A HASTY RUN TO THE CAPE VERDS.
Possibly Tom Speers had finished his difficult problem in navigation,
and was making his rounds of the deck of the ship; or possibly the
coming of the shore-boat had been reported to him by the lookout, and
he wished to assure himself that every thing about the steamer was all
right: at any rate, the officer of the deck was there, just where the
sprigs did not wish him to be.
“Ah, Sir Philip, I thought you had gone on shore some time ago,” said
Tom, as blandly as though there was no mischief in him.
“So I did go on shore, Mr. Speers; but I forgot this bloody carpet-bag,
and I came back after it,” replied the baronet, pointing to the piece
of baggage in the hand of the assumed porter.
Speers looked at the bag, and then into the face of the porter, though
Clinch turned away, and tried to avoid his gaze.
“Really, Mr. Clinch, I don’t think you look so well in that dress as
you do in your regular uniform,” said Speers, with a pleasant smile.
At the same time he placed himself between the intended fugitive and
the gangway. He looked as mild as one of the chaplain’s lambs; and the
Britons evidently did not regard his opposition as very serious.
“I will thank you to step out of the way, Mr. Speers, and allow his
lordship and myself to get into the boat,” said Sir Philip, rather
brusquely.
“Certainly, Sir Philip; I have not the slightest objection to your
getting into the boat,” replied Tom, stepping aside so that the baronet
could pass, but still remaining between Clinch and the steps.
“And that porter must carry my bag into the boat, and take it up to the
hotel when he gets ashore,” continued Sir Philip haughtily.
“I beg your pardon, Sir Philip; but the captain’s order is, that no one
belonging to the steamer shall be allowed to go on shore,” interposed
the officer of the deck.
“Into the boat with you, porter!” cried the baronet, who was disposed
to carry his point, though he was entirely willing to part company with
Clinch, whom he regarded as an undesirable companion for the proposed
lark.
Clinch saw that his last chance was to make a rush into the boat, in
which Lord Fillgrove had already seated himself. He made a desperate
push to get by Tom Speers; but the officer promptly grabbed him by the
collar, and crowded him back from the rail.
“Let go of him, or I’ll break your bloody head!” exclaimed Sir Philip.
“I should be sorry to strike a baronet; but, if you do, there will be
two bloody and broken heads in this vicinity,” answered Tom quietly.
“Mr. Clinch is an officer of the steamer, and he cannot leave her.”
“But he shall leave her!” protested Sir Philip, blustering up to the
officer of the deck.
“I think not.--Winchell, pass the word for Mr. Shakings,” added Tom,
addressing one of the watch who had come up to see what the matter was.
“Pass the word for Mr. Shakings!” called Winchell, hailing the other
seamen of the watch on the forecastle.
“Now’s your time, Clinch!” shouted Sir Philip. “Into the boat with you
before the big boatswain comes!”
Clinch threw the carpet-bag upon the rail, and rushed upon Speers,
intent upon crowding him out of the way. But Tom was stout, resolute,
and self-possessed; and he easily flung his adversary back. But the
Briton on the deck was excited; and he went in to assist the porter.
He struck Speers a heavy blow in the face, while he was engaged with
Clinch; but, as soon as the mutineer was disposed of, Tom turned his
attention to the sprig; and, with a well-directed hit on the nose, sent
him over backwards, with his prominent facial organ bathed in gore. The
victory was certainly with Tom Speers so far. But Clinch had picked
himself up during this diversion, and was about to leap on the rail,
when Shakings grabbed him by the collar.
“So you have got a new uniform, my beauty!” exclaimed the big
boatswain, as he slung his prisoner back like a basket of bread.
Sir Philip picked himself up; and he was the maddest baronet on the
face of the Western Continent. He wanted to fight for revenge now
rather than for the possession of Clinch. He was making a rush at Tom
Speers, who stood ready for him, when Mr. Rimmer, attracted by the
scuffle, came aft as fast as his slow-moulded nature would permit.
