Many Cargoes

“‘Yes, a nasty, irritating sort o’ cough, sir,’ ses the other; ‘it worries me a great deal. It’s this going up nor’ards what’s sticking in my throat,’ ses he.

“The cap’n give a gulp, and walked off, but he comes back in a minute, and ses he—

“‘Mr. Salmon, I should think it a great pity to lose a valuable officer like yourself, even to do good to others. There’s a hard ring about that cough I don’t like, an’ if you really think it’s going up this bit north, why, I don’t mind putting the ship in her course again.’

“Well, the mate thanked him kindly, and he was just about to give the orders when one o’ the men who was at the masthead suddenly shouts out—

“‘Ahoy! Small boat on the port bow!’

“The cap’n started as if he’d been shot, and ran up the rigging with his glasses. He came down again almost direckly, and his face was all in a glow with pleasure and excitement.

“‘Mr. Salmon,’ ses he, ‘here’s a small boat with a lug sail in the middle o’ the Atlantic, with one pore man lying in the bottom of her. What do you think o’ my warning now?’

“The mate didn’t say anything at first, but he took the glasses and had a look, an’ when he came back anyone could see his opinion of the skipper had gone up miles and miles.

“‘It’s a wonderful thing, sir,’ ses he, ‘and one I’ll remember all my life. It’s evident that you’ve been picked out as a instrument to do this good work.’

“I’d never heard the fust mate talk like that afore, ‘cept once when he fell overboard, when he was full, and stuck in the Thames mud. He said it was Providence; though, as it was low water, according to the tide-table, I couldn’t see what Providence had to do with it myself. He was as excited as anybody, and took the wheel himself, and put the ship’s head for the boat, and as she came closer, our boat was slung out, and me and the second mate and three other men dropped into her, an’ pulled so as to meet the other.

“‘Never mind the boat; we don’t want to be bothered with her,’ shouts out the cap’n as we pulled away—‘Save the man!’

“I’ll say this for Mr. McMillan, he steered that boat beautifully, and we ran alongside o’ the other as clever as possible. Two of us shipped our oars, and gripped her tight, and then we saw that she was just an ordinary boat, partly decked in, with the head and shoulders of a man showing in the opening, fast asleep, and snoring like thunder.

“‘Puir chap,’ ses Mr. McMillan, standing up. ‘Look how wasted he is.’

“He laid hold o’ the man by the neck of his coat an’ his belt, an’, being a very powerful man, dragged him up and swung him into our boat, which was bobbing up and down, and grating against the side of the other. We let go then, an’ the man we’d rescued opened his eyes as Mr. McMillan tumbled over one of the thwarts with him, and, letting off a roar like a bull, tried to jump back into his boat.

“‘Hold him!’ shouted the second mate. ‘Hold him tight! He’s mad, puir feller.’

“By the way that man fought and yelled, we thought the mate was right, too. He was a short, stiff chap, hard as iron, and he bit and kicked and swore for all he was worth, until at last we tripped him up and tumbled him into the bottom of the boat, and held him there with his head hanging back over a thwart.

“‘It’s all right, my puir feller,’ ses the second mate; ‘ye’re in good hands—ye’re saved.’

“‘Damme!’ ses the man; ‘what’s your little game? Where’s my boat—eh? Where’s my boat?’

“He wriggled a bit, and got his head up, and, when he saw it bowling along two or three hundred yards away, his temper got the better of him, and he swore that if Mr. McMillan didn’t row after it he’d knife him.

“‘We can’t bother about the boat,’ ses the mate; ‘we’ve had enough bother to rescue you.’

“‘Who the devil wanted you to rescue me?’ bellowed the man. ‘I’ll make you pay for this, you miserable swabs. If there’s any law in Amurrica, you shall have it!’

“By this time we had got to the ship, which had shortened sail, and the cap’n was standing by the side, looking down upon the stranger with a big, kind smile which nearly sent him crazy.

“‘Welcome aboard, my pore feller,’ ses he, holding out his hand as the chap got up the side.

“‘Are you the author of this outrage?’ ses the man fiercely. “‘I don’t understand you,’ ses the cap’n, very dignified, and drawing himself up.

“‘Did you send your chaps to sneak me out o’ my boat while I was having forty winks?’ roars the other. ‘Damme! that’s English, ain’t it?’

“‘Surely,’ ses the cap’n, ‘surely you didn’t wish to be left to perish in that little craft. I had a supernatural warning to steer this course on purpose to pick you up, and this is your gratitude.’

