OF FISHES AND THE SEA.
“BEING at sea,” said Wally, thoughtfully, “is very queer.”
“In what way?” demanded Norah.
“Well, you forget all about everything else. At least, I do. Don’t you?
It’s only a week since we saw land, but I feel as if I’d never been
anywhere but on this old ship. You wake up in the same creaky old cabin,
and you have the same tub, at the command of the same steward; and you
come up on deck and see the same old sea, and the same faces; nothing
else. Then you walk the same deck, and—oh, do the same old things all
day! Nothing different.”
“Yes—but it’s all rather jolly,” said Norah. “You like it, don’t you?”
“Oh, awfully! I don’t care how long it goes on. But I’ve got a queer
feeling that I’ve never done anything else, and never will again.”
“Well, that’s just stupid!” said Norah, practically. “And if you really
felt like it, I think you’d begin to be dull at once.”
“Well, there’s something in that,” said Wally. “Of course, one knows
it’s going to end, and that something altogether different is going to
happen. Only one can’t picture it. It’s like being told you’ll die some
day; you know it’s perfectly true, but you don’t believe it.”
“Wally!” ejaculated Norah, amazed. “What on earth is the matter? Are you
sick?”
“Sick?” said Wally, staring. “Not me. I was merely reflecting. Can’t a
fellow think?”
“It’s so unusual, in your case,” put in Jim, who had been silently
smoking. “You might give us a little warning when you go in for these
unaccustomed exercises. All the same, I know what you’re driving at; one
gets into a kind of rut on board ship, without being able to see the end
of it. If one could imagine how things will be in England, it would be
different—but it’s hard to imagine a place you’ve never seen, and under
extraordinary conditions!”
“So it is,” Norah said. “The end of this voyage is like a dark curtain
across everything. I wish we could see to the other side of it.”
“So do I,” agreed Wally. “But as we can’t, the best thing is not to
think of it. What are you going to do to-day, Norah?”
“Oh—just worry through another old day!” said Norah, laughing. “There
isn’t any special plan, I believe.”
It was a week since they had seen land. They had said a final good-bye
to Australia after a brief stay at Adelaide, spent in scampering round
the bright little city lying at the foot of the Mount Lofty Ranges, and
in a motor-car run through the hills themselves, seeing exquisite
panoramas of plain and sea far below. The almond-orchards were in
blossom; over the plains their wide expanse was like a mist of
shimmering opal. Above, on the foothills, golden wattle blazed for
miles. But South Australia was in the grip of the worst drought in its
history, and the hills were dry and bare, and scarred with the marks of
great bush-fires; it hurt to see the happy country so worn and tired.
They were not sorry when the time came to rejoin the ship, and to steam
down the Gulf and out to sea.
Somewhere ahead, rumour said, were the Australian transports; the first
contingent of troops had slipped away from Melbourne silently, under
cover of darkness, and no one seemed to know definitely the day of their
going. Rumour went further, saying that they were to coal at an
unfrequented southern port of West Australia; so that the _Perseus_
would probably draw ahead, without catching sight of the fleet—which
was disappointing. After that, rumour became speculative and varied. One
report stated that the troops were to go to South Africa, to help the
Government there, hard-pressed between rebellion and the enemy; another
gave India as their destination, and another, Egypt; while the majority
still held to the belief that they would be sent direct to France. And
as no one knew any more than any one else, and nothing definite was
known in any quarter, the _Perseus_ buzzed with conjectures and
arguments, the natural result of which was that no one got any
“forrarder.”
Australia was now far behind them. They had not touched any western
port, but had headed straight for the Indian Ocean, and now were
swinging across it towards South Africa, apparently the only ship afloat
upon its wide expanse. The outward and homeward routes vary, according
to ocean currents, so that ships going and coming rarely meet; and, in
addition, the _Perseus_ was running many miles off her course, in the
hope of eluding German cruisers, of which several were known to be
prowling about, any one of their number ready to pounce upon the
_Perseus_ like a hungry dingo upon a large and very fat lamb. It was,
however, unlikely that any would be so far south as their present
position, and the passengers had been quite unable to stir themselves to
any degree of nervousness. War precautions were observed in obedience to
Admiralty instructions rather than from inward convictions.
