Читать книгу King o' the Beach: A Tropic Tale - George Manville Fenn - Страница 5

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“Mind what you’re doing! Come down directly, you young dog! Ah, I thought as much. There, doctor: a job for you.”

It was on board the great steamer Chusan, outward bound from the port of London for Rockhampton, Moreton Bay, and Sydney, by the north route, with a heavy cargo of assorted goods such as are wanted in the far south Colonies, and some fifty passengers, for the most part returning from a visit to the Old Country.

“Visit” is a very elastic word—it may mean long or short. In Carey Cranford’s case it was expressed by the former, for it had lasted ten years, during which he had been left by his father with one of his uncles in London, so that he might have the full advantage of an English education before joining his parents in their adopted land.

It had been a delightful voyage, with pleasant fellow-passengers and everything new and exciting, to the strong, well-grown, healthy lad, who had enjoyed the Mediterranean; revelled in the glowing heat of the Red Sea, where he had begun to be the regular companion of the young doctor who had charge of the passengers and crew; stared at that great cinder-heap Aden, and later on sniffed at the sweet breezes from Ceylon’s Isle.

Here the captain good-humouredly repeated what he had said more than once during the voyage: “Now look out, young fellow; if you’re not back in time I shall sail without you:” for wherever the great steamer put in the boy hurried ashore with the doctor to see all he could of the country, and came back at the last minute growling at the stay being so short.

It was horrible, he said, when they touched at Colombo not to be able to go and see what the country was like.

He repeated his words at Singapore; so did the captain, but with this addition:

“Only one more port to stop at, and then I shall have you off my hands.”

“But shan’t we stop at Java or any of the beautiful islands?”

“Not if I can help it, my lad,” said the captain. “Beautiful islands indeed! Only wish I could clear some of ’em off the map.”

So Carey Cranford, eager to see everything that was to be seen, had to content himself with telescopic views of the glorious isles scattered along the vessel’s course, closing the glass again and again with an ejaculation signifying his disgust.

“Islands!” he said. “I believe, doctor, half of them are only clouds. I say, I wish the captain wouldn’t go so fast.”

“Why?” said his companion, an eager-looking manly fellow of about twice the speaker’s age.

“I should like to fish, and stop and explore some of the islands, and shoot, and collect curiosities.”

“And drive all the passengers mad with vexation because of the delay.”

“Oh! old people are so selfish,” said the lad, pettishly.

“And the young ones are not,” said the young doctor, drily.

The boy looked up sharply, coloured a little through the brown painted by the sun on his skin, and then he laughed.

“Well, it’s all so new and fresh,” he said. “I should like to see a storm, though. One of those what do you call ’ems—tycoons—no, typhoons.”

“You’re getting deeper into the mire,” said the doctor, smiling. “Carey—why, we ought to nickname you Don’t-Care-y, to have such a wish as that.”

“Why? It would be a change.”

“A storm! Here, in this rock and shoal-dotted sea, with its dangerous currents and terrible reefs, where captains need all their skill to pilot their vessels safe to port!”

“Never thought of that,” said the lad. “Let’s see, what does the chart say? New Guinea to the north, and home to the south.”

“Home if you like to call it so,” said the doctor; “but you’ve a long, long journey before you yet.”

“Yes, I know, through Torres Straits and Coral Sea and by the Great Barrier Reef. I say, doctor, wouldn’t it be jolly to be landed somewhere to the south here and then walk across the country to Brisbane?”

“Very,” said the doctor, drily. “Suppose you’d take a few sandwiches to eat on the way?”

“There, you’re joking me again,” said the boy. “I suppose it would be many days’ march.”

“Say months, then think a little and make it years.”

“Oh! nonsense, doctor!”

“Or more likely you’d never reach it. It would be next to impossible.”

“Why?” said Carey.

“Want of supplies. The traveller would break down for want of food and water.”

“Oh! very well,” cried the boy, merrily; “then we’ll go by sea.”

It was the day following this conversation that Carey Cranford’s energy found vent, despite the heat, in a fresh way.

The Chusan was tearing along through the dazzlingly bright sea, churning up the water into foam with her propeller and leaving a cloud of smoke behind. The heat was tremendous, for there was a perfect calm, and the air raised by the passage of the steamer was as hot as if it had come from the mouth of a furnace. The passengers looked languid and sleepy as they lolled about finder the great awning, and the sailors congratulated themselves that they were not Lascars stoking in the engine-room, Robert Bostock, generally known on board as Old Bob, having given it as his opinion that it was “a stinger.” Then he chuckled, and said to the man nearest:

“Look at that there boy! He’s a rum un, and no mistake. That’s being British, that is. You’d never see a Frenchy or a Jarman or a ’Talian up to games like that in the sun.”

“That there boy” was Carey Cranford, and he had taken the attention of the captain as well, who was standing under the awning in company with the doctor, and the two chuckled.

“There, doctor,” he said; “did you ever see so much of the monkey in a boy before? Wouldn’t you think a chap might be content in the shade on a day like this? What’s he doing—training for a sweep?”

A modern steamer does not offer the facilities for going aloft furnished by a sailing ship, and her masts and yards are pretty well coated with soot; but Carey Cranford, in his investigating spirit, had not paused to consider that, for he had caught sight of what looked like a blue cloud low down on the southern horizon.

“One of the islands,” he said to himself. “Wonder what’s its name.”

He did not stop to enquire, but went below, threw the strap of his large binocular glass over his head, ascended to the deck again, and then, selecting the highest mast, well forward of the funnel, he made his way as far aloft as he could, and stood in a very precarious position scanning the distant cloud-like spot.

The place he had selected to take his observation was on one of the yards, just where it crossed the mast, and if he had contented himself with a sitting position the accident would not have happened; but he had mentally argued that the higher a person was the wider his optical range, so he must needs add the two feet or so extra gained by standing instead of sitting. His left arm was round the mast, and both hands were steadying the glass as, intent upon the island, he carefully turned the focussing screw, when the steamer, rising to the long smooth swell, careened over slightly, and one of the boy’s feet, consequent upon the smoothness of his deck shoes, glided from beneath him, bringing forth the captain’s warning cry and following words.

For the next moment, in spite of a frantic clutch at the mast, the boy was falling headlong down, as if racing his glass, but vainly, for this reached the deck first, the unfortunate lad’s progress being checked twice by his coming in contact with wire stays, before head and shoulder struck the deck with a sickening thud.