It was the mate’s affair all through. He began by leaving the end of a
line dangling over the stern, and the propeller, though quite
unaccustomed to that sort of work, wound it up until only a few fathoms
remained. It then stopped, and the mischief was not discovered until
the skipper had called the engineer everything that he and the mate and
three men and a boy could think of. The skipper did the interpreting
through the tube which afforded the sole means of communication between
the wheel and the engine-room, and the indignant engineer did the
listening.
The _Gem_ was just off Limehouse at the time, and it was evident she
was going to stay there. The skipper ran her ashore and made her fast
to a roomy old schooner which was lying alongside a wharf. He was then
able to give a little attention to the real offender, and the
unfortunate mate, who had been the most inventive of them all, realised
to the full the old saying of curses coming home to roost. They brought
some strangers with them, too.
“I’m going ashore,” said the skipper at last. “We won’t get off till
next tide now. When it’s low water you’ll have to get down and cut the
line away. A new line too! I’m ashamed o’ you, Harry.”
“I’m not surprised,” said the engineer, who was a vindictive man.
“What do you mean by that?” demanded the mate fiercely.
“We don’t want any of your bad temper,” interposed the skipper
severely. “_Nor_ bad language. The men can go ashore, and the engineer
too, provided he keeps steam up. But be ready for a start about five.
You’ll have to mind the ship.”
He looked over the stern again, shook his head sadly, and, after a
visit to the cabin, clambered over the schooner’s side and got ashore.
The men, after looking at the propeller and shaking their heads, went
ashore too, and the boy, after looking at the propeller and getting
ready to shake his, caught the mate’s eye and omitted that part of the
ceremony, from a sudden conviction that it was unhealthy.
Left alone, the mate, who was of a sensitive disposition, after a curt
nod to Captain Jansell of the schooner _Aquila_, who had heard of the
disaster, and was disposed to be sympathetically inquisitive, lit his
pipe and began moodily to smoke.
When he next looked up the old man had disappeared, and a girl in a
print dress and a large straw hat sat in a wicker chair reading. She
was such a pretty girl that the mate forgot his troubles at once, and,
after carefully putting his cap on straight, strolled casually up and
down the deck.
To his mortification, the girl seemed unaware of his presence, and read
steadily, occasionally looking up and chirping with a pair of ravishing
lips at a blackbird, which hung in a wicker cage from the mainmast.
“That’s a nice bird,” said the mate, leaning against the side, and
turning a look of great admiration upon it.
“Yes,” said the girl, raising a pair of dark blue eyes to the bold
brown ones, and taking him in at a glance.
“Does it sing?” inquired the mate, with a show of great interest.
“It does sometimes, when we are alone,” was the reply.
“I should have thought the sea air would have affected its throat,”
said the mate, reddening. “Are you often in the London river, miss? I
don’t remember seeing your craft before.”
“Not often,” said the girl.
“You’ve got a fine schooner here,” said the mate, eyeing it critically.
“For my part, I prefer a sailer to a steamer.”
“I should think you would,” said the girl.
“Why?” inquired the mate tenderly, pleased at this show of interest.
“No propeller,” said the girl quietly, and she left her seat and
disappeared below, leaving the mate gasping painfully.
Left to himself, he became melancholy, as he realised that the great
passion of his life had commenced, and would probably end within a few
hours. The engineer came aboard to look at the fires, and, the steamer
being now on the soft mud, good-naturedly went down and assisted him to
free the propeller before going ashore again. Then he was alone once
more, gazing ruefully at the bare deck of the _Aquila_.
It was past two o’clock in the afternoon before any signs of life other
than the blackbird appeared there. Then the girl came on deck again,
accompanied by a stout woman of middle age, and an appearance so
affable that the mate commenced at once.
“Fine day,” he said pleasantly, as he brought up in front of them.
“Lovely weather,” said the mother, settling herself in her chair and
putting down her work ready for a chat. “I hope the wind lasts; we
start to-morrow morning’s tide. You’ll get off this afternoon, I
s’pose.”
“About five o’clock,” said the mate.
“I should like to try a steamer for a change,” said the mother, and
waxed garrulous on sailing craft generally, and her own in particular.
“There’s five of us down there, with my husband and the two boys,” said
she, indicating the cabin with her thumb; “naturally it gets rather
stuffy.”
