Chapter III: Part 3

He spoke with a certain bitterness, as though he would really enjoy being wrecked, in the trust that the _Potluck_ was not insured, and that old Jones would get his certificate cancelled, or at least suspended.

"'Twould give the old ass time to study foreign politics," sneered Lampert, as it breezed up again.

And five minutes' later, while Lampert was lighting his pipe half-way down the cabin stairs, he heard a bellow forward which made him drop thoughts of tobacco.

"Breakers ahead!"

The watch came out on deck and ran aft; and were followed by the watch below in various articles of attire, not calculated to keep them very warm.

The _Potluck_ had been running with the wind nearly dead aft.

"Starboard, starboard!" roared Lampert. "Oh, steady; hold her there!"

The vessel ran off to port at a sharp angle to her wake.

"Up here some," yelled the mate, "and set the spanker! Stand by the---- My God!"

And, as old Jones and Simcox came on deck, the _Potluck_ was hard and fast ashore. With one simultaneous crack the three topmasts went over the side, and as the men and officers jumped under the shelter of the weather rail, Lampert and those of the watch who were with him came tumbling down from the poop. They reckoned on a boiling sea coming after and sweeping them away. But though the malignity native to matter had set the _Potluck_ ashore, by good luck she was hard and fast in the one sheltered cove on the island. When Lampert by instinct altered her course to port, as he heard the coast breakers at the starboard bow, he had run her in between two ledges of rock, of which the outer or more westerly one acted as a complete breakwater.

The skipper, who had been lying flat when the others jumped for the main deck, got up and crawled forward to the break of the poop. He was half-paralysed with a mixture of funk and rage. He addressed himself and his remarks to the sky, the sea, and the island, but above all to Lampert.

"You man-drowning, slop-built caricature of a sailorman, what 'ave you bin and done with my ship?" he bellowed. "Oh, Lord, I'm a ruined man; by gosh, I'll murder you!"

He tumbled down on the main deck and made for Lampert, who easily dodged him.

"Shut up, you old idiot!" said the mate contemptuously. "Who but me told you that if you drove her in thick weather, and no sun seen for a week, you'd pile her up?"

Simcox caught Jones and held him.

"Good lord, sir," said the second greaser, "it's no time to fight."

"No, it ain't," said Jack Hart boldly.

That a foremast hand should dare to shove his oar in, almost cowed the poor old Guffin. It was something out of nature.

"It ain't no time for jawbation," insisted Hart, about whom the others had gathered. "It's time for thinkin' out the politics of the situation, and if I'm not mistaken we shall be able to walk ashore by the morning, and there won't be no ship for any one to command--so what's the use of jaw? I say get up stores, eh, Mackenzie?"

"Don't ask me," said old Mac. "I was thinkin' that mighty soon we'd be able to settle that question about the buildin' of the _Potluck_."

And as by this time Jones was calming down and was rather inclined to cry, Lampert came up to the restive crowd.

"You dry up, Hart," he said roughly. "Until the ship's broken up, you're on the articles. Say another word and I'll break your jaw."

"Yes, sir," said Hart respectfully.

Until dawn they loafed about the deck and in the cabin and foc'sle, discussing whether they were on one of the Crozets or what, and whether they would stay long there, and if so what, and so on.

And just as the dawn broke over the island they got an awful surprise. They saw a man standing on the low cliff on about a level with the jagged splinters of the fore-topmast where it had gone short in the cap.

"The bloomin' hisland's in'abited," cried a foremast hand, and every one rushed forward to interview the gesticulating stranger.

"Wod's the bloke say?" asked the crowd. "Oh, say it again!" And the stranger said it again.

But the crowd shook a unanimous head.

"I believe the silly galoot don't talk English," cried Hart; "'ere, where's Dutchy?"

They shoved their one "Dutchman" forward, and after some interchange of utter un-intelligibilities, listened to by every one with bated breath, Hermann turned round.

"I not versteh, captain. I denk him ein French."

The Frenchman was joined by two or three more, and then by a dozen.

"Why, they're all French," said the disgusted crowd. "What's Frenchmen doin' on any island of ours?"

And until the sea went down, which it did sufficiently to allow them to get ashore at about ten o'clock, they discussed the question as to whether the Crozets were English or not. It was settled by old Mackenzie.

"All islands as don't belong to any one belongs to us," he said; "it was arranged so by Disraeli."

They got ashore with some risk, and were greeted by the Frenchman in the most amiable way.

"Poor beggars!" said the crew; "it must be 'ard on a soft lot of things like them to be on a des'late hisland. Ain't it a wonder Froggies ever goes to sea? But does they belong 'ere, or was they piled hup same's hus?"

Hart found himself alongside a Frenchman with a long red Liberty cap on, and a big pair of ear-rings in his ears.

"Goddam," said the Frenchman.

"That's what we say," cried Hart. "Here, you chaps, he speaks English."

"Hurrah!" said the crowd.

"I spike Engelish," nodded the stranger.

"How'd you come 'ere?" asked the eager chorus.

The Frenchman nodded.

"Goddam!" he said, smiling. "Ship! Por'smout'--London! I spick En'lish."

"Well, then," said Hart desperately, "just dry up with your mixed hogwash, and spit it all out free as to 'ow you came 'ere, and wot the name o' this bally rock is, and who's its in'abitants. Now, give it lip!"

"Hart's a nateral born speaker, and 'as a clear 'ead," said the crowd. "'E puts it in a nutshell, and don't run to waste in words."

But the Frenchman looked puzzled.

"Comb wiz," he said; "spik En'lish besser," and he pointed over the low rise.

