TO JERSEY WITH A THIEF
The night's boat was the _Ella_. When the train drew to a standstill
and the passengers got out Bertie supposed that their journey was at
an end. His ideas as to the whereabouts of Jersey were very vague
indeed. He was surprised, therefore, when the captain, taking his
hand, led him along the gangway to the boat. The stars were shining
brightly overhead, but midnight never is quite as light as noon, and
in the uncertain light he could neither see nor understand where it
was that they were going.
The captain led him to the hurricane deck, and then he paused. Then he
led Bertie to a seat.
"This will be your bed to-night. I don't choose to go into the cabin,
and I don't choose that you shall go without me."
Bertie sat down and wondered. Dark figures were passing to and fro;
there were the lights on the shore; he could feel the throbbing of the
engines; there was the unclouded sky above; he still was in a dream.
Unfortunately the figure of the captain standing near turned the dream
into a nightmare.
Most of the passengers went at once into their cabins. No one came
near them.
"Look up at me."
Bertie looked up. The captain, standing, looked down at him.
"Do you think I didn't see you in the train? Do you think I didn't see
you wanting to open your mouth and blab before all those fools? It
would have been capital fun for you, now, wouldn't it?"
Bertie shivered. The captain's ideas of fun were singular. Bertie
would have almost given his life to have done what the rascal hinted
at, but he would have done it in his extremity of agony and with no
idea of fun. It would have taken a burden off his mind which seemed
almost greater than he could bear; it threatened to drive him mad. But
to have played the part suggested would have needed a touch of the
heroic--a courage, a strength which Bertie had not got.
The captain went on.
"I had half a mind to have shot you then. If you had winked your eye I
think I should have done the trick. I have not quite made up my mind
what I shall do with you yet. We shall soon be out at sea. Boys easily
fall overboard at night. I shouldn't be surprised if you fall
overboard--by accident, you understand."
The captain smiled; but Bertie's heart stood still.
"Now lie down upon that seat, put your head upon that bag, and don't
you move. I shan't go out of revolver range, you may rest assured."
Bertie lay down upon the seat. The captain began pacing to and fro.
Every second or two he passed the recumbent boy. Once Bertie could see
that he was examining the lock of the revolver which he was holding in
his hand. He shut his eyes, trying to keep the sight away.
What an unsatisfactory difference often exists between theory and
practice! If there was one point in which he had been quite sure it
was his courage. To use his own words, he had pluck enough for
anything. To "funk" a thing, no matter what; to show the white feather
under any set of conditions which could be possibly conceived--these
things were to him impossible.
In such literature as he was acquainted with, the boy heroes were
always heroes with a vengeance. They were gifted beings whose nerve
was never known to fail. They fought, with a complete unconsciousness
of there being anything unusual in such a line of conduct, against the
most amazing odds. They generally conquered; but if they failed their
nerves were still unshaken, and they would disengage themselves with
perfect coolness from the most astounding complication of disasters.
They never hesitated to take life or to risk it; blood was freely
shed; they thought nothing of receiving several shots in the body and
a sword-cut at the back of the head.
As for Dick Turpin, and Robin Hood, and Robinson Crusoe, and Jack the
Giant-Killer--all the world knows that they went through adventures
which makes the hair stand up on end only to read of, and through them
all they never winced. Bertie was modestly conscious that these
gentlemen were perhaps a little above his reach--just a little,
perhaps; but what the aforementioned boys had done he had thought that
he himself could do.
Yet here he was, lying upon a seat and shutting his eyes to prevent
him from seeing a revolver. Why, one of those heroic boys would have
faced the whole six shots and never trembled!
The steamer started, and so did Bertie. Taken by surprise by the
sudden movement, he raised himself a little on the seat.
"Keep still!"
The captain's voice came cool and clear. Bertie returned to his former
position, not pausing to consider what his heroes would have done.
"If you want to move you must first ask my permission; but don't you
move without it, my young friend."
Bertie offered no remonstrance. The seat was not a comfortable one to
lie upon. It was one of those which are found in steamers, formed of
rails, with a space between each rail. Possibly when they reached the
open sea it would be less comfortable still. But Bertie lay quite
quiet, and never said a word. It was not exactly what his heroes would
have done. They would have faced the villain, and dared him to do his
worst; and when he had done his worst, and sent six shots inside them,
with a single bound they would have grasped him by the throat, and
with a laugh of triumph have flung him head foremost into the gurgling
sea.
But Bertie did not do that.
