Down south we sailed as swiftly as favouring gales and plenty of sail
could take us, and in course of time we had passed below the Azores, and
every one on board was waking up to the fact that we were getting into
latitudes where the weather grew hotter and more sunshiny day by day.
All the foul winds and rough seas had been left far behind in the north,
and anything more delightful than the life on board it would have been
impossible to conceive.
There were troubles, of course, and I used to think that the captain was
unnecessarily severe on Jarette and several of the other men; but I set
it down to a desire to preserve good discipline, and of course I felt
that he must know best how to manage his crew.
The passengers passed the greater part of their time on deck, coming up
early to bathe in the bright sunshine which made the metal look too hot
to touch, and the tar to glisten in little beads all along beneath the
ropes and about the seams of the deck, and they stayed late at night in
the brilliant moonlight, till I used to think that our voyage was going
to be one long time of pleasure; for every one--no, not every one--
seemed to be happy and cheerful, and I made no end of friends. I had
plenty to do, but even in their strictest moments the officers were
pleasant to me, and I thought, thanks to the breaking in I had had with
my father on his yacht, going to sea in a big clipper ship one of the
most delightful of lives.
But there was some bitter in it. Walters and I never grew to be warm
friends, though I did my best. He did not get on with the officers
either, but used to seize every opportunity to get away and talk to some
of the sailors, particularly with the Frenchman Jarette, who was in
trouble with the captain just after our starting, but who, thanks to the
severe treatment he had received, now proved to be one of the smartest
of the crew.
He spoke English as well as I did, but if ever I drew near when Walters
had gone to lean over the bulwarks and talk to him, I could hear that it
was in French--bad French, spoken very slowly on Walters' part, and he
used to have to make Jarette say what he had to say two or three times
over before he could quite make it out.
"No business of mine," I thought. "I might do the same and practise up
my French," which needed it badly enough, for I had pretty well
forgotten all I had learned.
Things were not quite happy either on deck. I did not thoroughly
understand why, and attributed it to Mr Denning's ill-temper,
consequent upon his being unwell, for he was haughty and distant with
Mr Frewen whenever he tried to be friendly, and I used to set it down
to his having had so much to do with doctors that he quite hated them;
but there seemed to be no reason why he should snub Mr Preddle so
whenever the big stout fellow approached him and his sister and tried to
enter into conversation.
Mr Preddle used to complain to me about it when I went with him to see
to the aerating and giving fresh water to the fish, which needed a great
deal of attention, and in spite of all our care would insist in turning
wrong side up, to paddle about slowly and helplessly for a while, and
then make a vigorous effort and swim naturally.
But the next minute they were back down and white up, and so they would
go on till they were too weak to move, and a few minutes after they
would die.
"Yes, it's sad business, Alison Dale," Mr Preddle would say with a
sigh, as he lifted a little trout out of one tray, or a tiny salmon from
another. "I'm afraid that I shall not have many left by the time I
arrive over in New Zealand."
"Perhaps they will get on better when we are in warmer parts."
"I'm afraid they'll die faster then," he said, taking something out of a
locked-up box under one of the water-troughs, and to my surprise I saw
that it was an ordinary pair of kitchen bellows.
"What! are you going to light a fire to warm them, sir?" I said.
He smiled.
"No, no; don't you know that fish require plenty of air?"
"Yes, I've heard something of the kind, and that if a pond is frozen
over, and the ice is not broken, the fish die."
"Exactly, for want of air. Look at those fish in that trough."
"Yes, they're hungry," I said, for in one corner a number of them were
putting their mouths nearly out of the water, and opening and shutting
them.
"No, they want air; there is not enough in the water. Now you'll see."
He thrust the nozzle of the bellows beneath the surface, and began
puffing away till the water boiled and bubbled and was covered with
foam, while after the first few puffs the fish swam about more
vigorously and left the surface.
"There, you see," he said, "there is plenty of air now," and he served
the other troughs the same. "Now, look here, Alison Dale," he said, as
he replaced the bellows, and locked the box, "I'll leave the key behind
this trough, and if you would not mind, I should be greatly obliged if
you would give the fish a little air now and then just to help me, for I
should dearly like to keep the poor things alive."
"Oh yes," I said, "I'll do it whenever I have a chance, but I don't
quite understand; I thought fish breathed water."
