Читать книгу A Son of the Sea - John Arthur Barry - Страница 8

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SUDDENLY, during the last hour of the middle watch, the wind which had blown so long and so steadily either on the quarter or right aft, hauled abeam, and thence dead ahead, hardening into a gale before Mr Sinclair could even get his yards braced for'ard. And presently, the Andromeda began, with so much sail upon her, to make tremendously bad weather of it. Foresail, mainsail, and upper topsails must come off her or the masts must go. Already the tough Kauri pine sticks were buckling like fishing rods, whilst big seas in ceaseless procession broke high above her bows and rolled six feet deep to the saloon doors, and over them, swamping the whole place for the second time that passage.

In the forecastle the men lay in their bunks smoking, and staring stolidly at the bubbling seething water as it flowed in and out. Here the din and riot were indescribable as the ship lifted her bows to the shock of the waves that made her reel and stagger as they hit her, first on one side then on the other, or bounded over her in foaming cascades of greenness, whilst she buried herself until she hid the clew of the foretopmast staysail.

Aft stood the captain and the passengers, amongst the latter of whom Barker was the only one who understood the full gravity of the situation.

With her swept poop where, over the apertures left by the missing skylights, spare sails had been fastened; rude wheel, meat-safe instead of shining binnacle, and what brasswork was left around the mizzen green with verdigris, the Andromeda looked like a craft that had already suffered shipwreck. Aloft, too, the roughly stowed sails lay in shapeless heaps upon the yards, ropes blew out in curves to the wind that roared with the voice of a thousand bulls into the cavities of the great courses, threatening every moment to tear their tacks and sheets out of the deck, now nearly waist high in water fore and aft.

Very grim looked M'Cutcheon as he watched his straining spars and labouring ship.

"For twa preens," muttered he at length, "I'd up hellum an' rin awa before it." And he tugged at his beard vigorously.

"Well, Captain," said Barker, who had been conversing with his fellow passengers, and felt that the time had now come to "talk straight," "this is a losing game you're playing. Nor does it suit us. And it's all your own fault. If you'd fed your men properly they wouldn't have broached the cargo. However, Mr Sinclair tells us that the outside value of the stuff consumed is about £100. And, although by rights the loss should come out of your pocket, still, to get clear of this most uncomfortable ship, we are willing to subscribe the amount amongst ourselves, provided you agree to give up any idea of prosecuting the men."

Now Mr Barker was, as the Captain knew, not only a very wealthy man, but a man possessing a good deal of influence in Sydney; thus his plainly stated view of the case rather staggered him. For a minute he tried to stand on his dignity and assert himself. But the attempt was a failure; and, with a bad enough grace, he gave in, saying:—

"Weel, it's hard to hae sic a crowd o' thieves get the better o' me. An' but for ye passengers, an' the wife an' bairn, I'd jist hang it oot till a' was blue!"

"Just so," replied the squatter drily, "but I have business awaiting me in Sydney, and I can plainly see that, if you don't do something, we'll either have the ship dismasted, or worse; possibly the crew taking charge into the bargain. Better let Mr Sinclair go and tell them that—or stay, I'll have a talk with that man in the lock-up. The best plan will be, then, to let him go to his shipmates."

"Do what ye like, sir," replied M'Cutcheon, sulkily enough, "as ye've got the whole thing planned oot, ye may as well feenish it."

So, presently, after a few words with Eastmore, the prisoner, Mr Barker sent him for'ard; and in a short time the men could be seen wading about, and so obviously waiting for orders, that Mr Sinclair very soon had them at work clewing up the main-sail and snugging the Andromeda down to her lower topsails.

The head-wind only lasted twenty-four hours before drawing aft again as suddenly as it had shifted at first; and then, to make up for lost time, the Captain piled the canvas on until the log showed thirteen, and the noise of her going was like that of an express train with the rattle and the roaring of it.

