Part 15 (1/2)

”Yes; there's more company in the saloon,” he said. ”I often sleep there myself. You are bound for the Mission s.h.i.+p, I suppose?”

”No; I want to find a man on the trawler _Perseverance_.”

The captain turned. Warrisden could not see his face, but he knew from his att.i.tude that he was staring at him in amazement.

”Then you must want to see him pretty badly,” he commented. ”The No'th Sea in February and March is not a Bobby's job.”

”Bad weather is to be expected?” asked Warrisden.

”It has been known,” said the captain dryly; and before the lights of the Outer Gabbard winked good-bye on the starboard quarter at four o'clock in the morning, the _City of Bristol_ was taking the water over her deck.

Warrisden rolled on the floor of the saloon--for he could not keep his balance on the narrow bench--and tried in vain to sleep. But the strong light of a lamp, swinging from the roof, glared upon his eyes, the snores of his companions trumpeted in his ears. Moreover, the heat was intolerable. Five men slept in the bunks--Warrisden made a sixth.

At four in the morning the captain joined the party through his love of company. The skylight and the door were both tightly closed, a big fire burned in the stove, and a boiling kettle of tea perpetually puffed from its spout a column of warm, moist steam. Warrisden felt his skin p.r.i.c.kly beneath his clothes; he gasped for fresh air.

Living would be rough upon the fish-carrier, Chase had told him; and rough Warrisden found it. In the morning the steward rose, and made tea by the simple process of dropping a handful of tea into the kettle and filling it up with water. A few minutes later he brought a dish of ham and eggs from the galley, and slapped it down on the table.

”Breakfast,” he cried; and the five men opened their eyes, rubbed them, and without any other preparation sat down and ate. Warrisden slipped up the companion, unscrewed the skylight and opened it for the s.p.a.ce of an inch. Then he returned.

The _City of Bristol_ was rolling heavily, and Warrisden noticed with surprise that all of the five men gave signs of discomfort. Surely, he thought, they must be used to heavy weather. But, nevertheless, something was wrong; they did not talk. Finally, the captain looked upwards, and brought his hand down upon the table.

”I felt something was wrong,” said he; ”the skylight's open.”

All stared up to the roof.

”So it is.”

”I did that,” Warrisden said humbly.

At once all the faces were turned on him in great curiosity.

”Now why?” asked the captain. ”Don't you like it nice and snug?”

”Yes; oh yes,” Warrisden said hurriedly.

”Well, then!” said the captain; and the steward went on deck and screwed the skylight down.

”After all, it's only for thirty-six hours,” thought Warrisden, as he subsequently bathed in a pail on deck. But he was wrong; for the Blue Fleet had gone a hundred miles north to the Fisher Bank, and thither the _City of Bristol_ followed it.

The _City of Bristol_ sailed on to the Fisher Bank, and found an empty sea. It hunted the Blue Fleet for half-a-dozen hours, and, as night fell, it came upon a single trawler with a great flare light suspended from its yard.

”They're getting in their trawl,” said the captain; and he edged up within earshot.

”Where's the Blue Fleet?” he cried.

”Gone back to the Dogger,” came the answer.

The captain swore, and turned southwards. For four days and nights Warrisden pitched about on the fish-carrier and learned many things, such as the real meaning of tannin in tea, and the innumerable medical uses to which ”Friar's Balsam” can be put. On the morning of the fifth day the _City of Bristol_ steamed into the middle of the fleet, and her engines stopped.

These were the days before the steam-trawler. The sailing-s.h.i.+ps were not as yet laid up, two by two, alongside Gorleston quay, and knocked down for a song to any purchaser. Warrisden looked over a grey, savage sea. The air was thick with spindrift. The waves leaped exultingly up from windward and roared away to leeward from under the cutter's keel in a steep, uprising hill of foam. All about him the sailing-boats headed to the wind, sinking and rising in the furrows, so that Warrisden would just see a brown topsail over the edge of a steep roller like a shark's fin, and the next instant the dripping hull of the boat flung out upon a breaking crest.

”You will have to look slippy when the punt from the _Perseverance_ comes alongside with her fish,” the captain shouted. ”The punt will give you a pa.s.sage back to the _Perseverance_, but I don't think you will be able to return. There's a no'th-westerly gale blowing up, and the sea is increasing every moment. However, there will be another cutter up to-morrow, and if it's not too rough you could be put on board of her.”