THE SCHOONER _HALBRANE_.
The _Halbrane_ was a schooner of three hundred tons, and a fast
sailer. On board there was a captain, a mate, or lieutenant, a
boatswain, a cook, and eight sailors; in all twelve men, a
sufficient number to work the ship. Solidly built, copper-bottomed,
very manageable, well suited for navigation between the fortieth and
sixtieth parallels of south latitude, the _Halbrane_ was a credit to
the ship-yards of Birkenhead.
All this I learned from Atkins, who adorned his narrative with
praise and admiration of its theme. Captain Len Guy, of Liverpool,
was three-fifths owner of the vessel, which he had commanded for
nearly six years. He traded in the southern seas of Africa and
America, going from one group of islands to another and from
continent to continent. His ship's company was but a dozen men, it
is true, but she was used for the purposes of trade only; he would
have required a more numerous crew, and all the implements, for
taking seals and other amphibia. The _Halbrane_ was not defenceless,
however; on the contrary, she was heavily armed, and this was well,
for those southern seas were not too safe; they were frequented at
that period by pirates, and on approaching the isles the _Halbrane_
was put into a condition to resist attack. Besides, the men always
slept with one eye open.
One morning--it was the 27th of August--I was roused out of my bed
by the rough voice of the innkeeper and the tremendous thumps he
gave my door.
"Mr. Jeorling, are you awake?"
"Of course I am, Atkins. How should I be otherwise, with all that
noise going on? What's up?"
"A ship six miles out in the offing, to the nor'east, steering
for Christmas!"
"Will it be the _Halbrane_?"
"We shall know that in a short time, Mr. Jeorling. At any rate it
is the first boat of the year, and we must give it a welcome."
I dressed hurriedly and joined Atkins on the quay, where I found him
in the midst of a group engaged in eager discussion. Atkins was
indisputably the most considerable and considered man in the
archipelago--consequently he secured the best listeners. The matter
in dispute was whether the schooner in sight was or was not the
_Halbrane_. The majority maintained that she was not, but Atkins was
positive she was, although on this occasion he had only two backers.
The dispute was carried on with warmth, the host of the Green
Cormorant defending his view, and the dissentients maintaining that
the fast-approaching schooner was either English or American, until
she was near enough to hoist her flag and the Union Jack went
fluttering up into the sky. Shortly after the _Halbrane_ lay at anchor
in the middle of Christmas Harbour.
[Illustration: The approach of the _Halbrane_.]
The captain of the _Halbrane_, who received the demonstrative greeting
of Atkins very coolly, it seemed to me, was about forty-five,
red-faced, and solidly built, like his schooner; his head was large,
his hair was already turning grey, his black eyes shone like coals
of fire under his thick eyebrows, and his strong white teeth were
set like rocks in his powerful jaws; his chin was lengthened by a
coarse red beard, and his arms and legs were strong and firm. Such
was Captain Len Guy, and he impressed me with the notion that he was
rather impassive than hard, a shut-up sort of person, whose secrets
it would not be easy to get at. I was told the very same day that my
impression was correct, by a person who was better informed than
Atkins, although the latter pretended to great intimacy with the
captain. The truth was that nobody had penetrated that reserved
nature.
I may as well say at once that the person to whom I have alluded was
the boatswain of the _Halbrane_, a man named Hurliguerly, who came
from the Isle of Wight. This person was about forty-four, short,
stout, strong, and bow-legged; his arms stuck out from his body, his
head was set like a ball on a bull neck, his chest was broad enough
to hold two pairs of lungs (and he seemed to want a double supply,
for he was always puffing, blowing, and talking), he had droll
roguish eyes, with a network of wrinkles under them. A noteworthy
detail was an ear-ring, one only, which hung from the lobe of his
left ear. What a contrast to the captain of the schooner, and how
did two such dissimilar beings contrive to get on together? They had
contrived it, somehow, for they had been at sea in each other's
company for fifteen years, first in the brig _Power_, which had been
replaced by the schooner _Halbrane_, six years before the beginning of
this story.
