THE ‘_PANDORA_.’
The newly-appointed officers were on board the _Pandora_. Abel Coffin
was the name of the chief officer. He was a short, broad built man,
with a bullet head and square shoulders. Peeping out from beneath his
bushy brows were two small black eyes, which winked and blinked, and
were apparently never at rest, except when in the arms of Morpheus.
His nose was inclined to be celestial, broad and unshapely, and of
rather a rubicund tint that corresponded with the tips of his large
ears; but whether it arose from the free use of stimulants, or the
biting northerly winds of the Atlantic Ocean, it was difficult to say.
A strong set of teeth, discoloured by tobacco, were firmly set in his
jaw, and covered by a pair of thick lips. A profusion of coarse, wiry
hair encircled his face, to which the absence of a moustache gave a
dogged appearance. There was a ponderous look altogether about the man.
He was not corpulent, but his bones were large, and sinews took the
place of flesh. In point of fact, Abel Coffin was exceedingly powerful,
and capable of enduring great fatigue. He was a smart man, too; the
school in which he had been reared being a severe one, but it had
turned him out every inch a sailor.
When quite a lad he had been apprenticed by his father to a Bostonian,
which carried timber between Liverpool and the States. In this old
tub--which boasted a jackass rig--which took two hands to steer her
in an ordinary seven-knot breeze, and whose windmill pump was always
required to be kept upon the move, Abel Coffin had gone in at the
hawse holes and out at the cabin windows. And doubtless he would have
remained in her for ever had she not been so battered about after
she had jumped and thrashed her way into a nasty cross sea, that,
after having been towed into the Mersey by a compassionate tug, it
was decided that she should be broken up as unsafe to make another
trip across the ‘duck pond.’ So he had come up to London, and during
his wanderings about the docks in search of an outward bounder, had
encountered the captain of the _Pandora_, and on producing his tin
case of mildewed certificates and discharges, had been duly installed
as mate. He was a rough, generous, and good-hearted fellow--a trifle
severe, but just and honest, and always to be found at his post when
duty required it. On board the old wooden barge he had been accustomed
to hear the orders bawled out, and usually accompanied by foul
oaths--his only companions had been his mate and boatswain--and his
food coarse and unpalatable.
The vessel was badly manned; all her gear stiff and old-fashioned, and
she required a deal of handling. Her sails were covered with geordie
patches, and when stowed were huddled to the yards in a most ungainly
fashion. Red rust was prevalent from the want of paint, or rather
coal tar, and her decks were scratched and dented, and had not been
acquainted for years with the carpenter’s caulking irons and mallet. In
a stiff breeze she yawed and capered about like a tipsy woman, thumping
heavily into the seas, and sending banks of angry foam rushing from her
basin-shaped bows. She plunged and groaned, compelling the skipper to
watch her very closely, as she rushed from her course and then refused
to come to, till the wheel was hard down, and she had cracked and
strained her timbers and described the letter _S_ in her wake, and the
weary helmsman’s arms ached with the amount of labour she required.
To step from such a vessel as this on to the deck of the _Pandora_
was a new experience in Abel Coffin’s life, and he appreciated
it accordingly. The trim passenger ship, fitted up with all the
latest improvements and designs--well manned by strong able
seamen--and provisioned with a goodly supply of live stock and fresh
vegetables--was a rich feast for his eyes, and to be her chief
officer a stroke of good luck he had never contemplated. It was like
leaving two squalid furnished apartments to take up his quarters
in a first-class hotel, and though, as yet, not quite at home in
his new capacity, Abel Coffin worked with his accustomed zeal, and
rather astonished the easy-going seamen. It was the day before the
departure of the _Pandora_, and every one on board was active. The last
lighters were alongside with their casks and cases, and Jack Blythe
was superintending their stowage in the main hatchway. The steward
bustled about the decks, attended by his satellites, carrying squeaking
fowls and quacking ducks to their coops, which were lashed on top of
the house amidships. The black cook and the butchers unmercifully
dragged the unfortunate sheep and pigs to their pens, whilst able
seamen were busy serving the running gear, and coiling down the warps,
to be in readiness to heave out. Small carts and drays waited on the
wharf to unload their cargoes of vegetables, cabin stores, and ship’s
dry provisions, and porters, with trucks of passengers’ luggage, and
seamen’s chests and baggage, with shellbacks, runners, boarding-house
keepers, and gaily-dressed women, were all looking out for some one
or other, who was about to sail in the _Pandora_. Confusion reigned
supreme. The decks were hampered with coils of rope, tins of varnish,
sails that were to be bent and gear to be lashed or stowed away, and in
the midst of this Babel, Mr Coffin was here, there, and everywhere.
