The Little Skipper
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George Manville Fenn >> The Little Skipper
"Well, it would be a mortal shame, seeing how she sails, but you
wouldn't like her to capsize."
"No; of course not."
"Then, I tell you what: you must put some little bags o' shot in her
hold, to act as ballast, and then she'll be all right."
Then, apparently satisfied with the boy's promise of amendment, "Jack
Robinson," otherwise Tom Jeffs, worked away at the model, till the gun
was fixed amidships, and the anchor swung to her bows, the cable having
been knotted on, and the neatly coiled rings placed inside a little
hatch in front.
All this being finished, as a man-of-war's man does such things, the
Skipper sprang down from the table. "Now, 'Jack,' come along!" he
cried; "let's see how she'll sail." But, just then tea-time was
announced, and in spite of a loud "_Oh!_" full of disappointment, the
big sailor had to go into the kitchen and have his tea, the children's
evening meal being ready too; and directly after, they were summoned to
say good-bye to the coxswain, who had to go back. The Captain and Mrs.
Trevor were in the hall when the former nodded shortly to his man, and
went into the drawing-room, while the Skipper saw his mother slip
something, that looked like a yellow sixpence, into the man's big hand.
"Good-bye, and thank you, Jeffs," she said hurriedly, and her voice
sounded broken. "I pray that you may have a good voyage."
"Then we shall, ma'am, and bless and thank you, but there ain't no need
for this."
"For all you have done for my children," said Bob's mother.
"For that, ma'am! Why, it's been holidays and holidays to come up here,
and bless 'em too.--May I, ma'am?"
"Yes, please do," cried Mrs. Trevor, in a choking voice, and the man
caught up Dot.
"Good-bye, my little dymond," he cried huskily.
"Good-bye, 'Jack.' Come and see us again soon," cried Dot, responding
to his kiss, and tickling her little pinky nose with "Jack's" whiskers,
for it was like kissing some loose cocoa-nut fibre.
"Good-bye, Master Robert," the man continued; and the Skipper shook
hands with him, like a man.
"Good-bye, 'Jack': when are you coming again?"
The sailor looked at him with a peculiar expression of countenance, and
was silent for a few moments.
"Next time," he said huskily, and, making a rough bow, he caught up a
small portmanteau standing ready, and hurried out of the house, while
the Skipper's mother bit her lower lip, hard, as she turned away, to
hide her swimming eyes.
"What's Mamma crying for?" asked Dot.
"She wasn't crying," said the Skipper gloomily, but, he felt she was
ready to do so, and he turned to go into the drawing-room, after
opening the door a little way, feeling all the while that his mother's
looks were all on account of his behaviour.
Just then the boy stood perfectly still, for there was a burst of
pitiable sobs, and he heard his mother say, in answer to some whispered
words of the Captain's--"I do try, dear, but it seems so hard, so very
hard."
CHAPTER IV.
The next morning at breakfast the Skipper noticed that his mother
looked as if she had been crying again, and the sight came like a chill
over the boy.
"But she isn't very angry with me," he thought the next moment, for she
kissed him eagerly. "It's only because she's sorry. I'm never going to
make her unhappy again, though," he thought, as he went on to shake
hands with his father.
"Morning, Bob," said the Captain, pressing his boy's hand hard, and
then turning to Dot, whom he jumped up so as to kiss her lovingly.
That was a very dull breakfast, for the sad looks of Captain and Mrs.
Trevor had their effect upon the young folks, who were glad to escape,
at last, to their own room, where they stayed till about ten o'clock,
when Mrs. Trevor came suddenly in, looking very pale.
"Come, my darlings," she said; "your poor father wants to see you."
She caught Dot's hand in hers and led her through the door, leaving
poor Bob half stunned; for his mother seemed so strange to him, and he
could not get the idea out of his head that this was all something to
do with yesterday's trouble; but he could not find the words to ask,
and so followed into the drawing-room, where Captain Trevor was looking
very hard and stern, as he held out his hands to Dot, catching her in
his arms and kissing her in a way that startled her.
Then taking out his watch, he glanced at it and thrust it back in his
pocket, drawing himself up directly after, and looking harder than
ever. His voice sounded strange too, as, without even glancing at his
son, he said sharply:
"I have driven it too long. There is not a minute if I am to catch this
train. Duty, my own. For pity's sake be firm, or you will unman me."
Bob saw his mother draw herself up, press her lips together, and knit
her brows, as she nodded her head at her husband and took Dot, who
looked frightened, from his arms.
