by G. A. Henty
“Mr. Gregson,” the doctor said, “tells me that two of my boys were out near his place at Eastry yesterday. One of them gave him his name, which he has forgotten.”
“It was I, sir,” Frank said rising in his place; “I was there with Goodall. We ran on Mr. Gregson’s ground after a butterfly. It was my fault, sir, for, of course, Goodall went where I did. We ran among his wheat, and I really did not notice where we were going till he called to us. I was wrong, of course, and am ready to pay for any damage we may have caused.”
“You are welcome,” the farmer said, “to trample on my wheat for the rest of your born days. I haven’t come over here to talk about the wheat, though I tell you fairly I’d minded to do so. I’ve come over here, Dr. Parker, me and my missus who’s outside, to thank this young gentleman for having saved the life of my little daughter Bessy. She was walking along the road when a mad dog, a big brute of a mastiff, who came, I hear, from somewhere about Canterbury, and who has bit two boys on the road, to say nothing of other dogs and horses and such like; he came along the road, he were close to my Bess, and she stood there all alone. Some of my men with pitchforks were two hundred yards or so behind; but law, they could have done nothing! when this young gentleman here jumped all of a sudden over a hedge and put himself between the dog and my Bess. The dog, he rushed at him; but what does he do but claps a bag he’d got at the end of a stick over the brute’s head, and there he holds him tight till the men comes up and kills him with their forks.
“Young gentleman,” he said, stepping up to Frank and holding out his hand, “I owe my child’s life to you. There are not many men who would have thrown themselves in the way of a mad dog, for the sake of a child they knew nothing of. I thank you for it with all my heart. God bless you, sir. Now, boys, you give three cheers with me for your schoolmate, for you’ve got a right to be proud of him.”
Three such thundering cheers as those which arose had never been heard within the limits of Dr. Parker’s school from the day of its foundation. Seeing that farther work could not be expected from them after this excitement, Dr. Parker gave the boys a holiday for the rest of the day, and they poured out from the schoolroom, shouting and delighted, while Frank was taken off to the parlor to be thanked by Mrs. Gregson. The farmer closed his visit by inviting Frank, with as many of his schoolfellows as he liked—the whole school if they would come, the more the better—to come over to tea on the following Saturday afternoon, and he promised them as much strawberries and cream as they could eat. The invitation was largely accepted, and the boys all agreed that a jollier meal they never sat down to than that which was spread on tables in the farmer’s garden. The meal was called tea, but it might have been a dinner, for the tables were laden with huge pies, cold chicken and duck, hams, and piles of cakes and tarts of all sorts. Before they started for home, late in the evening, syllabub and cake were handed round, and the boys tramped back to Deal in the highest of glee at the entertainment they had received from the hospitable farmer and his wife.
Great fun had been caused after tea by the farmer giving a humorous relation of the battle with which his acquaintance with Frank had commenced, and especially at the threat of Frank to send a bullet into his eye if he interfered with him. When they left, a most cordial invitation was given to Frank to come over, with any friend he liked to bring with him, and have tea at the Oaks Farm whenever he chose to do so.
CHAPTER III
A TOUGH YARN
“You had a close shave the other night,” one of the boatmen remarked to Frank, as a few days after the adventure he strolled down with Ruthven and Handcock to talk to the boatman whose boat had been lost, “a very narrow shave. I had one out there myself when I was just about your age, nigh forty years ago. I went out for a sail with my father in his fishing boat, and I didn’t come back for three years. That was the only long voyage I ever went. I’ve been sticking to fishing ever since.”
“How was it you were away three years?” Handcock asked, “and what was the adventure? Tell us about it.”
“Well, it’s rather a long yarn,” the boatman said.
“Well, your best plan, Jack,” Ruthven said, putting his hand in his pocket and bringing out sixpence, “will be for you to go across the road and wet your whistle before you begin.”
“Thank ye, young gentleman. I will take three o’ grog and an ounce of ’bacca.”
