by W. W. Jacobs
At half-past nine the crew of the Merman were buried in slumber, at ninethirty-two three of the members were awake with heads protruding out oftheir bunks, trying to peer through the gloom, while the fourth dreamtthat a tea-tray was falling down a never-ending staircase. On the floorof the forecastle something was cursing prettily and rubbing itself.
"Did you 'ear anything, Ted?" inquired a voice in an interval ofsilence.
"Who is it?" demanded Ted, ignoring the question. "Wot d'yer want?"
"I'll let you know who I am," said a thick and angry voice. "I've brokemy blarsted back."
"Light the lamp, Bill," said Ted.
Bill struck a tandsticker match, and carefully nursing the tinysulphurous flame with his hand, saw dimly some high-coloured object onthe floor.
He got out of his bunk and lit the lamp, and an angry and very drunkenmember of Her Majesty's foot forces became visible.
"Wot are you doin' 'ere?" inquired Ted, sharply, "this ain't theguard-room."
"Who knocked me over?" demanded the soldier sternly; "take your co--coatoff lik' a man."
He rose to his feet and swayed unsteadily to and fro.
"If you keep your li'l' 'eads still," he said gravely, to Bill, "I'llpunch 'em."
By a stroke of good fortune he selected the real head, and gave it ablow which sent it crashing against the woodwork. For a moment theseaman stood gathering his scattered senses, then with an oath he sprangforward, and in the lightest of fighting trim waited until hisadversary, who was by this time on the floor again, should have regainedhis feet.
"He's drunk, Bill," said another voice, "don't 'urt 'im. He's a chap wotsaid 'e was coming aboard to see me--I met 'im in the Green Man thisevening. You was coming to see me, mate, wasn't you?"
The soldier looked up stupidly, and gripping hold of the injured Bill bythe shirt, staggered to his feet again, and advancing towards the lastspeaker let fly suddenly in his face.
"Sort man I am," he said, autobiographically. "Feel my arm."
The indignant Bill took him by both, and throwing himself upon himsuddenly fell with him to the floor. The intruder's head met the boardswith a loud crash, and then there was silence.
"You ain't killed 'im, Bill?" said an old seaman, stooping over himanxiously.
"Course not," was the reply; "give us some water."
He threw some in the soldier's face, and then poured some down his neck,but with no result. Then he stood upright, and exchanged glances ofconsternation with his friends.
"I don't like the way he's breathing," he said, in a trembling voice.
"You always was pertikler, Bill," said the cook, who had thankfully gotto the bottom of his staircase. "If I was you--"
He was not allowed to proceed any further; footsteps and a voice wereheard above, and as old Thomas hastily extinguished the lamp, the mate'shead was thrust down the scuttle, and the mate's voice sounded a profanereveille.
"Wot are we goin' to do with it?" inquired Ted, as the mate walked away.
"I'm, Ted," said Bill, nervously. "He's alive all right."
"If we put 'im ashore an' 'e's dead," said old Thomas, "there'll betrouble for somebody. Better let 'im be, and if 'e's dead, why we don'tnone of us know nothing about it."
The men ran up on deck, and Bill, being the last to leave, put a bootunder the soldier's head before he left. Ten minutes later they wereunder way, and standing about the deck, discussed the situation inthrilling whispers as opportunity offered.
At breakfast, by which time they were in a dirty tumbling sea, with theNore lightship, a brown, forlorn-looking object on their beam, thesoldier, who had been breathing stertorously, raised his heavy head fromthe boot, and with glassy eyes and tightly compressed lips gazedwonderingly about him.
"Wot cheer, mate?" said the delighted Bill. "'Ow goes it?"
"Where am I?" inquired Private Harry Bliss, in a weak voice.
"Brig Merman," said Bill; "bound for Bystermouth."
"Well, I'm damned," said Private Bliss; "it's a blooming miracle. Openthe winder, it's a bit stuffy down here. Who--who brought me here?"
"You come to see me last night," said Bob, "an' fell down, I s'pose;then you punched Bill 'ere in the eye and me in the jor."
Mr. Bliss, still feeling very sick and faint, turned to Bill, and aftercritically glancing at the eye turned on him for inspection, transferredhis regards to the other man's jaw.
