Wild Life in the Land of the Giants: A Tale of Two Brothers. Stables Gordon
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losing interest, and each of us being thorough masters of his or her part.
But one day Mr Moore with his wife were invited to Trafalgar Cottage and Tom Morley was left in charge of the ship, while at her own special request Mattie was also left on board.
We could play now to our hearts’ content.
But we little knew what was before us.
Chapter Six
An Appalling Adventure – “We must Prepare for Instant Flight.”
Just after tea, and while Tom was telling some of his most fascinating stories, and we three children were listening with dilated eyes and bated breath, we were hailed by a boatman.
“Thunderbolt ahoy!”
“Ay, ay,” cried Tom, jumping up and rushing to the gangway – we had been having tea on the upper deck.
Then up sprang an old shipmate of Tom’s, and we heard them talking earnestly together and looking towards us. At last Tom advanced almost shyly. “I dunno really,” he said, “if one o’ you young gentlemen would like to be left in charge of the old Thunderbolt for an hour or so. Yonder’s an old shipmate o’ mine, and I’d dearly like to run on shore for maybe an hour.”
“Oh, we’d like it immensely.” We spoke these words both at the same time, as strangely enough we always did speak brief sentences, when excited.
“Well then,” said Tom, laughing and addressing me, “You’re Captain Jack, this is Commander Jill, and this is Mattie the mate.”
“Hurrah!” we shouted. “Off you trundle, Tom, and see you enjoy yourself properly; and if you don’t report yourself in due form when you come on board, we’ll put you in irons. D’ye hear?”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Tom, saluting. Then over the side went he and his friend, and we saw them —no more.
Tom had promised not to be gone longer than eight o’clock, but eight and nine went by, and still he came not. The shades of night began to darken over the water and over the town, and worse than all it came on to blow.
We did not expect Mrs Moore to come back. Indeed it had been arranged, that if she did not return by seven, Tom was to see to putting us all to bed; and Tom – wicked, thoughtless Tom – had faithfully promised he would.
Alas! I fear that at that very moment Tom was tossing a can, and singing one of Dibdin’s songs.
“It’s very romantic, isn’t it?” said Mattie.
We both smiled like automata and said “yes”; but I don’t think either of us thought it was a desirable situation to be left in.
Jill and I were thinking about the ghost. But it would not do to say a word concerning this to Mattie. Each knew, too, what the other was thinking about. I am sure enough of this, because when, just as we were retiring into the great cabin, Jill gave a little glance behind him, and I said in his ear, “There are no such things, old Jill,” he nodded and smiled.
The wind shortly increased to nearly the force of a gale. It went roaring through the rigging of our one mast in a way that was dismal to listen to, though Mattie assured us it was perfectly delightful. The water alongside was all in a seethe, and the great ship wriggled if she did not roll, and kept pulling at her moorings as if she wanted to go flying away on the wings of that strong north wind. We busied ourselves, now, Jill and I, in getting supper, after which we put Mattie to bed on the couch. The three of us determined to turn in all-standing, as sailors phrase it when they mean that they do not undress.
But Jill and I took rugs and lay down in the cabin, as we did not want to be far from Mattie should she call during the night.
We had thought of keeping watch and watch in true navy fashion. But for several reasons we abandoned the idea. First and foremost there really was nothing to watch except Mattie, and we could watch her better if beside her; secondly it would be dreadfully dreary; and thirdly there was the very remotest chance, that the ghost of some of the brave fellows whose life-blood stained the fighting deck might take it into its head to visit the Thunderbolt during the storm that was raging.
The three of us said our prayers together, Jill and I kneeling down by Mattie’s couch. Then we kissed “good night,” and she went off like a top.
After we were quite sure she was sound, Jill looked at me and I looked at Jill, and up we both got as if we had arranged it all beforehand, and carefully locked the door and loaded our pistols and lay down again. We had no shot, but I said that did not matter, as if the noise of the pistol did not alarm the ghost and show him he was not wanted, shot would only go right through him and the holes would fill up again immediately.
However, we knew ghosts did not like light, so we left the swing lamp burning and lay down.
Not to sleep, for a time at all events. We could hear the roar of the wind now more distinctly, and many strange noises that we could not understand. It might have been rats, but there were footsteps so audible overhead every now and then, that we fully expected to see the door open and honest Tom appear to report himself.
I’m certain we heard scuffling and stamping outside the door, but at last all sounds merged into dreams, and if we did start awake now and then we could not be sure whether the noises that roused us were reality or imaginary.
We did sleep sound at last, for long hours too; then all at once, as if by instinct, or, as I said before, as if wound up to it like clockwork automata, Jill and I both rose up and became fully sensible that we were standing hand in hand in the centre of the room.
It was grey daylight on a lovely morning – very early, perhaps not quite three o’clock, and Jill and I both stared in astonishment as we gazed out of the port.
Why, the town was going round us. Houses and buildings and vessels were passing by the window.
Could we be dreaming? No, yonder was the green of a hill now, and the clouds moving also.
About the same moment that these wonderful phenomena were being presented to our eyes, the midshipman on watch on one of the ships – who, by the way, was half asleep – ran down below and reported to his commander that a steamer was going up harbour, and would run into the dockyard.
The commander said, “Get out of here, youngster. You’re mad or dreaming.”
The middy went on deck, but came diving below again immediately, taking two steps at a time.
“The Thunderbolt has slipped her moorings, and is driving out to sea.”
“Ay, lad,” said the commander, “that is more like it. The steamer you thought moving has been stationary.”
And now on board the hulk the real situation began to dawn upon our minds.
We were being run away with.
Then a great gun reverberated high over the howling wind, and gun after gun followed.
The good people of the town made quite sure that one of two things had happened: either a foreign enemy had landed, or the end of the world had come.
At the first gun Mattie, wideawake, jumped off the couch, and we at once explained to her the situation.
“Hullo!” she cried, “how nice! Hullo! hullo! Let’s play at being pirates.”
Her mirth and excitement were infectious.
In a minute or two we were armed and had rushed on deck, and the play was commenced.
The old Thunderbolt now was making good way down the harbour, and how she missed fouling and sinking some of the craft is to me a mystery to this day. But some of them had a marvellously close shave.
The whole harbour was now alarmed, and the officers and crews swarmed on the decks of the vessels. But the stately hulk held on her way, heading – sometimes sterning – for more open water.
Meanwhile, Pirate Jill was cheering in the ratlines, and finally leaped down, and the battle began with swords, we, the combatants, shouting as wildly as we thought was desirable.
We