The mate sighed. He was thinking that under some conditions there were
worse things than stuffy cabins.
“And Nancy’s so discontented,” said the mother, looking at the girl who
was reading quietly by her side. “She doesn’t like ships or sailors.
She gets her head turned reading those penny novelettes.”
“You look after your own head,” said Nancy elegantly, without looking
up.
“Girls in those novels don’t talk to _their_ mothers like that,” said
the elder woman severely.
“They have different sorts of mothers,” said Nancy, serenely turning
over a page. “I hate little pokey ships and sailors smelling of tar. I
never saw a sailor I liked yet.”
The mate’s face fell. “There’s sailors and sailors,” he suggested
humbly.
“It’s no good talking to her,” said the mother, with a look of fat
resignation on her face, “we can only let her go her own way; if you
talked to her twenty-four hours right off it wouldn’t do her any good.”
“I’d like to try,” said the mate, plucking up spirit.
“Would you?” said the girl, for the first time raising her head and
looking him full in the face. “Impudence!”
“Perhaps you haven’t seen many ships,” said the impressionable mate,
his eyes devouring her face. “Would you like to come and have a look at
our cabin?”
“No, thanks!” said the girl sharply. Then she smiled maliciously. “I
daresay mother would, though; she’s fond of poking her nose into other
people’s business.”
The mother regarded her irreverent offspring fixedly for a few moments.
The mate interposed.
“I should be very pleased to show you over, ma’am,” he said politely.
The mother hesitated; then she rose, and accepting the mate’s
assistance, clambered on to the side of the steamer, and, supported by
his arms, sprang to the deck and followed him below.
“Very nice,” she said, nodding approvingly, as the mate did the
honours. “Very nice.”
“It’s nice and roomy for a little craft like ours,” said the mate, as
he drew a stone bottle from a locker and poured out a couple of glasses
of stout. “Try a little beer, ma’am.”
“What you must think o’ that girl o’ mine I can’t think,” murmured the
lady, taking a modest draught.
“The young,” said the mate, who had not quite reached his twenty-fifth
year, “are often like that.”
“It spoils her,” said her mother. “She’s a good-looking girl, too, in
her way.”
“I don’t see how she can help being that,” said the mate.
“Oh, get away with you,” said the lady pleasantly. “She’ll get fat like
me as she gets older.”
“She couldn’t do better,” said the mate tenderly.
“Nonsense,” said the lady, smiling.
“You’re as like as two peas,” persisted the mate. “I made sure you were
sisters when I saw you first.”
“You ain’t the first that’s thought that,” said the other, laughing
softly; “not by a lot.”
“I like to see ladies about,” said the mate, who was trying desperately
for a return invitation. “I wish you could always sit there. You quite
brighten the cabin up.”
“You’re a flatterer,” said his visitor, as he replenished her glass,
and showed so little signs of making a move that the mate, making a
pretext of seeing the engineer, hurried up on deck to singe his wings
once more.
“Still reading?” he said softly, as he came abreast of the girl. “All
about love, I s’pose.”
“Have you left my mother down there all by herself?” inquired the girl
abruptly.
“Just a minute,” said the mate, somewhat crestfallen. “I just came up
to see the engineer.”
“Well, he isn’t here,” was the discouraging reply.
The mate waited a minute or two, the girl still reading quietly, and
then walked back to the cabin. The sound of gentle regular breathing
reached his ears, and, stepping softly, he saw to his joy that his
visitor slept.
“She’s asleep,” said he, going back, “and she looks so comfortable I
don’t think I’ll wake her.”
“I shouldn’t advise you to,” said the girl; “she always wakes up
cross.”
“How strange we should run up against each other like this,” said the
mate sentimentally; “it looks like Providence, doesn’t it?”
“Looks like carelessness,” said the girl.
“I don’t care,” replied the mate. “I’m glad I did let that line go
overboard. Best day’s work I ever did. I shouldn’t have seen you if I
hadn’t.”
“And I don’t suppose you’ll ever see me again,” said the girl
comfortably, “so I don’t see what good you’ve done yourself.”
“I shall run down to Limehouse every time we’re in port, anyway,” said
the mate; “it’ll be odd if I don’t see you sometimes. I daresay our
craft’ll pass each other sometimes. Perhaps in the night,” he added
gloomily.
