THE CONSUL’S “CLARK.”
Finally, to the Club’s great relief, the work was all done. The masts
had been stepped, the sails bent on, the last ratline knotted, and Uncle
Dick only waited for a high tide to carry the schooner over the coral
reef that marked the entrance to the bay. When the proper moment arrived
the crew gladly responded to the order of the old boatswain’s mate, “All
hands stand by to get ship under way!” and to the enlivening strains of
“The girl I left behind me,” which Eugene played on his flute, walked
the little vessel up to her anchor. Then the sails were trimmed to catch
the breeze, the star-spangled banner was run up to the peak, and the
lonely island echoed to the unwonted sound of a national salute. The
first two guns were shotted and were pointed toward the island, as a
parting token of the estimation in which its inhabitants were held by
the schooner’s company, and the other eleven were fired with blank
cartridges.
The boys could not help shuddering as they passed over the reef. Its
course could be traced for a mile or more on each side of them. The
opening through which they sailed was the only clear space they could
see in the whole length of it, and that was barely wide enough to admit
of the passage of their little vessel. The Sea Gull could never have got
through it; and how they had ever passed it in their waterlogged craft,
driven by a furious gale, was something they could not explain. The
waves foamed and roared around them, and being thrown back by the rocks,
followed in the wake of the schooner as if enraged at being cheated of
their prey. The boys trembled while they looked, and all breathed easier
when the man in the fore-chains who was heaving the lead, called out “No
bottom!” The reef was passed in safety and they were fairly afoot once
more; but their vessel was crippled and leaky, and there was not one
among the five hundred people who saw her sail so gaily out of the
harbor of Bellville who would have recognized her now. She had no
topmasts, yards, or flying jibboom, and could only spread four sails
where she had once spread nine, and, when the wind was light, ten, not
counting the studding-sails. All Uncle Dick asked of her was to take
them in safety to Hobart Town, where she could be put in trim for her
long voyage across the Indian Ocean.
The Club were three weeks in reaching their destination, and during that
time everything passed off smoothly. The weather was favorable, and that
was something on which Uncle Dick congratulated himself. Had the
schooner encountered another cyclone, or even a gale, we should probably
have had something unpleasant to record, for she was in no condition to
stand another conflict with the elements. No one on board, except the
Club and the officers, knew where she was bound, for Uncle Dick thought
it best that this matter should be kept secret. If the suspected men
were convicts, as he had every reason to believe they were, they might
object to going back to their taskmasters, and that was just where Uncle
Dick was resolved they should go, especially Waters, who had shown that
he was not a proper person to be intrusted with his liberty. The latter
was still confined in the brig, but he was allowed to come out twice
each day, and take his exercise on deck under the watchful eye of the
master-at-arms; and he it was who first told the crew where the schooner
was bound. He found it out one morning when he was brought out of the
brig to take a breath of fresh air. Land was then in plain sight; and
after Waters had run his eye along the shore, he started and muttered
something under his breath that sounded like an oath.
“Hit’s Tasmania, mates,” he exclaimed. “And there,” he added, pointing
with his manacled hands towards the church spire that could be dimly
seen in the distance, “is ’Obart Town. We’re back ’ere after hall our
trouble.”
The words reached the ears of his three companions for whom they were
intended, and their action did not escape the notice of the officer of
the deck, who had his eyes on them all the time. Leaving their work at
once, they gazed eagerly in the direction of the city, then turned and
looked along the shore as if searching for some familiar object, and the
expression that settled on their faces was all the proof Mr. Parker
needed to confirm his suspicions.
“Master-at-arms,” said he, “take your prisoner below and lock him up.
You three men,” he added, pointing to Waters’s companions, “go into the
forecastle until you are told to come on deck again. If you stay there
peaceably, well and good. Rodgers, go down and keep an eye on them.
Barton, take a musket and stand at the head of the ladder, and see that
they don’t come up without orders.”