"Steady!" said Hart; "boys, I'm not clear as to whether we hain't bein' led hinto a hambush. It hain't nateral for shipwrecked Englishmen to find Frenchies shipwrecked too!"

"It ain't," said the crew suspiciously.

"And even if it's all right, we bein' strangers might be led into makin' a treaty without knowin' all there is to know. I vote waitin' till the officers comes up."

They squatted down on rocks and on the lumps of tussac grass till the captain and the two mates came along with the rest of the Frenchmen. Hart communicated his suspicions to the skipper, who was decidedly under the influence of alcohol.

"That's all right," said the Guffin thickly. "_We_ can manage Frenchmen. They ain't goin' to make no French Shore question on no more of our islands. One Newfoundland's enough for me. I'll show you n'gotiations--'gotiashuns is my forte!" And he led the way over the hill. Below them they saw the wreck of a French barquantine.

"Blimy," said the crowd, with a frown, "if they 'aven't got the best part of our hisland!"

It was not to be endured by any lot of Englishmen under the sun, that the best part of this rock should be occupied by their natural foes, and soon there was evidence that in any attempt to turn the Frenchmen out the British leader would have a united nation at his back.

The Guffin and the two mates argued it, and Lampert was the Opposition.

"W'y, wot's this you're sayin'?" asked the disgusted skipper; "did I think to 'ave shipped a Verning 'Arcourt among my lot? You're a Little Englander, and nothin' but it, Lampert."

"They was here first," said Lampert obstinately.

"But the hisland is British ground," urged Simcox, "and where our flag flies no Frenchman can have the best. We gives 'em liberty to trade, and they can take what's left. What for have we always beat 'em if we're to give in now?"

"Continuosity of foreign politics is my motter," said the skipper. "With continuosity and joodishus firmness, and a polite 'hout o' this,' you'll see 'em listen to reason, and evacuate. I shall send hin my hultimatum this very afternoon. And you, Simcox, shall be hambassador."

Simcox looked anxious.

"Well, captain, I was thinking it would be judicious policy to send in the Dutchman. It will remind them that Europe is more or less agin them, and to have a Dutchman here will make 'em think twice afore they elects for war."

The skipper shook his head.

"No, Simcox, it looks judicious on the surface, but takin' deeper thought it ain't. It would aggerawate them, and that ain't policy. We fights if we must, but don't start it by doin' anythin' unpleasin' more'n askin' for our rights. And in n'gotiashuns it ain't policy to remind 'em deliberate of the time the Prooshians beat 'em. And moreover it's accordin' to no tradition I've heard of to send a furriner as hambassador. No, Simcox, you shall go. I'll draw up the hultimatum at once."

He returned on board the wreck of the _Potluck_, and in company with a bottle of brandy strove with the situation, while the crowd and their spokesman, Hart, argued like a House of Commons.

"It ain't any good talkin'," said Jack, "and hevery one knows that give a Frenchman the chance of hargument he'll talk a government mule's 'ind leg off. 'Hout of this,' is the on'y hargument a Frenchman hunderstands."

"But they seems to be a good many more of 'em than us," suggested the crowd.

"Come to that," said Hart, "it's the on'y just ground we 'as to go for 'em. For if they was on'y ekal numbers, it'd be cowardly to whack 'em, and I for one would be on the side of just goin' down there and shovin' them out peaceful. I'm for the hultimatum right off. I wonder 'ow the Guffin will put it. Say, boys, 'ere 'e comes!"

The "old man" staggered up with a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Have you done it, sir?" asked Simcox. "Let's hear it."

"Yes, read it out," said Lampert, with half a sneer, which the skipper did not notice.

The crowd gathered round as the captain squatted on a rock.

"On board the British barque _Potluck_, belonging to the British port Liverpool; owners, McWattie & Co.; Captain Abednego Jones.

"MR. SIMCOX,--Sir----"

"Eh, what?" said the astounded Simcox.

"It's addressed to you, Simcox," said the skipper blandly.

"Why?" asked Simcox.

The skipper shook his head impatiently.

"I thought you'd 'ave knowed, Simcox. You're the hambassador, and you've to communicate this to 'em."

"Oh, go on, sir," said the crowd.

The skipper resumed:

"MR. SIMCOX,--Sir, you'll be so good as to be so kind as to communicate the contents of this 'ere letter to them French of the wreck we don't know the name of, and tell them to clear. For there ain't no reasonable grounds for supposin' this ain't a British hisland (seeing that mostly all hislands is) and they've by comin' 'ere first got and taken possession of the best bit of it, which can't be allowed, as it's contrary to law in such case made and purvided. So you'll inform 'em it ain't goin' to be put up with, and they must evacuate immejit and resume the _statues quo_----"

"What's that?" asked Simcox.

"It's Latin, you unutterable ass," said the skipper, with a look of withering contempt.

"I don't know Latin," said the poor second mate.

"And who expected it of you?" asked the skipper. "It means that things are to go on as they was afore they come:

"----resume the _statues quo_, and don't stand no hargument. You are to tell 'em it will be considered an unfriendly hact, and that we 'as cleared for haction in consequence of not believing them such cowards as to quit. But quit they must, and no mistake, or we resort without delay to the arbitrage and general haverage of war. Given this day on board the British barque _Potluck_ by me,

"CAPTAIN ABEDNEGO JONES."

"First rate!" said the crew. "That'll give 'em the jumps."

"And how am I to translate it?" asked the miserable Simcox.

"That's your look-out," said the Guffin, with a hiccup. "Shall I keep a dog and bark myself? Now, 'urry and get it hover. And let hevery one 'ave a weapon, 'andspikes and belayin' pins. Now go, Simcox!"

"Hart, come along with me," said Simcox.