He went across to the public house, and soon returned with a long clay in his hand. Then he sat down on the shingle with his back against a boat, and the boys threw themselves down close to him.
“Now,” he began, when he had filled his pipe with great deliberation and got it fairly alight, “this here yarn as I’m going to tell you ain’t no gammon. Most of the tales which gets told on the beach to visitors as comes down here and wants to hear of sea adventures is just lies from beginning to end. Now, I ain’t that sort, leastways, I shouldn’t go to impose upon young gents like you as ha’ had a real adventure of your own, and showed oncommon good pluck and coolness too. I don’t say, mind ye, that every word is just gospel. My mates as ha’ known me from a boy tells me that I’ve ’bellished the yarn since I first told it, and that all sorts of things have crept in which wasn’t there first. That may be so. When a man tells a story a great many times, naturally he can’t always tell it just the same, and he gets so mixed up atween what he told last and what he told first that he don’t rightly know which was which when he wants to tell it just as it really happened. So if sometimes it appears to you that I’m steering rather wild, just you put a stopper on and bring me up all standing with a question.”
There was a quiet humor about the boatman’s face, and the boys winked at each other as much as to say that after such an exordium they must expect something rather staggering. The boatman took two or three hard whiffs at his pipe and then began.
“It was towards the end of September in 1832, that’s just forty years ago now, that I went out with my father and three hands in the smack, the Flying Dolphin. I’d been at sea with father off and on ever since I was about nine years old, and a smarter boy wasn’t to be found on the beach. The Dolphin was a good sea boat, but she wasn’t, so to say, fast, and I dunno’ as she was much to look at, for the old man wasn’t the sort of chap to chuck away his money in paint or in new sails as long as the old ones could be pieced and patched so as to hold the wind. We sailed out pretty nigh over to the French coast, and good sport we had. We’d been out two days when we turned her head homewards. The wind was blowing pretty strong, and the old man remarked, he thought we was in for a gale. There was some talk of our running in to Calais and waiting till it had blown itself out, but the fish might have spoil before the Wind dropped, so we made up our minds to run straight into Dover and send the fish up from there. The night came on wild and squally, and as dark as pitch. It might be about eight bells, and I and one of the other hands had turned in, when father gave a sudden shout down the hatch, ‘All hands on deck.’ I was next to the steps and sprang up ’em. Just as I got to the top something grazed my face. I caught at it, not knowing what it was, and the next moment there was a crash, and the Dolphin went away from under my feet. I clung for bare life, scarce awake yet nor knowing what had happened. The next moment I was under water. I still held on to the rope and was soon out again. By this time I was pretty well awake to what had happened. A ship running down channel had walked clean over the poor old Dolphin, and I had got hold of the bobstay. It took me some time to climb up on to the bowsprit, for every time she pitched I went under water. However, I got up at last and swarmed along the bowsprit and got on board. There was a chap sitting down fast asleep there. I walked aft to the helmsman. Two men were pacing up and down in front of him. ‘You’re a nice lot, you are,’ I said, ‘to go running down Channel at ten knots an hour without any watch, a-walking over ships and a-drowning of seamen. I’ll have the law of ye, see if I don’t.’
“‘Jeerusalem!’ said one, ‘who have we here?’
�
�‘My name is Jack Perkins,’ says I, ‘and I’m the sole survivor, as far as I knows, of the smack, the Flying Dolphin, as has been run down by this craft and lost with all hands.’
“‘Darn the Flying Dolphin, and you too,’ says the man, and he begins to walk up and down the deck a-puffn’ of a long cigar as if nothing had happened.
“‘Oh, come,’ says I, ‘this won’t do. Here you’ve been and run down a smack, drowned father and the other three hands, and your lookout fast asleep, and you does nothing.’
“‘I suppose,’ said the captain, sarcastic, ‘you want me to jump over to look for ’em. You want me to heave the ship to in this gale and to invite yer father perlitely to come on board. P’raps you’d like a grapnel put out to see if I couldn’t hook the smack and bring her up again. Perhaps you’d like to be chucked overboard yourself. Nobody asked you to come on board, nobody wanted your company. I reckon the wisest thing you can do is to go for’ard and turn in.’ There didn’t seem much for me to do else, so I went forward to the forecastle. There most of the hands were asleep, but two or three were sitting up yarning. I told ’em my story and what this captain had said.