Meanwhile, the voyage was not exciting. To put thirty passengers on
board a ship capable of carrying three hundred and fifty is to produce
an effect similar to that of a few small peas in a large pod. And these
passengers on the _Perseus_ were mostly anxious and pre-occupied people:
full of anxieties connected with the war, and longing so keenly for the
voyage to be over, that the ship and its population held but little
interest for them. A sprinkling of South African settlers were hurrying
homewards; some to fight, and all concerned for the safety of their
properties. There were wives whose husbands were already fighting in
France; grave-faced women, who did not talk much, but counted each slow
day that must elapse before they could obtain news of their dear ones.
Half a dozen young men were on their way to England to enlist
there—ready for any job, so that it only meant business; hoping for a
commission, but quite willing to join as rankers if necessary. One had
his motor-car on board; another had left a vast property in New South
Wales; a third had been pearl-fishing off Port Darwin, and had made his
way right across the desert in the centre of Australia to join the
Expeditionary Force at Adelaide—and finding himself just too late for
the first contingent, had been too impatient to await the formation of
the second, and so had caught the _Perseus_ at the last moment. Two or
three retired British officers, recalled from Australia to the colours,
were on board—with stories, half-comical, half-tragic, of homes broken
up at a moment’s notice on receipt of a curt cable from the War Office.
The cloud that lay upon the whole world rested also on this one atom of
Empire, lonely in a wide sea; there was no topic but War.
“It’s maddening to be so long without news,” Jim said, leaning over the
rail to watch the white curl of foam breaking away from the bow. “It
seemed long enough to wait for one’s morning paper in Melbourne, even
after you’d seen every ‘special extra’ the day before; and then suddenly
to drop into silence!”
“You’ve only had a week of silence—and there are eleven days yet to
Durban,” Wally remarked. “No good in worrying yet. I wish they’d let us
use the wireless.”
“They won’t,” Jim said. “Orders are awfully strict; no wireless except
in case of absolute emergency. Oh, it wouldn’t be good enough; a German
could locate a ship by her wireless to within a few miles. You might as
well put a bell on your neck.”
“Inventions are going too far nowadays,” said Wally, with deep
disfavour. “Old Marconi had done very well without a further refinement
like that—it’s only lately that they have been able to harness
sound-waves so completely, and I don’t see any real use in it. It’s a
jolly nuisance, anyhow.”
“Did you ever see any one look so miserable as the sentry?” asked Norah,
laughing.
A young sailor was on duty at the door of the Marconi-room, standing
sentinel, with rifle and fixed bayonet. It was evident that he had not
been prepared for warlike uses, and his expression also was a fixed one,
full of woe. His mates, passing, grinned at him openly; small cabin-boys
and junior stewards peeped round corners and jeered at him, beseeching
him not to let his bayonet go off. Like Casabianca, he stood at his
post, but without enthusiasm.
“It would be interesting to see him if any one tried to get in to the
wireless,” said Jim. “I’m sure he wouldn’t run away, but he’d be much
more likely to damage himself than the intruder with that toothpick of
his; I don’t believe he ever handled one before.”
“Who would want to get in, anyhow?” Wally inquired, lazily.
“No one, that I know of,” Jim answered. “It would bore most people stiff
to be kept in the Marconi-room for ten minutes. Still, they can’t make
rules for one ship alone, and there may be Germans on board any ship,
able to use the instrument. I suppose if we were on a crowded boat, with
a few suspects with foreign accents scattered among the passengers, we’d
think all the precautions highly desirable; it’s only because we’re on
this peaceful old tub that they seem unnecessary.”
“I wouldn’t mind their having sentries all over the ship, if they wanted
to—but I’m beginning to feel I would chance any number of Germans for
the sake of fresh air!” said Norah, ruefully. “It’s bad enough to have
your cabin shut up from dusk until you’re in bed—but at least you don’t
stay in it. The rest of the ship just gets stifling.”
“You see,” said Wally, “if you shut up a ship, you shut so many assorted
smells into her—engine-rooms, cooks’ galley, saloon, cabins, and
people, with a sort of top-dressing of new paint, hot oil, and wash-up
water. Then the gentle aroma of tallow, from the holds, works up through
the lot. Then you don’t breathe any more.”
“You wish you didn’t, at any rate,” responded Norah, laughing.
“It beats me, how some of the passengers seem to thrive on it,” Jim
remarked. “Look how they sit in the lounge at night, half of ’em
smoking, and every chink shut up, and play bridge. I’ve come to the
conclusion that they’re made of sterner stuff than we are.”
“Well, we can’t help it—it’s because we live in the open all the year
round. A stuffy house is bad enough, but a stuffy ship—ugh!” Norah
grimaced, with expression, if not with elegance. “Let’s be thankful we
can live on deck most of the time; it’s always lovely there.”
