Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Mother Carey's Chicken, by George Manville Fenn.
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Yet once more George Manville Fenn's talent for writing books so packed
with tensions, so full of dreadful situations, is presented to us.
Mark is the son of a sea-captain, who has always longed to follow his
father to sea. The old captain tells him that life at sea is pretty
boring, but eventually agrees to take both Mark and his mother on his
next voyage. Of course this turns out to be full of perils and
adventures.
Set in the Java Seas, we meet with pirates, sharks, serpents,
volcanoes, unfriendly natives, adverse weather, geysers, fire at sea,
and many other dire situations.
A very good read. NN
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MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKEN, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
HOW MARK STRONG WANTED TO GO.
"Go with me, Mark? What for? To live hard, work hard, and run the risk
every day of having to die hard. Get out! You're as bad as your
mother."
"Not very bad, is it, James, to wish to share my husband's life and
cares?"
Captain Strong put down his pipe, got up from his easy-chair, crossed to
the other side of the fire, and laid his hand upon Mrs Strong's
shoulder, while she turned her pleasant sweet womanly face upward and
smiled in that of the fine, manly, handsome merchant captain, tanned and
reddened by many a fight with the sea.
"No, my dear," he said softly; "but it's a man's duty to face danger, a
woman's to keep the nest snug for him and the bairns. Why, Mary, you
don't know what the perils of the sea are."
Mrs Strong shook her head slowly, and that shake, as interpreted by her
eyes, meant a great deal.
"Ah! you may look," the captain said, "but you do not; and as for this
cub--come here, you great, strong, impudent young ruffian!" he added;
and as his son rose from his chair he took him by the shoulders, gave
him a hearty shake, followed it up with a back-handed blow in the chest,
and ended by gripping his right hand in a firm, manly clasp, his voice
turning slightly husky as he continued:
"Mark, my lad, Heaven knows how often, when I'm far away at sea, I feel
as if I'd give anything for a sight of your mother's face, ay, and a
good look at yours, you ugly young imitation! How dare you try and grow
up like me!"
Mrs Strong smiled.
"But it won't do, my lad. I'm earning the pennies in my ship, and you
must go on with your studies, take care of your mother, and when I come
back after my next voyage we'll have a talk about what you're to be.
Let's see; how old are you?"
"Sixteen, father."
"Sixteen, and discontented! Why, Mark, do you know that you possess
what hundreds of thousands of men most envy?"
"I do, father?"
"To be sure, sir; health, strength, all your faculties, and all the
world before you."
"But I never see any of the world like you do," said Mark dolefully.
"Ha--ha--ha--ha!"
It was a broad, honest, hearty laugh, such as a sturdy Englishman who is
in the habit of using his lungs indulges in; and as Mark Strong's brow
wrinkled, and he felt irritated at being laughed at, his father thrust
him back into his chair.
"I'm not laughing at you, my boy," he said; "but at your notion--the
common one, that a sailor who goes all round the world is always seeing
wonderful sights."
"Well, my dear," said Mrs Strong, taking her son's part, "you know you
have seen strange things."
As she spoke her eyes ran over the decorations of their
handsomely-furnished room in the old-fashioned house in old-fashioned
Hackney, where there were traces of the captain's wanderings in the
shape of stuffed birds of gorgeous plumage, shells of iridescent tints,
masses of well-bleached corals, spears and carven clubs from New
Zealand, feather ornaments from Polynesia, boomerangs and nulla-nullas
from Australia, ostrich eggs from the Cape, ivory carvings from China, a
hideous suit of black iron armour from Japan, and carpets and rugs from
India and Persia to make snug the floor.
"Strange things, wife! Well, of course I have a few. A man can't be at
sea thirty years without seeing something; but, generally speaking, a
sailor's life is one of terrible monotony. He is a seaman, and he sees
the sea day after day--day after day; rough seas and smooth seas, stormy
seas and sunny seas; and enough to do to keep his ship afloat and away
from rocks and lee shores. Here, what are you opening your eyes and
mouth for in that way, Mark? Do you expect I'm going to tell you about
the sea-serpent?"
"No, father," said the lad laughing. "It was because what you said was
so interesting."
"Interesting! Nonsense! A sailor's is a wearisome life, full of
dangers."
"But you see strange countries, father, and all their wonders."
"No, I do not, boy," said the captain half angrily, "A sailor sees
nothing but his ship, and she's all anxiety to him from the time he goes
aboard till he comes back. We see strange ports, and precious little in
them. Why, Mark, if you were in some places on the other side of the
world, you'd find everything so English that you would hardly believe
you had left home. No, no, my lad. You be content to get on well with
your studies, and some day we'll make a doctor or a lawyer of you.
Soldier, if you like, but not a sailor."
"It's my turn to speak now," said Mrs Strong, smiling lovingly at her
frank, manly-looking son. "No soldiering."
"I don't want to be a soldier, mother," said Mark gloomily. "I want to
travel; and as I have kept to my books as father wished during his last
two voyages, and won my certificates, he might give me the prize I
worked for."
"Why, you ungrateful young dog," cried the captain, "haven't I given you
a first-class watch?"
"Yes, father; but that isn't the prize I want. I say: do take me with
you."
"Take you with me!" cried the captain with an impatient snort such as a
sea-horse might give. "Here, mother, what have you been doing with this
boy?"
"Doing everything I could to set him against the sea, my dear," said
Mrs Strong sadly.
"And a nice mess you have made of it," growled the captain. "Pass my
tobacco. Well, Mark, my lad; I want my spell ashore to be happy and
restful, and when there's a rock ahead I must steer clear of it at once;
so here goes, my lad, I may as well say it and have done with it. I
know so much of the sea that I shall never consent to your being a
sailor. Your mother is with me there. Eh, my dear?"
