Chapter XIII: On Board the 'nor'lan' Star.'

The little gipsy lass was in a very pleasant dream--at least she firmly believed it was a dream. Her dreams were nearly always nice, so much so indeed that she never cared to waken too soon out of one. She did not mean to, out of this one, for she was very warm and comfortable, and she would be aroused far too speedily presently, and find herself in the little caravan with hardly time for breakfast before Biffins Lee would be shouting for all hands to come to rehearsal.

Yet she could not help wondering what o'clock it might be, so she just opened her eyes wide enough to look lazily through the lashes at the wee clock that ticked up in the skylight. Lo! the clock was not there. That was a skylight sure enough, but not Lotty's, and--why, surely it was moving, and everything else seemed moving, even her bed and her body. What a droll dream to be sure! Then the sound of voices close beside her, and the music of knives and forks and plates fell upon her ears, and the whole appeared to be very real. What could have happened? Where could she be? She remembered nothing.

'Wasn't it a blessing, mate, that you discovered that bit of a boat?'

'It was a 'tarposition of Providence, and that's what I calls it. God is ever kind, and those that has got to live He will bring again up out of the depths of the yawning deep itself.'

'That's so, mate; that's so.--How sweet and pretty the child looks asleep there. I declare, wife, I would like to go and kiss her.'

'Then why don't you, dear?'

'Well, Maggie, at present my mouth's about half-full of kippered herring, and it seems to me that kippered herring and kisses are not on the same quarterdeck like.'

Lotty was beginning to think this surely could not be a dream, so she opened her eyes a very little way again and looked round her. She appeared to be inside a large German concertina, for this saloon was perfectly octagonal, but very cosily curtained and pretty, with plenty of pictures and photographs on the bulkheads. At the round table in the centre were seated four red people all looking her way--a rosy, motherly-like lady; a red-faced, good-natured-looking sumph of a lad, somewhat like Chops, but not so fat; a redder-faced, brown-bearded figure, jolly-looking, and dressed in blue pilot; and another man dressed similarly, the jolliest-looking and reddest of all--painted red by the sea every one of them, and by the spray of salt waves and the wild winds that had brushed their cheeks for many a long year.

Perhaps the skipper's wife had seen the flickering of the child's eyes, for she got up now and knelt down beside the sofa, taking Lotty's hand.

'Are you better, darling? You've had such a nice sleep.'

The bonny blue eyes were wide enough open now.

'It isn't a dream then?'

'No dream, little un,' said the skipper across the table. 'You are saved.'

'Oh, I don't like Salvation Army people,' cried Lotty; 'the band is vile. But this can't be heaven surely?'

'A long way off that port, my pretty. But you are saved, all the same, from a watery grave.'

'It were a 'tarposition of Providence, it were,' said the first mate. 'Hadn't been for the boy Ben, here, who is doin' dooty as second-mate, I wouldn't have seen Miss Mite. It's 'im ye've got to thank, little missie--nobut Ben.'

'And God,' said the skipper reverently.

'And God,' assented the mate.

'I remember all now,' said the gipsy lass, 'and I am very thankful; but they will all be so sad on shore, Chops and Mary and all. You couldn't land me, could you?'

'Ay, little dear,' laughed the skipper, 'we'll land ye; but it will be in Trondhjem. But we've made up our minds to make ye as happy as Arctic summer days are long.'

Having once comforted herself with the thought that, although Antony and Chops and all the rest would mourn for her for a time as dead, there would be such a joyful meeting to make up for all when she got back again, she settled herself to be happy and to enjoy her strange, new life. When the captain and the mate and the boy Ben went on deck, the motherly lady dressed her and tidied her hair as much as it ever would tidy--for it was, like Lotty herself, very irrepressible--she sat down to breakfast. Lotty was not shy, no well-brought-up child of the world ever is. She could not even be timid beside so kindly a soul as the skipper's wife.

No, she did not care for fish. 'It was nearly all fish in the camp,' she told Mrs Skipper Paterson; but the English bacon was a treat, and the English toast, and, 'Oh those eggs, how beautiful! What are they?'

'Sea-gulls', dear, from the rocks of Tromsö.'

'How large and pointed they are, and so sweetly green; and what are those curious streaks of black and brown, like a baby's writing, all over them?'

'Well,' said Mrs Skipper, who was just a little romantic, as all true sailors are, 'well, Lotty, I think that every egg is a love-letter written by a gull to her charming mate.'

'It seems such a pity to break them though.'

'So I have often thought, but one doesn't mind so much when one is hungry.'

'I love the sea-gulls,' said Lotty, 'and they all love me, and don't mind coming close up; and then they are so neat and so clean, never a feather awry, and with eyes ever so clear and bright. I think they are just little bits of the waves with souls put into them.'

When Lotty got on deck she could hardly keep upright, for it was blowing half a gale from the west, and now the bonny bark, with her close-reefed topsails and storm staysails, was standing nor'-east, and away where black clouds had painted the sky from zenith to horizon. The girl looked a queer figure--a wee sou'-wester on her head, which could not hide her hair nor her beauty, and a huge pilot jacket belonging to Ben, the sleeves a bit too long and the garment itself coming right down to her heels. She swayed and swayed till the red-faced mate came to her assistance, tucked her under his arm, and trotted her off for a stroll under the weather bulwarks. Then she felt as if she had been at sea all her life.