“‘He’s a queer hand is the skipper,’ one of ’em said, ‘and hasn’t got a soft place about him. Well, my lad, I’m sorry for what’s happened, but talking won’t do it any good. You’ve got a long voyage before you, and you’d best turn in and make yourself comfortable for it.’
“‘I ain’t going a long voyage,’ says I, beginning to wipe my eye, ‘I wants to be put ashore at the first port.’
“‘Well, my lad, I daresay the skipper will do that, but as we’re bound for the coast of Chili from Hamburg, and ain’t likely to be there for about five months, you’ve got, as I said, a long voyage before you. If the weather had been fine the skipper might have spoken some ship in the Channel, and put you on board, but before the gale’s blown out we shall be hundreds of miles at sea. Even if it had been fine I don’t suppose the skipper would have parted with you, especially if you told him the watch was asleep. He would not care next time he entered an English port to have a claim fixed on his ship for the vally of the smack.’
“I saw what the sailor said was like enough, and blamed myself for having let out about the watch. However, there was no help for it, and I turned into an empty bunk and cried myself to sleep. What a voyage that was, to be sure! The ship was a Yankee and so was the master and mates. The crew were of all sorts, Dutch, and Swedes, and English, a Yank or two, and a sprinklin’ of negroes. It was one of those ships they call a hell on earth, and cussing and kicking and driving went on all day. I hadn’t no regular place give me, but helped the black cook, and pulled at ropes, and swabbed the decks, and got kicked and cuffed all round. The skipper did not often speak to me, but when his eye lighted on me he gave an ugly sort of look, as seemed to say, ‘You’d better ha’ gone down with the others. You think you’re going to report the loss of the smack, and to get damages against the Potomac, do you? we shall see.’ The crew were a rough lot, but the spirit seemed taken out of ’em by the treatment they met with. It was a word and a blow with the mates, and they would think no more of catching up a handspike and stretching a man senseless on the deck than I should of killing a fly. There was two or three among ’em of a better sort than the others. The best of ’em was the carpenter, an old Dutchman. ‘Leetle boy,’ he used to say to me, ‘you keep yourself out of the sight of de skipper. Bad man dat. Me much surprise if you get to de end of dis voyage all right. You best work vera hard and give him no excuse to hit you. If he do, by gosh, he kill you, and put down in de log, Boy killed by accident.’
“I felt that this was so myself, and I did my work as well as I could. One day, however, when we were near the line I happened to upset a bucket with some tar. The captain was standing close by.
“‘You young dog,’ he said, ‘you’ve done that a purpose,’ and before I could speak he caught up the bucket by the handle and brought it down on my head with all his might. The next thing I remember was, I was lying in a bunk in the forecastle. Everything looked strange to me, and I couldn’t raise my head. After a time I made shift to turn it round, and saw old Jans sitting on a chest mending a jacket. I called him, but my voice was so low I hardly seemed to hear it myself.
“‘Ah, my leetle boy!’ he said, ‘I am glad to hear you speak again. Two whole weeks you say nothing except talk nonsense.’
“‘Have I been ill?’ I asked.
“‘You haf been vera bad,’ he said. ‘De captain meant to kill you, I haf no doubt, and he pretty near do it. After he knock you down he said you dead. He sorry for accident, not mean to hit you so hard, but you dead and better be tossed overboard at once. De mates they come up and take your hands and feet. Den I insist dat I feel your wrist. Two or three of us dey stood by me. Captain he vera angry, say we mutinous dogs. I say not mutinous, but wasn’t going to see a boy who was only stunned thrown overboard. We say if he did dat we make complaint before consul when we get to port. De skipper he cuss and swear awful. Howebber we haf our way and carry you here. You haf fever and near die. Tree days after we bring you here de captain he swear you shamming and comed to look at you hisself, but he see that it true and tink you going to die. He go away wid smile on his face. Every day he ask if you alive, and give grunt when I say yes. Now you best keep vera quiet. You no talk ’cept when no one else here but me. Other times lie wid your face to the side and your eyes shut. Best keep you here as long as we can, de longer de better. He make you come on deck and work as soon as he think you strong enough to stand. Best get pretty strong before you go out.’