"Yes, James, thoroughly," said Mrs Strong.
"Now, my lad, you've got to make the best of it."
"But if you would take me for one voyage only, father, I wouldn't ask
you to take me again."
"Won't trust you," said the captain. "Hallo, Bruff!" he continued,
patting the rough head of a great retriever dog which had just come
slouching into the room, carrying the said rough head hanging down as if
it were too heavy for its body, an idea endorsed by its act of laying it
upon the captain's knee. "Is it you who teaches your young master to be
so obstinate?"
The dog uttered a low growl as if of protest.
"Perhaps you'd like me to take you for a voyage, old chap," continued
the captain, pausing in his smoking to wipe the corners of the dog's
eyes with its ears. "You'd look well sea-sick in a corner of the deck,
or swung in a hammock."
Bruff showed the whites of his expressive eyes and uttered a dismal
howl.
"Don't be afraid, old fellow," said the captain. "I sha'n't take you,
nor your master neither, so you may both make the best of it."
"Don't say that, father," said Mark earnestly. "Take me this once. I
do so want to see China!"
"Here, mother," said the captain laughing; "take Mark up stairs and show
him your best tea-service, the one I brought home last year. Like to
see Japan, too, my lad?"
Mark frowned and bent his head over his book, while Mrs Strong shook
her head at her husband.
The captain rose once more, and laid his hand upon his son's shoulder.
"Come, come, my lad, don't fret over it," he said; "you have done well,
and I should like to give you a treat, but I can't take you to Hong-Kong
for many reasons. Your mother would not like it, I shouldn't like it,
and it would do you no good."
"But, father--" began Mark.
"Hear me out, my lad," said the captain gravely. "I say I want to give
you a treat, so I tell you what I will do. You and your mother shall
come aboard as we're warping out of the dock, or at Gravesend if you
like, and I'll take you down Channel with me. I've got to put in at
Plymouth, and I'll drop you there, or at Penzance, whichever you like,
and then you can come back to London by rail. Hallo, who's that?"
There was a ring at the old iron gate, and Mark rose and walked to the
window.
"A sailor, father."
"Sailor!" said the captain, rising. "Oh, it's Billy Widgeon! Tell the
girl to show him in."
Mark went out to speak to the servant, and the next minute the big front
door-mat was having a hard time as the sailor stood rubbing away at his
perfectly clean boots, and breathing hard with the exertion, staring
furtively at Mark Strong the while.
CHAPTER TWO.
HOW BILLY WIDGEON BROUGHT A LETTER.
The man who was working so hard at the mat was a sailor of apparently
about five-and-thirty, carefully dressed in his shore-going suit of navy
blue, and carrying a very tightly-done-up dandified umbrella, which
looked as out of place in his hands as a parasol would daintily poised
by a grenadier guard.
He was a strong squarely-built fellow, with crisp black hair and close
beard, and if he had gone under a standard the height he would have
reached would probably have been five feet, the result of this being
that he had to look up at Mark Strong, who was about five feet six, and
at the maid, who was only a couple of inches less.
"Want to see my father?" said Mark, as the man continued to stare and
wipe his shoes.
"Ware sharks! Heave off, you ugly lubber! I say: will he bite?"
This was consequent upon a pattering of toe-nails upon the oil-cloth and
the appearance of Bruff, the dog, who began to walk round the visitor
and smell him.
"No, he won't bite friends," said Mark.
"Tip us your fin, then, messm't," said the sailor, holding out his hand.
"Give him your paw, Bruff," cried Mark; but the dog paid no heed, only
continued to smell the visitor.
"Wheer's the skipper?" said the sailor then, hoarsely. "You his boy?"
"Yes," said Mark, gazing enviously at a man who was probably one of
those about to sail with Captain Strong on his voyage to Singapore and
China. "I say, don't wear out the door-mat."
"Eh? No, m'lad, I won't wear out the mat. You see we don't have no
mats afloat. I say! my!"
The man bent down, as if seized with a cramping internal pain, and gave
his right leg a slap with his horny paw, whose back was as hairy as that
of a monkey.
"What's the matter?" said Mark.
"Matter! I was only larfin. My! you are like the skipper! Wheer is
he?"
"This way," said Mark, leading him to the comfortable room, where, as
soon as he entered and saw Mrs Strong, the man began ducking his head
and kicking out one leg.
Mrs Strong nodded and smiled at the man, feeling a kindly leaning
toward one of those who would be under her husband's orders for the next
six months, and perhaps his guardians in some storm.
"I'll leave you now, dear," she said.
"Oh, you need not go!" said the captain; but Mrs Strong left the room.
"Shall I go, father?" asked Mark.
"No, my boy, no. Sit down. Well, Billy, what news?"
"None at all, sir, only we shall soon be full up; they've bent on a new
mains'l and fores'l; we've been a-painting of her streak to-day, and she
do look lovely, and no mistake. But here's a letter I was to give you,
sir."
The man evidently had a letter somewhere, from the confident way in
which he began to search for it, looking in his cap, then feeling about
in his loose blue jumper, and ending with his trousers' pockets.
"Well," said Captain Strong sharply, "where's the letter?"
"Ah! wheer is it?" muttered the man, stroking himself down the sleeves,
the chest, and the back. "I had that theer letter somewheres, but it
seems to be gone."
"Did you leave it aboard?"
"No, sir, I didn't leave it aboard; I'm sure of that. It's somewheres
about me."
"Hang it, man! have you felt in all your pockets?"
