A Master Of Craft

A Master Of Craft
William Wymark Jacobs

W. W. Jacobs

A Master Of Craft

CHAPTER I

A pretty girl stood alone on the jetty of an old-fashioned wharf at Wapping, looking down upon the silent deck of a schooner below. No smoke issued from the soot-stained cowl of the galley, and the fore-scuttle and the companion were both inhospitably closed. The quiet of evening was over everything, broken only by the whirr of the paddles of a passenger steamer as it passed carefully up the centre of the river, or the plash of a lighterman’s huge sweep as he piloted his unwieldy craft down on the last remnant of the ebb-tide. In shore, various craft sat lightly on the soft Thames mud: some sheeting a rigid uprightness, others with their decks at various angles of discomfort.

The girl stood a minute or two in thought, and put her small foot out tentatively towards the rigging some few feet distant. It was an awkward jump, and she was still considering it, when she heard footsteps behind, and a young man, increasing his pace as he saw her, came rapidly on to the jetty.

“This is the Foam, isn’t it?” enquired the girl, as he stood expectantly. “I want to see Captain Flower.”

“He went ashore about half an hour ago,” said the other.

The girl tapped impatiently with her foot. “You don’t know what time he’ll be back, I suppose?” she enquired.

He shook his head. “I think he’s gone for the evening,” he said, pondering; “he was very careful about his dress.”

The ghost of a smile trembled on the girl’s lips. “He has gone to call for me,” she said. “I must have missed him. I wonder what I’d better do.”

“Wait here till he comes back,” said the man, without hesitation.

The girl wavered. “I suppose, he’ll guess I’ve come here,” she said, thoughtfully.

“Sure to,” said the other promptly.

“It’s a long way to Poplar,” she said, reflectively. “You’re Mr. Fraser, the mate, I suppose? Captain Flower has spoken to me about you.”

“That’s my name,” said the other.

“My name’s Tyrell,” said the girl, smiling. “I daresay you’ve heard Captain Flower mention it?”

“Must have done,” said Fraser, slowly. He stood looking at the girl before him, at her dark hair and shining dark eyes, inwardly wondering why the captain, a fervid admirer of the sex, had not mentioned her.

“Will you come on board and wait?” he asked. “I’ll bring a chair up on deck for you if you will.”

The girl stood a moment in consideration, and then, with another faint reference to the distance of Poplar from Wapping, assented. The mate sprang nimbly into the ratlins, and then, extending a hand, helped her carefully to the deck.

“How nice it feels to be on a ship again!” said the girl, looking contentedly about her, as the mate brought up a canvas chair from below. “I used to go with my father sometimes when he was alive, but I haven’t been on a ship now for two years or more.”

The mate, who was watching her closely, made no reply. He was thinking that a straw hat with scarlet flowers went remarkably well with the dark eyes and hair beneath it, and also that the deck of the schooner had never before seemed such an inviting place as it was at this moment.

“Captain Flower keeps his ship in good condition,” said the visitor, somewhat embarrassed by his gaze.

“He takes a pride in her,” said Fraser; “and it’s his uncle’s craft, so there’s no stint. She never wants for paint or repairs, and Flower’s as nice a man to sail under as one could wish. We’ve had the same crew for years.”

“He’s very kind and jolly,” said the girl.

“He’s one of the best fellows breathing,” said the mate, warmly; “he saved my life once—went overboard after me when we were doing over ten knots an hour, and was nearly drowned himself.”

“That was fine of him,” said Miss Tyrell, eagerly. “He never told me anything about it, and I think that’s rather fine too. I like brave men. Have you ever been overboard after anybody?”

Fraser shook his head somewhat despondently. “I’m not much of a swimmer,” said he.

“But you’d go in for anybody if you saw them drowning?” persisted Miss Tyrell, in a surprised voice.

“I don’t know, i’m sure,” said Fraser. “I hope I should.”

“Do you mean to say,” said Miss Tyrell, severely, “that if I fell into the river here, for instance, you wouldn’t jump in and try to save me?”

“Of course I should.” said Fraser, hotly. “I should jump in after you if I couldn’t swim a stroke.”

Miss Tyrell, somewhat taken aback, murmured her gratification.

“I should go in after you,” continued the mate who was loath to depart from the subject, “if it was blowing a gale, and the sea full of sharks.”

“What a blessing it is there are no sharks round our coast,” said Miss Tyrell, in somewhat of a hurry to get away from the mate’s heroism. “Have you ever seen one?”

“Saw them in the Indian Ocean when I was an apprentice,” replied Fraser.

“You’ve been on foreign-going ships then?” said the girl. “I wonder you gave it up for this.”

“This suits me better,” said Fraser; “my father’s an old man, and he wanted me home. I shall have a little steamer he’s got an interest in as soon as her present skipper goes, so it’s just as well for me to know these waters.”

In this wise they sat talking until evening gave way to night, and the deck of the Foam was obscured in shadow. Lamps were lit on the wharves, and passing craft hung out their side-lights. The girl rose to her feet.

“I won’t wait any longer; I must be going,” she said.

“He may be back at any moment,” urged the mate.

“No, I’d better go, thank you,” replied the girl; “it’s getting late. I don’t like going home alone.”

“I’ll come with you, if you’ll let me,” said the mate, eagerly.

“All the way?” said Miss Tyrell, with the air of one bargaining.

“Of course,” said Fraser.

“Well, I’ll give him another half-hour, then,” said the girl, calmly. “Shall we go down to the cabin? It’s rather chilly up here now.”

The mate showed her below, and, lighting the lamp, took a seat opposite and told her a few tales of the sea, culled when he was an apprentice, and credulous of ear. Miss Tyrell retaliated with some told her by her father, from which Fraser was able to form his own opinion of that estimable mariner. The last story was of a humourous nature, and the laughter which ensued grated oddly on the ear of the sturdy, good-looking seaman who had just come on board. He stopped at the companion for a moment listening in amazement, and then, hastily descending, entered the cabin.

“Poppy!” he cried. “Why, I’ve been waiting up at the Wheelers’ for you for nearly a couple of hours.”

“I must have missed you,” said Miss Tyrell, serenely. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

The master of the Foam said it was, and seemed from his manner to be anxious to do more justice to the subject than that.