KIT LEAVES THE “NORTH CAPE.”
Though the voyage to and from Marseilles had been a pleasant one,
and the business had been transacted in a way that he knew must be
satisfactory to his employers, Kit was remarkably glad when the
_North Cape_ was inside of Sandy Hook again. It was time, more
than time, for an answer to his letter to New Zealand; and although at
his last news from home no answer had arrived, he felt sure that he
must find one when he reached Huntington.
“I shall be busy for five or six days getting out my cargo,” he wrote
home when his first rush on arrival was over; “but you can expect to
see me by the beginning of next week. I have so many things to tell
you; and I hope you will have news for me from Wellington.”
He was to have more things to tell them when he got to Huntington than
he then had any idea of; but he sent some messages and packages home by
Harry Leonard, as before, and worked away at his cargo till the greater
part of it was in the warehouse.
He had eight hundred boxes of soap among his other cases, for
Marseilles is a great point for the manufacture of soaps; “and it’s a
pity they send so much of it away,” he often said to himself, “when
they’re in such need of it over there.” But his soap needed particular
attention; and he had to make several trips to his employers’ office to
get directions concerning it. On his return from one of these trips he
went into the cabin and found that there was a visitor in the Captain’s
room.
“Come in, Silburn,” the Captain called through the open door. “Here’s a
friend of yours come to see you.”
Kit went in, wondering whether his mother could have received important
news and hastened to the city to tell him of it; but his hand was
instantly seized by the rotund purser Clark, of the _Trinidad_, as
fat and bluntly good-natured and short-breathed as ever.
“Glad to see you again, Silburn,” the purser puffed. “It’s not so long
since we cooled ourselves with ice cream in the ice-house down in
Barbadoes; but I hear you’ve been seeing a good deal of the world since
then.”
“Oh, a few corners of it,” Kit answered. “It’s hard to find a better
part of it than our own country, though.”
“You’re right there!” Mr. Clark acquiesced, bringing his hand down on
his fat knee with a bang. “You’re just right there, young man. But it’s
a good plan to see how the other fellows live, to make us appreciate
our own advantages. I’ve not been seeing much of it lately, for my
part; just going up and down, up and down, among those black rascals
in the West Indies. I’ve had a great deal too much work to do; it’s
wearing me down to skin and bone.”
Kit and the Captain were inclined to laugh at this, considering the
purser’s hearty appearance; but his face was as solemn as a judge’s.
“The work seems to agree with you pretty well, sir,” Kit suggested.
“No, it don’t!” the purser declared, giving his knee another sounding
slap. “That’s a mistake; work don’t agree with anybody, in spite of all
the twaddle about it. I don’t believe in work. My theory is that nobody
should have to work at all. Every man should have an income of at least
five thousand dollars a year, and live on his money. The trouble is
things are not arranged right, and some of us get left. No, work is all
humbug.”
It was impossible to tell from the purser’s round face whether he was
joking or not. He certainly was a hard worker himself.
“The only concession I will make,” he went on, “is, that being
compelled to work at all, it is better to do it well. I believe you go
on that theory too, Silburn; that’s the reason I’ve come to see you.
Although, as I say, I don’t believe in work, still when it has to be
done I like to see it done well. I believe you have been defrauded by
society, like myself, of the five thousand a year that every man is
entitled to, and have to work a little for a living? And that being the
case, how would you like to leave the _North Cape_ and come and
work for me?”
“For you, sir?” Kit exclaimed, naturally taken by surprise by the
suddenness of the question. “On the _Trinidad_, do you mean?”
“Well, I mean for my company, of course,” Mr. Clark replied; “but with
me, on the _Trinidad_. You see the situation is this. Our business
has increased so much down among those islands, both in passengers and
freight, that there is more work for the purser on the _Trinidad_
than any one man ought to be asked to do. I am away behind in my work
all the time, and that don’t do. So the company has consented to let me
have an assistant. And as my assistant will be with me all the time,
and I will be responsible for his work, it is only fair that I should
have the privilege of selecting him. They see the force of that too;
and the matter being left with me, I said to myself, young Silburn’s
the sort of man I want with me, if I can get him. He attends to his
business without any nonsense, and I’m going to hunt him up.
“So I have had a talk with the Captain here about you,” the purser went
on; “and if you want to be my assistant purser on the _Trinidad_
at one hundred dollars a month, you have only to say the word.”