Mr. Parker was simply obeying the instructions of his commander, which
were to the effect that the suspected men were to be watched night and
day, and ordered below under arrest the instant the officer of the deck,
whoever he was, became satisfied that they really were escaped convicts.
Mr. Parker was satisfied now, and so the ruffians were put where they
would have no opportunity to escape.
The schooner rapidly approached the town, and at one o’clock dropped
anchor at the stern of a large English steamer, which she followed into
the harbor. The gig was called away at once, and Uncle Dick got in and
was pulled ashore. An hour elapsed, and at the end of that time a large
yawl, which was slowly propelled by two men, was seen approaching the
schooner. It came alongside, and a fashionably dressed, kid-gloved young
gentleman about Frank’s age, seized the man-ropes that were handed to
him and was assisted to the deck.
“Aw! thanks,” said he, as he brushed a speck of dust from his
coat-sleeve. “Where’s the captain?”
“The captain is ashore, sir,” answered Mr. Baldwin. “I command in his
absence.”
“Aw! there’s my card,” continued the visitor, producing the article in
question and handing it to the first mate.
“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Fowler,” replied the officer, glancing at
the name on the card. “Can I be of any service to you?”
“I ham consul’s clark, and I’ve come ’ere to see about those seamen you
rescued from the wreck of the Hinglish ship Sea Gull. Muster them on
deck, and I’ll take them hoff at once.”
“Produce a written order from Captain Gaylord to that effect, and I
shall be glad to do so,” said Mr. Baldwin, who it was plain did not like
the commanding tone assumed by the young Englishman. “I suppose you have
one?”
“Naw, I ’ave not. I ’ave an horder from ’er Majesty’s consul, whose
clark I ham.”
“I am not obliged to obey her Majesty’s consul,” replied Mr. Baldwin. “I
am an American, and responsible to no one but my commander. Our own
consul could not take these men away in Captain Gaylord’s absence,
without first showing me a written order from him.”
“Then you refuse to give them hup?”
“Without an order? Yes, sir.”
The young Englishman fairly gasped while he listened to these words,
which, had they been spoken by one of his own countrymen, he would no
doubt have regarded as highly treasonable. When he found his tongue
again he said he would see ’ow this thing stood, and whether or not ’er
Majesty’s hofficers could be thus set at defiance; and as he spoke he
threw one leg over the side as if he were about to climb down into his
boat. Then he suddenly paused and gazed earnestly towards the nearest
wharf—or we ought rather to say “quay,” for that is what they are called
in that part of the world. He saw a boat approaching, and he made that
an excuse to come back; but the boys, who had been interested and amused
listeners to the conversation, shrewdly suspected that the real reason
why he came back was because he knew that Mr. Baldwin was in the right.
Like many persons who are clothed with a little brief authority, he felt
himself to be very important, and wanted to make everybody with whom he
came in contact bow to him.
“Aw!” said he, addressing himself to Frank, who had stepped to the side
to hand him one of the man-ropes, “there’s the police commissioner’s
boat coming, and I think I’ll stop and ’ave a look at those four
convicts I ’ear you’ve got on board. Hif they’re the ones I think they
hare hit’s a wonder they didn’t take your vessel from you. But it cawn’t
be they—it cawn’t be.”
“I don’t know whom you have in your mind, of course,” replied Frank, who
was highly amused by the patronizing manner in which the young
Englishman addressed him. “One of them showed a disposition to smash
things, but he is now in irons, while the others are in the forecastle
under guard. The quarrelsome one gave the name of Waters.”
“Waters? Aw! it is he. It is weally wonderful how you managed to secure
him, for he is a wetired membaw of the Hinglish prize wing. Hit must
’ave taken ’alf your crew to do it.”
“On the contrary,” said Frank, “he was very quickly and easily
vanquished by that man you see standing there.”
“Aw! you surprise me. I must weally ’ave a look at the gentleman,” said
the consul’s clerk. “He must be simply prodigious. Hisn’t he an Hinglish
gentleman?”