“Hold this fellow, Rimmer,” said Shakings, handing Clinch over to him.
“I never whacked a baronet yet; but now is my chance!”
Speers had warded off the blow of Sir Philip, and put his left eye in
mourning, when the big boatswain seized the baronet by the collar, and
tipped him over upon the deck. The sprig struggled with all his might;
and the boatswain kept flopping him over and over on the planks, as
one deals with an unruly fish he has pulled out of the water. In a few
moments the baronet had had enough of this harsh treatment, and he
refrained from further struggles.
“Shall I lock him up in a state-room, Mr. Speers?” asked Shakings, as
he held his prisoner at arm’s length.
“Lock me up in a state-room!” exclaimed Sir Philip, gasping for breath,
after his violent struggle. “I am a British subject!”
“But British subjects must behave themselves on board of this vessel,
as well as others,” replied Shakings, laughing at the bluster of the
baronet.
“Hallo! what’s all this about?” called the Prince, coming out of the
cabin, where he had been disturbed by the noise of the struggle.
Tom Speers pointed to Clinch, in his Portuguese dress, and explained
the cause of the trouble.
“You haven’t behaved yourself as a barinet should,” said the Prince.
“If you want to interfere with the discipline of this vessel, you won’t
feel at home here.--What do you wish to do with him, Mr. Speers?”
“I don’t wish to do any thing with him; and I haven’t objected to his
getting into the boat,” replied Speers. “He pitched into me because
I would not let Clinch leave the vessel; and I have simply defended
myself, though it has cost him a black eye and a bloody nose. Put him
into his boat, Mr. Shakings.”
The baronet wiped his bleeding member; and, while he was doing so,
Shakings hoisted him upon the rail, and gave him a smart shove down
the steps. Sir Philip saw that he was making nothing by prolonging the
conflict; and now, if not before, he realized that he was fighting for
one whom he desired to get rid of. He had done all he could to gratify
his cousin’s sense of honor, and he went down into the boat. The
boatman shoved off, and pulled for the shore.
“Where is Mr. Gregory?” asked Speers, when the boat had gone; for he
thought it a little strange that the other mutineer was not in the
scrape.
Search for Gregory was made; and of course nothing was found of him,
for at this time he was galloping away from Funchal. But in the
smoking-room, the Portuguese porter was found, dressed up in Clinch’s
uniform. Shakings could not help laughing at the figure the swarthy
fellow cut in his blue frock, or at the appearance of Clinch in the
garments of the Portuguese. Speers ordered them to exchange garments;
and directed the boatswain to lock the officer into his state-room till
the captain returned.
It was evident that Gregory had escaped from the steamer; and, by
comparing notes, it was made plain enough that he had gone off in the
mackintosh and cap of the baronet. The officer of the deck called a
shore-boat, and sent one of the stewards with a note for the captain
to the mole where Raymond was waiting for him. It contained a brief
account of what had happened on board during his absence.
O’Hara was very unwilling to leave the harbor without the fugitive; and
he stated his case to the consul, who promised to have him arrested as
a runaway sailor.
O’Hara had only ascertained that the squadron had sailed for Santa Cruz
de Teneriffe six days before. He had no doubt the fleet was there then;
and he examined the chart. Satisfied with the promise of the consul to
arrest and hold the escaped prisoner, he decided, after consulting the
adults on board, to sail for the Canaries. Mr. Frisbone concluded to
remain on board, with his wife and her sister; for they had all become
in a measure accustomed to the sea, and Miss Louise had wonderfully
improved in health.
O’Hara was very confident that he should find the fleet at Santa Cruz;
but great was his astonishment when he arrived, to find it was not
there. He ordered out the second cutter; and, taking Raymond with
him to talk Spanish for him, he went on shore. He inquired at the
custom-house, and learned that the squadron, with the Marian, had
sailed for Palmas, in the Grand Canary. As at Funchal, the principal
had kept his own counsel, and no further information could be obtained.