“I shall sit up all night watching for you,” declared Miss Jansell
untruthfully.
In this cheerful fashion the conversation proceeded, the girl, who was
by no means insensible to his bright eager face and well-knit figure,
dividing her time in the ratio of three parts to her book and one to
him. Time passed all too soon for the mate, when they were interrupted
by a series of hoarse unintelligible roars proceeding from the
schooner’s cabin.
“That’s father,” said Miss Jansell, rising with a celerity which spoke
well for the discipline maintained on the _Aquila;_ “he wants me to
mend his waistcoat for him.”
She put down her book and left, the mate watching her until she
disappeared down the companion-way. Then he sat down and waited.
One by one the crew returned to the steamer, but the schooner’s deck
showed no signs of life. Then the skipper came, and, having peered
critically over his vessel’s side, gave orders to get under way.
“If she’d only come up,” said the miserable mate to himself, “I’d risk
it, and ask whether I might write to her.”
This chance of imperilling a promising career did not occur, however;
the steamer slowly edged away from the schooner, and, picking her way
between a tier of lighters, steamed slowly into clearer water.
“Full speed ahead!” roared the skipper down the tube. The engineer
responded, and the mate gazed in a melancholy fashion at the water as
it rapidly widened between the two vessels. Then his face brightened up
suddenly as the girl ran up on deck and waved her hand. Hardly able to
believe his eyes, he waved his back. The girl gesticulated violently,
now pointing to the steamer, and then to the schooner.
“By Jove, that girl’s taken a fancy to you,” said the skipper. “She
wants you to go back.”
The mate sighed. “Seems like it,” he said modestly.
To his astonishment the girl was now joined by her men folk, who also
waved hearty farewells, and, throwing their arms about, shouted
incoherently.
“Blamed if they haven’t all took a fancy to you,” said the puzzled
skipper; “the old man’s got the speaking-trumpet now. What does he
say?”
“Something about life, I think,” said the mate.
“They’re more like jumping-jacks than anything else,” said the skipper.
“Just look at ’em.”
The mate looked, and, as the distance increased, sprang on to the side,
and, his eyes dim with emotion, waved tender farewells. If it had not
been for the presence of the skipper—a tremendous stickler for
decorum—he would have kissed his hand.
It was not until Gravesend was passed, and the side-lights of the
shipping were trying to show in the gathering dusk, that he awoke from
his tender apathy. It is probable that it would have lasted longer than
that but for a sudden wail of anguish and terror which proceeded from
the cabin and rang out on the still warm air.
“Sakes alive!” said the skipper, starting; “what’s that?”
Before the mate could reply, the companion was pushed back, and a
middle-aged woman, labouring under strong excitement, appeared on deck.
“You villain!” she screamed excitably, rushing up to the mate. “Take me
back; take me back!”
“What’s all this, Harry?” demanded the skipper sternly.
“He—he—he—asked me to go into the cab—cabin,” sobbed Mrs. Jansell, “and
sent me to sleep, and too—too—took me away. My husband’ll kill me; I
know he will. Take me back.”
“What do you want to be took back to be killed for?” interposed one of
the men judicially.
“I might ha’ known what he meant when he said I brightened the cabin
up,” said Mrs. Jansell; “and when he said he thought me and my daughter
were sisters. He said he’d like me to sit there always, the wretch!”
“Did you say that?” inquired the skipper fiercely.
“Well, I did,” said the miserable mate; “but I didn’t mean her to take
it that way. She went to sleep, and I forgot all about her.”
“What did you say such silly lies for, then?” demanded the skipper.
The mate hung his head.
“Old enough to be your mother too,” said the skipper severely. “Here’s
a nice thing to happen aboard my ship, and afore the boy too!”
“Blast the boy!” said the goaded mate.
“Take me back,” wailed Mrs. Jansell; “you don’t know how jealous my
husband is.”
“He won’t hurt you,” said the skipper kindly “he won’t be jealous of a
woman your time o’ life; that is, not if he’s got any sense. You’ll
have to go as far as Boston with us now. I’ve lost too much time
already to go back.”
“You must take me back,” said Mrs. Jansell passionately.
“I’m not going back for anybody,” said the skipper. “But you can make
your mind quite easy: you’re as safe aboard my ship as what you would
be alone on a raft in the middle of the Atlantic; and as for the mate,
he was only chaffing you. Wasn’t you, Harry?”
