The Lifeboat by Robert Michael Ballantyne (bill gates books recommendations TXT) 📖

not have been worth mentioning but for the fact that it was the hinge, so to speak, on which incidents of a more important nature turned. Mr Denham happened to open his door just as the missile was discharged and saw the result, though not the thrower. He had no difficulty, however, in discovering the offender; for each of the other clerks looked at their comrade in virtuous horror, as though to say, "Oh! how could you?--please, sir, it wasn't _me_, it was _him_;" while Ruggles applied himself to his work with an air of abstraction and a face of scarlet that said plainly, "It's of no use staring in that fashion at me, for I'm as innocent as the unborn babe."

Denham frowned portentously, and that peculiarly dead calm which usually precedes the bursting of a storm prevailed in the office. Before the storm burst, however, the outer door was opened hastily and our friend Bax stood in the room. He was somewhat dishevelled in appearance, as if he had travelled fast. To the clerks in that small office he appeared more fierce and gigantic than usual. Peekins regarded him with undisguised admiration, and wondered in his heart if Jack the Giant-Killer would have dared to encounter such a being, supposing him to have had the chance.

"I'm glad I am not too late to find you here, sir," said Bax, puffing off his hat and bowing slightly to his employer.

"Humph!" ejaculated Denham, "step this way."

They entered the inner office, and, the door being shut, Ruggles internally blessed Bax and breathed freely. Under the influence of reaction he even looked defiant.

"So you have lost your schooner," began Denham, sitting down in his chair of state and eyeing the seaman sternly. Bax returned the gaze so much more sternly that Denham felt disconcerted but did not allow his feelings to betray themselves.

"The schooner _has_ been lost," said Bax, "and I am here to report the fact and to present these letters, one from the seamen's missionary at Ramsgate, the other from your nephew, both of which will show you that no blame attaches to me. I regret the loss, deeply, but it was un--"

Bax was going to have said unavoidable, but he felt that the expression would have been incorrect, and stopped.

"Finish your remark," said Denham.

"I merely wished to say that it was out of _my_ power to prevent it."

"Oh!" interjected Denham, sarcastically, as he read the letters. "The seamen's missionary is one of whom I know nothing. His opinion, therefore, carries no weight. As to my nephew, _his_ remarks are simply unworthy of notice. But you say that no blame attaches to _you_. To whom then does blame attach, if not to the skipper of the vessel? Do you mean to lay it at the door of Providence?"

"No, sir, I do not," replied Bax.

"Have you, then, the presumption to insinuate that it lies with _me_?"

Bax was silent.

"Am I to expect an answer?" said Denham.

"I make no insinuations," said Bax, after a short pause; "I do but state facts. If the `Nancy' had been fitted with a new tops'l-yard and jib-boom, as I advised last summer, I would have carried her safe into the Downs."

"So," said Denham, in a tone of increasing sarcasm, "you have the hardihood to insinuate that it was _my_ fault?"

Bax reddened with indignation at the tone of insult in which these words were uttered. His bass voice grew deeper and sterner as he said:--

"If you insist on plain speaking, sir, you shall have it. I _do_ think the blame of the loss of the `Nancy' lies at your door, and worse than that, the loss of two human lives lies there also. There was not a sound timber or a seaworthy article aboard of the schooner from stem to stern. You know well enough that I have told you this,--in more civil language it may be,--again and again; and I hope that the telling of it now, flatly, will induce you to consider the immense responsibility that lies on your shoulders; for there are other ships belonging to your firm in much the same condition--ships with inferior charts and instruments, unsound spars, not enough of boats, and with anchors and chains scarce powerful enough to hold a Deal lugger in a moderate gale."

Mr Denham was not prepared for this sudden and wholesale condemnation of himself and his property. He gazed at the seaman's flushed countenance for a few seconds in mute surprise. At last he recovered self-possession, and said in a calm voice--

"You applied last year, if I remember rightly, for the situation of mate aboard our ship the `Trident'--now on her second voyage from Australia?"

"I did," said Bax, shortly, not knowing how to take this sudden change of subject.

"Do you suppose," said Denham, with a peculiar curl of his lip, "that this interview will tend to improve your chance of obtaining that situation?"

Denham put the question with the full expectation of humbling Bax, and with the further intention of following up his reply with the assurance that there was much greater probability of the moon being turned into green cheese than of his promotion taking place; but his intentions were frustrated by Bax starting, and, in a voice of indignation, exclaiming--"Sir, do you suppose I have come here to beg? If you were to offer me the _command_ of the `Trident,' or any other ship that you possess, I would refuse it with scorn. It is bad enough to risk one's life in the rotten craft you send to sea; but that would be nothing compared with the shame of serving a house that thinks only of gain, and holds human life cheaper than the dirt I tread under my feet. No, sir; I came here to explain how the `Nancy' was lost. Having done so, I take my leave."

