Chapter 8. The Salcombe Boats

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_ CHAPTER EIGHT. THE SALCOMBE BOATS

"I am very, very sorry, sir," said Mrs Champernowne. "Of course I am only a poor widow, and I let my apartments to gentlemen who come down fishing or to take walks for their health over the moor. But your stay down here has been something more than that. It has been a real pleasure to me ever since you and the young gentleman have been here. And not only am I very sorry that you are going away, but it has quite upset me to hear that you are going sailing away over the stormy seas, searching for all kinds of strange things in foreign abroad."

"Oh, come, come, Mrs Champernowne," cried Uncle Paul, as he saw the poor woman lift up her apron and put one corner to her eye. "There oughtn't to be anything in a naturalist's expedition to upset you."

"Ah, you don't know, sir," said Mrs Champernowne, speaking to Uncle Paul, but shaking her head sadly at Rodd all the while. "I have had those who were near and dear to me go sailing away quite happy and joyful like, just the same as you and Mr Rodney might, and never come back again, for the sea is a very dangerous place."

"Oh, perhaps so, and of course there are exceptions," said Uncle Paul; "but as a rule people do come back safe."

"I don't know, sir," said the old lady, shaking her head sadly. "The sea is very unruly sometimes. Hadn't you better take my advice, sir, and stop here? The moor's very big, and surely if you and the young gentleman look well you'll be able to find plenty of things to fill your bottles, without going abroad."

"Can't be done, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul smiling. "Dartmoor isn't the West Coast of Africa, nor yet the Cape of Good Hope, so, much as we have enjoyed being here, we shall have to say good-bye, and live in hopes of coming to see you again some day, for I haven't half worked out the moor, nor yet a hundredth part."

"I am very, very, very sorry," said the old lady again, "but no doubt, sir, you know best. When do you think of going, sir?"

"To-morrow morning, Mrs Champernowne. We can't let the grass grow under our feet, can we, Rodd?"

"No, uncle," was the reply; and the next morning the portmanteau was packed, the fishing-rod and naturalist's nets tied up in a neat bundle, a light spring cart was drawn up at the door, and uncle and nephew were soon on their way to the cross roads to take their chance of finding room upon the Plymouth coach, which came within a few miles of the widow's cottage.

They were fortunate, as it happened, and that evening they were safely back at Uncle Paul's home, a pleasant little country house on the high grounds overlooking the glorious harbour dotted with vessels, which included several of the King's men-of-war, and within easy reach of the docks.

"Ah," cried Uncle Paul that evening, as he strolled out into his garden, in company with Rodd, who was carrying a telescope that looked like a small cannon; "that was a fine air up on the moor, my boy, but nothing like this. Take a good long deep breath. Can't you smell the salt and the seaweed? Doesn't it set you longing to be off?"

"Well--yes, uncle," replied the boy, smiling and screwing up his face till it was all wrinkled about the eyes; "but I begin to be a bit afraid."

"Afraid, sir? What of?"

"That I shan't turn out such a good sailor as I should like to be."

"Why, what do you mean? Now, look here, Rodd; don't you tell me that you want to back out of going upon this trip."

"Oh no, uncle," cried the boy eagerly. "I want to go, of course!"

"But what are you afraid of?"

"Well, you see, uncle, coasting about with you in a fisherman's lugger for a few days, and always keeping within sight of land, is one thing; going right away across the ocean is quite another."

"Well, sir, who said it wasn't?" cried Uncle Paul. "What then?"

"Suppose I turn ill, uncle?"

"Well, sir, suppose you do. Am I not doctor enough to put you right again?"

"Oh, I don't mean really ill, uncle. I mean sea-sick; and it would seem so stupid."

"Horribly; yes. You'd better be! Pooh! Rubbish! Nonsense! You talk like a great Molly. Now, no nonsense, Rodney. Speak out frankly and candidly. You mean that now it has come to the point you think it too serious, and you want to shirk?"

"I don't, uncle; I don't, indeed, and I do wish you wouldn't call me Rodney!" cried the boy earnestly.

