"It is reported at Lloyd's that the barque _Morning Star_ has been lost
in a storm off Cape Horn. Some of the crew, including the chief mate,
got ashore; but the captain, Robert Merritt, and the second mate, John
Hartland, went down with the ship. The _Morning Star_ was owned at
Cardiff, and was making for San Francisco with a general cargo."
Jim read the paragraph over several times. The letters seemed blurred
and running into one another; only the words, "the second mate, John
Hartland, went down with the ship," stood out clear and distinct, as if
raised above the surrounding type.
"There may be a chance yet," suggested Dick, who was hurt by the look of
pain on his chum's face. "It isn't certain that your father is drowned."
"No," said Jim absently; "it isn't certain."
Then he put the paper into his pocket and turned to go in.
"Shall I tell my mother to come round?" asked Dick.
"Not to-night--thanks. No, we shall be better by ourselves."
Nodding to Dick, he stepped into the passage and closed the door gently.
Then he went quietly to the room where his mother had laid tea. There
was nothing of value in the house, for the family had been particularly
unfortunate during the last few years. In spite of many obstacles Mr.
Hartland had worked his way up to the position of mate, but on his first
voyage as an officer had met with an accident which kept him in hospital
for months. Then he found it hard to secure another berth, and during
the time of his enforced idleness the best of his furniture had been
parted with to buy food. Few people knew this, however, as the
Hartlands, who were very proud, kept their troubles to themselves.
Mrs. Hartland was a notable housewife, and had a certain amount of
taste, which enabled her to make the house look nice. The room which
Jim entered was quite attractive. A few nicely-framed black-and-white
pictures hung on the walls; long curtains draped the window tastefully;
the grate shone by reason of many applications of elbow-polish;
everything was beautifully clean. A cloth of snowy whiteness covered
the table, and the various articles set out for use showed evidence of
capable cleaning.
"Make haste, my boy!" exclaimed his mother cheerfully; "your tea is
poured out. Dick and you have had a long gossip."
"Jim's tired, and I don't wonder at it," remarked Susie.
The boy sat down in his usual place and forced himself to eat and drink.
His mother, who was proud of the praise he had won, talked about the
match.
"There was only one thing wanted to make the day a complete success,"
said she. "When you were on the platform with all those gentlemen I
could not help wishing that your father had been looking on."
Jim put down his cup, so that she should not see how his hand trembled,
and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The paper seemed to rustle in
his pocket, and he made up his mind to tell her the truth at once.
But how? He could not say, "Father will never know anything about it,
because he is lying at the bottom of the sea!" Yet it must be done.
His mother must not be left to hear the terrible news from a stranger.
While he still hesitated, Susie, who had sharp ears, exclaimed, "Listen,
there's the paper-boy. I can hear him shouting, 'Latest Special!'"
"Run, Jim, quick!" cried his mother, taking a half-penny from her
pocket. She was as excited as Susie at the thought of seeing her boy's
name in print.
Jim tried to stand, but his limbs tottered, and he sat down again.
In an instant his mother, forgetful of the paper, was by his side. "You
have overdone yourself, my boy," she said. "All that running about has
been too much for you."
"No," said the boy, and he spoke with difficulty; "I am all right,
mother!" and then, with a wild cry, "O mother, mother, how can I tell
you? It's about the _Morning Star_, and--and father!"
Mrs. Hartland did not cry out or make a scene; only her lips twitched
painfully, and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself.
"Tell me the worst, Jim," she whispered bravely; and the boy drew the
paper from his pocket with trembling fingers.
"Read it," she said simply; and he tried hard, but his voice broke down
before the end of the first sentence.
Then she looked at it herself, but the letters seemed only black dots
which danced about and intermingled as if trying to hide from her.
"Give it to me, mother," said Susie.
For the moment they had forgotten her, but the sound of her voice sent a
fresh arrow of pain through the mother's heart. But Susie was used to
sorrow, and drew strength from her very weakness. Steadily she read
through the paragraph from beginning to end, while her mother stood,
white-faced and tearless, drinking in every word.
"The second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship!"
