no suspicions, but
somebody has been painting up and altering this 'ere craft, and twisting
things about until a man 'ud hardly know her. Now what's the little
game"
There was no answer, and the captain, who was seeing things clearer and
clearer in the growing light, got paler and paler.
"I must be going crazy," he muttered. "Is this the SMILING JANE, or am I
dreaming?"
"It ain't the SMILING JANE," said one of the seamen; "leastways," he
added cautiously, "it wasn't when I came aboard."
"Not the SMILING JANE!" roared the skipper; "what is it, then?"
"Why, the MARY ANN," chorused the astonished crew.
"My lads," faltered the agonised captain after a long pause. "My lads--"
He stopped and swallowed something in his throat. "I've been and
brought away the wrong ship," he continued with an effort; "that's what
I've done. I must have been bewitched."
"Well, who's having the little game now?" inquired a voice.
"Somebody else'll be sacked as well as the mate," said another.
"We must take her back," said the captain, raising his voice to drown
these mutterings. "Stand by there!"
The bewildered crew went to their posts, the captain gave his orders in
a voice which had never been so subdued and mellow since it broke at the
age of fourteen, and the Mary Ann took in sail, and, dropping her
anchor, waited patiently for the turning of the tide.
* * * * * * *
The church bells in Wapping and Rotherhithe were just striking the hour
of mid-day, though they were heard by few above the noisy din of workers
on wharves and ships, as a short stout captain, and a mate with red
whiskers and a pimply nose, stood up in a waterman's boat in the centre
of the river, and gazed at each other in blank astonishment.
"She's gone, clean gone!" murmured the bewildered captain.
"Clean as a whistle," said the mate. "The new hands must ha' run away
with her."
Then the bereaved captain raised his voice, and pronounced a pathetic
and beautiful eulogy upon the departed vessel, somewhat marred by an
appendix in which he consigned the new hands, their heirs, and
descendants, to everlasting perdition.
"Ahoy!" said the waterman, who was getting tired of the business,
addressing a grimy-looking seaman hanging meditatively over the side of
a schooner. "Where's the Mary Ann?"
"Went away at half-past one this morning," was the reply.
"'Cos here's the cap'n an' the mate," said the waterman, indicating the
forlorn couple with a bob of his head.
"My eyes!" said the man, "I s'pose the cook's in charge then. We was to
have gone too, but our old man hasn't turned up."
Quickly the news spread amongst the craft in the tier, and many and
various were the suggestions shouted to the bewildered couple from the
different decks. At last, just as the captain had ordered the waterman
to return to the shore, he was startled by a loud cry from the mate.
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