"Ain't got but two, sir, and I feeled in both o' them. Think o' that,
now, arter Mr Gregory saying as I was to be werry careful o' that
letter!"
"So careful that you've lost it," cried Captain Strong. "Bill Widgeon,
you're about the biggest blockhead in the crew."
"Well, I dunno about that, sir; I may be a blockhead, but I arn't lost
the letter."
"Where is it, then?" cried the captain angrily.
"That's just what I want to know, sir."
"Bah! it's lost."
"No, sir, it arn't lost; I were too careful for that, and--theer, I
telled you so. I remember now. Mr Gregory says, says he, `you, Billy
Widgeon,' he says, `you've got to take great care of that letter,' he
says; and `all right, sir,' I says, `I just will,' and I put it wheer I
thought it would be safest, and here it is."
As he spoke, grinning broadly the while, he slipped off one of his
shoes, stooped and picked it up, and drew out the letter all warm and
crinkled up with the pressure.
"It's all right, sir," he said, smoothing and patting the letter, and
handing it to his captain, before balancing himself on one leg to
replace his shoe.
"Why didn't you carry it in your pocket, man?" said the captain angrily,
and he tore open the letter and began to read.
"I say, youngster," whispered the sailor, whom the dog was still slowly
going round and smelling suspiciously, "will that there chap bite?"
"Bite! No," replied Mark. "Here, lie down, Bruff!"
The dog obeyed, laying his head upon his forepaws and blinking at the
visitor, whom he watched intently as if he were in doubt about his
character.
"Looks a nipper, he do, squire," said the sailor. "He could take hold
pretty tight, eh?"
"Take hold and keep hold," said Mark, who could not help a feeling of
envy creeping into his breast--envy of the easy-looking, active little
man who was to be his father's companion over the seas to wonderland.
"He looks as if he would," said the sailor after a few moments' pause.
"I say, youngster, I'd rayther be ins with him than outs."
"What! rather be friends than enemies?"
"That's it, youngster. I say, what are you going to be--first-mate, and
skipper arter?"
"No," said Mark, speaking in the same low tone as his questioner; "I'm
not going to be a sailor."
"Lor!"
"It is not decided what I'm to be yet."
"Arn't it now? Why, if you'd come to sea along o' us what a lot I could
ha' taught you surety. Why, I could ha' most made a man of you."
"Here, Widgeon," said the captain sharply, "take that back to Mr
Gregory, and tell him I shall be aboard to-morrow."
"Right, sir," said the sailor, giving his head a duck and his right leg
another kick out--courtesies called forth by the well-furnished room and
the soft carpet, for on the bare deck of the ship he put off his manners
with his shore-going clothes. "Day, sir. Day, youngster. Day,
shipmet."
This last was intended for the dog; but, a few moments before, Bruff had
slowly risen, crossed the room, and drawn the door open by inserting one
paw in the crack, and then passed through.
"Why, he arn't there!" said Billy Widgeon after a glance round. "My
sarvice to him all the same," he added, and went out.
The door had hardly closed when there was the sound of a rush, a roar,
the fall of a chair, a crash of china, and a stentorian "Ahoy!"
"I shall have to kill that dog," cried the captain, as he and Mark
rushed into the hall, where Bruff was barking and growling savagely.
"Down, Bruff!" shouted Mark, seizing the dog by the collar and enforcing
his order by pressing his head down upon the oil-cloth, and setting one
knee upon his side. "Why, where's--"
Mark did not finish, but burst into a roar of laughter, in which his
father joined, as they both gazed up at the little sailor.
Explanation of the state of affairs was not needed, for matters spoke
for themselves.
It was evident that Bruff had, for some reason, made a rush at Billy
Widgeon, who had leaped upon a hall chair, from thence upon the table,
upsetting the chair in his spring. From the table he had leaped to the
top of a great cabinet, knocking down a handsome Indian jar, which was
shattered to fragments on the oil-cloth; and from the cabinet springing
to the balusters of the first-floor landing of the staircase.
There he hung, swinging by first one hand, then by the other, so as to
get a good look down at his assailant, who was barking at him furiously
as Mark rushed out; but Bruff had not the brains to see that if he
rushed up stairs he could renew his attack.
"Got him safe?" said Billy Widgeon, as he swung by one hand as easily as
would a monkey, and unconsciously imitating one of these active little
creatures in the pose of his head.
"Yes; he sha'n't hurt you now," cried Mark.
"'Cause dogs' bites don't come in one's pay, eh, cap'n?"
"The dog's all right now, Widgeon," said the captain. "Here, Mark, shut
him in the parlour."
"All right, father! but he won't stir now."
"Come down, my lad," said the captain. "You can climb over the
balustrade."
"Bee-low!" cried the sailor in a gruff, sing-song tone, and loosening
his hold he dropped lightly on to the oil-cloth within a couple of yards
of the dog.
Bruff's head was pressed close down to the floor, but he showed his
teeth and uttered a growl like a lilliputian peal of thunder.
"Quiet!" cried Mark, as Billy Widgeon struck an attitude with his fists
doubled, ready for attack or defence.
"Lor', if you was aboard our ship, wouldn't I heave you overboard fust
chance!" cried the sailor.
"What did you do to the dog?" said the captain angrily.
"I never did nothing at all, sir. I only wanted my umbrella as I stood
up in the corner. Soon as I went to take it he come at me, and if I
hadn't done Jacko and nipped up there he'd have had a piece out of my
leg."
As he spoke he went to take the umbrella from the corner, when, looking
upon the movement as an attempt to carry out a robbery, Bruff uttered
another savage growl aid struggled to get free.
