Part 6 (1/2)
The victory was gained by the tempter for that time at least. The fishermen who went for baccy, remained for schnapps, and some of them were very soon more than half drunk. It was a fierce, maddening kind of spirit, which produced its powerful effects quickly.
The skipper of the _Lively Poll_ kept himself better in hand than his men, but, being very sociable in disposition, and finding the Dutchman a humorous and chatty fellow, he saw no reason to hurry them away.
Besides, his vessel was close alongside, and nothing could be done in the fis.h.i.+ng way during the dead calm that prevailed.
While he and his men were engaged in a lively conversation about nothing in particular--though they were as earnest over it as if the fate of empires depended on their judgment--the Dutch skipper rose to welcome another boat's crew, which approached on the other side of the _coper_.
So eager and fuddled were the disputants of the _Lively Poll_ that they did not at first observe the newcomers.
It was the _Fairy's_ boat, with d.i.c.k Martin in charge.
”Hallo, d.i.c.k, mein boy; gif me your vlipper.”
A sign from Martin induced the Dutchman to lean over the side and speak in lower tones.
”Let's have a keg of it,” said d.i.c.k, with a mysterious look. ”Ned Bryce sent me for a good supply, an' here's _fish_ to pay for it.”
The fish--which of course belonged to the owner of the _Fairy_, not to Ned Bryce--were quickly pa.s.sed up, and a keg of spirits pa.s.sed down.
Then the Dutchman asked if d.i.c.k or his men wanted tabac or schnapps for themselves.
”I vill take jersey, or vish, or sail, or boots, or vat you please in exchange. Com' aboard, anyhow, an' have von leetle gla.s.s.”
d.i.c.k and his men having thus smartly transacted their chief business, leaped on deck, made fast their painter, let the boat drop astern, and were soon smoking and drinking amicably with the crew of the _Lively Poll_. Not long afterwards they were quarrelling. Then d.i.c.k Martin, who was apt to become pugnacious over his liquor, a.s.serted stoutly that something or other ”was.” Joe Stubley swore that it ”_was not_,”
whereupon d.i.c.k Martin planted his fist on Joe Stubley's nose and laid its growly owner flat on the deck.
Starting up, Joe was about to retaliate, when Lockley, seizing him by the neck thrust him over the side into the boat, and ordered his more or less drunken crew to follow. They did so with a bad grace, but the order was given in a tone which they well understood must not be disobeyed.
As they pushed off, Stubley staggered and fell into the sea. Another moment and he would have been beyond all human aid, but Lockley caught a glimpse of his s.h.a.ggy black head as it sank. Plunging his long right arm down, and holding on to the boat with his left, he caught the drowning man by the hair. Strong and willing arms helped, and Stubley was hauled inboard--restored to life, opportunity, and hope--and flung into the bottom of the boat.
The oars were s.h.i.+pped, and they pulled for the _Lively Poll_. As they rode away they saw that other boats were proceeding towards the _coper_.
The men in them were all anxious to buy baccy. No mention was made of drink. Oh dear no! They cared nothing for that, though, of course, they had no sort of objection to accept the wily Dutchman's generous offer of ”von leetle gla.s.s vor goot vellows.h.i.+p.”
CHAPTER SIX.
THE POWER OF SYMPATHY.
One fine afternoon, not long after the visit to the _coper_, Bob Lumsden, _alias_ Lumpy, was called from his culinary labours to a.s.sist in hauling in the net.
Now it is extremely interesting to note what a wonderful effect the power of loving sympathy can have on a human being. Lumpy was a human being--though some of his mates insisted that he must have been descended from a cod-fish, because his mouth was so large. No doubt it was, and when the boy laughed heartily he was, indeed, apt to remind one of that fish; nevertheless it was a good, well-shaped mouth, though large, with a kindly expression about it, and a set of splendid white teeth inside of it. But, whether human or fishy in his nature, Bob Lumsden had been overwhelmed by a flood of sympathy ever since that memorable day when he had first caught a glimpse of the sweet, pale face of the little invalid Eve Mooney. It was but a brief glimpse, yet it had opened a new sluice in Lumpy's heart, through which the waters of tenderness gushed in a wild torrent.
One of the curious results of this flood was that Bob was always more prompt to the summons to haul up the trawl than he had ever been before, more energetic in clawing the net inboard, and more eager to see and examine the contents of the cod-end. The explanation is simple. He had overheard his skipper say how fond Eve was of sh.e.l.ls--especially of those which came from the bottom of the North Sea, and of all sorts of pretty and curious things, wherever they came from.
From that hour Bob Lumpy became a diligent collector of marine curiosities, and the very small particular corner of the vessel which he called his own became ere long quite a museum. They say that sympathy is apt to grow stronger between persons of opposite const.i.tutions. If this be so, perhaps it was his nature--his bold, hearty, gus.h.i.+ng, skylarking spirit, his strong rugged frame, his robust health, his carroty hair, his appley cheeks, his eagle nose, his flas.h.i.+ng eyes--that drew him so powerfully to the helpless, tender little invalid, with her delicate frame and pale cheeks, straight little nose, bud of a mouth, and timid, though by no means cowardly, spirit.
On another occasion Bob overheard Lockley again talking about Eve. ”I'm sorry for the poor thing,” he said to Peter Jay, as they paced the deck together; ”she's got such a wretched home, an' her mother's such a drunken bru--”
Lockley checked himself, and did not finish the sentence.
”The doctor says,” he resumed, ”that if Eve had only a bath-chair or suthin' o' that sort, to get wheeled about in the fresh air, she'd very likely get better as she growed older--specially if she had good victuals. You see, small as she is, and young as she looks, she's over fifteen. But even if she had the chair, poor thing! who would wheel it for her? It would be no use unless it was done regular, an' her mother can't do it--or won't.”
From that hour Bob Lumpy became a miser. He had been a smoker like the rest of the crew, but he gave up ”baccy.” He used to take an occasional gla.s.s of beer or spirits when on sh.o.r.e or on board the _copers_, but he became a total abstainer, much to his own benefit in every way, and as a result he became rich--in an extremely small way.