_Kaye--kaye--kaye!_ screamed the birds, for there were sea-gulls even here, playing at tack and half-tack around and over the quarterdeck, darting through the fountainheads of wind-vexed seas, circling, swirling, swishing in every beautiful attitude conceivable--_kaye--kaye--kaye_! Oh, how happy, how glorious, those feathered children of the ocean!

Lotty just longed to catch one, tie a message to its leg, kiss it, and tell it to fly home with this to the little gipsy camp by the lone seashore.

Up and down, fore and aft, the two walked together, and the girl thought she could never tire listening to the mate's strange stories of the sea, while he was quite as pleased to have so innocent and sweet a listener.

So a whole hour passed quickly by, and then something happened. A full-rigged ship was seen bearing towards them from afar, very close-hauled and with snow-white sails.

'A Yankee from Bergen, I'll lay my last sixpence on that. I'll try to speak her if she crosses our hawse, and tell her you are safe.--Ben!' he shouted. 'Ben, my boy, look lifty.'

'Ay, ay, sir.'

'Bring my megaphone.[D] Sharp's the word, lad; quick's the action.'

Next minute Ben had hurried aft, and presented his superior officer with a large tea-tray and a lump of chalk.

'A very old-fashioned arrangement,' he said, 'but does well enough for us.'

In huge letters on the back of his 'megaphone,' as he grandly termed it, he hastily wrote:

'TIMBER-SHIP _Nor'lan' Star_--CAPT. PATERSON.

'CHILD GIRL PICKED UP AT SEA,
WHICH HER NAME IS LOTTY LEE.

'REPORT TO LLOYDS.'

Then he took his stand on the grating right abaft the wheel, and held the tea-tray aloft.

With her cloud of snowy canvas on came the Yankee. Then, as she was passing, a real megaphone roared out the words: 'The _Louisiana_ of Baltimore, U.S.A., bearing up for London, England, _en route_ for the States. What is that?' continued the awful voice. 'Hold your bally old tea-tray higher. Captain Peters, eh? Little girl born at sea. All right, I'll report it. Hope mother and daughter are doing well. Love to the missus. Good-bye, old grampus; _bon voyage_.'

Next minute the _Louisiana_ was past and away, and the mate dashed the tea-tray on the deck with a rattle and a word that made Lotty jump.

'Hang the fellow!' he cried; 'he couldn't read plain English, and now he's off, and may all the bad weather go with him, for he'll report that Mrs Paterson---- Ha, ha, ha!'

He laughed louder than the west wind as he jumped down.

'Never mind. Come along, Lotty, and we'll have another stroll. Merrily does at sea, little lass.

With a he! and a ho!
How the wild winds blow,
As we go rolling home, brave boys,
As we goes a-rolling home!'

The gale moderated considerably in the first dog-watch, and the sea became smoother. Reefs were shaken out, and as the sun set red in the nor'-west a heavenly starlit night succeeded the stormy day.

Ben went on watch at eight o'clock, and the rest settled around the stove in the cosy octagonal cabin.

They were plain-living people in the _Nor'lan' Star_, as all true sea-folks are. The skipper smoked in his easy-chair, Mrs Paterson sat knitting in hers, with Lotty on a footstool by her knee, and the red-faced mate between. The steward brought tumblers to these two men-people, so they sipped their grog and then settled to yarning and singing.

So soft, so sweet, yet so ringing withal was the good mate's voice as he gave his rendering of the 'Bay of Biscay' and 'Tom Bowling' that Lotty had tears in her eyes; but she clapped her little hands as he finished.

'Oh, how much I love that!' she cried with real enthusiasm; 'and oh, Mr Mate, how delighted my daddy Biffins Lee would be to have you in our camp! People would come from all directions to hear you sing real sea-songs like that.'

The mate laughed. 'I fear,' he said, 'I should make but a poor gipsy. But why do you like my songs, little lass?'

'Because I hear things in them.'

'Hear things in them?'

'Yes, oh yes, for as you sing I can hear the woesome wail of white-winged gulls as they beat to windward in the dark-cloud sky, dipping now and then down, down till they touch the darker water and dive through the spray, then up and up, screaming, till the haze hides the silver of their flight. And I can hear the storm wind too, sir, rising and falling, falling and rising, so mournful-like because of the quiet sleeping dead that lie so far beneath the waves upon the yellow sands.'

Lotty was blushing now at her own youthful enthusiasm, and was fain to hide her face on Mrs Skipper's lap. And Mrs Skipper patted the shapely yellow poll.

'So we've really picked up a little poet, have we, from off the stormy main? said Mr Mate.

'Lotty,' cried the captain suddenly, 'you can sing I'm sure!'

The blue, sparkling eyes glanced upwards through the tousled hair. 'Yes,' she replied, 'I sing always in the show. I have a mandoline. Have you a mandoline?'

'No, just the fiddle.'

'Oh, that will do. It is tuned the same. Thanks, not the bow, only my fingers.'

The child's voice was very beautiful, and almost sad were the songs she sang.

The skipper beckoned to the steward and pointed to the empty tumblers. Then he threw back his head in his easy-chair and shut his eyes.

'Sing again, my sweet,' he said.

Lotty did, and once more too.

And the ship swayed and swung in rhythm, while Mrs Skipper, though her eyes were on her work, forgot to knit.

'Maggie, lass,' said the captain as a song was ended, 'Maggie, dear wife, I feel sure, quite sure, I saw a tear drop down upon your wool. There! I was sure of it. Your eyelashes are wet.'

Well, maybe--who knows?--this kindly, homely skipper's wife had a bit of romance buried away back in her past.

But that evening was a happy one to all, and so were many more that followed.