"I'm a devil when I'm boozed," he said, in a satisfied voice. "Well, Imust get ashore; I shall get cells for this, I expect."
He staggered to the ladder, and with unsteady haste gained the deck andmade for the side. The heaving waters made him giddy to look at, and hegazed for preference at a thin line of coast stretching away in thedistance.
The startled mate, who was steering, gave him a hail, but he made noreply. A little fishing-boat was jumping about in a way to make asea-sick man crazy, and he closed his eyes with a groan.
Then the skipper, aroused by the mate's hail, came up from below, andwalking up to him put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"What are you doing aboard this ship?" he demanded, austerely.
"Go away," said Private Bliss, faintly; "take your paw off my tunic;you'll spoil it."
He clung miserably to the side, leaving the incensed skipper to demandexplanations from the crew. The crew knew nothing about him, and saidthat he must have stowed himself away in an empty bunk; the skipperpointed out coarsely that there were no empty bunks, whereupon Bill saidthat he had not occupied his the previous evening, but had fallen asleepsitting on the locker, and had injured his eye against the corner of abunk in consequence. In proof whereof he produced the eye.
"Look here, old man," said Private Bliss, who suddenly felt better. Heturned and patted the skipper on the back. "You just turn to the left abit and put me ashore, will you?"
"I'll put you ashore at Bystermouth," said the skipper, with a grin."You're a deserter, that's what you are, and I'll take care you're tookcare of."
"You put me ashore!" roared Private Bliss, with a very fine imitation ofthe sergeant-major's parade voice.
"Get out and walk," said the skipper contemptuously, over his shoulder,as he walked off.
"Here," said Mr. Bliss, unbuckling his belt, "hold my tunic one of you.I'll learn 'im."
Before the paralysed crew could prevent him he had flung his coat intoBill's arms and followed the master of the Merman aft. As a light-weighthe was rather fancied at the gymnasium, and in the all too briefexhibition which followed he displayed fine form and a knowledge ofanatomy which even the skipper's tailor was powerless to frustrate.
The frenzy of the skipper as Ted assisted him to his feet and he saw hisantagonist struggling in the arms of the crew was terrible to behold.Strong men shivered at his words, but Mr. Bliss, addressing him as"Whiskers," told him to call his crew off and to come on, and shaping aswell as two pairs of brawny arms round his middle would permit,endeavoured in vain to reach him.
"This," said the skipper, bitterly, as he turned to the mate, "is whatyou an' me have to pay to keep up. I wouldn't let you go now, my lad,not for a fi' pun' note. Deserter, that's what you are!"
He turned and went below, and Private Bliss, after an insulting addressto the mate, was hauled forward, struggling fiercely, and seated on thedeck to recover. The excitement passed, he lost his colour again, andstruggling into his tunic, went and brooded over the side.
By dinner-time his faintness had passed, and he sniffed with relish atthe smell from the galley. The cook emerged bearing dinner to the cabin,then he returned and took a fine smoking piece of boiled beef flankedwith carrots down to the forecastle. Private Bliss eyed him wistfullyand his mouth watered.
For a time pride struggled with hunger, then pride won a partial victoryand he descended carelessly to the forecastle.
"Can any o' you chaps lend me a pipe o' baccy?" he asked, cheerfully.
Bill rummaged in his pocket and found a little tobacco in a twist ofpaper.
"Bad
thing to smoke on a empty stomach," he said, with his mouth full.
"'Tain't my fault it's empty," said Private Bliss, pathetically.
"Tain't mine," said Bill.
"I've 'eard," said the cook, who was a tenderhearted man, "as 'ow it's agood thing to go for a day or so without food sometimes."
"Who said so?" inquired Private Bliss, hotly.
"Diff'rent people," replied the cook.
"You can tell 'em from me they're blamed fools," said Mr. Bliss.
There was an uncomfortable silence; Mr. Bliss lit his pipe, but it didnot seem to draw well.
"Did you like that pot o' six-half I stood you last night?" he inquiredsomewhat pointedly of Bob.
Bob hesitated and looked at his plate.