"All, would yer!" cried Billy Widgeon, snatching up his umbrella and
holding it by the toe in cudgel-fashion. "Now, then, youngster, lot him
go. Come on, you ugly big-headed lubber. I'm ready for you now."
As he spoke Billy Widgeon did Jacko, as he termed it, again, hopping
about, flourishing his weapon, and giving it a bang down upon the floor
after the fashion of a wild Irishman with his shillelagh.
It was a risky proceeding, for it infuriated the dog, who began to
struggle fiercely, while Mark laughed so heartily that he could hardly
retain his hold.
"That will do, Widgeon," said the captain, wiping his eyes. "Here,
Mark, make that dog friends with him."
"Here, give me the umbrella," said the lad.
"Nay, if I do you'll let him go at me," said the sailor doubtingly.
"Nonsense, man! Give him the umbrella," cried the captain.
The sailor obeyed; and as Mark took it he held it down before the dog,
and then returned it to its owner.
Bruff did not say "All right!" but he gave three pats on the oil-cloth
with his long bushy tail, a sign that he accepted the position, and then
he was allowed to get up.
"Who's afeard!" cried Billy Widgeon, looking from one to the other. "I
say, I was too many for him, sir."
"Yes," said the captain; "and what about my Indian jar?"
"Ah! that was the dog's fault, cap'n," said the man earnestly.
"Dog's fault!" said Captain Strong. "You knocked it down and broke it,
and I shall stop the cost out of your pay."
Billy Widgeon stood for a moment looking solemn. Then, as if he had
suddenly been engaged as a dentist's specimen, he bared all his fine
white teeth in the broadest of broad grins.
"Nay, skipper," he said, "you wouldn't do that. Me and my shipmets
wouldn't want to make another v'yge with you if you was that sort o'
capt'n. I'll buy you another one when we gets to Chany. Here's off!"
He nodded to all in turn, went out of the door, rattled his umbrella on
the iron railings in front, making Bruff utter a low discontented growl,
and then, as the door was closed, the growl became a deeply-drawn breath
like a sigh, while putting his nose to the crack at the bottom, he stood
with his ears twitching, giving forth a faint whine now and then,
apparently not quite satisfied as to whether he had done his duty, and
uneasy in his mind about that umbrella. "You will have to be careful
with that dog, Mark," said the captain. "He must be tamed down, or we
shall have worse mischief than a broken jar."
"He thought the man was stealing the umbrella," pleaded Mark on behalf
of his favourite.
"Then he must be taught to think sensibly, my lad. Billy Widgeon's one
of my best fore-mast men, and I can't afford to have my sailors used to
feed your dog."
"You're joking, father."
"Ah! but that would be no joke," said the captain. "I should not
approve of his devouring the lowest and most worthless class of tramp,
or a savage; but when it comes to sailors--"
"What nonsense, father!" cried Mark.
"Why, Mark, my boy, what a good idea! I think I'll borrow that dog and
take him to sea."
"Take him to sea, father?"
"Yes: he would be a treasure at clearing the deck of unwelcome
visitors--Chinamen or Malays."
"What, pirates?"
"Well, men who would be pirates if they dared: the low-class scoundrels
who haunt some of the ports."
"All right, father! you shall have him," said Mark.
"Then I will, my boy," said the captain, looking at his son curiously,
for he could not understand his willingness to part with his ugly
favourite. "He shall be well treated so long as he behaves himself."
"But you can't take the dog without his master," said Mark, smiling.
"Oh, that's it! is it?" said the captain. "I thought there was
something behind. Well, that was news for you," he continued.
"News?"
"Yes, that Billy Widgeon brought. I was afraid that we should be
crowded in the cabin and I was beginning to regret my promise to take
you; but Mr Gregory writes me word that a gentleman and his wife and
daughter who were coming with us as far as Singapore have backed out, to
go by one of the fast mail-boats, so we shall have plenty of room."
"That's capital!" cried Mark. "Mr Gregory is the second-mate, isn't
he?"
"First-mate now, my boy. He was second-mate, but my first-mate is now
in command of another vessel, and I was afraid he would take all my old
crew."
"But he does not, father, because that sailor said--"
"Yes; the crew stay with me to a man."
CHAPTER THREE.
HOW FIRST-MATE GREGORY DID NOT LIKE DOGS.
"Hullo! whose dog's that?"
It was a hoarse gruff voice, which made Mark Strong turn sharply round
just as he had crossed the gangway and stepped from the quay at the East
India Dock on board the _Black Petrel_, or Mother Carey's Chicken, as
the sailors often called her, a large ship conspicuous among the forest
of masts rising from the basin.
The speaker was a tall angular-looking man with a pimply face and a red
nose, at the top of which he seemed to be frowning angrily as if annoyed
with the colour which he could not help. He had turned sharply round
from where he was giving orders to some sailors who were busily lowering
great bales and packages into the hold; and as Mark faced the tall thin
man, whose hands were tucked deep down in the pockets of his pea-jacket,
the lad thought he had never seen a more sour-looking personage in his
life.
"Hullo, I say!" he cried again, "whose dog's that?"
"Mine, sir."
"Then just take him ashore. I don't allow dogs on my deck. Here, I
say, you sir," he roared, turning to where the men were making fast the
hooks of a kind of derrick to a great package, protected by an open-work
lattice of deal, "hadn't you better take that crate of pottery first,
and put at the bottom, and then stow that portable steam-engine on the
top."
The man addressed--a red-faced, good-humoured-looking sailor, whose bare
arms formed a sort of picture-gallery of subjects tattooed in blue--
rubbed his ear and stared.
"Why, the ironwork's heavy and might break the pottery," he said at
last.