In this southerly weather, spite of his expensive outfit, Torre could not find enough clothes to keep himself warm. Thin merino underclothing in place of good honest stout flannel, and blue serge instead of pilot cloth, all undoubtedly the best of its kind, but more suitable for Singapore or Calcutta than the lee-side of a poop or on a royal yardarm in forty-five South latitude. But of his stock of fine clothes, actually, by this time, little remained except a few suits of uniform which he never, so far as he could see, would have a chance to wear. His dress waistcoats and white and fancy shirts had been either swapped away for something warm and useful in the shape of flannel under-vests and drawers and woollen comforters, a "backed" waistcoat, canvas trousers, or similar articles that would stand wear, or been converted, along with his sheets, into lamp-cleaners and brasswork-polishers.

As to any attempt that was ever made to teach him something of the science of navigation, he might as well have been in the forecastle itself. Now peace reigned on board once more—once more it was "biby" and brasswork; scrubbing, coaling, and waiting on his messmates. Also Phillips was fast getting well again, his leg having made a good cure.

Horribly tired was poor Torre of that slobbering crying mite of Scotch-Cockney humanity who seemed to delight in pulling his hair or digging its fingers into his eyes as he, often in vain, strove to soothe its querulous shrieks, whilst its mother watched him from her lounge chair. The boy, too, felt it an indignity thus to be made into a nurse, and often his wrath and shame were near getting the better of him. One day they actually did so. The "biby" had been more than usually fractious; and its mother had spoken sharply to Torre before the passengers and the grinning man at the wheel, until the lad's face burned again, and bitter tears forced themselves into his eyes.

"Chucka dam biby all overboard an' see heem swim-a," whispered the helmsman, a Greek with whom, as with the rest of the crew, Torre was a prime favourite.

But the lad felt no animosity towards the child, and redoubled his vain efforts to keep it quiet. The captain, surly and ill-tempered, as he always was now, happened just then to come on deck, and disturbed by the shrill yells of the infant, flung an oath at Torre as he passed him, bidding him at the same time, to "stap the bairn fra greetin'."

"E's doin' it a purpus, John," complained Mrs M'Cutcheon from her seat. "Nothin' 'll mike me believe but what he's pinchin' of the little dear. It's always the best o' bibys when I've got it."

"Then," said Torre suddenly and desperately, as he stepped forward and put the child on her lap, "take it, ma'am, and keep it. I didn't come to sea to learn how to nurse. My uncle paid £80 for me to learn my profession. My indentures said nothing about nursing babies. And I'll do no more of it." And turning, he walked off the poop, leaving the parents struck dumb with astonishment, the passengers laughing in pleased approval, and "Jack the Greek" swearing jubilantly in soft sibilant whispers to himself. Ten minutes afterwards Torre could be seen, suspended in a bowline, far away aloft, tarring down the main-royal stay. But during the remainder of his short term on the Andromeda, although they hazed the boy by keeping him in a continual plaster of tar and grease, he was never again told to "get a wash and a clean shirt, and go and take the baby."

It was on the ninety-fifth day from leaving London that the Andromeda, one beautiful forenoon, entered the Heads of Port Jackson in tow of the Commodore. But of the scenery of the world-famed harbour, Torre saw nothing as, until the ship berthed, he was inside a four hundred gallon bread-tank, handing bucketfuls of evilsmelling, broken-up biscuit through the man-hole to the second steward, who emptied them to the Port Jackson sharks. The skipper was getting rid of the remnant of forecastle stores; and the tugboat men grinned as they saw the clipper's muddy brown wake; and made uncomplimentary allusions to the House-flag, and "limejuice hookers," that should have caused M'Cutcheon's ears to tingle.

Thus, when Torre, wet through to the skin, and half-choked, emerged from his prison, the Andromeda was abreast of Fort Denison, and turning in for Circular Quay.