“No, sir,” said Frank, hardly able to control himself. “He’s an
American, every inch of him, and probably the first representative of
his class that you ever saw.”
The consul’s clerk fumbled in his pocket for a few minutes, and
presently drew out a gold eyeglass. He had some trouble in fixing it
under his right eyebrow, and when he got it placed to his satisfaction
he looked in the direction Frank pointed, and met the steady gaze of
Dick Lewis’s honest gray eyes. The stalwart backwoodsman, in company
with his friend, Bob Kelly, was leaning against the rail, and, although
the two men probably did not dream of such a thing, they presented a
picture that an artist would have been glad to reproduce on canvas.
“Aw!” exclaimed the young Englishman; “what very extraordinary-looking
persons. If I might be allowed the expression, I should say that they
had just come hout of the woods.”
“You have hit the nail squarely on the head,” said Frank. “They are
professional trappers and Indian fighters.”
The clerk started, and let his eyeglass fall in his excitement. He was
so surprised that he forgot to put in his usual drawl, and substitute w
for r when he spoke again.
“Trappers!” he exclaimed, “Indian fighters! I have often read of such
things, and no doubt you will think me simple when I say that I never
believed in their existence.”
“Why don’t you always talk as naturally as that?” thought Frank.
“You’re sure you’re not chaffing me now?” continued the clerk.
“Quite sure. I don’t do such things. I have known these men a long time,
and have spent months on the prairie and in the mountains in their
company. I know of two Indian fights in which they have been engaged
since I became acquainted with them.”
“I wonder!” exclaimed the clerk, whose astonishment and interest were so
great that he could not remove his eyes from the two trappers. “Pray
tell me about those fights.”
Frank thought of the historian, who, being invited to a dinner party,
was requested by a lady to relate the history of the world during the
five minutes that the host would probably be occupied in carving the
turkey, and laughed to himself at the idea of taking less than half an
hour to describe all the thrilling incidents that had happened during
the battle at Fort Stockton, as recounted to him by his friend, Adam
Brent, who was present on that memorable occasion. “It is rather a long
story,” said he.
“Well, then, perhaps at some future time you will oblige me,” replied
the clerk. “Were you ever in a battle?”
“Yes, several of them.”
“With the Indians?”
“No. They once attacked a wagon-train to which I belonged, and tried to
run off our cattle and horses, but we didn’t call that a battle.”
“Were you ever a prisoner among them?”
Frank replied in the affirmative.
“Were you ever tied to the stake?”
“No, but I’ve seen the man who mastered Waters in that situation, and I
saw a tomahawk and a knife thrown within an inch of his head.”
The young Englishman’s surprise increased every moment, and Frank
thought by the way he looked at him that he was not quite prepared to
believe all he heard. But Frank did not care for that. He was not trying
to make himself important; he was only answering the clerk’s questions.
“Are you an officer of this vessel?” asked the latter, glancing at
Frank’s suit of navy blue.
“I act as sailing master,” was the modest reply.
“What trade are you in?”
“No trade at all. This is a private yacht, and we have got thus far on
our voyage around the world. Two of those young gentlemen you see
there,” he added, directing the clerk’s attention toward the Club, who
had withdrawn to the quarter-deck, “are nephews of the owner and
captain.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” exclaimed the clerk, and it was evident
that the schooner and her company arose in his estimation at once. At
any rate, he dropped his patronizing air, and began to act and talk as
if he considered Frank his equal. He no doubt thought that those who
were able to travel around the world in their own vessel were deserving
of respect, even though they were Americans. “I wish I had time to make
their acquaintance,” he continued, “but here comes the commissioner’s
boat, and I see your captain is just putting out from the quay. I hope
to meet you again.”
Frank simply bowed. He could not say that he hoped so too, for he did
not. He could see nothing to admire in a young man who seemed to think
that only those who were wealthy were deserving of respect. Frank would
have been still more disinclined to meet him again had he known the
circumstances under which one of their meetings was to take place. This
was by no means the end of his acquaintance with Mr. Fowler. It was only
the beginning of it.