"With air in it. If there is no air to mingle with the water, the fish
soon die."
"But air over the water, you mean," I said.
"No; in the water; it will hold an enormous deal of air or gas. Look at
soda-water, for instance, how full of gas that is, and how the tiny
beads come bubbling out as soon as the pressure is removed. Now, if I
only had a few fish in these troughs, there would be plenty of air for
them naturally in the water, but with so many in my charge," he sighed,
"it must be supplied artificially."
"All right, then, we'll supply it artificially; but it looks very comic
to be blowing the water with bellows instead of the fire, and if Walters
catches me at it, he'll tell everybody that I've gone mad."
"Then you will help me?" he said, appealingly.
"Oh yes, I'll help you," I replied, and he looked so big and boyish that
I felt as if I ought to slap him over the back and call him "old chap."
"Thank you, thank you," he said in his mild way; "and--er--er--"
Then he stopped, with his mouth opening and shutting; and as I stared at
him, I could not help thinking how like he was to one of his fish.
"Yes," I said; "you were going to say something."
"Eh? Was I?" he said, looking quite red in the face, and uneasy. "Oh,
it was nothing--nothing--I--er--I hardly know what I was about to say.
Yes, I do," he cried, desperately; "I remember now. You were close to
us this morning when Mr Denning spoke to me. Did you hear what he
said?"
"No, I was too far off," I replied; "but he seemed to be speaking
snappishly."
"Yes, he does sometimes; I'm afraid that he does not like me."
"You worry him," I thought to myself, "by hanging about him so, and
talking to Miss Denning when he wants her to read to him."
"Yes?" said Mr Preddle; "what were you thinking?"
"Oh, about what you said. He is irritable, you know, from bad health."
"Yes," he said, quite in a whisper, "irritable from bad health, poor
fellow."
He stood with the little landing-net in his hand, gazing down into the
trough nearest to us as if watching the little trout; but his thoughts
were, I dare say, of something else, and I did not like to disturb him,
but stood giving a side look now and then at him, but for the most part
watching his charge, and thinking how thoroughly man had imitated the
shape of a fish in making a ship, even to the tail to steer it with.
Then all at once I looked up, for there were voices outside, and I knew
it was Jarette the Frenchman saying something very earnestly to Walters.
I did not hear what either of them said, for they spoke in a very low
tone, and in French. But I caught just the last words which were
uttered by Jarette, and they were these--
"Mais prenez-garde, mon ami. Prenez-garde."
Then they had passed on, and all was silent again, with Mr Preddle
still watching the fish.
"`But take care, my friend, take care.' That's what he said," I thought
to myself; "I know French enough for that. Take care of what? And why
does he call Walters `my friend'? He's only a common sailor, and a
midshipman even in a merchantman oughtn't to be friends in that way with
the men."
Then I laughed silently to myself as I thought of how fond I was of
leaning over the bulwarks and talking to old Bob Hampton when he had the
watch, and listening to his sea-tales about storms and pirates.
"How ready one is to find fault with people one doesn't like," I said to
myself.
"I beg your pardon," said Mr Preddle.
"I didn't speak, sir."
"No; but I had gone into a brown study. There, the fish will do now."
We both went on deck, and somehow when I was alone I too went into a
brown study, and began wondering at Mr Preddle's curious ways, and
thinking what a pity it was that a gentleman like Mr Denning, who was
on a voyage for the sake of his health, should take such a dislike to
Mr Frewen and Mr Preddle too. It hardly seemed to be like
irritability, for after all he was as merry and friendly with the
officers as he was with me. I never went near him without his beckoning
to me to come to his side, and both he and his sister were quite
affectionate to me, making my first long voyage wonderfully pleasant,
and the captain encouraged it.
"He must have heard something about them," I thought, and then I began
to think about Walters and the French sailor and the other sailors, of
those who seemed to form one party all to themselves, and of the others
who kept more along with Bob Hampton and his two friends, who had sailed
together for so many years.
"There, what does it matter?" I said to myself, as I roused myself from
my musings. "Walters doesn't like Bob Hampton because Bob laughed at
him, and that's why he hangs toward Jarette; pities him, perhaps,
because they both got into trouble with the officers, and birds of a
feather flock together."
These were all dreamy thoughts, like clouds in my mind. I could not
understand them. I grew wiser later on when the troubles came.