"Well, won't it break that light carriage, you double-distilled,
round-headed wise man of the west, you! Put the heavy goods at the
bottom and the light at the top."
"Ay, ay, sir!" shouted the man. "Bear a hand, lads. Now, then."
He unhooked the tackle and attached another great package, while the
tall man turned again upon Mark.
"Did you hear what I said about that dog?"
"Yes, I heard," said Mark; "but he's coming part of the way."
"That he is not, my lad, so off you go!"
"Hullo, youngster!" said a cheery voice; and Mark turned sharply, to
find the little squatty sailor before him, in tarry trousers and flannel
shirt, bare-headed and heated with work.
"Hullo, Widgeon!" cried Mark.
"Hullo, shipmet!" cried the little sailor. "Now, then, just you mind,
or--"
He did not finish, but made a peculiar gesture as if he were about to
pitch the dog over the side.
"Here, show this young gentleman the way ashore," said the tall man.
"Take the dog first."
"No, thankye," said the sailor grinning, "me and him's friends now,
aren't we, shipmet? We won't begin by falling out again."
He stooped down and patted Bruff, who blinked up at him, and gave his
bushy tail two wags, after which he walked slowly to the tall officer
and began to smell his legs.
"Stop: don't do that!" cried Mark, as he saw the officer draw back as if
to deliver a kick.
"Nay, don't you kick him, Mr Gregory, sir," said Widgeon. "If you do,
he'll take hold; and I know this here sort, you can't get them off again
without a knife."
"Are you Mr Gregory?" said Mark.
"Yes, sir, I am; and what then?" cried the mate angrily.
"My name is Strong, and I'm going with my father as far as Penzance."
"You may go with your father as far as Shanghai if you like, young man,"
said the mate angrily; "but I'm not going to have my deck turned into a
kennel, so you'd better take your dog ashore."
Mark stood staring as the mate walked away to give some orders in an
angry tone to another gang of sailors working aft. Then he shouted a
command to some men busy in the rigging; while, when Mark turned his
head, it was to find Billy Widgeon patting the dog, and smiling up at
him.
"He's a bit waxy to-day. Just going outer dock into the river, and
there's a lot o' work to be done."
"But I thought my father was captain of this ship?" said Mark.
"So he is, youngster, but old Greg does what he likes when the skipper
aren't aboard. Oh, here is the skipper!"
"Ah! Mark, my lad, here you are then. So you've brought the dog?"
"Yes, father, and--"
"Where's Mr Gregory?"
"Over yonder, sir," said Billy Widgeon. "Pst!" he whispered to Mark,
"say somewhat about the dog."
"Do you want him to stay then?" said Mark.
"Stop! Sartin I do. Why, theer'll be him and old Jack, and they'll
have no end of a game aboard when theer's a calm. There, the skipper's
gone to old Greg, and you aren't said a word."
"But I will," said Mark. "Who is Jack?"
"Who is Jack! Why, I thought every one knowed who Jack is. Our big
monkey. He's tucked up somewhere 'cause it's cold. You wait till the
sun's out."
"Well, Captain Strong, I object to dogs and cats on board ship."
"They are no worse than monkeys."
"A deal, sir, and I object to them."
"Nonsense, Gregory!" said Captain Strong persuasively. "The boy's only
going as far as Penzance, and he loves his dog."
"Can't help that, sir. Dogs are no addition to a crew."
"Not a bit, Gregory. Neither are monkeys; but, to oblige me--"
"Oh very well, captain, if it's to oblige you, I have no more to say,
and the dog can stop."
"Hear that, youngster?" said Billy.
It was plainly audible to half the deck; and as Mark nodded his head he
fell a-wondering how it was that his father, who was captain, could
allow his inferior officer to be so dictatorial and to bully every one
about him.
"It's all right," said Billy Widgeon, with a confidential wink and a
smile; "he's going to let him stop."
This was another puzzle for Mark, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
"Look here--where are you going to stow him?" continued the little
sailor, speaking of the dog as if he were a box or bale.
"Keep him with me," replied the lad.
"But you'll want a place for him somewheres. You come along o' me and
I'll find you one in the forksle."
After a momentary hesitation Mark accepted the offer, and the sailor
pointed out a suitable corner, according to his ideas.
"He'll be pretty close to my berth, and I can give an eye to him."
The offer was friendly, and Bruff seemed disposed to accept the sailor's
advances to some extent, suffering himself to be patted and his ears
pulled; but when the friendliness took the form of a pull at his tail he
began to make thunder somewhere in his chest, and turned so sharply
round that by an involuntary action Billy. Widgeon popped his hands in
his pockets.
All the same when Bruff was told to lie down in there he flatly refused,
and followed his master aft once more, the little sailor having run
before them in answer to the mate's shout; and Mark saw him directly
afterward hauling away at a rope with some more so as to raise the
main-yard, which was not quite to the mate's satisfaction.
"What a disagreeable brute!" thought Mark as the mate seemed to spend
his time in shouting here, finding fault there, and everywhere making
himself disagreeable, while the captain looked on once or twice and then
got out of the way as fast as he could, and appeared to be generally of
no account whatever.
CHAPTER FOUR.
HOW THERE WAS AN UNWELCOME PASSENGER.
"Here, Mark, my boy," said the captain; "come here and I'll show you
your cabin."
The lad was standing watching half a dozen men who were reefing a square
sail high up on the mainmast, and the process gave him a peculiar
sensation of moisture in the hands and chill in the back, for the men
were standing upon a rope looped beneath the yard, and apparently
holding on by resting the top button of their trousers upon this
horizontal spar, their hands being fully occupied with hauling in and
folding up the new stiff canvas of the sail.
"I say, father," he said, "isn't that dangerous?"