To the woman and children in that little room the words formed the whole
paragraph.
"Went down with the ship!" A simple phrase enough, and not uncommon,
but perhaps it is as well that we do not always realize the misery and
sorrow lying behind it.
A deep hush fell as Susie finished reading. The sun had gone down, the
evening shadows were gathering fast; soon it would be time to light the
lamp, but no one moved.
A loud rat-tat at the door startled them; and Jim, going out, found a
messenger boy with a telegram. It was from the owners of the _Morning
Star_, but contained no further information than had appeared in the
evening paper.
"It is very kind of them," said Mrs. Hartland "but I am glad you told me
first, Jim."
"We don't know yet that father is drowned!" exclaimed Susie stoutly.
"He might have been picked up by another ship. I have read of such
things."
Neither Jim nor his mother answered her; the idea was too wild to be
considered seriously.
The boy did not realize all that his father's death meant to him, for he
was young, and his experience of life had not been great. But his
mother, while grieving bitterly for the dead man who had loved her so
devotedly, had to think of the living.
Through the long night hours, while the children forgot their sorrow in
sleep, she lay thinking, thinking earnestly about their future. She had
planned great things for Jim, had built splendid castles in the air for
him; and now, at a blow, they came tumbling about her ears.
"Poor boy!" she said softly to herself; "I fear it will change the whole
of his life."
*CHAPTER IV.*
*FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR."*
On the following Monday morning Dick called for his chum as usual, but
Jim was in no hurry to start.
"You go on," said he; "I'll come presently."
As a matter of fact he dreaded the meeting with his school-fellows; it
would be so different from the scene he had pictured while walking home
from the cricket-ground. He had looked forward to a regular triumph,
for it must be confessed that Jim was rather vain, though he had the
good sense to keep this failing, for the most part, to himself.
"All right!" exclaimed the Angel cheerfully; but he went only a short
distance, and waited till his chum came out.
"What a silly chap you are!" said Jim peevishly; "now you'll be late."
"Never mind, my boy; better late than never, as they say in the
copy-books. I said that to Laythorne the other day, but he gave me one
back. 'Better never late,' said he, as I went to my place."
Prayers were over when they reached the school, but the master made no
remark as they passed to their places. He had heard the sad news, and
easily understood why the boys were late. At the interval he asked Jim
to remain, and told him how sorry he was for his great loss.
"Thank you, sir," said Jim, resolutely keeping the tears from his eyes.
"And, by the way, Hartland," continued the young master kindly, "if
there's anything I can do, let me know."
Just then the Head entered the room, and he, too, expressed his sorrow
at what had happened, and Jim appreciated the kindness of his masters.
He had dreaded going back to school, but it was not very dreadful after
all. Most of the boys looked at him curiously, but only one or two said
anything, and then matters resumed their usual course.
At home it was much worse, although Susie, with strange persistence,
still cherished the hope that her father had not been drowned.
"We don't know," she argued stoutly--"no one knows. The papers say some
of the crew got ashore."
"Don't be stupid," said her brother. "It says plainly enough that
father went down with the ship."
"But he might have been picked up afterwards, or got ashore somewhere
else."
Even Susie's faith gave way, however, when a fuller account of the wreck
came to hand. It was supplied by an A.B. named Davies, who had been
picked up by the steamship _Cormorant_.
"It was on a Friday night," the newspaper report of his narrative ran,
"and we were there or thereabout up to the latitude of Cape Horn. I had
turned in 'all standing,' for the weather was squally, and I didn't
expect to get much of a nap. Sure enough I'd hardly got my eyes shut
when there came a crash, and some one sang out, 'All hands, ahoy!' We
tumbled up the ladder in a hurry, and I tell you there wasn't a man
there who didn't think Davy Jones was calling us. It was a night! The
rain was coming down full pelt, and you couldn't keep your feet for the
wind. Spars snapped like match-boxes, and the barque lay nearly on her
beam-ends. It was dark as pitch just then, though it cleared up
afterwards. We did what we could to save the ship; but, bless you, we
had no more chance than a parcel of babies. She was settling down like
a stone, and the old man sung out that we'd better try the boats. I ran
to help clear the port quarter boat, and got in, when a heavy sea broke
over her, smashing her in two. Down I went a long way, but at last came
up to the surface again, and hammered my right hand against something
hard. This turned out to be a top-gallant mast, so I took a firm grip.
