Many Cargoes

He went out humming. Chrissie took up a book and sat down, utterly ignoring the woebegone figure which stood the regulation three yards from her, twisting its cap in its hands.

“I hope, miss,” said the boatswain, after standing patiently for three-quarters of an hour, “as ‘ow you won’t think I sought arter this ‘ere little job.”

“No,” said Chrissie, without looking up.

“I’m just obeying orders,” continued the boatswain. “I always git let in for these ‘ere little jobs, somehow. The monkeys I’ve had to look arter aboard ship would frighten you. There never was a monkey on the Monarch but what I was in charge of. That’s what a man gets through being trustworthy.”

“Just so,” said Chrissie, putting down her book. “Well, I’m going into the kitchen now; come along, nursie.”

“‘Ere, I say, miss!” remonstrated Tucker, flushing.

“I don’t know how Susan will like you going in her kitchen,” said Chrissie thoughtfully; “however, that’s your business.”

The unfortunate seaman followed his fair charge into the kitchen, and, leaning against the door-post, doubled up like a limp rag before the terrible glance of its mistress.

“Ho!” said Susan, who took the state of affairs as an insult to the sex in general; “and what might you be wanting?”

“Cap’n’s orders,” murmured Tucker feebly.

“I’m captain here,” said Susan, confronting him with her bare arms akimbo.

“And credit it does you,” said the boatswain, looking round admiringly.

“Is it your wish, Miss Chrissie, that this image comes and stalks into my kitchen as if the place belongs to him?” demanded the irate Susan.

“I didn’t mean to come in in that way,” said the astonished Tucker. “I can’t help being big.”

“I don’t want him here,” said her mistress; “what do you think I want him for?”

“You hear that?” said Susan, pointing to the door; “now go. I don’t want people to say that you come into this kitchen after me.”

“I’m here by the cap’n’s orders,” said Tucker faintly. “I don’t want to be here—far from it. As for people saying that I come here after you, them as knows me would laugh at the idea.”

“If I had my way,” said Susan, in a hard rasping voice, “I’d box your ears for you. That’s what I’d do to you, and you can go and tell the cap’n I said so. Spy!”

This was the first verse of the first watch, and there were many verses. To add to his discomfort he was confined to the house, as his charge manifested no desire to go outside, and as neither she nor her aunt cared about the trouble of bringing him to a fit and proper state of subjection, the task became a labour of love for the energetic Susan. In spite of everything, however, he stuck to his guns, and the indignant Chrissie, who was in almost hourly communication with Metcalfe through the medium of her faithful handmaiden, was rapidly becoming desperate.

On the fourth day, time getting short, Chrissie went on a new tack with her keeper, and Susan, sorely against her will, had to follow suit. Chrissie smiled at him, Susan called him Mr. Tucker, and Miss Polson gave him a glass of her best wine. From the position of an outcast, he jumped in one bound to that of confidential adviser. Miss Polson told him many items of family interest, and later on in the afternoon actually consulted him as to a bad cold which Chrissie had developed.

He prescribed half-a-pint of linseed oil hot, but Miss Polson favoured chlorodyne. The conversation then turned on the deadly qualities of that drug when taken in excess, of the fatal sleep in which it lulled its victims. So disastrous were the incidents cited, that half an hour later, when, her aunt and Susan being out, Chrissie took a small bottle of chlorodyne from the mantel-piece, the boatswain implored her to try his nastier but safer remedy instead.

“Nonsense!” said Chrissie, “I’m only going to take twenty drops—one—two—three—”

The drug suddenly poured out in a little stream.

“I should think that’s about it,” said Chrissie, holding the tumbler up to the light.

“It’s about five hundred!” said the horrified Tucker. “Don’t take that, miss, whatever you do; let me measure it for you.”

The girl waved him away, and, before he could interfere, drank off the contents of the glass and resumed her seat. The boatswain watched her uneasily, and taking up the phial carefully read through the directions. After that he was not at all surprised to see the book fall from his charge’s hand on to the floor, and her eyes close.

