The Firm of Girdlestone Part 63

Ezra cautioned his father to sit down, for he observed a row of curious faces gazing at them over the quarter of one great vessel.

"Our dress isn't quite what you would expect to see in a fis.h.i.+ng-boat,"

he said. "There is no use setting tongues wagging." There was still a fresh breeze, and the little boat continued to fly before it at the rate of six or eight knots. "This wind is a lucky chance," Ezra remarked, rather to himself than to his companion.

"It is the working of Providence," answered John Girdlestone, with an earnestness which showed that his mind still retained its habitual peculiarity.

By ten o'clock they were abreast of the long stone terraces of Hastings; at half-past eleven they saw the masts of the fis.h.i.+ng-smacks of Winchelsea. By one they were rounding the sharp bold promontory of Dungeness. They kept further to sea after that, so that the long white wall and the spires of Folkestone and of Dover lay far on the horizon.

On the other side a dim haze upon the blue water marked the position of the French coast. It was nearly five, and the sun was beginning to sink down again in the west, when the fisherman, after gazing steadily ahead for some time, with his h.o.r.n.y hand shading his eyes, touched Ezra on the sleeve.

"See them breakers over there," he said, pointing over the starboard bow. Far away Ezra could see a long roll of foam breaking the monotony of the broad stretch of ocean. "Them's the Goodwins," he went on; "and them craft ahead is at anchor in the Downs."

The vessels in question were miles away, but Ezra brightened up at the sight of their destination, and he once again arranged his toilet and that of his father.

"Thank goodness!" he muttered, with a long sigh of relief as he peered at the s.h.i.+ps, which were growing clearer and larger every moment.

"That outer one is the _Black Eagle_, or I am much mistaken. He's not gone yet!"

"That is the _Black Eagle_," his father said with confidence. "I know her by the cut of her stern and the rake of her masts."

As they came nearer still, any lingering doubt was finally dispelled.

"There's the white paint line," said Ezra. "It's certainly her.

Take us alongside that s.h.i.+p which is lying to the outside there, Sampson."

The fisherman looked ahead once more. "To the barque which has just got her anchor up?" he said. "Why, we won't be in time to catch her."

"Her anchor up!" screamed Ezra. "You don't mean to tell me she's off!"

"Look at that!" the man answered.

As he spoke they saw first one great square of canvas appear above the vessel, and then another, until she had spread her white wings to their fullest extent.

"Don't say we can't catch her!" cried Ezra, with a furious oath.

"I tell you, man, that we must catch her. Everything depends on that."

"She must take three short tacks before she's out from the Goodwins.

If we run right on as we are going, we may get near her before she's free."

"For G.o.d's sake! clap on all the sail you can! Get these reefs out!"

With trembling fingers Ezra let out the sail, and the boat lay over further under the increased pressure. "Is there no other sail that we could put up?"

"If we were running, we could rig up a spinnaker," the fisherman answered; "but the wind has come round three points. We can do no more."

"I think we are catching her," John Girdlestone cried, keeping his eyes fixed upon the barque, which was about a mile and a half ahead.

"Yes, we are now, but she hain't got her way on yet. She'll draw ahead presently; won't she, Jarge?"

The fisherman's son nodded, and burst into hoa.r.s.e merriment.

"It's better'n a race," he cried.

"With our necks for a prize," Ezra muttered to himself.

"It's a little too exciting to be pleasant. We are still gaining."

They had a clear view of the dark hull and towering canvas of the barque as she swept along in front of them, intending evidently to take advantage of the wind in order to get outside the Goodwins before beating up Channel.

"She's going about," Sampson remarked. As he spoke the snow-white pile lay over in the opposite direction, and the whole broadside of the vessel became visible to them, every sail standing out as though carved from ivory against the cold blue sky. "If we don't catch her on this tack we won't get her at all," the fisherman observed. "When they put about next they'll reach right out into the Channel."

"Where's something white?" said Ezra excitedly. He dived into the cabin and reappeared with a dirty table-cloth. "Stand up here, father!

Now keep on waving it! They may see you."

"I think as we are overhaulin' of them," remarked the boy.

