The Second String

"What sort of a steamer is the 'Golden Land'?" asked Jack.

Job Seagrave smiled as he replied:

"She's not what you'd call a floating palace; every time I sail in her I fancy it will be her last voyage, but she holds well together, and I know how to handle her, although she has as many humours as a thoroughbred."

Jack laughed as he said —

"I judge from that remark you are fond of racing."

"Yes, my lad, I am, and not above winning a trifle, or losing it."

"I ride in races sometimes."

The skipper turned an admiring glance on him.

"You don't look much like a jockey," he replied.

"I am a gentleman rider. If you care to go down to Lewes the week before we sail you will see me win a race, I hope."

"Lewes!" exclaimed Seagrave, "that's funny, bless my soul, it's funny. I was born there, in that glorious town I first saw daylight, or gas-light."

"Well, this beats all," said Harry Marton, "it is a day of surprises."

"A fellow must be born somewhere," said the skipper, in an apologetic tone, at which they both laughed.

"Have you been there lately?" asked Jack.

"Not this trip. I was there about twelve months ago, at the races, and had a look round the old place, but very few people know me now. I remember I backed a horse called Topsy Turvy, because he belonged to Sir Lester Dyke. I knew his father, they are a grand old family."

"I rode the horse," said Jack, quietly.

"Belay, there," shouted Seagrave, as he came to a dead standstill and stared at him, much to the amusement of the passers by. "You rode him, well, of all the – curious things this beats cock fighting."

"And I am going to ride him again at the next meeting," said Jack.

"The shekels of Job Seagrave go on to that horse," said the skipper, "and listen to me, young man, if he wins we'll lay in a nice little stock of dainties for the voyage. The 'Golden Land' is not over well provisioned, my inside feels like a salt mine sometimes before we touch land."

"I am going to Brighton to-night," said Jack. "Will you come with me?"

"You mean it, my son?"

"I do, heartily welcome you will be, and you too, Harry."

Harry Marton declined, he had no intention of draining his friend's slender purse, and, moreover, he had a little affair of his own with a bright eyed girl he wished to attend to.

They parted at London Bridge, Jack and Captain Seagrave going by the Brighton train.

"Glorious country this," said the captain, when they had passed Gatwick and got into the open.

"I am proud of being a Sussex man. I have had some rare fun at Brighton and Shoreham in my young days. It was there I got my first taste of the sea, and I liked it so much I stuck to it, but I've done no good at it. You see I hadn't the chances some of these swell skippers had, but I made the most of what little I knew. I have been through the mill, I can tell you, right through the whole boiling lot, from cabin boy to skipper."

"All the more credit to you," replied Jack.

"That's as it may be, and as how folks think. It's not much to blow about being captain of a dodgasted old coffin like the 'Golden Land,' but it's a living and I like it. On land I feel lost, on board I am as right as a trivet. It strikes me as curious a smart young fellow like you wants to leave this country and go to such a hole as Freemantle. You'll soon be sick of it, take my advice and throw it up."

Jack Redland laughed, he liked his bluff, hearty companion, and told him the reason he was going away.

"That's it, is it?" said Captain Seagrave. "You want to make money and come back and give it your best girl. Mind you, I don't say that is not a laudable desire, but are you sure of the party in petticoats? I have never had much to do with 'em myself, except in a casual way, but what little I know about 'em makes me steer clear of such craft. They're dangerous and you never can tell when they 'bout ship and sail clear away from you. Mind you have her safely in dock before you go, and don't let her come out until you return."

Jack laughed heartily as he replied —

"If she does not wait for my return I must find someone else to share my fortune, if I make one."

The train pulled up with a jerk that threw Captain Seagrave forward.

"Bad steering," he said. "I wish I had the engine driver in my stoke hole, he'd learn better manners down there."

"Tickets, please," said the porter.

"Tell the driver of this train he – "

The porter banged the door to, and left the skipper fuming.

Arriving at Brighton they walked to Jack Redland's lodgings, and after tea sat on the balcony.

"You are well fixed up here," said Seagrave, "nice and comfortable I call it. Rum old place this, I often wonder what sort of a time those old dandies had in the Pavilion a century or more ago."

"Judging from what I have read, they must have been gay and festive," replied Jack. "They drank hard, and made love desperately then; we go about such things in a more decorous manner now."

"That's true, but is it a change for the better? Is secret debauchery an improvement on open profligacy?"

He was rather surprised to hear his companion talk in this strain, and said —

"You do not think the morals of the present generation are any better than they were in those days?"

"Not a bit, you've only to look at the papers to find that out. There is some fairly sultry reading in the Divorce Court cases."

"Granted," replied Jack, "but still I think on the whole we have become better mannered, and more circumspect, since the time of the Georges."

"Maybe, but with all the learning to be had at other people's expense, I don't think we have much to boast about. In my young days we had to learn to work almost before we learned to spell."

"It does not seem to have done you much harm."

"None at all, but I'd have been a tarnation sight more presentable if somebody had taken me in hand and licked me into shape."

"What sort of a place is Fremantle?" asked Jack, changing the subject.

"It's not much like Brighton," replied Captain Seagrave, laughing. "You'll find a vast difference, but there's worse places than Fremantle on the face of the globe. It's an old convict settlement, at the mouth of the Swan river, about a dozen miles from Perth. It's not one of the best of harbours, but I have never met with any mishap there. It has been improved a lot of late years. It will seem a very dull place to you, I am afraid. May I ask what you are going to do when you arrive there. It's not a good place to be stranded in."