Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

boys," said the doctor to his messmates,"I really don't think we can do better than invite the skipper todinner."

  "Good?" cried Harry.

  "Hurrah!" cried another.

  "Steward!" cried Dewar.

  "Ess, sir; Ise here, sir."

  "Well, come here, you dingy son of a Portuguese cook."

  The steward threw his apron over his left shoulder and entered from thesteerage.

  "Can you give us a ripping good feed to-night, and have it all on thetable smart at half-past six?"

  "Let me see, sir," said the steward, placing a forefinger on the cornerof his mouth and looking profoundly wise. "What I would propose, sir,would be diss ting."

  "Well?--out with it."

  "Der is French Charlie on shore here."

  The ship, by the bye, was lying off the Sultan's Palace, in theroadstead at Zanzibar.

  "Yes--French Charlie?"

  "Well, sir, he cook one excellent dinner, and wait too; and myself, sir,vill make de curry."

  "Very well, steward, but mind this, if there be one-sixth of a grain ofgarlic in the whole boiling of it, you shall swing at the yard's arm."

  "Ver goot, sir."

  "Now, off with you on shore, and give your orders. Don't forget to beoff in time. Take the dingy and bring off quickly a boat-load offlowers and green stuff."

  Mr Dewar was just as quick at work as he was with his tongue and sword,and both of the latter, it was universally allowed, he could make thebest of.

  He was ably supported on this occasion by the whole strength of themess, including Simmonds, the clerk--they were but five in all--and theengineer himself.

  The captain cheerfully accepted the invitation, and proposed to thesurgeon that forward in the course of the evening they should splice themain-brace.

  The doctor assented with alacrity, and the ship's stores thus expendedwere afterwards put down as sick-bay comforts.

  The steward was off in good time, with foliage and flowers. Then a hugeawning was rigged on deck, and lined with flags and candles stuck amidstthe flowers, and branching bayonets and cutlasses.

  The steward did his duty nobly; so did French Charlie.

  For once there smoked on the tables of the _Bunting_ a banquet that theSultan himself would have enjoyed.

  The toast of the evening, after the loyal ones, was of course CaptainWayland; and that gentleman replied in the neatest little speech thathad ever been heard on the deck of a man-o'-war.

  The dessert on the table deserves especial notice. No place in theworld can vie with Zanzibar for its fruit, and here were samples ofprobably a score of different sorts, almost unknown in England. Thepine-apples were especially delightful, appealing to eye, to scent, andtaste all at once. But probably the king of fruits was the mango. Ifthis is indeed Eve's apple, one can hardly wonder our first parent fell.The trees these grow on in the forest of this beautiful isle of the seaare a picture. Fancy an enormous chestnut with its branches weighted tothe ground with fragrant fruit somewhat like peaches, but each as big asa cocoanut!

  The sides of the deck-tent were decorated with flowers, but on the tableitself stood the choicest of all. Shall I describe them? I cannot,for--

  Here my muse her wings must cower, 'Twere far indeed beyond her power To praise enough e'en one sweet flower.

  When dessert had been done moderate justice to, then the end of thecurtain was drawn aside, the steward brought up the "sick-bay comforts,"and in due form the main-brace was spliced; and every man as he raisedthe cup to his lips wished long life and prosperity to their jollycaptain.

  After this there was a wild hurrah! and in the very midst of it thedoctor started playing.

  Well, some of my readers may have seen sham sailors dancing on thestage. But never on any stage is such wild footing witnessed as thatwhich graces the deck of a man-of-war on a night like the present.

  But everything has an end. The men retired at last to the bows andfo'c's'le to talk of home and spin yarns till long past midnight.

  Meanwhile the officers once more surrounded the festive board, and aftera few songs story-telling commenced.

  As one at least of the yarns spun was not devoid of humour, I do notthink I need apologise for repeating it.

  It was the doctor's yarn.

  He helped himself to an orange and a mango and a handful of nuts andraisins, to pare, to eat, to crack, and to pick, because the truth isthe doctor was a Scotchman, and Scotchmen never talk half so well aswhen they are doing something, if it be only whittling a stick.

