Chapter I: The Stowaway

The _Zingara_ had been two days and nights at sea. Whatever might be her fate eventually, she had made a glorious start. The soft and balmy spring wind blew steadily from the west, no higher a breeze than that which a sailor loves, and no heavier a sea.

The waters around were of the darkest blue, and though now and then a white cap might appear on a wave-top, it seemed more in frolic than in anger.

With the wind well on the quarter, and the sails kept well full, though pretty close to it, the bonnie barque went bounding on, and that so merrily, too, that not only was there sunshine glittering on the rippling waves, but apparently sunshine in the heart of every man or boy on board.

The men kept walking briskly up and down from the main-mast to the fo’cas’le, laughing and talking, but never in a loud key, for Antonio, though certainly no martinet, was a strict disciplinarian, and liked to see duty carried on with almost man-o’-war regularity and coolness.

It was the mate’s watch this morning. He was a sturdy, broad-shouldered, and fair-haired young Cornishman; and always did a sunny smile beam over his face when talking to one, unless, of course, when carrying on duty: then he stood no nonsense.

Never a speaking-trumpet needed Archie Webber. His stentorian voice could have been heard low and aloft in the wildest weather. One, to hear him shouting thus on deck, would have thought him angry. Not so; anger seldom found comfortable quarters in Webber’s breast.

The Cornishmen are a bold race and a hardy. They were, I am told, originally Celts. As I write, these lines, which I have heard or read somewhere, keep running in my mind--

... “And shall Trelawney die?
Then thirty thousand Cornishmen shall know the reason why.”

I haven’t the faintest idea who Trelawney was, or what he had done; but it is pretty evident his plucky countrymen had made up their minds that he should not suffer death.

The mate, then, was a beau-ideal Cornishman, and wasn’t ashamed of it either.

As I have introduced the first mate, I may as well bring the second in front of the footlights. Antonio was not particular as to the nationality of his men or officers, so long as he was convinced they could do their duty, and were sober and obedient to command. So Patrick M‘Koy was an active and merry little Irishman. He was almost too active indeed, and when he went on watch things had to hum. He never lost his temper, except with any man he deemed a lubber, and then he did not confine himself to words. Perhaps on shore he was fond of the old game of Aunt Sally, a wooden image seen at shows, that you shy sticks at, you know, until you smash the short clay pipe in her old mouth.

Anyhow if a lubber--and there weren’t many on board--provoked him, Paddy, as he was called for short, would instantly draw out a wooden belaying-pin, and send it whizzing forward along the deck with such precision that it invariably hit the lubber on his bare foot or ankle, and sent him hopping all over the deck.

“That’ll tache ye, my boy,” he would say; then he would tell off another man to do the duty the lubber couldn’t.

Both mates were favourites with Antonio, but I think Paddy “bore the gree.”

On board the _Zingara_ Pandoo took rank as steward and general factotum. He had a boy under him, however, who did his duty fairly well, despite the fact that he was as fat as a flounder.

Johnnie Smart’s eyes were never very large at the best, though his mouth was big enough almost to have taken the handle of a gardener’s spade; but when Johnnie smiled, and held back his head and towsy poll, those eyes simply disappeared entirely behind his rosy cheeks.

There would have been no good trying to convince Johnnie that he could possibly do any harm; and when, for example, Pandoo scolded him, he just held back his head and smiled, like a hippopotamus. If the joint slipped off the dish when he was bringing it aft from the cook, back went the head, the round fat face was turned skywards for a moment, and the broad hippopotamic smile took rank in open order, from ear to ear.

“My eye though!” he would say. “My eye and Betsy Martin!”

Then he would recover the joint from the leescuppers, replace it on the dish, and continue his journey.

Johnnie soon became a general favourite nevertheless.

But I wish now to tell you of a wonderful thing that happened on this bright and lovely morning.

For the first time since they had left shore, Pandoo had occasion to go to the storeroom, which lay right abaft the beautiful saloon on the starboard side.

As his hand was on the door-knob, to his intense surprise he thought he heard the sound of singing--sweet and low, inside.

Pandoo, like all his race, was superstitious in the extreme, and now his hair felt stirring beneath his turban.

He would have run right away to the other end of the ship if he could have done so, but he felt rooted to the spot. Nay, more, in spite of himself, he could not help applying his ear to the keyhole.