"That's right," said the Captain sharply; "that's like my wife;" and
placing his hands upon her arms, he bent down and kissed her on the
forehead, turned and caught the boy's hand, wrung it hard, and strode
out of the room.
The next moment they heard his step in the hall, and directly after on
the gravel outside. In another moment he was passing the window, to
turn and wave his hand, when, as Bob felt heartsick with the feeling of
misery which attacked him, Dot, who felt that something dreadful was
the matter, hid her face on her mother's shoulder and began to cry
bitterly.
This had its good effect upon Mrs. Trevor, who began to kiss and soothe
her.
"Hush, hush, my darling," she cried. "You must not cry, but help poor
Mamma to try and bear it. You must help me to pray to God to watch over
him and bring him back safely to us from that dreadful place."
These words unlocked the Skipper's silent tongue.
"What dreadful place?" he cried excitedly.
"Africa, my boy--the Gold Coast--the White Man's----"
Mrs. Trevor shuddered, and checked herself.
"Gone!" cried the boy again, with the feeling strong upon him that his
father was still angry and had not forgiven him. And he had gone
without a word. He had kissed Dot and her mother, but only just pressed
his hand.
"Gone!" he said again.
"Yes, my boy," sobbed Mrs. Trevor. "But he is a sailor, and it is his
duty to serve his country and his Queen. You, my boy, must----"
The poor Skipper heard no more. With a bitter cry he rushed out of the
room, through the hall, and then along the path toward the swing gate,
hatless and desperate.
"I must tell father how sorry I am," he panted--"he must bid me
good-bye before he goes--I must--I must--tell him."
And then, setting his teeth hard, he ran at full speed to overtake the
Captain; for he was too young to understand the workings of his gallant
father's heart, and the agony he felt at parting, suddenly ordered, as
he had been, to be ready to start that night on a voyage to a deadly
part of the African coast--a place from which many who were sent never
returned.
CHAPTER V.
The Skipper ran as he had never run before. Through the gate and along
the sandy road, but, before he had gone a hundred yards three
rough-looking boys, who were out birds'-nesting, saw him coming, and,
moved by the same mischievous feeling, formed across the road, yelling
and hooting at him as he came on.
At another time the Skipper would have halted, and most likely have
turned back; but he was desperate now, and if there had been a dozen
boys there he would have done the same.
Clenching his fists tightly and setting his teeth harder, he charged at
the biggest of the three, who was in the middle of the road, his eyes
flashing as he ran. "Yah, hoo! Stop, thief! stop, thief!" yelled the
boy, throwing out his arms. "Stop!"
_Whop--smack--thud!_
The boy was rolling over in the dust. The Skipper had jumped over him,
and heard him howling as he ran on; but Bob did not turn his head; he
felt sure that he should see his father, as soon as he reached the
corner where the High Road ran by in a perfectly straight line through
the trees for a couple of miles, down hill and up hill, right past the
station at the level crossing.
But the poor Skipper was wrong; he reached the corner and stopped dead,
panting hard, for there, a good half-mile away, was the station fly,
with a pair of horses going at a gallop so as to catch the train. He
stood breathing hard, feeling half stunned, and at last, with head and
arms hanging, he turned off the road on to the grassy border, following
the path by which his father and Jeffs came the previous day, till he
reached the lake with its sandy edge. Then he turned in among the
fir-trees in a dull, half-stupid way, but had not gone many yards,
before, utterly overcome by the misery he felt, he threw himself down,
hid his face in his hands, and lay there sobbing as if his heart would
break.
The poor Skipper did not know how time went: he could think of nothing
but that his father had gone away still angry with him, and without
bidding him good-bye; and he lay there, half stunned by his misery,
till a gruff voice exclaimed: "Hullo! Master Bob! why, here you are,
then. Bell's rung ever so long ago; they're looking for you everywhere,
and your Ma's in a orful way."
The Skipper started to his feet, but with his head averted from the
gardener, who was returning, after going home to his dinner; and
setting off running, he made for the house, where he hurried upstairs,
into his room, to bathe his swollen eyes.
Before he had finished, his mother was at the bed-room door, looking
wild and anxious, but, the sight of the boy's swollen eyes convinced
her, that he had only hidden himself away in the wood so that no one
should see his tears; she said nothing, but kissed him tenderly, and
waited till he was ready to go down.
All that afternoon the boy spent alone, thinking. When the bell rang
for tea he was thinking still, but Mrs. Trevor thought it better not to
interfere with him, and she only sighed, when she saw him take his hat
and go down the garden again, toward the belt of fir-trees by the big
pool. "He'll be better to-morrow, poor boy," she said to herself. "How
bravely he tries to master it all--how proud his father would be, if he
knew."
