Billy Topsail, M.D.

CHAPTER XXXI

In Which a Gale of Wind Almost Lays Hands on the Crew of the "Rough and Tumble," Toby Farr is Confronted With the Suggestion of Dead Men, Piled Forward Like Cord-Wood, and Archie Armstrong Joins Bill o' Burnt Bay and Old Jonathan in a Roar of Laughter

Archie Armstrong and Toby Farr made friends that night. The elder boy was established as the patron of the younger. Toby was aware of Archie's station – son and heir of the great Sir Archibald Armstrong; but being outport born and bred, Toby was not overawed. Before it was time to turn in he was chatting on equal terms with Archie, just as Billy Topsail had chatted, in somewhat similar circumstances, on Archie's first sealing voyage.

Toby sang songs that night, too – songs for the crew, of his own making; and he yarned for them – tales of his own invention. It occurred to Archie more than once that Toby possessed a talent that should not be lost – that something ought to be done about it, that something must be done about it; and Archie determined that something should be done about it – Archie was old enough to understand the power of his prospective wealth and his own responsibility with relation to it.

And that night, below, when Toby Farr was curled up asleep, Archie learned more of this queer matter of Jonathan and the lad. He learned that it was in the mind of old Jonathan Farr that he would not last long in the world – that he was wistful to have the lad hardened before the time of his departure fell. Proper enough: for of all that Jonathan had to leave the lad, which was much, when you come to think it over, he could leave him no better fortune than a store of courage and the will and skill to fend for himself.

But the ice was no fit place for Jonathan Farr – a lean, weary old dog like Jonathan Farr. Ah, well, said he, what matter? For his time was on the way, and the lad was heartened and taught in his company; and as for the frost that might bite his old flesh, and as for the winds that might chill the marrow of his old bones, it was nothing at all to suffer that much, said he, in the cause of his own son's son, who was timid, as his father had been, in youth, and his father's father before him.

"Ay," said Archie; "but the lad's too young for the ice."

"True, Archie – he's tender," said Jonathan; "but I've no certainty o' years. An' I done well with his father, Archie, at his age."

"'Twould go hard with a tender lad like Toby in time of trouble."

"No, no, Archie – "

"He'd never live it through, Jonathan."

"Ay," Jonathan replied; "but I'm here, Archie – me! An' that's jus' what I'm here for – t' keep un safe from harm while I teaches un t' fend for hisself."

"You!" Bill o' Burnt Bay put in, in banter.

"I'm old – true," says Jonathan. "Yet I've a shot left in the locker, Bill, against a time o' need."

Next day Cap'n Saul found the herds – a patch of harps and new-whelped young. The crew killed all that day. At dusk the men were used to the slaughter, and could bat a seal and travel the ice without fear or awkwardness. There was a pretty prospect indeed of making a quick voyage of it. And this would mean a puff and bouquet of praise for Cap'n Saul in the St. John's newspapers, and a sixty dollar share in the fat for every man and lad of the crew: "Rough and Tumble, Cap'n Saul Galt, First Arrival. In With Thirty Thousand!" – all in big, black letters to startle folks' eyes and set the tongues of the town clacking.

It would be news of a size to make the town chatter for a fortnight; it would spread to the outports; it would give Cap'n Saul all the sealing glory of that year. There would be great stir and wonder in Water Street when Cap'n Saul went by; and there would be a lively gathering for congratulations in the office of the owners when Cap'n Saul swaggered in to report what everybody knew, that Saul Galt, of the Rough and Tumble, was the first of the fleet to come in with a load.

Sir Archibald Armstrong himself would be there to clap the skipper on the back.

"I congratulate you, Cap'n Saul!" he would say. "I'm proud o' ye, sir!"

Driving this way and that, and squirming along, nosing and ramming and blasting a course through the floes, the Rough and Tumble loaded fifteen thousand seals in a week. It was still gray weather – no wind to matter; and the sea was flat in the lakes and lanes, and the ice was abroad, and no great frost fell to scorch the crew. Bill o' Burnt Bay was master of the Third Watch – the watch of Jonathan Farr and Toby. At dawn the First Watch filed over the side, every man with a gaff and a tow-rope and a biscuit or two; and all day long they killed and sculped and towed and panned the fat – all smothered in blood.

Meanwhile the Rough and Tumble ran away out of sight to land the Second Watch on another field, and beyond that, then, to land the Third Watch; and then she made back through the ice to stand by and pick up the First Watch. And when she had picked up the First Watch, and stowed away the seals, and had gathered the Second Watch, it was dusk and after every night, and sometimes long after, when she got back to pick up Bill o' Burnt Bay's watch, which was the last to leave the floe.

Thus it was labour all day and sweat most of the night – torches on the pans where the sculped seal lay; and torches on deck – the decks all red and slippery with blood and fat and ice. And it looked well for them, every one – a load of fat and the first to port with it.

Toby Farr killed and sculped and towed and panned a lad's full share of the fat.

"Well, sir," said Archie, one day, "how you getting along?"

"I thrives, sir," Toby replied.

"A cock so soon!" said Bill.

"My gran'pa," says Toby, "is teachin' me."

Archie laughed.

"Is you apt?" Bill inquired.

"I've learned courage," Toby replied, "an' 'tis a hard lesson t' learn."

"God knows!" Bill agreed.

"I'll be jus' 's fit an' able 's anybody, mark me," Toby boasted, "afore this v'y'ge is out!"

"I believe you!" said Archie.

Foul weather fell with the crews on the floe – a brief northeast gale of cold wind. The floe went crunching to the southwest – jumping along with the wind like a drove of scared white rabbits. And the pans packed; and the lakes began to close – the lanes to close. Bill o' Burnt Bay gathered his watch in haste. Seals? Drop the seals! It was time for caution – quick work for crews and ship. Cap'n Saul snatched the other watches from the ice and footed it back for Bill's watch before the press nipped the Rough and Tumble and caught her fast; and Bill's watch was aboard before dusk, leaving the kill to drift where the wind had the will to drive it.

Cap'n Saul was proud of the smart work – smelling out a swift gale of northeasterly wind with that old foul-weather nose of his, and picking his crew from the ice with the loss of not a man. It was a narrow shave, though – narrow enough to keep a man's heart in his mouth until he got a mug of hot tea in his stomach. And that night there was talk of it below – yarns of the ice: the loss of the Greenland's men in a blizzard – poor, doomed men, cut off from the ship and freezing to madness and death; and of how the Greenland steamed into St. John's Harbour with her flag at half-mast and dead men piled forward like cord-wood.

Tales of frosty wind and sudden death – all told in whispers to saucer eyes and open mouths.

"A sad fate, Toby!" said Jonathan, to test the lad's courage. "Mm-m?"

Toby shrugged his shoulders.

"Yep," said he.

"All them poor dead men in a heap!"

"Sad enough, sir."

"Cast away in the cold an' all froze stiff!"

"Yep."

"Hard as stone!"

"Yep."

"An' piled for'ard like cord-wood!"

"Sad sight, sir. Yep."

"Oh, dear me!" said Jonathan.

Toby put a hand on the old man's shoulder. It was to hearten his grandfather's courage. And Toby smiled.

"Cheer up, gran'pa!" said he. "You isn't afeared, is you?"

"Hear that, Bill!" cried Jonathan.