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Read books online » Fiction » The Young Trawler by R. M. Ballantyne (i read books txt) 📖

Book online «The Young Trawler by R. M. Ballantyne (i read books txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne



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undersized young clerk from the country. The bed, besides being rather small, and covered with a snow-white counterpane, was canopied with white muslin curtains lined with pink calico. The wash-hand stand was low, fragile, and diminutive. The little deal table, which occupied an inconveniently large proportion of the space, was clothed in a garment similar to that of the bed. The one solitary chair was of that cheap construction which is meant to creak warningly when sat upon by light people, and to resolve itself into match-wood when the desecrator is heavy. Two pictures graced the walls—one the infant Samuel in a rosewood frame, the other an oil painting—of probably the first century, for its subject was quite undistinguishable—in a gold slip. The latter was a relic of better days—a spared relic, which the public had refused to buy at any price, though the auctioneer had described it as a rare specimen of one of the old—the very old—masters, with Rembrandtesque proclivities. No chest of drawers obtruded itself in that small chamber, but instead thereof the economical yet provident sisters, foreseeing the importance of a retreat for garments, had supplied a deal box, of which they stuffed the lid and then covered the whole with green baize, thus causing it to serve the double purpose of a wardrobe and a small sofa.

“However,” said Captain Bream, after a brief but careful look round, “it’ll do. With a little cuttin’ and carvin’ here an’ there, we’ll manage to squeeze in, for you must know, ladies, that we sea-farin’ men have a wonderful knack o’ stuffin’ a good deal into small space.”

The sisters made no reply. Indeed they were speechless, and horrified at the bare idea of the entrance of so huge a lodger into their quiet home.

“Look ye here, now,” he continued in a comfortable, self-satisfied tone, as he expanded his great arms along the length of the bed to measure it, “the bunk’s about five foot eight inches long. Well, I’m about six foot two in my socks—six inches short; that’s a difficulty no doubt, but it’s get-over-able this way, we’ll splice the green box to it.”

He grasped the sofa-wardrobe as he spoke, and placed it to the foot of the bed, then embracing the entire mass of mattresses and bedding at the lower end, raised it up, thrust the green box under with his foot, and laid the bedding down on it—thus adding about eighteen inches to the length.

“There you are, d’ee see—quite long enough, an’ a foot to spare.”

“But it does not fit,” urged Kate, who, becoming desperate, resolved to throw every possible obstruction in the way.

“That’s true, madam,” returned the captain with an approving nod. “I see you’ve got a mechanical eye—there’s a difference of elevation ’tween the box and the bed of three inches or more, but bless you, that’s nothin’ to speak of. If you’d ever been in a gale o’ wind at sea you’d know that we seadogs are used to considerable difference of elevation between our heads an’ feet. My top-coat stuffed in’ll put that to rights. But you’ll have to furl the flummery tops’ls—to lower ’em altogether would be safer.”

He took hold of the muslin curtains with great tenderness as he spoke, fearing, apparently, to damage them.

“You see,” he continued, apologetically, “I’m not used to this sort o’ thing. Moreover, I’ve a tendency to nightmare. Don’t alarm yourselves, ladies, I never do anything worse to disturb folk than give a shout or a yell or two, but occasionally I do let fly with a leg or an arm when the fit’s on me, an’ if I should get entangled with this flummery, you know I’d be apt to damage it. Yes, the safest way will be to douse the tops’ls altogether. As to the chair—well, I’ll supply a noo one that’ll stand rough weather. If you’ll also clear away the petticoats from the table it’ll do well enough. In regard to the lookin’-glass, I know pretty well what I’m like, an’ don’t have any desire to study my portrait. As for shavin’, I’ve got a bull’s-eye sort of glass in the lid o’ my soap-box that serves all my purpose, and I shave wi’ cold water, so I won’t be botherin’ you in the mornin’s for hot. I’ve got a paintin’ of my last ship—the Daisy—done in water-colours—it’s a pretty big ’un, but by hangin’ Samuel on the other bulk-head, an’ stickin’ that black thing over the door, we can make room for it.”

As Captain Bream ran on in this fashion, smoothing down all difficulties, and making everything comfortable, the poor sisters grew more and more desperate, and Kate felt a tendency to recklessness coming on. Suddenly a happy thought occurred to her.

“But sir,” she interposed with much firmness of tone and manner, “there is one great difficulty in the way of our letting the room to you which I fear cannot be overcome.”

The captain looked at her inquiringly, and Jessie regarded her with admiration and wonder, for she could not conceive what this insurmountable difficulty could be.

“My sister and I,” continued Kate, “have both an unconquerable dislike to tobacco—”

“Oh! that’s no objection,” cried the captain with a light laugh—which in him, however, was an ear-splitting guffaw—“for I don’t smoke!”

“Don’t smoke?” repeated both sisters in tones of incredulity, for in their imagination a seaman who did not smoke seemed as great an impossibility as a street boy who did not whistle.

“An’ what’s more,” continued the captain, “I don’t drink. I’m a tee-total abstainer. I leave smokin’ to steam-funnels, an’ drinkin’ to the fish.”