Frank now stepped to the side in readiness to hand the man-ropes to the
occupants of the commissioner’s boat, which just then came up. There
were four of them, and he was rather surprised at their appearance. Each
wore a short blue blouse, confined at the waist by a black belt, a very
juvenile-looking cap, and a broad, white shirt collar, which was turned
down over their coats, making them look like so many overgrown boys. But
the batons they carried in their hands, and the shields they wore on
their breasts, proclaimed them to be policemen. And very careful members
of the community they were, too; for without them the law-abiding
inhabitants of the city would have had anything but a pleasant time of
it, surrounded as they were by thousands of the worst characters that
Great Britain could produce. They climbed to the deck one after the
other, and the foremost informed Mr. Baldwin, who came forward to meet
them, that they had been sent to look at the suspected men, and to take
charge of them if they proved to be convicts. The mate accordingly gave
the necessary orders to the master-at-arms, and presently the four
prisoners came up under guard.
“Aw!” exclaimed the clerk, who had by this time recovered from the
surprise into which he had been thrown by his conversation with Frank,
“that one in irons is Waters, sure enough.”
“And he seems to know you, too,” said Frank, as the prisoner, after
running his eye over the vessel, nodded to the clerk, who smiled and
bowed in return.
“Aw! yes; that is, I have often seen him working in the chain-gang
ashore; but I want you to understand that I have nothing in common with
him, nothing whatever.”
“I didn’t suppose you had,” answered Frank, astonished at the clerk’s
earnest tone and manner. “What will your police do with him?”
“They’ll put him back in the gang again, but Lawd! what’s the use! He’ll
soon escape; he always does. He’s been off the island no less than four
times. Once he was half way to Hingland before it was found hout who he
was.”
“Why don’t the police watch him closer?”
The clerk shrugged his shoulders as much as to say that he didn’t know,
or didn’t care to trouble himself about the matter, and turned to meet
the captain, who just then sprang on board. Arrangements were quickly
made for removing the strangers, as everybody called the men who had
been rescued from the wreck of the Sea Gull. The sailors were given into
charge of the clerk, who ordered them into his boat and pushed off,
after telling Frank that he would hear from him again very soon, and the
convicts were turned over to the officers, who handcuffed them all, and
took them ashore. The boys were glad to see them go, and Uncle Dick
privately informed them that he considered himself fortunate in getting
rid of Waters and his companions so easily. They were a desperate lot,
if there was any faith to be put in the stories of their exploits which
he had heard while he was ashore.
“That clerk told me that Waters belongs in the chain-gang,” said Frank.
“How did he manage to escape?”
“Ask the police, and if you give them enough, perhaps they will tell
you,” returned Uncle Dick.
“The police!” repeated Frank.
“Yes. A five-pound note will accomplish wonders sometimes. I know that
less than that once bought off the policeman—or ‘man-hunter’ as we used
to call him—who arrested me.”
“Why, Uncle Dick!” exclaimed Walter.
The old sailor laughed long and loudly. “It is a fact,” said he. “I was
at work one morning at the mouth of my shaft in the Bendigo mines, and
this man-hunter stepped up and asked me if I had a license. I told him I
had, but it was in the pocket of my vest, and that was at the bottom of
the mine. Do you suppose he would let me go down after it? No, sir. He
arrested me at once, and was marching me off, when I offered him an
ounce of gold, worth about seventeen dollars and a half, if he would go
back and let me show him my license. He took the gold, but didn’t go
back with me, and neither did he trouble me afterward. If he had taken
me before the commissioner I should have been lucky if I had got off
with a fine of five pounds. Stand by, Mr. Baldwin. Here comes the tug,
and we are going into the docks now. After that, boys, we’ll take a run
out into the country. I have an acquaintance a few miles away, who is
getting rich, raising sheep. The last time I saw him he was glad to
break stones on the road in Melbourne for a pound a day. That would be
considered a good deal of money now, but it didn’t go far during the
time of the gold excitement. Everything was so dear that the man who
earned less than that stood a good chance of starving.”