"No, it was a bit flat," he said at length.
"Well, I won't stop you chaps at your grub," said Private Bliss,bitterly, as he turned to depart.
"You're not stopping us," said Ted, cheerfully. "I'd offer you a bit,only--"
"Only what?" demanded the other.
"Skipper's orders," said Ted. "He ses we're not to. He ses if we do it'shelping a deserter, and we'll all get six months."
"But you're helping me by having me on board," said Private Bliss;"besides, I don't want to desert."
"We couldn't 'elp you coming aboard," said Bill, "that's wot the old mansaid, but 'e ses we can 'elp giving of him vittles, he ses."
"Well, have I got to starve?" demanded the horror-stricken Mr. Bliss.
"Look 'ere," said Bill, frankly, "go and speak to the old man. It's nogood talking to us. Go and have it out with him."
Private Bliss thanked him and went on deck. Old Thomas was at the wheel,and a pleasant clatter of knives and forks came up through the openskylight of the cabin. Ignoring the old man, who waved him away, heraised the open skylight still higher, and thrust his head in.
"Go away," bawled the skipper, pausing with his knife in his fist as hecaught sight of him.
"I want to know where I'm to have my dinner," bawled back the thoroughlyroused Mr. Bliss.
"Your dinner!" said the skipper, with an air of surprise; "why, I didn'tknow you 'ad any."
Private Bliss took his head away, and holding it very erect, took in hisbelt a little and walked slowly up and down the deck. Then he went tothe water-cask and took a long drink, and an hour later a generousmessage was received from the skipper that he might have as manybiscuits as he liked.
On this plain fare Private Bliss lived the whole of that day and thenext, snatching a few hours' troubled sleep on the locker at nights. Hispeace of mind was by no means increased by the information of Ted thatBystermouth was a garrison town, and feeling that in spite of anyexplanation he would be treated as a deserter, he resolved to desert ingood earnest at the first opportunity that offered.
By the third day nobody took any notice of him, and his presence onboard was almost forgotten, until Bob, going down to the forecastle,created a stir by asking somewhat excitedly what had become of him.
"He's on deck, I s'pose," said the cook, who was having a pipe.
"He's not," said Bob, solemnly.
"He's not gone overboard, I s'pose?" said Bill, starting up.
Touched by this morbid suggestion they went up on deck and looked round;Private Bliss was nowhere to be seen, and Ted, who was steering, hadheard no splash. He seemed to have disappeared by magic, and the cook,after a hurried search, ventured aft, and, descending to the cabin,mentioned his fears to the skipper.
"Nonsense!" said that gentleman, sharply, "I'll lay I'll find him."
He came on deck and looked round, followed at a respectful distance bythe crew, but there was no sign of Mr. Bliss.
Then an idea, a horrid idea, occurred to the cook. The colour left hischeeks and he gazed helplessly at the skipper.
"What is it?" bawled the latter.
The cook, incapable of speech, raised a trembling hand and pointed tothe galley. The skipper started, and, rushing to the door, drew ithastily back.
Mr. Bliss had apparently finished, though he still toyed languidly withhis knife and fork as though loath to put them down. A half-emptiedsaucepan of potatoes stood on the floor by his side, and a bone, with asmall fragment of meat adhering, was between his legs on a saucepan lidwhich served as a dish.
"Rather underdone, cook," he said, severely, as he met that worthy'shorror-stricken gaze.
"Is that the cabin's or the men's he's eaten?" vociferated the skipper.
"Cabin's," replied Mr. Bliss, before the cook could speak; "it lookedthe best. Now, has anybody got a nice see-gar?"
He drew back the door the other side of the galley as he spoke, and wentout that way. A move was made towards him, but he backed, and picking upa handspike swung it round his head.
"Let him be," said the skipper in a choking voice, "let him be. He'llhave to answer for stealing my dinner when I get 'im ashore. Cook, takethe men's dinner down into the cabin. I'll talk to you by and by."
He walked aft and disappeared below, while Private Bliss, still fondlingthe handspike, listened unmoved to a lengthy vituperation which Billcalled a plain and honest opinion of his behaviour.
