Part 5 (2/2)
”Where will you reach port and land me?”
”I can't say; maybe at Gib--or Malta. We're in the Bay now. It's all the Bay between Ushant and Cape Finisterre.”
”It's awful rough, I think I had better lie still,” I said.
”As you like. The swell comes in here from the west, you see. But it isn't any rougher than the Atlantic between Ireland and America.”
”I suppose you have sailed all around England, and also abroad?”
”Yes, I've been in a few places in my time. I was a schoolmaster once.”
”You--a schoolmaster!” I exclaimed, sitting up with a jerk.
”Yes. Then I left the business, and went to sea as a purser's mate in the American trade. I saw a bit, and learned more geography than I could teach. I suppose you know all the celebrated sea places?”
”Oh yes; Trafalgar, and all those, of course.”
”And Dungeness, Beachy Head, Harfleur, and Ushant close here, on the great first of June. I could tell boys all about them better now. Ay, ay; but let's not think of them. You want breakfast--all right.”
He disappeared, and in a few minutes another man entered with a tray of good things, including marmalade and jam, toast, and hot rolls. What a splendid breakfast I made. I _almost_ forgot my home then. But the reaction came, and I felt miserable once more.
At half-past eight--I mean one bell in the forenoon watch--I said I would get up. I received some a.s.sistance from the steward, who had dried my clothes, but they had shrunk sadly. I made inquiries for Tim.
”He's forward all right,--you mean the fisherman, don't you?”
”Yes, Tim Murry. I should like to see him.”
”You can see him on the forecastle, if you like. You can walk forward when you've found your legs. Gently does it.”
I was greatly amused by being advised to take care. Why, I had been out in vessels in _very_ rough seas often! The idea of the steamer being so bad was ridiculous. So I stepped out on deck, and was just about to gaze around when I was thrown forcibly against the port (lee) bulwarks, and the breath knocked out of my body.
Wildly I grasped at the shrouds and halyards within reach. I gasped, turned blue and pale, and felt as if I was dying.
”Hold up!” cried the steward, who had come out behind me. ”Don't try to kill yourself, young fellow! You're too venturesome. Here, let me lead you to the companion, and sit there by the steps.”
He a.s.sisted me to the companion stair, and placed me in safety by the entrance to the little saloon.
The captain was on the bridge close by, over the chart-house. The s.h.i.+p was flush-decked, broken only by the commander's cabin, the charthouse, and the skylights, masts, and funnel. Forward was the men's berth and hatch. I could only observe these points when the captain hailed me.
”Hallo, my lad, are ye practisin' for the slack-wire? Would ye like a sling for yer legs?”
I blushed because the mate and steward laughed. The sailor at the wheel grinned silently.
”All right, captain,” I replied, ”I'll have a sling, please. Hoist away!”
The mate--I thought him the mate--on the deck laughed again, but in a different key. The captain spoke to him in a low tone. The officer came aft and beckoned to me to approach the bulwarks.
I staggered up as bidden, and in a moment he had secured me with a rope to a belaying pin amids.h.i.+ps, beneath the bridge. The rope hurt me, and pressed hard upon my waist in front.
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