“This is where you hail me as your benefactor, by the way,” Jim
observed. “The little cabin next yours is empty; I’ve arranged with your
steward for you to use it as a dressing-room in the evenings, and then
you needn’t have a light in your own cabin at all—and the port needn’t
be shut.”
“Jimmy, you are an angel!” said his sister, solemnly. “When did you
think of it?”
Jim had the grace to look sheepish.
“When it struck me this morning to manage the same thing for myself and
Wal!” he admitted. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of these empty
cabins before. At least it means that we’ll have fresh air to sleep in,
and that’s something.” He broke into a suppressed laugh, hiding it by
renewed attention to the waves.
“What is it?” asked Norah.
“That seafaring person,” said Jim, indicating an old quartermaster, who
had passed them with a slightly aloof air, “had an adventure with Wal
and me after you had gone below last night. We were stretched out on our
deck-chairs—the deck as dark as usual, of course, only you know how you
get used to the dim light after a while?”
Norah nodded.
“Well, he came suddenly out of the light of a doorway, shutting it
quickly after him, and approached us. We thought he saw us, so we never
thought of speaking; and we only realised that he couldn’t see us at all
when he fell violently on top of us. He hit Wal’s chair first, and
tripped; then he fell across us both and lay face downwards on us for a
moment, with a loud groan—and then he rolled off our knees, and sat up
on the deck, looking the biggest idiot you can imagine. And we hadn’t
any manners—we just howled!”
“How lovely!” said Norah, twinkling. “What happened?”
“He fled,” said Jim. “And we went on howling. It was a very cheerful
happening.”
“No wonder he went past you with his nose in the air,” Norah said. “Poor
old fellow!—it must have been a shock to him.”
“Not half such a shock as it was to us,” said Wally. “We never asked him
to fall on us—and he’s bonier than you’d think. Next time I would like
to choose a fat, soft quartermaster; this one is simply one of the
horrors of war, when he falls on you. He’s all bony outcrops. Look,
Norah, there’s a porpoise!”
“One!—why, there’s a school!” Jim said.
The big creatures were gambolling about a ship’s length away, having
mysteriously appeared from the west. More and more appeared, until the
sea seemed full of them—great, dark forms, shooting into the air in a
curve that was extraordinarily graceful, considering their bulk, and
piercing the waves again with hardly a splash. They came nearer and
nearer, evidently interested in the ship; looking down, Norah could see
them under water, dim shadows shooting through the green depths. For a
while they kept pace with the steamer; then they gradually drew off, as
if in obedience to some invisible signal from their leader, and headed
westward again, until at length the leaping, sleek forms were lost in
the distance.
“They must be immensely strong beasts,” Wally said. “I remember once
being in the bow of a big steamer going to Queensland, and three
porpoises had quite a game with us—they kept springing into the air and
shooting backwards and forwards in front of the bow—so close to it that
it looked as if they’d be cut in two as they sprang. But they must know
exactly how to judge distance; the bow seemed right on them every time,
but it never touched them. They played with that old ship like three
great puppies—and she was going along at a good rate, too. I must say
I’d like to see a porpoise in a real hurry—he’d be something like a
torpedo!”
“Nice people,” said Norah, watching the last dark speck in the west. “I
hope they’ll come often. Are we likely to see any whales?”
“It’s not the season, but you never can tell. Durban is a great place
for them, I believe,” Jim answered. “Mr. Smith saw a great many there
last time he came out.”
“Mr. Smith seems to be developing an affection for you, Jimmy,” Wally
said. “I saw him deep in soulful intercourse with you before breakfast.”
“I don’t know about either the soul or the affection,” said Jim—“but
he’s a lonely sort of beggar. No one seems to want him. And he’s really
rather interesting when he gets talking. I can’t quite make out who he
is, or where he comes from; he’s been in Australia for a good bit, and
he says he’s a Canadian, but he doesn’t look like one.”
“He’s such a bad-tempered animal,” Wally said. “He fell foul of the
purser on his first day on board, and seems to have been fairly uncivil
to the captain; and my steward says he’s a ‘holy terror’ in his cabin.
One of those people who are never satisfied. And he can’t play games or
do anything.”
