More Cargoes

“They’ve had the best of cold sponging,” said the skipper, not without a little pride.

“Best of what?” demanded the other.

The skipper told him, drawing back indignantly as the doctor suddenly sat down and burst into a hoarse roar of laughter. The unfeeling noise grated harshly on the sensitive ears of the sick men, and Joe Burrows, raising himself in his bunk, made a feeble attempt to hit him.

“You’ve been sold,” said the doctor, wiping his eyes.

“I don’t take your meaning,” said the skipper, with dignity.

“Somebody’s been having a joke with you,” said the doctor. “Get up, you fools, you’ve got about as much small-pox as I have.”

“Do you mean to tell me–” began the skipper.

“Somebody’s been having a joke with you, I tell you,” repeated the doctor, as the men, with sundry oaths, half of relief, half of dudgeon, got out of bed and began groping for their clothes. “Who is it, do you think?”

The skipper shook his head, and the mate, following his lead, in duty bound, shook his; but a little while after, as they sat by the wheel smoking and waiting for the men to return to work the cargo out, they were more confidential. The skipper removed his pipe from his mouth, and, having eyed the mate for some time in silence, jerked his thumb in the direction of the railway station. The mate, with a woe-begone nod, assented.

THE CABIN PASSENGER

The captain of the Fearless came on to the wharf in a manner more suggestive of deer-stalking than that of a prosaic shipmaster returning to his craft. He dodged round an empty van, lurked behind an empty barrel, flitted from that to a post, and finally from the interior of a steam crane peeped melodramatically on to the deck of his craft.

To the ordinary observer there was no cause for alarm. The decks were a bit slippery but not dangerous except to a novice; the hatches were on, and in the lighted galley the cook might be discovered moving about in a manner indicative of quiet security and an untroubled conscience.

With a last glance behind him the skipper descended from the crane and stepped lightly aboard.

“Hist,” said the cook, coming out quietly. “I’ve been watching for you to come.”

“Damned fine idea of watching you’ve got,” said the skipper irritably. “What is it?”

The cook jerked his thumb towards the cabin.

“He’s down there,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“The mate said when you came aboard you was just to go and stand near the companion and whistle ‘God Save the Queen’ and he’ll come up to you to see what’s to be done.”

“Whistle!” said the skipper, trying to moisten his parched lips with his tongue. “I couldn’t whistle just now to save my life.”

“The mate don’t know what to do, and that was to be the signal,” said the cook. “He’s down there with him givin’ ‘im drink and amoosin’ im.

“Well, you go and whistle it,” said the skipper.

The cook wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Ow does it go?” he inquired anxiously, “I never could remember toones.”

“Oh, go and tell Bill to do it?” said the skipper impatiently.

Summoned noiselessly by the cook, Bill came up from the forecastle, and on learning what was required of him pursed up his lips and started our noble anthem with a whistle of such richness and volume that the horrified skipper was almost deafened with it. It acted on the mate like a charm, and he came from below and closed Bill’s mouth, none too gently, with a hand which shook with excitement. Then, as quietly as possible, he closed the companion and secured the fastenings.

“He’s all right,” he said to the skipper breathlessly. “He’s a prisoner. He’s ‘ad four goes o’ whisky, an’ he seems inclined to sleep.”

“Who let him go down the cabin,” demanded the skipper angrily. “It’s a fine thing I can’t leave the ship for an hour or so but what I come back and find people sitting all round my cabin.”

“He let hisself darn,” said the cook, who saw a slight opening advantageous to himself in connection with a dish smashed the day before, “an’ I was that surprised, not to say alarmed, that I dropped the large dish and smashed it.”

“What did he say?” inquired the skipper.

“The blue one, I mean,” said the cook, who wanted that matter settled for good, “the one with the place at the end for the gravy to run into.”

“What did he say?” vociferated the skipper.

“‘E ses,’ ‘ullo,’ he ses, ‘you’ve done it now, old man,’” replied the truthful cook.

The skipper turned a furious face to the mate.

“When the cook come up and told me,” said the mate, in answer, “I see at once what was up, so I went down and just talked to him clever like.”

“I should like to know what you said,” muttered the skipper.

“Well, if you think you can do better than I did you’d better go down and see him,” retorted the mate hotly. “After all, it’s you what ‘e come to see. He’s your visitor.”

“No offence, Bob,” said the skipper. “I didn’t mean nothing.”

“I don’t know nothin’ o’ horse racin’,” continued the mate, with an insufferable air, “and I never ‘ad no money troubles in my life, bein’ always brought up proper at ‘ome and warned of what would ‘appen, but I know a sheriff’s officer when I see ‘im.”

“What am I to do?” groaned the skipper, too depressed even to resent his subordinate’s manner, “it’s a judgment summons. It’s ruin if he gets me.”

“Well, so far as I can see, the only thing for you to do is to miss the ship this trip,” said the mate, without looking at him. “I can take her out all right.”

“I won’t,” said the skipper, interrupting fiercely.

“Very well, you’ll be nabbed,” said the mate.

“You’ve been wanting to handle this craft a long time,” said the skipper fiercely. “You could ha’ got rid of him if you’d wanted to. He’s no business down my cabin.”

“I tried everything I could think of,” asseverated the mate.

“Well, he’s come down on my ship without being asked,” said the skipper fiercely, “and damme he can stay there. Cast off.”

“But,” said the mate, “s’pose–”

“Cast off,” repeated the skipper. “He’s come on my ship, and I’ll give him a trip free.”

“And where are you and the mate to sleep?” Inquired the cook, who was a man of pessimistic turn of mind and given to forebodings.

“In your bunks,” said the skipper brutally. “Cast off there.”

The men obeyed, grinning, and the schooner was soon threading her way in the darkness down the river, the skipper listening somewhat nervously for the first intimation of his captive’s awakening.

He listened in vain that night, for the prisoner made no sign, but at six o’clock in the morning, when the Fearless, coming within sight of the Nore, began to dance like a cork upon the waters, the mate reported hollow groans from the cabin.