And as the "old man" was engaged in keeping his balance, he made no objection.

"I think this is a herror of judgment, sir," said Hart; "my hidea of a hultimatum was jumpin' on 'em unexpected, and givin' 'em toko afore they know'd where they was. My notion of fightin' (and it pays hevery time) is to haggravate your man till he's ready to 'it, but to 'it 'im fust. An' if I thinks a cove will 'it me in five minutes, I lets no time go by in hanticipatin' 'im. But this will warn 'em."

"But they have no one who really knows English, Hart," groaned Simcox; "and I don't know the first word of French."

"Never mind, sir," said Hart encouragingly. "I've 'ad many a row with a Frenchy, and I never knowed my 'avin' not the least notion of what 'e meant ever stopped the fight from comin' off. If so be I see you get stuck, I'll come in, sir."

And they were met by the French sailor who thought he spoke English.

"I spik En'lish, goddam," said the Frenchman. "Leaverpool, Por'smout'; mais le capitaine spik besser."

"Good-mornin'," said Simcox meekly to the French captain, a long unhappy looking man, who might have been the skipper of a _chasse-marée_ for all the style he put on.

"Mais, oui----" said the captain.

"This 'ere paper is for you," said Simcox, "and by the powers I hope you can't read it."

He handed the ultimatum to the Frenchman, who studied it while his crew came round.

"Je ne peux pas le lire, monsieur," he said at length.

Simcox turned to Hart.

"There, now what the blazes am I to do when he talks that way?"

"Just hexplain it," said Hart, as he helped himself to a chew. "Say, 'Hout o' this!'"

"It means you've got to go," said Simcox; "you can't be allowed to stay in the best part of our island."

"Goddam," cried the Frenchman, with his hand in his hair. "I spik English, two, tree word: pilote, feesh, shannel, owaryo!"

"Owaryo?" asked Simcox.

"That's his way o' sayin' 'How are you?'" interjected Hart, who was contemptuously sizing up the French sailors.

"Ah, how are you?" said Simcox.

"Owaryo," replied the French captain, smiling.

"Very well, thanks," said Simcox; "but I'm the ambassador."

"Ma foi, ambassadeur! You spik Français?"

"And you've just got to get," added Simcox.

"March!" cried Hart.

The Frenchmen "jabbered" a bit among themselves.

"Quoi donc? Marcher?" asked their skipper.

"We, old son," said Hart; "marshay if you like. Just pack up and quit. We gives you an hour to gather up your dunnage. Now do you understand?"

Whether the Frenchmen understood or not it was tolerably obvious they did not like the tone with which Hart spoke, or the looks of evident disfavour he cast at them. The captain turned away.

"Stop!" said Hart, and he went in for a dumb pantomime, in which he vaguely suggested that over yonder hill was an army of Englishmen.

"And we mean 'avin' our rights," he ended with. And just then old Jones appeared in sight.

"Are they jossers goin' to evacuate or not?" he bellowed. "What's their captain say to the _statues quo_? Don't they know the first thing about diplomatics? Tell 'em that to prepare for peace we makes war."

"War it is," said Hart, and he launched himself at a crowd of Frenchmen, as his mates came tumbling down the hill.

The fight was short, sharp, and pretty decisive, for the _Potluck's_ crowd numbered ten able seamen, one ordinary seaman, and two boys, or with the captain and the two mates, sixteen in all. Against this array there were twenty-one Frenchmen, and though Hart, in his first onslaught, knocked down two, he was himself stretched out by a third armed with a broken hand-spike. And Simcox fled with the infuriated foreigners at his heels. The true battle (for this was but an affair of outposts) joined on the crest of the rise, and in five minutes the English were in flight for the shelter of the piled-up _Potluck_. Old Jones was keeled over once, but Lampert and Mackenzie dragged him away and got him down to the ship. He swore most terribly.

"'Ere's a pretty kettle o' fish," said he at last; "a pretty lot I 'as to my back to let a few Frenchies lick 'em this way. What's the good o' diplomatics if my men 'asn't the guts to support me? Where's that Simcox?"

"Here, sir," said the ambassador.

"Who told you to start a row?" demanded the skipper. "Don't you know your duty? You was to give 'em the hultimatum and retire dignified. Do you call it retirin' dignified to run and beller like a bull-calf?"

Simcox looked sulky and injured.

"How was I to look dignified with six of 'em after me--and two with knives and one with a meat-chopper?" he asked. "And as for startin' a rough house, 'twas Hart as done it."

"Where's Hart?" yelled the Guffin.

"'Ere, 'Art, where are you?" said the crowd.

"I believe he's a prisoner," said Lampert.

"Oh, Lord," said the crowd, "but Jack never 'ad no discretion."

"We must 'ave him liberated," said the skipper firmly. "No man of mine must be in the 'ands of them mutilatin' French. Simcox, you'll 'ave to go to 'em again and open n'gotiashuns!"

"No, sir," said Simcox, "if you'll excuse me, I'll do nothin' of the sort. I've had my fill up of bein' ambassador."

"This is mut'ny," said the skipper; "but under the painful national circumstances I shan't do nothin' but order you to your cabin, where you'll consider yourself in custody."

Simcox looked greatly relieved, and went without delay.

"Mr. Lampert, you'll be hambassador," said the old man, after a drink of brandy.

The mate looked the skipper up and down.

"I'll see you further first," he cried. "'Twas you that started the row and the trouble, and you can get out of it as you like."

"This is rank mut'ny," said the skipper, "and you could be 'ung for refusin' duty. But under the painful nash'nal circumstances you can retire to your cabin and be your own bloomin' policeman till peace is restored, when I'll try you and sentence you, you run and scuttle swine you."

