Part 5 (1/2)
”No, thank you, I am not hungry. I am thirsty and chilly, though. Why can't I go home?”
”Because, unless I stop to put ye aboard some s.h.i.+p, ye can't. I can't stop now till daylight, anyway; and then we shall be about in the Bay.
By that time I expect ye'll want to stay where ye are. Lie quiet now, I'll send the steward to ye with a lemon drink. Maybe in the morning ye'll feel better. Anyhow, ye must remain here--for the present, and keep yer claws in, like Tim Connor's cat.”
”Are _you_ the captain?” I asked, with some deference.
”So they tell me,” was the quaint reply, as he left the cabin.
The captain of the _Wind and Weather_! Perhaps I had been too ”cheeky.” What would he do to me, I wondered. He seemed a nice man.
Then I began to wonder what had become of Tim. He had not been given a cabin. Why had the captain taken such care of me? he had never heard of me, I was sure.
While thus groping in my mind for a.s.sistance and ideas, the steward appeared with a warm drink, which smelt of lemon juice, and some spirit--I think whisky. I had never tasted spirits, and declined the draught then.
”If you don't drink it the doc will come and fix you,” said the steward. ”Better this than him. He's a 'nailer' at nastiness. Take my advice, drink this, and you'll sleep like a top.”
”On one leg, do you mean?” I asked, taking the gla.s.s and smiling.
”Anyhow, after that. There, you've some sense in you, I see. You came up pretty limp from the boat. Now lie down, and sleep till mornin', I'll come and see after you.”
”I say, steward, wait a second. What's the captain's name?”
”Goldheugh--Martin Goldheugh--and a first-rate captain, too, I can tell you. But you must do as you're bid, mind; no skulking. Now shut your eyes and keep quiet. Good-night.”
I murmured something. The drink I had imbibed was mounting to my head; I felt warm and comfortable. Then I began to count the distant throbs of the engine, and just as I had reached three hundred and sixty-two I--woke.
It was broad daylight. I rubbed my eyes in surprise. _Day_light! Had I slept (like Scrooge in the ”Christmas Carol”) through a whole night in a few minutes. It could not be daylight, surely? I had only counted three hundred and odd beats of the engine at supper-time, and already morning had come. My first glance fell upon ”_Wind and Weather_”--the _Feng-Shui_ sign; and then my heart beat fast. I flushed hotly. What would my parents _think_? what would they _do_?
I confess I was miserable and greatly upset. I was at sea, and for the first time very unhappy. My thoughts rushed to my mother, then to my indulgent stepfather, and I compared them with other fellows' parents who were so strict and stiff and severe. Neither my own father nor mother, not even Mr. Bentham, had been really severe with me. Most of my troubles had been caused by my own wilfulness and obstinacy; and, I then confessed, my disobedience! Yes, they had advised and guided me, while I, in my conceit, fancied I knew best, and consequently came to grief at last. Punishments came at times, and I rebelled, got punished again, and sulked. I perceived then that my parents had been just, and I regretted now that I had been so rude, and had parted from my mother so brusquely and unkindly.
My melancholy reflections were disturbed by the entrance of the steward. I was pleased to see him.
”Good-morning,” he said. ”Sleep well?”
”Splendidly! Where are we, steward?”
”Off Ushant. We shall get a tossing presently.”
”What do you call this?” I asked, as the waves came rus.h.i.+ng past the bulwarks. I could see great mountains rising and sinking outside, and white foam das.h.i.+ng up. The air was cool too, and raw.
”That's nothing at all; wait a while. The wind's rising fast, and we'll have a fine sea presently. Are you getting up?”
”What's the time, please? I feel better now.”
”It's seven bells in the morning watch--half-past seven, you know.”
”Yes, I know _that_,” I replied. ”Can I have breakfast?”
”Of course; whatever you like--in reason.”