“For another three weeks I lay in my bunk. I only ate a little gruel when others were there, but when the skipper was at dinner Jans would bring me strong soup and meat from the caboose. The captain came several times and shook me and swore I was shamming, but I only answered in a whisper and seemed as faint as a girl. All this time the Potomac was making good way, and was running fast down the coast of South America. The air was getting cool and fresh.
“‘I tink,’ Jans said one evening to me, ‘dat dis not go on much much longer. De crew getting desperate. Dey talk and mutter among demselves. Me thinks we have trouble before long.’
“The next day one of the mates came in with a bucket of water. ‘There! you skulking young hound,’ he said as he threw it over me; ‘you’d best get out, or the skipper will come and rouse you up himself.’
“I staggered on to the floor. I had made up my mind to sham weak, but I did not need to pretend at first, for having been six weeks in bed, I felt strange and giddy when I got up. I slipped on my clothes and went out on deck, staggered to the bulwarks and held on. The fresh air soon set me straight, and I felt that I was pretty strong again. However, I pretended to be able to scarce stand, and, holding on by the bulwark, made my way aft.
“‘You young dog,’ the skipper said, ‘you’ve been shamming for the last six weeks. I reckon I’ll sharpen you up now,’ and he hit me a heavy blow with a rattan he held in his hand. There was a cry of ‘Shame!’ from some of the men. As quick as thought the skipper pulled a pistol from his pocket.
“‘Who cried “Shame”?’” he asked looking round.
“No one answered. Still holding the pistol in his hand he gave me several more cuts, and then told me to swab the deck. I did it, pretending all the time I was scarce strong enough to keep my feet. Then I made my way forward and sat down against the bulwark, as if nigh done up, till night came. That night as I lay in my bunk I heard the men talking in whispers together. I judged from what they said that they intended to wait for another week, when they expected to enter Magellan Straits, and then to attack and throw the officers overboard. Nothing seemed settled as to what they would do afterwards. Some were in favor of continuing the voyage to port, and there giving out that the captain and officers had been washed overboard in a storm; when, if all stood true to each other, the truth could never be known, although suspicions might arise. The others, however, i
nsisted that you never could be sure of every one, and that some one would be sure to peach. They argued in favor of sailing west and beaching the ship on one of the Pacific islands, where they could live comfortably and take wives among the native women. If they were ever found they could then say that the ship was blown out of her course and wrecked there, and that the captain and officers had been drowned or killed by the natives. It seemed to me that this party were the strongest. For the next week I was thrashed and kicked every day and had I been as weak as I pretended to be, I’m sure they would have killed me. However, thanks to the food Jans brought me, for I was put on bread and water, I held on. At last we entered the straits. The men were very quiet that day, and the captain in a worse temper than usual. I did not go to sleep, and turned out at the midnight watch, for I was made to keep watch although I was on duty all day. As the watch came in I heard them say to the others, ‘In ten minutes’ time.’ Presently I saw them come out, and joining the watch on deck they went aft quietly in a body. They had all got handspikes in their hands. Then there was a rush. Two pistol shots were fired, and then there was a splash, and I knew that the officer on watch was done for. Then they burst into the aft cabins. There were pistol shots and shouts, and for three or four minutes the fight went on. Then all was quiet. Then they came up on deck again and I heard three splashes, that accounted for the captain and the two other mates. I thought it safe now to go aft. I found that six of the men had been killed. These were thrown overboard, and then the crew got at the spirit stores and began to drink. I looked about for Jans, and found him presently sitting on the deck by the bulwark.