"What, my lad?"
"The work those men are doing."
"What, up aloft? H'm, yes, no! They're so used to it that it has
ceased to be dangerous, my boy. Use is second nature. It would be
dangerous for you or me."
Mark followed, and the captain showed him his cabin.
"You're a lucky one," he said. "There's a place all to yourself. Are
you going to stay aboard?"
"Yes, father. I've sent my bag, and mother is going to meet me here
this evening."
"That's right. Now I must be off to see the owners. Keep out of the
way as well as you can. I suppose you will find plenty to amuse
yourself."
Mark said, "Oh, yes!" but he felt as if there was going to be very
little that was amusing; and as he saw his father go toward the gangway
and speak to the first-mate, who seemed to reply with a surly nod, the
office of captain seemed of less account than ever.
The scene was not inspiriting. It was a dull, cold, cheerless afternoon
in May; the deck was one chaos of bales, packages, and boxes. Ropes
were lying about as if there was no such thing as order on board a ship.
Forward there was a pile of rusty chain, and if the new-comer stirred a
step he was sure to be in somebody's way; and when, in response to a
hoarse "by yer leave," he moved somewhere else, it was to find himself
in a worse position still.
Bruff quite shared his feelings, and showed it by shivering from time to
time, and, after getting behind Mark, trying to drive his head between
his master's legs, an attempt that was always met by a rebuff, for Mark
had not yet gained his sea-legs and taken to walking with his feet very
wide apart.
But all the same there was a deal to notice, and by degrees the lad grew
interested as he wondered how it was possible for the yawning hatch in
the middle of the deck to swallow up such an endless number of crates
and boxes, bales and packages, of all kinds. While what seemed more
astonishing was the fact, that as fast as the cargo disappeared more was
brought aboard from the quay, where it was unloaded from vans and carts.
"Here, hi! young Strong!" cried the mate suddenly. "Come here."
Mark walked up to him hastily as he stood near the gangway, talking to a
custom-house officer.
"Oh, there you are! Look here, which is it--wasp or bee!"
"Wasp or bee, sir--which?"
The customs-officer laughed, and Mark coloured up, but Mr Gregory stood
with his red nose shining and his pimply face as hard and cold as a
statue's.
"Which? Why, you--come aboard to idle or work?"
"I don't know, sir. Can I do anything?"
"How should I know? I should say not, by the look of you. Will you
try?"
"Yes, sir. I should be glad to," cried Mark.
"Come, that's better. Take that piece of chalk, and tally."
"I--I don't know how."
"Bah! what do they teach boys at schools nowadays? Do you mean to tell
me you can't make a mark and keep count of those barrels of beer they're
going to bring on board?"
"Why, of course I can, sir."
"Then why did you say you couldn't?"
"You told me to tallow something, sir."
"I didn't! Here, catch hold of the chalk and make a mark there against
every one that's rolled on board. Hallo, ugly! you're there then!"
continued the mate, suppressing a smile and addressing Bruff, who gave
him a sour look and went behind his master.
Mark took the chalk, and for the next half-hour he was busy checking the
barrels. This done there was a succession of boxes to be accounted for
in the same way, and after them a hundred sacks, the arrival of the
latter putting the mate in a furious passion.
"For two straws I wouldn't have them aboard," he roared. "They were to
have been delivered a week ago, and here are we kept waiting like this."
And still the vessel kept on swallowing up cargo, the riggers gave the
finishing touches to the vessel's ropes and sails, and the confusion
appeared to grow worse instead of better; but in spite of a low-spirited
sensation, Mark was fain to confess to himself that he had been
interested if not amused, when the least sailor-like man he had seen on
board came from the cabin-door and spoke to the mate, who gave a slight
nod, and the man went back.
The former individual then went to the big opening in the deck:
"Below! Morgan!" he shouted.
"Ahoy!" came from somewhere in the interior of the great vessel, and
directly after a pleasant, manly, brown face appeared above the steps.
"Take charge; I'm going to have some tea."
"All right! Who's this?"
"Skipper's cub," said the first-mate shortly. "Here, boy, come along."
The new arrival gave him a friendly nod, and Mark's first sensation was
that he would have preferred to stay with him, but the first-mate looked
back, and he followed quickly into the cabin, where the sight of a
comfortable meal, with clean cloth, and an appetising odour, changed the
current of his thoughts.
"Engines that work want coal and water," said the mate gruffly. "We've
been at work; let's coal. Sit down."
Mark obeyed, and Bruff crept under his seat.
"You've brought that dog with you, then?"
"He came, sir."
"Same thing. I hate dogs. Take off that cover."
Mark obeyed, and there was a steaming dish of fried steak and onions,
looking tempting in the extreme.
"Now, then, will you carve or be old woman?"
"I--I'll carve," said Mark, for though he had a suspicion that to be old
woman meant pouring out the tea, he was not sure.
"Go ahead, then, my lad. Plates hot?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's your style. Don't be afraid of the onions. No ladies aboard."
Mark helped the steak, and the mate poured out the tea and hewed a
couple of lumps off a cottage-loaf.
"There you are," he said; "and make much of it. No steaks and new bread
at sea."
"But you've plenty of other things, sir."
"Humph, yes! We manage to live. More sugar?"
"No, sir, thanks."
"Help yourself, my lad. Rum un, aren't I?"
"You don't expect me to say what I think, do you?" said Mark smiling.
"One to you, boy," said the mate, nodding; and this time there was a
vestige of a smile on his plain face. "Here, ugly, try that."
This was the outside of a big piece of gristly steak which the mate cut
off, and held toward the dog, who approached slowly and as if in doubt,
but ended by taking it.