The music to his excited fancy appeared to be ineffably sweet and tender. The words he heard were these:--

“Not in mine innocence I trust;
I bow before Thee in the dust;
And through my Saviour’s blood alone
I look for mercy at the throne.

I leave the world without a tear,
Save for the friends I held so dear;
To heal their sorrows, Lord, descend,
And to the friendless prove a friend.”

A long-drawn sigh followed.

Pandoo listened no more, but flew straight on deck. He was trembling all over.

“Oh, sah,” he gasped, “de storeroom----”

“Yes, yes, not on fire, is it?”

“No, sah, no; but, sah, there is spirits in de storeroom.”

Antonio laughed.

“Of course; there is rum, a little brandy, and some wine, but what about that?”

“I not mean dat sort of spirit, sah, but spirit all same’s one angel, or cherub. Sing lubly too.”

Antonio and Archie Webber both began to think that poor Pandoo had gone out of his mind. Nevertheless the captain accompanied him down to the storeroom.

The singing had ceased, and so the weird wee man turned the key and walked boldly in. Next moment a barefooted little child in a short red dress had sprung into his arms.

“Oh, dear ’Tonio, I _is_ so glad you is come. I think I soon die here all by myself in the dark.”

“But, my child and dearie, how on earth did you come here at all?”

He had led her out into the sunlit and beautifully furnished saloon, and seated her beside him on the sofa.

“Tell us your little story, dear.”

“Oh, that isn’t nothing, you know; I’ve just runned away to sea because I love you, and the sea, and everything.”

“I am puzzled what to do with you, dearie; I can’t send you back.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” cried Teenie pleadingly.

Then Antonio burst into a hearty laugh.

“We’ll do the best we can, dearie.”

“An’ I brought my best clothes in a box and all.”

“I must do all I can for you, anyhow. Luckily there is a spare cabin close to mine, and you shall have a nice bed there. Come and I’ll show you.”

Teenie ran back into the dark storeroom for her box.

“Here is the room. There is the bed, and yonder is the washstand,” said Antonio.

She clapped her hands with delight “All like a fairy’s house.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Antonio, “you’re the drollest little stowaway ever I had. Wash now, dress neatly, and then come on deck.”

* * * * *

Just the night before the _Zingara_ sailed away from Fisherton Bay, Teenie, whose parents gave her a good deal of her own way, left her humble home, saying she was going to the parsonage, and would not be home till morning.

She kissed her parents “Good night,” and they were somewhat surprised to see tears in her blue eyes. Her box was hidden in the garden, so away she went. Straight for the rectory she bent her tiny footsteps. Maud was all by herself in the best room.

She did not stay long here, but left a letter, making Maud promise--“just for fun,” she said--not to open it till next afternoon.

Maud promised.

Then away went Teenie. It was dark when a little boat brought her alongside. She told the boatman not to wait, as a ship’s dinghy would bring her on shore. Some men had seen her come on board, but naturally imagined she brought a message for the captain, who, however, was on shore.

The saloon was all dark, so she had had no difficulty in stowing herself away.

But the storeroom was afterwards locked, and she passed a dreary time. Then thinking she was going to die, she began to sing her “death-bed hymn,” as she termed it, and was thus engaged when Pandoo came upon the scene.

* * * * *

It was not until next evening that Maud opened the envelope. It contained a letter for Mr. Ch. Norton, and that was Teenie’s father.

Then putting on her cloak, Maud at once hurried away with it to the fisherman’s humble cottage.

It was quite a child’s letter, but the tears trickled down the poor man’s face as he read it to his wife and Maud.

Yes, quite a bairnie’s letter, but sincere and frank in every respect.

Teenie was in the habit of carefully ruling her paper before she began to write--this kept things straight; but in the present case she had had no time to do it, so the caligraphy went sprawling, tack and half tack diagonally, across the sheet. The spelling of the words, too, was in some instances quite original, to say the least of it.

“Dear father and mother,” the letter innocently began, “I’se runned
away in ’Tonio’s sip (ship). I loves ’Tonio not a little wee bit
like my tiny finger, but as high as the steeple, and I loves pore
Bacly Stoort, an’ I loves pussy Malkin (Grimalkin[6]), and I does
love the sea and all the pretty sea-birds, oh! ever so much. You
woodn’t berlieve.

