Part 11 (1/2)

”Cap'n Symes he gin a look to wind'ard. 'Mr. Symes,' says he, ('Twas cur'ous, his name was Cap'n Symes, an' my name was Mister Symes, but we warn't neither kith nor kin), 'Mr. Symes,' says he, 'it's a-bloawin'

right smart peart, an' I don't see fitten for to lower.'

”I went for'ard. The lookaout hailed again. 'On deck, sir,' says he, 'thar she blaows _an'_ spouts.'

”I went aft. 'Cap'n Symes,' says I, 'thar she blaows _an'_ spouts. Shall I lower?'

”Cap'n Symes he casts an eye aloft. 'Mr. Symes,' says he, 'it's a bloawin' right smart peart, and I don't see fitten for to lower.'

”I went for'ard. The lookaout he hailed again. 'On deck, sir,' says he, 'thar she blaows, an' spouts, an' breaches.'

”I went aft. 'Cap'n Symes,' says I, 'thar she bloaws, an' spouts, an'

breaches. Shall I lower?'

”Cap'n Symes he took a look at the clouds that was a-scuddin' acrosst.

'Mr. Symes,' says he, 'it's a-bloawin' right smart peart, an' I don't see fitten for to lower.'

”I went for'ard. The lookaout he hailed again. 'On deck, sir,' says he, 'thar she blaows, an' spouts, an' breaches, an' it's a right smart sperm, too.'

”I went aft. 'Cap'n Symes,' says I, 'thar she bloaws, an' spouts, an'

breaches, _an'_ its a right smart sperm-whale, too. Shall I lower?'

”Cap'n Symes, he gin a last look at the weather. 'Mr. Symes,' says he, 'it's a-bloawin' right smart peart, and _I_ don't see fitten for to lower, still--if you're so gol-darned sot on lowerin', you can lower and be hanged to you.'

”I went for'ard and sings aout for volunteers, an' the boys jest tumbled over each other into the boat. We got the whale, and as I was a-swarmin'

over the side, thar stood Cap'n Symes with tears in his eyes.

”'Mr. Symes,' says he, 'forty years,' says he, 'I've sailed the seas,'

says he, 'man an' boy, man _an'_ boy, an' in all that time I never see no mate to compare with you,' says he. 'Mr. Symes,' says he, 'you're the Jim Dandyest mate as ever I sailed s.h.i.+pmates with,' says he. 'Mr.

Symes,' says he, 'daown in my cabin in the starboard locker aft,' says he, 'you'll find some prime Havana seegars, and the best o' Lawrence's aould Medford New England rum,' says he. 'That best o' Lawrence's aould Medford New England rum,' says he, 'an' them prime Havana seegars,' says he, 'is yourn for the rest of the v'y'ge.'

”'Cap'n Symes,' says I, 'you can take them prime Havana seegars an' that best o' Lawrence's aould Medford New England rum,' says I, 'an' stick 'em overboard as fur as I'm consarned. All I asks is common sea-vility; an' that o' the gol-darndest commonest kind!'”

Ben told me this story while he ate. He was the liveliest kind of a companion. I liked him immensely from the start, and the longer I knew him the better I liked him. This was his first deep sea voyage, but he had been looking forward to it ever since he was in petticoats--unlike myself, who had only longed for the sea but knew I probably would never be allowed to follow my bent.

Now, it seemed, Fate had flung me right into the life I had so longed for. Had it not been for mother and the fears I felt for her in the mesh of Chester Downes' web, I should have welcomed this chance that had put me aboard the whaling bark Scarboro.

”And she's a fine old craft,” declared the young second mate. ”Maybe she's a bit tender in her bends, but she's sailed in every quarter of the globe and has brought home many a cargo of oil. We all own shares in her--in the bark herself, I mean--we Rogerses and Gibsons. I've a twentieth part myself in pickle against the time I'm twenty-one,” and he laughed, meaning that his guardian held that investment for him--and a very good slice of fortune his holdings in the old Scarboro proved to be, at the end of the voyage.

But now we were at the beginning of it--all the romance and adventure was ahead of us. Before noon I was not sorry to be aboard of the bigger craft and looked with equanimity upon my own bonny sloop stowed amids.h.i.+ps. The wind had wheeled again and coming abaft, the bark shot on into the southward, trying to outrun the gale. Had I not been picked up as I was I might have been swamped in the Wavecrest.

For a week, or more, we ran steadily toward the tropics, and in all that time we pa.s.sed--and that distantly--but two steam vessels and only one sailing craft. There was no chance for me to get home. I had to possess my soul with such patience as I could, while the old Scarboro bore me swiftly away toward the Southern Seas.

CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH TOM ANDERLY RELATES A STORY THAT AROUSES MY INTEREST