Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (best free ebook reader txt) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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âAnd,â shouted Haco, shaking his enormous fist within an inch of the otherâs nose, âdâye see them there knuckles?â
Dan regarded them steadfastly for a moment or two without winking or flinching.
âTheyâre a purty bunch oâ fives,â he said at length, drawing back his head, and placing it a little on one side in order to view the âbunch,â with the air of a connoisseur; âvery purty, but raither too fat to do much damage in the ring. I should say, now, that it would get âpuffyâ at the fifth round, supposinâ that you had wind and pluck left, at your time of life, to survive the fourth.â
âWell now, lad,â retorted the skipper, âall Iâve to say is, that youâve seed it, anâ if you donât mind yer eye yeâll feel it. âA nodâs as good as a wink to a blind horse.ââ
Haco plunged the âbunch of fivesâ into his coat-pocket, and sat down again beside his agitated daughter.
âI can speak purfessionally,â said Dan, âin regard to yer last obsarvation consarninâ blind hosses, and I belave that yeâre cârect. It donât much matter whether ye nod or wink to a blind hoss; though I canât spake from personal exparience âcaise I niver tried it on, not havinâ nothinâ to do with blind hosses. Ye wouldnât have a weed, would ye, skipper?â he added, pulling out a neat leather case from which he drew a cigar!
âGo away, Dan, directly,â said I with some asperity, for I was nettled at the impudence of the man in my presence, and not a little alarmed lest the angry Haco should kick him down-stairs.
Dan at once obeyed, bowing respectfully to me, and, as I observed, winking to Susan as he turned away. He descended the stair in silence, but we heard him open the door of the public room and address the Russians, who were assembled there, warming themselves at the fire, and enjoying their pipes.
âHooray! my hearties,â said Dan; âgot yer broken legs rewived I hope, and yer spurrits bandaged up? Hey,âoch! I forgot ye can swaller nothinâ but Toorkoâcum, squaki lorum ho po, doddie jairum frango whiskie looroâwhack?âeh! Arrah! ye donât need to answer for fear the effort opens up yer wounds afresh. Farewell, lads, or may be itâs wishinâ ye fair-wind would be more natâral.â
So saying he slammed the door, and we heard him switching his boots as he passed along the street under the windows, whistling the air of âThe girls we left behind us,â followed, before he was quite out of earshot, by âOh my love is like the red red rose, thatâs newly sprung in June.â
Immediately after Danâs departure I left Haco and Susan together, and they held the following conversation when left alone. I am enabled to report it faithfully, reader, because Susan told it word for word to her mistress, who has a very reprehensible habit of listening to the gossip of her maid. Of course Mrs B told it to me, because she tells everything to me, sometimes a good deal more than I care to hear. This I think a very reprehensible habit also. I am bound to listen, because when my strong-minded wife begins to talk I might as well try to stop a runaway locomotive as attempt to silence her. And so it comes about that I am now making the thing public!
âSusan,â said Haco, earnestly looking at his daughterâs downcast face, on which the tell tale blood was mantling. âAre you fond oâ thatâthat feller?â
âYeâyes, father,â replied Susan, with some hesitation.
âHumph! anâ is he fond oâ you?â
âOh, isnât he, just,â said Susan, with a little confused laugh.
âSusan,â continued Haco, with increasing earnestness, âAre ye sure heâs worthy of you?â
âYes, father, Iâm quite sure of that.â
âWell then, Susan, youâre a sensible girl, and you ought to know best; but I donât feel easy about ye, âcause youâre just as like as two peas to your dear mother, what went to the bottom in the last coal-coffin I commanded, anâ you would haâ gone too, darlinâ, if I hadnât bin spared to swim ashore with ye on my back. It was all I could do. Ah, Susan! it was a black night for you anâ me that. Well, as I was a sayinâ, youâre as like yer mother as two peas, and she was as trustful as you are, anâ little knew wot a bad lot she got when she set her heart on me.â
âFather, thatâs not true.â
âAinât it, lass? Well, let it pass, but then this feller, this Dan Hurseyââ
âHorsey, father,â said Susan.
âWell, well, it ainât much better; this Horsey is an Irishman, anâ I donât like Irishmen.â
âFather, youâd get to like âem if you only knew âem better,â said Susan earnestly. âWhat bellâs that?â she added, as a loud ringing echoed through the house.
âThe dinner bell, lass. Come anâ see wot a comfârable feed they git. I can tell âee that them Sailorsâ Homes is the greatest blessinâ that was ever got up for us sea-dogs. We ainât âxactly such soft good naturâd ignorant big babies as some oâ your well-meaninâ pheelanthropists would make us out; but we are uncommon hard put to it when we git ashore, for every port is alive with crimps anâ land-sharks to swaller us up when we come off a long voyage; anâ the wust of it is, that weâre in a wild reckless humour for the most part when we git ashore with our pockets full oâ yellow boys, anâ are too often quite willinâ to be swallered up, so that lots of us are constantly a-goinâ to sticks anâ stivers. Anâ then before the Homes was set a-goinâ, the fellers as wanted to get quiet lodginâs didnât find it easy to know where to look for âem, anâ was often took in; anâ when they wanted to send cash to their wives or mothers, they didnât well know how to manage it; but now, wherever thereâs a Home you can git cheap board, good victuals, help in the way oâ managinâ yer cash, anâ no end of advice gratis. Itâs only a pity there ainât one or two of âem in every port in the kingdom.
