IN WHICH THE INTRODUCTION OF IMPORTANT PERSONAGES IS CONTINUED, IN
RATHER EXCITING CIRCUMSTANCES.
"Where away's the boat, lad?" said Captain Bluenose to Bax, on
recovering his equanimity.
"Close at hand; mind the fluke of that anchor. The owner of this spot
should be put in limbo for settin' man-traps. Have a care of your
shins, Guy; it's difficult navigation here on a dark night."
"All right, Bax," replied Guy; "I'll keep close in your wake, so if you
capsize we shall at least have the comfort of foundering together."
The place through which the three friends were groping their way was
that low locality of mud and old stores, which forms the border region
between land and water, and in which dwelt those rats which have been
described as being frolicsome and numerous.
"Hold hard!" roared Bluenose, as he tripped over the shank of an anchor,
"why don't you set up a lighthouse, or a beacon o' some sort on these
here shoals?"
"Starboard, old boy, starboard hard, steady!" cried Bax.
With seaman-like promptitude the Captain obeyed, and thus escaped
tumbling off the end of the wharf at which they had arrived.
"Nancy, a-hoy!" cried Bax in a subdued shout.
A juvenile "Ay, ay, sir!" instantly came back in reply from the dark
obscurity that overhung the river. The sound of oars followed.
"Smart little fellow that nephew of yours; he'll do you credit some
day," said Bax, turning towards Bluenose, who, although close at his
side, was scarcely visible, so dark was the night.
The Captain's rejoinder was cut short by the boy in question sending the
bow of the boat crash against the wharf, an exploit which had the effect
of pitching him heels over head into the bottom of it.
"Why didn't you give us a hail, uncle?" remonstrated the boy, as he rose
and rubbed his elbows.
"Good practice, my lad, it's good practice," replied Bluenose,
chuckling, as he stepped in.
A few seconds sufficed to take them alongside of the "Nancy," in two
narrow berths of which the Captain and Guy were quickly stowed away and
sound asleep, while Bax paced the deck slowly overhead, having relieved
the watch and sent him below.
Just half an hour or so before dawn--that mysterious, unreal and solemn
period of the night or morning--Captain Bluenose came on deck minus his
coat and shoes, in order to have a look at "how things were getting
on,"--as if the general operations of nature had been committed to his
charge, and he were afraid lest the sun should not be able to rise
without his assistance.
"Light air, west-sou'-west," muttered the Captain as he stepped on deck,
cast a glance up at the vane on the mast-head, and then swept his eye
round the (imaginary) horizon.
There was not much to be seen, except the numerous lights of the
shipping, and the myriad lamps of the great city, whose mighty hum of
life had not yet begun to awaken. It was the deadest hour of night (if
we may use the expression), although advanced towards morning. The
latest of late sitters-up had gone to bed and got to sleep, and the
earliest of early risers had not yet been aroused. None save
night-workers and night-watchers were astir, and these did not disturb
in any appreciable degree the deep quiet of the hour.
While Bax and his friend were conversing in subdued tones near the
binnacle, they were startled by a piercing shriek, followed by a heavy
plunge in the water, which, from the sound, appeared to be not far
distant. They sprang to the bow, which was pointing down the river,--
the flood-tide was running strong up at the time. On reaching it they
heard a gurgling cry, not twenty yards ahead of the vessel.
"Hold on!" cried Bax to Bluenose, sharply, at the same time fastening
the end of a rope round his waist with the speed of thought, and
plunging over the side head-foremost. The cry and the plunge brought
Guy Foster on deck instantly. He found the Captain holding on with all
his might to the end of the rope, on which there seemed to be a
tremendous strain.
"Take a turn round that belayin' pin," gasped the Captain.
Guy obeyed, and the moment his companion was relieved, he shouted, "All
hands a-hoy!"
