IN LIMEHOUSE REACH
It was the mate’s affair all through. He began by leaving the end of a line dangling over the stern, and the propeller, though quite unaccustomed to that sort of work, wound it up until only a few fathoms remained. It then stopped, and the mischief was not discovered until the skipper had called the engineer everything that he and the mate and three men and a boy could think of. The skipper did the interpreting through the tube which afforded the sole means of communication between the wheel and the engine-room, and the indignant engineer did the listening.
The Gem was just off Limehouse at the time, and it was evident she was going to stay there. The skipper ran her ashore and made her fast to a roomy old schooner which was lying alongside a wharf. He was then able to give a little attention to the real offender, and the unfortunate mate, who had been the most inventive of them all, realised to the full the old saying of curses coming home to roost. They brought some strangers with them, too.
“I’m going ashore,” said the skipper at last. “We won’t get off till next tide now. When it’s low water you’ll have to get down and cut the line away. A new line too! I’m ashamed o’ you, Harry.”
“I’m not surprised,” said the engineer, who was a vindictive man.
“What do you mean by that?” demanded the mate fiercely.
“We don’t want any of your bad temper,” interposed the skipper severely. “NOR bad language. The men can go ashore, and the engineer too, provided he keeps steam up. But be ready for a start about five. You’ll have to mind the ship.”
He looked over the stern again, shook his head sadly, and, after a visit to the cabin, clambered over the schooner’s side and got ashore. The men, after looking at the propeller and shaking their heads, went ashore too, and the boy, after looking at the propeller and getting ready to shake his, caught the mate’s eye and omitted that part of the ceremony, from a sudden conviction that it was unhealthy.
Left alone, the mate, who was of a sensitive disposition, after a curt nod to Captain Jansell of the schooner Aquila, who had heard of the disaster, and was disposed to be sympathetically inquisitive, lit his pipe and began moodily to smoke.
When he next looked up the old man had disappeared, and a girl in a print dress and a large straw hat sat in a wicker chair reading. She was such a pretty girl that the mate forgot his troubles at once, and, after carefully putting his cap on straight, strolled casually up and down the deck.
To his mortification, the girl seemed unaware of his presence, and read steadily, occasionally looking up and chirping with a pair of ravishing lips at a blackbird, which hung in a wicker cage from the mainmast.
“That’s a nice bird,” said the mate, leaning against the side, and turning a look of great admiration upon it.
“Yes,” said the girl, raising a pair of dark blue eyes to the bold brown ones, and taking him in at a glance.
“Does it sing?” inquired the mate, with a show of great interest.
“It does sometimes, when we are alone,” was the reply.
“I should have thought the sea air would have affected its throat,” said the mate, reddening. “Are you often in the London river, miss? I don’t remember seeing your craft before.”
“Not often,” said the girl.
“You’ve got a fine schooner here,” said the mate, eyeing it critically. “For my part, I prefer a sailer to a steamer.”
“I should think you would,” said the girl.
“Why?” inquired the mate tenderly, pleased at this show of interest.
“No propeller,” said the girl quietly, and she left her seat and disappeared below, leaving the mate gasping painfully.
Left to himself, he became melancholy, as he realised that the great passion of his life had commenced, and would probably end within a few hours. The engineer came aboard to look at the fires, and, the steamer being now on the soft mud, good-naturedly went down and assisted him to free the propeller before going ashore again. Then he was alone once more, gazing ruefully at the bare deck of the Aquila.
It was past two o’clock in the afternoon before any signs of life other than the blackbird appeared there. Then the girl came on deck again, accompanied by a stout woman of middle age, and an appearance so affable that the mate commenced at once.
“Fine day,” he said pleasantly, as he brought up in front of them.
“Lovely weather,” said the mother, settling herself in her chair and putting down her work ready for a chat. “I hope the wind lasts; we start to-morrow morning’s tide. You’ll get off this afternoon, I s’pose.”
