THE CAPTAIN'S PRENTICE.
For the first ten days the _Anne_ made a capital run, and the Captain
predicted that if nothing went wrong with her, the port of Quebec would
be made in a month, or five weeks at the farthest.
James Hawke had recovered his health and spirits, and before many days
had elapsed, had made friends with every one in the ship, but the little
brown man, who repelled all the lad's advances with the most dogged
ill-humour. James had accomplished the feat of climbing to the top of
the mast, greatly to his own satisfaction, and had won golden opinions
from the Captain and all the sailors on board. He had examined every
hole and corner in the ship; knew the names of most of the ropes and
sails, and could lend a hand in adjusting them, with as much promptness
and dexterity as if he had served an apprenticeship to the sea for
years.
"That lad was born for a sailor!" was the Captain's constant cry. "I
have no son of my own. If his parents would give him to me, I would make
him a first-rate navigator."
James was flattered by the Captain's remarks; but he saw too much of
his tyrannical conduct to a prentice lad on board, to wish to fill such
a disagreeable post.
Benjie Monro was a tall, thin, sickly-looking lad of sixteen, the son of
a poor widow in Newhaven, who had seen better days. The boy was proud
and obstinate, and resisted the ill-treatment of his superior and his
subordinates, with a determination of purpose that did him no good, but
only increased his own misery.
The sailors, who knew that he was no favourite with the Captain,
half-starved him, and played him a thousand ill-natured tricks. He was
ill and unhappy, and tasked beyond his strength; and Mr. Collins, kind
as he generally was to others, was cruel and overbearing to the wretched
boy. Flora often saw the tears in Benjie's eyes, and she pitied him from
her heart.
One morning Benjie had received orders to do something in his particular
calling from the mate; but his commands were expressed in such a
tyrannical manner, that he flatly refused to comply. Flinging himself
down on the deck, he declared, "He would die first."
"We shall soon see who's master here," cried Mr. Collins, administering
sundry savage kicks to the person of the half-clad boy, who lay as
motionless before him as if he were really dead.
After diverting himself for some time in this way, and finding that it
produced no more effect in making the lad stir than if he had been
wasting his strength on a log, he called up the Captain.
"Dead is he?" said old Boreas. "Well, we'll soon bring him to life. Call
Motion to fetch a light."
The light was brought, and applied to the toes and finger-ends of the
boy, until they were severely scorched. His obstinate spirit, however,
bore the torturing punishment without moving a muscle, or uttering the
faintest moan.[A]
[A] This was the fact.
"By George! I believe he is gone at last, and a good riddance of a bad
bargain," said the Captain. "If he had a spark of life left in him he
could not stand that."
Lyndsay, who had been writing in the cabin, now came upon deck, and
enquiring of the second mate what was going on, ran forward, and warmly
interceded for the boy, telling the captain and mate in no measured
terms what he thought of their conduct.
"You would not say a word in his behalf, Mr. Lyndsay," said Collins, "if
you knew what a sulky rascal he was. Insensible as he appears, he is as
wide awake at that this moment as you are."
"He is a miserable, heart-broken creature," said Lyndsay; "and if he had
not been treated very badly, he would never attempt to act such a part."
"He's a sullen, ill-conditioned brute," said Boreas, "that's what he
is."
"I know enough of human nature, Captain Williams, to feel certain that
the treatment to which he has just been subjected, will never produce
any beneficial change in his character."
"Who cares a curse about him!" cried Boreas, waxing wrath. "He may go to
the devil for me! If he's dead, it's time the fishes had his ugly
carcase. Wright (this was his second mate), tell the carpenter to get
Monro's hammock, and sew him up, and throw him overboard."
A slight motion heaved the shirt about the breast of the unfortunate
lad.
"You see he is coming to himself," said Lyndsay. "My lad, how do you
feel now?"
The boy did not speak. The muscles of his mouth twitched convulsively,
and large tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Captain," said Lyndsay, "do you see no wrong in treating a
fellow-creature, and one, by your own account, born and brought up as
well as yourself, like a slave?"
