Mother Carey's Chicken Part 9

Mark looked at the poor, wretched, piteous face, and then up at the mate, whose countenance was like cast-iron with the tip of his nose red-hot. He glanced at Mr Morgan, who was frowning and looked annoyed, but who smiled at Mark as their eyes met.

"Here, Billy Widgeon, fetch one of the dock police," cried the first-mate.

"Ay, ay, sir," cried the little sailor with alacrity; and he was in the act of starting, while the stowaway was once more appealing piteously and Mark was about to take his part, when a quiet firm voice said aloud:

"What's the matter?"

Mark's heart gave a bound, and for the moment he thought everything would be set right in a humane way. Then, as he heard the chief mate speak, he felt that it would be all wrong.

"What's the matter, Captain Strong!" thundered the officer.

"Everything's the matter. Here we've to sail first tide to-morrow, and look at us. My cargo, that was all stowed, hauled all over the s.h.i.+p.

We've been ever since four o'clock getting him out, and now it's nearly ten. And look at him--all hands unstowing cargo to get out a thing like that!"

"Where was he?" said the captain sternly.

"Where was he!" roared the mate, who looked as if one of his legs was quivering to kick the grovelling stowaway; "where wasn't he? Groaning all over the s.h.i.+p; and if it hadn't been for that dog--"

"Ah! the dog helped, did he?"

"Yes, sir; smelt him out buried down below a thousand tons--"

"More or less," said Mr Morgan laughing.

"Well, I didn't weigh or measure the cargo, did I, sir?" roared the first-mate. "Look at it, sir--look at it, captain. We shall be at work all night re-stowing it, and then sha'n't be done."

"He was right down there?"

"Yes, sir; and if we hadn't got to him he'd have been a dead man in a few hours; and a good job too, only see what a nuisance he would have been."

"How came you to do this, sir?" cried Captain Strong, turning to the man, who still crouched upon the deck.

"I wanted to get abroad, sir. Pray forgive me this time."

"You must have been mad," cried the captain. "Did you want to be buried alive?"

"No, sir. I didn't think you'd fill up above me, and I thought I could creep out by and by; but--but they stopped up both ends of the hole, and then--then they piled up the boxes over my head, and it got so hot, sir, that--that--I could hardly breathe, and--and--and, sir, I couldn't bear it, I was obliged to cry for help; but I wish I'd died in my hole."

"Poor wretch!" muttered the captain; but his son heard him and pressed nearer to his side, as he gazed at the stowaway, a man grown, but who was sobbing hysterically, and crying like a woman.

"Here, Widgeon, I told you to fetch one of the dock police," said the first-mate fiercely.

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried Billy Widgeon, and Mark's heart sank as he felt that his father was only secondary in power to the fierce red-nosed mate. But the next instant a thrill of satisfaction shot through him, for his father said in a calm, firm way:

"Stop!"

"Ah, we'll soon set him right," said the mate; "a miserable, snivelling cur!"

There was a laugh among the crew, and at a word from the mate they would have been ready to pitch the miserable object overboard.

"What is your name?" said the captain.

"Jimpny, sir. David Jimpny."

"Pretty name for a Christian man," said the mate; and the crew all laughed.

"What have you been?" said the captain.

"Anything, sir. No trade. Been out o' work, sir, and half starved and faint."

"Out of work!" roared the mate. "Why, you wouldn't work if you had it."

"Wouldn't I! You give me the chance, sir."

"Chance!" retorted the mate scornfully.

"Perhaps the poor wretch has not had one," said the captain. "Look here, my man."

"I haven't, sir; I haven't had a chance. Pray, pray, give me one, sir.

I'll--I'll do anything, sir. I'll be like a slave if you'll only let me try."

"We don't want slaves," said the captain sternly; "we want honest true men who will work. Small."

"Ay, ay, sir," said the boatswain.

"This man has been half starved; take him below and see to him, and see that he is well treated."

"Ay, ay, sir," cried the boatswain. "Now, my swab."

"G.o.d--bless--"

"That will do," said the captain coldly. "No words. Let's have deeds, my man."

The abject-looking wretch shrank away, and the first-mate gave an angry stamp upon the deck.

"Look here, Captain Strong," he began furiously.

"That will do, my dear Gregory," said the captain, clapping him on the shoulder. "I wish the man to stay."

Mark Strong felt his heart at rest, for, as he saw the effect of his father's words upon the chief mate, he knew once and for all who was the real captain of the s.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER SIX.

HOW MARK STRONG MADE FRIENDS.

"Of course we shall not be able to sail at the time down," said the first-mate rather huffily.