“About five o’clock,” said the mate.
“I should like to try a steamer for a change,” said the mother, and waxed garrulous on sailing craft generally, and her own in particular.
“There’s five of us down there, with my husband and the two boys,” said she, indicating the cabin with her thumb; “naturally it gets rather stuffy.”
The mate sighed. He was thinking that under some conditions there were worse things than stuffy cabins.
“And Nancy’s so discontented,” said the mother, looking at the girl who was reading quietly by her side. “She doesn’t like ships or sailors. She gets her head turned reading those penny novelettes.”
“You look after your own head,” said Nancy elegantly, without looking up.
“Girls in those novels don’t talk to their mothers like that,” said the elder woman severely.
“They have different sorts of mothers,” said Nancy, serenely turning over a page. “I hate little pokey ships and sailors smelling of tar. I never saw a sailor I liked yet.”
The mate’s face fell. “There’s sailors and sailors,” he suggested humbly.
“It’s no good talking to her,” said the mother, with a look of fat resignation on her face, “we can only let her go her own way; if you talked to her twenty-four hours right off it wouldn’t do her any good.”
“I’d like to try,” said the mate, plucking up spirit.
“Would you?” said the girl, for the first time raising her head and looking him full in the face. “Impudence!”
“Perhaps you haven’t seen many ships,” said the impressionable mate, his eyes devouring her face. “Would you like to come and have a look at our cabin?”
“No, thanks!” said the girl sharply. Then she smiled maliciously. “I daresay mother would, though; she’s fond of poking her nose into other people’s business.”
The mother regarded her irreverent offspring fixedly for a few moments. The mate interposed.
“I should be very pleased to show you over, ma’am,” he said politely.
The mother hesitated; then she rose, and accepting the mate’s assistance, clambered on to the side of the steamer, and, supported by his arms, sprang to the deck and followed him below.
“Very nice,” she said, nodding approvingly, as the mate did the honours. “Very nice.”
“It’s nice and roomy for a little craft like ours,” said the mate, as he drew a stone bottle from a locker and poured out a couple of glasses of stout. “Try a little beer, ma’am.”
“What you must think o’ that girl o’ mine I can’t think,” murmured the lady, taking a modest draught.
“The young,” said the mate, who had not quite reached his twenty-fifth year, “are often like that.”
“It spoils her,” said her mother. “She’s a good-looking girl, too, in her way.”
“I don’t see how she can help being that,” said the mate.
“Oh, get away with you,” said the lady pleasantly. “She’ll get fat like me as she gets older.”
“She couldn’t do better,” said the mate tenderly.
“Nonsense,” said the lady, smiling.
“You’re as like as two peas,” persisted the mate. “I made sure you were sisters when I saw you first.”
“You ain’t the first that’s thought that,” said the other, laughing softly; “not by a lot.”
“I like to see ladies about,” said the mate, who was trying desperately for a return invitation. “I wish you could always sit there. You quite brighten the cabin up.”
“You’re a flatterer,” said his visitor, as he replenished her glass, and showed so little signs of making a move that the mate, making a pretext of seeing the engineer, hurried up on deck to singe his wings once more.
“Still reading?” he said softly, as he came abreast of the girl. “All about love, I s’pose.”
“Have you left my mother down there all by herself?” inquired the girl abruptly.
“Just a minute,” said the mate, somewhat crestfallen. “I just came up to see the engineer.”
“Well, he isn’t here,” was the discouraging reply.
The mate waited a minute or two, the girl still reading quietly, and then walked back to the cabin. The sound of gentle regular breathing reached his ears, and, stepping softly, he saw to his joy that his visitor slept.
“She’s asleep,” said he, going back, “and she looks so comfortable I don’t think I’ll wake her.”
“I shouldn’t advise you to,” said the girl; “she always wakes up cross.”