“So dood-bye, mammy and daddie. When your little Teenie tomes back
she’ll be a big big dirl, and I’se going to catch lots and lots of
fisses for you, and draw big nets and all.

“I’m going to see all all the world, and all the wild beasts and
pretty beasties in the book Pason Grahame gave me. Wild beasts
don’t eat dood little dirls; do they, daddy? But in course I’se
goin’ to say my players every, every, every night, just like
this:--

“‘This night as I lie down to sleep,
I give my sole to Christ to keep;
If I shood die before I wake,
I pray that Christ my soul shood take.’

“God bless daddy and mammy, and make me a bootiful (? dutiful)
chile to them. Amen!

“So dood-bye. You must keep my garden now, and not let the naty (?
naughty) kats strape (scrape) all up my sweet peas. With love and
lots of kisses X X X X X X X.--I is still your offectionate dater,

“TEENIE.”

Our young heroes, Barclay and Davie, had been down below at lessons in the half-deck, or mess-place of the second-class officers, cooper, carpenter, bo’s’n, &c. The bo’s’n was, in ship-work, the teacher to these youngsters, while Antonio himself super-intended the higher branches of their nautical education.

“A stowaway found!” said the cooper, entering the half-deck. “The old man[7] has her. And a bonnie wee mite she is.”

Barclay went on deck soon after him, but his astonishment may be conceived when Teenie herself ran forward to meet him.

“Oh, Teenie, how could you have done it!”

“Just to see all, all the world. That’s how.”

“And your parents----”

“Oh, they is all right, ’cause I wrote a letter to them. Now, I’m going to play with pussy; and by-and-by I’ll come and play with you.”

Next moment, Teenie was flying up and down the deck, falling sometimes--but that didn’t matter--hauling a string and ball after her. Muffie the cat followed close behind, whacking the ball into the air whenever it alighted on deck.

Well, before four days were over, Teenie was the pet of the good ship _Zingara_. And sailors do like pets. The cat would have to play second fiddle, now.

In course of time they got into the trade winds, and the barque went bounding on; the same kind of wind day after day, and the same kind of rippling, half-choppy sea. But it sparkled like diamonds in the sun, though the shadow of each wave was of the darkest blue.

Few birds were seen at present, but now and then, to Teenie’s intense delight, an over-tired gull would alight on a topsail yard, and a sailor would climb cautiously up, and, catching it, bring it down for the girl to nurse and smooth and pet. Pussy too took an interest in these birds of passage, but it was an interest of quite a different kind.

She used to square her moustache and lips, and emit a series of short little mews.

“What a lovely bird, Teenie!” she seemed to say. “Just put it down on deck till I see it. I wonder how it tastes.”

When the bird had rested, Teenie kissed its poll, and let it fly away, to look for its mammy, as she phrased it.

But Mother Carey’s chickens--the stormy petrels--used to dart from wave to wave, much to Teenie’s delight. They were very beautiful, though as dark as ink, and the sounds they emitted were music to the child’s ears.

Only _they_ never came on board.

Southward and southward went the _Zingara_, and every one in the best of spirits, until they reached that most beautiful isle of the sea, Madeira.

Not only is it beautiful, but wild and grand in the extreme.

Here the ship was brought to anchor, and Antonio went on shore, leaving the vessel in charge of the mate.

A beach of great sea-smoothed boulders hurtles back and fore on this coast night and day, so that landing would indeed be difficult, if it were not that there are always plenty of willing hands--Portuguese and half-castes--to rush forward and haul the boat high and dry.

Our young heroes--yes, we have three of them now--were enchanted with all they saw; and Antonio was delighted, because _they_ were. The broad pavements shaded by awnings and green palm-trees, the curious shops, the strange but prettily dressed men and women--all were new to them, and put Barclay in mind of a scene in a pantomime he had once witnessed.

They had a light but well-cooked dinner in a beautiful hotel. The fruit itself was rich and rare.

But after dinner they were all carried in hammocks high up to the tops of the wild green mountains, and the view from here was like a scene of enchantment. Was ever sea so blue as that, though seemingly patched here and there with sunken islands of pearl, and green, and saffron? The sky above, with its pure white and filmy clouds, was a great factor in the scene; and afar off, seemingly afloat in the air above the horizon, were green islands, on which, Teenie at once told Barclay, fairies and elves _must_ live.

“Oh,” said Teenie, clapping her tiny hands, “I is so glad I runned away from home.”