Now on the poop slacking away a barge’s stern rope--then on the
quarter-deck signing a receipt--anon on the topgallant forecastle,
heaving a pall with the capstan, or making up a jib ready to be sent
out on to the boom. Jack Blythe was not so active as his superior.
He was obliged to stow the last cases and barrels very carefully in
the lower decks, so as to leave a passage to the locker, in order
that forty tons of gunpowder might be taken aboard, and placed there
when the vessel reached the hulks. The third mate was a nice-looking
youngster, who had just passed his second officer’s examination. His
name was Richard Sparkes. He was a tall lad, with curly brown hair, an
apology for a moustache, and bright blue eyes. His duties were confined
to the passengers’ stores, the safety of the live stock, and the care
of the fresh water.
As the clock struck twelve work was knocked off, and the youngest
officer being left in charge of the ship, the two elders stepped on to
the quay, and went to get their mid-day meal.
Vernon Blythe walked to a small hotel, in the bar window of which
the landlord had placed a placard to the effect, that he had ‘Good
accommodation for officers and midshipmen.’ There he sat down to a
_table d’hôte_, and afterwards amused himself with _Lloyd’s Shipping
News_, whilst inhaling the fragrant bouquet of a well-coloured pipe,
and giving an occasional thought to Alice Leyton’s near arrival.
But where Mr Coffin disappeared to, it would be difficult to say. He
was an entirely different man from his second. His habits, manners,
and associates were all rough and unpolished. He had been born in a
fishing village, and nurtured among whalers, deep-sea fishers, and
lime-juicers. He had never entered cultivated society, consequently he
was shy and reserved, and when on shore sought out such habitats as
sailors of his stamp usually frequent. He had looked with astonishment,
not unmixed with contempt, at Jack Blythe’s handsome and refined
features, close cropped hair, well kept hands, and neat attire. He had
already set him down as a fair-weather sailor, and a dandy, and doubted
his ability in a time of trouble. Before the voyage was over Abel
Coffin had acknowledged to himself and Vernon Blythe that he was wrong.
In the afternoon the busy throng that waited on the quay, and the dock
loafers that hung about the shipping, gradually cleared away, and at
five o’clock the hatches were battened down, and Mr Coffin reported the
_Pandora_ ready for sea. By the time the dinner-bell was sounded, most
of the passengers had arrived to answer to its summons.
Jack Blythe had received the Leytons at the head of the gangway. Mrs
Leyton, a fragile-looking woman, whose delicate health had been the
cause of her residing in England for some years past, came first, with
her youngest born, a heavy child of four years old, in her arms.
‘Give baby to me, Mrs Leyton,’ cried Jack, eagerly, as she came toiling
along the gangway. ‘Why didn’t you let one of the sailors carry her?
She is much too heavy for you.’
‘She is so naughty,’ sighed the poor mother; ‘she will go to no one but
myself.’
‘Ah, you spoil her,’ said Jack, as he helped them both on deck.
‘It’s more than she does me!’ exclaimed Alice’s merry voice behind them.
‘Everybody spoils you, you monkey,’ replied her lover, as he turned to
greet her.
‘Well, did you think we had altered our minds, and were never coming,
Jack? And how do you like me, now _I have_ come?’ inquired Alice,
consciously.
‘You look charming, as you always do,’ he answered.
Most men would have returned a more enthusiastic reply, for Alice was
looking her very best. Robed in a yachting costume of white serge, with
gilt anchor buttons, and a sailor’s hat bound with white ribbon, set
coquettishly upon her sunny curls, she _ran a muck_ of the heart of
every son of Neptune who saw her step upon the deck.
‘Well, it’s something to get a compliment out of you, Jack. “All scraps
thankfully received.” But come along and show us our cabin, and help us
to get straight. I can’t think how we are all going to get into it.’
‘I wish I could obey your bidding, Alice, but it’s impossible,’ replied
Jack. ‘I can’t stir from here. I’m on duty.’
A cloud came over Alice’s fair face.
‘I don’t believe it. You’re looking out for somebody else.’