“Oh, well, he doesn’t worry us much!” said Jim, easily. “He doesn’t
often want to talk, and when he does, one can’t be rude to him. He’s
very interested in the troopships—has a nephew in the New South Wales
contingent. That’s what we were talking about this morning; he heard me
say I knew a lot of fellows in the crowd, and he wanted to know if I
knew where they were going. His nephew can’t stand heat, he says, and he
doesn’t want him to be in Egypt. I guess he’ll get enough cold in
Flanders before the show is over.”
“Where’s Mr. Smith going?” inquired Wally.
“Oh, to London, I think! He isn’t communicative about himself, and I
don’t know what his business is; he has travelled a lot, and knows
Europe pretty well. Quite an interesting animal to talk to. But I
haven’t run across any one with so little interest in the war—he says
he’s lost heavily by it, and that seems to have soured him—he won’t
talk war, except for his beloved nephew. Must be a pretty decent sort of
uncle, I should think.”
“That sort of person might be all right as an uncle, but I don’t seem to
hanker after him as anything at all, myself,” said Wally. “But you
always used to find some decency in the most hopeless little beggars at
school, Jim.”
“Oh, well, most people are pretty decent when you come to know ’em a
bit!” said Jim, carelessly. “Anyhow, I believe in thinking they are;
life wouldn’t be worth living if one went round expecting to find the
other fellow a beast. And old Smith isn’t really half bad. Here’s Dad.”
“Where have you been hiding yourself, Dad?” Norah asked, turning to meet
her father. “We hunted everywhere for you a while ago.”
“I’ve been up in the captain’s quarters,” explained her father. “He has
very comfortable rooms; we have been smoking and talking. It’s an
anxious position to hold; I wouldn’t care to be captain of a big liner
in the present state of affairs, but it seems to sit lightly enough on
him. At any rate, he doesn’t wear his heart upon his sleeve, and if he’s
worried, his passengers are the last people likely to find it out.”
“The voyage out must have been exciting,” Wally remarked. “They had a
huge passenger-list, and German cruisers were very plentiful—one only
missed them by a few miles in the dark.”
“We’re to have boat-drill every week,” said Mr. Linton. “After the drill
for the crew, a double whistle is to summon the passengers; every one
has been allotted a boat-station, under the command of an officer, and
we’re supposed to tumble up pretty sharply and answer to our names. Not
much in it, but it will teach us where to go in case of emergency, and
to know under which officer we should be. Otherwise we should be like a
mob of sheep.”
The captain, cheery-faced and alert, bore down upon the little group.
“Has your father been telling you my plans for disturbing your leisure,
Miss Norah?” he asked. At home the captain had small girls of his own;
Norah and he were already great friends. “I hope you won’t find it a
bore; some passengers on the way out considered it beneath their dignity
to turn up to boat-drill, but on the whole they are very good about it.”
“I think it will be rather fun,” said Norah. “Whose boat are we in?”
“You’re in the second boat, under the doctor,” replied the captain. “I
shall look to you to aid him, as first mate—with full authority from me
to keep Wally in order, and put him in irons if necessary.”
“What have I done?” asked Wally plaintively.
“That’s very satisfactory,” said Norah, laughing, and not heeding the
victim. “Captain, if we had to take to the boats in earnest, what
luggage could we have with us?”
“H’m,” said the captain, reflectively. “Luggage is a wide term, and it
would entirely depend upon the Germans—they might let people take a
good deal or nothing at all. I wouldn’t have any say in the matter.
There is plenty of room, of course, with so few passengers. I should
recommend you to have a small suit-case with valuables and necessaries,
and as many rugs and coats as you could carry, separately.”
“Would it be wise to have a suit-case ready packed?”
The captain laughed.
“Well, I don’t suppose for a moment that the Germans are going to get
us, Miss Norah,” he said. “Don’t you worry your little head about them.
We take precautions, of course, because that’s common-sense, but they
need not make any one nervous. A lot of passengers on the way out kept
their valuables packed in readiness, and it may have acted as a kind of
insurance against trouble, for the enemy didn’t get us—and they were
near enough. Just please yourself, and don’t get anxious.”
“Why, I don’t suppose they would hurt the passengers, in any case,” said
Mr. Linton. “War isn’t piracy, captain.”
“No; not with decent people. And so far the Germans at sea have been
exceedingly decent,” the captain answered. “The _Emden_ has done plenty
of damage, but not to people; her captain must be a very good sort,
judging by the way he has acted towards British who fell into his hands.
No; there might be a certain amount of discomfort, of course, but no
danger. Do you like queer experiences, Miss Norah?”