"Yah! What are you sniffing at? Think there was mustard on it? Big
friends, I suppose, you and him?"
"Yes, sir, we're capital friends."
"Humph! Better make friends with a good lad of your age. I hate dogs.
What are you laughing at?"
"You, sir."
"Eh? Oh! I see!" paid the mate grimly. "I do, though, all the same.
Don't you believe it?"
"No," replied Mark smiling; "and Bruff does not believe it either."
For after the mate had given the dog a couple of pieces of steak, Bruff
had stopped by him and laid the heavy head upon his knee to patiently
wait for further consignments of cargo, which, however, did not come,
for the chief officer was thoughtfully stirring his tea with his left
hand, while his right, as he said he hated dogs, was involuntarily
rubbing the rough jowl, the process being so satisfactory that Bruff
half-closed his eyes.
"Humph! This seems a better dog than some," said the mate. "No
business on board ship, though. I don't even like chickens; but we're
obliged to put up with them. I'm always glad, though, when they're
eaten. I once went a voyage with a cow on deck. They wanted the milk
for an officer's lady and her children. That cow used to make me
melancholy."
"Why, sir? Was she such a bad sailor?"
"No; she was always stretching out her neck to try and lick some green
paint off one of the boats. Thought it was grass. Cows have no brains.
Hallo! What is it, Billy?"
"Mr Morgan wants you, sir."
"What is it?"
"One on 'em, sir, right below."
"Bah!" ejaculated the mate. "Coming directly. Let him wait till I've
finished my tea."
The sailor gave Mark a knowing look, and made a sign which the lad did
not comprehend, as he disappeared through the door.
Mark would have given something to ask who "one on 'em" was, for the
news seemed to have ruffled the mate terribly. A few minutes before he
had been growing quite friendly; now he was as gruff as ever, finishing
his steak viciously, and drinking his tea far hotter than was good for
him.
"I'd like to trice them all up and give them the cat," he exclaimed
suddenly, and with so much emphasis that at the last magic word Bruff
suddenly sprang into action, cocked his ears and tail, uttered a fierce
growling bark, and then looked excitedly from one to the other, his eyes
plainly enough asking the question "Where?"
"Get out with you, ugly!" cried the mate. "I meant the cat with nine
tails, not the cat with nine lives. Here, young Strong, whatever you
do, never take to being mate in the merchant service."
He went out on deck, and Mark followed him, eager to see what was the
matter; and as he passed out, it was to hear the second-mate say:
"I was coming after you; the poor wretch's groans are awful."
"Serve him right, the scoundrel! Government ought to interfere and put
a stop to it."
"But, my dear Gregory, hadn't we better get the poor wretch out, and
settle the government interference afterwards?"
"These men make me half mad," cried the first-mate. "Where do you
suppose he is?"
"A long way down, I'm afraid."
"And we are behind with our lading. How can a man be such an idiot as
to expose himself to such risks?" cried the first-mate.
"Sheer ignorance. If they thought they were likely to be crushed to
death or suffocated, they would not do it."
"What is the matter?" asked Mark anxiously.
"Stowaway, my lad," said the second-mate. "Man hidden himself in the
hold, and is frightened now the cargo has been packed over him."
A peculiar chill ran through Mark as he realised the horror of the man's
position, perhaps below the huge bales and cases which he had seen
lowered down into the hold, and so inclosed that it would be impossible
to get to him before life was extinct.
CHAPTER FIVE.
HOW BRUFF SHOWED HE HAD A NOSE.
As Mark reached the great opening in the deck it was to find that the
men who had been at work below were all clustered together listening and
waiting for instructions from their officers.
"Hush! Don't speak!" cried the first-mate, bending over the opening.
"Are you sure it isn't a cat?"
A low deep moaning sound that was smothered and strange came from below,
and the mate gave a stamp with his foot on the deck.
"No mistake, Gregory," said the second-mate.
"Mistake! No. It's a man or a boy. He deserves to be left; he does,
upon my honour."
"Yes, we all deserve more than we get," said the second-mate patiently.
"Here, what do you make of it? The sound puzzles me, and I don't know
where to begin."
The mate descended, the second-mate followed, and a big dark fellow with
a silver whistle hanging from his neck was about to step down next, but
he made way for Mark, who slipped down the steps, to the great dismay of
Bruff, who sat on the top looking over the coamings, and whining in a
low tone.
Mark found himself upon a lower deck, with a hole in it of similar
dimensions to that through which he had passed. Mr Gregory was
lowering himself down upon the cargo, the second-mate followed, and then
gave orders for silence.
This stopped the buzzing conversation of the men, who all seemed to be
scared, and now the moaning sound came from somewhere--a faint, dismal,
despairing "Oh! Oh! Oh!" of some one in sore distress.
"Humph!" ejaculated the mate, "I suppose we must behave like Christians
and get him out. But when I do! Here! Below there: where are you?"
No response; only the continuous moaning.
"Do you hear there? Answer--where are you?" shouted the second-mate
with his mouth down to an opening in the great packages beneath their
feet.
Still no reply but this dismal moaning "Oh!" a piteous appeal in its
way, which made Mark shudder.
"I'll try again," said the first-mate. "Here, hi! Where are you?"
He paused, and they all listened. He shouted again and again, but with
no result, and turning to the second-mate he said:
"The poor wretch is insensible, I'm afraid."
"Yes, he seems beyond answering. Where do you make him out to be?"
"That's what I can't make out," said the first-mate. "It's just as if
he were practising ventriloquism. Sometimes it sounds to the right and
sometimes to the left."
"Yes, that's how it strikes me," said the second-mate. "Listen,
youngster. Here: silence there on deck!"