"Oh, that's all right," said the mate contemptuously.

"Now, men," said the skipper thickly, "what I wants is 'earty support. Who'll volunteer for to be hambassador?"

The crew looked at each other and shook their heads. They scuffled with uneasy feet on the lopsided deck.

"They're standin' upon the 'ill as thick as pea-sticks," said one of the boys.

"Speak hup," roared the skipper.

The crew shoved old Mac in front.

"We've revolved the notion up and over," said Mac, "and we've come to the conclusion, sir, there ain't nothin' to be got by sendin' ignorant men like we on such errands."

The skipper hiccupped angrily.

"Who asted you to think? But I ain't the man to press unwilling lubbers into goin' aloft, _I_ can lead the way. Go into the fo'castle, you dogs, and consider yourselves under arrest. Go!"

"Blimy," said the crowd, "but we're all in our own custody, so we are. Now what's the old man goin' to do?"

They watched him from the fo'castle as he staggered into his own part of the ship.

"I'll be my own hambassador," said Jones. "I'll show 'em 'ow to work things with dignity; I'll show that ass Lampert what's o'clock. What you wants in such cases made and provided is tact, and go, and innerds. Innerds is the chief need. Why fight if palaver'll do? Where I was wrong was to send a galoot like Simcox. But what could I do but work the best with the tools I 'ad? If I'd gone myself, we'd 'ave made peace afore there was a row."

He came staggering out of the cabin with a case of brandy and laid it on the after capstan.

"I guess I'll have a boy," said Jones. "'Ere, you scum, send me Billy." And Billy came aft.

"I releases you temp'ry without bail," said the skipper fiercely, "so puckalow that case and foller me. No, you wait till I gets a tablecloth as a signal I'm willin' to 'ave peace."

When he came out with a cloth he went ashore and stumbled up the hill, followed by the boy Billy, bearing the case of brandy. He found the crew of the Frenchmen lining the crest, and heard them talk.

"Say, Johnny French," said old Jones, "if you wants war, prepare for peace. Who's the captain?"

"Sapristi!" said the French captain.

Jones nodded.

"Give it up, old son. It warn't my fault, if relyin' on the discretion of ambassadors ain't a fault: and maybe you can swaller the hultimatum with some real good brandy throwed in. And is your name Sapristi?"

"Nom de Dieu----" began the Frenchman, but Jones waved his hand with dignity.

"Call yourself what you like, but 'ave you got anythin' in the way of a marlinspike or a splice bar as'll open this yer case?"

The foreigners, perceiving that the Englishman was on an errand of peace, gathered about the case, and soon discovered from the stencilled inscription that it at any rate pretended to come from Cognac.

"Goddam," said the little red-capped Frenchman who had first discovered them. "Cognac! I spik English--brandee, Por'smout', Lon-don!"

Jones made signs that he presented the case to them.

"I ain't above makin' a concession or two," he remarked confidentially to the French captain; "but if I'd listened to my lot on board, it would 'ave been blood up to the neck."

The Frenchman shook his head.

"You bet it would 'ave bin," said Jones earnestly, "but what d'ye say to 'avin' a drink? Billy, gimme your knife."

And with it he started opening the case, while the Frenchmen's eyes gleamed in pleasing anticipation. They had not had a drink for weeks. And as they carried the case down to the ship with Jones and their own captain in the rear, they concluded that the English were not such bad chaps after all.

"But where's my man 'Art!" asked Jones, when he came to the French camp.

"'Ere I be," cried Hart, who was lashed hard and fast to a round rock. "Lord, captain, but I've 'ad a time. Can't you cut me adrift, sir?"

Jones shook his head.

"You interferin' galoot, it serves you right. And as for that, the 'ole crew's under arrest, where I put 'em for mut'ny, and I don't see as I should so pick and choose among 'em as to use my hinfluence to 'ave you let go. At any rate, bide a bit, and I'll see."

For it was obvious that the drinking was going to begin. The French captain served the liquor out in a small glass to every one, and presently some of his melancholy disappeared. He gave an order to one of his men who brought two more glasses, one for the English captain, and one for himself.

"I looks towards you," said Jones.

"À votre santé," cried the Frenchman. "Monsieur, vous êtes un homme de coeur quand mêne."

"I don't savvy, but I dessay you means well," said the captain. "Now, if I'd thought to bring along the signal book we might 'ave 'ad quite a talk. But time enough; I dessay afore we're took off I shall patter your lingo like blazes. Shall I cut my man loose there?"

He pointed to Hart, and though two of the Frenchmen, who had black eyes, remonstrated against the deed of mercy, Hart was unlashed and given a drink.

"Here's to you, old cocklywax," said Hart, with a scrape of his leg. "I bears no grudge, not me."

And very soon the French and English skippers were talking to each other at the rate of knots, while Hart sat in a crowd of Frenchmen and told them all about everything.

It was close on sundown when Jones returned to the _Potluck_. He had to be helped up the side by some of the crew.

"Ain't we under arrest?" they asked. "Does we dare come out?"

Jones hiccupped.

"I releases you on your own recognition," he said. "So down you come and 'elp."

When he put his foot on the deck, he mustered all hands aft.

"And you, Lampert, and you, Simcox!"

The two mates came out of their cabins.

"And where's Hart?"

"If you please, sir, he's drunk," said Billy.

"Arrest 'im," said the skipper; "what's 'e mean by it? Now, look 'ere, you bally lot, what does you think of yourselves?"

The crew appeared uneasy.

