Chapter VI: “the Twilight Is Sad and Cloudy, and the Wind Blows Wild and Free”

Captain Antonio, as we may now call him, was a very busy man indeed, and spent all his forenoon in his study making experiments, that seemed to Barclay Stuart to partake of the marvellous. These were generally electrical.

But he found time to teach Barclay both ashore and afloat, and Davie Drake--shy, handsome Davie, who blushed like a red, red rose when any one spoke suddenly to him--was taught when afloat in the sloop.

The rumour of Antonio’s wonderful performance was spread all over the village and the parishes around, so he kindly consented to give another séance in the Town Hall, and for this the tickets were only just high enough to prevent a block.

I need not say that it was successful. And I believe the reader will readily believe, that many of those ignorant but innocent fishermen were more convinced now than ever that Antonio was “in league with the Evil One.” This is precisely how they phrased it.

The matter didn’t trouble the weird wee man much. All the village children adored Antonio, and even their parents liked him. As for the shopkeepers, they gladly supplied him with goods. His money was as good as any one else’s, even if it had come from uncomfortable quarters.

The sloop, as I hinted before, did not belong to Antonio. She was hired for the summer. But she was a beauty. She could dart through the water with the speed of a grebe.

She was named the _Grebe_.

How perfectly delightful were those little sea-trips!

The crew were Captain Antonio himself, Pandoo, who was a good sailor, and a sturdy fisher fellow called Peterson. I think Petersen was a Dane, but I am not sure. He was an excellent and hardy sailor, but not over pleasant to look at. He had fair hair and lowering brows, and a too flat nose; moreover he spoke but little, and seldom looked any one in the eyes.

He was never once seen to smile. But that made not the slightest difference to the general jollity of the cruise.

The passengers were always much the same, Barclay and Davie Drake, who were picking up as much seamanship as they possibly could, being taught principally by the Dane Petersen and by Pandoo himself. Then there was Phœbe, also Maud, the parson’s little bright girl, and the fascinating little fisher lass, Teenie, whom Barclay boldly called his sweetheart. Bare feet, fisher dress, and all, innocent Teenie really was as picturesque and pretty as an artist’s dream of female loveliness.

Well, the plan was to start pretty early, especially if the silvery gleam of a shoal of mackerel could be descried from the cliff tops. Once among these, the vessel was laid-to or kept dodging, and fishing over the side became general.

It was evident that Captain Antonio was kind-hearted towards all God’s creatures, for every fish as soon as hauled up was killed. Fishermen do not do this I know, but those who fish for pleasure should.

I have often been grieved to see sportsmen while grouse-shooting thrust the wounded birds which the dogs had retrieved, carelessly into the bag, there to linger long in sufferings indescribable.

The next generation, it is to be hoped, will not be so cruel.

Cruelty is often born from want of thought. Yet I have seen the roughest of men most tender-hearted.

Pardon just one little digression. When a medical student I lived for six months in a Highland village and got very friendly with the young surgeon of the wee town. But he was a wild Highlander indeed, and a man of immense strength. He was good-tempered to a degree, but if any one offended his dignity he had dearly to rue it. I remember a sturdy brewer’s waggoner once insulted him. Dr. J---- went for him at once. He lifted him clean and clear off his feet doubled him over one of the waggon-shafts, head and shoulders downwards, between the horse and the shaft, and so right under the horse. By good luck the horse never moved, or matters might have been serious. That man had the greatest respect for Dr. J---- ever after.

Dr. J---- got the present of a young kid, that he told me he would have killed for our Christmas dinner.

“Oh, what about that kid?” I said, a few days before the festival.

Dr. J---- smiled and held his head to one side. “I think, Gordon,” he replied, “we must be doin’ wi’ a turkey. That bonnie kid follows me everywhere and licks my hand. I couldna have it killed.”

So this kid grew up into a great bearded goat, and became a favourite with every one in the village.

* * * * *

Oh, these happy ocean picnics. Neither Barclay Stuart nor Davie Drake ever forgot them, and often on moonlight nights, when keeping watch in far-off foreign seas, they used to think and talk of them, till a big lump used to rise in Davie’s throat, and he could say no more.

Fishing went on briskly as long as the fish would bite. Then a halt was called, and as by this time it would be long past noon, the hamper was opened and dinner announced. The pies--some of them curry pies--made by Pandoo himself, were delicious, and abundant enough to have served a bigger boat’s crew. Then there were tarts and fruit _galore_, with ginger ale and lemonade to finish up with.