The mate made some reply, but neither Mrs. Jansell, the skipper, nor
the men, who were all listening eagerly, caught it, and his unfortunate
victim, accepting the inevitable, walked to the side of the ship and
gazed disconsolately astern.
It was not until the following morning that the mate, who had received
orders to mess for’ard, saw her, and ignoring the fact that everybody
suspended work to listen, walked up and bade her good morning.
“Harry,” said the skipper warningly.
“All right,” said the mate shortly. “I want to speak to you very
particularly,” he said nervously, and led his listener aft, followed by
three of the crew who came to clean the brasswork, and who listened
mutinously when they were ordered to defer unwonted industry to a more
fitting time. The deck clear, the mate began, and in a long rambling
statement, which Mrs. Jansell at first thought the ravings of lunacy,
acquainted her with the real state of his feelings.
“I never did!” said she, when he had finished. “Never! Why, you hadn’t
seen her before yesterday.”
“Of course I shall take you back by train,” said the mate, “and tell
your husband how sorry I am.”
“I might have suspected something when you said all those nice things
to me,” said the mollified lady. “Well, you must take your chance, like
all the rest of them. She can only say ‘No,’ again. It’ll explain this
affair better, that’s one thing; but I expect they’ll laugh at you.”
“I don’t care,” said the mate stoutly. “You’re on my side, ain’t you?”
Mrs. Jansell laughed, and the mate, having succeeded beyond his hopes
in the establishment of amicable relations, went about his duties with
a light heart.
By the time they reached Boston the morning was far advanced, and after
the _Gem_ was comfortably berthed he obtained permission of the skipper
to accompany the fair passenger to London, beguiling the long railway
journey by every means in his power. Despite his efforts, however, the
journey began to pall upon his companion, and it was not until evening
was well advanced that they found themselves in the narrow streets of
Limehouse.
“We’ll see how the land lies first,” said he, as they approached the
wharf and made their way cautiously on to the quay.
The _Aquila_ was still alongside, and the mate’s heart thumped
violently as he saw the cause of all the trouble sitting alone on the
deck. She rose with a little start as her mother stepped carefully
aboard, and, running to her, kissed her affectionately, and sat her
down on the hatches.
“Poor mother,” she said caressingly. “What did you bring that lunatic
back with you for?”
“He would come,” said Mrs. Jansell. “Hush! here comes your father.”
The master of the _Aquila_ came on deck as she spoke, and walking
slowly up to the group, stood sternly regarding them. Under his gaze
the mate breathlessly reeled off his tale, noticing with somewhat mixed
feelings the widening grin of his listener as he proceeded.
“Well, you’re a lively sort o’ man,” said the skipper as he finished.
“In one day you tie up your own ship, run off with my wife, and lose us
a tide. Are you always like that?”
“I want somebody to look after me, I s’pose,” said the mate, with a
side glance at Nancy.
“Well, we’d put you up for the night,” said the skipper, with his arm
round his wife’s shoulders; “but you’re such a chap. I’m afraid you’d
burn the ship down, or something. What do you think, old girl?”
“I think we’ll try him this once,” said his wife. “And now I’ll go down
and see about supper; I want it.”
The old couple went below, and the young one remained on deck. Nancy
went and leaned against the side; and as she appeared to have quite
forgotten his presence, the mate, after some hesitation, joined her.
“Hadn’t you better go down and get some supper?” she asked.
“I’d sooner stay here, if you don’t mind,” said the mate. “I like
watching the lights going up and down; I could stay here for hours.”
“I’ll leave you, then,” said the girl; “I’m hungry.”
She tripped lightly off with a smothered laugh, leaving the
fairly-trapped man gazing indignantly at the lights which had lured him
to destruction.
From below he heard the cheerful clatter of crockery, accompanied by a
savoury incense, and talk and laughter. He imagined the girl making fun
of his sentimental reasons for staying on deck; but, too proud to meet
her ironical glances, stayed doggedly where he was, resolving to be off
by the first train in the morning. He was roused from his gloom by a
slight touch on his arm, and, turning sharply, saw the girl by his
side.
“Supper’s quite ready,” said she soberly. “And if you want to admire
the lights very much, come up and see them when I do—after supper.”