The Pirate Island

by Harry Collingwood

  Bill, as on the occasion when Bob joined the Betsy Jane, accompanied the lad to London. The ship was lying in the London Dock; and the first business of our two friends was to secure quarters for themselves, which they did in a comfortable enough boarding-house close to the dock-gates. They dined, and then sallied forth to take a look at the Galatea, which they found about half-way down the dock. She was a noble craft of sixteen hundred tons register, built of iron, with iron masts and yards, wire rigging, and all the most recent appliances for economising work and ensuring the safety of her passengers and crew. She was a beautiful model, and looked a regular racer all over. Her crew were comfortably berthed in a roomy house on deck forward, the fore part of which was devoted to the seamen, while the after part was occupied by the inferior officers. Captain Staunton and the chief mate had their quarters in light, spacious, nicely fitted cabins, one on each side of the foot of the saloon staircase; while the apprentices were berthed in a small deck-house just abaft the main-mast. The saloon was a splendid apartment, very elaborately fitted up in ornamental woods of several kinds, and with a great deal of carving and gilding about it. The upholstering of the saloon was of a kind seldom seen afloat except in yachts or the finest Atlantic liners; the stern-windows even being fitted with delicate lace curtains, draped over silken hangings. Eight berths, four on each side of the ship, afforded accommodation for sixteen passengers. These were located just outside the saloon, and the space between them formed a passage leading from the foot of the staircase to the saloon doors.

  Bill and Bob had to find out all these things for themselves, the mate, at the moment of their arrival on board, being the only person present belonging to the ship, and he was so busy receiving cargo that he could scarcely find time to speak to them. On being told who they were, he simply said to Bob—

  “All right, young ’un; Captain Staunton has told me all about you, and I’m very glad to see you. But I haven’t time even to be civil just now, so just take a look round the ship by yourselves, will you? I expect the skipper aboard before long, and he’ll do the honours.”

  In about half an hour afterwards Captain Staunton made his appearance, and, hearing that Bill and Bob were down below aft somewhere, at once joined them in the saloon. He shook them both most heartily by the hand, and, in a few well-chosen words, expressed the gratification he felt at renewing his acquaintance with them, and at the prospect of having Bob with him.

  “I have spoken to my owners concerning you,” he said to Bob, “and have obtained their permission to receive you on board as an apprentice. You will dress in uniform, and berth with the other apprentices in the after house; your duties will be light, and it will be my pride as well as my pleasure to do everything in my power to make a gentleman as well as a thorough seaman of you, and so fit you in due time to occupy such a position as the one I now hold, if not a still better one.” He suggested that Bob should sign his indentures on the following day, and then proposed that they should go at once, in a body, to see about our hero’s uniform and outfit, the whole of which, in spite of all protestation, he insisted on himself presenting to the lad.

  On the following day Bob signed his indentures as proposed, and joined the ship, assisting the chief mate to receive and take account of the cargo. Four days of this work completed the loading of the vessel and the taking in of her stores; and a week from the day on which Bob first saw her, the Galatea hauled out of dock and proceeded in charge of the chief mate down the river as far as Gravesend, where her captain and passengers joined her.

  It is now time to say a descriptive word or two concerning the various persons with whom our friend Bob was for some time to be so intimately associated.

  Captain Staunton, as the head and chief of the little community, is entitled to the first place on the list.

  He was a tall, handsome man, in the very prime of life, being about thirty-five or forty years of age. His features were finely moulded, the lines about the firmly closed mouth indicating great decision and fixity of purpose, while the clear steadfast grey eyes beamed forth an assurance of the kindly and genial disposition of their owner. Light auburn hair, in short-cut but thickly clustering curls, crowned his shapely head, and a closely cut beard and moustache shaded the lower part of his deeply bronzed face. For the rest, his broad massive shoulders indicated unmistakably the possession of great strength; whilst his waist, slim almost as that of a woman, his lean muscular lower limbs, and his quick springy step, told of great bodily activity. His disposition was exactly what one would, from a study of his externals, judge it to be—frank, generous, genial, kindly, and sympathetic to his friends, but a fearless and formidable foe to any who might be so ill-advised as to constitute themselves his enemies.

