DEAKIN AND CO. AND THE LOST BRIG "RESOLUTE."
It had just gone one bell in the first watch, and so was nearly time
for the frugal supper, partaken of every night in the saloon of the
_San Salvador_. The fact is, breakfast was served sharp at eight
o'clock, dinner at one, and a high tea at six. The tea was really a
kind of a sea dinner in itself, for the meat and biscuits were always
put down, with soft tack (bread) if there was any. Therefore supper
after this was a mere snack, say a box of sardines with pickled
onions and biscuits, washed down with coffee or cocoa.
To-night the steward spread the banquet as soon as the captain and
Fred came down.
"Where is Cassia-bud?"
"I call him in one minute, sah."
What a mountain of a fellow this steward was! As black was he as the
inside of an empty ink-jar when the cork is in. All black except two
rows of white teeth and the conjunctiva of his eyes. These last,
however, had a tinge of yellow in them. Quambo was really a giant,
only a very good-natured one. But once or twice in a fight on shore
the man had shown the kind of metal he was made of. He was very fond
of Fred. One day the latter had interfered in Zanzibar to protect a
poor little slave lass, that a fierce-looking Arab had been brutally
using. The consequence was that the lad was mobbed. But from the
window of the hotel Quambo had seen it all. Downstairs he rushed,
and before he left the house with one terrible wrench he tore an iron
bar from the window, then sallied forth. Fred was lying helpless and
bleeding, and the Arabs and half-castes around him must have numbered
fifty at least.
"Clear the way!" cried Quambo. "Sameela! Sameela!" (Make room! make
room!)
Then the fiends turned fiercely on the negro. But Quambo's eyes were
flashing fire, and his nostrils distended like those of a war-horse
that scents the battle from afar. He mowed that ruffianly mob down
right and left, drawn swords were shivered in pieces, and the thick
turbans of the Arabs were no protection against the terrible weapon
that Quambo wielded. He speedily rescued Fred, and bore him away in
triumph. Fred and his friend the negro left the hotel half an hour
after, but no one wanted to renew the combat.
Now Cassia-bud was also a negro, a poor, wee innocent mite of a
fellow, and the ship's pet. Small enough was Cassia-bud to ride on
the captain's great honest black Newfoundland dog, and small enough
too for the men to make a ball of and play a kind of game with of a
summer's evening.
"Kashie! Kashie!" shouted Quambo, and next minute Kashie appeared.
"Here, boy, pull my boots off!" The captain had flung himself into
his easy chair and stuck out his legs.
What a good-natured, aye, and good-looking, man was this same
skipper, as he liked to call himself! For well-nigh fifty years he
had kicked about all over the world; but, barring his grey hairs and
snow-white whiskers, you scarce could have told he was a day past
forty. He was a thorough sailor every inch.
But is that our little Fred that used to be? That tall, handsome
young fellow of seventeen, with dark blue eyes, a wealth of brown
curly hair, and a budding black moustache. Verily, it is none other.
Look at his rosy face and pearly teeth. Behold what the sea and a
virtuous life has done for the young Scottish sailor!
Down he sat beside his captain, and the rapid disappearance of those
sardines and onions, with the crisp toasted and buttered biscuit,
would have made a cockney stare in wonder.
Fred swallowed his cocoa. Quambo mixed the captain's last cup.
Cassia-bud put his master's slippers on, and then lay down beside
Hurricane Bob, the Newfoundland, and took his fore-paws round his
neck; then Fred began to play and sing.
Fred had a sweet voice, and so modulated his accompaniment that there
was nothing but fascinating unison from beginning to end of the song
he sung.
The captain was right, the music really was infectious, and had you
come on deck half an hour after Fred began to play, and strolled
forward to the galley, a happier lot of sailors than that around the
fire it would have been impossible to have imagined. Spinning yarns
and singing songs to the music of the cook's old fiddle had become
the order of the evening, and even IT--the mysterious IT, which had
followed the ship so far--was forgotten in the general gaiety that
prevailed, and in the harmony that reigned universal.
* * * * * *
Like Fred himself, and a large proportion of the crew, Captain Cawdor
was Scotch, and, like many Scottish skippers, he was part owner of
the barque he commanded. This was good for himself, but it was also
good for the other owners, none of whom were sailors. But they knew
the ship was in excellent hands, and that while they were sleeping
quietly in their comfortable beds, Captain Cawdor was sailing the
seas here and there throughout the world, taking "a voyage," as he
termed employment, wherever he got it, and thus oftentimes managing
to pay himself and brother shipowners cent. per cent. Then the
vessel was heavily insured, and were she even to leave her bones on
some foreign strand, the insurance office alone would have to mourn,
and they could well afford to pay.
Cawdor had neither kith nor kin belonging to him, all were dead and
gone.
"I'm getting up in years," he told Fred more than once; "but so long
as I remain at sea I feel a young man, and, please the Lord, Fred,
I'll die on the ocean, and be buried as a sailor should be."
On this voyage the _San Salvador_ was on her way from Valparaiso with
a mixed cargo for the Cape, and with much specie as well. The men
knew there was gold and silver on board, and that the boxes lay in
the captain's cabin, and yet neither he nor his mate had the
slightest fear, so well chosen were the seamen.
There were, it is true, a few half-caste Spaniards on board; but
however much mischief they might have liked to have worked, they were
in too small a minority to count for anything.
And so, despite the evil-augured IT that had dodged around them, the
ship sailed on and on over that lonesome waste of waters, and no evil
befel her.
At long last--glorious sight to those sea-weary mariners--Cape
pigeons came flying about, and pieces of dark drifting seaweed; and
then gulls appeared to greet them; and then the mountains of Cape
Colony appeared, like a cloud in the nor'-eastern horizon. The men
hailed them with three cheers.