So long as they remained in the river one or two of the passengers
still continued to move about the decks. The night was so glorious
that they probably thought it a pity to confine themselves in the
stifling cabins. But by degrees, one after the other, they
disappeared, until finally the decks were left in possession of the
captain and Bertie, and those whose duty it was to keep watch at
night.
Although they had passed Hurst Castle and reached the open sea, the
weather was so calm that hardly any difference was perceptible in the
motion of the vessel. Bertie still lay on the seat, looking at the
stars.
He had no inclination to sleep, and even had he had such inclination,
not improbably the neighbourhood of "Uncle Tom" and his revolver would
have banished slumber from his eyes.
He was not a sentimental boy. Sentimental boys are oftener found in
books than life. But even unsentimental boys are accessible to
sentiment at times. He was not a religious boy. Simple candour compels
the statement that the average boy is not religious. But that night,
lying on the deck, looking up at that wondrous canopy of stars,
conscious of what had brought him there, aware of his danger, ignorant
of the fate which was in store for him, knowing that for all he could
tell just ahead of him lay instant death, he would have been more or
less than boy if his thoughts had not strayed to unwonted themes.
Through God's beautiful world, across His wondrous sea--the companion
of a thief. Bertie's thoughts travelled homewards. A sudden flood of
memories swept over him.
All at once the captain paused in front of him.
"Shall I throw you overboard?"
There was a glitter in his eyes. A faint smile played about his lips.
Bertie was not inclined to smile. His tongue clave to the roof of his
mouth.
"I have been asking myself the question, Why should I not? I shall
have to dispose of you in one way or other in the end; why not by
drowning now? One plunge and all is over."
This sort of conversation made Bertie believe in the possibility of
one's hair standing straight up on end. He felt persuaded that none of
his heroes had ever been spoken to like this; nothing made of flesh
and blood could listen to such observations and remain unmoved,
especially with the moonlit waters disappearing into the night on
every side. What crimes would they not conceal?
"It is this way. It is you, or--I. In the railway train you would have
proclaimed me had you dared. You did not dare; sooner or later,
perhaps, you will dare more. Why should I wait for your courage to
return? We are alone; the sea tells no tales. Boys will lean
overboard: what more natural than that you should fall in? It is
distressing to lose one's nephew, especially so dear a one; but what
is life but a great battle-field which is covered with the slain? Sit
up, my boy, and let us talk together."
Bertie sat up, not because he wished it, but because he could not help
it. He had lost all control over his own movements. This man seemed to
him to be some supernatural being against whom it was vain to attempt
to struggle.
There was no one by to listen to the somewhat curious conversation
which occurred between these two.
"So you have run away? I think you said you ran away for fun. You have
evidently a turn for humour. Does this sort of thing enter into your
ideas of fun--this little trip of ours?"
It emphatically did not. Bertie stammered out a negative.
"No--o!"
"You say your father is rich, you have a good home. Were you not happy
there?"
"Ye--es!"
"Seriously, then, what did you propose to yourself to do when you ran
away?"
"I--I don't know."
"Did you propose to yourself a life like mine?"
Bertie shuddered. He shrank away from the man in front of him with an
air of invincible repugnance.
"Answer me! Look me in the face and answer me. I have a taste for
learning the opinions of my fellow-men, and you are something original
in boys. Tell me, what is your candid opinion of myself? What do you
think of me?"
Bertie looked up as he was bidden. There was in his face something of
his old bull-dog look. Something of his old courage had come back
again, and on his countenance was the answer ready written. But the
captain meant to have the answer in plain words.
"Speak! you're not moonstruck, are you? Tell me what you think of me?"
"You'll kill me if I do."
The words came out heavily, as though he had to rid himself of an
overpowering weight before he could get them out. There was a
momentary pause; then the captain laughed.
"I shall kill you anyhow. What difference will it make? Tell me what
you think of me."
"You are a coward and a thief!"
The words were spoken; and in speaking them perhaps Bertie came nearer
to what is called a hero than ever in all his life before. But their
effect upon the captain was not agreeable. Those who play at bowls
must expect rubbers, and those who insist upon receiving an answer
which they know can scarcely be agreeable should make the best of it
when it comes. But the captain did not seem to see it.
Directly he had spoken Bertie saw that he had put his foot in it.
Instinctively he slipped his hands between the rails of the seat and
held on tight. Only just in time, for the captain, stooping forward,
tried to lift him in his arms.
"Leave go, you young brute!"
Bertie did leave go, but only to throw his arms about the captain's
neck. Instantly the captain stood up straight, holding Bertie in his
arms, staggering beneath his weight, for the convulsive clutch of the
lad's arms about his neck encumbered him.
