Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (best free ebook reader txt) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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âAy, youâve had hard times of it,â observed Gaff, finishing his last morsel of meat, and proceeding to scrape up the remains of gravy and potato with his knife; âIâve bin wrecked myself sinâ we last met, but only once, and that warnât long ago, just the last gale. You coasters are worse off than we are. Commend me to blue water, and plenty oâ sea-room.â
âI believe you, my boy,â responded the skipper. âThereâs nothinâ like a good offing anâ a tight ship. We stand but a poor chance as we go creepinâ âlong shore in them rotten tubs, that are well named âCoal-Coffins.â Why, if it comes on thick squally weather or a gale when yer dodginâ off anâ on, the âCoal-Coffinsâ go down by dozens. Mayhap at the first burst oâ the gale youâre hove on your beam-ends, anâ away go the masts, leavinâ ye to drift ashore or sink; or pâraps youâre sharp enough to get in sail, and have all snug, when, just as yeâre weatherinâ a headland, away goes the sheet oâ the jib, jibâs blowed to ribbons, anâ afore ye know where ye are, âbreakers on the lee bow!â is the cry. Another gust, anâ the rotten foretopsâlâs blowâd away, carryinâ the fore-topmast by the board, which, of course, takes the jib-boom along with it, if it anât gone before. Then itâs âstand by to let go the anchor.â âLet go!â âAy, ay, sir.â Down it goes, anâ the âCoffinâsâ brought up sharp; not a moment too soon, mayhap, for ten to one but you see anâ hear the breakers, roarinâ like mad, thirty yards or so astern. It may be good holdinâ ground, but what oâ that?âthe anchorâs an old âun, or too small; the fluke gives way, and yeâre adrift; or the cableâs too small, and canât stand the strain, so you let go both anchors, anâ yeâd let go a dozen more if ye had âem for dear life; but itâs oâ no use. First one anâ then the other parts; the stern is crushed in aâmost afore ye can think, anâ in two minutes more, if not less, itâs all up with ye, unless thereâs a lifeboat at hand.â
âAh! pity thereâs not more of âem on the coast,â said Gaff.
âTrue,â rejoined Haco, âmany a poor fellerâs saved every year by them blessed boats, as would otherwise have gone to the bottom, anâ left widder and childer to weep for him, anâ be a burden, more or less, on the country.â
The waiter appeared at this point in the conversation with the soup, so Haco devoted himself to dinner, while Gaff ordered a plate of bread and cheese extra in order to keep him company. For some minutes they all ate in silence. Then Haco, during the interval between the courses, informed Gaff that he expected to return to the port of London in a day or two; whereupon Gaff said that he just happened to be lookinâ out for a ship goinâ there, as he had business to do in the great city, and offered to work his way. The skipper readily promised to ship him as an extra hand, if the owner chose to send the âCoffinâ to sea without repairs, âwhich,â observed Haco, âis not unlikely, for heâs a close-fisted customer.â
âWho is he?â inquired Gaff.
âStuart of Seaside Villa,â said Haco.
âHa! he is a tough un,â observed Gaff, with a significant grin. âI knows him well. He donât much care riskinâ fellersâ lives, though I never heard of him riskinâ his own.â
âHeâd very near to answer for mine this voyage,â said Haco, as well as he could through a mouthful of steak and potato.
âHow was that?â
âThis is how it was,â answered the skipper, bolting the mouthful, âyou see the âCoffinâsâ not in a fit state for sea; sheâs leaky all over, anâ thereâs a plank under the starboard quarter, just abaft the cabin skylight, that has fairly struck work, caulk it and pitch it how you please, it wonât keep out the sea no longer, so when we was about to take in cargo, I wrote to Mr Stuart tellinâ him of it, anâ advisinâ repairs, but he wrote back, sayinâ it was very awkâard at this time to delay that cargo, anâ askinâ if I couldnât work the pumps as I had used to do, besides hintinâ that he thought I must be gettinâ timid as I grew old! You may be sure I didnât think twice. Got the cargo aboard; up sail anâ away.
âWell, it was blowinâ a stiff norâ-wester when we got away, anâ we couldnât have beat into port again if our lives depended on it. So I calls the crew aft, anâ told âem how the matter stood. âNow, lads,â says I, âto speak plain English, the sloop is sinkinâ so you had as well turn to anâ pump for yer lives, anâ Iâll show ye how.â With that I off coat anâ set to work, anâ took my turn the whole voyage. But it was touch anâ go with us. We nigh sank in the harbour here, anâ I had to run her ashore to perwent her goinâ down in deep water. Theyâre patchinâ up the rotten plank at this minute, anâ if old Stuart wonât go in for a general overhaul, weâll be ready for sea in a day or two, and youâll have the pleasure oâ navigatinâ a lot oâ wrecked Roosians to London. Now, waiter, ahoy!ââ
âYessir.â
âFetch me a pannikin oâ tea, for itâs dry work tellinâ a anikdot. You see, Gaff, Iâm a regâlar teetotallerânever go the length oâ coffee even without a doctorâs surtificate. Another cup, Susan?â
âNo thank âee, father, I couldnât.â
âWerry good. Now, Gaff, whatâs the âticklers oâ your case. Time aboutâs fair play, you know.â
Gaff, feeling a gush of confidence come over him, and having ascertained that, in regard to secrecy, Susan was as âsafe as the bank,â related the circumstances of the wreck, and his having left Emmie at her grandfatherâs villa; the relation of all which caused Haco Barepoles to give vent to a series of low grunts and whistles, expressive of great surprise.