Atkins had told Hurliguerly on his arrival that I would take passage
on the _Halbrane_, if Captain Len Guy consented to my doing so, and
the boatswain presented himself on the following morning without any
notice or introduction. He already knew my name, and he accosted me
as follows:
"Mr. Jeorling, I salute you."
"I salute you in my turn, my friend. What do you want?"
"To offer you my services."
"On what account?"
"On account of your intention to embark on the _Halbrane_."
"Who are you?"
"I am Hurliguerly, the boatswain of the _Halbrane_, and besides, I
am the faithful companion of Captain Len Guy, who will listen to me
willingly, although he has the reputation of not listening to
anybody."
"Well, my friend, let us talk, if you are not required on board
just now."
"I have two hours before me, Mr. Jeorling. Besides, there's very
little to be done to-day. If you are free, as I am--"
He waved his hand towards the port.
"Cannot we talk very well here?" I observed.
"Talk, Mr. Jeorling, talk standing up, and our throats dry, when
it is so easy to sit down in a corner of the Green Cormorant in
front of two glasses of whisky."
"I don't drink."
"Well, then, I'll drink for both of us. Oh! don't imagine you
are dealing with a sot! No! never more than is good for me, but
always as much!"
I followed the man to the tavern, and while Atkins was busy on the
deck of the ship, discussing the prices of his purchases and sales,
we took our places in the eating-room of his inn. And first I said
to Hurliguerly: "It was on Atkins that I reckoned to introduce me
to Captain Len Guy, for he knows him very intimately, if I am not
mistaken."
"Pooh! Atkins is a good sort, and the captain has an esteem for
him. But he can't do what I can. Let me act for you, Mr.
Jeorling."
"Is it so difficult a matter to arrange, boatswain, and is there
not a cabin on board the _Halbrane_? The smallest would do for me, and
I will pay--"
"All right, Mr. Jeorling! There is a cabin, which has never been
used, and since you don't mind putting your hand in your pocket if
required--however--between ourselves--it will take somebody
sharper than you think, and who isn't good old Atkins, to induce
Captain Len Guy to take a passenger. Yes, indeed, it will take all
the smartness of the good fellow who now drinks to your health,
regretting that you don't return the compliment!"
What a wink it was that accompanied this sentiment! And then the man
took a short black pipe out of the pocket of his jacket, and smoked
like a steamer in full blast.
"Mr. Hurliguerly?" said I.
"Mr. Jeorling."
"Why does your captain object to taking me on his ship?"
"Because he does not intend to take anybody on board his ship. He
never has taken a passenger."
"But, for what reason, I ask you."
"Oh! because he wants to go where he likes, to turn about if he
pleases and go the other way without accounting for his motives to
anybody. He never leaves these southern seas, Mr. Jeorling; we have
been going these many years between Australia on the east and
America on the west; from Hobart Town to the Kerguelens, to Tristan
d'Acunha, to the Falklands, only taking time anywhere to sell our
cargo, and sometimes dipping down into the Antarctic Sea. Under
these circumstances, you understand, a passenger might be
troublesome, and besides, who would care to embark on the _Halbrane_?
she does not like to flout the breezes, and goes wherever the wind
drives her."
"The _Halbrane_ positively leaves the Kerguelens in four days?"
"Certainly."
"And this time she will sail westward for Tristan d'Acunha?"
"Probably."
"Well, then, that probability will be enough for me, and since you
offer me your services, get Captain Len Guy to accept me as a
passenger."
"It's as good as done."
"All right, Hurliguerly, and you shall have no reason to repent of
it."
"Eh! Mr. Jeorling," replied this singular mariner, shaking his
head as though he had just come out of the sea, "I have never
repented of anything, and I know well that I shall not repent of
doing you a service. Now, if you will allow me, I shall take leave
of you, without waiting for Atkins to return, and get on board."