The ship would lie for a whole fortnight at Cape Town, and they all
expected letters from home; besides, Captain Cawdor was by no means
niggardly in the matter of leave; so the hands expected a good spell
on shore, and plenty of fun and dancing.
It was Fred's second visit to the Cape, but it had been winter when
he was here before; that is, it was in the middle of June. This is
really a pleasant time, for no snow lies in these regions, and indeed
I have never seen it fall. The air, however, is cool and bracing,
and there are clouds to temper the sunshine, while morning and
evening sunrises are lovely in the extreme.
Now it was summer in these latitudes, and the sun, though tempered by
ocean breezes, was almost fiercely hot; the sea was blue, and the sky
was almost cloudless; while the great and glorious mountains seemed
to simmer in the quivering naze.
All the first day of the ship's arrival Fred had to stick fast on
board, for both the mate and Captain Cawdor were busy on shore, and
cargo and specie both were being landed.
In the evening when he returned the captain brought letters from home
for the ship's crew, and there were several for Fred. As soon as
possible he hurried below and lit his cabin swing-candle, and,
sitting down prepared to devour them. There was a very long letter
from Daddy Pop, and one from Mammy Mop as well. Both contained much
kindly and good advice. Then there was a long, delightful letter
from Toddie. Poor Toddie was in grief, for not only was poor old Tip
dead, but Bunko's Keelie too; for though dogs love us much, they
cannot live for ever.
These letters were all loving and homely. As he read them the tears
came welling into the lad's eyes, as the humble little fisher cottage
rose up before him, the little whitewashed village among the green,
drooping silver birch trees. He seemed to sit once more, as he used
to do, in that charmed circle by the low hearth, with Eean in his
arm-chair, Toddie on her low stool, and Eppie at the spinning-wheel.
He thought he could hear the crackle of the blazing logs and the
birr--rr--rr of the wheel, and see the firelight flicker on the old
bard's face and glance upon the dark rafters, from which the brown
hams hung, and the homely strings of onions.
He sighed, and I'm not sure a tear did not fall. He would have given
a good deal just then to be able to visit but for one half hour the
little cottage by the sea. He put the letters away in his desk, and
walked on deck. Strange as it may appear, he believed so thoroughly
in his vivid dream that he had really expected a letter from his
friend Frank Fielding.
The captain took him on shore with him next day, and as they walked
along the principal streets, Fred would not have been a bit surprised
to have met Frank, just as he had met him in his dream.
The captain and he dined together well and heartily at one of the
best hotels, and were sitting talking together over the dessert, when
a tall, white-haired gentleman drew near to the table.
"I beg pardon, stranger," he said, "but are you Captain Chowder?"
"I'm Skipper _Cawdor_, of the barque _San Salvador_."
"The very individual. I thought it was Chowder. Well, Captain
Chaw--Chow--I mean Cawdor, are you open to take a commission?"
"Sit down, sir. Have a glass of port. Your name?"
"Deakin, of Deakin and Co. We're shipowners, oil-merchants,
anything."
"Well, I'm open to load up and go anywhere."
"When can you start?"
"In half an hour after the last bale's on board."
"But it ain't bales, captain. Fact is, a whaler of ours, the brig
_Resolute_, that touched here eight months ago, and ought to have
returned long since, is lost, and we've just got word from a vessel
that has come from Kerguelen that in all likelihood the crew are
saved, and living or existing on an island a long distance to the
east and south of that black starvation rock."
"Yes, I see. Well, sir?"
"Well, it's like this. The brig's well insured, we don't care a dime
about her, and we don't care a dime about any man Jack on board the
_Resolute_, except one, and he's one of the firm, Señor Sarpinto. We
would pay handsomely to have him; but, of course, you could bring the
others."
"I understand. Couldn't well leave them, could we? And, Mr. Deakin,
if I understand you, I'm to load up with extra provisions, and sail
in search of this shipwrecked crew of whalers, and bring them here?"
"No, you needn't bring them here. We'll give you a light cargo for
New Zealand, and orders to ship another there for San Francisco,
where our principal house is, and where Señor Sarpinto will desire to
be taken. Now, Captain Ch--a--Cawdor, have we met the right man in
you?"
"You've met the identical individual."
"And you can start at once?"
"The morning after to-morrow."
"Well, captain, here's my card. Come to the office this evening
before five, and we'll arrange terms. We wouldn't lose our partner
for a good deal, I can assure you, sir. Good-day."
"Whew--ew--ew!" whistled Captain Cawdor, as soon as the door had
closed on their strange visitor. "Well, Fred, here's a wind-up to a
windy day. Worthy Mr. Deakin, of Deakin and Co., doesn't care a dime
for either the ship or the crew of honest whalers, and owns up to it
like a man, or rather like a Yankee; but they mustn't lose their
Señor Sarpinto. Now, take my word for it, he is the sporting
partner, fond of adventure and all that sort of thing; but he has
also got the dollars, and the worthy firm of Deakin and Co. would go
all to smash without him. They are willing to pay, and what is more,
they'll have to. I'll wager a new sou'-wester a Scot knows how to
make a bargain with a Yankee, see if he doesn't. Captain Chowder,
indeed! I'll Chowder him! Ha! ha! But I say, Fred, write your
letters home, and be brisk about it. There's a tidy cruise before
us, but money in it mind for me, and a bit for you too, lad."
* * * * * *
And Captain Cawdor drove a very excellent bargain indeed with Deakin
and Co. That was the reason, and the only reason, why, just two days
after this, the sturdy old barque was seen standing away from the
Cape, steering south-south-east, with every inch of canvas set both
'low and aloft.