Читать книгу Dorymates: A Tale of the Fishing Banks - Munroe Kirk - Страница 3

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The fog had lifted, and a few stars were to be seen twinkling feebly; but the wind was very light, and what there was of it was dead ahead. There was a heavy swell rolling in from the eastward, but no sea running. The Gloucester fishing schooner Sea Robin was homeward bound from the Newfoundland Banks, and as she slowly climbed each glassy incline of black water, and then slid down into the windless hollow beyond, she seemed to be making no progress whatever on her course.

Although the Sea Robin had been out for more than four months, and had seen vessel after vessel of the fleet leave the Banks before she did and sail for home with full fares, not half the salt in her pens was used up, and she was returning with the smallest catch of the season. In spite of the fact that provisions were running low on board the schooner, her captain, Almon McCloud, would not have given up and left the Banks yet, had not a recent gale swept away his dories, and caused the loss of his new four-hundred-fathom cable.

Under these circumstances the crew of the schooner were very low-spirited, and there was none of the larking and fun among them that is usually to be noticed in a homeward-bound Banker. The men wondered as to the “Jonah” who had caused all their ill-luck. Finally they whispered among themselves that it must be the skipper. They now remembered that he had been unfortunate in more than one undertaking during the past year or two, and all were agreed that it would be wise not to sail with him again. This decision had been unanimously reached a few days before the one on which this story opens; and when, shortly before daybreak, there came a loud pounding on the cabin hatch, and a request that the captain should come on deck, one of the watch below turned restlessly in his bunk, and growled out,

“I expect we are in for another bit of the skipper’s tough luck.”

Reaching the deck, Captain McCloud found the two men on watch gazing earnestly at a dull red glow that lighted the distant horizon behind them.

“Looks like there was suthin afire back there, skipper,” said the man at the wheel.

The captain waited until the schooner rose on top of a swell, and then, after a long look at the light, gave the order to put her about and run for it.

There was some grumbling among the crew at this, for they were tired and sick of the trip. They wanted to get home and have it over with, and this running back over the course they had just come seemed to promise a long and vexatious delay. However, lucky or unlucky, their skipper had proved himself to be the captain of his vessel in every sense of the word more times than one, and they dared not question his action loudly enough for him to hear them.

For nearly an hour longer the light glowed steadily, then it expanded into a sudden wonderful brightness, and the next instant had disappeared entirely.

Three hours later, just as the sun was rising in all its sea-born glory, the Sea Robin sailed slowly through a mass of charred timbers and other floating remains of what evidently had been a large vessel. There were no boats to be seen, nor was anything discovered by which her name or character could be identified. For some time the schooner cruised back and forth through the wreckage in a fruitless search for survivors of the catastrophe. As they were about to give it up, and Captain McCloud had begun to issue the order to head her away again on her course towards home, he all at once held up his hand to command silence, and listened.

It was certainly the cry of an infant that came clear and loud across the water. The crew looked at each other in amazement, not unmixed with fear. There was no boat to be seen, no sign of life; and yet there it came again, louder and more distinct than before; the vigorous cry of a healthy baby who has just waked up and is hungry. The wind had died out entirely, the water was oily in its unruffled smoothness, and only the long swell remained.

Once more the cry was heard, and now it seemed so close at hand that several of the men trembled and turned pale. There was still nothing to be seen, save on the crest of the swell above them an apparently empty cask maintaining an upright position in the water, and showing a third of its length above it.

“That’s the life-boat!” shouted Captain McCloud. “There’s where the music comes from, men. Oh for the use of a dory for just five minutes!”

Having no boat, they could only watch the cask as it came slowly nearer and nearer, and several of the men prepared to jump overboard and swim for it in case it should drift past them. At last, when it was about thirty feet away, the skipper, making a skilful cast, settled the bight of a light line over the strange craft. Then he carefully drew it towards the schooner, over the low rail of which a couple of the crew were hanging, waiting with out-stretched arms to grasp it.

A minute later the cask stood on the schooner’s deck, and Captain McCloud was lifting tenderly from it a sturdy, well-grown baby boy, apparently about two years old. The little fellow smiled in the weather-beaten face, and stretched out his arms eagerly as the rough fisherman bent down towards him. At the same instant there came a fluttering of sails overhead, with a rattling of blocks, and one of the crew sang out as he sprang to the wheel, “Here’s a breeze! and it’s fair for home!”

“The baby’s brought it!” shouted another. “Hurrah for the baby!”

The shout was eagerly taken up by the crew; three hearty cheers were given for the baby, and three more for the breeze he had brought with him. Then, springing to sheets and halyards with more enthusiasm than they had shown before on the whole cruise, the active fellows quickly had the Sea Robin under a cloud of light canvas, and humming merrily along towards Gloucester.

