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Sail Ho! A Boy at Sea, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 7 |
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_ CHAPTER SEVEN. Down south we sailed as swiftly as favouring gales and plenty of sail could take us, and in course of time we had passed below the Azores, and every one on board was waking up to the fact that we were getting into latitudes where the weather grew hotter and more sunshiny day by day. All the foul winds and rough seas had been left far behind in the north, and anything more delightful than the life on board it would have been impossible to conceive. There were troubles, of course, and I used to think that the captain was unnecessarily severe on Jarette and several of the other men; but I set it down to a desire to preserve good discipline, and of course I felt that he must know best how to manage his crew. The passengers passed the greater part of their time on deck, coming up early to bathe in the bright sunshine which made the metal look too hot to touch, and the tar to glisten in little beads all along beneath the ropes and about the seams of the deck, and they stayed late at night in the brilliant moonlight, till I used to think that our voyage was going to be one long time of pleasure; for every one--no, not every one-- seemed to be happy and cheerful, and I made no end of friends. I had plenty to do, but even in their strictest moments the officers were pleasant to me, and I thought, thanks to the breaking in I had had with my father on his yacht, going to sea in a big clipper ship one of the most delightful of lives. But there was some bitter in it. Walters and I never grew to be warm friends, though I did my best. He did not get on with the officers either, but used to seize every opportunity to get away and talk to some of the sailors, particularly with the Frenchman Jarette, who was in trouble with the captain just after our starting, but who, thanks to the severe treatment he had received, now proved to be one of the smartest of the crew. He spoke English as well as I did, but if ever I drew near when Walters had gone to lean over the bulwarks and talk to him, I could hear that it was in French--bad French, spoken very slowly on Walters' part, and he used to have to make Jarette say what he had to say two or three times over before he could quite make it out. "No business of mine," I thought. "I might do the same and practise up my French," which needed it badly enough, for I had pretty well forgotten all I had learned. Things were not quite happy either on deck. I did not thoroughly understand why, and attributed it to Mr Denning's ill-temper, consequent upon his being unwell, for he was haughty and distant with Mr Frewen whenever he tried to be friendly, and I used to set it down to his having had so much to do with doctors that he quite hated them; but there seemed to be no reason why he should snub Mr Preddle so whenever the big stout fellow approached him and his sister and tried to enter into conversation. Mr Preddle used to complain to me about it when I went with him to see to the aerating and giving fresh water to the fish, which needed a great deal of attention, and in spite of all our care would insist in turning wrong side up, to paddle about slowly and helplessly for a while, and then make a vigorous effort and swim naturally. But the next minute they were back down and white up, and so they would go on till they were too weak to move, and a few minutes after they would die. "Yes, it's sad business, Alison Dale," Mr Preddle would say with a sigh, as he lifted a little trout out of one tray, or a tiny salmon from another. "I'm afraid that I shall not have many left by the time I arrive over in New Zealand." "Perhaps they will get on better when we are in warmer parts." "I'm afraid they'll die faster then," he said, taking something out of a locked-up box under one of the water-troughs, and to my surprise I saw that it was an ordinary pair of kitchen bellows. "What! are you going to light a fire to warm them, sir?" I said. He smiled. "No, no; don't you know that fish require plenty of air?" "Yes, I've heard something of the kind, and that if a pond is frozen over, and the ice is not broken, the fish die." "Exactly, for want of air. Look at those fish in that trough." "Yes, they're hungry," I said, for in one corner a number of them were putting their mouths nearly out of the water, and opening and shutting them. "No, they want air; there is not enough in the water. Now you'll see." He thrust the nozzle of the bellows beneath the surface, and began puffing away till the water boiled and bubbled and was covered with foam, while after the first few puffs the fish swam about more vigorously and left the surface. "There, you see," he said, "there is plenty of air now," and he served the other troughs the same. "Now, look here, Alison Dale," he said, as he replaced the bellows, and locked the box, "I'll leave the key behind this trough, and if you would not mind, I should be greatly obliged if you would give the fish a little air now and