Many Cargoes

“A what?” shouted the skipper. “Say it!”

“I can’t think o’ nothing foolish enough,” was the frank reply. “It’s all right for you, becos it’s the last licker as you’ll be allowed to taste, but it’s rough on me and the cook.”

“Damn you an’ the cook,” said the skipper, and went on deck to see whether the men’s tongues were hanging out.

By Sunday morning he was frantic; the men were hale and well enough, though, perhaps, a trifle thin, and he began to believe with the cook that the age of miracles had not yet passed.

It was a broiling hot day, and, to add to his discomfort, the mate, who was consumed by a raging thirst, lay panting in the shade of the mainsail, exchanging condolences of a most offensive nature with the cook every time he looked his way.

All the morning he grumbled incessantly, until at length, warned by an offensive smell of rum that dinner was on the table, he got up and went below.

At the foot of the ladder he paused abruptly, for the skipper was leaning back in his seat, gazing in a fascinated manner at some object on the table.

“What’s the matter?” inquired the mate in alarm.

The other, who did not appear to hear the question, made no answer, but continued to stare in a most extraordinary fashion at a bottle which graced the centre of the table.

“What is it?” inquired the mate, not venturing to trust his eyes. “WATER? Where did it come from?”

“Cook!” roared the skipper, turning a bloodshot eye on that worthy, as his pallid face showed behind the mate, “what’s this? If you say it’s water I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t know what it is, sir,” said the cook cautiously; “but Dick sent it to you with his best respects, and I was to say as there’s plenty more where that came from. He’s a nasty, under’anded, deceitful old man, is Dick, sir, an’ it seems he laid in a stock o’ water in bottles an’ the like afore you doctored the cask, an’ the men have had it locked up in their chests ever since.”

“Dick’s a very clever old man,” remarked the mate, pouring himself out a glass, and drinking it with infinite relish, “ain’t he, cap’n? It’ll be a privilege to jine anything that man’s connected with, won’t it?”

He paused for a reply, but none came, for the cap’n, with dim eyes, was staring blankly into a future so lonely and uncongenial that he had lost the power of speech—even of that which, at other crises, had never failed to afford him relief. The mate gazed at him curiously for a moment, and then, imitating the example of the cook, quitted the cabin.

IN MID-ATLANTIC

No, sir,” said the night-watchman, as he took a seat on a post at the end of the jetty, and stowed a huge piece of tobacco in his cheek. “No, man an’ boy, I was at sea forty years afore I took on this job, but I can’t say as ever I saw a real, downright ghost.”

This was disappointing, and I said so. Previous experience of the power of Bill’s vision had led me to expect something very different.

“Not but what I’ve known some queer things happen,” said Bill, fixing his eyes on the Surrey side, and going off into a kind of trance. “Queer things.”

I waited patiently; Bill’s eyes, after resting for some time on Surrey, began to slowly cross the river, paused midway in reasonable hopes of a collision between a tug with its flotilla of barges and a penny steamer, and then came back to me.

“You heard that yarn old Cap’n Harris was telling the other day about the skipper he knew having a warning one night to alter his course, an’ doing so, picked up five live men and three dead skeletons in a open boat?” he inquired.

I nodded.

“The yarn in various forms is an old one,” said I.

“It’s all founded on something I told him once,” said Bill. “I don’t wish to accuse Cap’n Harris of taking another man’s true story an’ spoiling it; he’s got a bad memory, that’s all. Fust of all, he forgets he ever heard the yarn; secondly, he goes and spoils it.”

I gave a sympathetic murmur. Harris was as truthful an old man as ever breathed, but his tales were terribly restricted by this circumstance, whereas Bill’s were limited by nothing but his own imagination.

“It was about fifteen years ago now,” began Bill, getting the quid into a bye-way of his cheek, where it would not impede his utterance “I was A. B. on the Swallow, a barque, trading wherever we could pick up stuff. On this v’y’ge we was bound from London to Jamaica with a general cargo.

“The start of that v’y’ge was excellent. We was towed out of the St. Katherine’s Docks here, to the Nore, an’ the tug left us to a stiff breeze, which fairly raced us down Channel and out into the Atlantic. Everybody was saying what a fine v’y’ge we was having, an’ what quick time we should make, an’ the fust mate was in such a lovely temper that you might do anything with him a’most.

“We was about ten days out, an’ still slipping along in this spanking way, when all of a sudden things changed. I was at the wheel with the second mate one night, when the skipper, whose name was Brown, came up from below in a uneasy sort o’ fashion, and stood looking at us for some time without speaking. Then at last he sort o’ makes up his mind, and ses he—

“‘Mr. McMillan, I’ve just had a most remarkable experience, an’ I don’t know what to do about it.’