We pass over the events of the next few days, as they have nothing to do
with our story. The schooner having been hauled into the docks, the Club
set out in company with the trappers to explore the town, and during the
day chanced to fall in with the consul’s clerk, who, with two other
young Englishmen of the same stamp as himself, was on his way to visit
the schooner. He presented his card, and introduced Frank to his
companions, and he and they were in turn introduced to the Club and to
the trappers. This being arranged to the satisfaction of both parties,
they adjourned to a restaurant—an Englishman always wants something to
eat—and Frank thought he could have enjoyed the splendid dinner that was
served up, had it not been for the presence of the liquors that were
introduced. The Englishmen drank freely, and pressed their guests to
follow their example; but the Club were proof against temptation, and
astonished their hosts by telling them that they did not know wine from
brandy, and that they had never smoked a cigar. They remained in their
room at the restaurant until it began to grow dark, for the Englishmen
had many questions to ask, and besides they were determined to force a
story out of Dick Lewis; but the trapper was shy in the presence of
strangers, and could not be induced to open his mouth. Being
disappointed in this, the clerk and his companions, with a laudable
desire to increase their store of knowledge, set themselves at work to
learn everything that was to be learned regarding the United States and
their inhabitants; but whether or not they gained any really useful
information is a question. The following conversation, which took place
that night in the cabin of the Stranger, would seem to indicate that
they did not. Walter was relating to Uncle Dick the various amusing
incidents that had happened at the restaurant, occasioned by the
Englishmen’s astounding ignorance of everything that related to America
and its people, when Frank suddenly inquired:
“Archie, what in the world possessed you to tell that clerk that the
Rocky Mountains were a hundred miles from New York, and that grizzly
bears and panthers had been known to come into Broadway, and carry off
men from behind the counters of their stores?”
“Why, did he believe it?” asked Archie, in reply. “Could he fool me that
way about his own country? Just before that Eugene had been telling him
that wild Indians had often been seen in the streets of New York, and I
had to back him up. Wild Indians, and bears, and panthers go together,
don’t they? I told him that he could find bears in Wall Street any day,
and so he can; and if they haven’t been known to take men, not only from
behind the counters of their stores, but right out of house and home,
then I have read the history of speculations in Wall Street to little
purpose.”
Uncle Dick laughed until the cabin rang again.
“But the idea of the Rocky Mountains being only a hundred miles from New
York,” said Frank.
“I didn’t tell him so,” answered Archie, quickly. “I said that they were
at least that distance away; and so they are. I had to make my
statements correspond with Eugene’s, didn’t I? Just before that he had
been telling Fowler that the whole of America was about as large as
Ireland—”
“Hold on,” interrupted Eugene. “Didn’t I tell him that it was fully as
large as Ireland?”
“That’s a fact,” said Archie, accepting the correction; “so you did.
Well, now, the United States and the British possessions in America
cover about six million square miles, and of these the Rocky Mountains
cover nine hundred and eighty thousand, or nearly one-sixth of the
surface of the whole country. When I came to build my mountains, I had
to build them in proportion to the size of the country they were
supposed to stand in, didn’t I?”
Uncle Dick roared again.
“When Fowler began to question me on distances I had to be careful what
I said,” continued Archie. “When he asked me how big the Rocky Mountains
were, I told him that they covered at least five thousand square miles,
and you ought to have seen him open his eyes. He said he had no idea
that there was room enough in America for any such mountains. Now, since
Ireland contains thirty-three thousand square miles, I think my
proportion was a pretty good one. If you can come any closer to it in
round numbers, I’d like to see you do it.”
Frank could not combat such arguments as these, so he went to his room
and tumbled into bed.