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The Ocean Cat's Paw: The Story of a Strange Cruise, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 13. In The French Port |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN. IN THE FRENCH PORT In spite of the knocking about by the storm, the schooner was none the worse, and in the course of the day as the weather rapidly settled down and the western gale seemed to have blown itself out, while the sailors had been busy swabbing the rapidly drying planks, and, the wind having fallen, shaking out the saturated sails to dry, Uncle Paul strolled with his nephew up and down the deck, waiting till the skipper seemed to be less busy before going up to him. "Well," said Uncle Paul; "are we damaged at all?" "Not a bit," was the gruff reply. "It's done her good--stretched her ropes and got the canvas well in shape." "But how do you feel about the schooner?" "As if she was just what we wanted, sir. Given me a lot of confidence in her." "Then as the weather is settling down you will sail again to-night?" "No; I want to get a little more ballast aboard, and this is all a little bit of show. We shall have more weather before long. I shan't sail yet." The work being pretty well done--that is, as far as work ever is done in a small vessel--Rodd noticed that some of the men had been smartening themselves up, and after hanging about a bit watching the captain till he went below, Rodd saw them gather in a knot together by the forecastle hatch, talking among themselves, till one of the party, a heavy, dull-looking fellow, very round and smooth-faced and plump, with quite a colour in his cheeks, came aft to where Rodd and his uncle were standing watching the busy scene about the wharves of the inner harbour, and discussing as to whether they should go ashore for a few hours to look round the town. "I am thinking, Pickle, that after such a bad night as we had, we might just as well stay aboard and rest, and besides, as far as I can see everything's muddy and wretched, and I fancy we should be better aboard." "Oh, I don't know, uncle. We needn't be long, and it will be a change. But here's the Bun coming up to speak to you." "The what!" cried Uncle Paul. "That man--Rumsey." "But why do you call him the Bun?" "Oh, it's the men's name for him," said Rodd, laughing. "They nicknamed him because he was such a round-faced fellow." "Beg pardon, sir," said the man, making a tug at his forelock. "Yes, my man; you want to speak to me?" "Yes, sir; the lads asked me to say, sir, that as it's been a very rough night--" "Very, my man--very," said Uncle Paul, staring. "They'd take it kindly, sir, if you'd give about half of us leave to go ashore for a few hours." "Oh, well, my man, I have no objection whatever," said Uncle Paul. "As far as I am concerned, by all means yes." "Thankye, sir; much obliged, sir," said the man eagerly, and pulling his forelock again he hurried forward to join the group which had sent him as their spokesman to ask for leave. Rodd turned to speak to his uncle, and caught Joe Cross's eye instead, wondering at the man's comical look at him as he closed an eye and jerked one thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the group forward as they began whispering together, and then, thrust forward towards the side by his companions, the Bun began to signal towards the Frenchmen hanging about the nearest landing-place, where several boats were made fast to the side of the dock. Just at that moment the skipper came up from below, saw what was going on at a glance, strode towards the group, which began to dissolve at once, the Bun being the only man whose attention was taken up by a boatman who was answering his signal. Just while the signaller was making his most energetic gestures he leaped round in the most startled way, for the skipper had closed up and given him a very smart slap on the shoulder. "Now, Rumsey, what's this?" he cried. "Boat, sir. Going ashore, sir." "Who is?" said the skipper, frowning. "Us six, sir." "Us six! Why, you're only one." "Yes, sir. These 'ere others too, sir." "What others?" cried the captain, and Rumsey, looking anxiously around, found for the first time that he was alone. "The lads as was here just now, sir--six on us." "Oh, indeed!" said the skipper sarcastically, and raising his cap he gave his rough hair a rub. "Let me see; when did I give you leave to go ashore?" "No, sir; not you, sir. Dr Robson, sir." "Oh, I see," said the skipper. This was all said loud enough for Rodd and Uncle Paul to hear, and Rodd began to grin as he looked at his uncle, whose face assumed a perplexed aspect, one which increased to uneasiness as the captain came up to them at once. "Just a word, sir," he said. "Did you order these men to go ashore?" "Oh no," cried Uncle Paul. "One of them came up to me, asking if I had any objections to their going ashore, and I said, not the least. I supposed, of course, that they had got leave from you." "Of course, sir. Bless 'em for a set of artful babies! They aren't learned discipline yet. You, Rumsey, go and tell your messmates that if they try that game again with me they'll stand a fine chance of not going ashore for the rest of the voyage." "Yes, sir, I'll tell them, sir," cried the man hurriedly; and he shuffled off as hard as he could to find those who had left him in the lurch. "Here, you, Joe Cross," continued the captain, "you signal to that Frenchy boatman that he is not wanted." "Ay, ay, sir!" cried Cross, hurrying to the side, where he began gesticulating angrily, in spite of which the boatman persisted in coming alongside and in voluble French declaring that he was ordered to come and would not go back until he was paid. Meanwhile a little explanation was going on between the skipper and Uncle Paul. "Don't want to be bumptious, sir," said the former, "but there's only room on board a craft for one captain. Those fellows jump at any chance to get ashore, and when they are there, there's no knowing when