“I knowed it,” said Tucker, in a profuse perspiration, “I knowed it. Them blamed gals are all alike. Always knows what’s best. Miss Polson! Miss Polson!”

He shook her roughly, but to no purpose, and then running to the door, shouted eagerly for Susan. No reply forthcoming he ran to the window, but there was nobody in sight, and he came back and stood in front of the girl, wringing his huge hands helplessly. It was a great question for a poor sailor-man. If he went for the doctor he deserted his post; if he didn’t go his charge might die. He made one more attempt to awaken her, and, seizing a flower-glass, splashed her freely with cold water. She did not even wince.

“It’s no use fooling with it,” murmured Tucker; “I must get the doctor, that’s all.”

He quitted the room, and, dashing hastily downstairs, had already opened the hall door when a thought struck him, and he came back again. Chrissie was still asleep in the chair, and, with a smile at the clever way in which he had solved a difficulty, he stooped down, and, raising her in his strong arms, bore her from the room and downstairs. Then a hitch occurred. The triumphant progress was marred by the behaviour of the hall door, which, despite his efforts, refused to be opened, and, encumbered by his fair burden, he could not for some time ascertain the reason. Then, full of shame that so much deceit could exist in so fair and frail a habitation, he discovered that Miss Polson’s foot was pressing firmly against it. Her eyes were still closed and her head heavy, but the fact remained that one foot was acting in a manner that was full of intelligence and guile, and when he took it away from the door the other one took its place. By a sudden manoeuvre the wily Tucker turned his back on the door, and opened it, and, at the same moment, a hand came to life again and dealt him a stinging slap on the face.

“Idiot!” said the indignant Chrissie, slipping from his arms and confronting him. “How dare you take such a liberty?”

The astonished boatswain felt his face, and regarded her open-mouthed.

“Don’t you ever dare to speak to me again,” said the offended maiden, drawing herself up with irreproachable dignity. “I am disgusted with your conduct. Most unbearable!”

“I was carrying you off to the doctor,” said the boatswain. “How was I to know you was only shamming?”

“SHAMMING?” said Chrissie, in tones of incredulous horror. “I was asleep. I often go to sleep in the afternoon.”

The boatswain made no reply, except to grin with great intelligence as he followed his charge upstairs again. He grinned at intervals until the return of Susan and Miss Polson, who, trying to look unconcerned, came in later on, both apparently suffering from temper, Susan especially. Amid the sympathetic interruptions of these listeners Chrissie recounted her experiences, while the boatswain, despite his better sense, felt like the greatest scoundrel unhung, a feeling which was fostered by the remarks of Susan and the chilling regards of Miss Poison.

“I shall inform the captain,” said Miss Polson, bridling. “It’s my duty.”

“Oh, I shall tell him,” said Chrissie. “I shall tell him the moment he comes in at the door.”

“So shall I,” said Susan; “the idea of taking such liberties!”

Having fired this broadside, the trio watched the enemy narrowly and anxiously.

“If I’ve done anything wrong, ladies,” said the unhappy boatswain, “I am sorry for it. I can’t say anything fairer than that, and I’ll tell the cap’n myself exactly how I came to do it when he comes in.”

“Pah! tell-tale!” said Susan.

“Of course, if you are here to fetch and carry,” said Miss Polson, with withering emphasis.

“The idea of a grown man telling tales,” said Chrissie scornfully. “Baby!”

“Why, just now you were all going to tell him yourselves,” said the bewildered boatswain.

The two elder women rose and regarded him with looks of pitying disdain. Miss Polson’s glance said “Fool!” plainly; Susan, a simple child of nature, given to expressing her mind freely, said “Blockhead!” with conviction.

“I see ‘ow it is,” said the boatswain, after ruminating deeply. “Well, I won’t split, ladies. I can see now you was all in it, and it was a little job to get me out of the house.”

“What a head he has got,” said the irritated Susan; “isn’t it wonderful how he thinks of it all! Nobody would think he was so clever to look at him.”

“Still waters run deep,” said the boatswain, who was beginning to have a high opinion of himself.

“And pride goes before a fall,” said Chrissie; “remember that, Mr. Tucker.”