"I went all by my lone," said the skipper, hanging on to the poop ladder, "all by my lone I went, and I brings back peace! Do you 'ear? But when I sent you, what use was you? I released 'Art, who's repaid me by bein' unable to see an 'ole in a ladder; and I've concluded a treaty of peace and friendship with the French. Next time (if so be a German ship comes ashore) I'll go out as my own hambassador. No, Simcox, never more! No, Lampert, never, never more! I just speaks to that French crowd, and they are civil and drink fair. They recognised they'd met their match. Their skipper says, says he, 'Captain Jones, I owns fair and square I'm not your ekal at diplomatics.' He adds, moreover, 'Captain Jones, damn me if I believe your match is to be found.' And I says, with dignity (with dignity, Simcox), 'Right you are!' That's what I says. And as for you, you ratty galoots, you'll treat 'em when you meets 'em just the same as if they wasn't French. Do you 'ear me? That's my hultimatum. Now you can go. That'll do the watch."

He turned to the mates.

"I thought better of you two, so I did," he remarked sadly. "But there, you 'aven't 'ad my experience, and when I gets 'ome I shall see as them that is in power at the Furrin Office 'ears 'ow I done it. Salisbury ain't my stiffness of backbone, and 'e ain't my tact. If so be as 'e was to invite them Frenchmen to dinner, it would be different. They knows (as the French captain owned to me; fair and square 'e owned it) they don't 'ave no nat'ral right to hislands and col'nies. Make the Frenchmen's 'omes 'appy and they'll stay at 'ome. Think it hout; you'll see 'ow it could be done. There now, that'll do you. I disarrest you!"

And the "old man" rolled cheerfully for his cabin.

"By my lone I done it!" said the Guffin.

THE CREW OF THE _KAMMA FUNDER_.

The stars of European science, who had been shining in a wonderful constellation over Quebec, were just about to leave Canada in that well-known comfortable liner, the _Nipigon_, when a most annoying thing happened. The cattle-ship _Abbitibbe_, never famous at any time for minding her helm, got her steam steering gear jammed as she was passing the _Nipigon_, and took a wide sheer to port when she should have altered her course to starboard. The peaceful preparations of the passenger boat were broken up, and her crew received the wild charge of the _Abbitibbe_ with curses, which, though effectual in heating the atmosphere, were no use as a fender. The _Nipigon_ was cut down to the water's edge, and the scientific lights of Europe were much put out. They hurried ashore in the most irregular and unscientific manner, and, having sent others for their baggage, began to make preparations for going to New York, as no other good passenger boat was leaving the St. Lawrence for a week.

But Nature, possibly out of revenge for the unseemly curiosity evinced by all men of science, was beforehand with them. Misfortunes, as was once observed by an intelligent, if pessimistic, anthropoid ape, never come singly. It was the twelfth of November, and a sudden blizzard, bringing all the snow it could carry, broke up communication with the south. If the men of science were to keep their appointments with their universities, it was necessary to sail from Canada at once. They shipped themselves under protest upon the _Nemagosenda_, of 2,900 tons register, which was little better than a tramp, and was commanded by Captain Joseph Prowse.

"Immortal Jehoshaphat!" said Captain Prowse; "here's a go! What, we with passengers? Oh, get out!"

"You've got to take 'em," said the agent philosophically; "maybe they'll teach you something, and it'll be a good advertisement."

"Gah'n!" said Prowse; "carryin' scientific jossers won't bring better freight next season. I wish you'd get me chock up with cattle. I can't stand scientists; my sister married one that was an 'erbalist in the Old Kent Road--and since he went to chokey I've lost conceit with science. However, if it must be--why, send 'em along!"

Captain Prowse was not a popular skipper with sailors. They said that he was a "hard nut" and a "sailor-robber," and that his American experience had made him nearly as deadly as any American captain with a belaying-pin. But sailors' experience only works backward: they are good at reminiscence only, and the _Nemagosenda_ got a crew in spite of the captain's reputation. It is possible they would not have shipped if they had known that men of European light and leading were to come with them. Those who follow the sea have a great respect for knowledge, but they despise men in soft hats and spectacles. And it cannot be denied that scientific men are as a rule too simple and gentle to look as if they could take care of themselves. According to Jack, that is the first duty of man, though he premises naturally that even the toughest courage and the greatest skill may come to grief about women.

"A thunderin' measly lot," said Simpkins A.B. to his particular mate, when the scientific passengers came on board; "why, they've all soft 'ats but one! And long beards! And three out of four with specs! Holy sailor, what a gang!"

Harris nodded.

"Why, there's twenty of 'em, Bill, but I'll bet a plug of the best to an old chew that me and you goin' for 'em with belayin'-pins could do up the 'ole crowd in five minutes."

"You've sized 'em up," said Simpkins, with a sneer, and then the captain roared.

"Aye, aye, sir," said the mate. "Let go! All gone, sir! Now then, haul in." And the _Nemagosenda_ went out into the stream.

It took some three days or so for the men of science to settle down. For during the first few days the pathology of sea-sickness occupied all their attention; they had no time for other things. But when their last all-night session was over, and they were seen again upon deck, the affairs of the _Nemagosenda_ became interesting. The mate and the port watch developed long-threatened divergencies, and Captain Prowse came to the assistance of his chief officer with a brass belaying-pin. As the result of this the pathologist indulged in a little practical surgery, and a division arose in the scientific ranks. The political economist argued with the statistician.

"Statistics prove that the common sailor must be treated with sternness," said the authority in figures, "and it is our duty to support authority."

"The captain is a brute," said the political economist, "and for two pins I would tell him so. You cannot neglect the human factor----"

"Says political economy," sneered the statistician.

And then the geologist, who was a man of sense, said they were both talking rot. The discussion on the poop was broken up by the captain, who came on deck with a face like the north-west moon in a fog. Having demanded the presence of the crew aft, he gave them an address on their duties to their superiors.