“‘Look here!’ ses the other. ‘My name’s Cap’n Naskett, and I’m doing a record trip from New York to Liverpool in the smallest boat that has ever crossed the Atlantic, an’ you go an’ bust everything with your cussed officiousness. If you think I’m going to be kidnapped just to fulfil your beastly warnings, you’ve made a mistake. I’ll have the law on you, that’s what I’ll do. Kidnapping’s a punishable offence.’

“‘What did you come here for, then?’ ses the cap’n.

“‘Come!’ howls Cap’n Naskett. ‘Come! A feller sneaks up alongside o’ me with a boat-load of street-sweepings dressed as sailors, and snaps me up while I’m asleep, and you ask me what I come for. Look here. You clap on all sail and catch that boat o’ mine, and put me back, and I’ll call it quits. If you don’t, I’ll bring a law-suit agin you, and make you the laughing-stock of two continents into the bargain.’

“Well, to make the best of a bad bargain, the cap’n sailed after the cussed little boat, and Mr. Salmon, who thought more than enough time had been lost already, fell foul o’ Cap’n Naskett. They was both pretty talkers, and the way they went on was a education for every sailorman afloat. Every man aboard got as near as they durst to listen to them; but I must say Cap’n Naskett had the best of it. He was a sarkastik man, and pretended to think the ship was fitted out just to pick up shipwrecked people, an’ he also pretended to think we was castaways what had been saved by it. He said o’ course anybody could see at a glance we wasn’t sailormen, an’ he supposed Mr. Salmon was a butcher what had been carried out to sea while paddling at Margate to strengthen his ankles. He said a lot more of this sort of thing, and all this time we was chasing his miserable little boat, an’ he was admiring the way she sailed, while the fust mate was answering his reflexshuns, an’ I’m sure that not even our skipper was more pleased than Mr. Salmon when we caught it at last, and shoved him back. He was ungrateful up to the last, an’, just before leaving the ship, actually went up to Cap’n Brown, and advised him to shut his eyes an’ turn round three times and catch what he could.

“I never saw the skipper so upset afore, but I heard him tell Mr. McMillan that night that if he ever went out of his way again after a craft, it would only be to run it down. Most people keep pretty quiet about supernatural things that happen to them, but he was about the quietest I ever heard of, an’, what’s more, he made everyone else keep quiet about it, too. Even when he had to steer nor’-nor’-west arter that in the way o’ business he didn’t like it, an’ he was about the most cruelly disappointed man you ever saw when he heard afterwards that Cap’n Naskett got safe to Liverpool.”

AFTER THE INQUEST

It was a still fair evening in late summer in the parish of Wapping. The hands had long since left, and the night watchman having abandoned his trust in favour of a neighbouring bar, the wharf was deserted.

An elderly seaman came to the gate and paused irresolute, then, seeing all was quiet, stole cautiously on to the jetty, and stood for some time gazing curiously down on to the deck of the billy-boy PSYCHE lying alongside.

With the exception of the mate, who, since the lamented disappearance of its late master and owner, was acting as captain, the deck was as deserted as the wharf. He was smoking an evening pipe in all the pride of a first command, his eye roving fondly from the blunt bows and untidy deck of his craft to her clumsy stern, when a slight cough from the man above attracted his attention.

“How do, George?” said the man on the jetty, somewhat sheepishly, as the other looked up.

The mate opened his mouth, and his pipe fell from it and smashed to pieces unnoticed.

“Got much stuff in her this trip?” continued the man, with an obvious attempt to appear at ease.

“The mate, still looking up, backed slowly to the other side of the deck, but made no reply.

“What’s the matter, man?” said the other testily. “You don’t seem overpleased to see me.”

He leaned over as he spoke, and, laying hold of the rigging, descended to the deck, while the mate took his breath in short, exhilarating gasps.

“Here I am, George,” said the intruder, “turned up like a bad penny, an’ glad to see your handsome face again, I can tell you.”

In response to this flattering remark George gurgled.

“Why,” said the other, with an uneasy laugh, “did you think I was dead, George? Ha, ha! Feel that!”

He fetched the horrified man a thump in the back, which stopped even his gurgles.

“That feel like a dead man?” asked the smiter, raising his hand again. “Feel”—

The mate moved back hastily. “That’ll do,” said he fiercely; “ghost or no ghost, don’t you hit me like that again.”

“A’ right, George,” said the other, as he meditatively felt the stiff grey whiskers which framed his red face. “What’s the news?”

“The news,” said George, who was of slow habits and speech, “is that you was found last Tuesday week off St. Katherine’s Stairs, you was sat on a Friday week at the Town o’ Ramsgate public-house, and buried on Monday afternoon at Lowestoft.”

“Buried?” gasped the other, “sat on? You’ve been drinking, George.”