It was unnecessary. The four men who formed the crew of the "Nancy"
were already springing up the fore-hatch. There was bustle among the
shipping too. Lights danced about, the sound of oars was heard in
various directions, and sharp eager shouts, as of men who felt that life
was in danger, but knew not where to hasten in order to afford aid.
"Haul now, lads, with a will," cried the Captain; "so, steady, avast
heaving. Ah! that's a smart lad."
While the men were hauling on the rope, little Tommy had bounded over
the side into the boat, which he quickly brought close to the rope, and,
seizing it, guided his craft to the end to which Bax was fastened. He
found him buffeting the strong current stoutly, and supporting a head on
his shoulder in such a way that the mouth should not get below water.
"All right, Tommy," said Bax, quietly. "Don't get excited, my lad; lend
a hand to raise her a bit out o' the water. Now, can you hold her there
for one moment?"
"Yes, if you just give me the end of that shawl in my teeth,--so."
Tommy could say no more, for he was squeezed flat against the gunwale of
the boat, with his stout little arms tight round the neck and waist of a
female figure, the fingers of his left hand grasping her hair, and his
legs twisted in a remarkable manner round the thwart to keep him from
being dragged out of the boat, besides which his mouth was full of the
shawl.
Bax at once grasped the gunwale, and moved hand over hand to the stern,
where, by a powerful effort, he raised himself out of the water and
sprang inboard. A few minutes more sufficed to enable him to drag the
female (a young girl) into the boat, and place her in safety on the
schooner's deck.
The whole thing was done in much less time than is required to tell it.
Only one of the boats that were out searching discovered the schooner,
just as the female was got on board.
"All right?" inquired one of the men.
"All right--saved," was the answer, and the boat pulled away into the
obscurity of the morning mist with a cheer of congratulation. Then all
was again silent, and the sluggish tide glided slowly past the dark
hulls that rested on the bosom of the Thames.
On carrying the girl into the small cabin of the "Nancy" it was found
that she was still in a state of insensibility. The dim light of the
swinging lamp fell on her pale face, and revealed to the surprised and
sympathetic beholders features of great beauty and delicate form, over
which masses of dark brown hair straggled in wild confusion.
"Now, lads, clear out o' the way," cried Captain Bluenose, pulling off
his coat energetically. "Leave this here little craft to me. I know
'xactly wot's got to be done, d'ye see. Turn her on her face--there;
never go for to put a drownded body on its back, be it man or woman.
Stick that coat under her breast, and her arm under her forehead. So,
now we'll go to work."
There is no doubt that the worthy captain understood precisely what he
meant to do, and was working on a systematic plan; but what the result
of his labours might have been it is impossible to say, for at that
moment he was interrupted by the tread of hurried footsteps on deck, and
the sudden entrance of a silvery-haired man, whose black coat, vest, and
pantaloons contrasted strangely with his heavy oilskin coat and
sou'-wester, and tended to puzzle the beholder as to whether he was a
landsman in nautical outer garments, or a seaman clothed partly in what
Jack calls "shore-going toggery."
There was an expression of wild anxiety on the man's face as he sprang
towards the prostrate form of the girl, fell on his knees, and, seizing
her hand, exclaimed, "Lucy, dearest Lucy!" He stopped suddenly as if he
had been choked, and, bending his ear close to Lucy's lips, listened for
a few seconds with knitted brow and compressed lips. At that moment
there was a flutter on the eyelids of the girl, and a broken sigh
escaped her.
The man kneeling at her side sprang convulsively to his feet, raised his
hands high above his head, and exclaimed, "O God, in Christ's name I
thank thee," in tones so fervent, as almost to approach to a shout.
With this irrepressible cry of gratitude every trace of strong emotion
appeared to vanish from the countenance and the manner of the stranger.
Turning to Bluenose, who had been gazing at this scene in much surprise,
not unmingled with anxiety, he said in a calm but quick voice:--
"My friend, this child is my daughter. Pray leave me alone with her for
a few minutes."