"I shall, sir, _as long as I live, if you play me false now_."

"Oh, uncle, what a shame!" cried the boy passionately. "Play you false! Who wants to play you false? I only wanted to tell you frankly that I felt a bit afraid of not being quite equal to the sea. I want to go, and I mean to go, and you oughtn't to jump upon me like this, and call me Rodney."

The boy stood before the doctor, flushed and excited, as he continued--

"You talk to me, uncle, as if you thought that I was a regular coward and afraid of the sea."

"Then you shouldn't make me, sir. Who was it said afraid? Why, you have been out with me for days together, knocking about, in pretty good rough weather too."

"Yes, uncle, but that was all within sight of land."

"What's that got to do with it? It's often much rougher close in shore, especially on a rocky coast, than it is out on the main."

"I wish I hadn't spoken," cried Rodd passionately.

"So do I, sir."

"I couldn't help thinking I might turn very sick for days, and get laughed at by the crew and called a swab."

"Oh," said Uncle Paul, laughing, "you talked as if you were afraid of the sea, and all the time, you conceited young puppy, you mean that you are afraid of the men."

"Well, yes, uncle, I suppose that that really is it."

"Humph! Then why didn't you say so, and not talk as if you, the first of my crew that I reckoned upon, were going to mutiny and give it all up?"

"Give it up, uncle?" cried the boy. "Why, you know that I am longing to go."

"Ah, well, that sounds more like it, Pickle," said Uncle Paul, looking sideways at the boy through his half-closed eyes. "Then I suppose it is all a false alarm."

"Of course it is, uncle," cried Rodd.

"Well, we may as well make sure, you know, because once we are started it won't be long before we are out of sight of land, and there'll be no turning back."

"Well, I don't want to turn back, uncle."

"Then you shouldn't have talked as if you thought you might. Are you afraid now?"

"Not a bit, uncle. I am ready to start to-morrow morning."

"Ah, well, you won't, my boy, for there's everything to do first."

"Everything to do?"

"Of course. It's not like taking a few bottles and pill-boxes and a net or two to go up on the moor. Why, there's our ship to find first, and then to get her fitted with our nets and sounding-lines and dredges and all sorts of odds and ends, with reserves and provisions for all that we lose. Then there's to collect a crew."

"Oh, there'll be plenty of fellows down by the Barbican or hanging about down there who will jump at going."

"Don't you be so precious sanguine, my fine fellow. This will be all so fresh that the men won't be so ready as you expect. The first thing a seaman will ask will be, 'Where are we bound? What port?'"

"Well, uncle; tell them."

"Tell them what I don't know myself unless I say Port Nowhere on the High Seas! It will be all a matter of chance, Pickle, where we go and what we do, and I may as well say it now, if any one gets asking you what we are going to do, your answer is included in just these few words--We are going to explore."

Rodd nodded in a short business-like way.

"All right, uncle; I'll remember," he cried promptly. "Then you are going to hire a ship and engage a crew?"

"Well," said Uncle Paul thoughtfully, "we are landsmen--I mean landsman and a boy--but we may as well begin to be nautical at once and call things by the sea-going terms. No, my boy, I am not going to engage a ship--too big."

"Why, you won't go all that way in a lugger, uncle?"

"Bah! Rubbish!" cried Uncle Paul shortly. "Here, give me hold of that glass."

He took the telescope, drew out the slide to a mark upon the tube which indicated the focus which suited his eye, and then as he began slowly sweeping the portions of the harbour which were within reach he went on talking.

"Isn't there anything between a lugger and a ship, sir? You know well enough if you talk to a sailor about a ship he'd suppose you meant a full-rigged three-masted vessel."

"Yes, of course, uncle. And a barque is a three-master with a mizzen fore-and-aft rigged."

"That's better, my lad. But what do you mean by fore-and-aft rigged?"

"Well, like a schooner, uncle."

"Good boy! Go up one, as you used to say at school. Well, what do you think of a large schooner for a good handy vessel that can be well managed by a moderate crew?"