It would have done any one’s heart good to see the beaming faces of the children as they enjoyed their repast, laughing and talking prettily as they did so. Their rippling talk and laughter, Antonio told Pandoo, put him in mind of music-bells and bird-song.

Well, dinner over, the sloop cruised away along the beautiful coast.

In some places this was draped in the greenery of drooping trees, in others the cliffs were o’ertopped with green, _green_ banks, where the whitest of sheep were grazing among orange-bright flowering furze. It was all charming, all beautiful, and sometimes for long minutes no one spoke, so pleasant and dreamy was the glamour shed over them by sunlight and sea.

But when the sun began to wester, Pandoo would serve out tea, which he made hot in a curious invention of Antonio’s. Then the sloop was put about.

Probably in returning the wind would be unfavourable, though seldom high.

This did not matter a great deal, however.

They sailed tack and half tack, and while mainsail and jib bellied out in the breeze, the captain used to take out his guitar and sing songs sweet and low, that he well knew would ravish and enchant those three little maidens, and delight even the heart of the Dane.

Thus sailing and singing they would approach the harbour mouth, and down would drop the mainsail.

Those ocean picnics were not only delightful, they were idyllic--summer idylls--and Antonio had meant they should be so. Weird and strange though he looked, it was quite evident that his chief happiness consisted in making others happy.

* * * * *

Though I have called the _Grebe_ a sloop, she was to all intents and purposes a sweet little lass of a yacht, as tight a wee craft as ever went dancing over a British sea. Antonio was nothing if not a sailor; and as at one time of his life, and before he had his eye knocked out, he had served in the Royal Navy, he knew what discipline and duty was, and also what a ship, however small, should be. He managed to make his little craft, the _Grebe_, a perfect picture. There was not much brass work about her to be sure, but what there was positively shone like gold; wood work was polished, the decks kept almost as white as the keys of a piano, and the mast, topmast, and jib-boom scraped till they looked like bleached straw.

The sails, too, were white and bonnie, and every rope was coiled on deck and kept in its place.

Well, there was a cabin or cuddy amidship, and here the children and Antonio dined if a shower came on, otherwise on deck, in true sailor fashion.

They all liked this plan best, because they could throw over crumbs and suet to the lovely sea-mews and gulls, that had followed them from home.

Even a rook or two were among these, for strange as it may appear, rooks on the sea-coast often learn to be sea-birds. They are very awkward at first, and often nearly choke themselves in picking crumbs off the water, and they have a difficulty in rising again.

Perhaps, reader, there is a kind of cousinly friendship existing between seaside rooks and gulls; for while the former visit the sea, the two can often be seen walking side by side on a dewy morning, feeding on the grubs and slugs to be found in a field of growing turnips.

The Dane was dressed in sailor white, with black tie and sailor knot, and would have looked smart enough had he not been of so retiring a disposition.

It must be remembered that, till this day, the Danes are splendid, daring sailors, and can fight till further orders.

Does your knowledge of history, reader mine, date back to or include the great battle of the Baltic, fought by Nelson against the Danes. The song written by Campbell about this battle is a great favourite with me. I cannot help here transcribing it.

Learn it, lads, especially if you are going to be sailors. There is a ring of daring and true courage about both words and music, that I have never known surpassed.

It is a song that a man may sing while a lady plays the accompaniment. But listen:

“Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line.
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

But the might of Britain flushed
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rushed
O’er the deadly space between.
‘Hearts of oak!’ our captain cried; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.

Again! again! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane,
To our cheering sent us back;--
Their shots along the deep slowly boom:--
Then ceased--and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.--

* * * * *

Now joy, dear Britain, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities’ blaze,
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore!--

(Last verse to be sung with great feeling.)

Brave hearts! to Britain’s pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died;--
With the gallant good Riou;[3]
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o’er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid’s song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!--”

Now, I don’t want to drink tea with the boy, or girl either, who cannot appreciate this soul-stirring song; but for him or her who can love it, I have two hands to hold out to shake.

* * * * *

Just one day, and only one, during all their delightful cruises in the good little yacht _Grebe_ were our heroes and heroines in real danger.

There is no gainsaying the fact that a summer storm in the Channel is a very ugly one while it lasts.