"Excuge a oldish man, sir," said the Captain; "p'raps you'd better let
me stay, 'cause why, I knows how to treat drownded--"
"Thank you, it is unnecessary," said the stranger. "Besides, I myself
am acquainted with the rules of the Humane Society. But you can aid me
by getting hot blankets and warm coffee."
"Come along, Captain," cried Bax, seizing his friend by the arm and
dragging him out of the cabin.
Guy had quitted it, followed by Tommy, the instant the old man had
expressed a wish to be left alone with his child.
"There, now, you obstinate man," cried Bax, relaxing his grasp on
gaining the foot of the companion ladder; "up with you, and send Tommy
to look after coffee and blankets. He knows where to get 'em. I'll go
and put on dry toggery; the best thing that _you_ can do, is to keep out
of people's way."
This latter piece of advice was not very agreeable to one whose heart
was tender, and his desire to engage in works of active benevolence very
strong. But feeling that the advice was good, and thoroughly
appreciating the fact that, having shipped as a "suppernummerary hand,"
he was bound to obey his young commander, he went on deck without
remonstrance, walked aft to the binnacle, and began to fill his pipe.
Guy and Tommy were already there, engaged in earnest conversation. The
ruddy light of the binnacle lamp streamed up in the face of the latter,
and revealed his curly fair hair clustering in wild disorder over his
flushed brow, as, with fire gleaming in his blue eyes, he stared up in
his companion's face and related how that Bax, in the coolest manner
possible, had kept treading water with the girl in his arms, knowing
quite well that not even _his_ strength, great though it was, could
enable him to pull himself by the rope to the ship against the tide, and
knowing that, in a few minutes, some one would get into the boat and
pick them up.
"And so _some one_ did, and very cleverly and bravely done it was,
Tommy," said Guy, laying his hand kindly on the boy's shoulder.
"Well, I don't think much o' that," replied Tommy. "It don't call for
much courage to jump into a boat of a fine night, twist your legs round
a thort, and hold on to a girl by claws and teeth till somebody comes to
yer help."
It was all very well for Tommy to disclaim credit for what he had done;
but the glad triumphant expression of his face, and his firm erect gait,
proved that he was very much satisfied indeed with the share he had had
in that night's adventure.
"Ah, sir," continued the boy, "there never was a man like Bax!"
"You appear to admire him very much," said Guy; "and from the little
that I have seen of him I think you have good reason."
"Admire him!" cried Tommy, with a look of scorn; "no, I don't. I _like_
him. He's a trump!"
"Who's a trump?" inquired Bluenose, coming up at that moment.
"Bax," replied the boy, with the air of one who takes up an impregnable
position, and defies the whole world in arms to overthrow him.
"So he is, so he is, a reg'lar trump," said the Captain, "an' wot's
more, there ain't no more of them there trumps in the pack, for he's the
king of 'arts, he is. An' you're a trump, too, Tommy; you're the
_knave_ of 'arts, you are, ye little beggar. Go and git blankets and
hot coffee for that gal, and look sharp, my lad."
"I have heard you speak once or twice of Bax and his exploits," said Guy
Foster, when the boy left them, "but this is the first time I have seen
him perform. I did not see much of him when down on the coast last
summer, but I saw enough to make me like him. Is he really the
wonderful fellow that Tommy makes him out to be?"
"Wonderful?" echoed the Captain, puffing his pipe vigorously, as was his
wont when a little puzzled for an expression or an idea. "No, he ain't
wonderful; that's not the word. He's a _life-preserver_, that's wot he
is. None o' your hinflated injinrubber or cork affairs, but a reg'lar,
hanimated, walkin', self-actin' life-preserver. Why, I've know'd him,
off and on, since he was the length of a marline spike, d'ye see--an'
I've seed him save dozens, ay _dozens_, of lives--men, women, and
children,--in lifeboats, an' in luggers, an' swimmin'. Why, he thinks
no more o' that wot he's done to-night, than he does of eatin' salt
junk. He's got a silver medal from the Royal Life-Boat Institution, an'
another from the Queen of Spain, and a gold 'un from some other king or
queen, I don't 'xactly know who--besides no end o' thanks, written on
paper, also on wot they calls wellum, in beautiful German text and
small-hand;--ho! you know, nobody knows wot that feller's been a-doin'
of all his life. If he was hung round with all the gold and silver
medals he _deserves_ to have, he'd go to the bottom--life-preserver
though he is--like the sheet-anchor of a seventy-four, he would."