“How strange we should run up against each other like this,” said the mate sentimentally; “it looks like Providence, doesn’t it?”
“Looks like carelessness,” said the girl.
“I don’t care,” replied the mate. “I’m glad I did let that line go overboard. Best day’s work I ever did. I shouldn’t have seen you if I hadn’t.”
“And I don’t suppose you’ll ever see me again,” said the girl comfortably, “so I don’t see what good you’ve done yourself.”
“I shall run down to Limehouse every time we’re in port, anyway,” said the mate; “it’ll be odd if I don’t see you sometimes. I daresay our craft’ll pass each other sometimes. Perhaps in the night,” he added gloomily.
“I shall sit up all night watching for you,” declared Miss Jansell untruthfully.
In this cheerful fashion the conversation proceeded, the girl, who was by no means insensible to his bright eager face and well-knit figure, dividing her time in the ratio of three parts to her book and one to him. Time passed all too soon for the mate, when they were interrupted by a series of hoarse unintelligible roars proceeding from the schooner’s cabin.
“That’s father,” said Miss Jansell, rising with a celerity which spoke well for the discipline maintained on the Aquila; “he wants me to mend his waistcoat for him.”
She put down her book and left, the mate watching her until she disappeared down the companion-way. Then he sat down and waited.
One by one the crew returned to the steamer, but the schooner’s deck showed no signs of life. Then the skipper came, and, having peered critically over his vessel’s side, gave orders to get under way.
“If she’d only come up,” said the miserable mate to himself, “I’d risk it, and ask whether I might write to her.”
This chance of imperilling a promising career did not occur, however; the steamer slowly edged away from the schooner, and, picking her way between a tier of lighters, steamed slowly into clearer water.
“Full speed ahead!” roared the skipper down the tube. The engineer responded, and the mate gazed in a melancholy fashion at the water as it rapidly widened between the two vessels. Then his face brightened up suddenly as the girl ran up on deck and waved her hand. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he waved his back. The girl gesticulated violently, now pointing to the steamer, and then to the schooner.
“By Jove, that girl’s taken a fancy to you,” said the skipper. “She wants you to go back.”
The mate sighed. “Seems like it,” he said modestly.
To his astonishment the girl was now joined by her men folk, who also waved hearty farewells, and, throwing their arms about, shouted incoherently.
“Blamed if they haven’t all took a fancy to you,” said the puzzled skipper; “the old man’s got the speaking-trumpet now. What does he say?”
“Something about life, I think,” said the mate.
“They’re more like jumping-jacks than anything else,” said the skipper. “Just look at ‘em.”
The mate looked, and, as the distance increased, sprang on to the side, and, his eyes dim with emotion, waved tender farewells. If it had not been for the presence of the skipper—a tremendous stickler for decorum—he would have kissed his hand.
It was not until Gravesend was passed, and the side-lights of the shipping were trying to show in the gathering dusk, that he awoke from his tender apathy. It is probable that it would have lasted longer than that but for a sudden wail of anguish and terror which proceeded from the cabin and rang out on the still warm air.
“Sakes alive!” said the skipper, starting; “what’s that?”
Before the mate could reply, the companion was pushed back, and a middle-aged woman, labouring under strong excitement, appeared on deck.
“You villain!” she screamed excitably, rushing up to the mate. “Take me back; take me back!”
“What’s all this, Harry?” demanded the skipper sternly.
“He—he—he—asked me to go into the cab—cabin,” sobbed Mrs. Jansell, “and sent me to sleep, and too—too—took me away. My husband’ll kill me; I know he will. Take me back.”
“What do you want to be took back to be killed for?” interposed one of the men judicially.
“I might ha’ known what he meant when he said I brightened the cabin up,” said Mrs. Jansell; “and when he said he thought me and my daughter were sisters. He said he’d like me to sit there always, the wretch!”
“Did you say that?” inquired the skipper fiercely.
