Many Cargoes

He pushed his plate from him and departed, while the girl, angry and resentful, put the potatoes back as being too floury for consumption in the circumstances.

For the remainder of the passage she treated him with a politeness and good humour through which he strove in vain to break. To her surprise her father made no objection, at the end of the voyage, when she coaxingly suggested going back by train; and the mate, as they sat at dummy-whist on the evening before her departure, tried in vain to discuss the journey in an unconcerned fashion.

“It’ll be a long journey,” said Hetty, who still liked him well enough to make him smart a bit, “What’s trumps?”

“You’ll be all right,” said her father. “Spades.”

He won for the third time that evening, and, feeling wonderfully well satisfied with the way in which he had played his cards generally, could not resist another gibe at the crestfallen mate.

“You’ll have to give up playing cards and all that sort o’ thing when you’re married, Jack,” said he.

“Ay, ay,” said the mate recklessly, “Kitty don’t like cards.”

“I thought there was no Kitty,” said the girl, looking up, scornfully.

“She don’t like cards,” repeated the mate. “Lord, what a spree we had. Cap’n, when we went to the Crystal Palace with her that night.”

“Ay, that we did,” said the skipper.

“Remember the roundabouts?” said the mate.

“I do,” said the skipper merrily. “I’ll never forget ‘em.”

“You and that friend of hers, Bessie Watson, lord how you did go on!” continued the mate, in a sort of ecstasy. The skipper stiffened suddenly in his chair. “What on earth are you talking about?” he inquired gruffly.

“Bessie Watson,” said the mate, in tones of innocent surprise. “Little girl in a blue hat with white feathers, and a blue frock, that came with us.”

“You’re drunk,” said the skipper, grinding his teeth, as he saw the trap into which he had walked.

“Don’t you remember when you two got lost, an’ me and Kitty were looking all over the place for you?” demanded the mate, still in the same tones of pleasant reminiscence.

He caught Hetty’s eye, and noticed with a thrill that it beamed with soft and respectful admiration.

“You’ve been drinking,” repeated the skipper, breathing hard. “How dare you talk like that afore my daughter?”

“It’s only right I should know,” said Hetty, drawing herself up. “I wonder what mother’ll say to it all?”

“You say anything to your mother if you dare,” said the now maddened skipper. “You know what she is. It’s all the mate’s nonsense.”

“I’m very sorry, cap’n,” said the mate, “if I’ve said anything to annoy you, or anyway hurt your feelings. O’ course it’s your business, not mine. Perhaps you’ll say you never heard o’ Bessie Watson?”

“Mother shall hear of her,” said Hetty, while her helpless sire was struggling for breath.

“Perhaps you’ll tell us who this Bessie Watson is, and where she lives?” he said at length.

“She lives with Kitty Loney,” said the mate simply.

The skipper rose, and his demeanour was so alarming that Hetty shrank instinctively to the mate for protection. In full view of his captain, the mate placed his arm about her waist, and in this position they confronted each other for some time in silence. Then Hetty looked up and spoke.

“I’m going home by water,” she said briefly.

THE CAPTAIN’S EXPLOIT

It was a wet, dreary night in that cheerless part of the great metropolis known as Wapping. The rain, which had been falling heavily for hours, still fell steadily on to the sloppy pavements and roads, and joining forces in the gutter, rushed impetuously to the nearest sewer. The two or three streets which had wedged themselves in between the docks and the river, and which, as a matter of fact, really comprise the beginning and end of Wapping, were deserted, except for a belated van crashing over the granite roads, or the chance form of a dock-labourer plodding doggedly along, with head bent in distaste for the rain, and hands sunk in trouser-pockets.

“Beastly night,” said Captain Bing, as he rolled out of the private bar of the “Sailor’s Friend,” and, ignoring the presence of the step, took a little hurried run across the pavement. “Not fit for a dog to be out in.”

He kicked, as he spoke, at a shivering cur which was looking in at the crack of the bar-door, with a hazy view of calling its attention to the matter, and then, pulling up the collar of his rough pea-jacket, stepped boldly out into the rain. Three or four minutes’ walk, or rather roll, brought him to a dark narrow passage, which ran between two houses to the water-side. By a slight tack to starboard at a critical moment he struck the channel safely, and followed it until it ended in a flight of old stone steps, half of which were under water.

“Where for?” inquired a man, starting up from a small penthouse formed of rough pieces of board.

“Schooner in the tier, Smiling Jane,” said the captain gruffly, as he stumbled clumsily into a boat and sat down in the stern. “Why don’t you have better seats in this ‘ere boat?”

“They’re there, if you’ll look for them,” said the waterman; “and you’ll find ‘em easier sitting than that bucket.”

“Why don’t you put ‘em where a man can see ‘em?” inquired the captain, raising his voice a little.

The other opened his mouth to reply, but realising that it would lead to a long and utterly futile argument, contented himself with asking his fare to trim the boat better; and, pushing off from the steps, pulled strongly through the dark lumpy water. The tide was strong, so that they made but slow progress.

“When I was a young man,” said the fare with severity, “I’d ha’ pulled this boat across and back afore now.”

“When you was a young man,” said the man at the oars, who had a local reputation as a wit, “there wasn’t no boats; they was all Noah’s arks then.”

“Stow your gab,” said the captain, after a pause of deep thought.

The other, whose besetting sin was certainly not loquacity, ejected a thin stream of tobacco-juice over the side, spat on his hands, and continued his laborious work until a crowd of dark shapes, surmounted by a network of rigging, loomed up before them.

“Now, which is your little barge?” he inquired, tugging strongly to maintain his position against the fast-flowing tide.

“Smiling Jane” said his fare.

“Ah,” said the waterman, “Smiling Jane, is it? You sit there, cap’n, an’ I’ll row round all their sterns while you strike matches and look at the names. We’ll have quite a nice little evening.”

“There she is,” cried the captain, who was too muddled to notice the sarcasm; “there’s the little beauty. Steady, my lad.”

He reached out his hand as he spoke, and as the boat jarred violently against a small schooner, seized a rope which hung over the side, and, swaying to and fro, fumbled in his pocket for the fare.

“Steady, old boy,” said the waterman affectionately. He had just received twopence-halfpenny and a shilling by mistake for threepence. “Easy up the side. You ain’t such a pretty figger as you was when your old woman made such a bad bargain.”

The captain paused in his climb, and poising himself on one foot, gingerly felt for his tormentor’s head with the other Not finding it, he flung his leg over the bulwark, and gained the deck of the vessel as the boat swung round with the tide and disappeared in the darkness.

“All turned in,” said the captain, gazing owlishly at the deserted deck. “Well, there’s a good hour an’ a half afore we start; I’ll turn in too.”

He walked slowly aft, and sliding back the companion-hatch, descended into a small evil-smelling cabin, and stood feeling in the darkness for the matches. They were not to be found, and, growling profanely, he felt his way to the state-room, and turned in all standing.

It was still dark when he awoke, and hanging over the edge of the bunk, cautiously felt for the floor with his feet, and having found it, stood thoughtfully scratching his head, which seemed to have swollen to abnormal proportions.

“Time they were getting under weigh,” he said at length, and groping his way to the foot of the steps, he opened the door of what looked like a small pantry, but which was really the mate’s boudoir.