“‘Yes, sir?’ ses Mr. McMillan.

“‘Three times I ‘ve been woke up this night by something shouting in my ear, “Steer nor’-nor’-west!”’ ses the cap’n very solemnly, ‘“Steer nor’-nor’-west!”’ that’s all it says. The first time I thought it was somebody got into my cabin skylarking, and I laid for ‘em with a stick but I’ve heard it three times, an’ there’s nothing there.’

“‘It’s a supernatural warning,’ ses the second mate, who had a great uncle once who had the second sight, and was the most unpopular man of his family, because he always knew what to expect, and laid his plans according.

“‘That’s what I think,’ ses the cap’n. ‘There’s some poor shipwrecked fellow creatures in distress.”

“‘It’s a verra grave responsebeelity,’ ses Mr. McMillan ‘I should just ca’ up the fairst mate.’

“‘Bill,’ ses the cap’n, ‘just go down below, and tell Mr. Salmon I ‘d like a few words with him partikler.’

“Well, I went down below, and called up the first mate, and as soon as I’d explained to him what he was wanted for, he went right off into a fit of outrageous bad language, an’ hit me. He came right up on deck in his pants an’ socks. A most disrespekful way to come to the cap’n, but he was that hot and excited he didn’t care what he did.

“‘Mr. Salmon,’ ses the cap’n gravely, ‘I’ve just had a most solemn warning, and I want to—’

“‘I know,’ says the mate gruffly.

“‘What! have you heard it too?’ ses the cap’n, in surprise. ‘Three times?’ “I heard it from him,’ ses the mate, pointing to me. ‘Nightmare, sir, nightmare.’

“‘It was not nightmare, sir,’ ses the cap’n, very huffy, ‘an if I hear it again, I ‘m going to alter this ship’s course.’

“Well, the fust mate was in a hole. He wanted to call the skipper something which he knew wasn’t discipline. I knew what it was, an’ I knew if the mate didn’t do something he’d be ill, he was that sort of man, everything flew to his head. He walked away, and put his head over the side for a bit, an’ at last, when he came back, he was, comparatively speaking, calm.

“‘You mustn’t hear them words again, sir,’ ses he; ‘don’t go to sleep again to-night. Stay up, an’ we’ll have a hand o’ cards, and in the morning you take a good stiff dose o’ rhoobarb. Don’t spoil one o’ the best trips we’ve ever had for the sake of a pennyworth of rhoobarb,’ ses he, pleading-like.

“‘Mr. Salmon,’ ses the cap’n, very angry, ‘I shall not fly in the face o’ Providence in any such way. I shall sleep as usual, an’ as for your rhoobarb,’ ses the cap’n, working hisself up into a passion—‘damme, sir, I’ll—I’ll dose the whole crew with it, from first mate to cabin-boy, if I have any impertinence.’

“Well, Mr. Salmon, who was getting very mad, stalks down below, followed by the cap’n, an’ Mr. McMillan was that excited that he even started talking to me about it. Half-an-hour arterwards the cap’n comes running up on deck again.

“‘Mr. McMillan,’ ses he excitedly, ‘steer nor’-nor’-west until further orders. I’ve heard it again, an’ this time it nearly split the drum of my ear.’

“The ship’s course was altered, an’ after the old man was satisfied he went back to bed again, an’ almost directly arter eight bells went, an’ I was relieved. I wasn’t on deck when the fust mate come up, but those that were said he took it very calm. He didn’t say a word. He just sat down on the poop, and blew his cheeks out.

“As soon as ever it was daylight the skipper was on deck with his glasses. He sent men up to the masthead to keep a good look-out, an’ he was dancing about like a cat on hot bricks all the morning.

“‘How long are we to go on this course, sir?’ asks Mr. Salmon, about ten o’clock in the morning.

“‘I’ve not made up my mind, sir,’ ses the cap’n, very stately; but I could see he was looking a trifle foolish.

“At twelve o’clock in the day, the fust mate got a cough, and every time he coughed it seemed to act upon the skipper, and make him madder and madder. Now that it was broad daylight, Mr. McMillan didn’t seem to be so creepy as the night before, an’ I could see the cap’n was only waiting for the slightest excuse to get into our proper course again.

“‘That’s a nasty, bad cough o’ yours, Mr. Salmon,’ ses he, eyeing the mate very hard.