“Well, I did,” said the miserable mate; “but I didn’t mean her to take it that way. She went to sleep, and I forgot all about her.”
“What did you say such silly lies for, then?” demanded the skipper.
The mate hung his head.
“Old enough to be your mother too,” said the skipper severely. “Here’s a nice thing to happen aboard my ship, and afore the boy too!”
“Blast the boy!” said the goaded mate.
“Take me back,” wailed Mrs. Jansell; “you don’t know how jealous my husband is.”
“He won’t hurt you,” said the skipper kindly “he won’t be jealous of a woman your time o’ life; that is, not if he’s got any sense. You’ll have to go as far as Boston with us now. I’ve lost too much time already to go back.”
“You must take me back,” said Mrs. Jansell passionately.
“I’m not going back for anybody,” said the skipper. “But you can make your mind quite easy: you’re as safe aboard my ship as what you would be alone on a raft in the middle of the Atlantic; and as for the mate, he was only chaffing you. Wasn’t you, Harry?”
The mate made some reply, but neither Mrs. Jansell, the skipper, nor the men, who were all listening eagerly, caught it, and his unfortunate victim, accepting the inevitable, walked to the side of the ship and gazed disconsolately astern.
It was not until the following morning that the mate, who had received orders to mess for’ard, saw her, and ignoring the fact that everybody suspended work to listen, walked up and bade her good morning.
“Harry,” said the skipper warningly.
“All right,” said the mate shortly. “I want to speak to you very particularly,” he said nervously, and led his listener aft, followed by three of the crew who came to clean the brasswork, and who listened mutinously when they were ordered to defer unwonted industry to a more fitting time. The deck clear, the mate began, and in a long rambling statement, which Mrs. Jansell at first thought the ravings of lunacy, acquainted her with the real state of his feelings.
“I never did!” said she, when he had finished. “Never! Why, you hadn’t seen her before yesterday.”
“Of course I shall take you back by train,” said the mate, “and tell your husband how sorry I am.”
“I might have suspected something when you said all those nice things to me,” said the mollified lady. “Well, you must take your chance, like all the rest of them. She can only say ‘No,’ again. It’ll explain this affair better, that’s one thing; but I expect they’ll laugh at you.”
“I don’t care,” said the mate stoutly. “You’re on my side, ain’t you?”
Mrs. Jansell laughed, and the mate, having succeeded beyond his hopes in the establishment of amicable relations, went about his duties with a light heart.
By the time they reached Boston the morning was far advanced, and after the Gem was comfortably berthed he obtained permission of the skipper to accompany the fair passenger to London, beguiling the long railway journey by every means in his power. Despite his efforts, however, the journey began to pall upon his companion, and it was not until evening was well advanced that they found themselves in the narrow streets of Limehouse.
“We’ll see how the land lies first,” said he, as they approached the wharf and made their way cautiously on to the quay.
The Aquila was still alongside, and the mate’s heart thumped violently as he saw the cause of all the trouble sitting alone on the deck. She rose with a little start as her mother stepped carefully aboard, and, running to her, kissed her affectionately, and sat her down on the hatches.
“Poor mother,” she said caressingly. “What did you bring that lunatic back with you for?”
“He would come,” said Mrs. Jansell. “Hush! here comes your father.”
The master of the Aquila came on deck as she spoke, and walking slowly up to the group, stood sternly regarding them. Under his gaze the mate breathlessly reeled off his tale, noticing with somewhat mixed feelings the widening grin of his listener as he proceeded.
“Well, you’re a lively sort o’ man,” said the skipper as he finished. “In one day you tie up your own ship, run off with my wife, and lose us a tide. Are you always like that?”
“I want somebody to look after me, I s’pose,” said the mate, with a side glance at Nancy.
“Well, we’d put you up for the night,” said the skipper, with his arm round his wife’s shoulders; “but you’re such a chap. I’m afraid you’d burn the ship down, or something. What do you think, old girl?”