  Mr Bowles, the first mate—or “chief officer” as he preferred rather to be termed, thinking this title sounded more dignified than the other—was a big, burly, loud-voiced individual; a thorough seaman, a strict disciplinarian, and possessed of a general disposition to “stand no nonsense” from anybody, but particularly from the seamen, who, as a class, were regarded by him with an eye of great suspicion. He was, however, scrupulously just and straightforward in his dealings with all men, and, if a seaman proved himself to be capable and willing, he had nothing to fear from “Bill Bowles,” as this individual was in his more genial moods wont to style himself; if, however, on the other hand, a man proved lazy, or incapable of executing the duties he had undertaken to perform, let him “look out for squalls.”

  The second mate was in every way a marked contrast to the “chief.” He was a tall thin sallow-complexioned man, with straight black hair, thick eyebrows, and thin feeble-looking whiskers, the latter very lank and ragged, as he seemed never to trim them. His eyes were believed to be black, but no one seemed to be at all certain about this, as he would never look any man long enough in the face to allow the question to be decided. His glances were of a shifting stealthy description, and his face habitually wore a morose dissatisfied expression, with a dash of malice thrown in, which made those who were brought into contact with him eager to get away from him again as speedily as might be. It need scarcely be said that, with these characteristics, he soon made himself universally unpopular. This was his first voyage under Captain Staunton. His name was Carter, and it was understood that he was distantly related to one of the members of the firm owning the Galatea.

  The third mate was a young fellow named Dashwood, formerly an apprentice. He had been out of his time rather more than a year, and the present was his second voyage with Captain Staunton. He was a smart young fellow, anxious to get on in his profession, and very good-natured.

  There were three other apprentices, or “midshipmen” as they called themselves—Ralph Neville, John Keene, and little Ned Edwards, the latter being Bob’s junior by a year, while the others were his elders respectively by three years and one year. It is not necessary to minutely describe these youths, as they are destined to perform only a very unimportant part in this narrative.

  Then there were the passengers, of whom the ship took out her full complement.

  First among these must be placed Mrs Staunton, the captain’s wife; though she could scarcely be called a passenger since she paid no fare, the owners allowing their captains the privilege of taking their wives to sea with them. That the captain should have his wife with him was regarded indeed by the owners as a decided advantage, for, in the first place, she could conveniently act the part of chaperone to young and unprotected lady-passengers when there were any; and, in the next, they were justly of opinion that the captain would take extra care of the ship if she held a being so dear to him as his wife.

  Mrs Staunton was considerably younger than her husband, being (if one may venture to disclose such a secret) about twenty-eight years of age. She was a very beautiful woman, rather above medium height, of a very amiable and affectionate disposition, and in all respects a worthy mate to her noble-hearted husband. She always went to sea with Captain Staunton, and made
his private cabin a very palace of elegance and comfort for him. Their little daughter May, now three years old, the same little creature who had been so happily saved by Bob from a watery grave on the night of the wreck on the Gunfleet, was also on board.

  There were three other lady-passengers, all unmarried, on board on the present occasion. The elder of the three, a Miss Butler, was a lady “of a certain age,” with a quiet subdued manner, and nothing remarkable about her, either in character or appearance.

  The two others were cousins, both of them being young and very pretty. The younger of the twain, Blanche Lascelles, was making the voyage on the recommendation of her physician, her health having been somewhat delicate of late. “There are no very alarming symptoms at present, my dear madam,” was the doctor’s assurance to Blanche’s mother; “and a good long sea-voyage, say out to Australia and back, will be more beneficial than a whole pharmacopoeia of drugs.” In accordance with which opinion Blanche’s passage had been taken out and home on board the Galatea; and her fair self especially confided to the care and protection of Captain and Mrs Staunton. This young lady was eighteen years of age, fair-haired, blue-eyed, petite, very merry and light-hearted, and altogether exceedingly attractive and lovable.

