Читать книгу A Son of the Sea - John Arthur Barry - Страница 4

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THE office of the Line was in Cornhill, and as Mr Bovey and Torre entered the long room, many clerks looked up from their books and grinned comprehendingly whilst the pair were shown into an inner sanctum where sat one of the partners of the big ship-owning firm of Messrs Derrick, Deadeye, and Scupper.

The last-named, who received them, was a white-haired, rubicund, jolly old gentleman, who treated the whole affair as if it were one of the finest jokes imaginable—this going to sea.

"Aha," said he, rubbing his hands together and beaming on them, "you are just in time. Another week and you'd have been too late. Now, I can put our young friend into one of our finest ships at once. And the captain! Well, sir, there are very few captains like him. He's actually a father to our young gentlemen. I do assure you that when a vacancy occurs with him, and it becomes known, we're simply pestered with applications. That's the vessel, Mr—ah—Bovey. What do you think of her, sir?" And he pointed to a large framed oleograph—one of a dozen that hung upon the wall—representing a noble vessel tearing along over an intensely blue and white sea, whilst a green lighthouse forked up over her port bow and a yellow headland over the other. "That, sir," continued Mr Scupper, impressively, "is our A1 clipper ship, the Andromeda, Captain M'Cutcheon, just entering the harbour of Port Jackson, in New South Wales."

"Ah," replied Mr Bovey, who, with his glasses on, was scrutinising the picture, "dear me! You don't say so? Yes, very pretty, I'm sure. She runs the water like a thing of—er—um. Yes, exactly. And then, with a reminiscence of ships seen at Plymouth long ago, carrying a somewhat similar row of ports, the old gentleman startled Mr Scupper by demanding abruptly, "How many guns?"

"None, sir, none," replied the latter, gravely. "Those painted squares are only for ornament. We're peaceful traders, you know. And, as the poet says, 'Peace has her victories as well as war.' Yes; it's a noble profession. That's our House-flag you see waving from the masthead—blue ground with two red D's and an S in it, standing, of course, for Derrick, Deadeye and Scupper." Which, by the way, was not the meaning assigned to those capitals by the 'young gentlemen' of the line.

It presently appeared that the premium to be paid for the privilege of sailing as an apprentice—a word avoided as much as possible by Mr Scupper, with whom it was all "young gentlemen" or "midshipmen"—was £80 for a term of four years, out of which sum 5s. per annum was to be repaid to cover cost of washing. For the £80 the firm contracted to teach the "young gentleman" his profession, feed and lodge him, doctor him, and in fact do everything they possibly could except wash for him. Therefore the return of the five shillings.

Mr Scupper was commendably frank.

"There are," he said, "firms that charge more than twice as much per annum, and there are some who charge nothing at all. But, in the case of the former, their young gentlemen are let do pretty well as they please, and at the end of their time hardly know one end of the ship from the other, whilst in the latter they are allowed to go to the opposite extreme, and, by consorting with the crew, become quite the reverse of what we strive to make our—ah—midshipmen, that is, officers and gentlemen."

This was well delivered. Torre was impressed; so was Mr Bovey. And the latter, thinking that he could do no better for his nephew, presently found himself signing an Indenture, and then drawing a cheque for eighty pounds.

"Nice boy," said Mr Scupper, paternally pinching Torre's ear, as the business was concluded. "Shouldn't wonder if he turns out an honour to the Line. Tell you what I'll do. I'll give him a note to M'Cutcheon. He lives at Bow. The captain will advise him about his outfit, and tell him when to be on board."

This was kind; and when Torre and his uncle left the office they both felt as if they had made a friend; whilst Deadeye, presently entering, remarked to his partner, whose exclusive province the interviewing was: "Another hard bargain? More trouble than they're worth."

"Never believe it," replied Mr Scupper, earnestly. "They save a man's place. And £80 takes a lot of eating under the Merchant Shipping Act."

"Maybe," said the other, "but fifty per cent, of 'em never make sailors."

"This one will," replied Mr Scupper, with conviction. "I've sent him to M'Cutcheon in the Andromeda. A good captain and a good ship."

"Bah!" returned the other, "he'd do just as well in a Geordie brig, and better as an O.S.¹ in any fok'sle afloat. However, it's your fad. And I suppose, as everybody does it, we must. But I never cared for the business."

¹ Ordinary Seaman

Deadeye had himself been to sea in the days of his youth.

Torre found Captain M'Cutcheon and his family living in a small house at Bow, and, presenting his credentials, was looked upon, he thought, with some curiosity by the Captain and his wife. The former was a stout, red-cheeked, fair-bearded Scot of about fifty; the latter, a tall, thin young Englishwoman who nursed a baby, and seemed delicate.

"Ay, ay," remarked M'Cutcheon, as he read Scupper's note and glanced sharply at Torre's handsome face, "ye'll be comin' wi' me in the Andromeda. That'll make four o' ye in the omnibus this trip. I've got a son an' a nephew there too. But they're auld hands now—third voyagers.