For a few moments Kit hardly knew how to reply. Mr. Clark had been
jesting, he was sure, in talking about his dislike of work; and he was
still jesting. Kit thought, when he first spoke of Kit’s working for
him. But there was no joke about such an offer as he had just made.
That was sober earnest, and required an answer.
“Why, I should like to have one hundred dollars a month, sir,” he
replied, “very much indeed. And I should like to be with you. But on
the other hand I should dislike to leave Captain Griffith and the old
_North Cape_. And there is one thing that would interfere with my
going into a new place just now. I don’t know whether I told you about
my father, how he was shipwrecked and has been missing for a long time.
There is a man in New Zealand, in a hospital, who may prove to be my
father; and if he should, it might be necessary for me to go over there
to bring him home.”
“Yes, Captain Griffith has told me all about that,” Mr. Clark answered,
“and that need not be any objection. It is quite right that you should
do everything possible for your father. But it is not such a long
voyage to New Zealand in these days of steam, and I could put some one
in your place while you were gone. Besides, it takes money for such a
trip, and you would get the money much faster as my assistant than you
can make it as a supercargo.”
“Yes, sir, that is true,” Kit said; “I thought of that at once. And
it is very kind in you to make me such a liberal offer. But can you
let me have a little time to think of it in, Mr. Clark? Say a week or
ten days? I have always had a sort of horror of changing about from
one place to another, and should not like to do it without consulting
Captain Griffith and my mother.”
“Take a week and welcome to think it over in, my lad,” the purser
answered. “I can’t say more than a week, because I must have some one
before I start on the next voyage. But you can do a heap of thinking in
a week, if you set about it. And I hope you will make up your mind to
go with me. I think it will be to your advantage and mine too.”
After the purser was gone Kit had to look after his soap-boxes; but
as soon as they were attended to he returned to the cabin and had a
serious talk with Captain Griffith.
“I don’t like the idea of your leaving us, Silburn,” the Captain said;
“don’t like it at all. But it would be selfish in me to stand in the
way of your bettering yourself. The Quebec company is a good company,
the _Trinidad_ is a fine ship, and Mr. Clark is a good man to be
with. I have known him slightly for a long time. To be sure, he has
some odd ways, but then most of us have. He is always talking about not
believing in work, yet he works as hard as any man I know.
“And the one hundred dollars a month is a great object,” he continued.
“It is really large pay, considering that you would live on the
ship and would have hardly any expenses. You would have to wear the
company’s uniform, of course, and keep well dressed on account of the
passengers; but that does not amount to much. And you would likely
become one of their pursers in time, if you gave satisfaction. Much
as I should dislike to lose you, it is only fair for me to say that I
think it is a very fine offer. I don’t see how you can do anything but
accept it.”
To add to the unsettled state of Kit’s mind, the next day brought him
a letter from Vieve saying that they had heard from the consul at
Wellington. But she did not say whether the man in the hospital had
proved to be their father or not. This he looked upon as a bad sign,
for if there had been good news, she would have been in a hurry to tell
it. So with this matter to be discussed, and his Marseilles experiences
to be related, and his new offer to be considered and decided upon, he
felt as if a week at home would hardly be half long enough.
“I never had any regret at going ashore before, Captain,” he said, as
he shook the Captain’s hand in bidding him good-by. “But this time it
seems almost like leaving home. It has been so pleasant on the _North
Cape_, and you have always been so kind, I should feel strange to
belong anywhere else. If I accept Mr. Clark’s offer, I’ll not belong on
the old ship any longer, and it makes me feel bad in advance.”
“I don’t like to think of your going, Kit,” the Captain answered,
returning to the first name as a mark of affection; “but the manner of
your going makes a great difference, you know. If you were going under
compulsion, I should feel downright bad about it. Going to something
better is a different matter entirely. I suppose when a United States
senator is elected President he doesn’t have any great regrets about
leaving his old seat in the Senate Chamber. And it is the same thing
with you, in a smaller way. But we know each other, Kit, and though you
may leave the ship, we will still be friends. Anyhow, when you are in
need of a friend you need not go further than the cabin of the _North
Cape_.”
There was so much to be done at home that Kit laid out a programme on
his way to Bridgeport. The letter from New Zealand he thought the most
important matter, and that should be considered first. Then the offer
from Mr. Clark. He had pretty much made up his mind that that ought to
be accepted; but if his mother opposed it he was ready to give it up.
