The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack. R. Austin Freeman
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think there is, sir.”
“Then I’ll have some;” and, as the man saluted and bustled away up the companion-steps, he seated himself on the fixed bench by the table.
Captain Hartup smiled sourly, while Miss Burleigh regarded Osmond with delighted amusement.
“Seem quite intimate with ’em all,” the former remarked. “Regular friend of the family. I suppose it was you who gave Winter that black eye?”
“I expect so,” replied Osmond. “He probably caught it in the scrum when I first came on board. Did you have any trouble in getting the men to go back to duty?”
“The men in the fo’c’sle wouldn’t come out till daylight, and the two men in the hold took a lot of rousing from their drunken sleep. Of course, I couldn’t get through that hole with my arm in this sling, so I had to prod them with a boat-hook. It’s a pity you made that hole. Lets the smell of the cargo and the bilge through into the cabin.”
He looked distastefully at the dark aperture in the bulkhead and sniffed—quite unnecessarily, for the air of the cuddy was charged with the mingled aroma of bilge and kernels.
“Well, it had to be,” said Osmond; “and it will be easy to cover it up. After all, a smell in the cuddy is better than sea-water.”
Here Sam Winter was seen unsteadily descending the companion-steps with a large enamelled-iron plate in his hands; which plate, being deferentially placed on the table before Osmond, was seen to be loaded with a repulsive-looking mixture of ‘salt horse,’ shreds of fat pork and soaked biscuit floating in a greasy brown liquid.
“That’s all there was left, sir,” said he, transferring a small surplus from his hands to the dorsal aspect of his trousers.
Osmond made no comment on this statement but fell-to on the unsavoury mess with wolfish voracity, while the captain filled a mug with alleged coffee and passed it to him.
“Who is at the wheel, Winter?” the captain asked.
“Simmons, sir,” was the reply. “I woke him up again as I come aft.”
“Well, you’d better go up and take it from him. Carry on till I come up.”
As Winter disappeared up the companionway Miss Burleigh uttered a little gurgle of enjoyment. “Aren’t they funny?” she exclaimed. “Fancy waking up the man at the wheel! It’s like a comic opera.”
The captain looked at her sourly as he tapped the table with a piece of biscuit for the purpose of evicting a couple of fat weevils; but he made no comment, and for a time the meal proceeded in silence. The skipper was fully occupied with cutting up his corned pork with one hand and in breaking the hard biscuit and knocking out the weevils, while Osmond doggedly worked his way through the lobscouse with the silent concentration of a famished man, all unconscious of the interest and curiosity with which he was being observed by the girl opposite him.
However, the lobscouse came to an end—all too soon—and as he reached out to the bread-barge for a handful of biscuit he met her eyes; and fine, clear, bright blue eyes they were, sparkling with vivacity and humour. She greeted his glance with an affable smile and hoped that he was feeling revived.
“That looked rather awful stuff,” she added.
“It was all right,” said he, “only there wasn’t enough of it. But I hope you had something more suitable.”
“She has had what the ship’s stores provide, like the rest of us,” snapped the captain. “This is not a floating hotel.”
“No, it isn’t,” Osmond agreed, “and that’s a fact. But it is something that she still floats; and it would be just as well to keep her floating.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the skipper.
Osmond thoughtfully extracted a weevil with the prong of his fork as he replied: “You’ve got a crew of six, three to a watch, and one of them has got to do the cooking. But you have got no officers.”
“Well, I know that,” said the captain. “What about it?”
“You can’t carry on without officers.”
“I can and I shall. I shall appoint one of the men to be mate and take the other watch myself.”
“That won’t answer,” said Osmond. “There isn’t a man among them who could be trusted or who is up to the job; and you are not in a fit state to stand regular watches.”
Captain Hartup snorted. “Don’t you lay down the law to me, young man. I am the master of this ship.” And then he added, a little inconsistently “Perhaps you can tell me how I am to get a couple of officers.”
“I can,” replied Osmond. “There will have to be some responsible person on deck with each watch.”
“Well?
“Well, there are two responsible persons sitting at this table with you.”
For a few moments the captain stared at Osmond in speechless astonishment (while Miss Burleigh murmured “Hear, hear!” and rapped the table with the handle of her knife). At length he burst out: “What! Do I understand you to suggest that I should navigate this vessel with a landsman and a female as my mates?”
“I am not exactly a landsman,” Osmond replied. “I am an experienced yachtsman and I have made a voyage in a sailing ship.”
“Pah!” exclaimed the skipper. “Fresh-water sailor and a passenger! Don’t talk nonsense. And a female, too!”
“What I am suggesting,” Osmond persisted calmly, “is that you should be about as much as is possible in your condition and that Miss Burleigh and I should keep an eye on the men when you are below. I could take all the night watches and Miss Burleigh could be on deck during the day.”
“That’s just rank foolishness,” said the skipper. “Talk of a comic opera! Why, you are wanting to turn the ship into a Punch and Judy show! I’ve no patience to listen to you,” and the captain rose in dudgeon and crawled—not without difficulty—up the companion-steps. Miss Burleigh watched him with a mischievous smile, and as his stumbling feet disappeared she turned to Osmond.
“What a lark it would be!” she exclaimed, gleefully. “Do you think you will be able to persuade him? He is rather an obstinate little man.”
“The best way with obstinate people,” replied Osmond, “is to assume that they have agreed, and carry on. Can you steer—not that you need, being an officer. But you ought to know how to.”
“I can steer by the compass. But I don’t know much about the sails excepting that you have to keep the wind on the right side of them.”
“Yes, that is important with a square vessel. But you will soon learn the essentials—enough to enable you to keep the crew out of mischief. We will go on deck presently and then I will show you the ropes and explain how the gear works.”
“That will be jolly,” said she. “But there’s another thing that I want you to explain: about this mutiny, you know. Captain Hartup was awfully muddled about it. I want to know all that happened while I was locked in my berth.”
“I expect you know all about it now,” Osmond replied evasively. “There was a bit of a rumpus, of course, but as soon as Dhoody was overboard it was all plain sailing.”
“Now, you are not going to put me off like that,” she said, in a resolute tone. “I want the whole story in detail, if you please, sir. Does a second mate say ‘sir’ when he, or she, addresses the first mate?”
“Not as a rule,” Osmond replied, with a grin.
“Then I won’t. But I want the story. Now.” Osmond looked uneasily into the delicately fair, slightly freckled face and thought it, with its crown of red-gold hair, the prettiest face that he had ever seen.