Читать книгу Round the World in the "Golden Gleaner" - Percy Francis Westerman - Страница 8

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“Better late than never,” commented Fourth Officer Angus Cross. “Captain Harrington will see you at four bells, so you’d better not shift into working kit until you’ve made your peace with him. Don’t look so scared. He won’t eat you! Miller! Show Stacey and Meadowes where to sling their hammocks!”

“Aye aye, sir!” rejoined the senior cadet. “This way, you two!”

Picking up their belongings they followed their guide along the deck, their shoes making a decided clatter compared with the canvas footgear of the dungaree-clad Dusty Miller. At sea the adjective “Dusty” is very frequently applied to men whose surname happens to be Miller, particularly in the Royal Navy. Whatmough, Duvant and Co.’s fleet had its Dusty Millers too. One had risen to be entitled to the designation “master”. There were others of lesser importance. Amongst them was the present senior cadet of the S.S. Golden Gleaner.

“Here’s our mess,” he announced, opening a sliding door. “There’ll be some char going—that’s tea if you shouldn’t happen to know—just before two bells. And here’s your cabin.”

A modern vessel, the Golden Gleaner embodied all the improvements to Britain’s post-war Merchant Navy. Amongst them were cabins for cadets and apprentices. There were two bunks to each cabin, one above the other and placed athwartships so as to lessen the risk of the occupants being slung out by the rolling of the vessel. They ran less chance of being ejected by her pitch as she pounded into a head sea.

The chums stepped over the coaming and then stood gaping. It was not the austere yet inviting appearance of their very own cabin that had figuratively rooted them to the spot, but the sight of a couple of painted sea-chests, each with the owner’s name on the lid.

How did they come here?

They knew that Mr. Stacey had ordered them from a well-known firm of marine outfitters in the City. They were to be delivered on the day following the party’s return from their Swiss holiday. The avalanche and its immediate results had upset that arrangement, and although their uniforms and other garments were already in their possession, Gerald and Peter had reconciled themselves to the fact that there would be certain deficiencies in their kit on this their first voyage.

“The Owners sent your sea-chests to the ship a couple of days ago,” Miller informed them. “When you didn’t turn up, our chief officer was going to land them, only something happened to make him forget all about it. You’d find yourselves in a fine old lash-up if they had been dumped ashore at Southampton. What made you miss the ship, anyway?”

Briefly Gerald, occasionally prompted by Peter, related the circumstances under which they had run the risk of losing their lives in the avalanche.

“And you call that enjoying winter sports in Switzerland!” observed the senior cadet, at the conclusion of the brief narrative. “I’d far rather be in a ship any day or anywhere. It’s a jolly sight safer! Well, I must be getting along!”

“What have we to do, sir?” asked Peter.

“Cut out the ‘sir’, my lad!” rejoined Miller. “I’m just a cadet, except that I’m the senior one. Just hang on to the slack and don’t get in anyone’s way. You’re allowed twenty-four hours to sling your hammock, although there aren’t any on board. But remember that the Old Man wishes to see you at four bells. I’ll show you the ropes when it’s time.”

Dusty Miller left them to their own devices.

But not for long.

They were still making a survey of their future sleeping-quarters when a couple of cadets appeared. “ ’Scuse us blowing in like this!” exclaimed one apologetically.

“Not at all,” rejoined Peter.

“It wouldn’t have made much difference if you had,” said the cadet, with an expansive grin. “We’ve got to know one another some time and the sooner the better. My name’s Nelson—no relation to the Little Admiral! This is Oxley, who answers readily to Bull. What happened to make you miss the jolly old bus?”

The same narrative that had evoked the senior cadet’s scorn had to be repeated.

“You certainly did cut it fine,” remarked Cadet Nelson. “But you fetched up here all right. What watch are you in?”

“I beg your pardon!” rejoined Gerald.

“If you aren’t now, you will be in one or the other before long,” explained Nelson. “You’ll be either in port or starboard, though both of you may be in the same watch. You’re chums, aren’t you?”

The newly joined cadets admitted that they were and asked for more information.

“It’s like this: if you’re in different watches you’ll see precious little of one another. I’ll tell you what: I’ll tackle Dusty Miller and get him to see Mr. Temple—he’s chief officer—and see if both of you can’t be put into the starboard watch. Of course he may kick at having two greenhands in the same watch, but it’s worth trying. Like to have a look round the ship? We mustn’t make ourselves too conspicuous or Paddy Quinn—he’s the bos’n—may put us on to some rotten job, even though it’s the first dog watch!”

Under the guidance of Cadets Nelson and Oxley, the chums made a restricted tour of the ship, taking good care not to trespass upon the bridge. In any case they would be well acquainted with that part of the ship before the voyage ended. They asked innumerable questions of their guides, and although some of the answers seemed to indicate that they were having their legs pulled, they tactfully refrained from adopting the attitude of a pair of “Doubting Thomases”.