This was the first time he heard that the steam-yacht of Judge Rodwood
was with the squadron.
“Tom, my boy, the judge is after you,” said O’Hara when he returned to
the ship. “He came here with the squadron, in the Marian; and she seems
to be a part of the fleet, for she sailed with the other vessels for
the Grand Canary.”
“Then perhaps my cruise in the Tritonia is nearly up,” replied Tom,
rather sadly.
“Faix, I don’t know that we shall ever find that same fleet!” exclaimed
Capt. O’Hara. “It seems to be dodging us, wherever we go.”
“I am in no great hurry to find it,” added Tom, with a smile, as he
turned to his books, which were his constant companions when he was not
on duty, and sometimes when he was.
“Well, what’s to be done?” asked the Prince, as O’Hara reported to him
the latest news.
“I suppose we can do nothing but follow the fleet; and, if it holds
still long enough, I have no doubt we shall find it after a while,”
answered O’Hara.
“But I didn’t cal’late to go any further than Me-day-ry. I am over here
now to build up the health of Louise; and here we are trapsing all over
the ocean with you boys,” added Mr. Frisbone, laughing.
“Upon my sowl, the young lady is growing prettier and prettier every
day she lives!” exclaimed the gallant captain. “I think you are doing
the right thing now for her health.”
“Well, I don’t know but we are; for sartainly she is gaining every day;
and her appetite is as good as one of the hands before the mast.”
“I should be sorry to have you leave us, Prince Frisbone; for you have
kept my back as stiff as the mainmast of the ship,” said O’Hara, who
was really very much attached to the eccentric passenger, as well as to
the ladies of his party.
“I should be sorry to leave before you find the squadron; but you may
chase it clean across the ocean to America.”
“Then stay with us, darling; for I may be sent in the steamer to bring
you back to whatever port you want to go,” replied O’Hara, laughing.
“Though I am doing my best to find the fleet, I like the position I
hold now very well indeed; and it will be a sorry day when I have to
give it up.”
“But you ought to see sunthin or other of these islands we go to; and I
know my women-folks would like to stretch themselves on shore,” added
the Prince.
“I shouldn’t dare to stop a day anywhere till I find the squadron,”
said the captain, shaking his head, and looking very serious.
“But perhaps you are running away from it all the time,” suggested the
Prince.
Capt. Fairfield and Mr. Shakings were called; and they took the same
view as the Prince. The fleet had gone to the southward; and very
likely it would return in a few days. This consideration induced O’Hara
to decide upon a stay of a couple of days; and all hands, except
Clinch, were allowed to go on shore. On the 30th of the month, as the
fleet did not appear, the Ville d’Angers sailed for Palmas. She arrived
the same day; and the captain learned that the squadron had gone to
Orotava. After having a look at this city, Mr. Frisbone decided to take
his wife’s sister there in the fall, and remain all winter.
From this port the fleet had sailed for Santa Cruz de Palma; and
the steamer followed her after spending a day at Orotava. On her
arrival, the captain learned that the fleet had departed. As none of
the vessels were commercial craft, it did not appear that they had
entered at the custom-house. As they came from another port in the
Canary Islands, they had simply anchored, and the students went on
shore to see the town, and what they could of the island, in a few
hours. But where had the fleet gone now? for what port had it sailed?
The custom-house officials knew nothing about the destination of the
squadron. O’Hara and Raymond wandered about the town in search of
information. Where was the pilot? there was no harbor to enter, and
they had taken no pilot.
“We don’t get ahead any,” said O’Hara, after they had continued the
search for some time.
“Don’t you know what the principal’s programme for the voyage among the
Isles of the Sea is?” inquired Raymond.
“I don’t know: he never gave me a copy of it.”
“I have heard it said that the squadron was to go to the Cape Verd
Islands after Madeira, and then to the Azores.”
“I have heard that same,” added O’Hara. “But don’t Capt. Fairfield know
any thing about it?”
