the_Arrandoon_ did not look half so saucy as the _Snowbird_. The_Arrandoon_ had more solidity about her, and more soberness andstaidness, as became her--a ship about to be pitted against dangersunknown.
Her figure-head was the bust of a fair and beautiful girl.
That day, on her trial trip, the ladies were on board; and Rory madethis remark to Helen Edith:
"The fair image on our bows, Helen, will soon be gazing wistfullynorth."
"Ah! you seem to long for that," said Helen, "but," she added archly,"mamma and I look forward to the time when she will be gazing just aswistfully south again."
Rory laughed, and the conversation assumed a livelier tone.
Steamers, I always think, are very similar in one way to colts, theyrequire a certain amount of breaking in, they seldom do well on theirtrial trip. The _Arrandoon_ was no exception; she promised well atfirst, and fulfilled that promise for twenty good miles and two; thenshe intimated to the engineers in charge that she had had enough of it.Well, this was a good opportunity of trying her sailing qualities, andin these she exceeded all expectations.
McBain rubbed his hands with delight, for no yacht at Cowes ever sailedmore close to the wind, came round on shorter length, or made more knotsan hour. He promised himself a treat, and that treat was to run outsome day with her in half a gale of wind, when there were no ladies onboard. He would then see what the _Arrandoon_ could do under sail, andwhat she couldn't. He did this; and the very next day after he cameback he made the journey to Leigh Hall, and stopped there for a wholeweek. That was proof enough that the captain was pleased with his ship.
Early in the month of the succeeding February, the _Arrandoon_ lay atthe Broomielaw, with the blue-peter unfurled, steam up, all hands onboard, and even the pilot. That very morning they were to begin theiradventurous voyage. Ralph, Allan, and Rory would be picked up at Oban,and the vessel now only awaited the arrival of McBain before casting offand dropping down stream.
The Broomielaw didn't look pretty that morning, nor very comfortable.Although the hills all around Glasgow were white with snow, over thecity itself hung the smoke like a murky pall. There was mud under feet,and a Scotch mist held possession of the air. Here was nothing cheeringto look at, slop-shops and pawn-shops, and Jack-frequented dram-shops,bales of wet merchandise on the quay, and eave-dripping dock-houses; norwere the people pleasant to be among; the only human beings that didseem to enjoy themselves were the ragged urchins who had taken shelterin the empty barrels that lined the back of the warehouses; they hadshelter, and sugar to eat. McBain thought he wouldn't be sorry when hewas safely round the Mull of Cantyre.
"Come on, Jack," cried one of these tiny gutter-snipes, rushing out ofhis tub; "come on, here's a row."
There was a row; apparently a fight was going on, for a ring had formeda little way down the street; and simply out of curiosity McBain went tohave a peep over the shoulders of the mob. As usual, the policemen werevery busy in some other part of the street.
Only a poor little itinerant nigger boy lying on the ground, beingsavagely kicked by a burly and half-drunken street porter.
"Oh!" the little fellow was shrieking; "what for you kickee my shins so?Oh!"
McBain entered the ring in a very businesslike fashion indeed; he beggedfor room; he told the mob he meant thrashing the ruffian if he did notapologise to the poor lad. Then he intimated as much to the ruffianhimself.
"Come on," was the defiant reply, as the fellow threw himself into afighting attitude. "Man, your mither'll no ken ye when you gang homethe nicht."
"We'll see," said McBain, quietly.
For the next three minutes this ruffianly porter's movements wereconfined to a series of beautiful falls, that would have brought downthe house in a circus. When he rose the last time it was merely toassume a sitting position, "Gie us your hand," he said to McBain."You're the first chiel that ever dang Jock the Wraggler. I admire ye,man--I admire ye."
"Come with me, my little fellow," said McBain to the nigger boy; and hetook him kindly by the hand. Meanwhile a woman who had been standing byplaced a curious-looking bundle in the lad's hand, and bade him be agood boy, and keep out of Jock the Wraggler's way next time.
"I'll see you a little way home, Jim," continued McBain, when they wereclear of the crowd. "Jim is what they call you, isn't it?"