With this, Hurliguerly swallowed his last glass of whisky at a
gulp--I thought the glass would have gone down with the
liquor--bestowed a patronizing smile on me, and departed.
An hour later, I met the innkeeper on the port, and told him what
had occurred.
"Ah! that Hurliguerly!" said he, "always the old story. If you
were to believe him, Captain Len Guy wouldn't blow his nose
without consulting him. He's a queer fellow, Mr. Jeorling, not
bad, not stupid, but a great hand at getting hold of dollars or
guineas! If you fall into his hands, mind your purse, button up your
pocket, and don't let yourself be done."
"Thanks for your advice, Atkins. Tell me, you have been talking
with Captain Len Guy; have you spoken about me?"
"Not yet, Mr. Jeorling. There's plenty of time. The _Halbrane_ has
only just arrived, and--"
"Yes, yes, I know. But you understand that I want to be certain as
soon as possible."
"There's nothing to fear. The matter will be all right. Besides,
you would not be at a loss in any case. When the fishing season
comes, there will be more ships in Christmas Harbour than there are
houses around the Green Cormorant. Rely on me. I undertake your
getting a passage."
Now, these were fair words, but, just as in the case of Hurliguerly,
there was nothing in them. So, notwithstanding the fine promises of
the two, I resolved to address myself personally to Len Guy, hard to
get at though he might be, so soon as I should meet him alone.
The next day, in the afternoon, I saw him on the quay, and
approached him. It was plain that he would have preferred to avoid
me. It was impossible that Captain Len Guy, who knew every dweller
in the place, should not have known that I was a stranger, even
supposing that neither of my would-be patrons had mentioned me to
him.
His attitude could only signify one of two things--either my
proposal had been communicated to him, and he did not intend to
accede to it; or neither Hurliguerly nor Atkins had spoken to him
since the previous day. In the latter case, if he held aloof from
me, it was because of his morose nature; it was because he did not
choose to enter into conversation with a stranger.
At the moment when I was about to accost him, the _Halbrane's_
lieutenant rejoined his captain, and the latter availed himself of
the opportunity to avoid me. He made a sign to the officer to follow
him, and the two walked away at a rapid pace.
"This is serious," said I to myself. "It looks as though I
shall find it difficult to gain my point. But, after all it only
means delay. To-morrow morning I will go on board the _Halbrane_.
Whether he likes it or whether he doesn't, this Len Guy will have
to hear what I've got to say, and to give me an answer, yes or
no!"
Besides, the captain of the _Halbrane_ might come at dinner-time to
the Green Cormorant, where the ship's people usually took their
meals when ashore. So I waited, and did not go to dinner until late.
I was disappointed, however, for neither the captain nor anyone
belonging to the ship patronized the Green Cormorant that day. I had
to dine alone, exactly as I had been doing every day for two months.
After dinner, about half-past seven, when it was dark, I went out to
walk on the port, keeping on the side of the houses. The quay was
quite deserted; not a man of the _Halbrane's_ crew was ashore. The
ship's boats were alongside, rocking gently on the rising tide. I
remained there until nine, walking up and down the edge in full view
of the _Halbrane_. Gradually the mass of the ship became indistinct,
there was no movement and no light. I returned to the inn, where I
found Atkins smoking his pipe near the door.
"Atkins," said I, "it seems that Captain Len Guy does not care
to come to your inn very often?"
"He sometimes comes on Sunday, and this is Saturday, Mr.
Jeorling."
"You have not spoken to him?"
"Yes, I have."
Atkins was visibly embarrassed.
"You have informed him that a person of your acquaintance wished
to take passage on the _Halbrane_?"
"Yes."
"What was his answer?"
"Not what either you or I would have wished, Mr. Jeorling."
"He refuses?"
"Well, yes, I suppose it was refusing; what he said was: ‘My
ship is not intended to carry passengers. I never have taken any,
and I never intend to do so.'"