"We're doing that," his father answered. "The question is, will we get near enough to stop 'em afore they gets off on the next tack?"

The old merchant was standing in the bows waving the signal in the air.

His son sprang up beside him and flourished his handkerchief.

"They don't look more than half a mile off. Let us shout together."

The two blended their voices in a hoa.r.s.e roar, which was taken up by the boatman and his son. "Once again!" cried Ezra; and again their shout resounded over the sea--a long-drawn cry it was, with a ring of despair and of sorrow. Still the barque kept steadily on her way.

"If they don't go about we shall catch them," the fisherman said.

"If they keep on another five minutes we are right."

"Do you hear that?" Ezra cried to his father; and they both shouted with new energy and waved their signals.

"They're goin' about," George burst in. "It's all up." Girdlestone groaned as he saw the mainyard swing back. They all strained their eyes, waiting for the other to follow. It remained stationary.

"They have seen us!" cried the fisherman. "They are waitin' to pick us up!"

"Then we are saved!" said Ezra, stepping down and wiping the perspiration which poured from his forehead. "Go down into the cabin, father, and put yourself straight. You look like a ghost."

Captain Hamilton Miggs had found the liquor of the _c.o.c.k and Cowslip_ so very much to his taste, in spite of its vitriolic peculiarities recorded in a preceding chapter, that he rejoined his s.h.i.+p in a very shaky and demoralized condition. He was a devout believer in the h.o.m.oeopathic revelation that like may be cured by like, so he forthwith proceeded to set himself straight by the consumption of an unlimited quant.i.ty of s.h.i.+p's rum. "What's the good of having a pilot aboard if I am to keep sober?" he hiccoughed to his mate McPherson. After which piece of logic he shut himself up in his cabin and roared comic songs all the way from London to Gravesend. He was so exhausted by his performance that he fell fast asleep, and snored stertorously for fifteen hours, at the end of which time he came on deck and found that the _Black Eagle_ was lying off Deal, and that her anchor was just being hoisted for a start up Channel.

Captain Hamilton Miggs watched the sail-setting with his hands in his pockets, and swore promiscuously at every one, from the mate downwards, in a hearty comprehensive way, which showed a mind that was superior to petty distinctions. Having run over all the oaths that he could think of, he dived below and helped himself from the rum bottle, a process which appeared to aid his memory or his invention, for he reappeared upon deck and evolved a new many-jointed expletive at the man at the wheel. He then strode in gloomy majesty up and down the quarter-deck, casting his eyes at the sails and at the clouds in a critical way calculated to impress the crew generally with a sense of their captain's extraordinary sagacity.

The _Blank Eagle_ had gone about for the second time, and was just about to free herself from the Goodwins and reach out into the Channel, when Miggs' eye happened to fall upon the fis.h.i.+ng boat in pursuit and the white flutter in her bows. He examined her with his gla.s.s, steadying it as well as he could by leaning it across the rail, as his hand was very shaky. After a short inspection, a look of astonishment, followed by one of resignation, stole over his features.

"I've got them again, Mac," he remarked to the mate.

"Got what, sir?"

"The diddleums, the jumps, the visions. It's the change of air as has done it."

"You look all right," remarked the mate in a sympathetic voice.

"So I may; but I've got 'em. It's usually rats--rats, and sometimes c.o.c.kroaches; but it's worse than that this time. As I'm a livin' man, I looked through the gla.s.s at that fis.h.i.+ng-boat astern of us, and I saw young Muster Ezra Girdlestone in it, and the old boss standin' up wi' a yachtin'-cap at the side of his head and waving a towel. This is the smartest bout that ever I have had. I'll take some of the medicine left from my last touch and I'll turn in." He vanished down the companion, and having taken a strong dose of bromide of pota.s.sium, tumbled into his bunk, cursing loudly at his ill luck.

The astonishment of McPherson upon deck was as great as that of Captain Miggs, when, on looking through the gla.s.s, he ascertained beyond all doubt that both of his employers were in the fis.h.i.+ng-boat. He at once ordered the mainyard to be hauled back and awaited their arrival. In a few minutes the boat was alongside, a ladder thrown down, and the two Girdlestones were on the deck of their own s.h.i.+p.