As Capt. Fairfield was on shore with the rest of the ship’s company,
he was able to speak for himself. He confirmed the impression of the
captain and the fourth officer, that the squadron was to go to the
Cape Verds. But he did not believe that it had been definitely settled
where the vessels were to go; and whether or not they visited certain
islands, was to depend upon circumstances. The West Indies had been
given up on account of the lateness of the season. While Capt. O’Hara
was talking to the instructor about the matter, a custom-house official
spoke to Raymond.
“I am told that you wish to know for what port the two steamers and the
two schooners that were here three days ago were bound when they left,”
said the officer.
“Yes, sir: we desire to know very much,” replied Raymond. “Can you give
us any information?”
“I can’t say that I have any official knowledge; but I heard one of the
gentlemen from the smaller steamer say they were bound for Porto Praya,
in the Cape Verds.”
This intelligence seemed to settle the matter. It was generally
understood among the students, that the cruise was to include these
islands; and the statement of the custom-house official confirmed
it. The officer spoke with Raymond in Spanish; but if he had heard
him speak English, or try to do so, he would have been satisfied the
islander was not a reliable person to report an English conversation.
“If we are to follow up the fleet, we may as well go to Porto Praya,”
said O’Hara, when all hands had returned to the ship after their visit
to the town.
“I do not see that we can do any other way,” replied Tom Speers, to
whom the remark was addressed. “If the fleet has been to these islands,
it will not be likely to come here again.”
“That it will not; and we will sail for the Cape Verds at once.”
Just before dark the Ville d’Angers went out of the port, and directed
her head to the south-south-west. Shakings knew all about these
islands; for he had been in a man-of-war on this station, and the
port most used by the African squadron was Porto Praya. The weather
was delightful, and the steamer made a quick run in a little over
three days. The last was spent in sight of the more eastern of the ten
islands forming the group. Capt. Fairfield encouraged the students to
study up the geography and history of the Cape Verds, in the absence of
Mr. Mapps.
Like some of the other islands they had seen, their appearance from
the ship was that of barren wastes of rock and lava. Off Porto Praya
a pilot was obtained; for the port has one of the best harbors to be
found among the Isles of the Sea, though a heavy sea sometimes breaks
in on the shore, which renders it almost impossible to land. It was
necessary to coal the steamer here, and while the work was in progress
the students were allowed to go on shore. They found much to interest
them here, for some things were different from what they had seen in
any of the other islands. They took a stroll out of the town, and
followed a grassy valley for a couple of miles. Nineteen out of every
twenty persons they met in the town and in the country were negroes;
and they were very lazy and indolent. They saw plenty of goats,
monkeys, and parrots in their walk when they went out of the travelled
road. Diminutive donkeys were the only domestic animals. There is
scarcely any thing that can be called a tree, except the baobab-tree,
which is only twelve or fifteen feet high, but is some twenty feet
in diameter, while its thick head of branches is nearly fifty feet
through. The fruit is called “monkey-bread.” Sugar, cotton, tobacco,
rice, and goat-skins are among the principal productions.
Santiago is the largest and most important of these islands. It is
about thirty miles long, and half as wide. It has a population of ten
thousand, the greater part of which is in Porto Praya. This town is the
capital of the islands; but it is a poorly built place, on a hill. The
students were not disposed to spend much of their time on shore here.
It was a vastly different region from the sunny Canaries; and they were
not sorry to leave it.
The fleet was not here. Nothing had been heard from it. It was evident
enough, after a full inquiry, that the squadron had not been to the
Cape Verds. With the bunkers filled with coal, the Ville d’Angers
sailed to the north-west, with the intention of looking into the
coaling-station on the island of St. Vincent. A run of half a day
brought them between this island and St. Antonio, so that they could
look into the bay. No fleet was there; but the lofty peak of San
Antonio, nearly ten thousand feet high, was to be seen on the island of
this name.