“I think we’ll try him this once,” said his wife. “And now I’ll go down and see about supper; I want it.”
The old couple went below, and the young one remained on deck. Nancy went and leaned against the side; and as she appeared to have quite forgotten his presence, the mate, after some hesitation, joined her.
“Hadn’t you better go down and get some supper?” she asked.
“I’d sooner stay here, if yon don’t mind,” said the mate. “I like watching the lights going up and down; I could stay here for hours.”
“I’ll leave you, then,” said the girl; “I’m hungry.”
She tripped lightly off with a smothered laugh, leaving the fairly-trapped man gazing indignantly at the lights which had lured him to destruction.
From below he heard the cheerful clatter of crockery, accompanied by a savoury incense, and talk and laughter. He imagined the girl making fun of his sentimental reasons for staying on deck; but, too proud to meet her ironical glances, stayed doggedly where he was, resolving to be off by the first train in the morning. He was roused from his gloom by a slight touch on his arm, and, turning sharply, saw the girl by his side.
“Supper’s quite ready,” said she soberly. “And if you want to admire the lights very much, come up and see them when I do—after supper.”
AN ELABORATE ELOPEMENT
I have always had a slight suspicion that the following narrative is not quite true. It was related to me by an old seaman who, among other incidents of a somewhat adventurous career, claimed to have received Napoleon’s sword at the battle of Trafalgar, and a wound in the back at Waterloo. I prefer to tell it in my own way, his being so garnished with nautical terms and expletives as to be half unintelligible and somewhat horrifying. Our talk had been of love and courtship, and after making me a present of several tips, invented by himself, and considered invaluable by his friends, he related this story of the courtship of a chum of his as illustrating the great lengths to which young bloods were prepared to go in his days to attain their ends.
It was a fine clear day in June when Hezekiah Lewis, captain and part owner of the schooner Thames, bound from London to Aberdeen, anchored off the little out-of-the-way town of Orford in Suffolk. Among other antiquities, the town possessed Hezekiah’s widowed mother, and when there was no very great hurry—the world went slower in those days—the dutiful son used to go ashore in the ship’s boat, and after a filial tap at his mother’s window, which often startled the old woman considerably, pass on his way to see a young lady to whom he had already proposed five times without effect.
The mate and crew of the schooner, seven all told, drew up in a little knot as the skipper, in his shore-going clothes, appeared on deck, and regarded him with an air of grinning, mysterious interest.
“Now you all know what you have got to do?” queried the skipper.
“Ay, ay,” replied the crew, grinning still more deeply.
Hezekiah regarded them closely, and then ordering the boat to be lowered, scrambled over the side, and was pulled swiftly towards the shore.
A sharp scream, and a breathless “Lawk-a-mussy me!” as he tapped at his mother’s window, assured him that the old lady was alive and well, and he continued on his way until he brought up at a small but pretty house in the next road.
“Morning, Mr. Rumbolt,” said he heartily to a stout, red-faced man, who sat smoking in the doorway.
“Morning, cap’n, morning,” said the red-faced man.
“Is the rheumatism any better?” inquired Hezekiah anxiously, as he grasped the other’s huge hand.
“So, so,” said the other. “But it ain’t the rheumatism so much what troubles me,” he resumed, lowering his voice, and looking round cautiously. “It’s Kate.”
“What?” said the skipper.
“You’ve heard of a man being henpecked?” continued Mr. Rumbolt, in tones of husky confidence.
The captain nodded.
“I’m CHICK-PECKED” murmured the other.
“What?” inquired the astonished mariner again.
“Chick-pecked,” repeated Mr. Rumbolt firmly. “CHIK-PEKED. D’ye understand me?”
The captain said that he did, and stood silent awhile, with the air of a man who wants to say something, but is half afraid to. At last, with a desperate appearance of resolution, he bent down to the old man’s ear.