"Oh, I should think it would be splendid, uncle; and she'd sail very fast."

"That depends on her build and the way she is sailed, my boy. But that's what I am thinking of having, Pickle."

"But with a good crew, uncle."

"Yes; I want the best schooner and the best crew that are to be had, my boy."

"But it will cost a lot of money, uncle."

"Yes, Pickle; but I am proud to say that the Government has not been mean in that respect, and if what they have granted me is not enough, I shall put as many hundreds as are required out of my own pocket to make up the deficiency, so that in all probability I shan't have a penny to leave you, Pickle, when I die."

"When you die!" cried the boy scornfully. "Who wants you to die? And who wants you to leave me any money? I say, Uncle Paul, who's talking nonsense now?"

"How dare you, sir!"

"Then you shouldn't say such things, uncle. Talking about dying! There will be plenty of time to talk about that in a hundred years."

"Well, that's a very generous allowance, Pickle, and if we get such a schooner as I want, with a clever crew, and you work hard with me, why, we ought to make a good many discoveries by that time. A hundred years hence," continued Uncle Paul thoughtfully, as he apparently brought his telescope to bear upon a sloop of war whose white sails began to be tinged with orange as the sun sank low; but all the time he was peering out through the corners of his eyes to note the effect of his words upon his nephew. "But let me see--a hundred years' time. Why, how much older will you be then, Pickle?"

"Why, just the same as you would, uncle; a hundred years older than I am now. Pooh! You are making fun of me. But I say, uncle, be serious. How are you going to manage to get your schooner?"

"Set to work, and lose no time, my boy. But I am rather puzzled at the present moment, and I am afraid--"

Uncle Paul lowered the glass as he spoke, and turned his eyes thoughtfully upon his nephew, who had uttered a low peculiar sound.

"Of being sea-sick, uncle?" Uncle Paul smiled.

"I suppose that's what you call retaliation, young gentleman. Well, no, sir, I'm not afraid of that--at least, not much. I remember the first time I crossed the Channel that I was very ill, and every time I have been at sea since I have always felt that it would be unwise to boast; but I think both you and I can make our voyage without being troubled in that way. But we won't boast, Pickle, for, as they say, we will not holloa till we are out of the wood. Let me see; isn't there an old proverb something about a man not boasting till he taketh off his armour?"

"I think so, uncle, but I cannot recollect the words."

"Well, I don't want any armour, my boy, but I do want a well-found schooner--a new one if I can get it; if not, one that will stand a thorough examination; and I don't know that such a boat's to be got just now it's wanted. There are plenty of ramshackle old things lying about here, but I want everything spick-and-span ready for the extra fitting out I shall give her. Copper-fastened, quick-sailing, roomy, and with good cabin accommodation so that we can have a big workshop for the men who help us, and a sort of study and museum for ourselves. Now, Pickle, where shall we have to go to find such a craft? Portsmouth--London? What about Southampton?"

"Southampton. Yes. Some fine yacht, uncle."

"No, boy. She'd be all mast and sails. Do well for a coaster, but I want an ocean-going craft, one that will bear some knocking about. A cargo boat whose hold one could partition off for stores. Now then?"

There was silence for about a minute, and then Uncle Paul spoke again.

"There, out with it, boy, at once. Don't waste time. Say you don't know."

"But I think I do know, uncle," cried the boy.

"Eh? What? Where? Tchah! Not you!"

"But what about one of those boats the French prisoners escaped in?" cried Rodd eagerly.

"Eh? What? One of those trim orange boats that go on the Mediterranean Trade, that they build at Salcombe?"

"Yes, uncle. Don't you remember that one we were looking at a few months ago, that came in here after the storm, to get a new jibboom?"

"Why, of course I do, Pickle!" cried Uncle Paul eagerly. "Think of that, now! Why, I might have been fumbling about with a hammer for months and not found what I wanted, and here are you, you impudent young rascal, proving that you are not quite so stupid as I thought, for you hit the right nail on the head at once." _

Read next: Chapter 9. Captain Chubb

Read previous: Chapter 7. He Says

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