Then after all the business was done he could tell about his second
voyage to Europe. This time he caught the stage to Huntington, and so
saved himself a long walk.
“Why, you folks have grown so grand here I’m almost afraid to go in,”
he laughed, looking up at the freshly painted house as his mother and
Vieve ran out to the gate to meet him.
“Oh, I’m glad you think so!” Vieve answered, taking possession of the
side opposite her mother. “I thought maybe we would seem too poor and
common for you, since you’ve taken to travelling about with cardinals.
But I know more about your cardinal now than you do, Mr. Supercargo,
for Mr. Wright has translated his letter for me, and told me all about
him.”
They were all too full of the New Zealand letter to let that stand
long; and before Kit had been in the house many minutes he asked for
it. When they gave it to him he read it carefully, then read it again,
and thought over it for a few minutes without speaking.
“Well, it is not as bad as I feared,” he said, at length. “When Vieve
wrote that you had received the letter, without saying what was in it,
I thought there must be such bad news that you did not want to tell me.
But this is only more delay. What little news there is in it is good
news, for they seem to have found the scar, though they are not sure
about it, and the teeth correspond with father’s. It looks more hopeful
than ever, only we must wait till we can hear again. And the photograph
ought to settle the question, when that comes. I will write to the
consul again, and give him all the particulars we can all think of.”
“And that letter from the cardinal,” Mrs. Silburn suggested. “It
seems he is a very great man, and the letter is to the Bishop of New
Zealand--a Catholic of course, but I wouldn’t mind what he was if he
could help us. This is a nice time of life for a God-fearing Protestant
woman to begin talking about cardinals and bishops; but wouldn’t it be
as well to send that letter on and ask the bishop to help us?”
Kit asked to see the translation before he gave any opinion about it,
for he did not yet know what was in the letter.
“I am inclined to think it would be better to save this for another
purpose,” he said, after he had read it. “I have never said so before,
but I have often thought, and the same thing must have occurred to you,
that I may have to go on to New Zealand. It is a long journey, but any
of us would go further than that, further than the end of the world, to
have father with us again. If I should go there, this letter would be
a very valuable thing to take with me, and I think it ought to be kept
for that. The only thing is to have some reasonable certainty that the
man in the hospital is really father. With any good evidence of that,
even very slight evidence, I should go over there at once.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Silburn answered, with tears in her eyes; “I have often
thought of that, Kit. And I knew of course that you would think of it.
If we can get any reasonable evidence that that may be your father, I
think you ought to go. It will take all the money we can borrow on this
little place, and leave us badly in debt again, but we must not stop
for that. All the money in the world is nothing compared with having
your father back again.”
“Oh, we are not as badly off as all that!” Kit said. Never in his life
before had he felt so proud of being able to earn money. “You don’t
know how easily we sea-faring fellows can get about the world. I think
maybe I can get a job for one round voyage on some vessel bound for
Australia or New Zealand, even if I have to work only for my passage.
Then the only expense will be paying father’s fare home. Captain
Griffith would help me to get such a job, I know; and I have another
friend now who would help me to it, I am sure. You see I have some more
news for you, though I didn’t intend to tell you till to-morrow.”
Then he told of his offer of one hundred dollars a month from the
Quebec Steamship Company, and how he had consulted Captain Griffith,
and how the Captain had advised him to accept it; and explained that
he thought very favorably of it himself, but waited to hear what his
mother thought.
“A hundred dollars a month!” Vieve cried, throwing her arms about her
brother’s neck and nearly choking him. “You? Just for writing out those
paper things on a ship? That’s twelve hundred dollars a year! why, Mr.
Wright don’t get more than a thousand, I’m sure, and the parsonage; but
then you’ll have a sort of parsonage too--at least the ship to live in.”
“Ah! but Mr. Wright don’t travel about with cardinals!” Kit laughed.
“That makes all the difference in the world. What do you think of it,
mother? It is an important matter, and you are the one to decide it.”
“No, we have got beyond that, Kit,” Mrs. Silburn answered, as well
as her demonstrations of pleasure would allow. “You are the one to
decide questions for us, not we for you. As far as I can see I should
think you would not hesitate at all about it. But you know all the
circumstances better than I do. You must decide for yourself.”
“Then it is already decided, mother,” he said. “I had made up my mind
to accept it, provided you did not object. You don’t know how much I
love Captain Griffith and the _North Cape_. The Captain is one man
in a thousand; he has been like a father to me. But one hundred dollars
a month is a splendid offer, and the Captain himself advises me to take
it.”