Outfeet—ay—o' course ye'll be needin' one. Best go to Brown an' Sons in the Minories. They'll tell ye a' that's necessairy. Be aboord by Monday. There's plenty wants doin'; an' there's nae mair cats than there's mice to catch. Gude e'en till ye."

As Torre took his leave and went out into the narrow little passage, he thought he heard a feminine laugh, and some reference that he did not quite catch, to "young gentlemen-sylors."

Messrs Brown & Sons Torre and his uncle found particularly obliging people. There was, it appeared, a stereotyped outfit for (it was curious how the term would insist on cropping up) "young gentlemen about to embrace a sea-life." This was composed of three suits of uniform—working suits, suits for cold weather and suits for hot, white and coloured shirts by the dozen, caps without number, a revolver in case, with all accompaniments, a dressing case, toilet soaps, and other articles "too numerous to mention," but which filled a big iron-clamped chest, and were specified by the polite salesman as being absolutely necessary for all young gentlemen's comfort on board ship.

Mr Bovey looked astounded as he read the long list and saw the huge total of the bill.

"But," he objected, "the boy has plenty of clothes. Surely some of them would be available at sea?"

"Not unless they're specially made, sir," replied the shopman. "The other young gents'd only laugh at 'im if he had what they call long-shore togs on, sir. All midshipmen, sir, take one of our outfits. They've got a great name with seamen, sir."

Which was quite true, although hardly in the sense the affable counter-jumper imagined.

One other protest only Mr Bovey made. Seeing an item of "One dozen best white drill waistcoats, pearl buttons," he remarked, "Surely these things are unnecessary for a lad on board ship?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply, "quite so. But then they're not for sea use, sir. Often the young gentlemen on these crack clippers get invited out, sir, abroad, to swell 'ouses, an' a white vest looks real nice on an 'ot tropick night."

This was the old gentleman's last stand. Wishful that Torre should not be stinted in anything, or be unlike other boys in his belongings, he submitted to what so many parents and guardians often submit in the useless and unnecessary spending of scores of pounds where less than a quarter of the sum would be ample; and in Torre's case this was the more to be regretted because, by arrangements at his uncle's second marriage, barring a provision for Edie at his death, all the old man's fortune went to Mrs Bovey. At that time the Shrophire Leighs were in flourishing circumstances, and old Bovey had never imagined any necessity could arise by which he might wish to provide for his widowed sister and her boy. More than ever did he feel how foolish those settlements had been when he saw Torre's few pounds melting away so rapidly, and knew that without many of the bitter scenes which he dreaded, he was powerless to make good the shrinkage, as he would willingly have done, out of his own pocket.

Of course Torre, boy-like, was delighted, especially when his smart suit of navy-blue cloth with its shining anchor-buttons came home; and as for Edie, his appearance in uniform for a time, almost reconciled her to losing him. Neither she nor Torre were aware that one of the articles of the treaty insisted upon by Mrs Bovey, and weakly agreed to by her husband, was that Torre should come to Laurustinus Lodge no more, but stay at London lodgings between his voyages. This, however, as subsequent events proved, mattered nothing at all. There was nearly a week for the embryo sailor to air his new clothes in. And during that time—the happiest perhaps of his life, so far—his uncle took the two children about to every place of amusement he could think of, despite impatient letters from Mrs Bovey.

But at last the day came on which Torre had been ordered to report himself on board, and the three made their way to the South-West India Docks, where the Andromeda was lying.

After not a little trouble they found her, looking as much as possible unlike her picture in the Cornhill office. To a sailor's eye she would have seemed a pretty enough little clipper, although with promise of proving a wet one. But to their untrained vision she appeared small and dirty beyond belief, as she lay there, her decks littered with stores, cargo, and lumber of every description. Fowls tied in pairs waiting to be cooped and cackling shrilly, pigs grunting in their sty, masses of vegetables blocking the gangway, and through all, the angry rattle of a donkey-engine and the shouts of the lumpers as they received and stowed away cargo, made up a rather bewildering scene to the visitors.

"Dear me, my boy," remarked old Bovey, "I hardly think this can be the ship. Certainly there's the name on her back. But she's not a bit like the one Mr Scupper showed us. Probably there are two Andromedas, eh?"

"Now, sir," said a sharp-spoken, red-whiskered, but pleasant-faced man in a suit of faded serge, coming up to the party where they stood on the poop, having made their way on board, "can I do anything for you—passengers, I suppose?"

"No, my man," replied old Bovey, "but I should like to see the captain, who would doubtless tell us if this is our Andromeda, and, if so, show us where my nephew's room is?"