âSee here,â continued Haco, warming with his subject as he led Susan past the dormitories where the Russians, who had been maimed during the recent wrecks, were being supplied with dinner in their berths, âsee here,âanother oâ the best oâ the institootions oâ this land looks arter them poor fellers, anâ pays their shot for âem as long as theyâre here, anâ sends them to their homes free of expenseâthatâs the Shipwrecked Fishermenâs and Marinersâ Society. Youâve heerd oâ that Society, Susan, havenât âee?â
âNo father, never.â
âWhat, never heerd oâ the Shipwrecked Marinersâ Society with its hundreds oâ honorary agents all round the coast, who have done more to dry the tears oâ orphans anâ comfort widdersâ hearts than tongue can tell?âNever heerd oâ it, anâ you a sailorâs daughter?â
âI daresay Iâm very stupid for being so ignorant, father; but I never heard of it. You know Iâve spent most oâ my life inland with old Auntie Bess, anâ only come here this year.
âMayhap,â continued Haco, shaking his head gravely, âyouâve never heerâd, neither, oâ the Lifeboat Institootion.â
âNever,â said Susan meekly. âIâve seen the lifeboat we have here, you know, but I never heard of the Institootion.â
âWell, well, Susan, I neednât be surprised, for, to say truth, thereâs many in this country, who think no small beer oâ theirselves, that know precious little about either the one or the other, although theyâre the most valooable Institootions in the country. Iâll tell âee about âem, lass, some other timeâhow they saves hundreds oâ lives, anâ relieves no end oâ distress annooally. Itâs enough just now to say that the two Institootions is what I calls brother anâ sisterâthe Lifeboat one beinâ the brother; the Shipwrecked Marinersâ one beinâ the sister. The brother, besides savinâ thousands oâ pounds worth oâ goods, saves hundreds oâ lives every year. But when the brother has saved the shipwrecked sailor, his work is done. He hands him over to the sister, who clothes him, feeds him, warms himâas you see beinâ done to them there Roosiansâand then sends him home. Every sailor in the country should be a member oâ the Shipwrecked Marinersâ Society, say I. Iâve been one myself for many years, anâ it only costs me three shillings a year. Iâll tell âee some other time what good it does me; but just now you anâ I shall go anâ have some grub.â
âWhere shall we go to get it, father?â
âTo the refreshment room below, lass. It wonât do to take ye to the dininâ hall oâ the Home for three reasons,âfirst, âcause yeâre a âooman, anâ they ainât admitted; second, âcause it wouldnât be pleasant for ye to dine wiâ forty or fifty Jack-tars; and, thirdly, if ye wanted it ever so much yer old father wouldnât let yeâso come along, lass, to dinner.â
The room to which Haco led his daughter was a small oblong one, divided off into compartments similar to those with which we are familiar in eating-houses and restaurants of the poorer class. It formed part of the Home, but was used by the general public as well as by seamen, who wished to order a meal at any time and pay for it.
Haco Barepoles, being at the time a boarder in the home, was entitled to his dinner in the general mess-room, but being bent on enjoying his meal in company with Susan, he chose to forego his rights on that occasion.
Being the hour at which a number of seamen, labourers, clerks, and others were wont to experience the truth of the great fact that nature abhors a vacuum, the room was pretty full, and a brisk demand was going on for soup, tea, coffee, rolls, and steaks, etcetera, all of which were supplied on the most moderate terms, in order to accommodate the capacities of the poorest purse.
In this temple of luxury you could get a small bowl of good soup for one penny, which, with a halfpenny roll, might form a dinner to any one whose imagination was so strong as to enable him to believe he had had enough. Any one who was the fortunate possessor of threepence, could, by doubling the order, really feel his appetite appeased. Then for those whose poverty was extreme, or appetite unusually small, a little cup of tea could be supplied for one halfpennyâand a good cup of tea too, not particularly strong, it is true, but with a fair average allowance of milk and sugar.
âWaiter,â cried Haco Barepoles in a voice that commanded instant attention.
âYessir.â
âSoup for two, steaks anâ âtaties for ditto to foller.â
âYessir.â
âPlease, father, I would like a cup of coffee after the soup instead of a steak. I donât feel very hungry.â
âAll right, lass. Waiter, knock off one oâ the steaks anâ clap a cup oâ coffee in its place.â
âYessir. Roll with it, Miss?â
âOf course,â said Haco.
âButter, Miss?â
âSartinly. Anâ double allowance oâ milk anâ sugar,â replied the skipper. âSâpose you hanât got cream?â
âNo sir.â
âNever mind. Look alive now, lad. Come, Susan, hereâs a box with only one man inât, weâllâ Hallo! shiver my timbers if it ainâtânoâit canât beâStephen Gaff, eh! or his ghost?â
âJust so,â said Stephen, laying down his knife and fork, and shaking warmly the hand which Haco stretched across the table to him; âIâm always turninâ up now anâ again like a bad shillinâ. How goes life with âee, Haco? you donât seem to have multiplied the wrinkles since I last saw ye.â
âThank âee, Iâm pretty comfârable. This is my darter Susan,â said Haco, observing that his friend glanced inquiringly at his fair companionââThe world always uses me much the same. I find it a
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