There was a little feast in the Silburn cottage that evening to
celebrate Kit’s improved prospects. That was what it meant when he
beckoned Vieve into the hall and slipped some money into her hand, and
told her, after making her purchases, to go to Harry Leonard’s and
invite him to come over. Not very much of a feast; if she had had a
purseful of gold to spend she could not have bought the materials for
a banquet in the little shops of Huntington, at such short notice; but
what she found in her hurried trip answered every purpose.
“Now don’t you be making eyes at Harry Leonard, miss!” Kit warned her,
when she returned with the provisions, and began by unloading a fat
chicken and some bunches of Malaga grapes. “I know you used to be very
fond of him.”
“At Harry Leonard!” Vieve retorted, assuming her grandest air. “Humph!
I guess when I have a beau (which I won’t have), he’ll be nothing short
of a cardinal.”
“Then you’ll die an old maid,” Kit laughed; “don’t you know that
cardinals are Catholic priests, and never marry?”
They were a merry party at supper, though Harry was disconsolate for a
while at hearing that Kit was going to leave the _North Cape_.
“Why, I don’t know what we’ll do without him on board, Mrs. Silburn!”
he exclaimed. “It will be like a different ship. It will make a great
change for me, I tell you. No more good times on shore now for the
cabin boy, I suppose. The Captain thinks I’m too young and giddy to
go ashore alone in strange ports, though I’m not; but he was always
satisfied when I was with Kit.”
The whole story of their visit to Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde had to be
told while they were eating, and their meeting with the mysterious
stranger; and Harry kept them in roars of laughter when he described
how the old and young priests always entered the room “on their marrow
bones,” as he called it. Somewhere in Marseilles he had heard the
French pronunciation of Vieve’s name, and he added to the merriment by
insisting upon giving it the French twang whenever he addressed her:
“Miss Zhou-_vay_-ve; Miss Zhou-_vay_-ve.”
The spectre at the feast did not show itself till all was over and
Harry had gone home, for Kit guarded it carefully as long as he could.
But at last he had to let it out.
“My change of work will cut short my visit home,” he announced.
“I can’t go off suddenly and leave my employers in the lurch, you
know. They must have time to get some one else in my place; and if
they ask it, I may have to wait another voyage before going on the
_Trinidad_. But if they let me off, I will still have a great deal
to do. My accounts must all be straightened out, and I will have some
business with the tailors. I will have to wear the company’s uniform on
the _Trinidad_, you know.”
“Ah! that’s it!” Vieve declared, pretending to be hurt at Kit’s leaving
them sooner than he expected, though it was not all pretence. “He wants
to get his new clothes! Won’t he be grand, though, when he comes out in
a new uniform with gold braid!”
“Yes, you know I always think so much about my clothes,” he answered.
“But I’ll be with you all day to-morrow; and busy enough, too, writing
letters. To-morrow I must write to that New Zealand consul again, and
there are several more to be written. Then the next morning I must
go back to New York. But then this won’t be like those long trips to
Europe. Why, I’ll be back again in no time at all. The _Trinidad_
only runs to the island of Trinidad and back, stopping at St. Kitts,
Antigua, St. Lucia, Martinique, Dominica, and Barbadoes. She makes the
round trip in twenty-eight days. Being a mail and passenger boat, you
know, she has to make time.”
It was hard work for Kit to go back to the _North Cape_ to say
good-by, after his employers had generously released him at once, with
many expressions of satisfaction and good will. It was on her that he
had changed from a waif on the docks to a cabin boy, and from cabin
boy to supercargo. In her cabin he had made his start in life, and
every man on board was his friend. He could not bid good-by to Captain
Griffith in the cabin and then go away. The crew crowded around him
to wish him happiness and prosperity. Men who had never shown any
particular interest in him before, seemed grieved to have him go. He
had to shake hands with Mr. Mason and Mr. Hanway, with Tom Haines and
his chief, with the steward, even with Chock Cheevers.
In four days more, when in all the glory of bright new uniform he stood
on the deck of a faster and handsomer ship, watching once more the
hoisting of the flags as she sped by the Sandy Hook signal station, it
gave him a start when he saw that the uppermost flag did not bear the
familiar number of the _North Cape_.
“The _Trinidad_,” the signals said this time; “for Trinidad and
intermediate ports.”