They now found time to look at their baby, who, held in the skipper’s arms while he gave the necessary orders for working the schooner, contentedly sucked his thumb and gazed calmly about with the air of being perfectly at home. He was a beautiful child, with great blue eyes and yellow hair that curled in tiny ringlets all over his head. He was plainly dressed; but all that he wore was made of the finest material. Altogether he was so dainty a little specimen of humanity that he seemed like a pink and white rose-bud amid the rough men who surrounded him. He gazed at them for a minute or two with a smile, as though he would say that he was most happy to make their acquaintance, and was not in the least embarrassed by their stares. Then he turned to the skipper, and began to cry in exactly the tone with which he had announced his presence in the floating cask.

“Hello!” exclaimed the skipper, who, though married, had no children of his own, and had never held a baby before in his life, “what’s up now? Here, ‘doctor,’ you’ve had some experience in this line, I believe; cast your weather eye over this way and tell us the meaning of the squall.”

The cook, or “doctor,” as he is almost always called on board the fishing schooners, and, in fact, on most vessels, was a short, thick-set Portuguese, almost as dark as an Indian, but the very picture of good-nature. He now stepped up behind the skipper so as to have a good view of the baby, whose face, which rested on the skipper’s shoulder, was turned away from the crew, who stood looking at him in a helplessly bewildered way.

At the “doctor’s” sudden appearance the baby stopped crying, began again to suck his thumb, and, with great, wide-open eyes, stared solemnly at the grinning figure to whom it was thus introduced.

“Him hongry, skip,” announced the “doctor.” “Me fix him, pret quicka, bimeby, right off. Got one lit tin cow lef. You fetcha him down.”

The “doctor,” who was named Mateo, declared afterwards that the moment he looked into the baby’s face the little one had winked at him, as much as to say, “You know what I want, old chap, now go ahead and get it.”

By his “lit tin cow” he meant a can of condensed milk, and, as the only man on board who knew how to feed a baby, he had suddenly become the most important person among all the crew. Obeying his order, the skipper, with the new arrival in his arms, followed him down into the fore hold. The rest of the crew also attempted to crowd down into the narrow space to witness the novel sight of a baby at breakfast, but old Mateo quickly ordered them on deck, saying that the little stranger was big enough to occupy all the room there was to spare.

Then he bustled around in a hurry. He got out and opened the one remaining can of milk, and mixed a small portion of its contents with some warm water in a cup. The baby watched his every movement in silence, but with such a wise look that both the men felt he knew exactly what was going on. Now came the anxious moment--would he take the milk? Had he learned how to drink? The anxiety was quickly ended. He had learned to drink, and quickly emptied the proffered cup of every drop of its contents with an eagerness that showed how hungry he was. A ship biscuit, broken into small bits and soaked until soft in another cup of the warm milk, proved equally acceptable. When the members of the crew heard that the baby not only took kindly to the tin cow’s milk, but had eaten hard-tack, they were highly delighted. They declared that he was a natural born sailor, and would make a fisherman yet.

After his breakfast the baby was laid in the skipper’s own bunk in the cabin, where, warmly covered, and rocked by the motion of the schooner, he quickly fell asleep.

On deck the men conversed in low tones for fear of disturbing him. Their sole topic was the child’s miraculous preservation and rescue, first from the burning vessel and then from the sea. The cask in which he had floated to them was carefully examined and pronounced to be of foreign make. It had evidently been prepared hastily to serve the novel purpose of a life-boat, but the preparation had been made with skill. In the bottom was a quantity of scrap-iron, that had served as ballast and caused it to float on end instead of on its side. On top of this were, tightly wedged, two large empty tin cans, square, and having screw tops; while above these was a pillow, in which the baby, wrapped in a thick woollen shawl, had been laid. There was nothing else. Here was the baby, and here the cask in which he had been saved; there, far behind them, was the charred wreckage, and on the sky the night before had shone the red glow from the burning vessel. Where she was from, and where bound, whether or not others besides this helpless babe had been spared her awful fate, what was her name and what her nationality, were among the countless mysteries of the ocean that might never be cleared up.