“I do,” said Norah, promptly.
“Then I hope you won’t get this one!” said the captain, as promptly.
“Not on my ship, anyhow. And I don’t think you will, either—the route
will be well guarded, and we don’t run risks. You must look on
boat-drill as just one of the games the doctor advocates—designed to
keep you all from getting fat and lazy. And there’s a whale blowing over
there—can you see?”
Norah turned in excitement, and could just see the faint spout of water
on the horizon.
“Is that all?” she said, disgustedly. “Won’t he come any nearer?”
“I’m afraid that one won’t,” said the captain; “he’s a long way off, and
we’re going fast. But don’t say I didn’t provide you with diversions,
Miss Norah—porpoises and leviathans of the deep, and boat-drill!” He
laughed at the disappointed face. “A whale is really a dull, old thing,
until you get to close quarters, but you needn’t say I said so—they’re
one of our stock attractions. I must go”—and he went, swiftly, with
quick greetings for passengers on the way. The captain possessed in full
that valuable attribute of captains of liners—at the day’s end each
passenger used to feel that he or she had been the special object of
“the skipper’s” attention and interest. It is this quality which helps
to lead to the command of big ships.
Some one came up and carried off the boys and Norah to a game of
deck-tennis—which is played with a rope quoit across a net, and
provides as much strenuous exercise and as many bruised knuckles as the
most exacting could demand. Mr. Linton found his deck-chair and a book,
and the long, lazy morning went by imperceptibly, as do all mornings on
board ship. At luncheon, there were rumours of news—some one had heard
that the wireless operator was in communication with a ship, and there
ensued a buzz of speculation. The captain, entering, was appealed to by
a dozen voices.
“No news at all,” said he, sitting down. “The operator heard a British
warship speaking somewhere, a long way off; she speaks in code, but they
know the preliminary signals.”
Mr. Smith, looking slightly anxious, shot out a question.
“That does not mean danger to the troopships, I hope, captain?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said the captain. “There’s no reason that it
should; with a big convoy like that the warships will be spread out, and
they must exchange messages. It’s probably of the simplest nature—only
we don’t know anything about it, so I can’t enlighten any one.” He gave
a little laugh. “I suppose there is no use in my mentioning that the
best advice I can give you all is to forget that there is a war?”
Mr. Smith, returning to his soup, was heard to murmur something
unintelligibly about his nephew. He looked worried and pre-occupied; and
when his neighbour, who happened to be the pearl-fishing man from Port
Darwin, asked him a question, he hesitated, stammered, and finally gave
an answer so incoherent that the other stared.
“He’s a rum chap, that,” the Port Darwin man, John West, confided to
Jim, later. “You’d almost think he had something on his mind. Anybody
after him, do you think?”
“Well—he joined the ship in a hurry at the last moment,” Jim said.
“Naturally, he didn’t mention if any one were on his track.”
“If you come to that, I did the same thing myself,” said West, laughing.
“Going down to Port Adelaide, I was thinking I should have to chase the
old ship down the Gulf in a motor-boat! So I can’t very well afford to
talk about Smith. And I daresay he’s all right—he’s only worried about
his precious nephew. I told him at lunch that there were heaps of other
people’s nephews in the contingent, so his wouldn’t be lonesome; but it
did not seem to comfort him to any noticeable extent. There isn’t much
emotion left for a wife or mother when a mere uncle takes on like
Smith!”
“He’s a man of feeling—and there aren’t many among you hard-headed
young Australians!” said the doctor, laughing in his turn. “You can’t
understand a man showing any emotion at all. Smith, being fat and soft,
is different—that’s all. Look at him now.”
They were sitting in the deck-lounge, smoking. A few yards away Mr.
Smith came into view, an unlit cigar in his mouth. His broad face was
almost comically lined and perplexed, and he passed them without any
sign of observing them. Immediately behind him came Norah, encumbered
with a large, restless baby.
“Wherever did you get that thing, Norah?” Jim called to her.
“He isn’t a thing,” said Norah, indignantly. “He’s a very nice
person—only his mother is apt to get a bit tired.”
“I don’t wonder,” said the doctor, as the baby executed a leap that
would have been a somersault but for his bearer’s firm grip. “Is he
training for a porpoise, do you think? Come and sit down, Miss
Norah—he’s too heavy to be carried for long at a stretch.”
Norah sat down thankfully, and the baby graciously accepted the doctor’s
silver tobacco-box, and proceeded to concentrate all his energies on
opening it.