then just to help me, for I should dearly like to keep the poor things alive." "Oh yes," I said, "I'll do it whenever I have a chance, but I don't quite understand; I thought fish breathed water." "With air in it. If there is no air to mingle with the water, the fish soon die." "But air over the water, you mean," I said. "No; in the water; it will hold an enormous deal of air or gas. Look at soda-water, for instance, how full of gas that is, and how the tiny beads come bubbling out as soon as the pressure is removed. Now, if I only had a few fish in these troughs, there would be plenty of air for them naturally in the water, but with so many in my charge," he sighed, "it must be supplied artificially." "All right, then, we'll supply it artificially; but it looks very comic to be blowing the water with bellows instead of the fire, and if Walters catches me at it, he'll tell everybody that I've gone mad." "Then you will help me?" he said, appealingly. "Oh yes, I'll help you," I replied, and he looked so big and boyish that I felt as if I ought to slap him over the back and call him "old chap." "Thank you, thank you," he said in his mild way; "and--er--er--" Then he stopped, with his mouth opening and shutting; and as I stared at him, I could not help thinking how like he was to one of his fish. "Yes," I said; "you were going to say something." "Eh? Was I?" he said, looking quite red in the face, and uneasy. "Oh, it was nothing--nothing--I--er--I hardly know what I was about to say. Yes, I do," he cried, desperately; "I remember now. You were close to us this morning when Mr Denning spoke to me. Did you hear what he said?" "No, I was too far off," I replied; "but he seemed to be speaking snappishly." "Yes, he does sometimes; I'm afraid that he does not like me." "You worry him," I thought to myself, "by hanging about him so, and talking to Miss Denning when he wants her to read to him." "Yes?" said Mr Preddle; "what were you thinking?" "Oh, about what you said. He is irritable, you know, from bad health." "Yes," he said, quite in a whisper, "irritable from bad health, poor fellow." He stood with the little landing-net in his hand, gazing down into the trough nearest to us as if watching the little trout; but his thoughts were, I dare say, of something else, and I did not like to disturb him, but stood giving a side look now and then at him, but for the most part watching his charge, and thinking how thoroughly man had imitated the shape of a fish in making a ship, even to the tail to steer it with. Then all at once I looked up, for there were voices outside, and I knew it was Jarette the Frenchman saying something very earnestly to Walters. I did not hear what either of them said, for they spoke in a very low tone, and in French. But I caught just the last words which were uttered by Jarette, and they were these-- "Mais prenez-garde, mon ami. Prenez-garde." Then they had passed on, and all was silent again, with Mr Preddle still watching the fish. "'But take care, my friend, take care.' That's what he said," I thought to myself; "I know French enough for that. Take care of what? And why does he call Walters 'my friend'? He's only a common sailor, and a midshipman even in a merchantman oughtn't to be friends in that way with the men." Then I laughed silently to myself as I thought of how fond I was of leaning over the bulwarks and talking to old Bob Hampton when he had the watch, and listening to his sea-tales about storms and pirates. "How ready one is to find fault with people one doesn't like," I said to myself. "I beg your pardon," said Mr Preddle. "I didn't speak, sir." "No; but I had gone into a brown study. There, the fish will do now." We both went on deck, and somehow when I was alone I too went into a brown study, and began wondering at Mr Preddle's curious ways, and thinking what a pity it was that a gentleman like Mr Denning, who was on a voyage for the sake of his health, should take such a dislike to Mr Frewen and Mr Preddle too. It hardly seemed to be like irritability, for after all he was as merry and friendly with the officers as he was with me. I never went near him without his beckoning to me to come to his side, and both he and his sister were quite affectionate to me, making my first long voyage wonderfully pleasant, and the captain encouraged it. "He must have heard something about them," I thought, and then I began to think about Walters and the French sailor and the other sailors, of those who seemed to form one party all to themselves, and of the others who kept more along with Bob Hampton and his two friends, who had sailed together for so many years. "There, what does it matter?" I said to myself, as I roused myself from my musings. "Walters doesn't like Bob Hampton because Bob laughed at him, and that's why he hangs toward Jarette; pities him, perhaps, because they both got into trouble with the officers, and birds of a feather flock together." These were all dreamy thoughts, like clouds in my mind. I could not understand them. I grew wiser later on when the troubles came. _ |
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