Mother Carey's Chicken Part 12

"Going to get up, my lad, and that's what you've got to do."

"I'll try, father. When shall I go ash.o.r.e?"

"If you like, at Malta, for a few hours," said the captain drily; "not before."

"At Malta!" said Mark, raising himself upon one arm.

"Yes, at Malta. Do you know where we are?"

"Somewhere off the Devon coast, I suppose."

"You were, a week ago, my boy. There, get up and dress yourself; the sun shines and the sea's calm, and in a few hours I can show you the coast of Spain."

"But, father," cried Mark, upon whom this news seemed to have a magical effect, "aren't we going ash.o.r.e at Penzance."

"Penzance, my boy! We had one of the narrowest of shaves of going on the Lizard Rocks, and were only too glad to get plenty of sea-room. Do you know we've been running for a week under storm topsails, and in as dangerous a storm as a ship could face?"

"I knew it had been very bad, father, but not like that. What are you going to do?"

"Make the best of things, sir. Look here, Mark, you wanted to come for a voyage with me."

"Yes, father."

"Well, I said I wouldn't take you."

"Yes, father."

"And now I'm obliged to: for I can't put back."

"Going to take me to China?" cried Mark.

"Yes, unless I put in at Lisbon, and send you home from there, and that's not worth while."

"Father!"

"What! are you so much better as that? Here, what are you going to do?"

"Get up directly, father, and see the coast of Spain."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

HOW CAPTAIN JACK CAME ON DECK.

"Yes, my lad, you've had a narrow squeak for it," said the first-mate, shaking hands. "You're in for it now."

He patted Mark's shoulder as he stood gazing over the port bulwark at a dim blue line.

"I couldn't get to you more, Mark, my lad," said the second-mate, "but you'll be all right now. We've had a rough time."

"And to think of you coming all the way with us after all!" said the boatswain in a pleasant growl. "Here, I'm going to make a sailor o'

you."

Mark was alone soon after, when Billy Widgeon came up smiling to say a few friendly words, and directly after a thin pale sailor came edging along the bulwarks to say feebly:

"I see you've been very bad too, sir. I thought once we should have been all drowned."

Mark had an instinctive dislike to this man, he could not tell why, and as he felt this he was at the same time angry with himself, for it seemed unjust.

The man noted it, and sighed as he went away, and even this sigh troubled its hearer, for he could not make out whether it was genuine or uttered to excite sympathy.

There was some excuse, for Mr David Jimpny's personal appearance was not much improved by the composite sailor suit he wore. His trousers were an old pair of the captain's, and his jacket had been routed out by the boatswain, both officers being about as opposite in physique to the stowaway as could well be imagined. In fact, as Mark Strong saw him going forward he could not help thinking that the poor fellow looked better in his sh.o.r.e-going rags.

Then his manner of coming on board had not been of a kind to produce a favourable impression.

"I can't help it," said Mark aloud. "I don't want to jump upon the poor fellow, but how can we take to him when even one's dog looks at him suspiciously."

"I shouldn't set up my dog as a model to go by if I were you," said a voice at his elbow; and turning suddenly, with his face flushing, Mark found that the second-mate was at his elbow.

"I didn't know that I was thinking aloud," said Mark.

"But you were, and very loudly. I don't wonder at your not liking that man: I don't. Perhaps he'll improve though. We will not judge him yet.

So you're coming all the way with us?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad of it. Be a change for you, and for us too. This is rather different to what we've been having, eh?"

"Why, it's lovely!" cried Mark. "I didn't think the weather could be so beautiful at sea."

"Nor so stormy, eh?"

"I didn't notice much of the storm," said Mark. "I was too ill."

"Ah! it is bad that first attack of 'waves in motion,' as I call it.

But that's all past, and we shall have fine weather, I daresay, all the rest of the voyage. One never gets much worse weather than we have near home."

"Was much damage done," asked Mark, "in the storm?"

"Nothing serious. We were just starting after all our faulty rigging had been replaced. If we had been coming home after a voyage it might have been different. One or two sails were blown to shreds, but the old ship behaved n.o.bly."

"I wish I had not been so ill," said Mark thoughtfully.

"So do I, my lad; but why do you speak so?"

"Because I should have liked to be on deck."