The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands by R. M. Ballantyne (the reading list .txt) 📖

Chapter Nine. Mr Jones Takes Strong Measures to Secure his Ends, and Introduces Billy and his Friends to some New Scenes and Moments.

Again we are in the neighbourhood of the Goodwin sands. It is evening. The sun has just gone down. The air and sea are perfectly still. The stars are coming out one by one, and the floating lights have already hoisted their never-failing signals.

The Nora lies becalmed not far from the Goodwin buoy, with her sails hanging idly on the yards. Bill Towler stands at the helm with all the aspect and importance of a steersman, but without any other duty to perform than the tiller could have performed for itself. Morley Jones stands beside him with his hands in his coat pockets, and Stanley Hall sits on the cabin skylight gazing with interest at the innumerable lights of the shipping in the roadstead, and the more distant houses on shore. Jim Welton, having been told that he will have to keep watch all night, is down below taking a nap, and Grundy, having been ordered below to attend to some trifling duty in the fore part of the vessel, is also indulging in slumber.

Long and earnestly and anxiously had Morley Jones watched for an opportunity to carry his plans into execution, but as yet without success. Either circumstances were against him, or his heart had failed him at the push. He walked up and down the deck with uncertain steps, sat down and rose up frequently, and growled a good deal—all of which symptoms were put down by Stanley to the fact that there was no wind.

At last Morley stopped in front of his passenger and said to him—

“I really think you’d better go below and have a nap, Mr Hall. It’s quite clear that we are not goin’ to have a breeze till night, and it may be early morning when we call you to go ashore; so, if you want to be fit for much work to-morrow, you’d better sleep while you may.”

“Thank you, I don’t require much sleep,” replied Stanley; “in fact, I can easily do without rest at any time for a single night, and be quite able for work next day. Besides, I have no particular work to do to-morrow, and I delight to sit at this time of the night and watch the shipping. I’m not in your way, am I?”

“Oh, not at all, not at all,” replied the fish-merchant, as he resumed his irregular walk.

This question was prompted by the urgency with which the advice to go below had been given.

Seeing that nothing was to be made of his passenger in this way, Morley Jones cast about in his mind to hit upon another expedient to get rid of him, and reproached himself for having been tempted by a good fare to let him have a passage.

Suddenly his eye was attracted by a dark object floating in the sea a considerable distance to the southward of them.

“That’s lucky,” muttered Jones, after examining it carefully with the glass, while a gleam of satisfaction shot across his dark countenance; “could not have come in better time. Nothing could be better.”

Shutting up the glass with decision, he turned round, and the look of satisfaction gave place to one of impatience as his eye fell on Stanley Hall, who still sat with folded arms on the skylight, looking as composed and serene as if he had taken up his quarters there for the night. After one or two hasty turns on the deck, an idea appeared to hit Mr Jones, for he smiled in a grim fashion, and muttered, “I’ll try that, if the breeze would only come.”

The breeze appeared to have been waiting for an invitation, for one or two “cat’s-paws” ruffled the surface of the sea as he spoke.

“Mind your helm, boy,” said Mr Jones suddenly; “let her away a point; so, steady. Keep her as she goes; and, harkee” (he stooped down and whispered), “when I open the skylight do you call down, ‘breeze freshenin’, sir, and has shifted a point to the west’ard.’”

“By the way, Mr Hall,” said Jones, turning abruptly to his passenger, “you take so much interest in navigation that I should like to show you a new chart I’ve got of the channels on this part of the coast. Will you step below?”

“With pleasure,” replied Stanley, rising and following Jones, who immediately spread out on the cabin table one of his most intricate charts,—which, as he had expected, the young student began to examine with much interest,—at the same time plying the other with numerous questions.

“Stay,” said Jones, “I’ll open the skylight—don’t you find the cabin close?”

No sooner was the skylight opened than the small voice of Billy Towler was heard shouting—

“Breeze freshenin’, sir, and has shifted a pint to the west’ard.”

“All right,” replied Jones;—“excuse me, sir, I’ll take a look at the sheets and braces and see that all’s fast—be back in a few minutes.”

He went on deck, leaving Stanley busy with the chart.

“You’re a smart boy, Billy. Now do as I tell ’ee, and keep your weather eye open. D’ye see that bit o’ floating wreck a-head? Well, keep straight for that and run right against it. I’ll trust to ’ee, boy, that ye don’t miss it.”

Billy said that he would be careful, but resolved in his heart that he would miss it!

Jones then went aft to a locker near the stern, whence he returned with a mallet and chisel, and went below. Immediately thereafter Billy heard the regular though slight blows of the mallet, and pursed his red lips and screwed up his small visage into a complicated sign of intelligence.

There was very little wind, and the sloop made slow progress towards the piece of wreck although it was very near, and Billy steered as far from it as he could without absolutely altering the course.

Presently Jones returned on deck and replaced the mallet and chisel in the locker. He was very warm and wiped the perspiration frequently from his forehead. Observing that the sloop was not so near the wreck as he had expected, he suddenly seized the small steersman by the neck and shook him as a terrier dog shakes a rat.

“Billy,” said he, quickly, in a low but stern voice, “it’s of no use. I see what you are up to. Your steerin’ clear