  "Ahem!" began the doctor, clearing his throat.

  "Attention, gentlemen," said Mr Dewar, the president.

  Book 2--CHAPTER FIVE.

  THE SURGEON'S YARN.

  "You must know, then," said Dr Scott, "that though I do not vouch forthe absolute truth of this story, the reason is that I was not myselfone of the actors therein. But I have it on what I call indisputableauthority, for old Brackenbury, who is the principal hero, told it to meone evening in his little place down in sunny Devonshire. And I do notbelieve that Brackenbury ever told an untrue tale in his life.

  "A funny old fellow was Brackenbury, and it seemed to me that he mustalways have been old--must have been _born_ old. He wasn't a handsomeman, nor had he a pretty face; his nearest and dearest wouldn't havesaid he had. Yet, gentlemen, it is truly wonderful what a change forthe better the play of a good-natured smile throws over even theplainest countenance. And Brackenbury used to smile from his veryheart. Then he had such honest, truthful eyes that you couldn't havehelped liking the man.

  "But to my tale, as Burns says.

  "Goodness knows how long ago it is, but Brackenbury was then about inhis prime, and commanded a fine vessel, that, after discharging a mixedcargo at Sydney, was ordered on a kind of a mixed cruise round to SanFrancisco, which was only a small village then, but had the gold feverrampant. Here he had to take on board specie, with a gentleman assupercargo. They were then to slip southwards along the western shoresof South America, calling at Callao for goods from Lima, and so onwardsround the Horn and home.

  "I don't think that Brackenbury and the supercargo, Mr O'Brady, likedeach other over much. There was a natural jealousy between them.Brackenbury looked upon O'Brady as a kind of spy on his actions, andO'Brady didn't like Brackenbury's airs, as he was pleased to call them.

  "Never mind, they were shipmates and messmates, and they settled downtogether as well as they could.

  "Lima was in those days a hot place, socially speaking, but Brackenburyand his supercargo found themselves most hospitably treated. There wasone tall, dark, handsome gentleman, called Pedro Dolosa, whom theyfrequently met at dinner-parties, who used to smoke much with them andhob-nob in the cool verandahs after dessert. He took to them very muchapparently, and they were both flattered by his attention, for was henot a count, Le Comte Pedro de Dolosa? That was his tally complete.

  "Brackenbury opened his heart to him; O'Brady was jealous, and openedhis heart still more wide to Le Comte Pedro de Dolosa; and these two oldfools did what they had no right to do--they told this strange countwhat their cargo was.

  "However, the _Adelaide_ left Callao at last, and after encountering agale that blew them a long way out of their course, they lost theirreckoning; but one day they found themselves pretty close to the shoreagain, and, the weather being now fine, they managed to find out theirwhereabouts.

  "They were south the line, and on a lovely coast.

  "`I move,' said Brackenbury, `that we enjoy ourselves a bit; I'm fond ofshooting and botany.'

  "`So am I,' replied O'Brady.

  "Now more than once they had seen a very pretty little yacht careeringabout, as if watching them, but they had no suspicion of anything likefoul play.

  "It was seen again and again after this, but when one day it stood awayin through an island-bound creek--

  "`I'll bet a penny,' said Brackenbury, `that that is some English lordout on the sport; what's sauce for the goose is sauce for th
e gander,let's follow him.'

  "`Agreed,' said O'Brady.

  "And so they did.

  "They soon found themselves in an unusually romantic spot. A little bayit was, with a native village at the head of it, which looked imposingas seen from the sea. Then there was a beautiful river meandering downthrough a well-wooded, rolling valley, and far inland were hills andmountains.

  "The yacht lay there at anchor, but she had hoisted Spanish colours.Next morning at breakfast--

  "`I feel unusually young this morning,' said Brackenbury.

  "`So do I,' replied O'Brady. `It's the air, I suppose, but I do feel asgay as a lark.'

  "`Suppose we have a little lark, then, all by ourselves up in thisvalley--eh? What say? A kind of private