  Her cousin, Violet Dudley, aged twenty-two, was a tall and stately brunette, with a wealth of dark sheeny chestnut hair, almost black in the shade, magnificent dark eyes, which flashed scornfully or melted into tenderness according to the mood of that imperious beauty, their owner, and a figure the ideal perfection and grace of which are rarely to be met with out of the sculptor’s marble. The rich healthy colour of her cheeks and full ripe lips, and the brilliant sparkle of her glorious eyes showed that it was not for health’s sake she had undertaken the voyage. She was on board the Galatea in order that her cousin Blanche might have the benefit of her companionship, and also because a favourable occasion now presented itself for her to visit some friends in Sydney, whither the Galatea was bound.

  The rest of the passengers, thirteen in number, were gentlemen. Of these it will be necessary to describe three only, namely, Mr Forester Dale, Mr Fortescue, and Mr Brook. Messrs. Dale and Fortescue were partners, being contractors in a rather large way; and Mr Brook was their general manager and right-hand man. The trio were now going out to Australia on business connected with a large job about to be undertaken in that colony, for which they were anxious to secure the contract.

  Mr Dale, or Mr Forester Dale as he preferred to be styled, was a somewhat querulous individual, with an unhappy knack of looking at the dark side of everything. Add to this the fact that he entertained a very exalted idea of his own (imaginary) excellences, and believed himself to be almost, if not quite, infallible, and it will be seen that he was not likely to prove a very desirable travelling companion.

  Rex Fortescue, on the other hand, was so thoroughly good-tempered that it had grown to be a tradition among the employés of the firm that it was impossible to “put him out.” He was never known to lose his temper, even under the most exasperating circumstances; he took the worries of life easily, and would seriously inconvenience himself to help others. He was as energetic and industrious as he was good-natured; work was his recreation, and it was notorious that to his energy it was chiefly due that the firm of which he was a member had attained its eminence. His senior partner characteristically took all the credit to himself, and had gradually brought himself to believe that in establishing the business he had seriously impaired his own health; but everybody else who knew anything about them knew also that the junior partner was the life and soul of the business. Rex was not what would be termed a handsome man by any means, but his frank pleasant good-tempered face proved far more permanently attractive than mere physical beauty without these embellishments could ever hope to be.

  Mr Brook differed from both his employers—where indeed will you meet with two men exactly alike? Of the two, however, he most nearly approximated to the senior partner, inasmuch as that, like that gentleman, he entertained a very high opinion of his own abilities, stood greatly upon his dignity, and was childishly jealous of any preference shown for others before himself. Unlike Mr Dale, however, he was a man of limited education; he had read much, but his reading had been almost wholly superficial; he possessed, upon an infinite variety of subjects, that little knowledge which is a dangerous thing. There was consequently no topic of conversation upon which he had not something oracular to say; he was wont to maintain his own opinion with a very considerable amount of heat, and so obstinate was he that it was quite impossible to convince him that he was ever in the wrong. He was essentially a vulgar man; but, as might naturally be supposed from what has already been said, he regarded himself as a polished gentleman, and in his efforts to act up to his ideal of this character he often used words of whose meaning he had but a very imperfect idea, and always in the wrong place. His chief redeeming points were that he was thoroughly master of his business, honest as the day, and did not object to “rough it” when occasion required.

  The characteristics of this trio came prominently into view when they, with the rest of the passengers, boarded the ship at Gravesend and proceeded to take possession of their cabins.

  The bulk of the passengers’ luggage had been shipped in dock, and passed down into the after-hold upon the top of the cargo, in order that it might be out of the way but easily come-at-able if required during the voyage; each one, however, as he or she came up the ship’s side and stepped in on deck, bore in his or her hand one or more bundles of wraps, deck-chairs, and other impedimenta.

  The first to make his appearance was Mr Forester Dale; he was not ashamed to take precedence even of the ladies. He walked straight aft, glancing neither to the right nor to the left, ascended the half-dozen steps leading up to the top of the monkey-poop, and at once dived down the saloon-companion. Arrived at the bottom of the staircase he stood there, blocking up the way, and began to call discontentedly for the steward to show him his cabin, which that official hastened to do.

  Mr Fortescue was among the last to leave the boat which had brought the passengers alongside, and he was closely followed on board by Mr Brook. On reaching the deck they both paused to glance round them and aloft at the towering symmetrical masts and spars, with their mazy network of rigging.