"You think yourselves a fine lot of chaps," said the captain fiercely, "but my opinion of you is that you are a scaly crowd of wharf-rats, and all your relations of both sexes are no better than they should be. So look here, you swine, I'll have you know I'm Captain Joseph Prowse, and the man that gives any slack jaw to any officer of mine gives it to me. And the man that gives it to me will wish he was dead before he sees Liverpool. That's me. I'm Captain Joseph Prowse, so I am, and any crew under me has got to know it. I'm king here, and I'll wade in blood before I get off my throne. Mr. Watts, put this crawling lot to holy stoning the deck!"

And Captain Joseph Prowse rejoined his scientific passengers.

"All crews is the same, gentlemen," he said thickly; "there's something deep and dark in the nature of things as makes 'em so. Those that do the rough work on board ships are just so necessarily, and if I was to ship a crew of angels, though they might be handy for going aloft, they'd turn devils by the time they'd ate a pound of beef and biscuit."

"Have you ever tried kindness and persuasion?" asked the meteorologist.

The captain looked him up and down.

"Ever tried it!" he ejaculated scornfully; "'ave I ever tried anything else? It's kindness to sailormen to let 'em know who's boss. Spare the belayin'-pin and the 'andspike and you'll spoil the sailor. Oh, Solomon know'd his business when he used them words. He didn't sail to Ophir for nothin'."

"But, Captain Prowse," said the meek gentleman, whose great subject was cannibalism, "isn't it very unpleasant work rubbing the decks with stones this cold weather?"

"Unpleasant!" said the skipper, "and what do you think? Was I proposin' to reward 'em?"

"I suppose not," said the ethnologist, "but I'm sure it's awful work. I could never do it."

Captain Prowse snorted.

"Oh yes, you could, if you was in my crew," he remarked. "If one of you gents was captain, you'd find this crowd couldn't do nothing but sit in the foc'sle and drink 'ot coffee. It's all accordin' where you are, and what kind of a man's on top."

"In other words, circumstance creates character," said the statistician.

"That's a ridiculous exaggeration," said the authority on heredity. "A man is what he is born."

Captain Joseph Prowse laughed scornfully.

"Not he--he's what I makes of him, and if you gents was under me I'd make you sailors long afore you suspected it. By the way, could you tell me what branch of science an 'erbalist belongs to?"

And the conversation followed more pleasant lines.

The _Nemagosenda_, although little better than a tramp in her appearance, could do her ten knots an hour on less than twenty tons of coal a day, and she soon got out to the Banks, where the men of science discussed fishing, and the colour of sea-water, and icebergs.

"Yes," said the geologist, "an iceberg swims on an average seven-eighths below and an eighth above."

"Gammon!" said Captain Prowse rudely; "why, any sailor knows better. I'm surprised at a scientific josser like you bein' so ignorant. It's one-third above and two below. You ask my mate if it isn't so."

"Ah, thanks, I will," said the geologist pleasantly. "Mr. Watts is a well-informed man?"

"Rather," said Prowse, nodding; "there's not a den o' thieves in any port in Europe he can't find blindfold. And 'e knows more about icebergs than me, for he once went a trip in a Dundee whaler. He ain't proud of it, and don't talk of it much, for whalers is no class, as you may guess. But he's keen on knowledge, is Watts, I'll say that for him. You might do worse than ask him for some ackerate information. He's a perfect whale on fogs, too!"

If Mr. Watts was the authority on fogs that his captain made out, he soon had an opportunity of showing it, for half-way across the Banks it was impossible to see farther than one could throw half a hundredweight, and the _Nemagosenda_ went tooting in darkness. But every now and again in this dim world the men of science were alarmed and entertained by sudden battles in blasphemy between Captain Prowse, or the well-informed Mr. Watts, and the crew of a Bank fisherman. For fog blankets sound in the oddest, most erratic way, and the throb of a screw cannot always be heard even in the calmest foggy weather. Such swearing matches between the _Nemagosenda_ and a smack were, when apparently good for three minutes or so, sometimes sliced right in two by the sudden dropping down of what the meteorologist called an "anacoustic" wall of fog. Like the last words of Don Whiskerandos in _A Tragedy Rehearsed_, a speech was cut off in the very flower of its youth.

"Where the blue blinding blazes are you coming to?" asked a faint nocturne. And when Captain Prowse had expended his last carefully prepared oration, the right of maritime reply only conferred an audible "Oh, you dog----"

"We have to thank the anacoustic properties of that fog-bank for the sudden conclusion," said the meteorologist, "for if I'm any judge of human nature, that smacksman is still firing red-hot words into space."

"Yes, sir," said Prowse indignantly, "they're a foul-mouthed lot. It's as much as I can do to keep even with 'em. But I'll slow down no more."

He telegraphed "Full speed ahead" and left Mr. Watts with awfully worded instructions to sink anything, from a battleship to the meanest brig afloat. In the saloon he sat at the head of the table, and drank rum hot.

"Science proves that rum 'ot is the sailor's drink," said Captain Prowse, "and the correct drink. For we all drink it, and flourish on it. And the reason is that it goes by contraries. It's cold work bein' at sea, and so we takes it 'ot; and the sea is salt, so we takes it sweet: and it comes from the West Indies."

"And that proves it," said the geologist warmly. "What a head you have, Captain Prowse!"

The skipper nodded.