"Jim," said the blackamoor, "is what dey are good enough to call me.But, sah, Jim has no home."
"And where do you sleep at night, Jim?"
"Anywhere, sah. Jim ain't pertikler; some time it is a sugar barrel, anoder time a door-step."
A low, sneering laugh was at this moment heard from the mysteriousbundle Jim carried. McBain started.
"Don't be afeared, sah," said Jim; "it's only de cockatoo, sah!"
"Have you any money, Jim?" asked McBain.
"Only de cockatoo, sah," replied Jim; "but la!" he added, "I'se a puffukgemlam (gentleman), sah--I'se got a heart as high as de steeple, sah!"
"Well, Jim," said McBain, laughing, "would you like to sail in a bigship with me, and--and--black my boots?"
"Golly! yes, sah; dat would suit Jim all to nuffin."
"But suppose, Jim, we went far away--as far as the North Pole?"
"Don't care, sah," said Jim, emphatically; "der never was a pole yet asJim couldn't climb."
"Have you a surname, Jim?"
"No, sah," replied poor Jim; "I'se got no belongings but de cockatoo."
"I mean, Jim, have you a second name?"
"La! no, sir," said Jim; "one name plenty good enough for a nigga boy.Only--yes now I 'members, in de ship dat bring me from Sierra Leone lastsummer de cap'n never call me nuffin else but Freezin' Powders."
McBain did not take long to make up his mind about anything; hedetermined to take this strange boy with him, so he took him to a shopand bought him a cage for the cockatoo, and then the two marched onboard together, talking away as if they had known each other for years.
Freezing Powders was sent below to be washed and dressed and madedecent. The ship was passing Inellan when he came on deck again. Jimwas thunderstruck; he had never seen snow before.
"La! sah," he cried, pointing with outstretched arm towards the hills;"look, sah, look; dey never like dat before. De Great Massa has beenand painted dem all white."
CHAPTER FIVE.
DANGER ON THE DEEP--A FOREST OF WATERSPOUTS--THE "ARRANDOON" ISSWAMPED--THE WARNING.
"La la lay lee-ah, lay la le lo-O" So went the song on deck--a songwithout words, short, and interrupted at every bar, as the men hauledcheerily on tack and sheet.
Such a thing would not be allowed for a single moment on board a Britishman-o'-war, as the watch singing while they obeyed the orders of thebo'sun's pipe, taking in sail, squaring yards, or doing any other dutyrequired of them. And yet, with all due respect for my own flag,methinks there are times when, as practised in merchant or passengerships, that strange, weird, wordless song is not at all an unpleasantsound to listen to. By night, for instance, after you have turned in toyour little narrow bed--the cradle of the deep, in which you are nightlyrocked--to hear it rising and falling, and ending in long-drawn cadence,gives one an indescribable feeling of peace and security. Your bark isall alone--so your thoughts may run--on a wild world of waters. Theremay not be another ship within hundreds of miles; the wind may be risingor the wind may be falling--what do you care? What need you care?There are watchful eyes on deck, there are good men and true overhead,and they seem to sing your cradle hymn, "La la lee ah," and before it isdone you are wrapt in that sweetest, that dreamless slumber thatlandsmen seldom know.
There was one man at least in every watch on board the _Arrandoon_, whousually led the song that accompanied the hauling on a rope, with asweet, clear tenor voice; you could not have been angry with these menhad you been twenty times a man-o'-war's man.
It was about an hour after breakfast, and our boys were lazing below.For some time previous to the working song, there had been perfectsilence on boar
d--a silence broken only now and then by a short word ofcommand, a footstep on deck, or the ominous flapping of the canvasaloft, as it shivered for a moment, then filled and swelled out again.
Had you been down below, one sign alone would have told you thatsomething was going to happen--that some change was about to take place.It was this: when everything is going on all right, you hear the almostconstant tramp, tramp of the officer of the watch up and down thequarter-deck, but this was absent now, and you would have known withoutseeing him that he was standing, probably, by the binnacle, his eyes nowbent aloft, and now sweeping the horizon, and now and then glancing
Wild Adventures round the Pole Page 7