"If you don't take your arms away I'll kill you!"
But Bertie only clutched the tighter.
"Let me go! let me go!" he screamed with the full strength of his
lungs.
The effect was startling. In the prevailing silence the boy's voice
was heard far out across the sea. Taken aback by such a show of
resistance where none had before been offered, the captain promptly
replaced the lad upon the seat.
"What's the matter with you? It was only a joke."
Bertie unclasped his arms. The expression of his face showed that it
had been no joke to him. He looked like one who was not even yet quite
sure that he had escaped from death.
The man at the helm was unable to see the seat on which they sat. The
forward watch had been on the other side the ship. This man now
advanced.
"What's the matter there?"
The captain met him with his most placid air.
"Did you hear my nephew's voice? He had no idea he spoke so loud; he
was forgetting where we were."
The man advanced still closer.
"What's the matter with you, boy?"
Quite unconsciously the captain unbuttoned his overcoat, and his hand
strayed to the pocket at the top.
"No--nothing," stammered Bertie.
"Nothing! I don't know what you call nothing! I should think you was
being murdered, hollering out like that. Why don't you go down to the
cabin and go to sleep?"
The captain drew the man aside.
"My nephew is a little excitable at times," he said, and tapped his
forehead. "He is best away from the cabin. He is better alone up here
in the fresh air with me."
The man, a weather-beaten sailor, with an unkempt grey beard, looked
him straight in the face.
"Do you mean he's cracked?"
"Well, we don't call it by that name. He's excitable--not quite
himself at times. You had better pay no heed to him; he has one of his
fits on him to-night--the journey has excited him."
"Poor young feller!"
And the sailor turned to look at the boy. The captain slipped
something into his hand. The man touched his hat and went away,
looking at the piece of money as he went. And the man and the boy were
left alone again.
Bertie, on the seat, clutched the rails as he had done before. The
captain, standing in front, looked down at him.
"There's more in you than meets the eye; though, considering you
pretend to have a turn for humour, one would have thought you would
have been quicker to understand a joke. I say nothing of the noise you
made, but you were wise not to answer that fellow's impertinent
question. Your presence of mind saved you from accidental contact with
the waters, but nothing could have saved you from my six-shooter. You
can lie down again. You need have no fear of another accident; your
screeching has made that fellow, and probably his comrades, too
inquisitive to make it worth one's while to venture that. But when it
comes to the question of letting your tongue wag too freely, nothing
can save you from my revolver--mark that. It will be then a case of
you or I. If you have made up your mind to spoil me, I will spoil you,
my little friend. I say you can lie down."
Bertie lay down; and again the captain resumed his pacing to and fro,
keeping watch, as it were, over his young prisoner.
The boy fell asleep. The reaction which followed the short sharp
struggle beguiled him, and he slept. And oddly enough he slept the
sleep of peace. And more than once the captain, pausing in his
solitary vigil, bent over the sleeping boy, and looked down at him.
"The young beggar's actually smiling."
And in fact a smile did flit across the sleeper's face. Perhaps he was
dreaming of his mother.
"Ran away for fun, did he? Yet the youngster isn't quite a fool. Pity
it should be a case of he or I, but self-preservation is Nature's
first law! That was a headline in my copy-books unless I greatly err."
The captain lit a fresh cigar, and continued his patrol. What did he
think of? A hopeless past and a hopeless future? God forgive him!
for such as he there is no forgiveness to be had from men. That
self-preservation, which is Nature's first law, is a law which cuts
both ways. Honest men must destroy the Captain Loftuses, or they will
be themselves destroyed.
The morning dawned; the day returned to the world. Still the boy slept
on. At last the captain woke him. He got up, as if bewildered, and
rubbed his eyes.
"Well, nephew mine, are you going to sleep for ever? If so, I'm sorry
that I woke you. Jump up and come with me."
His "uncle" led the way into the cabin. They were preparing breakfast;
the passengers were falling to. The night had been so tranquil that
not one had suffered from sea-sickness, and appetite had come with the
morning. A trained eye, looking at the fleecy clouds which were
peeping over the horizon, would have prophesied a change, and that
rough weather was at hand. But the day had dawned in splendour, and so
far the morning was as tranquil as the night had been. So those
passengers who were going through to Jersey sat down with light hearts
to breakfast.
The captain and Bertie joined them. That his "uncle" had no present
intention of starving him was plain, for he was allowed a hearty meal
of whatever took his fancy.
And while they were at breakfast the _Ella_ was brought up alongside
the jetty, St. Peter's Port, Guernsey.