"Indeed I'm not shamming anything," I protested as earnestly as I could,
not quite knowing what his slang phrase meant, but believing it to imply
that I was pretending to be ill to shirk duty when I was all right.
"Weeks, I'm terribly ill, I tell you!"
He scrutinised me as well as he could by the early light of morning, now
coming in through the open cabin door, which he had not been able to
close again, the wind holding it back and resisting all his strength.
Tom Jerrold, too, aroused by Weeks' voice and the cold current of air
that was blowing in upon him, rubbed his eyes, and standing up in his
bunk while holding on to the top rail of mine, had also a good look at
me.
"Bah!" cried he at length. "You're only sea-sick."
That was all the consolation he gave me as he shoved himself into his
clothes; and then, hastily lugging on a thick monkey-jacket hurried out
on deck.
"A nice mess you've made, too, of the cabin."
This was Master Weeks' sympathy as he took possession of Jerrold's
vacated bunk and quietly composed himself to sleep, regardless of my
groans and deaf to all further appeals for aid.
Tim Rooney, however, was the most unkind of all.
Later on in the morning he popped in his head at the cabin door.
"Arrah, sure now, Misther Gray-ham, arn't ye sorry ye iver came to say,
at all at all?"
I should like to have pitched something at him, although I knew what he
would say the moment he opened his mouth, with that comical grin of his
and the cunning wink of his left eye.
"No," I cried as courageously as I was able under the circumstances,
"I'm not sorry, I tell you, in spite of all that has happened, and when
I get better I'll pay you out for making fun of me when I'm ill!"
"Begorra don't say that now, me darlint," said he, grinning more than
ever. "Arrah, though, me bhoy, ye look as if ye'd been toorned insoide
out, loike them injy-rubber divils childer has to play wid. 'Dade an'
I'd loike to say ye sprooce an' hearty ag'in; but ownly kape aisy an'
ye'll be all roight in toime. D'ye fale hoongry yit?"
"Hungry!" I screamed, ill again at the very thought of eating. "Go
away, do, and leave me alone--o-oh!"
And then I was worse than ever, and seemed afterwards to have no heart,
or head, or stomach left, or legs, or arms, or anything.
The boatswain did not forget me though, in spite of his fun at my
expense; and he must have spoken to Ching Wang again about me, for the
Chinaman came to the cabin after giving the men their breakfast at eight
bells, bringing me a pannikin of hot coffee, his panacea for every woe.
"Hi, lilly pijjin, drinkee dis chop chop," said he, holding the pannikin
to my mouth. "Makee tummy tummy number one piecee!"
I could not swallow much of the liquid; but the drop or two that I took
did me good; for, after Ching Wang had gone away I fell asleep, not
waking till the afternoon, when, the ship being steadier, I managed to
scramble out of my bunk and made a late appearance on deck, feeling
decidedly weak but considerably better than in the morning.
"Hullo, found your sea-legs already?" cried Mr Mackay on my crawling up
the poop ladder. "I didn't expect to see you out for another day at
least."
"I don't feel all right yet, sir," said I, and I'm sure my pale face
must have shown this without any explanation; "but, I didn't like to
give way to being ill, thinking it best to fight against it."
"Quite right, my boy," he replied. "I've never been sea-sick myself,
not even the first time I went afloat; but, I've seen a good many
suffering from the complaint, and I have noticed that the more they
humoured it, the worse they became. You're getting used to the motion
of the ship by this time--eh?"
"Yes, sir," said I, holding on tightly, however, to the bulwarks as I
spoke, the Silver Queen just then giving a lurch to starboard that
nearly pitched me overboard. "I'll soon be able to stand up like you,
sir."
"Well, at all events, you've got plenty of pluck, Graham; and that's the
sort of material for making a good sailor. You were asking me last
night about the course of the ship, if your sickness hasn't put our talk
out of your head. How far do you think we've run?"
"A good way, I suppose, sir," I answered, "with that gale of wind."
"Yes, pretty so so," he said. "When the cap'en took the sun at noon to-
day we were in latitude 48 degrees 17 minutes north and longitude just 8
degrees 20 west, or about two hundred miles off Ushant, which we're to
the southward of; so, we've run a goodish bit from our point of
departure."
"Oh, I remember all about that, sir," I cried, getting interested, as he
unfolded the chart which was lying on top of the cabin skylight and
showed me the vessel's position. "And we've come so far already?"
"Yes, all that," replied he laughing as he moved his finger on the
chart, pointing to another spot at least a couple of inches away from
the first pencil-mark; "and we ought to fetch about here, my boy, at
noon to-morrow--that is, if this wind holds good and no accident happens
to us, please God."
The ship at this time was going a good ten knots, he further told me,
carrying her topgallants and courses again; for, although the sea was
rough and covered with long rolling waves, that curled over their ridges
into valleys of foam like half-melted snow, and it was blowing pretty
well half a gale now from the north-west, to which point the wind had
hauled round, it was keeping steady in that quarter, for the barometer
remained high, and the Silver Queen, heading south-west by south, was
bending well over so that her lee-side was flush almost with the
swelling water. She was racing along easily, and presented a perfect
picture, with the sun bringing out her white clouds of canvas in
stronger contrast against the clear blue sky overhead and tumbling ocean
around, and making the glass of the skylight and bits of brass-work
about on the deck gleam with a golden radiance as it slowly sank below
the horizon, a great globe of fire like a molten mass of metal on our
weather bow, the vessel keeping always on the same starboard tack, for
she wore round as the wind shifted.
Oh, yes, we were going; and so, evidently, Captain Gillespie thought
when he came up the companion presently and took his place alongside Mr
Mackay on the poop.
"This is splendid!" said he, rubbing his hands as usual and addressing
the first mate, while I crept away further aft, holding on to the
bulwarks to preserve my footing, the deck being inclined at such a sharp
angle from the ship heeling over with the wind. "I don't know when the
old barquey ever went so free."
"Nor I, sir," replied the other with equal enthusiasm; "she's fairly
outdoing herself. We never had such a voyage before, I think, sir."
"No," said the captain. "A good start, a fairish wind and plenty of it,
a decent crew as far as I can judge as yet, and every prospect of a good
voyage. What more can a man wish for?"
"Nothing, sir."
"And I forgot, Mackay, while speaking of our luck, for you know I like
to be particular, and when I say a thing I mean a thing--no stowaways on
board!"
"True, sir," responded the first mate with a laugh, knowing the
captain's great abhorrence of these uninvited and unwelcome passengers.
"I think it's the first voyage we've never been troubled with one."
"Aye, aye, they're getting afraid of me, Mackay, that's the reason,"
said Captain Gillespie chuckling at this. "They've heard tell of the
way I treat all such swindling rascals, and know that when I say a thing
I mean a thing!"
His satisfaction, however, was short-lived; for, just then, several
confused cries and a general commotion was heard forward.
"Hullo!" cried the captain, staggering up to the poop rail and looking
towards the bows, "what's the row there?"
"Bedad, sorr," shouted back the boatswain, yelling out the words as
loudly as he could, like Captain Gillespie, and putting his hands to his
mouth to prevent the wind carrying them away seaward, "there's a did man
in the forepake!"