Turning, the man saw Torre's cap with its glittering new band, and the house-flag worked in silk and gold. Evidently repressing a strong inclination to laugh, he replied, "Oh, I see, this must be the new apprentice the captain told me of. I'm the mate. That's the omnibus, down there on the main deck, where the youngsters live. And now, my lad," he continued, "the sooner you get those togs off and a working suit on, the sooner I'll give you something to do. I expect you'll find your donkey in the omnibus." And the mate rushed away to the hatches, leaving his hearers quite bewildered.

"Most extraordinary!" exclaimed old Bovey, staring around. "A donkey and an omnibus! Torre, do you know anything about the matter? Or is the man mad?"

"I think the omnibus is where I am to live, uncle," replied Torre, leading the way towards the little house on the main deck that the mate had pointed out, "but the donkey's a puzzler."

Looking in at the door of the house, Torre caught sight of his own chest, bulking big in all its bravery of varnish and the bright black paint of its owner's name, in strong contrast to three other low-set, rope-handled, bruised and battered, but workmanlike boxes. Stepping over the tall door-sill, the three entered, and the place seemed crowded. Mr Bovey glanced about him in dismay. Altogether there were six bunks, two on each side, one above the other. Two cupboards and a door took up the fourth side. In the bunks lay rolled-up mattresses, new and crackling, also bright tin quart-pots and pannikins.

"What a hole!" exclaimed Mr Bovey.

"Oh, Torre," said Edie, "there must be some mistake, it's only a very little bigger than Carlo's kennel at home."

As she spoke a big square-set youngster dressed in a suit of dirty dungaree and a glengarry cap bundled in amongst them. As his eye fell on Torre's uniform, he sniffed and grinned, whilst saying with a strong Scotch accent, "If ye're the new apprentice, the mate says ye're to start packin' they onions an' carrots awa' under the boats on the skids. Ye'd better open yer donkey an' pit some worrkin' claes on."

"This is the—ah—room, then?" queried Mr Bovey, incredulously.

"Ay, this is the 'rume,' sure enough," replied the other, grinning more than ever, "where Drive, Distress an' Starve stows their hard bargains. Dinna ye see the kists—donkeys they ca' 'em at sea? An' here," punching one of the beds, "is the donkeys' breakfasts. He," nodding at Torre, " 'll be one o' Brown an' Sons saxty-five pund ootfits. His matteras 'll be hair—ay, I thocht so. Shavins is just as gude, an' mair eeconomical by a long way. Ay, ay, sir!" And the speaker, with a yell that made Edie jump, was off like a shot.

"What a coarse-looking boy," said Mr Bovey, as Torre, having unlocked his chest, began to hurriedly turn over its contents, tossing out uniforms, white shirts and dress-neckties in the search for something fitted to the business in hand. The nearest he could find, however, to "worrkin' claes," just then, was an Oxford shirt, at seven and sixpence, "as per account," and a pair of fine drill trousers with straps at the bottom for riding, "our own make at fourteen shillings."

"I expect I must get into these, uncle," said he, doubtfully. "I don't see any blue things like the other fellow had on. And I suppose you and Edie had better go. It's no use your staying now. But I'll come up to the hotel to-night, if I can get away We sail to-morrow, you know."

Whilst Mr Bovey and his daughter made their way ashore again, the old gentleman shook his head more doubtfully than ever as he said, "Well, Edie, it may be all right. But I must say it's hardly what I should have expected for the money. I'm afraid, my dear, that Torre's about to buy his experience too dearly. I ought to have got somebody who knew to look after him, and enquire into matters for me. However, I suppose they'll make a sailor of him—that's one comfort. But it's an expensive business."

Besides the lad Torre had already seen, and who, it seemed, was the captain's son by a first wife, two others, both Scotch, turned up at dinner-time. One, Campbell, was about seventeen, the other, Munro, of nearly the same age; M'Cutcheon was a couple of years older. And Torre, as they sat and eyed him, passing remarks on his attire, and grinning at the evident difficulty he found in eating with his plate on his knees, felt that probably he was booked for a pretty rough time of it.

Of course there was no table. Torre, on being told that as a "first voyager" it was his duty, had gone to fetch the dinner from the galley. There the cook had flung a lump of lean fresh roast beef and a dozen or so of potatoes, unpeeled, into a small wooden tub known as a kid. Carrying this to the omnibus, he had returned for three hook pots, which the cook filled with a dark, milkless, greasy-looking compound called tea. This, with a loaf of bread, formed the dinner. Not a very tempting meal perhaps, but the hearty young appetites left very little remaining for supper.

Rather to his surprise, Torre was now ordered to wash up the plates, forks and knives, and to put them carefully away in the locker or cupboard. He was, it seemed to him, at once installed as servant to the other three.

Nor that night, when he asked permission of the mate, was he allowed leave ashore. The Andromeda, too, he learned, was to go out on the top of the morning's tide, therefore it was quite possible he would not see his uncle and Edie again.