Читать книгу Yankee Girls in Zulu Land - Louise Vescelius Sheldon - Страница 6

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Life at sea is necessarily monotonous, and our voyage, though most enjoyable, did not differ from others in this respect. There were the usual athletic sports for the gentlemen, and occasional concerts in the evening, when one or another of the amateurs would cause considerable amusement by his nervousness. One young gentleman, who had volunteered to sing “After the Opera is Over,” found himself when he started to sing minus the words, the tune, or any idea of how to extricate himself. He sang “Aftah the op’ra is ov’ah! Aftah the op’ra is done! Aftah the op’ra is ov’ah! No—oh—confound it!—I sang that befo—ah! Aftah the op’ra is ov’ah! After the op’ra is ov’ah—ah—is done. Aftah the op’ra—No—what is it?” Then he softly hummed over to himself two or three times, and then, “After the op’ra is ov’ah! We swells—we swells—of the—we swells of the op’ra is ov’ah! Oh, doothe take it, I must have a brandy and sodah. Excuse me.” And he suddenly disappeared in a deck cabin immediately behind the piano, but as he was serenaded so frequently afterward by those who were anxious he should learn the air, there is very little doubt that he will ever forget it. The nights were very oppressive when crossing the equator, and the gentlemen would take up their rugs and sleep so pleasantly on deck, whilst the female passengers would pass sleepless, hot nights below in the close state-room. But one bright night one of the heavy showers which come and go so suddenly in the tropics, without a note of warning, came sweeping down and inundated the sleepers, who came clattering and chattering, wet through, down the saloon stairs at three o’clock in the morning, calling to the stewards for creature comforts and dry blankets and disturbing every one of the passengers who had managed to defy the stifling closeness of the state-rooms and get to sleep.

There were a number of young men in the second-class saloon who were going out to the diamond and gold fields to seek their fortunes. These were continually bothering the merchants and diggers who had been out before for any particulars of the country they could give them. One of these latter gentlemen, talking about their eager inquiries one day at table, told an amusing story of a previous voyage he had made, which is good enough to bear repeating. He said he was on his way out two or three years before, when the diamond fields had only recently been opened up, and the ship was full of eager adventurers going out to seek their fortunes on the fields. Among the passengers in the saloon was a wealthy digger who had been home on a business trip, and who, having a strong appreciation of the ridiculous, was continually amusing himself by giving the most grotesque accounts of the life on the fields, and the many ways in which fortunes had been found or made.

It chanced that the ship was short of hands, and the captain and chief engineer were in great straits to get the coal properly “trimmed,” or broken up for the furnaces, the few available stokers being in constant requisition at the fires. One day our facetious friend proposed to lay a friendly wager with the captain that he would, before the next day was out, have half the passengers in the fore cabin volunteering to break up coal.

He strolled down into the engine room that afternoon, taking care to choose a time when a number of the embryo diggers were loitering about, and carelessly taking up a piece of coal he suddenly started and said: “Good gracious, engineer, where did this coal come from?” The engineer, who was in the plot, said: “Some we brought from Cape Town to last for return trip.” “I thought so. Why this is the very same coal in which the diamonds are always found on the fields.”

“No!” said the engineer. “Yes,” repeated our friend, “and I will give you a sovereign to let me overhaul the next lot of coal you get out of the bumpers.”

“Oh, for the matter of that,” said the engineer, “you are welcome to go over the whole lot; it is all in great lumps and isn’t trimmed yet.”

“All right, lend me a coal hammer,” and into the bunker stepped our joker, followed by the interested gaze of a score of the emigrants. In less than a quarter of an hour he emerged with five or six rough diamonds in his hand. “Well, boys,” said he, “that isn’t bad work for the time, is it? Now, I don’t care to go working about in a ship’s coal bunkers. Besides, I don’t care for the stuff. That coal wants breaking up; go and get permission of the captain to let you do it, and I’ll wager half of you will be rich before you arrive at Cape Town.”

No sooner said than done. Permission was granted, and, in less time than it takes to tell it, fifteen or twenty of the diamond seekers were hard at work banging at the coal, and straining their eyes in vain for the diamonds which seemed so easy to find. But their quest was fruitless, and the joker kept them at it by telling them they did not break the coal properly, that it had to be broken across the grain, and so on. Every bit of coal the ship required for her voyage was soon beautifully trimmed for the fires, and no diamonds found.