I couldn't see anything of the _Morning Star_, but there seemed to be a
lot of rigging about, and I heard some men shouting in the distance. I
reckoned afterwards it must have been the first mate and the chaps who
got away in the other boat. I hulloed back, but they couldn't hear, and
I reckoned I was done. Soon after that came another shout close to me,
and I yelled back, 'Ahoy, there! Is that you, Mr. Hartland?'
"'Yes. Who are you?'
"'Davies,' I sings out--'on a mast.'
"'Can you hold on?'
"'Not much longer, I'm afeared.'
"'Keep your spirits up,' says he, cheery like, and then it was all
quiet. However, we must have drifted pretty close together, for,
directly day broke, there he was, not twenty yards off, with a lifebuoy
round him, and clinging to a light spar.
"'How goes it now?' says he; and when I tells him I'm nearly done, he
says, 'I've a good mind to keep you company. I've some rope here, and a
draw or two round the body will keep you tight.' With that he swims
over and lashes me to the mast. Presently he says again, quiet as
anything, 'Look here, Davies; it's no go! This won't hold us both; I
must take my chance. Good-bye, and if you've the luck to be picked up,
just let 'em know over in England that I stood by the ship till she went
down.'
"Them were his last words. He let go, and the last I saw of him he was
striking out towards the shore. Of course he never reached it, though
he was a strong swimmer, too. After that I lost count of things, and
don't know anything more till my eyes opened aboard the _Cormorant_.
The lashings saved me, or I should have gone under as sure as fate."
The story of her husband's bravery filled Mrs. Hartland with honest
pride; but, unfortunately it extinguished the last spark of hope that,
almost unknown, had lurked in the recesses of her mind. However, she
faced the matter bravely, and talked over her plans with Jim.
"We shall have to leave this house," she said, "and find a cheaper one.
Then I must get some kind of work to do."
"What about Susie?" asked Jim.
"Ah, that's the trouble! I can't very well go out and leave her alone.
Perhaps I can get some plain sewing."
"Haven't we any money at all, mother?" the boy asked presently.
"Only what is due from your father's wages, and that won't keep us
long."
Susie had gone to bed, and there was no one in the room but mother and
son. Mrs. Hartland sat by the window with some needlework in her hand,
though it was too dark to sew; Jim stood by the mantelpiece, fumbling
nervously with a button on his jacket.
Presently he said bravely, "I must leave school and get a place
somewhere. I daresay I can earn something, if only a little."
It cost him an effort to say this without breaking down, for he was very
ambitious, and had mapped out a great career for himself. In the first
place he had made up his mind to win the Gayton Scholarship, which was
to be a stepping-stone to fortune. This was all done with now, for even
in the event of being successful he could not accept the scholarship.
Mrs. Hartland guessed a part of his thoughts, and, calling him to her
side, said,--
"We'll talk about that another time, Jim. There's no need to give up
your school at present; I wouldn't like you to do that. I daresay we
shall be able to rub along somehow till the next examination."
"But there's no good in trying for the 'Gayton.'"
"Not for yourself, but it would be an honour for your school if you won
it. You would leave a good name behind you also."
So, after some further talk, it was decided that Jim should stay on at
school; and the next week the family moved to a little house in a much
poorer quarter of the town.
Of course Dick went to help, and his bright smile and cheerful humour
did much to cheer them.
"Isn't it a poky place?" said Jim, pausing in the work of putting up his
sister's bedstead.
"Well, you can't call it exactly a palace," replied Dick, "but it might
be worse, you know. O my aunt!" And the Angel finished with a vigorous
howl.
"What's the matter?"
"I nipped my hand under that iron bar." And he sucked the tips of his
fingers as if they were sticks of sugar-candy. "Just see if you can
twist this nut round; I can't move it."