Of course the passengers went ashore at once; the health-seekers rapturously glad to be rid of their physician, and swearing that the biggest mail steamer afloat would hardly be big enough to hold them for the return trip, although M'Cutcheon gently hinted at a possible forfeiture of passage money if such a thing should happen. But they laughed him to scorn. They would sue Derrick, Deadeye and Scupper for sending them with a man who not only nearly wrecked the ship and condemned them to a miserable existence by lamp light; but, into the bargain, almost made the crew mutiny by his greed, thus costing them £20 each! They'd see all about it! They'd talk to the agents! Besides, the owners had said seventy days at the outside! And here were ninety-six! And, too, they had been fed in a most beastly way, considering the amount of passage money, etc., etc. And so these young men, having arrayed themselves in a new suit apiece, with linen like proof armour reaching from fingertips to ear-lobe, and tanned boots of the latest fashion; after giving the captain a bit of their mind, hung silver-mounted crook-sticks over their arms, turned up the bottoms of their trousers, and marched ashore to explore "The Kawlinies," leaving the skipper in a decidedly uncomfortable state.

But Barker only laughed. "I don't expect you'll ever see or hear of 'em again," said he. "The trip's done them a lot of good. But they won't go back with you. I wouldn't myself, in their place. The Andromeda's no passenger ship. Take my advice, Captain, do without 'em, and advise the firm to. Also, don't be so fond of foreigners. And, in any case, feed your men better, or I'll be hearing of you in trouble one of these days. Well, so long!"

Before this, the squatter had told Torre, to whom he had taken a great fancy, especially since the nursing incident, that if ever he wanted a friend he'd find one at Ngori.

"Bourke's the town. Station's twenty miles away. I don't suppose you'll ever find your way there, as you're indentured for four years to this low-down firm. Still, one never can tell, especially in this country, the curious fashion in which extremes may meet. So don't forget, my boy—John Barker, Ngori, Bourke. It's a far cry from here—over 500 miles. Still, as I say, one never knows."

Captain M'Cutcheon, once his sails were unbent, lost no time in offering his crew their discharges; which they accepted to a man. The usual paragraphs about the passage had appeared in the shipping news of the daily papers—curt matter-of-fact notices copied from entries in the log book, and furnished by the skipper himself. But he had some knowledge of the dreadful rapacity of the reporter for anything sensational; and he feared the man Eastmore might be tempted to give a full account of the whole business, not only of his failure to attempt the rescue of the Dane, but of the cargo broaching and the cause of it. In which case he knew at least three newspapers who would serve it up to their readers in columns with all the pomp of displayed headings and "leaded out" type. Therefore, it seemed good to him to pay off the crew at once almost, giving them at the same time, ignorant that he was compounding a felony, a gentle reminder that, if they did not hold their tongues about the cargo, Darlinghurst gaol might still be their end. Of the passengers he had no dread. Barker had promised that he would keep their mouths shut. And, although in this case, unknown to the captain, the squatter had done the same by Eastmore. The fact was, that Barker, in the first place, above all things, hated publicity of the kind a Sunday paper or a weekly free-lance would bestow on him as a local and well-known man; and that, into the bargain, the agents of the Andromeda, Messrs Moore, Devine and Co., were personal friends and customers of his own.

In harbour it is the custom on almost all vessels of any size or reputation, to have an apprentice at the gangway to give information to visitors, or to warn loafers away. This post is generally taken in turn, and is looked upon as a welcome break in the usual routine. But when Torre's turn came, and, for the first time since joining, he had arrayed himself in his uniform, he was brusquely told by Phillips, now about again, albeit with a crutch, "to come out o' that, and get aloft and scrape down the mizzen-royal mast."

The Captain was standing close to, and for a moment Torre thought of appealing. But, just then, catching M'Cutcheon's eye, he saw that such a course would be worse than useless; realised, too, that by his refusal to nurse the baby, he had made the Andromeda, henceforth, a harder home than ever for himself; and that between the second mate and the captain his life would hardly be worth living. But he set his teeth resolutely, and yielding his place to Munro, went into the omnibus, threw off his useless finery, and shinned aloft with a scraper round his neck and a feeling of bitter resentment at his heart.