you'll get them on board again, besides which, they wouldn't be careful, and French and English don't get on very well together after all that's gone by. Here, Cross, tell that jabbering Frenchman if he isn't off, he'll have to go back with a hole through the bottom of his boat. No, stop. Go and find Mr Craig. Tell him to set those six men something to do." "Ay, ay, sir!" cried the sailor, hurrying off. "There, it was all my fault, captain," said Uncle Paul, smiling. "I won't offend again. Here, Rodd, my boy, give that poor fellow a shilling for his trouble." Rodd hurried to the side, hailed the man, and held out the coin, telling him in very bad French what it was for; but the fellow shook his head, held up four fingers, and began shouting "_Quatre_!" so loudly that the skipper heard. "Cat, indeed!" he shouted. "Just what I should like to give him. Here, come away, Mr Rodd; he shan't have anything now." But Rodd did not obey at once. "One or nothing," he cried to the man, in French. "_Quatre! Quatre_!" shouted the man. Rodd shook his head and was turning away, but the boatman swarmed up the side, and reaching over the rail, shouted "_Quatre_!" again, till the skipper made so fierce a rush at him that he lowered his feet quickly down into his boat, catching the shilling that Rodd pitched to him, and then hurriedly pushing off for the landing-place. "Oh, it's all right, Dr Robson," said the skipper, "only you must leave all this shore-going to me. I know my lads; you don't." Just then Craig, the mate, came up on deck, looking very sour at having been awakened from a comfortable sleep, and did not scruple about setting the delinquents to work upon some very unnecessary task, to the great delight of their messmates, who, headed by Joe Cross, gave them pretty freely to understand what their opinion was of the scheme to get a run ashore. It was towards evening that, after a hasty meal, partaken of in peace in the still waters of the harbour, tempted by a few gleams of sunshine, and for Rodd's gratification, Uncle Paul and Rodd were rowed ashore in the same boat as the skipper, who had business with the English Consul about his papers, the understanding being that the boat was to go back and meet them at nine o'clock. "That's as long as we shall want to stay, Rodd," said Uncle Paul. "Yes, sir," said the skipper; "and if I were you I'd turn in early for a good night's rest, for I'm thinking we shall have dirty weather again to-morrow, and there's no knowing how long it will last." "But it looks so bright to-night," cried Rodd. "Just here, sir," cried the skipper, "and it may be fine enough to tempt me off in the morning; but I don't feel at all sartain, and to-morrow night we may be having another knocking about." They separated at the landing-place, and for the next two hours Rodd was making himself acquainted with the principal streets of the old seaport, time going very rapidly and the night coming on. It was growing pretty dark, and after making two mistakes as to their direction, Rodd declared that he knew the way, and his uncle yielding to his opinion, the boy led on, till, turning a corner sharply, they almost came in contact with a couple of French officers walking in the opposite direction, the one a tall, stern, elderly-looking man, talking in a low excited tone to his young companion, whose attention was so much taken up as he deferentially listened to his elder, that he started back to avoid striking against Rodd, who also gave way. It was now almost dark, and the next moment the French officers had passed on, as Uncle Paul exclaimed-- "Yes, I believe you are right, Pickle. You are. Those are ships' lights hoisted up to the stays. Well, don't you see?" "Yes, uncle, but--" The boy said no more, and Uncle Paul laid his hand upon his shoulder. "What's the matter?" he cried. "Why don't you speak? Those are the lights in the harbour." "Yes--yes. Yes, uncle, I see," said the boy hastily; "but--er--but-- er--" "Why, what's the matter with you? Don't feel done up?" "No, uncle," replied Rodd hurriedly. "I was only puzzled; it seemed so strange." "You mean you seem so strange," said the doctor, laughing. "Yes, uncle, I feel so." "Well, come along, and let's make haste aboard. I don't want to keep the captain waiting. We have lost so much time by missing our way. It's past nine, I'm sure." "Yes, uncle," said the boy, speaking more like himself; "it must be. But I felt so startled in coming suddenly upon those two officers." "Why, there was nothing to startle you, my boy." "No, uncle, I suppose not; but somehow I felt that I had been close to that one who nearly ran up against me before, and when he said '_Pardon_'--" "I didn't hear him say '_Pardon_,'" said Uncle Paul. "But he did, uncle, just in a low tone so that I could hardly hear him, and then I felt sure we had met before." "Nonsense!" cried Uncle Paul. "Look here, my boy, how much sleep did you have last night?" "Sleep, uncle!" cried the boy, in a voice full of surprise. "Why, none at all. Who could sleep through that storm?" "I'll answer for myself," said the doctor; "I could not. Well, you were completely tired out, and are half dreaming now. Come along; let's find the boat and get on board for a light supper and a good night's rest." "Yes, uncle," said Rodd quietly; "but take care; we are on the wharf. I can make out the shipping plainly now;" and as he spoke a familiar hail came out of the darkness, while as they answered the captain strode towards them. "Thought you were lost, gentlemen. Been waiting half-an-hour. Take care; the boat's down here;" and striding along the top of the harbour wall the skipper led the way to the descending steps, where the boat was waiting, and they were rowed aboard. An hour later Rodd was plunged in the deepest of deep sleeps, but dreaming all the same of the storm and of getting into difficulties with some one who was constantly running against him and whispering softly, "Pardon!" _ |
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