"You may well say so," he affirmed; "a phrenologist gave me a chart of my 'ead once, a scientific chart with the soundings wrote out plain, and what proved him right was his sayin' that 'ere and there I was too deep for him. And I paid him a guinea. Well worth it, it was, for he said, 'You get married,' and I done so, and Mrs. Prowse hasn't her living equal. I wish I'd brought that chart with me. It would 'ave interested you gents to know what a brother scientist thought of me."

"It would indeed," said the pathologist.

"But there, I'll tell you what I am," said Prowse, "I'm a down-righter, that's me. I'm captain of my boat, I am, and if I was afloat on a hencoop with all its crew I'd like to see the cock as would crow before I gave him orders. Authority comes nat'ral to me. I'll be boss wherever I am--(Hancocks, more rum!)--and I would have succeeded in whatsoever I took hold of. Phrenology told me so, wrote out plain. And I've a kind of leanin' towards science ever since that phrenologist put 'is 'and on my 'ead and said with a start of surprise, 'Captain, you're a wonder.' But I've always wondered what it was made scientific chaps look so 'elpless.--(Hancocks, more rum.)--But don't you fret, gents; I'm Captain Joseph Prowse, and I'll put you safe ashore, or die in the attempt."

And as he again ejaculated "Hancocks, more rum," he fell asleep upon the table.

"Gentlemen," said the geologist, "as our interests are now secure, I vote we go to bed."

But it was still a heavy fog, and the _Nemagosenda_ was doing her ten knots an hour. Other steamers were doing the same, or even more. Some twenty-knot liners slowed down (in order that they might say that they had slowed down) to about nineteen knots and a half; and some, acting on the theory that the sooner they went through the fog-belt, the better for every one, gave their engines all the steam they could make, and stepped out for America or England at the pace of an indolent torpedo-boat. And the result of this was that at about four bells in the middle watch, when the mate's aching eyes could see forty imaginary steamers where there were none, he omitted to observe that there was a real one coming for him till it was too late. The _Nemagosenda_ uttered one long horrid wail, which was answered in vain, and the next minute the men of science were shot out of their bunks, and their steamer was taking in the Atlantic through a hole about the size of a dock gate.

What became of the lucky, or unlucky, boat, which got her blow in first, the crew of the sinking steamer did not inquire. They heard her toot in the distance, and in answer they blew their whistle for help. But though a whistle in a fog may be evidence of good faith, it is not necessarily for wide publication, and it is quite possible that the stranger, if she did not sink, lost her bearings in the fog, and went off in the wrong direction. At any rate the crew and passengers of the _Nemagosenda_ found themselves adrift in three boats, and in less than a quarter of an hour they heard, though they could not see, their steamer blow her deck out and disappear.

"All up with the _Goose-ender_," said the crew sulkily, "and now of course it will blow."

As ill-luck and hurry would have it, in the last rush for life most of the crew had tumbled into the mate's and second mate's boats. With the lights of science were the captain and Simpkins, A.B.

"Immortal Jehoshaphat!" said Mr. Joseph Prowse, "this is a pretty state of affairs. That man-drowning swine of a liner! I 'ope she's gone down! I hope the codfish are sizing her captain up, and sayin' what they think of him. Simpkins, keep holloaing! Where's them other boats?"

"I can't holler no more, sir," whispered Simpkins hoarsely, "my throat's give out."

And as the wind rose the three boats drifted apart. Four eminent scientific persons at the oars kept their boat head on to sea, and six other eminent persons lay on the bottom boards and wished they were dead, until the dawn crawled into the east and showed them that they were alone.

It was a chill and watery dawn, and as the boat topped the cold green waves on the edge of the Bank the prospect was eminently unkind. The wind was not heavy, but it blew hard enough to bring the spray of each curling wave inboard, and every one was soaked to the skin. The sky was lowering and overcast, and though the fog was dissipated, a mist covered the sun till it looked, as Simpkins remarked, about as warm as a new tin plate.

It must be said for Captain Joseph Prowse that he retained in some measure those characteristics of authority which he claimed for himself, and by a forced optimism, which the nature of his crew made him adopt, he endeavoured to cheer them up.

"My luck's temporary out," he declared, with some show of cheerfulness, "but it ain't the first time I've been run down, and with God's 'elp, gents, it won't be the last. And it's clean against the nature of things for so many learn'd men to come to grief at one fell blow. 'Ere or there a scientific josser may come to grief in a crowd, but so many bein' together is the best of insurances. I'll pull you through; you mind me. All I ask you to remember is that I'm captain, and what I says goes now and always."

"It's all very well," said the meteorologist, whose temper was going with the skin of his hands, "but we all thought you had no right to run so fast in a fog."

Captain Prowse gasped, and then recovered himself.

"Didn't I tell you I was captain here, same as on the steamer?"

"You did," said the sulky man of science.

"Then hold your jaw," said Captain Prowse; "when you, or the likes of you, is asked for criticism, it'll be time for you to give it. Till then you'll give your captain no lectures on the running of his vessel. God and the Queen's enemies 'as sunk my ship, but neither one nor the other has took away my natural gift of authority, so shut up!"

And though the meteorologist choked with rage, he said no more. Simpkins and the captain consulted.

"We're right in the track of steamers more or less," said Captain Prowse, "and it bein' so damp we can hang out without much drink for a day or so. And biscuit we 'ave plenty."

Simpkins nodded.

"Yes, sir, but this 'ere's a sulky useless lot, sir."

"So they are," said Prowse, "but they'll 'ave to shape themselves as I bid 'em. The first crooked word and there'll be a man of science missing out of this bright gal-acksy of talent. I don't care where I am, but there I'll be captain. I don't care if they was my owners, I'd run 'em all the same. They ain't passengers no more, they're my crew."

He took a drink out of a flask and sank back in the stern-sheets.

"I want you men to keep your eyes skinned," he said presently. "Which of you is the astronomer?"

