The Red Eric by Robert Michael Ballantyne (book reader for pc txt) 📖

ye are! Av there wos only wan or two more o' yer family here, it's meself as 'ud like to be made beknown to them. I'll not ait ye yit. I'll look at ye for a little."

In pursuance of this luxurious plan, Briant laid the morsel of biscuit on the thwart of the boat before him, and, taking out his pipe, began to fill it leisurely, keeping his eye all the time on the last bite. Just then Mr Markham, who pulled the bow oar, called out--

"I say, Briant, hand me my tobacco-pouch, it's beside you on the th'ort, close under the gun'le."

"Is it?" said Briant, stretching out his hand to the place indicated, but keeping his eye fixed all the time on the piece of biscuit. "Ah, here it is; ketch it."

For one instant Briant looked at the second mate in order to throw the pouch with precision. That instant was sufficient for the exercise of Jacko's dishonest propensities. The pouch was yet in its passage through the air when a tremendous roar from Tim Rokens apprised the unhappy Irishman of his misfortune. He did not require to be told to "look out!" although more than one voice gave him that piece of advice. An intuitive perception of irreparable loss flashed across his soul, and, with the speed of light, his eye was again on the thwart before him--but not on the morsel of biscuit. At that same instant Jacko sat down beside Ailie with his usual serene aspect and swelled cheek!

"Och, ye bottle imp!" yelled the bereaved one, "don't I know ye?" and seizing a tin pannikin, in his wrath, he threw it at the small monkey's head with a force that would, had it been well directed, have smashed that small head effectually.

Jacko made a quick and graceful nod, and the pannikin, just missing Ailie, went over the side into the sea, where it sank and was lost for ever, to the regret of all, for they could ill afford to lose it.

"Ye've got it, ye have, but ye shan't ait it," growled Briant through his teeth, as he sprang over the seat towards the monkey.

Jacko bounded like a piece of indiarubber on to Gurney's head; next moment he was clinging to the edge of the mainsail, and the next he was comfortably seated on the top of the mast, where he proceeded calmly and leisurely to "ait" the biscuit in the face of its exasperated and rightful owner.

"Oh,--Briant!" exclaimed Ailie, who was half frightened, half amused at the sudden convulsion caused by her favourite's bad conduct, "don't be vexed; see, here is a little bit of my biscuit; I don't want it--really I don't."

Briant, who stood aghast and overwhelmed by his loss and by the consummate impudence of the small monkey, felt rebuked by this offer. Bursting into a loud laugh, he said, as he resumed his seat and the filling of his pipe--

"Sure I'd rather ait me own hat, Miss Ailie, an' it's be no means a good wan--without sarce, too, not even a blot o' mustard--than take the morsel out o' yer purty mouth. I wos more nor half jokin', dear, an' I ax yer parding for puttin' ye in sich a fright."

"Expensive jokin'," growled Tarquin, "if ye throw a pannikin overboard every time you take to it."

"Kape your tongue quiet," said Briant, reddening, for he felt somewhat humbled at having given way to his anger so easily, and was nettled at the remark, coming as it did, in a sneering spirit, from a man for whom he had no particular liking.

"Never mind, Briant," interposed the captain quickly, with a good-humoured laugh; "I feel for you, lad. Had it been myself I fear I should have been even more exasperated. I would not sell a crumb of my portion just now for a guinea."

"Neither would I," added the doctor, "for a thousand guineas."

"I'll tell ye wot it is, lads," remarked Tim Rokens; "I wish I only had a crumb to sell."

"Now, Rokens, don't be greedy," cried Gurney.

"Greedy!" echoed Tim.

"Ay, greedy; has any o' you lads got a dickshunairy to lend him? Come, Jim Scroggles, you can tell him what it means--you've been to school, I believe, hain't you?"

Rokens shook his head gravely.

"No, lad, I'm not greedy, but I'm ready for wittles. I won't go fur to deny that. Now, let me ax ye a question. Wot--supposin' ye had the chance--would ye give, at this good min'it, for a biled leg o' mutton?"

"With or without capers-sauce?" inquired Gurney.

"W'ichever _you_ please."

"Och! we wouldn't need capers-sarse," interposed Briant; "av we only had the mutton, I'd cut enough o' capers meself to do for the sarce, I would."

"It matters little what you'd give," cried Glynn, "for we can't get it at any price just now. Don't you think, captain, that we might have our breakfast to-night? It would save time in the morning, you know."

There was a general laugh at this proposal, yet there was a strong feeling in the minds of some that if it were consistent with their rules to have breakfast served out then and there, they would gladly have consented to go without it next morning.