There was little satisfaction to be gained by the discussion of these things; but the baby was a reality, and a novelty such as none of them had ever before seen on board a fishing schooner. Of him they talked incessantly during the three days’ homeward run. What they should call him perplexed them sadly for a time. The names suggested and rejected would have added several pages to a city directory. Finally this most important question was decided by the skipper, who said, “He brought a fair breeze with him that’s held by us ever since, and is giving us one of the quickest runs home ever made from the Banks. He’s as bright and cheery and refreshing as a breeze himself, and I propose that we call him ‘Breeze.’ It’s a name that might belong to almost any nationality, and yet give offence to none. As to a second name, for want of a better, and if he don’t discover the one he’s rightly entitled to, why, I’ll give him mine. What’s more, I’ll adopt him if his own folks don’t turn up; that is, if my old woman is agreeable, and I ain’t much afraid but what she will be.”

So the little waif of the sea became, and was known from that day forth as, Breeze McCloud--a name that was destined to become connected with as many exciting adventures and hair-breadth escapes as any ever signed to the shipping papers of a Gloucester fishing schooner.

The breeze that hurried the Sea Robin along was none too fair nor too strong; for the supply of milk furnished by the “doctor’s” tin cow was completely exhausted before they reached home. If they had not got in just as they did, the baby would have suffered from hunger, and the whole crew would have suffered with him. As it was, they passed Thatcher’s Island while he was drinking the last of the milk. Before he was again hungry, with everything set and drawing, and decorated with every flag and bit of bunting that could be found on board, the saucy Sea Robin had rounded Eastern Point and was sailing merrily up Gloucester harbor.

A crowd of people had assembled on the wharf to witness her arrival, and learn the cause of her decorations. As she neared it one of them called out,

“What is it, skipper? You’ve got your flags up as if you thought you was High-line^[A] of the fleet; but the old Robin don’t look to be very deep. What have you got?”

“We do claim to be High-line,” shouted back the skipper. “And here’s what we’ve got to prove it.” With this he held the baby high above his head so that all might see it, and added, “If any Grand Banker has brought in a better fare than that this season, I want to see it; that’s all.”

So Breeze McCloud entered Gloucester harbor, and never had any stranger been received with greater enthusiasm. The news of his arrival spread like wildfire, and it seemed as though half the population of the city had crowded down to the wharf to see him before Captain McCloud could get ready to leave the schooner. Then, with the baby in his arms, he stepped into the long seine-boat that, pulled by half a dozen lusty fellows, was waiting to take him across the harbor to the foot of the hill upon which his modest cottage was perched.

After many days of anxiety--for the Sea Robin was long overdue--the captain’s wife, who had watched his schooner sail up the harbor with flags flying, now awaited him in a fever of impatience. She had waited at home because she could not bear to meet him before strangers, so she had heard nothing of what he was bringing her. When at last she saw him coming up the hill, accompanied by an ever-increasing throng of men, women, and children, she was greatly perplexed to know what to make of the sight, and hurried down to the little front gate, where she waited for an explanation.

“Why! whose child can the man have picked up?” she said to herself, as her husband drew near enough for her to see what it was he held in his arms.

“The old Robin’s High-line this season, Dolly,” cried Captain McCloud as he reached the gate, “and I’ve brought you my share of the catch.”

“You don’t mean that baby, Almon!” exclaimed the bewildered woman.

“Yes, I do mean this very blessed baby! He’s a waif of the sea, without father, mother, or home, that anybody knows of; and if you say the word, we’ll give him all three.” With this he held the baby towards her.

She hesitated a moment, but the baby did not. With a happy little crow he at once stretched out his arms to her, and said, “Mamma!”

It was enough. All the mother-love within her responded to this cry, and the next moment the little one was hugged tightly to her bosom.

Turning to those who had accompanied him, Captain McCloud said, “That settles it, neighbors! I hadn’t much doubt of it before; now I know I am acting rightly; and here, before you all, I solemnly adopt this baby boy, Breeze McCloud, as my son, and promise, with God’s help, to be a father to him in deed as well as in name.”

On board the Sea Robin none of the rough nurses, not even the baby-wise Mateo, had dared undress the little one so strangely given into their charge, for fear they would not be able to dress him again. Thus, when he was delivered to Mrs. McCloud, it was evident that, next to food, his greatest needs were a bath and some clean clothes. These last his adopted mother borrowed from a neighbor who had children of all ages and sizes.

When the baby was undressed it was discovered that a slender gold chain was clasped about his neck. Attached to it was a golden ball covered with a tracery of unique and elaborate engraving. It was apparently hollow; but nobody was able to open it, nor could they discover any joint on its surface, so skilful was the workmanship that had created it. Finally, declaring that it was merely an ornament and not meant to be opened, Mrs. McCloud put it carefully away in a sandal-wood box, among her own little hoard of treasures.

In that box the golden ball lay for years, almost unnoticed, but ever guarding jealously the secret that some day should exert such a wonderful influence over the fortunes of the baby from whose neck it had been taken.