The two friends worked away with a will, making up in zeal what they
lacked in experience, and very soon had the room looking quite cozy and
comfortable. Then they went downstairs; and before night, as Dick's
mother, who had come over to help, put it, "things were beginning to
look a bit straight."
Susie, of course, could do nothing herself; but she played the part of
superintendent, and ordered the boys about, especially Dick, who
good-humouredly obeyed all her commands. He looked on it all as great
fun, and announced his intention of worrying his mother until they had a
move on their own account.
Mrs. Hartland had faced her trouble bravely, but before long Jim
recognized that things were much worse than he had guessed. Beyond his
father's wages and the donation of a few pounds from the "Shipwrecked
Mariners' Society," they had absolutely no money, and there seemed
little prospect of his mother being able to earn sufficient to keep
them. Already they had to deny themselves everything in the shape of
luxury, and even Susie had to go without various little delicacies which
they had been in the habit of providing for her.
"I ought to give up school and go to work," he said; but to this his
mother was strongly opposed.
"If you leave school now you can only be an errand boy," she said; "and
without education, you will have no chance of doing anything in the
world."
Now I have no desire to put James Hartland forward as an uncommonly good
boy, because, as you will find for yourselves, he was nothing of the
sort; but in this particular case he certainly deserved some credit.
One evening he arrived home very late, which was such an unusual thing
that his mother wondered what had kept him.
"Awfully sorry, mother," he cried, looking at the clock; "but I've been
up in the town on business."
"For the master?"
"No," replied the boy, with rather a forced smile; "on my own account.
I've got a place. Don't be vexed. I shan't have to leave school; it's
only mornings and evenings."
"What have you to do?"
"To take the papers to Mr. Broad's customers; and if I help on Saturdays
too, he'll give me five shillings a week. What do you think of that?
Isn't it splendid?"
"But you will have no time to study for the 'Gayton.'"
"I must work harder at school, and put in an hour extra in the morning.
I'll manage, never fear, and the money will just pay the rent. Wasn't
it lucky I saw the card in the window? Of course I shan't be able to
play in the rest of the cricket matches, but they can easily get some
one to take my place."
He spoke cheerfully, but his mother knew what a sacrifice he had made,
and hoped, for his sake, that good might come of it.
"Jim," said Susie, plucking his sleeve nervously, "will you have to call
out 'Paper!' like the boys who come round here at night?"
"No, you little goose," he laughed--"only to leave them at the different
houses. And now, let me finish my tea. I must have a good grind at
geography this evening."
*CHAPTER V.*
*JIM STARTS WORK.*
It wanted ten minutes to nine, and the Deanery boys were pouring into
the playground, ready to assemble for morning school. Percy Braithwaite
stood just inside the gate talking to a little group of his chums. He
was a good-looking, fair-skinned boy, with sharp, keen eyes. Somehow he
was not a favourite with the majority, but as his father kept him well
supplied with pocket-money, he generally had a certain following which
petted and made much of him.
"I had a jolly lark this morning," he was saying. "What d'you think
Jimmy Hartland's doing? You'd never guess! He's selling papers. He
brought ours round just now, and I answered the door. You'd have died
to see him: he went as red as a turkey-cock.
"'Hullo!' said I--'a fresh paper-boy? You're very late. This won't do,
you know. Tell your master if you can't come earlier than this we shall
have to make a change.'"
"Did you really say that?" asked Simpson, who was sucking one of
Braithwaite's bull's-eyes. "He would be wild. The beggar's as proud as
Lucifer."
"I don't see why he shouldn't sell papers," said Alec Macdonald.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of in that."
"Perhaps not for fellows of his class," said Braithwaite, with a
superior air, "but fancy a paper-boy trying for the 'Gayton'! Why, if
he got it, all the school would cut him dead. I call it a great piece
of cheek."
"Here he comes with the Angel," whispered Simpson, who had finished his
bull's-eye, and was hoping to get another before the bell rang. "I say,
let's have a lark!" And raising his voice, he cried, "Hevenin' Noos!
Hextry Speshul! Paper, sir?"
The others burst into a roar of laughter; and Braithwaite, who thought
it an excellent joke, laughed the loudest of all.