A few days after this, being ashore on an errand, he met Eastmore, so well dressed and so smart-looking that Torre hardly knew him. "Well, how's the baby now?" said the sailor laughing. "I suppose they'll haze you a bit for that mutiny of yours, eh? Why, it was a lot worse than our little shine. You ought to leave that ship, Leigh. You'll never do much good in her—especially as that brute Phillips is on his legs again."

With all this Torre cordially agreed. And when Eastmore said that he was going to give up the sea for a time and take a billet that had been offered him in the country, the boy at once asked if he could not go with him. But Eastmore would not hear of it. "No," said he, "it's no use breaking your indentures in that fashion, and probably forfeiting the premium. Suffer it, and sit tight till you get home; and then insist on a shift to another ship. You can't change for the worse. And if you've any friends, why, just let them give the owners a hint that you didn't pay £80 to be made a general servant of. You'd be better off in every way as an ordinary seaman in a fok'sle. That is, if you must stick to the sea. You bet, I wouldn't use it myself if I could help it! But, worse luck, I can't keep away from it altogether. I've left good billets to go back to such picnics as we had on this trip. Well, so long, youngster. Keep a stiff upper lip and you'll pan out all right yet."

Eastmore was a good-looking man of about thirty-five, or so; one of those amongst the Andromeda's crew who had always been foremost in offering to show Torre anything he could. And, as the boy watched him move off amongst the crowd, that same upper lip quivered ominously, and he had half a mind to throw down the parcel he was carrying and run after Eastmore and entreat again to be allowed to accompany him. But, by an effort, restraining himself, he went on board the ship, the very sight of which was becoming hateful to him.

Next morning he was ordered aloft to paint the crossjack yard. He took with him a large heavy pot of paint, and, making it fast by its lanyard to the jackstay, he commenced on the starboard yardarm and worked inboard. Presently, the second mate limping along, looked up and shouted "Hi, you little devil, you've left a couple o' 'holidays' there already. If I could only get to you, I'd shove the brush down your throat! Wait—"

But, here, the lanyard of the big paint pot either worked itself out of the clove hitch by which it was fastened, or carried away—Torre never knew how. And as he gazed down at the hated face with its fringe of coarse black whisker, and the piggish eyes so much too close together, he suddenly saw a thick white stream descend and completely blot the features out, followed a second later by the heavy pot which, hitting the second mate fairly on top of the poll, levelled him to the deck.

Luckily there was nobody about. The sail-maker and carpenter were at work for'ard, and the other apprentices scraping iron-rust below. For a minute Torre hesitated, then, having made up his mind, he ran in, slipped down a backstay, and jumped ashore just as Mrs M'Cutcheon, emerging from the companion, stood staring in astonishment at the sight of the second mate who, sitting up, was spitting paint out of his mouth and vainly striving to scrape his eyes clear of it, whilst from a cut in his head blood flowed plentifully and mixed with the white plastering on his hair.

Like a dingo Torre doubled amongst the lumpers and cargo that littered the quay, and running past the Sailor's Home, presently found himself through the Argyle Cut and nearly abreast of the Observatory. Here he steadied, and coming to one of those steep streets that lead to the waterside at short intervals all along this part of Sydney and form a cul de sac with wharves at the far end, walked swiftly down it.

