The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands

“I say, old fellow,” he remarked, “you’re comin’ it pretty strong! Wot on earth are you up to, and where in all the world are ’ee goin’ to?”

“Oh come, you know,” answered Jones in a remonstrative tone, “I may be an easy-goin’ chap, but I can’t be expected to tell all my secrets except to friends.”

“Well, well,” said Billy, with a sigh, “it’s no use tryin’ to hold out. I’ll be as friendly as I can; only. I tells you candid, I’ll mizzle whenever I gits ashore. I’m not agoin’ to tell no end o’ lies to please you any longer, so I give ’ee fair warning,” said Billy stoutly.

“All right, my lad,” said the wily Jones, who felt that having subdued the boy thus far, he would have little difficulty in subduing him still further, in course of time, and by dint of judicious treatment; “I don’t want ’ee to tell lies on my account, an’ I’ll let you go free as soon as ever we get ashore. So now, let’s shake hands over it, and have a glass o’ grog and a bit o’ breakfast.”

Billy shook hands, and took a sip out of the case-bottle, by way of clenching the reconciliation. The two then had breakfast together, and, while this meal was in progress, Jones informed his little friend of the nature of the “game” he was engaged in playing out.

“You must know, my lad,” said Mr Jones, “that you and I have been wrecked. We are the only survivors of the brig Skylark, which was run down in a fog by a large three-masted screw steamer on the night of the thirteenth—that’s three nights ago, Billy. The Skylark sank immediately, and every soul on board was lost except you and me, because the steamer, as is too often the case in such accidents, passed on and left us to our fate. You and I was saved by consequence of bein’ smart and gettin’ into this here small boat—which is one o’ the Skylark’s boats—only just in time to save ourselves; but she had only one oar in her, and no mast, or sail, or rudder, as you see, Billy; nevertheless we managed to keep her goin’ with the one oar up to this time, and no doubt,” said Mr Jones with a grin, “we’ll manage to keep her goin’ till we’re picked up and carried safe into port.”

Billy’s eyes had opened very wide and very round as Mr Jones’s description proceeded; gradually, as his surprise increased, his mouth also opened and elongated, but he said never a word, though he breathed hard.

“Now, Billy, my boy,” pursued Mr Jones, “I tell ’ee all this, of course, in strict confidence. The Skylark, you must know, was loaded with a valuable cargo of fine herrings, worth about 200 pounds. There was 780 barrels of ’em, and 800 boxes. The brig was worth 100 pounds, so the whole affair was valued at 300 pounds sterling.”

“You don’t mean to tell me,” said Billy, catching his breath, “that there warn’t never no such a wessel as the Skylark?”

“Never that I know of,” replied Jones with a smile, “except in my brain, and on the books o’ several insurance companies.”

Billy’s eyes and mouth grew visibly rounder, but he said nothing more, and Mr Jones, renewing his quid, went on—

“Well, my lad, before this here Skylark left the port of London for Cherbourg, I insured her in no fewer than five insurance Companies. You’ll understand that that ain’t regular, my boy, but at each office I said that the vessel was not insured in any other, and they believed me. You must know that a good deal of business is done by these Companies in good faith, which gives a chance to smart fellows like me and you to turn an honest penny, d’ye see? They are pretty soft, luckily.”

Mr Jones happened to be mistaken in this opinion, as the sequel will show, but Billy believed him at the time, and wondered that they were “so green.”

“Yes,” continued Jones, counting on his fingers, “I’m in for 300 pounds with the Advance Company, and 300 pounds with the Tied Harbours Company, and 225 pounds with the Home and Abroad Company, and 200 pounds with the Submarine Company, and 300 pounds with the Friend-in-need Company—the whole makin’ a snug little sum of 1325 pounds. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ is my motto, you see; so, lad, you and I shall make our fortunes, if all goes well, and you only continue game and clever.”

This last remark was a feeler, and Mr Jones paused to observe its effect, but he could scarce refrain from laughter for Billy’s eyes and mouth now resembled three extremely round O’s with his nose like a fat mark of admiration in the midst.

A gusty sigh was all the response he gave, however, so Mr Jones continued—

“We’ve been out about thirty hours, starvin’ in this here little boat, you and I, so now it’s about time we wos picked up; and as I see a vessel on our larboard-beam that looks like a foreigner, we’ll throw the grub overboard, have another pull at the grog, bottle, and hoist a signal of distress.”

In pursuance of these intentions Jones applied the case-bottle to his lips, and took a long pull, after which he offered it to Billy, who however declined. He then threw the bread-bag into the sea, and tying his handkerchief to the oar after the manner of a flag, set it up on end and awaited the result.

The vessel alluded to was presently observed to alter its course and bear down on the boat, and now Billy felt that the deciding time had come. He sat gazing at the approaching vessel in silence. Was he to give in to his fate and agree to tell lies through thick and thin in order to further the designs of Mr Jones, or was he to reveal all the moment he should get on board the vessel, and take the consequences? He thought of Katie, and resolved to give up the struggle against evil. Then Nora rose up in his mind’s eye, and he determined to do the right. Then he thought of transportation for a prolonged term of years, with which Jones threatened him, and he felt inclined to turn again into the wrong road to escape from that; presently he remembered the Grotto, and the lessons of truth to God and man that he had learned there, and he made up his mind to fight in the cause of truth to the last gasp.

Mr Jones watched his face keenly, and came to the conclusion that he had quelled the boy, and should now find him a willing and useful tool, but in order to make still more sure, he employed the few minutes that remained to him in commenting on the great discomfort of a convict’s life, and the great satisfaction that accrued from making one’s fortune at a single stroke.