  “Jolly craft this, isn’t she, Brook?” remarked Rex Fortescue genially; “plenty of room, and clean as a new pin, although they’re only just out of dock. I think we shall be comfortable here.”

  “Oh, yes,” assented Brook, “we shall be comfortable enough, I don’t misdoubt; and as to ‘roomy,’ iron ships always is, that’s what they builds ’em of iron for.”

  They then proceeded below, and, like the rest, sought their cabins in order to stow away their luggage.

  Rex Fortescue shared a cabin with his senior partner, each cabin containing two sleeping berths. As he entered the one which from the number on its door he knew to be his, he found Mr Forester Dale struggling viciously with a drawer which, in his impatience to open, he had twisted out of position and hopelessly jammed.

  “Oh, I say!” exclaimed Rex as he opened the door and noticed how lofty and roomy and how beautifully fitted up was the place, “what jolly cabins!”

  “Jolly!” retorted Dale, “I don’t see anything jolly about them. I think they’re beastly holes; there’s not room to swing a cat in ’em.”

  “Well, you don’t want to swing a cat in them, do you?” inquired Rex gravely, firing off the venerable joke at his senior half unconsciously. “I think they are first-rate cabins, considering that they’re on board ship; you can’t expect to have such rooms here as you have at ‘The Blackthorns.’ Space is limited afloat, you know.”

  “Eight you are, Mr Fortescue,” shouted Brook through the bulkhead, his cabin adjoining that of the partners, and conversation, unless pitched in a low tone, being quite audible from one to the other; “I call these cabins splendid; moreover than that, look how light and atmospheric they are; why, you wo
uldn’t find lighter or more luxuriant cabins in the Great Eastern herself.”

  “I wish, Brook, you’d shut up and mind your own business,” snarled Mr Dale as in his irritation he wrenched off a drawer-knob; “you’re a good deal too ready with your opinions, and I’ll thank you to keep ’em to yourself until you’re asked for ’em for the future.”

  Here Rex Fortescue interposed, pouring by his tact and good-humour oil upon the troubled waters, and bringing harmony out of discord once more; so that, by the time everything had been packed away in its proper place and the dinner-bell had rung out its welcome peal, peace reigned undisturbed in the handsome saloon of the Galatea.

  Meanwhile, the passengers having all embarked, the ship at once proceeded down the river in tow, and when the occupants of the saloon rose from the dinner-table and went on deck to enjoy the beauty of the evening they found themselves off Sheerness, in the midst of a fleet of ships and steamers of all builds and all nationalities, some outward-bound like themselves, and others entering the river, either under steam, in tow, or under canvas, as the case might be. Here came a magnificent steamship, towering high out of the water, at the close of her voyage from India, with sallow-complexioned passengers scattered about her decks fore and aft, muffled up in thick overcoats, and pacing briskly to and fro to stimulate the circulation of the thin blood in their veins, and looking the picture of chilly misery, though the evening was almost oppressively warm. There, on the other side, moved sluggishly along under her old, patched, and coal-grimed canvas a collier brig, with bluff bows, long bowsprit, and short stumpy masts and yards, the counterpart of the Betsy Jane of glorious memory. Abreast of her, and sailing two feet to the collier’s one, was a river-barge, loaded down to her gunwale with long gaily painted spreet and tanned canvas which gleamed a rich ruddy brown in the rays of the setting sun. Here, again, came a swift excursion steamer, her decks crowded with jovial pleasure-seekers, and a good brass band on the bridge playing “A Life on the Ocean Wave,” whilst behind her again appeared a clumsy but picturesque-looking “billy-boy” or galliot from the Humber—the Saucy Sue of Goole—with a big brown dog on board, who, excited by the unwonted animation of the scene, rushed madly fore and aft the deck, rearing up on his hind-legs incessantly to look over the bulwarks and bark at all and sundry. Then came a large full-rigged ship in tow, her hull painted a dead-black down to the gleaming copper, the upper edge of which showed just above the water-line, with the high flaring bow, short counter, and lofty tapering spars, which needed not the “stars and stripes” fluttering far aloft to proclaim her an American. And behind her, again, came a great five-masted ironclad, gliding with slow and stately motion up the river on her way to Chatham.