“We shall never find that fleet,” said O’Hara, when the ship was out in
the open sea, but with the lofty mountain still frowning down upon her.
“I doubt if we ever do,” replied Tom Speers.
“I don’t know where to go next in search of that same fleet,” continued
O’Hara. “I think we must hold another council of war. Will you oblige
me, Tom, darlint, by asking Prince Frisbone, Capt. Fairfield, and Mr.
Shakings to step into the pilot-house?”
In a few minutes the council had assembled, and Capt. O’Hara conducted
them into the chart-room adjoining. The large-scale charts, which had
been procured at Funchal and elsewhere, of the Cape Verds, had been
put away; and the “North Atlantic” lay on the table spread out for use.
“I haven’t the slightest doubt now that the fleet went from Funchal to
the Western Islands,” said Capt. O’Hara, when the adults had assembled.
“I think we may be sartain of that now,” added the Prince.
“But the squadron sailed from Funchal on the 21st of last month; and
to-day is the 8th of this month,--nearly three weeks ago. Where it is,
is the conundrum we have to guess at the prisint moment.”
“If the fleet went to the Western Islands on the 21st of last month, it
hasn’t staid there all this time, I’ll warrant,” said Mr. Shakings.
“The next isles of the sea the squadron will visit after the Azores
will be the Bermudas, I know,” continued the captain, as he took up a
pencil, and began to figure on a bit of paper.
“Then all we have to do is to run for the Bermudas. How far off are
they?” asked the Prince.
“I have not worked up the distance on a great circle; but I should say
the distance was about two thousand miles.”
“Whew!” whistled the Prince. “That is a long distance.”
“It is an eight-days’ run for the Ville d’Angers.”
“But the fleet may be waiting for us at the Western Islands,” suggested
Capt. Fairfield.
“That’s true for you,” replied O’Hara. “It may have gone back to
Funchal to look for us.”
“And we are in a bad box,” laughed the Prince. “If we run for the
Bermudas, the fleet may be looking for us at Funchal, the Canary, or
the Western Islands. If we go back to these islands, they may go on to
Bermudas, and be waiting for us there.”
“Whichever course we take, very likely we shall be sorry we didn’t take
the other,” added O’Hara. “It will require four days to go to Funchal,
eight to Fayal, and seven more to Bermudas, making allowance for stops.
What do you say, gentlemen?”
“I vote for Bermudas direct,” said the Prince.
“So do I,” added Shakings.
“_Via_ Funchal,” Capt. Fairfield followed.
“_Via_ Funchal is my judgment,” wound up the captain.
“Funchal it is, then. You are the captain,” continued the Prince.
After looking the matter over again, Prince Frisbone changed his
opinion; and even Shakings admitted that it would be safer to go to
Funchal. Capt. O’Hara gave out the course accordingly. But it was
agreed by all, that it was useless to put in at the Canaries; and the
ship was headed direct for her port in the Madeiras. In four days she
arrived at Funchal. O’Hara and Raymond hastened on shore. They went to
the consul’s office first. The American Prince and the Marian had been
there the day before, and had sailed for Fayal again. The principal had
left a letter for the captain of the Ville d’Angers. O’Hara took it,
and eagerly broke the seal. The missive simply instructed him to run
for Fayal, if Mr. Frisbone did not object; and, if the fleet were not
there, to remain as long as was necessary for the students to see the
island, and then, if the fleet had departed, to sail for the Bermudas,
making a harbor at St. George’s. Mr. Lowington stated that the Ville
d’Angers had been reported at Santa Cruz de Teneriffe, and that he had
ceased to be anxious for the safety of the absentees.
All this was very satisfactory to the captain of the steamer. He
asked the consul for his prisoner; but this gentleman stated that Mr.
Lowington had settled the case. As soon as possible, the Ville d’Angers
was on her way to the Western Islands. The fleet had gone. After a day
at Horta, the steamer followed, and reached St. George on the 23d. No
fleet was there.