Then came tea—served in mugs—with sweetened condensed milk, together with biscuits of a consistency near that of cast iron! It wasn’t what Gerald and Peter had been accustomed to—not even when they had been besieged by nature in “Quatre Vents”—but, strange to relate, they enjoyed it!

“Come along, you fellows!” exclaimed Senior Cadet Miller. “It’s time for you to see the Old Man!”

They followed him up several ladders to the lower bridge. By this time the Golden Gleaner was out of sight of land, although should visibility become better, they would sight the Lizard before dropping the English coast for a very indefinite period.

If Gerald and Peter thought that they would have the moral support of Cadet Miller during their impending interview with the immediate human arbiter of their fate, they were going to be disappointed.

“Cadets Stacey and Meadowes, sir!” announced Miller, saluting the young officer whom they now knew to be Fourth Officer Angus Cross.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” declared Mr. Cross, as he returned the chums’ half-hearted salute. “Bring your right hands up smartly to the brim of your caps. Keep them there while you count two and return them—also smartly—to your side. Now don’t get flustered. The Old Man won’t bite you, unless you jolly well deserve it! And remember to keep your caps on while you’re in his cabin.”

The fourth officer tapped on the door.

“Come in!” boomed a deep yet pleasant voice.

“Cadets Stacey and Meadowes reporting for duty, sir!” announced Mr. Cross.

“Very good!” rejoined Captain Harrington. “You needn’t wait, Mr. Cross!”

The Old Man already knew a good deal about the two newly joined cadets. A confidential report from the firm’s interviewer was already in his hands. He knew, for instance, and amongst other things, where they had been educated and why, in their examiner’s opinion, they were fit aspirants for the rank of cadets in Whatmough, Duvant’s fleet.

What Captain Harrington didn’t know was the reason why they had failed to join the Golden Gleaner at the port of Southampton at the specified time and date. Frankly he was curious to know what had happened to them.

“You cut it pretty close, young gentlemen!” he observed.

Instinctively Gerald raised one hand, pushed his cap aside, and smoothed his closely trimmed hair. He was quite under the impression that the Old Man was criticizing that. Then conscious of the real meaning of the remark, he brought his hand down smartly to his side.

“I’m afraid we did, sir!” agreed Peter.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of if your explanation is a genuine one. Now fire away and tell me all about it!”

Thus encouraged, Peter, taking the initiative, related the already several times told story of the avalanche and its consequences.

“Most interesting!” was Captain Harrington’s comment. “Only you haven’t told me how you came to be brought off to the ship in that motor-launch.”

Their meeting with Mr. Gregory in the train and his subsequent offer to give them a lift in Fidelity had to be narrated.

“One chance in a hundred, I should imagine,” commented the Old Man. “I hope you thanked him for his good offices.”

“We didn’t, sir,” replied Gerald. “You see, we were in such a tear to come on board that we clean forgot to do so!”

Captain Harrington smiled. What he didn’t tell the two cadets was the fact that he’d watched the transhipment operations from the wing of the bridge. Seeing yet unseen, he’d noted their decidedly timorous ascent of the ship’s side. They were supposed to be Sea Scouts. Perhaps they were fairly proficient in that line; but it was perfectly obvious to him that they hadn’t any previous experience in swarming up a Jacob’s ladder. In fact at the time he had seriously thought of ordering a cargo-skip to be lowered—a humiliating way of being taken aboard!

All this the Old Man kept to himself. Perhaps he still remembered, only too vividly, the circumstances under which he, a budding cadet, joined his first ship.

“Forgot to do so!” he rejoined. “What an admission! You’d better get Sparks to send him a radio message.”

The interview ended with a discreetly worded reminder of what the two cadets’ duty consisted. Provided they obeyed orders promptly and intelligently, there was nothing to prevent them becoming deck-officers in a few years.

“It was awfully decent of him to suggest we send Mr. Gregory a radio message,” declared Gerald, when they returned to the messroom.

“Yes, but we don’t know his address,” demurred his chum.

“Not his home address,” admitted Gerald. “But we could send it to the yacht-yard where he keeps his motor-craft. He’d get the message sooner or later.”

“I reckon you’re right,” agreed Peter. “And while we’re about it, what about sending a wireless message to your pater? It may get through, even if “Quatre Vents” is still snow-bound. He’ll be wondering what’s happened to us.”

“We should have written directly we reached home,” admitted Gerald. “I say, I am a silly ass!”

“What have you done now?” inquired Peter, seeing the look of consternation on his friend’s face.

“I’ve only brought the front-door key away!”

That was a grave oversight. The key had been borrowed from the neighbour who had been entrusted with it by Mr. Stacey. They had forgotten to return it on the morning of their hurried departure. As far as they knew it was the only key. They drew a mental picture of the rest of the Stacey family returning home, perhaps late at night, after a strenuous journey from Switzerland, only to find themselves locked out.

“It’s a dead cert we can’t send the key back by radio!” declared Peter.