“What have you done with his mother?”
“Oh, she has gone to lie down—she has a headache, and the baby doesn’t
give her much peace,” Norah answered. “He’s really quite good if you
show him things. We’ve been looking for whales—but whales are so
uninteresting in the distance.”
“I wish I could show you some giant rays I saw once,” the doctor said.
“We were going up the coast from Bombay to Karachi in a British-India
turbine boat, and after breakfast one morning on a calm day there were a
lot of them jumping about two miles off. They’re worth seeing when they
jump. You know their shape—enormous flat things—and they came out of
the water with a sort of gradual upward rush, like a hydroplane lifting,
rise about ten feet from the water, and then come down flat—whop! It’s
like a billiard-table falling on the water.”
“Whew!” said Wally. “I’d like to see them. What size do they run to?”
“I could tell you of one that measured thirty feet from nose-tip to
tail-tip, and sixteen feet from side to side—only people don’t always
believe the yarn, and it discourages me,” said the doctor, with a
twinkle in his eye.
“Go on, doctor—we promise to believe anything!” Jim assured him.
“As a matter of fact, the story is sober truth—but it was a queer
coincidence,” the doctor said. “We were talking about these big rays to
the first officer of the ship, that morning, and he told us that about
two years before, a ship in which he was second mate had run into one of
them in those same latitudes. It got across the bow, simply wrapped
round it, and was drowned by being dragged through the water. They got a
rope on to it and lifted it aboard by a windlass. It was the one of
which I told you—measured thirty by sixteen.”
“What would he weigh?”
“Oh—tons. I caught a ray once in the Andaman Islands; it was a small
one, four feet from side to side, and ten feet long—six or seven feet
of that was tail. It weighed a hundred and forty pounds. So you can
calculate the big one, Miss Norah.”
“No, thank you,” said Norah, hastily. “We’ll call it tons.”
“Well, the first officer of our ship had photographs of that brute
hanging up in Karachi, where he said they had taken it, for exhibition.
Of course, it might have been any big ray, hanging anywhere; I’m afraid
most of us put it down as a sailor’s yarn, rather more circumstantial
than usual. But this is where the queer part of my story comes in.”
The baby drummed happily on the table with the tobacco-box, and gurgled.
“The kiddie likes it, anyhow,” said Jim, laughing. “Go on, doctor.”
“That was about ten o’clock in the morning. We watched the rays as long
as they remained in sight, and then forgot all about them. After lunch
the skipper noticed that our speed was wrong; he had been suspicious for
some time, and on testing it by the patent log he found we were doing
only eleven knots instead of fifteen. That sort of thing annoys a
skipper, especially when there is no reason for it. So he rang up the
engine-room and asked what revolutions she was making, and was told that
she was doing her fifteen knots. The captain argued the point with some
warmth; the chief engineer defended his engines with equal vigour, and
finally they came to the conclusion that something was wrong.”
“Not a leak?”
“Oh, no! I happened to stroll up to the bow about that time; it’s the
quietest place on the ship, and I like it—and looking over, I saw
something half in and half out of the sea, for all the world like a
thick white sheet wrapped round the cutwater. It beat me for a few
minutes—the foam from the waves partly concealed it—and then I saw
that it was one of these huge rays. The ship had run into it and broken
its back, just as the chief officer had described—and it had revenged
itself by reducing our speed by four knots!”
“Well!” said Norah. “Did you all go and apologise to the chief officer?”
“It might have pained him to know we’d even doubted him,” said the
doctor, laughing. “We made our apologies—mentally. The thing was
exactly as he had described. We wanted the skipper to stop and get it
aboard, but he was sufficiently disgusted with the delay it had already
caused; and it would have taken a good while to rig up a derrick. So he
had the engines reversed, and we backed slowly astern, and as soon as
the pressure of the water against it was released, Mr. Ray dropped off.
I think he was even bigger than the one the chief officer had measured.”
“Well, it would be a good deal of fish that you would need to wrap round
the stern, to bring down the speed of a big ship,” said Jim. “I wish
you’d got him on board, doctor.”
“So do I—there were batteries of cameras waiting for him; and the
skipper was unpopular for fully twelve hours,” said the doctor.
“Skippers, however, have to be stern men, and indifferent to questions
of popularity—where the coal bill is concerned. Owners and coal bills
remain long after passengers are a misty memory; and you can’t appease
owners—not even with a fish story!” He patted the baby’s head, rescued
his tobacco-box, and was gone.