Part 15 (1/2)

”Jack,” she told us that evening, ”is every inch a sailor. Oh, it is fine to hear him carrying on when we're shortening sail in front of a puff. And all the men obey him, too.”

Captain Coates laughed aloud--rather a pleasant, hearty laugh it was.

”Obey me, do they! Quite an exceptional thing on board a s.h.i.+p.

Thunder! Miss Domville, the man who didn't obey me would soon be scratching an ailing head.”

”That's just his way,” Mrs Coates whispered to me. ”Jack is such a fellow.--Oh, by the way, you're called Jack. We'll have two?”

”Oh, it won't matter much,” I said, ”I've a whole barrowful of names besides to pick and choose from.”

”I'm sure you'll like the sea and Captain Coates, and that we shall all pull together famously. By the way, Miss Domville, I'm taking a maid again.”

”You had one last time.”

”Yes, and a nice handful she was. Ill for weeks, and I had to attend upon her. This is a black girl, so humorous, kindly, and good, and been to sea quite a long time.”

We were very happy that evening, especially when aunt told us that we were going to India, and that we should call at the Cape and probably see mamma.

”Oh,” I shouted, ”I'm so glad that we played pirates.”

”So am I,” cried Jill, and began to dance.

”Auntie,” I said, ”promise me one thing. Oh, you must promise.”

”Well, well, if I must promise, what is it?”

”You'll write and tell mamma we've gone to sea. But don't say _where_.

We want to pop in on her unawares. Don't we, Jill?”

”Certainly.”

”Well,” said auntie, ”I'll humour you for once.”

There is always something in this life happening to mar one's joy, just when it is at its height. That is my experience. But things are wisely ordered. Heaven does not desire us to get too fond of this world. If it were all suns.h.i.+ne we would be sure to, and forget there is a happier land beyond the grave.

But before we went to bed, auntie told us about the sad fate of poor Tom Morley.

She seemed unwilling at first to tell us anything to damp our spirits, but as we had mentioned Tom, and saw there was something behind her first simple statement that Tom was dead, we pressed her and she withheld nothing.

The brief narrative of his latter end was related to her by Tom's own quondam s.h.i.+pmate, the man who had come on board for him on that unfortunate evening before our final foolish adventure on the _Thunderbolt_; and when we heard it from auntie's lips it made an impression on us I am never likely to forget.

Boys do take fancies for persons, whether men or women, whom they get in tow with--to use a sea phrase--when young, and I think they are more likely to be lasting ones if these persons have any memorable oddity about them. Tom had several, his hoa.r.s.e but not unpleasant voice, his flower-pot coloured face, and his exceeding good nature when off duty.

To put it in few words, he then used to let us do as we liked. I think I see Jill yet jumping round him and singing--

”Dear old Tom Morley, Come tell us a storley.”

Then we would catch him and ”lug him below” (the phrase is Tom's) and seat him in his armchair, and even light his pipe for him, and then sit down to listen.

Tom's stories nearly always had much about the same plan of commencement, which was somewhat as follows:--