"Stay," said Denham, as Bax turned to go. "Perhaps you will do me one more service before we part. Will you kindly inform my nephew that he need not be in a hurry to come back here. I extend his leave. He may continue to absent himself as long as he pleases--to all eternity if it suits him."

Mr Denham flushed up with anger as he said the last words. Bax, without deigning a reply, turned on his heel and strode out of the room, slamming the glass-door behind him with such violence that every panel in it was shivered to atoms! He wheeled round and re-entered the room. Denham grew pale, supposing that the roused giant was about to assault him; but Bax only pointed to the door, and said sternly--"Part of the wages due me will pay for that. You can keep the balance, and buy yourself a Bible with it."

Next moment he was gone, and Peekins stood staring at his master through the shattered door, trembling from head to foot. Immediately afterwards Denham took his hat and stick, and passed through the office. Pausing at the door he looked back:--

"Ruggles."

"Yes, sir."

"There are five or six foreign letters in my desk for tomorrow's post. Copy them out to-night. See that you do it _to-night_. Peekins will remain with you, and lock up after you have done."

Ruggles, who knew that this involved work till near midnight, humbly replied, "Yes, sir."

Having thus secured the misery of at least two human beings, Denham went home, somewhat relieved, to dinner.

Bax unconsciously, but naturally, followed his example. He also went to dinner, but, having no home in that quarter, he went to the "Three Jolly Tars," and found the landlord quite willing to supply all his wants on the shortest possible notice, namely, three-quarters of an hour.

In a snug box of that celebrated place of entertainment, he found Tommy Bogey (whom he had brought with him) awaiting his appearance. The precocious youth was deeply immersed in a three-days'-old copy of _The Times_.

"Hallo! Bax, you've been sharp about it," said Tommy, laying down the paper and pulling a little black pipe out of his pocket, which he proceeded coolly and quietly to fill just as if he had been a bearded and grey-headed tar; for Tommy, being a worshipper of Bax, imitated, as all worshippers do, the bad as well as the good qualities of his hero, ignorant of, as well as indifferent to, the fact that it would have been more noble to imitate the good and avoid the bad.

"Ay, we've settled it all slick off in no time," said Bax, sitting down beside his young companion, and proceeding also to fill his pipe.

"An' wot about the widders and horphans?" inquired Tommy, beginning to smoke, and using his extremely little finger as a tobacco-stopper in a way that might have surprised a salamander.

"The widows!" exclaimed Bax.

"Ay, the widders--also the horphans," repeated Tommy, with a grave nod of the head. "I 'ope he's come down 'andsome."

"Tommy," said Bax, with a disconcerted look, "I've forgot 'em altogether!"

"Forgot 'em? Bax!"

"It's a fact," said Bax, with much humility, "but the truth is, that we got to loggerheads, an' of course you know it was out of the question to talk on such a subject when we were in that state."

"In course it was," said Tommy. "But it's a pity."

The fact was that Bax had intended to make an appeal to Mr Denham in behalf of the widows and children of the poor men who had been drowned on the night when the "Nancy" was wrecked; but the unexpected turn which the conversation took had driven that subject utterly out of his mind.

"Well, Tommy, it can't be helped now; and, after all, I don't think the widows will come by any loss by my forgetfulness, for certain am I that Denham would as soon supply a best-bower anchor to the `Trident' as give a sovereign to these poor people."

Bax and his young friend here relapsed into a state of silent fumigation from which they were aroused by the entrance of dinner. This meal consisted of beef-steaks and porter. But it is due to Bax to say that he advised his companion to confine his potations to water, which his companion willingly agreed to, as he would have done had Bax advised him to drink butter-milk, or cider, or to go without drink altogether.

They were about done with dinner when a weak small voice in the passage attracted their attention.

"Is there one of the name of Bax 'ere," said the meek voice.

"Here I am," shouted Bax, "come in; what d'ye want with me?"

Peekins entered in a state of great agitation.

"Oh! sir, please sir,--I'll never do it again; but I couldn't help it indeed, indeed--I was dyin', I was. It's a great sin I knows, but--"

Here Peekins burst into tears, and sat down on the seat opposite.

"Wot a green 'un!" muttered Tommy, as he gazed at the tiger in blue through a volume of tobacco smoke.

"What's the matter, boy?" inquired Bax, in some surprise. "Anything wrong at Redwharf Lane?"

"Ye-es--that's to say, not exactly, only I've run'd away."

"You han't run far, then," said Bax, smiling. "How long is't since you ran away?"