A pin fall might have been heard the next moment, and the silence was
broken by the low piteous moan.
"It seems down here at one time, and then more forward there," said
Mark.
"Yes, it does now," said the first-mate. "Here, Billy Widgeon, Small,
you come and try."
The boatswain and the little sailor both lay down in different places on
the cases and bales and listened, but only to rise up and declare that
the sound came from quite a different direction.
"Hang it all!" cried the first-mate; "it isn't a question of amount of
cargo to unstow, but of time before we get at the miserable wretch.
Now, what right has a man to come and hide down here, and upset the
whole cargo and crew!"
"My dear Gregory," cried the second-mate, "do let's begin somewhere."
"Yes, but where, my lad--where? Listen again. There, it's further in--
ever so much."
"Sounds like it," assented the second-mate. "Here, stop your noise!"
This last was consequent upon a dismal howl uttered by Bruff, who felt
himself aggrieved at being left alone.
"Here, here!" cried Mark excitedly, and, raising his hands, he took the
dog as he was passed down by the sailors. "Stop a minute, Mr Gregory,
my dog will smell him out."
"Bravo, boy!" cried the first-mate, as Bruff was set down, no
light-weight, on the stowed-in cargo. "Good dog, then!"
"Hush!" cried Mark, whose heart was beating painfully.
"Silence there!" cried Mr Small.
"Now, Bruff, old boy, listen."
There was utter silence for quite a minute, and then, as the chill of
dread deepened, and it seemed as if the hidden man had fainted, the
moaning arose once more, but certainly more feebly.
Mark was kneeling and holding Bruff with a hand on each side of the
collar, and as the piteous moan arose the dog uttered a sharp bark.
"Good dog, then! Find him, boy!" cried Mark; and as the moaning
continued, the dog went scuffling and scratching over the cargo,
snuffing here and there, and uttering a bark from time to time.
"No, no, not there," cried the second-mate.
"Let the dog be," said the first; and the result was that Bruff suddenly
stopped a dozen yards away from them toward the forecastle, and began
scratching and barking loudly.
"It can't be there," said Small, creeping over the packages till he was
beside the dog, and then quieting him as he listened. "Yes; it is!" he
cried. "You can hear him as plain as plain."
The first-mate came to his side, and confirmed the assertion; the
second-mate endorsed his brother officer's opinion; and now began the
terrible task of dragging out the closely fitted-in lading of the ship,
so as to work right down to where the poor wretch had concealed himself.
It seemed to Mark's uninitiated eyes to be a task which would take
days, but the men set-to with willing hands under the first-mate's
guidance, and package after package was hauled out by main force, and
sent on to the deck above, till quite a cutting was formed through the
cargo.
Every now and then the work was stopped for one of the officers to
listen, and make sure that they were working in the right direction, and
this precaution was not without its results in the saving of labour, for
the faint moanings, more plainly heard now that a portion of the cargo
was removed, seemed to be a little more to their right.
Mark Strong's first sensation, after the dog had thoroughly localised
the place of the man's imprisonment, was a desire to go right away, to
get off the ship and go ashore, where he could be beyond hearing of
those terrible moans; but directly after he found himself thinking that
it would be very cowardly, worse still that the chief mate and this Mr
Morgan would look upon him as being girlish. The result was that he
crept along over the top of the cargo on his hands and knees to just
beyond the place where the men were working, and seating himself there,
with Bruff between his legs, he watched the progress of the search.
It was a curious experience to a lad fresh from school, and the aspect
of the place added to the horror of knowing that a fellow-creature was
perhaps dying by inches beneath the sailors' feet. Where he sat the
beams and planks of the lower deck were only about four feet above his
head, and to right, left, and behind him all was thick darkness, faintly
illumined by the yellow light of a couple of swinging lanthorns, which
shed a curious ghastly halo all around; sixty feet away was the great
hatch, down which came the light of day; and between this and where Mark
sat, the dark figures of the busy sailors were constantly on the move in
a way that looked weird in the extreme. Now, half of them were out of
sight fastening the hooks and loops of the tackle to some bale; then
there was a loud "yoho-ing," and, with creaking and rasping, the great
package was dragged away into the patch of daylight, which it darkened
for a few moments, and then disappeared to the deck.
For the first few minutes Mr Gregory--"Old Greg," as the sailors called
him--stormed and raved about the labour and waste of time; but soon
after he was at work as energetically as any man in the crew, and in the
intervals of a great package being secured he kept coming to where Mark
sat with his dog.
"Rough work this, my lad, isn't it?" he said every time, and as he spoke
his hand went unconsciously to Bruff's head to rub and pat it.
Then he was off again, giving orders which package to take next, and
securing the loops of the rope-tackle himself.
"Now, all together my lads," he shouted, and away went the load.
It was dreary work, and yet full of excitement, for the men toiled on
with terrible energy, for there was the knowledge that though a great
deal of cargo had been removed, the moans of the poor wretch were being
heard less plainly.
It was Mr Morgan who now came to where Mark was seated, and he too
began to pat and rub Bruff's head.
"No, my lad," he said, in answer to a question, "we can do no more than
we are doing. If we got more hands at work they would be in each
other's way."
He was panting with exertion as he spoke, and began to wipe his brow.
"It's a horrible set out. The man must have been mad to hide himself
there."
"But you'll get him out?"
"Yes, we shall get him out," said the young officer; "but I'm growing
sadly afraid that he'll die from sheer fright before we reach him."
"But you will keep on?"
"Keep on, my lad! Yes, if we have to empty the hold. Why, what sort of
savages do you think us?"
He hurried away, and after a lapse Mr Gregory came.