The Ocean Cat's Paw Part 51

"Only downwards, sir," cried the skipper; and the French lad glanced questioningly at Rodd, who shook his head.

"No," said the boy, almost in a whisper. "I don't think there is any other way. He is quite right."

After another hour's pumping, the skipper gave out his intention of going back to the schooner; but the Count would not hear of it. He begged and implored Uncle Paul to give him their company at the breakfast he was having prepared, and after a little hesitation the doctor gave way, and suggested to the skipper that they should leave their departure till late in the afternoon, when a far better opinion could be given of the state of the brig.

"What do you say, squire?" said the skipper, looking at Rodd.

"Oh yes, let's stay!" And his impulsive young French friend grasped him by the wrist.

"Very well, gentlemen, I have only one thing to say, for I don't suppose the schooner will sail away and leave us behind. Let them call it dinner, and I'll stop. I aren't been in the habit of eating my breakfast at two o'clock in the day."

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE COUNT CAN'T FIND WORDS.

That afternoon, after what had proved to be a very friendly, pleasant breakfast, through which nothing could have been more courteous and hospitable than the conduct of the Count and his son towards those with whom they had become so strangely intimate, the skipper hurried the end of the meal by suggesting that he should once more sound the well.

They went on deck at once, to find both pumps were being kept energetically going, the half-dozen men from the schooner taking their turns in the heartiest way, a general fraternisation having taken place, while on seeing the result of the skipper's examination, the delight of the Count and his son seemed unbounded.

"There you are, then, sir," said the skipper, in answer to a look from the doctor, "and now we will leave you to it."

"And I suppose," said Uncle Paul, "that you will have no hesitation, sir, in following Captain Chubb's advice?"

"And making for the mouth of some river," said the Count, glancing at his son, "to get the brig ash.o.r.e, so as to repair her?"

"Exactly," said Uncle Paul. "You must see that there is nothing else that you can do."

"Nothing else that I can do," said the Count slowly, and Rodd gave him a wondering glance, for the skipper's remarks about the brig's owner being out of his mind came to his memory. "You intend to cruise about here, then, Dr Robson?"

"Here or anywhere," was the reply. "Probably here until I seem to have exhausted the natural history specimens that I can collect."

"Yes," said the Count, gazing fixedly at his son, "until you have exhausted the natural history specimens that you can collect."

He spoke in a curious dreamy way as if he were thinking hard, while Rodd coloured a little as he saw that the young Frenchman was gazing at him fixedly, for once more he could not help thinking of the skipper's words.

"Do you know of a place that would be likely, doctor?" said the Count.

"I mean a river that we could sail up into shallow water, if we were so fortunate as to reach one without sinking first."

"Not I," said the doctor, "but my captain here has cruised along this coast in by-gone days, and he tells me that it would be easy enough to find inlet after inlet, and deltas with streams, running up through the muddy mangrove swamps."

"But then we might never reach the sh.o.r.e," said the Count slowly--"not with the brig--in spite of your kindly, I may say brotherly aid."

Rodd felt that the Count's son was still gazing at him searchingly, but he did not turn his head, for the doctor began speaking at once.

"Really, my dear sir," he said almost curtly, "national dislike seems to exist to a great extent amongst your countrymen. Do you really think we English should be such barbarians as to sail away and leave a crippled s.h.i.+p to its fate?"

"No, no, no, doctor!" cried the Count warmly. "But how could I be so grasping as to ask you, full of your scientific pursuits as you are, to stand by us till we can reach the sh.o.r.e in safety?"

"You would not ask it, sir," said the doctor warmly. "There would be no need. Of course my schooner will stand by you, ready to give you help until your brig is once more fit for sea."

"Forgive me, doctor!" cried the Count eagerly.

"There is nothing to forgive, sir," replied the doctor, "only I think I may say that saving in times of war there is no such thing as nationality amongst those who go to sea. My experience is that they are always brethren in times of distress."

The Count held out his hand, which was warmly grasped, while the young French ex-prisoner looked at Rodd with eyes that seemed to speak volumes.

At this moment the skipper gave a grunt of satisfaction and broke in.

"There's plenty of choice, gentlemen," he said. "I'd venture to say I could find you the mouths of a dozen sluggish rivers up which you could go with the tide as far as you liked, and then moor our vessels to the forest trees, easily finding places close in sh.o.r.e where the tide as it went out would leave the brig here softly in the mud ready for careening over in a cradle where she wouldn't strain or open a single seam; and the doctor here being willing, I'll promise to take the job in hand and make the brig's bottom as sound as ever it was, even if we have to strip off a little copper from along the top streak, where it isn't so much wanted, so as to put new plates where the damaged ones have been."

"I shall be only too glad, Count," said the doctor; "and now I think we will get back to the schooner, and Captain Chubb here will shape his course somewhere to the south-east, till within the next few days we near the coast, when he will select a suitable place for his purpose."

"I cannot find words," said the Count, in a husky voice.

"Don't try," said the doctor.

"No, but--er,"--continued the Count, in rather a hesitating tone, "you do mean to keep cruising about here--and farther south or west?"

"Don't you give that another thought," said the doctor frankly. "The schooner is my own, and almost any portion of the ocean or the sh.o.r.e offers attractions to me and my nephew. We can find interest anywhere.

I only hope that you will not find our society dull."

The Count made a gesture, and then, after a word or two to the skipper, the latter gave his men orders, and they took their places in the boat.

It was then that the Count's son, who had been very silent for some time, looking at Rodd as if longing to speak, suddenly turned and whispered something to his father, who replied with a comprehensive gesture, and the lad immediately approached the doctor.

"It will be hours yet, sir, before it is dark, and I have so much I should like to say to your nephew. Can he not stay till evening, and then our boat shall bring him to your vessel? You will not," he continued playfully, turning to Rodd, "be afraid of going down?"

"My nephew is at liberty to do as he pleases," replied the doctor frankly. "What do you say, Rodd?"

"Oh, I want to stay, uncle. I should like to hear all about the escape."

A few minutes later the two lads were leaning together over the rail watching the departing boat, and chatting together as if they were old schoolfellows who had met again after a long separation, Rodd delighted with his companion, and disposed to feel disappointed in himself lest the refined, polished young officer--one, evidently, of the _haute n.o.blesse_--should look down upon him as a rough, rather boorish young Englishman.

Somehow that evening, with its rapid change from glowing sunset light to purple violet darkness, seemed wonderfully quick in coming, and as the brig's well-manned boat grazed against the schooner's stern and Rodd turned in climbing up the side to hang by his left hand and extend his right, the feeling of inferiority melted away in the young Frenchman's warm grasp, as the latter said--

"I suppose we shall be sailing very slowly till we reach the sh.o.r.e, and I want to see more of you. I shall come and fetch you first thing in the morning. Don't say anything; you must come. _Au revoir_!"

The brig's boat pushed off as soon as Rodd had swung himself on deck, and as it glided away into the soft darkness with the regularly handled oars dipping up from the surface of the sea what seemed to be like so much lambent liquid gold, suggesting to Rodd as he gazed after his new friend that the stars might have been melting all day in the torrid sun, and that this was their pale golden light floating upon the sea, a hand was laid upon his shoulder.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE DOCTOR PAINTS PICTURES.

"Back again, then, Rodd!"