DAVEY'S BRIGHT IDEA.
THE next day, after dark, the captain unexpectedly turned up, and
stayed talking with Johnnie Grey for quite half an hour. It was one
of Captain Smythe's little ways to take people thus by surprise. He
sat down by the fire, for the evening was chill, but he took no notice
whatever of Davey.
The boy, however, was too full of his own thoughts to heed the slight,
nor did he listen at all to the conversation between the captain and
Johnnie, until, the mention of Tom's name arresting his attention, he
looked up from the fishing-net that he was mending by the light of an
oil-lamp in the corner, and caught these words, spoken by the captain—
"The thing I like least," said he musingly, "is the queer sort of
friendship that's sprung up between Tom and Spankle. Now, as you know,
Spankle's the only one of my crew that I've never felt quite sure of,
and I don't half care for him and the lad to be so thick as they are.
However, they can't do much harm so long as they're aboard of the
ship, and on shore we must all keep an eye on them. Spankle's none too
straight, of that I'm certain, but self-interest will most likely keep
him true to us. As for that Tom Cat, I don't believe one could find the
young villain's match anywhere. We've made a poor bargain with both
these lads; they're bad eggs—both of them."
So saying, and with a lowering glance at Davey, Captain Smythe nodded
good-night to Johnnie, and went his way, lantern in hand, to the back
door, where the small boat, in charge of Ben Rait, was waiting for them.
On the following evening, Johnnie had occasion to go out on some
business for the captain, for he—next to Ben—was the most trusted of
all the crew.
"I shan't be home till you're asleep, Davey," said Johnnie. "The boat
will bring me round to the back door, for there's an extra high tide
to-night, and there'll be no difficulty in getting up the creek. The
turn of the tide should come at ten, but I shall be in about eleven or
half-past, and long before the water goes down too much. Why, it's up
even now, and getting on for two feet deep at the platform, though it's
only eight o'clock as yet. That entrance is open, and it had better
stay so, Davey. I'll fasten it up when I come home. Good-night, my boy."
"Good-night—good-bye—Johnnie," said the lad, looking into Johnnie's
face with glistening eyes. "You've been very good to me, Johnnie, and I
won't forget it. Thank you for all."
"Now, then, youngster, what's all this about?" said Johnnie, looking
wonderingly at Davey's flushed face and moistened eyes. "It isn't a
long parting, you know, youngster; I shall be back in two or three
hours."
"Yes, Johnnie," was all Davey could say.
And Johnnie went away, down through all the windings of the caves
towards the promontory, where the caves ended and the creek began.
As soon as he was gone, Davey hurried to the great pile of wood which
stood in the corner, not far from the hearth. A hammer and some nails,
with other tools, lay about on a flat slab of rock, which served the
men as a carpenter's bench.
Davey selected some strong pieces of plank, and nailed them firmly
together criss-cross in raft fashion. Then he gathered from among the
drift-wood bundles of dry branches and sticks, and tied them securely
with string, afterwards nailing them to his plank-raft to make it more
buoyant.
From a flat piece of wood he shaped a rude paddle, and then he searched
among the rubbish in the wood pile, till he found an old broom-handle,
which he remembered picking up in the creek-bed one evening, some days
ago, and for which now he thought to find a use.
His next step was to take off the clothes he was wearing—some that the
captain had given him—and to dress himself in his own old garments—all
but his boots, which he meant to leave behind.
Then he got hold of a pencil of Johnnie's and scrawled on the deal
table the words,—
"'Good-bye again, dear J., I'm off.'"
The raft was quite a small affair, and light enough for Davey to
carry easily, and now he took it on his back, and went groping along
through the dark corners and passages down to the water's edge. The
boy knew well enough that so small a raft as he had constructed could
not possibly serve instead of a boat, or support his weight if he sat
upon it. But it might, he thought and hoped, keep him from sinking, and
enable him to get round the point of the cliff, and into the wide sandy
bay on the other side of it, where he could paddle into shoal water,
and wading ashore, make his way into Tenby across the sand hills, or by
the strip of beach which was above high-water mark.
He had brought some strong cord with him from the cave, and now he
lashed his little raft, like a rude shield to his waist and chest, in
such a position that when his legs were in the water, the upper part of
his body would be supported by the wood.
[Illustration]