At the foot of it jetties ran out, and alongside them lay steamers busily taking in and discharging cargo. Finding he was blocked to right and left, Torre scuttled up the gangway of the first boat he came to. Her decks were crowded with people; steam winches were rattling; 'scape pipes roaring; noise and confusion everywhere. Glancing back towards the street, he caught sight of M'Cutcheon junior and the carpenter coming along at a trot. In desperation he slipped into the empty forecastle and crawled under one of the lower bunks. Another few minutes and he heard bells ringing; then, after a pause, he felt the vessel slowly moving, whilst the sound of cheering fell on his ears. Evidently the steamer was under way. But Torre never stirred. Another hour, and some men entered; plates and knives and forks clattered; a smell of beefsteak and onions filled the place; and a voice that sounded familiar remarked, "We're passin' the Sow an' Pigs. Larst time I seen 'em, a week or two agone, I wos in a bloomin' limejuicer, an' as near as a dam gettin' chokee out of her, too!"

"Sam!" exclaimed Torre, popping his head up alongside the speaker.

"Well, bli' me!" shouted the other, nearly falling off the chest on which he sat, "if 'taint the young baby-pincher from the Andromedary! Now what the blazes brings you here?" pulling Torre up as he spoke, and giving him a seat beside him.

Whereupon Torre told his story, interrupted by roars of laughter from the watch as he related the episode of the painting of the second mate.

"You're right enough here, sonny," remarked Sam—the man who on the Andromeda had been so liberal with his remarks when Svenson fell overboard. "But ye'll have to git off at Adelaide. Boys ain't wanted on these here coasters. Now turn to and fill yer belly. I'll bet it'll be the best feed ye've had since leavin' the Big Smoke."

And so it proved, for the seamen of the Yatala lived better than the saloon passengers of the Andromeda had done.

By the time the meal was over, the electric lights were turned on; and Sam, saying to Torre, "You'd better keep pretty close, because stowaways ain't not to say popular in this line," went away, returning presently, with a mattress and some bedding.

"There," said he, "I shook them things out o' the steerage. There ain't many passengers this trip. Sling 'em into that spare bunk, sonny, and 'ave a snooze. The chaps is all right uns; an' I've give the nod to 'em. But if any disremembers, an' gits at all inquisitious, just you say, says you, "I'm Sam the Sailor's young nevvy,' says you. 'An' if you don't mind yer eye, uncle'll put it in a curous sort of a sling for ye.' It's my look-out now. Draw them curtins so's to keep the light outer yer face, an' there y'are—snug as a bloomin' 'possum in a 'ole."

But it was some time before Torre could fall asleep. The change in his prospects had been such a sudden and a radical one that he had had no leisure to think it over. All he possessed in the world, apparently, was the suit of paint-stained dungaree he wore, and in the jacket pocket of which was the last letter received that day from his uncle, enclosing one from Edie. Perhaps of all the thoughts that flitted through Torre's brain as he lay in his bunk, the predominant one was thankfulness at being clear of the Andromeda. From his father, probably, he had inherited, with his good looks, all the instincts of a gentleman, and the menial drudgery of which his life had been made up for the last four months held for him a repulsion and disgust that nothing would ever induce him to undergo again. But, in spite of all, he still loved the sea, and was loth to give up all idea of it as a profession. To return home to his uncle, even if he had felt so inclined, he knew would be useless whilst his aunt lived. Premium and outfit must have swallowed all, or more than all, of his little capital. No, decidedly, there was no going back! One good effect of the time passed upon the Andromeda was that it had knocked a deal of the dreamy romance entailed by much reading of sea-novels out of the boy's mind. And he was young, strong, active and plucky, all fine possessions to begin life with, even if one has made a mull at starting. Not an ideal boy, or a faultless one by any means, but still, a very fair specimen as they are made in these days; and, as one likes to think, no whit inferior to those of long ago whose fathers drew bow at Creçy and Agincourt; or, later, singed the Spaniards' beards; or, later still, sternly faced the Mutiny; or died in Crimean trenches.

Evidently, in Torre's case, it was useless to make plans; so, after a while, fully recognising this, he gave up thinking, and, turning over, fell asleep with the rush of the Yatala's bow wave against his ears and the regular thump thump of her engines seemingly at his feet.