"I am," answered the bow oar, who was a long, thin man, in a wideawake and spectacles.

"Then keep a bright look-out or you'll see stars," said Prowse. "And while I'm on it, I want you jossers to know that you ain't passengers no more, but a boat's crew, and my boat's crew, and you'll have to look lively when I sing out. So the sooner we get a bit farther south the better it will be. That will do."

And muttering that he meant being captain whether he was on an ice-floe or a mud-barge, he fell asleep and snored.

"This brute is coming out in his true colours," said the astronomer. "What did he mean by saying I should see stars?"

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Simpkins, "he meant he'd plug you."

"Plug me?"

"Bung your eye up," explained Simpkins, "and Lor' bless you, he'd do it. Oh, a rare chap is the captain; why, some years half his money goes in fines."

"I wish to heaven I was ashore," said the poor astronomer, "and when I get there I'll see he never gets another job."

Simpkins eyed the sleeping skipper in alarm.

"Best not let him 'ear you, matey," he cried. "He'd haze you to death."

"Haze me?"

"Work you up," explained the seaman.

"What's that?"

"And I thot you was all learn'd!" said Simpkins, with great contempt. "I mean he'd just sock it to you till you was fair broke up."

The day passed without any incident of vital importance. It is true they sighted the smoke of a steamer hull down on the southern horizon, but they saw nothing else across the waste of heaving water. Every now and again the captain woke up and made a few remarks on the nature of authority, and what he proposed doing to those who did not "knuckle under." But the night fell without any signs of mutiny on the part of the scientific crew.

In the very early dawn the astronomer, who had slept in uneasy snatches, woke up for the tenth time and changed his position. Simpkins and the geologist were keeping the boat before the sea, which was running south-east, and they were both half-blind with fatigue.

"I believe I see something out there," said the astronomer feebly.

"You are always seein' suthin'," said Simpkins crossly, but as he spoke he looked round and almost dropped his oar.

"Wake up, captain!" he shouted. "Here's a barque almost so near we could touch her."

The skipper roused up, and with him the rest. They jumped to their feet.

"Sit down, sit down, you gang of idiots," said the captain; "d'ye want to capsize us?"

"Oh, we are saved, we are saved!" said the ethnologist, for within half a mile of them a vessel lay with her main-topsail aback. There was nothing odd about her to the uneducated eye, but the skipper looked at Simpkins, and Simpkins looked at the skipper.

"Derelict," said both.

For with such a light breeze it was absurd to see a barque with nothing set but a close reefed main-topsail, and a fore-topmast staysail hanging in hanks like a wet duster.

"She has seen us," said the geologist.

"Seen your grandmother," said the skipper rudely. "There ain't a soul aboard her, and she's water-logged and loaded with lumber out of Halifax, and she's a northerner, and about six hundred tons register. Get the oars out. If her decks are awash, she'll be better than this boat."

By the time they came within a cable's length of her, it was broad daylight, and the least maritime member of any European scientific society was able to form an opinion as to her being derelict. As she rolled, the water came out of her scuppers, for her main-deck was almost level with the sea. Part of the gear was let go, and most of the yards were chafing through their parrals, the main-top-gallant yard, indeed, was only hanging by the tie and the lifts, and came crash against the mast every time the sea lifted the vessel's bows. Half the bulwarks were gone, and the remains of the displaced deck cargo showed through the gaps. As they got up to her she went right aback and came round slowly on her heel.

"Row up close, sir," said Simpkins, "and I'll jump."

"No," said Captain Prowse, "not with this lot. I wouldn't go near her with a crew of misfits like these, not for money. We'll go a bit closer, and you must swim."

And in ten minutes Simpkins was on board. He threw the end of a vang across the boat, and they brought her astern.

"Thank Heaven," said the men of science as they trod the slippery decks of the _Kamma Funder_, belonging to Copenhagen.

But their troubles were only just beginning.

The skipper walked aft on the slippery deck, and climbed upon the poop by way of the rail, for some of the loose lumber had dislodged and smashed the poop ladder. When he found his foot upon his native heath, he was once more Captain Joseph Prowse in all his glory; and turning about, he addressed his crew.

"Simpkins," he said, "you are chief officer, second officer and bo'son, and don't you forget it. As for you others, I'll have you know that you're the crew. Just drop any kind of heightened notion that you are passengers, and we'll get along easy; but if you don't, look out for squalls. Simpkins, turn this useless lot to throwin' the remains of the deck cargo overboard, and try a couple of 'em at the pumps; maybe her seams may have closed up again by now." And going aft to the scuttle, he disappeared from view.

"Well," said the geologist, "of all the infernal----"

"Oh, stow that," cried Simpkins, "and turn to. You're here, ain't you, and lucky you should consider yourself. And the captain's a man of his word, as I know; so look slippy and pass this bloomin' truck over the side."

The miserable crew looked at each other in despair.

"Come now," said Simpkins impatiently, "do you want me to report you chaps as refusin' duty?"

The geologist, who was the youngest and sturdiest man in the crowd, said that he did; but the astronomer and the entomologist remonstrated with him.

"I think we'd better," said the unhappy insect man. "This Prowse seems a regular brute."

"He is," said the astronomer, "and I pray to Heaven that he doesn't find any rum on board."

But Heaven did not listen, and the captain presently came on deck with a flushed face.

"Simpkins," roared Prowse, as his head appeared over the edge of the scuttle.

"Yes, sir," said the new mate.

"Is that lumber over the side yet?"

"Quick, for Gawd's sake," said Simpkins, and the reluctant men of science commenced sliding the boards over.

"It's going, sir," answered Simpkins.