"What's that about going to the bottom?" said Bax, who came aft at the
moment.
"That's just wot you've got nothin' to do with," replied Bluenose,
resuming his pipe, which, in the ardour of his discourse, he had removed
from his lips, and held out at arm's length before him.
"Well, I have _not_ much to do with going to the bottom," said Bax,
laughing. "But where's Tommy?--oh! here you are. Have you attended to
orders?"
"Blankits, hot, just bin sent in. Coffee, hot, follers in five minits."
"Brayvo," ejaculated Bluenose, with an approving smile. "I wonder who
the old man is?" said Guy. "He neither looks like a landsman nor a
seaman, but a sort of mixture of both."
"So he is," said Bax. "I happen to know him, though he does not know
me. He is a Scripture reader to sailors (Burton by name), and has spent
many years of his life at work on the coast, in the neighbourhood of
Ramsgate. I suppose he was goin' down the coast in the vessel out of
which his daughter tumbled. I didn't know he had a daughter. By the
way, she's not a bad one to begin with, Tommy; a regular beauty,"
continued Bax, with a smile. "You've often wondered whether the first
would be a man, or a woman, or a child. The point is settled now!"
"Yes," replied the boy, with a grave meditative look. "I suppose I
_may_ say she's my _first_, for you know you could not have done it
without me."
There was something ludicrous, as well as sublime, in this little chip
of humanity gravely talking of poor Lucy Burton being "his first," as if
he had just entered on a new fishing-ground, and were beginning to take
account of the creatures he had the good fortune to haul out of the sea!
And in very truth, reader, this was the case. Under the training of a
modest, lion-hearted British sailor, the boy was beginning to display,
in unusual vigour, those daring, enthusiastic, self-sacrificing
qualities which, although mingled with much that is evil, are marked
characteristics of our seamen; qualities which have gone far to raise
our little island to her present high position of commercial prosperity
and political importance, and which, with God's blessing, will continue
to carry our flag, our merchandise, and our bibles, to the ends of the
earth, and guard our shores, as in days of old, from the foot of every
foreign foe. England can never fully appreciate how much she owes to
her seamen. The thousands of our inland population have a very
inadequate conception of the race of heroes by which our coasts are
peopled. Bax is no exaggerated specimen, got up, in these sensation
days, for effect. It is a glorious fact,--proved by the hard and bare
statistics furnished annually by the Board of Trade, and from other
sources,--that his name is legion, and that the men of whom he is a type
swarm all round our coasts, from the old Ultima Thule to the Land's End.
Yes, Tommy was in good training. He had begun well. He was evidently a
chip of the elder block. It did not, indeed, occur to his young
imagination to suppose that he could ever become anything in the most
distant degree resembling his idol Bax. Neither did he entertain any
definite idea as to what his young heart longed after; but he had seen
life saved; he had stood on the sea-shore when storms cast shattered
wrecks upon the sands, and had witnessed the exploits of boatmen in
their brave efforts to save human life; he had known what it was to weep
when the rescuer perished with those whom he sought to save, and he had
helped to swell with his tiny voice, the bursting cheer of triumph, when
men, women, and children were plucked, as if by miracle, from the raging
sea! To take part in those deeds of heroism was the leading desire in
the boy's life; and now it seemed as if his career were commencing in
earnest, and the day-dreams in which he had so long indulged were at
last about to become waking realities.