The Crew of the Water Wagtail Part 1

The Crew of the Water Wagtail.

by R.M. Ballantyne.

CHAPTER ONE.

A ROUGH BEGINNING.

It is well that mankind cannot pry into the secrets of futurity.

At all events, it is certain that if the crew of the _Water Wagtail_ had known what was in store for them when they set sail from Bristol, one fine spring morning at the beginning of the sixteenth century, most of them would have remained at home--though it is not improbable that, even with full knowledge of coming events, some of the romantic among them, and a few of the reckless, might have decided to go on.

Undoubtedly Paul Burns would have scorned to draw back, for he was a "hero of romance;" an enthusiast of the deepest dye, with an inquiring mind, a sanguine disposition, and a fervent belief in all things great and good and grand. He was also a six-footer in his socks, a horse in const.i.tution, a Hercules in frame, with a hook nose and a hawk eye and a strong jaw--and all the rest of it. Paul had a good brain, too, and was well educated--as education went in those days. Yes, there can be little doubt that even though Paul Burns had been able to see into the future, he would have deliberately chosen to go on that voyage.

So would Oliver Trench, for Oliver wors.h.i.+pped Paul! He loved him as if he had been an elder brother. He admired him, afar off, as a rare specimen of human perfection. He looked up to him, physically as well as mentally, for Oliver was at that time little more than a boy of medium size, but bold as a bull-dog and active as a weasel. Yes, we are safe to say that a revelation of the disasters, dangers, sufferings, etcetera, in store, would not have deterred Oliver Trench. He would have gone on that voyage simply because Paul Burns went. That was reason enough for him. The devotion of Ruth to Naomi was mild compared with that of Oliver to Paul--if words are a test of feelings--for Ruth's beautiful language could not compare with the forcible expressions with which Oliver a.s.sured his friend that he would stick to him, neck or nothing, through thick and thin, to the latest hour of life!

As for the rest of the crew--Big Swinton, Little Stubbs, George Blazer, Squill, and the like--it was well, as we have said, that they could not see into the future.

There were forty of them, all told, including the cook and the cabin-boy. We do not include Paul Burns or Oliver Trench, because the former was naturalist to the expedition--a sort of semi-scientific freelance; and the latter, besides being the master's, or skipper's, son, was a free-and-easy lance, so to speak, whose duties were too numerous to mention, and too indefinite to understand. Most of the men were what is expressed by the phrase "no better than they should be."

Some of them, indeed, were even worse than that. The wars of the period had rendered it difficult to obtain good seamen at that particular time, so that merchant skippers had to content themselves with whatever they could get. The crew of the _Water Wagtail_ was unusually bad, including, as it did, several burglars and a few pickpockets, besides loafers and idlers; so that, before leaving Bristol, a friend of the skipper, whose imagination was lively, styled it a crew of forty thieves.

The coast of Norway was the destination of the _Water Wagtail_. She never reached the coast of--but we must not antic.i.p.ate. What her object was in reference to Norway we cannot tell. Ancient records are silent on the point.

The object of Paul Burns was to gather general information. At that period the world was not rich in general information. To discover, to dare, to do--if need were, to die--was the intention of our big hero.

To be similarly circ.u.mstanced in a small way was our little hero's ambition.

"Goin' to blow," remarked Skipper Trench, on the evening of the day on which he sailed, as he paced the deck with his hands in his pockets, and, as his son Oliver said, his "weather-eye" open.

It seemed as though the weather, having overheard the prophecy, was eager to fulfil it, for a squall could be seen bearing down on the s.h.i.+p even while the words were being uttered.

"Close reef to-o-o-p-s'ls!" roared Master Trench, with the energy of a man who means what he says.

We are not sure of the precise nautical terms used, but the result was a sudden and extensive reduction of canvas; and not a moment too soon, for the operation had scarcely been completed when the squall struck the s.h.i.+p, almost capsized her, and sent her careering over the billows "like a thing of life."

This was the first of a succession of squalls, or gales, which blew the _Water Wagtail_ far out upon the Atlantic Ocean, stove in her bulwarks, carried away her bowsprit and foretopmast, damaged her skylights, strained her rudder, and cleared her decks of loose hamper.

After many days the weather moderated a little and cleared up, enabling Master Trench to repair damages and shape his course for Norway. But the easterly gales returned with increased violence, undid all the repairs, carried away the compa.s.s, and compelled these ancient mariners to run westward under bare poles--little better than a wreck for winds and waves to play with.

In these adverse circ.u.mstances the skipper did what too many men are apt to do in their day of sorrow--he sought comfort in the bottle.

Love of strong drink was Master Trench's weakest point. It was one of the few points on which he and his friend Burns disagreed.

"Now, my dear man," said Paul, seating himself one evening at the cabin table and laying his hand impressively on his friend's arm, "do let me lock up this bottle. You can't navigate the s.h.i.+p, you know, when you've got so much of that stuff under your belt."

"O yes, I can," said the skipper, with an imbecile smile, for his friend had a winning way with him that conciliated even while he rebuked.

"Don't you fear, Paul, I--I'm all right!"