Thus, with laugh and jest, and good-natured repartee, did these men bear the pangs of hunger for many days. They were often silent during long intervals, and sometimes they became talkative and sprightly, but it was observed that, whether they conversed earnestly or jestingly, their converse ran, for the most part, on eating and drinking, and in their uneasy slumbers, during the intervals between the hours of work and watching, they almost invariably dreamed of food.


CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.


PROGRESS OF THE LONG VOYAGE--STORY-TELLING AND JOURNALISING.

Many weeks passed away, but the _Maid of the Isle_ still held on her course over the boundless ocean.

Day after day came and went, the sun rose in the east morning after morning, ran its appointed course, and sank, night after night, on the western horizon, but little else occurred to vary the monotony of that long, long voyage. When the sun rose, its bright rays leapt from the bosom of the ocean; when it set, the same bosom of the great deep received its descending beams. No land, no sail appeared to the anxious gazers in that little boat, which seemed to move across, yet never to reach the boundaries of that mighty circle of water and sky, in the midst of which they lay enchained, as if by some wicked enchanter's spell.

Breezes blew steadily at times and urged them swiftly on towards the circumference, but it fled as fast as they approached. Then it fell calm, and the weary men resumed their oars, and with heavy hearts and weakened arms tugged at the boat which seemed to have turned into a mass of lead. At such times a dead silence was maintained, for the work, which once would have been to them but child's play, had now become severe and heavy labour. Still they did not murmur. Even the cross-grained Tarquin became subdued in spirit by the influence of the calm endurance and good-humour of his comrades. But the calms seldom lasted long. The winds, which happily continued favourable, again ruffled the surface of the sea, and sometimes blew so briskly as to oblige them to take in a reef or two in their sails. The oars were gladly drawn in, and the spirits of the men rose as the little boat bent over to the blast, lost her leaden qualities, and danced upon the broad-backed billows, like a cork. There was no rain during all this time; little or no stormy weather; and, but for their constant exposure to the hot sun by day and the cold chills by night, the time might have been said to pass even pleasantly, despite the want of a sufficiency of food. Thus day after day and night after night flew by, and week after week came and went, and still the _Maid of the Isle_ held on her course over the boundless ocean.

During all that time the one and a quarter ounces of salt junk and biscuit and the eighth of a pint of water were weighed and measured out to each man, three times a day, with scrupulous care and exactness, lest a drop or a crumb of the food that was more precious than diamonds should be lost. The men had all become accustomed to short allowance now, and experienced no greater inconvenience than a feeling of lassitude, which feeling increased daily, but by such imperceptible degrees that they were scarcely conscious of it, and were only occasionally made aware of the great reduction of their strength when they attempted to lift any article which, in the days of their full vigour, they could have tossed into the air, but which they could scarcely move now. When, however, the fair breeze enabled them to glide along under sail, and they lay enjoying complete rest, they experienced no unwonted sensations of weakness; their spirits rose, as the spirits of sailors always will rise when the waves are rippling at the bow and a white track forming in the wake; and they spent the time--when not asleep--in cheerful conversation and in the spinning of long yarns. They did not sing, however, as might have been expected--they were too weak for that--they called the feeling "lazy," some said they "couldn't be bothered" to sing. No one seemed willing to admit that his strength was in reality abated.

In story-telling the captain, the doctor, and Glynn shone conspicuous. And when all was going smoothly and well, the anecdotes, histories, and romances related by these three were listened to with such intense interest and delight by the whole crew, that one would have thought they were enjoying a pleasure trip, and had no cause whatever for anxiety. Gurney, too, and Briant, and Nikel Sling came out frequently in the story-telling line, and were the means of causing many and many an hour to pass quickly and pleasantly by, which would otherwise have hung heavily on the hands of all.

Ailie Dunning was an engrossed and delighted listener at all times. She drank in every species of story with an avidity that was quite amusing. It seemed also to have been infectious, for even Jacko used to sit hour after hour looking steadily at each successive speaker, with a countenance so full of bright intelligence, and grave surpassing wisdom, as to lead one to the belief that he not only understood all that was said, but turned it over in his mind, and drew from it ideas and conclusions far more bright and philosophical than could have been drawn therefrom by any human being, however wise or ingenious.

He grinned, too, did Jacko, with an intensity and frequency that induced the sailors at first to call him a clever dog, in the belief that his perception of the ludicrous was very strong indeed; but as his grins were observed to occur quite as frequently at the pathetic and the grave as at the comical parts of the stories, they changed their minds, and said he was a "codger"--in which remark they were undoubtedly safe, seeing that it committed them to nothing very specific.

Captain Dunning's stories were, more properly speaking, histories, and were very much relished, for he possessed a natural power of relating