“But,” persisted Kate, on whom another happy thought had descended, “my sister and I keep very early hours, and a latch-key we could never—”

“Pooh! that’s no difficulty,” again interrupted this unconquerable man of the sea; “I hate late hours myself, when I’m ashore, havin’ more than enough of ’em when afloat. I’ll go to bed regularly at nine o’clock, an’ won’t want a latch-key.”

The idea of such a man going to bed at all was awesome enough, but the notion of his doing so in that small room, and in that delicately arranged little bed under that roof-tree, was so perplexing, that the sisters anxiously rummaged their minds for a new objection, but could find none until their visitor asked the rent of the room. Then Kate was assailed by another happy thought, and promptly named double the amount which she and Jessie had previously fixed as its value—which amount she felt sure would prove prohibitory.

Her dismay, then, may be imagined when the captain exclaimed with a sigh—perhaps it were better to say a breeze—of relief:—

“Well, then, that’s all comfortably settled. I consider the rent quite moderate. I’ll send up my chest to-morrow mornin’, an’ will turn up myself in the evenin’. I’ll bid ye good-day now, ladies, an’ beg your pardon for keepin’ you so long about this little matter.”

He held out his hand. One after another the crushed sisters put their delicate little hands into the seaman’s enormous paw, and meekly bade him good-bye, after which the nautical giant strode noisily out of the house, shut the door with an inadvertent bang, stumbled heavily down the dark stair and passage, and finally vanished from the scene.

Then Jessie and Kate Seaward returned to their little parlour, sat down at opposite sides of the miniature grate, and gazed at each other for some minutes in solemn silence—both strongly impressed with the feeling that they had passed through a tremendous storm, and got suddenly into a profoundly dead calm.

Chapter Four. Billy Bright the Fisher-Boy visits London—has a Fight—enlarges his Mind, and undertakes Business.

We must now return to the Evening Star fishing-smack, but only for a few minutes at present. Later on we shall have occasion to visit her under stirring circumstances. We saw her last heading eastward to her fishing-ground in the North Sea. We present her now, after a two months’ trip, sailing to the west, homeward bound.

Eight weeks at sea; nine days on shore, is the unvarying routine of the North Sea smacksman’s life, summer and winter, all the year round. Two months of toil and exposure of the severest kind, fair-weather or foul, and little more than one week of repose in the bosom of his family—varied by visits more or less frequent to the tap-room of the public-house. It is a rugged life to body and soul. Severest toil and little rest for the one; strong temptation and little refreshment to the other.

“Strong temptation!” you exclaim, “what! out on the heaving billows and among the howling gales of winter on the North Sea?”

Ay, stronger temptation than you might suppose, as, in the sequel, you shall see.

But we are homeward bound just now. One of the gales above referred to is blowing itself out and the Evening Star is threading her way among the shoals to her brief repose in Yarmouth.

The crew are standing about the deck looking eagerly towards the land, and little Billy is steering. (See Frontispiece.)

Yes, that ridiculous atom of humanity, with a rope, or “steering lanyard,” round the tiller to prevent its knocking him down or sweeping him overboard, stands there guiding the plunging smack on her course through the dangerous shoals. Of course Billy’s father has an eye on him, but he does not require to say more than an occasional word at long intervals.

Need we observe that our little hero is no longer subject to the demon which felled him at starting, and made his rosy face so pale? One glance at the healthy brown cheeks will settle that question. Another glance at his costume will suffice to explain, without words, much of Billy’s life during the past eight weeks. The sou’-wester is crushed and soiled, the coat is limp, rent, mended, button-bereaved more or less, and bespattered, and the boots wear the aspect of having seen service. The little hands too, which even while ashore were not particularly white, now bear traces of having had much to do with tar, and grease, and fishy substances, besides being red with cold, swelled with sundry bruises, and seamed with several scars—for Billy is reckless by nature, and it takes time and much experience of suffering to teach a man how to take care of his hands in the fisheries of the North Sea!

An hour or two more sufficed to carry our smack into port, and then the various members of the crew hurried home.

Billy swaggered beside his father and tried to look manly until he reached his own door, where all thought of personal appearance suddenly vanished, and he leaped with an unmanly squeal of delight into his mother’s arms. You may be sure that those arms did not spare him!

“You’ll not go down to-night, David?” said Mrs Bright, when, having half choked her son, she turned to her husband.

“No, lass,—I won’t,” said the skipper in a tone of decision.

Mrs Bright was much gratified by the promise, for well did she know, from bitter experience, that if her David went down to meet his comrades at the public-house on his arrival, his brief holidays would probably be spent in a state of semi-intoxication. Indeed, even with this promise she knew that much of his time and a good deal of his hardly earned money would be devoted to the publican.

“We’ll not have much of Billy’s company this week, I fear,” said Mrs Bright, with a glance of pride at her son, who returned it with a look of surprise.

“Why so, Nell?” asked her husband.

“Because he has got to go to London.”

“To Lun’on!” exclaimed the father.

“Lun’on!” echoed the son.

“Yes; it seems that Miss Ruth—that dear young lady, Miss Ruth Dotropy—you remember her, Billy?”

“Remember her! I should think I does,” said the boy, emphatically, “if I was to live as long as Meethusilim I’d never forget Miss Dotropy.”

“Well,” continued Mrs Bright, “she wrote and asked Joe Davidson’s wife to send her a fisher-boy to London for a day or two, and she’d pay his railway

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