This talk was not without its effect. Billy wavered. Before he could make up his mind they were alongside the strange vessel, and next moment on her deck. Mr Jones quickly explained the circumstances of the loss of the Skylark to the sympathetic captain. Billy listened in silence, and, by silence, had assented to the falsehood. It was too late now to mend matters, so he gave way to despair, which in him frequently, if not usually, assumed the form of reckless joviality.

While this spirit was strong upon him he swore to anything. He not only admitted the truth of all that his tempter advanced, but entertained the seamen with a lively and graphic account of the running down of the Skylark, and entered into minute particulars—chiefly of a comical nature—with such recklessness that the cause of Mr Jones bade fair to resemble many a roast which is totally ruined by being overdone. Jones gave him a salutary check, however, on being landed next day at a certain town on the Kentish coast, so that when Billy was taken before the authorities, his statements were brought somewhat more into accord with those of his tempter.

The wily Mr Jones went at once with Billy to the chief officer of the coast-guard on that station, and reported the loss of his vessel with much minuteness of detail—to the effect that she had sailed from London at noon of a certain date, at the quarter ebb tide, the sky being cloudy and wind sou’-west; that the casualty occurred at five p.m. on the day following near the North Foreland Light, at half flood tide, the sky being cloudy and wind west-sou’-west; that the vessel had sunk, and all the crew had perished excepting himself and the boy. This report, with full particulars, was sent to the Board of Trade. Mr Jones then went to the agent for the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society and related his pitiful tale to him. That gentleman happening to be an astute man, observed some discrepancies in the accounts given respectively by Billy and his master. He therefore put a variety of puzzling questions, and took down a good many notes. Mr Jones, however, had laid his plans so well, and gave such a satisfactory and plausible account of himself, that the agent felt constrained to extend to him the aid of the noble Society which he represented, and by which so much good is done to sailors directly, and indirectly to the community at large. He paid their passage to London, but resolved to make some further inquiries with a view either to confirming or allaying his suspicions.

These little matters settled, and the loss having been duly advertised in the newspapers, Mr Jones set out for London with the intention of presenting his claims to the Insurance Companies.

In the train Billy had time to reflect on the wickedness of which he had been guilty, and his heart was torn with conflicting emotions, among which repentance was perhaps the most powerful. But what, he thought, was the use of repentance now? The thing was done and could not be undone.

Could it not? Was it too late to mend? At the Grotto he had been taught that it was “never too late to mend”—but that it was sinful as well as dangerous to delay on the strength of that fact; that “now was the accepted time, now the day of salvation.” When Billy thought of these things, and then looked at the stern inexorable face of the man by whom he had been enslaved, he began to give way to despair. When he thought of his good angel Nora, he felt inclined to leap out of the carriage window and escape or die! He restrained himself, however, and did nothing until the train arrived in London. Then he suddenly burst away from his captor, dived between the legs of a magnificent railway guard, whose dignity and person were overthrown by the shock, eluded the ticket-collector and several policemen, and used his active little legs so well that in a few minutes his pursuers lost him in a labyrinth of low streets not far distant from the station.

From this point he proceeded at a rapid though less furious pace direct to the Grotto, where he presented himself to the superintendent with the remark that he had “come back to make a clean breast of it.”

Chapter Twenty One.

On the Scent

Let us change the scene and put back the clock. Ah, how many hearts would rejoice if it were as easy to return on the track of Time in real life as it is to do so in a tale!

It was the evening of the day in which Jones and Billy went to sea in the little boat. Ramsgate, Mr Durant’s supper-table, with Stanley Hall and Robert Queeker as guests.

They were all very happy and merry, for Stanley was recounting with graphic power some of the incidents of his recent voyage. Mr Durant was rich enough to take the loss of his vessel with great equanimity—all the more so that it had been fully insured. Mr Queeker was in a state of bliss in consequence of having been received graciously by Fanny, whose soul was aflame with sentiment so powerful that she could not express it except through the medium of a giggle. Only once had Fanny been enabled to do full justice to herself, and that was when, alone with Katie in the mysterious gloom of a midnight confabulation, she suddenly observed that size and looks in men were absolutely nothing—less than nothing—and that in her estimation heart and intellect were everything!

In the midst of his mirth Mr Durant suddenly turned to Queeker and said—

“By the way, what made you so late of coming to-night, Queeker? I thought you had promised to come to tea.”

“Well, yes, but—a—that is,” stammered Queeker in confusion, “in fact I was obliged to keep an appointment in connection with the—the particular business—”

“The secret mission, in short,” observed Katie, with a peculiar smile.

“Well, secret mission if you choose,” laughed Queeker; “at all events it was that which prevented my getting here sooner. In truth, I did not expect to have managed to come so soon, but we came to the boat—”

Queeker stopped short and blushed violently, feeling that he had slightly, though unintentionally, committed himself.

Fanny looked at him, blushed in sympathy, and giggled.

“Oh, there’s a boat in the secret mission, is there?” cried Stanley; “come, let us make a game of it. Was it an iron boat?”

“No,” replied Queeker, laughing, for he felt that at all events he was safe in answering that question.

“Was it a wooden one?” asked Katie.

“Well—ye—”

“Was it a big one?” demanded Mr Durant, entering into the spirit of the game.

“No, it was a little one,” said Queeker, still feeling safe, although anxious to evade reply.

“Was there a man in it?” said Katie.

Queeker hesitated.

“And a boy?” cried Stanley.

The question was put unwittingly, but being so put Queeker stammered, and again blushed.

Katie on the contrary turned pale, for her previously expressed hope that there might be some connection between Queeker’s mission and Billy Towler’s troubles flashed into her mind.