‘You’ve hit it!’ he exclaimed, with a merry laugh. ‘I am waiting for
my other girl.’ And, at that moment, as if to confirm his joking
assertion, Mrs and Miss Vansittart appeared.
‘Mr Sparkes,’ Jack had just time to call out, ‘take these ladies into
the saloon, and tell the stewardess to show them their cabin,’ and then
he turned away to attend to the new comers. Alice Leyton pouted visibly
at what she considered her lover’s neglect; but Mr Richard Sparkes was
so delightfully pleasant and gallant, that she soon forgot all about it.
‘Allow me,’ said Vernon Blythe gracefully, as he extended his hand for
the convenience of Mrs Vansittart.
‘Lor’! thank you, sir, I’m sure!’ exclaimed the panting, good-humoured
woman, as she clawed hold of his arm with her enormous fist. ‘Moving is
a worry, and no mistake. However, thank heaven! it’s for the last time.
When I’ve once got home, no one will tempt me back again. Where are
you, Grace? Don’t tumble into the water, whatever you do. It’s a real
risk of life to ask any one to cross such a narrow plank as that.’
‘Here I am, mamma--close behind you,’ replied Grace.
‘And the peril is over, for this time at least,’ observed Jack, as he
helped her on to the deck. Grace smiled upon him very graciously. She
was struck with his bright, handsome face at first sight. If all the
officers of the _Pandora_ were like this one (she thought) the voyage
might not pass so tediously as she anticipated. Mr Vansittart followed
closely on the heels of his wife and daughter, and Godfrey Harland,
who had been staying at their house for the last few days, brought up
the rear. As the latter raised his head, and encountered the honest
eyes of the young sailor looking straight into his, although the glance
was only instigated by a natural curiosity, he turned his uneasily
away. These men had never met each other before. They were not even
aware of each other’s names, and yet they instinctively felt a mutual
dislike. Godfrey put Vernon down at once as a conceited, impertinent
puppy--above his condition in life--and likely to give trouble in case
of being roused. And Vernon mentally decided that Godfrey was shifty,
independable, and a man to be avoided.
‘Nasty eyes,’ he said to himself afterwards; ‘I wouldn’t trust that
fellow with change for a sovereign. If there’s any play going on during
the voyage, I shall keep a sharp look out upon him.’ But at the moment
he was compelled to be all politeness.
‘Vansittart--stern cabins 1 and 2,’ he said, as he glanced at their
tickets. ‘If you will take the ladies into the saloon, sir, you will
find the steward ready to show you the way. Mr Godfrey Harland, No.
14, your cabin is aft amongst the gentlemen;’ and with this Vernon
Blythe turned curtly away, and commenced to give orders concerning the
passengers’ baggage.
Godfrey Harland perceived his manner towards him, and resolved to
resent it. ‘I’ll pay that puppy out for his impertinence before many
days are over,’ he thought, as he followed his employers to the saloon.
By seven o’clock the whole party were seated at dinner. At the head of
the table sat Dr Lennard, who was always in great request by all the
ladies on board. He had a very handsome woman placed upon his right,
to whom he was paying the most deferential attention; but he had soon
entered into friendly conversation with the Vansittarts and Godfrey
Harland, whose seats were all near him. At the other end, in the
captain’s chair, sat Mr Coffin, looking strangely out of place amongst
the pretty girls and well-dressed men by whom he was surrounded, and
almost surly in his nervousness, as he ladled out the soup and carved
the joints. Beside him was seated the third officer, who had contrived,
for this evening at least, to secure a seat next to Alice Leyton,
whose pretty face, merry laugh, and animated conversation kept all the
men round her in a state of excitement; and especially interested a
certain Captain Lovell, who could not take his eyes off her. Yes, Alice
could laugh, and flirt, and enjoy herself, although Vernon Blythe was
not by her side,--not even enjoying his dinner at the same time. On the
poop (or, as many sailors call it, the ‘knife-board’), he paced up and
down, keeping his watch till he should be relieved from duty, now and
then glancing at the weather-vane, as if expectant of a sudden shift of
wind.
‘I say, what do you do that for?’ inquired a voice near him, in
drawling, languid tones.
Jack looked round at the speaker, as if he considered the question
altogether too silly to answer.
‘Is there anything up there?’ continued the new-comer, indicating the
weather-vane.
‘More than there is down here by a good deal,’ replied Jack, referring
to the stranger’s brains.
But Harold Greenwood deserves a chapter to himself.
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