âNow,â said Gaff in conclusion, âthereâs a land-shark, (by which I means a lawyer), in London what writes to me that thereâs somethinâ Iâll hear of to my advantage if I calls on him.â
âDonât go,â said Haco, stoutly, as he struck the table with his fist, causing the crockery to rattle again; âtake the advice of an old friend, anâ donât go. If you do, heâll do you.â
âThankâee, anâ Iâd foller yer advice, but I happens to know this land-shark. Heâs an old acquaintance, anâ I can trust him.â
âOh, that alters the caseâwell?â
âWell, but before I go,â continued Gaff, âI wants to write a letter to old Stuart to warn him to look arter Emmie; a very partikler letter.â
âAy, how much partikler a one?â inquired Haco.
âA hambigoo-ous one,â replied his friend.
âA hamâwhat?â said Haco interrogatively.
âA ham-big-oo-ous one.â
âWhat sort of a one may that be, mate?â
âWell,â said Gaff, knitting his heavy brows, and assuming altogether a learned aspect, âitâs a one that you canât make head nor tail of nohow; one asâll read aârnost as well backâard as forâard, anâ yet has got a smack oâ somethinâ mysterious in it, wâich shows, so to speak, to what pint oâ the compass your steerinâ forâdâye see?â
âHâmârather hazy ahead,â answered the skipper with a deeply sagacious look; âa difficult letter to write in my opinion. How dâye mean to do it?â
âDonât mean to do it at all. Couldnât do it to save my life; but Iâll get a clerk to do it for me, a smart young clerk too; you know who I mean.â
âAy, whoâll it be? Iâll never guess; never guessed a guess in my life.â
âYou know my darter Tottie?â
âWhat, blue-eyed Tottie? oh, yer jokinâ!â
âNot a bit. That childâs a parfecâ cooriosity of intelligence. She can write and read most wonderful for her age.â
âBut sheâll never be able to do the hamâwhat dâye call it?â suggested Haco.
âOf course not; sheâs too young for that, but the wifeâll do that. Youâve no notion how powerful hambigoo-ous she is now anâ again. Weâll manage it amongst us. Tottie can write like a parson, my wife can read, though she canât write, anâll see that itâs all cârect, specially the spellinâ anâ the makinâ of it hambigoo-ous; anâ Iâll supply the idees, the notions like, anâ superintend, so to speak, anâ weâll make little Billy stand by wiâ the blottinâ-paper, just to keep him out oâ mischief.â
Haco regarded his friend with deepening admiration. The idea of producing a âhambigoo-ousâ letter by such an elaborate family combination, in which each should supply his co-labourerâs deficiency, was quite new and exceedingly interesting to him. Suddenly his countenance became grave, as it occurred to him that there was no call for such a letter at all, seeing that Kenneth Stuart was sure to do his best to induce his father to take care of the child. On observing this to his friend, the latter shook his head.
âIâm not quite sure oâ Mister Kenneth,â said he, âitâs likely that heâll do the right thing by her, but âlike father, like sonâ is an old proverb. He may be a chip oâ the old block.â
âThat he is not,â interrupted Haco warmly. âI know the lad well. He takes after his poor mother, and Iâm sartin sure ye may trust him.â
âWell, I must trust him,â said Gaff, âbut Iâve had no experience of him; so I mean to âmake assurance doubly sure,â as the prophet says, if it wasnât the poetâanâ thatâs why Iâll write this letter. If it donât do no good, it wonât do no harm.â
âIâm not so sure oâ that,â said Haco, shaking his head as they rose to depart, âhowsâever, you know best. Now mind, Susan, not a word oâ this to any one.â
Susan promised, and in the course of the evening related the whole affair to Daniel Horsey âin confidence;â her conscience being apparently relieved by the idea that having told it only in strict confidence she had not broken her word!
Dan made her promise solemnly that she would tell the tale to no one else on earth, either in confidence or otherwise, and thus he checked the stream of gossip as close to its fountain-head as possible.
When Stephen Gaff approached his own cottage, he beheld his wife belabouring the Buâster with both hands and tongue unmercifully. What special piece of mischief Billy had been doing is not of much consequence. It is enough to state that he suddenly planted the heel of his naked foot somewhat effectively on his motherâs little toe, which chanced to be resting on a sharp stone at the moment, burst from her grasp, and rushed down the steep bank to the beach cheering, weeping, and laughing all at once, in a sort of hysterical triumph.
Mrs Gaff shouted at the top of her voice to the cherub to come back and get mauled; but the cherub declined the invitation until he heard his fatherâs voice, when he returned joyously, and took shelter under his wing. Mrs Gaff, who could change at a momentâs notice from the extreme of anger to perfect quiescence, contented herself with shaking her fist at the Buâster, and then relapsed from the condition of a fury into a quiet, good-looking dame.
This appears to be the normal condition of fisher-folk, who would seem to require to make use of an excessive amount of moral and physical suasion in order suitably to impress their offspring.
âNow,
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