The half-offended idiotic expression of the man's face was intensely ludicrous, but Paul could not see the ludicrous at that time. He only saw his usually sedate, manly, generous friend reduced to a state of imbecility.

"Come, now, Master Trench," he said persuasively, taking hold of the case-bottle, "let me put it away."

"N-no, I won't" said the captain sharply, for he was short of temper.

The persuasive look on Paul's face suddenly vanished. He rose, grasped the bottle firmly, went to the open hatch, and sent it whizzing up into the air with such force that it went far over the stern of the s.h.i.+p and dropped into the sea, to the unutterable amazement of the man at the helm, who observed the bottle's unaccountable flight with an expression of visage all his own.

There is no accounting for the rapid transitions of thought and feeling in drunken men. The skipper sprang up, clenched his right hand, and gazed in fierce astonishment at his friend, who advanced towards him with a benignant smile, quite regardless of consequences. Even in the act of striking, the captain restrained his arm and opened his hand.

Paul met it with a friendly grasp, while the faces of both men expanded in smiling goodwill.

"Y-you're a trump, P-Paul," said the captain. "I--I--won't drink a-another d'op!"

And Master Trench kept his word. From that day forth, till circ.u.mstances rendered drinking impossible, he drank nothing stronger than water.

Soon after this event the weather improved, damages were again repaired, and the skipper--in whom there was much of the spirit of the old vikings--once more laid his course for Norway, resolving to steer, as the said vikings were wont to do, by the stars. But a spirit of mutiny was abroad in the forecastle by that time. If hard work, hard fare, and hard fortune are trying even to good men and true, what must they be to bad men and false?

"Here's how it lays, men," said Big Swinton, in a subdued voice, to a knot of friends around him. "Blowin' hard as it has bin ever since we left England, it stands to reason that we must have pretty nigh got across the western sea to that noo land discovered by that man wi' the queer name--I can't remember rightly--"

"Columbus, you mean," cried George Blazer. "Why, my father sailed with Columbus on his first voyage."

"No, it wasn't Columbus," returned Swinton, in a sharp tone, "an' you needn't speak as if we was all deaf, Blazer. It was John Cabot I was thinkin' of, who, with his son Sebastian, discovered land a long way to the nor'ard o' Columbus's track. They called it Newfoundland. Well, as I was sayin', we must be a long way nearer to that land than to Norway, an' it will be far easier to reach it. Moreover, the Cabots said that the natives there are friendly and peaceable, so it's my opinion that we should carry on as we go till we reach Newfoundland, an' see whether we can't lead a jollier life there than we did in Old England."

"But it's _my_ opinion," suggested Little Stubbs, "that the skipper's opinion on that point will have to be found out first, Swinton, for it's of more importance than yours. You ain't skipper _yet_, you know."

"That's so, Stubbs," said Squill, with a nod.

"Let your tongues lie still," retorted Swinton, in an undertoned growl.

"Of course I know I'm not skipper yet, but if you men have the courage of rabbits I'll be skipper before another sun rises--or whoever you choose to appoint."

A sudden silence ensued for a few moments, for, although there had been mutinous whisperings before, no one had, up to that time, ventured to make a distinct proposal that action should be taken.

"What! steal the s.h.i.+p?" exclaimed a huge black-bearded fellow named Grummidge. "Nay--I'll have no hand in that."

"Of course not; we have no intention to _steal_ the s.h.i.+p," retorted Swinton, before any one else had time to express an opinion; "we are all upright honourable men here. We only mean to take the _loan_ of her.

After all we have suffered we are ent.i.tled surely to a pleasure-trip, and when that's over we can return the s.h.i.+p to the owners--if so disposed. You'll join us in that, Grummidge, won't you? And we'll make you skipper--or first mate, if you're too modest to take command." This sally was received with a subdued laugh, and with marks of such decided approval, that Grummidge was carried with the current--at all events, he held his tongue after that.

An earnest undertoned discussion followed, and it was finally arranged that Big Swinton should sound Master Trench about the propriety of running to Newfoundland instead of returning on their track to Norway.

The seaman was not slow to act. That afternoon, while at the helm, he made the suggestion to the skipper, but met with a sharp rebuke and an order to attend to his duty.

No word did Big Swinton reply, but that very night he entered the cabin with a dozen men and seized the skipper, his son, and Paul Burns, while they slept. Of course, being greatly outnumbered, they were overcome and bound. The two officers of the vessel were also seized by another party on deck, and all the five were imprisoned in the hold.

Next morning they were brought on deck, and made to stand in a row before Big Swinton, who had, in the meantime, been appointed by the mutineers to the command of the s.h.i.+p.

"Now, Master Trench," said Swinton, "we are no pirates. We have no desire to kill you, so that whether you are killed or not will depend on yourself. If you agree to navigate this s.h.i.+p to Newfoundland--good; if not we will heave you overboard."

"Heave away then," growled the skipper, his nature being such that the more he was defied the more defiant he became.

"Well, Master Trench, you shall have your way. Get the plank ready, boys," said Swinton, turning to the men. "Now stand aside and let the first mate choose."

The same question being put to the two mates, they returned similar answers, and were ordered to prepare to walk the plank.