Captain Antonio, lured by the loveliness of the June day, had put further out to sea than usual on this cruise, and the children were in the seventh heaven of delight. There had just been wind enough blowing from the south-west to carry the vessel along at probably seven knots an hour.

It was a beam wind, of course, and would be so on the other tack returning.

“If we put about now, dearies,” said Antonio, “we’ll just get home in beautiful time, and before the red sun dips behind the western waves.”

A few minutes after, however, he found himself mistaken. Dark clouds rose rapidly up in the west and soon obscured the sun.

Both the Dane and Antonio knew the meaning of this, and the latter gave instant orders to set a storm-jib, and close reef the mainsail.

The girls were sent below in charge of Barclay, but Davie Drake put on an oilskin that he owned, and a yellow sou’-wester, and expressed his desire to stay on deck and see “the fun,” as he called it.

In ten minutes more the squall was on them in all its force. It was furious, terrible. Nothing could withstand it. The sheets were therefore loosened, the topsail lowered, and they commenced to scud before the wind.

Hatches were put close on, for the great green seas raced the _Grebe_ and threatened every moment to poop her, while the salt spray dashed on board in clouds.

The force of this first squall was soon broken however, but around our shores, a squall of this kind is generally, as Antonio knew, followed by a gale. So it would be in this case, for the glass had gone down, down, down, and the column of mercury was still cup-shaped at top.

The gale too that sprang up and raised the seas higher and higher had a little bit of northerly in it, so that it would have been almost impossible to make for an English port.

“What do you advise, Petersen?” asked the captain, fixing him with his wonderful glass eye.

“There’s only one thing to do, sir, and that is to run for Dieppe, in France.”

“My own idea precisely.”

“One hundred and eighty miles, though,” he added. “The children will be safe, unless worse happens; but I grieve to think of the anxiety of their parents.”

“Humph!” grunted Petersen, “a little grief does gentlefolks good.”

I fear Petersen did not love gentlefolks, as he called them.

Antonio scowled a little, but as Petersen did not look up, the scowl was wasted.

“Take the tiller, Pandoo, till I run down below.”

He entered the cuddy looking very happy and pleased, though this was only good acting. There was indeed a great fear at his heart that none of them should ever reach Dieppe alive. He entered, rubbing his hands and smiling.

“Well, dearies all, are you enjoying your little selves?”

They were indeed. They were as merry as May bees.

“Oh,” said little Teenie delightedly, “it is so nicee--nicee. Just puts me in mind of our boats far away at sea, or a swing under the apple-trees at home.”

“We’re all happy, sir,” said Maud and Phœbe both.

“Will we soon be in?” said bold young Barclay.

“Oh, dearie, no, we’re going before the wind right away to bonnie France.”

“Hurrah!” cried Barclay; “that is awfully jolly.”

Then his face fell somewhat.

“What will dear mother think, though?”

“It will only be for one night, my lad. As soon as we reach Dieppe we’ll telegraph, you know.”

Then away to a cupboard walked or rather staggered the weird wee man. First he lit the big swing-lamp, for already gloaming was falling over the sea.

As he lit the lamp, Antonio chanted or sang in his sweetest tones:

“The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in its flight.

* * * * *

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.”

* * * * *

The cat Muffie did not seem to mind the wild storm now raging and rushing the sloop before it, with many a dull thud that shook her from stem to stern.

Pussy was singing herself to sleep, with half-closed eyes that refused to keep awake.

Having lit the lamp, Antonio put the fiddles[4] on the table, and over this spread the table-cloth.

In the nests thus formed, and in front of each child, he placed a handful of nuts and apples.

Then he said, “Good-bye, dearies. Laugh and be happy. By-and-by I’ll be down to play and sing to you.”

“Oh,” cried Teenie, “that will be nice!”

She clapped her hands, and so did the others.

* * * * *

There was still light enough on deck to see well around one; but Pandoo now, at his master’s command, lit a huge hurricane lantern, and hoisted it to the masthead.

The faithful fellow had discarded his turban, and was fain to encase himself in an oilskin coat and wear a big sou’-wester, in which costume, it must be confessed, his brown but handsome face did not show out to any great advantage.

Meanwhile the wind seemed to increase. Above the howling of it, however, could now and then be heard the shrieks of the sea-birds. “Good-night! Good-night!” they seemed to cry--“we’re away, away--away--ay!”

Nothing could daunt Antonio.

His heart was resilient to a degree, and when the wind blew the highest, he sang. He did even now, though only a verse or two:

“The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.”