Many Cargoes

“Captain Budd!” said Miss Winthrop, flushing.

The incensed captain rose to his feet and paced up and down the room. He looked at the ex-pilot, and that small schemer shivered.

“Easy does it, cap’n,” he murmured, with a wink which he meant to be comforting.

“I’m going out a little way,” said the captain, after the rector’s daughter had gone. “Just to cool my head.”

Mrs. Pepper took her bonnet from its peg behind the door, and, surveying herself in the glass, tied it beneath her chin.

“Alone,” said Crippen nervously. “I want to do a little thinking.”

“Never again, Jem,” said Mrs. Pepper firmly. “My place is by your side. If you’re ashamed of people looking at you, I’m not. I’m proud of you. Come along. Come and show yourself, and tell them who you are. You shall never go out of my sight again as long as I live. Never.”

She began to whimper.

“What’s to be done?” inquired Crippen, turning desperately on the bewildered pilot.

“What’s it got to do with him?” demanded Mrs. Pepper sharply.

“He’s got to be considered a little, I s’pose,” said the captain, dissembling. “Besides, I think I’d better do like the man in the poetry did. Let me go away and die of a broken heart. Perhaps it’s best.”

Mrs. Pepper looked at him with kindling eyes.

“Let me go away and die of a broken heart,” repeated the captain, with real feeling. “I’d rather do it. I would indeed.”

Mrs. Pepper, bursting into angry tears, flung her arms round his neck again, and sobbed on his shoulder. The pilot, obeying the frenzied injunctions of his friend’s eye, drew down the blind.

“There’s quite a crowd outside,” he remarked.

“I don’t mind,” said his wife amiably. “They’ll soon know who he is.”

She stood holding the captain’s hand and stroking it, and whenever his feelings became too much for her put her head down on his waistcoat. At such times the captain glared fiercely at the ex-pilot, who, being of a weak nature, was unable, despite his anxiety, to give his risible faculties that control which the solemnity of the occasion demanded.

The afternoon wore slowly away. Miss Winthrop, who disliked scandal, had allowed something of the affair to leak out, and several visitors, including a local reporter, called, but were put off till the morrow, on the not unnatural plea that the long-separated couple desired a little privacy. The three sat silent, the ex-pilot, with wrinkled brows, trying hard to decipher the lip-language in which the captain addressed him whenever he had an opportunity, but could only dimly guess its purport, when the captain pressed his huge fist into the service as well.

Mrs. Pepper rose at length, and went into the back room to prepare tea. As she left the door open, however, and took the captain’s hat with her, he built no hopes on her absence, but turned furiously to the ex-pilot.

“What’s to be done?” he inquired in a fierce whisper. “This can’t go on.”

“It’ll have to,” whispered the other.

“Now, look here,” said Crippen menacingly, “I’m going into the kitchen to make a clean breast of it. I’m sorry for you, but I’ve done the best I can. Come and help me to explain.”

He turned to the kitchen, but the other, with the strength born of despair, seized him by the sleeve and held him back.

“She’ll kill me,” he whispered breathlessly.

“I can’t help it,” said Crippen, shaking him off. “Serve you right.”

“And she’ll tell the folks outside, and they’ll kill you,” continued Pepper.

The captain sat down again, and confronted him with a face as pale as his own.

“The last train leaves at eight,” whispered the pilot hurriedly. “It’s desperate, but it’s the only thing you can do. Take her for a stroll up by the fields near the railway station. You can see the train coming in for a mile off nearly. Time yourself carefully, and make a bolt for it. She can’t run.”

The entrance of their victim with the tea-tray stopped the conversation; but the captain nodded acceptance behind her back, and then, with a forced gaiety, sat down to tea.

For the first time since his successful appearance he became loquacious, and spoke so freely of incidents in the life of the man he was impersonating that the ex-pilot sat in a perfect fever lest he should blunder. The meal finished, he proposed a stroll, and, as the unsuspecting Mrs. Pepper tied on her bonnet, slapped his leg, and winked confidently at his fellow-conspirator.

“I’m not much of a walker,” said the innocent Mrs. Pepper, “so you must go slowly.”

The captain nodded, and at Pepper’s suggestion left by the back way, to avoid the gaze of the curious.

For some time after their departure Pepper sat smoking, with his anxious face turned to the clock, until at length, unable to endure the strain any longer, and not without a sportsmanlike idea of being in at the death, he made his way to the station, and placed himself behind a convenient coal-truck.

He waited impatiently, with his eyes fixed on the road up which he expected the captain to come. He looked at his watch. Five minutes to eight, and still no captain. The platform began to fill, a porter seized the big bell and rang it lustily; in the distance a patch of white smoke showed. Just as the watcher had given up all hope, the figure of the captain came in sight. He was swaying from side to side, holding his hat in his hand, but doggedly racing the train to the station.

“He’ll never do it!” groaned the pilot. Then he held his breath, for three or four hundred yards behind the captain Mrs. Pepper pounded in pursuit.

The train rolled into the station; passengers stepped in and out; doors slammed, and the guard had already placed the whistle in his mouth, when Captain Crippen, breathing stentorously, came stumbling blindly on to the platform, and was hustled into a third class carriage.

“Close shave that, sir,” said the station-master as he closed the door.

The captain sank back in his seat, fighting for breath, and turning his head, gave a last triumphant look up the road.

“All right, sir,” said the station-master kindly, as he followed the direction of the other’s eyes and caught sight of Mrs. Pepper. “We’ll wait for your lady.”

Jackson Pepper came from behind the coal-truck and watched the train out of sight, wondering in a dull, vague fashion what the conversation was like. He stood so long that a tender hearted porter, who had heard the news, made bold to come up and put a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll never see her again, Mr. Pepper,” he said sympathetically.

The ex-pilot turned and regarded him fixedly, and the last bit of spirit he was ever known to show flashed up in his face as he spoke.

“You’re a blamed idiot!” he said rudely.

A CASE OF DESERTION

The sun was just rising as the small tub-like steamer, or, to be more correct, steam-barge, the Bulldog, steamed past the sleeping town of Gravesend at a good six knots per hour.

There had been a little discussion on the way between her crew and the engineer, who, down in his grimy little engine-room, did his own stoking and everything else necessary. The crew, consisting of captain, mate, and boy, who were doing their first trip on a steamer, had been transferred at the last moment from their sailing-barge the Witch, and found to their discomfort that the engineer, who had not expected to sail so soon, was terribly and abusively drunk. Every moment he could spare from his engines he thrust the upper part of his body through the small hatchway, and rowed with his commander.

“Ahoy, bargee!” he shouted, popping up like a jack-in-the-box, after a brief cessation of hostilities.

“Don’t take no notice of ‘im,” said the mate. “‘E’s got a bottle of brandy down there, an’ he’s ‘alf mad.”

“If I knew anything o’ them blessed engines,” growled the skipper, “I’d go and hit ‘im over the head.”

“But you don’t,” said the mate, “and neither do I, so you’d better keep quiet.”