Poor Mrs. Trevor did not know the fresh grief in store for her, and the
anxiety she would have to suffer, for the Skipper had made his plans at
last; and that night was spent in horror and despair.
CHAPTER VI.
The Skipper looked quite two years older in the face, as he trudged
along through the wood as fast as he could walk, thinking of what he
was about to do, for it never once came into his young mind, that he
was going to add to the pain his mother was already feeling; and with
his mind quite made up, he went straight to the station, to find the
boy clerk behind, waggling the handle of the telegraph.
"When's the next train?" asked the Skipper.
"Where to?"
"Portsmouth," said the Skipper.
"Town or Harbour?"
"Where my father's ship is," said the Skipper.
"That's Harbour," said the boy clerk, grinning in recognition. "Going
after the Captain?"
The Skipper nodded.
"What class?"
"First," said the Skipper, at a venture.
"Two and four, single," said the clerk, picking out a ticket from the
rack, and stamping it, by sticking it in a noisy nick, before the
would-be traveller could speak. When he could, it was with a bright
shilling, given him at his father's last visit, a threepenny-piece, and
twopence halfpenny, in his hand.
"Two and four," said the clerk again.
"I--I haven't enough."
"Well, we don't give credit here," said the clerk, laughing.
"If you please, I'll pay the rest when I come back."
"Hum!" said the clerk, "when are you coming back?"
"To-night."
"Then you want a return?"
"Yes," said the Skipper, nodding.
"Well, I oughtn't to give you credit. What are you going to Portsmouth
for?"
The boy choked for a moment, and felt annoyed at the question.
"To say good-bye to my Papa before he goes. I must go directly, or he
will be gone."
"But a return's ever so much more, squire."
"I'll be sure and pay you when I come back."
The clerk hesitated, but he knew that the young traveller lived at The
Pool House, and that his father had gone by the mid-day train, so he
said good-humouredly: "Look here; you'd better have a third return;
that's two shillings, and you can pay me one, and give me the other
to-morrow."
"Yes, please," cried the Skipper eagerly.
"Here she comes too," said the clerk, and he took the first-class
ticket, juggled another in the stamping-machine, and dabbed it down
through the pigeon-hole.
"Oh, thank you," cried the Skipper, snatching it up, and rushing
towards the door.
"Hi! you haven't paid," shouted the clerk, and the boy ran back, with
his face scarlet, to place his bright shilling on the little bracket.
"That's your sort," said the clerk; "don't you forget you owe me
another." But the Skipper did not hear him, being half-way to the door,
and then, ran panting out on to the platform, just as the train glided
in.
The porter knew him, clipped his ticket, and he, being the only
passenger from the little station, opened the carriage door, gave it a
third-class bang, which, as everyone knows, is three times as loud as a
first-class bang, and the next minute, with Bob's heart beating hard
like the throbbing of the engine, the eventful journey began.
There was only one other passenger in his compartment, and he was
asleep, but his presence was quite comforting to Bob, for he was a
sailor, who had placed his canvas bag in a corner for a pillow, and was
snoring loudly, with his mouth open, and his hat had fallen on the
floor.
The Skipper sat watching the man for a few minutes, as the train
rattled along, and then, got softly down, picked up the hat, and placed
it on the seat in front of the man, noticing as he did so, that it bore
on the riband "H.M.S. Taurus."
This was comforting too, and the boy felt as if he had met a friend;
but the man slept on till the train slackened speed, and then pulled up
with a jerk, while Bob was looking out, to read the name of the
station.
Then he started round, for from the far corner the sailor shouted
fiercely: "This Portsmouth?"
"No, sir, it's Pately," said the Skipper, in alarm.
"Ho!" grunted the man. "Mustn't miss my station," and he was settling
himself down to sleep again, when, as he glanced at his
fellow-traveller, he caught sight of the Skipper's rig-out.
"What cheer, messm't!" he cried boisterously. "Whither bound?" and his
features expanded into a broad grin.
"Portsmouth," said the Skipper.
"Right you are, messm't. So'm I. What ship? 'Flash,' eh! My stars! You
aren't a middy, are yer?"
"Not yet," said the boy; "but I'm going to be some day."
"Right you are," cried the man again; and Bob felt as if he should like
to tell the man he ought to say, "You are right;" but the man went on,
still looking him over from head to foot: "Then you aren't going to
jyne the 'Flash'? she's a-lying out yonder."
"No," said the Skipper, "I am only going to see my father. He's the
Captain."