“That’s the deaf ‘un,” said Mr. Rumbolt promptly.
Hezekiah changed ears, speaking at first slowly and awkwardly, but becoming more fluent as he warmed with his subject; while the expression of his listener’s face gradually changed from incredulous bewilderment to one of uncontrollable mirth. He became so uproarious that he was fain to push the captain away from him, and lean back in his chair and choke and laugh until he nearly lost his breath, at which crisis a remarkably pretty girl appeared from the back of the house, and patted him with hearty good will.
“That’ll do, my dear,” said the choking Mr. Rumbolt. “Here’s Captain Lewis.”
“I can see him,” said his daughter calmly. “What’s he standing on one leg for?”
The skipper, who really was standing in a somewhat constrained attitude, coloured violently, and planted both feet firmly on the ground.
“Being as I was passing close in, Miss Rumbolt,” said he, “and coming ashore to see mother”—
To the captain’s discomfort, manifestations of a further attack on the part of Mr. Rumbolt appeared, but were promptly quelled by the daughter.
“Mother?” she repeated encouragingly,
“I thought I’d come on and ask you just to pay a sort o’ flying visit to the Thames.” “Thank you, I’m comfortable enough where I am,” said the girl.
“I’ve got a couple of monkeys and a bear aboard, which I ‘m taking to a menagerie in Aberdeen,” continued the captain, “and the thought struck me you might possibly like to see ‘em.” “Well, I don’t know,” said the damsel in a flutter. “Is it a big bear?”
“Have you ever seen an elephant?” inquired Hezekiah cautiously.
“Only in pictures,” replied the girl.
“Well, it’s as big as that, nearly,” said he.
The temptation was irresistible, and Miss Rumbolt, telling her father that she should not be long, disappeared into the house in search of her hat and jacket, and ten minutes later the brawny rowers were gazing their fill into her deep blue eyes as she sat in the stern of the boat, and told Lewis to behave himself.
It was but a short pull out to the schooner, and Miss Rumbolt was soon on the deck, lavishing endearments on the monkey, and energetically prodding the bear with a handspike to make him growl. The noise of the offended animal as he strove to get through the bars of his cage was terrific, and the girl was in the full enjoyment of it, when she became aware of a louder noise still, and, turning round, saw the seamen at the windlass.
“Why, what are they doing?” she demanded, “getting up anchor?”
“Ahoy, there!” shouted Hezekiah sternly. “What are you doing with that windlass?”
As he spoke, the anchor peeped over the edge of the bows, and one of the seamen running past them took the helm.
“Now then,” shouted the fellow, “stand by. Look lively there with them sails.”
Obeying a light touch of the helm, the schooner’s bow-sprit slowly swung round from the land, and the crew, hauling lustily on the ropes, began to hoist the sails.
“What the devil are you up to?” thundered the skipper. “Have you all gone mad? What does it all mean?”
“It means,” said one of the seamen, whose fat, amiable face was marred by a fearful scowl, “that we’ve got a new skipper.”
“Good heavens, a mutiny!” exclaimed the skipper, starting melodramatically against the cage, and starting hastily away again. “Where’s the mate?”
“He’s with us,” said another seaman, brandishing his sheath knife, and scowling fearfully. “He’s our new captain.”
In confirmation of this the mate now appeared from below with an axe in his hand, and, approaching his captain, roughly ordered him below.
“I’ll defend this lady with my life,” cried Hezekiah, taking the handspike from Kate, and raising it above his head.
“Nobody’ll hurt a hair of her beautiful head,” said the mate, with a tender smile.
“Then I yield,” said the skipper, drawing himself up, and delivering the handspike with the air of a defeated admiral tendering his sword.
“Good,” said the mate briefly, as one of the men took it.
“What!” demanded Miss Rumbolt excitedly, “aren’t you going to fight them? Here, give me the handspike.”