"It's the last dinner you'll 'ave for some time," he concluded,spitefully; "it'll be skilly for you when you get ashore."
Mr. Bliss smiled, and, fidgeting with his tongue, asked him for the loanof his toothpick.
"You won't be using it yourself," he urged. "Now you go below all of youand start on the biscuits, there's good men. It's no use standing theresaying a lot o' bad words what I left off when I was four years old."
He filled his pipe with some tobacco he had thoughtfully borrowed fromthe cook before dinner, and dropping into a negligent attitude on thedeck, smoked placidly with his eyes half-closed. The brig was fairlysteady and the air hot and slumberous, and with an easy assurance thatnobody would hit him while in that position, he allowed his head to fallon his chest and dropped off into a light sleep.
It became evident to him the following afternoon that they were nearingBystermouth. The skipper contented himself with eyeing him with an airof malicious satisfaction, but the crew gratified themselves by paintingthe horrors of his position in strong colors. Private Bliss affectedindifference, but listened eagerly to all they had to say, with the airof a general considering his enemy's plans.
It was a source of disappointment to the crew that they did not arriveuntil after nightfall, and the tide was already too low for them toenter the harbour. They anchored outside, and Private Bliss, despite hisposition, felt glad as he smelt the land again, and saw the twinklinglights and houses ashore. He could even hear the clatter of a belatedvehicle driving along the seafront. Lights on the summits of the heightsin the background, indicated, so Bill said, the position of the fort.
To the joy of the men he partly broke down in the forecastle that night;and, in tropical language, severally blamed his parents, the SchoolBoard, and the Army for not having taught him to swim. The last thingthat Bill heard, ere sleep closed his lids, was a pious resolution onthe part of Mr. Bliss to the effect that all his children should betaught the art of natation as soon as they were born.
Bill woke up just before six; and, hearing a complaining voice, thoughtat first that his military friend was still speaking. The voice got moreand more querulous with occasional excursions into the profane, and theseaman, rubbing his eyes, turned his head, and saw old Thomas gropingabout the forecastle.
"Wot's the matter with you, old 'un?" he demanded.
"I can't find my trousis," grumbled the old man.
"Did you 'ave 'em on larst night?" inquired Bill, who was still halfasleep.
"Course I did, you fool," said the other snappishly.
"Be civil," said Bill, calmly, "be civil. Are you sure you haven't got'em on now?"
The old man greeted this helpful suggestion with such a volley of abusethat Bill lost his temper.
"P'r'aps somebody's got 'em on their bed, thinking they was a patchworkquilt," he said, coldly; "
it's a mistake anybody might make. Have yougot the jacket?"
"I ain't got nothing," replied the bewildered old man, "'cept wot Istand up in."
"That ain't much," said Bill frankly. "Where's that blooming sojer?" hedemanded suddenly.
"I don't know where 'e is, and I don't care," replied the old man. "Ondeck, I s'pose."
"P'r'aps 'e's got 'em on," said the unforgiving Bill; "'e didn't seem avery pertikler sort of chap."
The old man started, and hurriedly ascended to the deck. He was absenttwo or three minutes, and, when he returned, consternation was writlarge upon his face.
"He's gone," he spluttered; "there ain't a sign of 'im about, and thelife-belt wot hangs on the galley 'as gone too. Wot am I to do?"
"Well, they was very old cloes," said Bill, soothingly, "an' you ain't abad figger, not for your time o' life, Thomas."
"There's many a wooden-legged man 'ud be glad to change with you,"affirmed Ted, who had been roused by the noise. "You'll soon get overthe feeling o' shyness, Thomas."
The forecastle laughed encouragingly, and Thomas, who had begun torealise the position, joined in. He laughed till the tears ran down hischeeks, and his excitement began to alarm his friends.
"Don't be a fool, Thomas," said Bob, anxiously.
"I can't help it," said the old man, struggling hysterically; "it's thebest joke I've heard."
"He's gone dotty," said Ted, solemnly. "I never 'eard of a man larfinglike that a 'cos he'd lorst 'is cloes."
"I'm not larfing at that," said Thomas, regaining his composure by agreat effort. "I'm larfing at a joke wot you don't know of yet."