To Bob's astonishment the man jumped up, pulled his forelock, and
kicked out his right leg behind.
"Why didn't you say you was a orficer afore?" he cried. "Going to see
your father, eh! Well, now, that is rum. I've just been to see my old
mother at Ringwood, and going back to my ship--_Old Bull_."
"The what?" said Bob, who felt puzzled.
"_Old Bull_," said the man, picking up his cap and pointing to the
letters on the riband; "_Tore--hus_ means 'old bull,' you know."
"Oh, yes; I know now."
"That's your sort. How yer going to get aboard--boat waitin' for you?"
"Oh, no!" said Bob, looking at the man wistfully.
"Then you'll have to take one, and they're reg'lar sharks."
"Are they, sir?"
"Ay! that they are, my lad; they'll want a shilling to row you aboard,
or perhaps as you're a orficer, like, they'll want two shillings."
Bob's heart sank.
"But thruppence is plenty, speshly as you ain't got no kit."
Bob's spirits rose again, and the man began to whistle a very doleful
tune, but left off in a minute or two.
"Like holidays?" he said suddenly.
"Yes, very much."
"I don't," said the sailor, "goes home to see my old mother, and she
don't want me to come away again. Says she shan't never see me no more
if I go, but she allus does. This makes ten times in ten years I've
been, since I went to sea. Awful old."
"Is she?" said the Skipper.
"Awful. Eighty-seven, and looks ninety. You'd like her."
"Yes, I suppose so," said the Skipper.
"Nicest old woman as ever was:--I say," he added, as if struck by a
sudden thought, "how much money have you got?"
The Skipper told him, and the man laughed.
"More'n I have. Spent some, give the old ooman the rest. On'y got
thruppence left. Look here: you and me's shipmets,--travellers. S'pose
we jyne?"
"A ship?" faltered Bob.
"No! jyne in a boat. I'll work it: I'm bigger than you. We'll go down
to the stairs together. 'Boat ahoy!' says I, and half a dozen'll want
to take us, but I picks one and he'll want ever so much; but I says:
'Thruppence a-piece to our ships,' and tells him we won't pay no more.
He'll be glad enough to go. Only a little way. Then I sets you aboard
the 'Flash'; you gives me your thruppence, and I makes him take me to
the _Old Bull_, and pays him then."
"Yes, that will be capital," said the Skipper.
"Right you are. Sailors allus helps a messmet. I helps you and you
helps me, eh!"
"Yes, of course," said Bob.
"Well, I'm going to have a caulk till we gets to Portsmouth. Will you
take the watch?"
"The watch?"
"Ay! you won't go to sleep?"
"Oh, no!" said the Skipper; "I couldn't now."
"I could," said the man, grinning; "look-ye here."
He snuggled up in his corner, laid his head on his canvas bag, shut his
eyes, and the next minute he snored his hat off, ready for his
fellow-traveller to pick it up again, lay it on the seat, and then look
out of the window as the train dawdled along, stopping at every
station, a long time at a junction.
It was rapidly growing dark when they reached the harbour, the sailor
sound asleep; and the Skipper had to shake him and shout in his ear:--
"Portsmouth!"
CHAPTER VII.
"Ay, ay," growled the sleepy sailor. "What's matter?"
"We're at Portsmouth."
"Right you are, mate," cried the man, jumping up and fumbling in his
pocket for his pass, just as the ticket collector came up. Then, on
they went a short distance; the train stopped again, and shivering with
excitement, and fear, lest the "Flash" should have sailed, the Skipper
alighted with his new friend, who shouldered his kit, and they walked
off rapidly to the stairs.
Bob's eyes were wandering outward, in search of his father's vessel,
which he had visited three times, but it was not lying where he saw it
last, and his heart was sinking again, when his companion said sharply:
"There she lies; blue Peter up--just see it. Look at 'em hysting her
lights. This way."
The sailor was wonderfully quick and business-like, now, and all fell
out, as he had said, about the boatmen, one of them grumbling; but he
did not refuse the job, and in ten minutes they were getting very close
to the soft grey side of the "Flash," with the boy trembling still, for
fear he should see it begin to glide away, before he could reach the
side.
[Illustration: "In ten minutes they were getting close to the
'Flash.'"]
But there she still swung to the buoy as they came up, and the Marine
sentry at the gangway challenged.
"Good-bye," said the Skipper, handing his threepenny piece to his
travelling companion, "and I wish you a pleasant voyage."
The boat floated away into the darkness, and the Skipper ran up the
steps, to where the sentry stood grinning, and puzzled as to whether
he should call the officer of the watch to the familiar young visitor.