Before the mate could interfere, the sailor, with thoughtless obedience, handed it over, and Miss Rumbolt at once tried to knock him over the head. Being thwarted in this design by the man taking flight, she lost her temper entirely, and bore down like a hurricane on the remaining members of the crew who were just approaching.
They scattered at once, and ran up the rigging like cats, and for a few moments the girl held the deck; then the mate crept up behind her, and with the air of a man whose job exactly suited him, clasped her tightly round the waist, while one of the seamen disarmed her.
“You must both go below till we’ve settled what to do with you,” said the mate, reluctantly releasing her.
With a wistful glance at the handspike, the girl walked to the cabin, followed slowly by the skipper.
“This is a bad business,” said the latter, shaking his head solemnly, as the indignant Miss Rumbolt seated herself.
“Don’t talk to me, you coward!” said the girl energetically.
The skipper started.
“I made three of ‘em run,” said Miss Rumbolt, “and you did nothing. You just stood still, and let them take the ship. I’m ashamed of you.”
The skipper’s defence was interrupted by a hoarse voice shouting to them to come on deck, where they found the mutinous crew gathered aft round the mate. The girl cast a look at the shore, which was now dim and indistinct, and turned somewhat pale as the serious nature of her position forced itself upon her.
“Lewis,” said the mate.
“Well,” growled the skipper.
“This ship’s going in the lace and brandy trade, and if so be as you’re sensible you can go with it as mate, d’ye hear?”
“An’ s’pose I do; what about the lady?” inquired the captain.
“You and the lady’ll have to get spliced,” said the mate sternly. “Then there’ll be no tales told. A Scotch marriage is as good as any, and we’ll just lay off and put you ashore, and you can get tied up as right as ninepence.”
“Marry a coward like that?” demanded Miss Rumbolt, with spirit; “not if I know it. Why, I’d sooner marry that old man at the helm.”
“Old Bill’s got three wives a’ready to my sartin knowledge,” spoke up one of the sailors. “The lady’s got to marry Cap’n Lewis, so don’t let’s have no fuss about it.”
“I won’t,” said the lady, stamping violently.
The mutineers appeared to be in a dilemma, and, following the example of the mate, scratched their heads thoughtfully.
“We thought you liked him,” said the mate, at last, feebly.
“You had no business to think,” said Miss Rumbolt. “You are bad men, and you’ll all be hung, every one of you; I shall come and see it.” “The cap’n’s welcome to her for me,” murmured the helmsman in a husky whisper to the man next to him. “The vixen!”
“Very good,” said the mate. “If you won’t, you won’t. This end of the ship’ll belong to you after eight o’clock of a night. Lewis, you must go for’ard with the men.”
“And what are you going to do with me after?” inquired the fair prisoner.
The seven men shrugged their shoulders helplessly, and Hezekiah, looking depressed, lit his pipe, and went and leaned over the side.
The day passed quietly. The orders were given by the mate, and Hezekiah lounged moodily about, a prisoner at large. At eight o’clock Miss Rumbolt was given the key of the state-room, and the men who were not in the watch went below.
The morning broke fine and clear with a light breeze, which, towards mid-day, dropped entirely, and the schooner lay rocking lazily on a sea of glassy smoothness. The sun beat fiercely down, bringing the fresh paint on the taffrail up in blisters, and sorely trying the tempers of the men who were doing odd jobs on deck.
The cabin, where the two victims of a mutinous crew had retired for coolness, got more and more stuffy, until at length even the scorching deck seemed preferable, and the girl, with a faint hope of finding a shady corner, went languidly up the companion-ladder.
For some time the skipper sat alone, pondering gloomily over the state of affairs as he smoked his short pipe. He was aroused at length from his apathy by the sound of the companion being noisily closed, while loud frightened cries and hurrying footsteps on deck announced that something extraordinary was happening. As he rose to his feet he was confronted by Kate Rumbolt, who, panting and excited, waved a big key before him.