"He's such a disobedient rascal, that he deserves nothing better."
"Did you ever try _kindness_?"
The lad opened his large, sunken, heavy eyes, and looked at his
protector with such a sad woe-begone expression, that it had the effect
of touching the heart of Mr. Collins.
"I'm afraid," said he, in an aside to Lyndsay, "that we have not acted
quite right in this matter. But he provokes one to anger by his
sullenness. When I was a prentice on board the _Ariadne_, I was not
treated a bit better; but I never behaved in that way."
"And did not the recollection of your own sufferings, Mr. Collins, plead
somewhat in behalf of this orphan boy? His temper, naturally proud, has
been soured by adverse circumstances, and driven to despair by blows and
abusive language. I think I may pledge myself, that if he is used
better, he will do his duty without giving you any further trouble."
"Get up, Benjie," said the Captain, "and go to your work. I will look
over your conduct on Mr. Lyndsay's account. But never let me see you act
in this mutinous manner again."
The boy rose from the deck, stammered out his thanks, and begging Mr.
Collins to forgive his foolish conduct, limped off.
The next day the lad was reported to the Captain as seriously ill, and
Mr. Collins, as he detailed his symptoms, said, "That he was sorry that
he had used such violence towards him the preceding day, as the poor
fellow had expressed himself very grateful for the non-execution of the
Captain's threat of throwing him overboard."
"Oh," said Boreas, "that was only to frighten the chap. I am not such a
Turk as all that, though Mrs. Lyndsay has looked very seriously at me
ever since. Well, Collins, what had we better give the fellow?" And he
started from the sea-chest on which he was sitting astride, and
produced the medicine-chest.
Flora had forgotten all about the little red-haired doctor, Mac Adie,
and the _rist o' persons_, till the sight of the condemned article met
her eyes.
It was a large handsome mahogany case, inlaid with brass. The Captain
opened it with a sort of mysterious awe, and displayed a goodly store of
glass bottles and china boxes.
"The lad's in a high fever," said Collins. "You had better give him
something that will cool his blood,--Epsom salts or cream of tartar."
"Perhaps a little of both?" said Boreas, looking up at his prime
minister with an enquiring comical twinkle in his one eye.
"A single dose of either would do."
"Let it be salts then. Get me some hot water, and I'll mix it directly."
The bottle of salts was produced, and the Captain proceeded to weigh out
a quarter of a pound of salts.
"Into how many doses do you propose to divide that quantity?" asked
Flora, who was watching his proceedings with considerable interest.
"Divide?" said Boreas, emptying the salts into a small tea-cup, which he
filled with boiling water; "he must take it at one gulp."
"Captain," said Flora, rising, and laying her hand on his arm, as he was
leaving the cabin, "you will kill the boy!"
"Do you think that such a drop as that would hurt an infant?" said
Boreas, holding out the cup. "Why, bless the woman! sailors are not like
other folks; they require strong doses."
"Captain, I entreat you not to be so rash. Divide the quantity into four
parts; add as much more water to each, and give it every four hours, and
it will do good. But if you persist in administering it your way, it may
be attended with very serious consequences."
"Fiddle-de-dee! Mrs. Lyndsay, I'm not going to make a toil of a
pleasure. He has to take it, and once will do for all." And, in spite of
her remonstrances, the obstinate old fellow went out to administer the
terrible dose with his own hands to the patient. It operated as
untowardly as Flora had predicted, and the lad came so near his death
that the Captain grew alarmed. Perhaps his conscience tormented him not
a little, for his previously harsh conduct had been the original cause
of the lad's illness. So he gave up all faith in his own medical skill,
and resigned the chest, and all its pernicious contents, into Flora's
safe keeping.
The lad did ultimately recover from the effects of the Captain's
doctoring, but he was unable to do much during the rest of the voyage,
and crawled about the deck like a living skeleton.
If the Captain took little notice of him, he never treated him, or
suffered others to treat him, with the brutality which had marked his
former conduct towards him.