A deadly chill struck at the hearts of the listeners at these words,then Bill, after a glance at the foot of his bunk, where he usually kepthis clothes, sprang out and began a hopeless search. The other menfollowed suit, and the air rang with lamentations and profanity. Eventhe spare suits in the men's chests had gone; and Bill, a prey to acutedespair, sat down, and in a striking passage consigned the entireBritish Army to perdition.
"'E's taken one suit and chucked the rest overboard, I expect, so as wesha'n't be able to go arter 'im," said Thomas. "I expect he could swimarter all, Bill."
Bill, still busy with the British Army, paid no heed.
"We must go an' tell the old man," said Ted.
"Better be careful," cautioned the cook. "'Im an' the mate 'ad a go atthe whisky last night, an' you know wot 'e is next morning."
The men went up slowly on deck. The morning was fine, but the air, chillwith a breeze from the land, had them at a disadvantage. Ashore, a fewpeople were early astir.
"You go down, Thomas, you're the oldest," said Bill.
"I was thinking o' Ted going," said Thomas, "'e's the youngest."
Ted snorted derisively. "Oh, was you?" he remarked helpfully.
"Or Bob," said the old man, "don't matter which."
"Toss up for it," said the cook.
Bill, who was keeping his money in his hand as the only safe place leftto him, produced a penny and spun it in the air.
"Wait a bit," said Ted, earnestly. "Wot time was you to call the oldman?" he asked, turning to the cook.
"Toss up for it," repeated that worthy, hurriedly.
"Six o'clock," said Bob, speaking for him; "it's that now, cookie.Better go an' call 'im at once."
"I dassent go like this," said the trembling cook.
"Well, you'll 'ave to," said Bill. "If the old man misses the tide, youknow wot you've got to expect."
"Let's follow 'im down," said Ted. "Come along, cookie, we'll see yourighted."
The cook thanked him, and, followed by the others, led the way down tointerview the skipper. The clock ticked on the mantlepiece, and heavysnoring proceeded both from the mate's bunk and the state-room. On thedoor of the latter the cook knocked gently; then he turned the handleand peeped in.
The skipper, raising a heavy head, set in matted hair and disorderedwhiskers, glared at him fiercely.
"What d'ye want?" he roared.
"If you please, sir--" began the cook.
He opened the door as he spoke, and disclosed the lightly-clad crowdbehind. The skipper's eyes grew large and his jaw dropped, whileinarticulate words came from his parched and astonished throat; and themate, who was by this time awake, sat up in his bunk and cursed themroundly for their indelicacy.
"Get out," roared the skipper, recovering his voice.
"We came to tell you," interposed Bill, "as 'ow----"
"Get out," roared the skipper again. "How dare you come to mystate-room, and like this, too."
"All our clothes 'ave gone and so 'as the sojer chap," said Bill.
"Serve you damned well right for letting him go," cried the skipper,angrily. "Hurry up, George, and get alongside," he called to the mate,"we'll catch him yet. Clear out, you--you--ballet girls."
The indignant seamen withdrew slowly, and, reaching the foot of thecompanion, stood there in mutinous indecision. Then, as the cook placedhis foot on the step, the skipper was heard calling to the mate again.
"George?" he said, in an odd voice.
"Well?" was the reply.
"I hope you're not forgetting yourself and playing larks," said theskipper, with severity.
"Larks?" repeated the mate, as the alarmed crew fled silently on deckand stood listening open-mouthed at the companion. "Of course I ain't.You don't mean to tell me--"
"All my clothes have gone, every stitch I've got," replied the skipper,desperately, as the mate sprang out. "I shall have to borrow some ofyours. If I catch that infernal--"
"You're quite welcome," said the mate, bitterly, "only somebody hasborrowed 'em already. That's what comes of sleeping too heavy."
The Merman sailed bashfully into harbour half an hour later, theuniforms of its crew evoking severe comment from the people on the quay.At the same time, Mr. Harry Bliss, walking along the road some ten milesdistant, was trying to decide upon his future career, his presentcalling of "shipwrecked sailor" being somewhat too hazardous even forhis bold spirit.
THE BULLY OF THE "CAVENDISH"