"Where's my father?" said the boy; "is he in his cabin?"
"Shore, at the Port Admiral's, sir," said the sentry.
Here was a disappointment; but it was something to have got on board in
time, and the Skipper began to walk aft, while the Marine, taking it as
a matter of course that the Captain's son should have come on board,
resumed his watch.
There were not many men on deck, and they were all too busy to pay any
heed to the boy, as he looked about, in vain, for the familiar figure,
the coxswain. At last, he stopped a man carrying a lanthorn.
"Can you tell me where Jack Robinson is, please?"
"Who?" said the sailor, staring. "Ain't nobody o' that name here."
"I mean Tom Jeffs," said the Skipper hurriedly.
"Oh, him! Ashore with the gig, waiting to bring the skipper aboard."
Bob looked about again and finding himself close by, and knowing his
way, he went nervously into his father's cabin, where a lamp hung
beneath the sky-light, but it was turned down very low. The place was
empty, and all seemed very dark and lonely, but he could hear the crew
stumping about and making strange noises as if busy preparing to start.
Then he started, for the steam whistle gave out a dismal shriek, and
then there was a low hissing and humming noise, announcing that there
was too heavy a pressure of steam.
The boy, after walking about the cabin a few times, sat down on one of
the lockers, and the humming, buzzing noise of the escaping steam began
to have a strange effect upon him. First he began to nod, and then he
dropped off fast asleep, but started up again directly and began to
walk about to try and keep awake.
But he was utterly worn out with the excitement he had gone through;
the gloomy cabin was hot and close, and in spite of trying hard to keep
awake, his eyelids grew more and more heavy, and at last, almost
without knowing what he did, he crept to his father's berth, drew the
curtain back, and threw himself down; the curtain dropped back across
it, and the next minute he was sleeping soundly, with the dull,
snorting, humming buzz of the escaping steam going on and mingling with
his dreams.
After a time he had a faint consciousness of hearing voices in the
cabin, where the lamp had been turned up. One of the voices seemed to
be that of his father, and a faint quiver ran through him, while he
felt as if he were in among the fir-trees, where the thick rope had
been fixed up to two of the stems, and he was gently swinging to and
fro. But it was not nice, for the movement made him feel giddy and
strange. And then it was that Bob fancied he tried to stop the swing
and sit still, but somehow it would not stop, and the feeling of
giddiness increased.
It did not wake him up, though, and he slept on, knowing nothing about
the Captain coming on board, with his latest despatches. Then the cable
was unfastened from the buoy, the swift vessel began to glide along
with the tide, which was running fast, and the Captain went up on the
bridge, along with his chief officer. Every now and then a sharp sound
like the striking of a clock was heard, these sounds being the striking
of the little gong in the engine-room, where the engineer and his
assistants were tending the bright machine, which sent the screw
propeller whirling round, and making the water foam astern.
The Skipper slept on heavily while Captain Trevor stayed upon the
bridge all night, with his chief officer and the pilot, the fast boat
tearing through the heavy swell, which they entered as soon as they
were out of the shelter of the Isle of Wight. For the Captain's orders
were urgent, and he was to get right away at once.
"Good-bye, dear old home," said the Captain, as he stood on the bridge,
feeling his ship quiver like a live thing as she raced along. For the
last link which tied them to the shore, seemed to him to be broken,
when the "Flash's" engines were stopped for the pilot to go down into
his boat, which dropped astern into the darkness directly the gong
sounded for the engines to go on ahead: and away she raced, once more,
through the black darkness, with nothing to guide her upon her journey
through the pathless sea, except a little flickering quivering
needle--the sailor's companion the great world round--the friend which
always, no matter where they may be, points with its tiny finger
constantly to the north.
Towards morning Captain Trevor went down twice into his cabin, and the
second time stayed for a few minutes, to drink the cup of tea his
servant brought him; but he did not hear the breath of the sleeper in
his berth, and he went up again to stay upon the bridge, for the
weather promised to be hot and dull and hazy, and the Captain gave his
orders to the navigating officers to keep on at a good speed, for, he
said, he was afraid they would find fog in the mouth of the Channel,
and he hoped to get out well to sea, before the sun was high.
Everything goes like clockwork on board a man-of-war, and just before
breakfast-time Captain Trevor went down to his cabin to wash and
prepare for the morning meal; he had hardly thrown off his coat, when,
there was a faint sound in his berth, and, to his astonishment, the
Skipper rolled out, bump! on to the floor, rose, staggered with his
hands stretched out, and then, before his father could catch him,
charged at the opposite bulkhead, and went down again.