Part 30 (2/2)

The short squall having carried the boat nearer to the Gull lights.h.i.+p than was desirable, Mr Jones tried to keep as far off from her as possible, while the tide should sweep them past; but the wind having almost died away, he did not succeed in this; however, he knew that darkness would prevent recognition, so he thought it best not to take to the oars, but to hold on, intending to slip quietly by, not supposing that Billy would think it of any use to hail the vessel; but Billy happened to think otherwise.

”Gull ahoy! hoy!” he shouted at the top of his shrill voice.

”Boat ahoy!” responded Jack Shales, who happened to be on duty; but no response was given to Jack, for the good reason that Jones had instantly clapped his hand on Billy's mouth, and half-choked him.

”That's odd,” remarked Jack, after repeating his cry twice. ”I could swear it was the voice of that sharp little rascal Billy Towler.”

”If it wasn't it was his ghost,” replied Jerry MacGowl, who chanced to be on deck at the time.

”Sure enough it's very ghost-like,” said Shales, as the boat glided silently and slowly out of the circle of the lantern's light, and faded from their vision.

Mr Jones did not follow up his act with further violence. He merely a.s.sured Billy that he was a foolish fellow, and that it was of no use to struggle against his fate.

As time wore on, poor Billy felt dreadfully sleepy, and would have given a good deal for some of the grog in his companion's case-bottle, but, resolving to stand upon his dignity, would not condescend to ask for it.

At length he lay down and slept, and Jones covered him with a pilot-coat.

No soft spot in the scoundrel's heart induced him to perform this act of apparent kindness. He knew the poor boy's temperament, and resolved to attack him on his weakest point.

When Billy awoke the day was just breaking. He stretched himself, yawned, sat up, and looked about him with the confused air of one not quite awake.

”Hallo!” he cried gaily, ”where on earth am I?”

”You ain't on earth, lad; you're afloat,” replied Jones, who still sat at the helm.

At once the boy remembered everything, and shrank within himself. As he did so, he observed the pilot-coat which covered him, and knew that it must have been placed where it was by Jones. His resolution to hold out was shaken; still he did not give in.

Mr Jones now began to comment in a quiet good-natured way upon the weather and the prospects of the voyage (which excited Billy's curiosity very much), and suggested that breakfast would not be a bad thing, and that a drop o' rum might be agreeable, but took care never to make his remarks so pointed as to call for an answer. Just as the sun was rising he got up slowly, cast loose the stays and halyards of mast and sail, lifted the mast out of its place, and deliberately hove the whole affair overboard, remarking in a quiet tone that, having served his purpose, he didn't want mast or sail any longer. In the same deliberate way he uns.h.i.+pped the rudder and cast it away. He followed this up by throwing overboard one of the oars, and then taking the only remaining oar, he sculled and steered the boat therewith gently.

Billy, who thought his companion must be either drunk or mad, could contain himself no longer.

”I say, old fellow,” he remarked, ”you're comin' it pretty strong! Wot on earth _are_ you up to, and where in all the world are 'ee goin' to?”

”Oh come, you know,” answered Jones in a remonstrative tone, ”I _may_ be an easy-goin' chap, but I can't be expected to tell all my secrets except to friends.”

”Well, well,” said Billy, with a sigh, ”it's no use tryin' to hold out.

I'll be as friendly as I can; only. I tells you candid, I'll mizzle whenever I gits ash.o.r.e. I'm not agoin' to tell no end o' lies to please you any longer, so I give 'ee fair warning,” said Billy stoutly.

”All right, my lad,” said the wily Jones, who felt that having subdued the boy thus far, he would have little difficulty in subduing him still further, in course of time, and by dint of judicious treatment; ”I don't want 'ee to tell lies on my account, an' I'll let you go free as soon as ever we get ash.o.r.e. So now, let's shake hands over it, and have a gla.s.s o' grog and a bit o' breakfast.”

Billy shook hands, and took a sip out of the case-bottle, by way of clenching the reconciliation. The two then had breakfast together, and, while this meal was in progress, Jones informed his little friend of the nature of the ”game” he was engaged in playing out.

”You must know, my lad,” said Mr Jones, ”that you and I have been wrecked. We are the only survivors of the brig Skylark, which was run down in a fog by a large three-masted screw steamer on the night of the thirteenth--that's three nights ago, Billy. The Skylark sank immediately, and every soul on board was lost except you and me, because the steamer, as is too often the case in such accidents, pa.s.sed on and left us to our fate. You and I was saved by consequence of bein' smart and gettin' into this here small boat--which is one o' the Skylark's boats--only just in time to save ourselves; but she had only one oar in her, and no mast, or sail, or rudder, as you see, Billy; nevertheless we managed to keep her goin' with the one oar up to this time, and no doubt,” said Mr Jones with a grin, ”we'll manage to keep her goin' till we're picked up and carried safe into port.”

Billy's eyes had opened very wide and very round as Mr Jones's description proceeded; gradually, as his surprise increased, his mouth also opened and elongated, but he said never a word, though he breathed hard.

”Now, Billy, my boy,” pursued Mr Jones, ”I tell 'ee all this, of course, in strict confidence. The Skylark, you must know, was loaded with a valuable cargo of fine herrings, worth about 200 pounds. There was 780 barrels of 'em, and 800 boxes. The brig was worth 100 pounds, so the whole affair was valued at 300 pounds sterling.”

”You don't mean to tell me,” said Billy, catching his breath, ”that there warn't never no such a wessel as the Skylark?”

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