The Island of Gold Part 27

"'Ahoy, maties!' he cried, 'ye don't seem an over-lively lot here, I must say, but has e'er a one o' ye got sich a thing as a bit o' baccy?'

"Jack told me, Babs, that when he made this speech he got a fearful fright. Every merman stood up straight on its stool, its skinny arms and claw-like hands held straight above its head, and a yell rang through the hall that Jack says is ringing in his ears till this day.

"'Oh!' he cried, 'if that's your little game, here's for off.'

"Jack must have been glad enough to get back to the ballroom, but this was now deserted. No one was there at all except the lovely mermaid who had saved him from being devoured by the terrible devil-fish.

"She smiled upon him as sweetly as ever.

"'I'm going to guide you,' she said, 'to the nursery grotto; it is time that all sailor boys went to by-by.'

"'Go on, missie,' Jack said, 'go on, yer woice is sweeter far than the song of--of a Mother Carey's chicken. Wot a lovely lady ye'd be, miss, if ye didn't end in ling!'

"She smiled, and combed her hair with her long white fairy fingers as she glided on.

"'Going to by-by am I? Well, the mum did used to call it that like, miss, but we grown-up sailor lads calls it a bunk or an 'ammock. Ain't got ne'er a bit o' baccy about ye, has ye, miss?'

"But the fairy mermaid only smiled.

"So soft and downy was the bed that Jack fell asleep singing low to himself--

"'All in the downs the fleet was moored.'

"And that is the end of the story, siss."

"Oh, no! What did he see when he woke up again?"

"Well, when he awoke in the morning, much to his amazement, he found himself in his own bed in his mother's little cottage at home.

"He rubbed his eyes twice before he spoke.

"'What! mother?' he cried.

"'Yes, it is your own old mother, dearie, and I've been sittin' up with you, and sich nonsense you has been a-talkin', surely.'

"'I'm not a merman, or anything, am I, mother? I don't end in ling, do I, mother?'

"'No, Jack Reid, you end in two good strong legs; but strong as they are, my boy, they weren't strong enough to keep you from tumbling down last night. O Jack, Jack!'"

Book 2--CHAPTER NINE.

WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF THE DANCING CRANE.

Hardly had Ransey finished his story ere a bright flash of lightning lit up the ship from stem to stern--a flash that seemed to strike the top of every rolling wave and hiss in the hollows between; a flash that left the barque in Cimmerian though only momentary darkness, for hardly had the thunder that followed--deep, loud, and awful--commenced, ere flash succeeded flash, and the sea all around seemed an ocean of fire.

For a time little Nelda could not be prevailed upon to go below. She was indeed a child of the wilds, and a thunderstorm was one of her chief delights.

Ah! but this was going to be somewhat more than a thunderstorm.

"Hands, shorten sail! All hands on deck!" It was Tandy's voice sounding through the speaking trumpet--ringing through it, I might say, and yet it scarce could be heard above the incessant crashing of the thunder.

The men came tumbling up, looking scared and frightened in the blue glare of the lightning.

"Away aloft! Bear a hand, my hearties! Get her snug, and we'll splice the main-brace. Hurrah, lads! Nimbly does it!"

Swaying high up on the top-gallant yards they looked no bigger than rooks, and with every uncertain lurch and roll the yard-ends seemed almost to touch the water.

It was at this moment that the stewardess came staggering aft.

"Don't go, 'Ansey--don't go," cried Nelda.

"Duty's duty, dear, and it's 'all hands' now."

He saw her safely down the companion-way, and next minute he was swarming up the ratlines to his station. But he had to pause every few seconds and hang on to the rigging, with his back right over the water-- hang on for dear life.

The sails were reefed, and some were got in, and not till the men had got down from aloft did the rain come on. For higher and higher had the clouds on the northern horizon banked up, till they covered all the sky.

So awful was the rain, and so blinding, that it was impossible to see ten yards ahead, or even to guess from which direction the storm would actually come.

The wind was already whirling in little eddies from end to end of the deck, but hardly yet did it affect the motion of the ship, or give her way in any one direction.

The men were ordered below in batches, to get into their oilskins, for right well Tandy knew that a fearful night had to be faced.

The men received their grog now, and well did they deserve it.

Another hand was put to the wheel (two men in all), and near them stood the bold mate Tandy, ready to give orders by signal or even by touch, should they fail to hear his voice. All around the deck the men were clinging to bulwark or stay.

Waiting for the inevitable!

Ah! now it came. The rain had ceased for a time. So heavy had it been that the waves themselves were levelled, and Tandy could now see a long line of white coming steadily up astern.

He thanked the G.o.d who rules on sea as well as on dry land that the squall was coming from that direction. Had it taken the good ship suddenly aback she might have gone down stern-foremost, even with the now limited spread of canvas that was on her.

As it was, the first mountain wave that hit the good barque sent her flying through the sea as if she had been but an empty match-box. That wave burst on board, however--p.o.o.ped her, in fact--and went roaring forward, a sea of solid foaming water.

The good vessel shivered from stem to stern like a creature in the throes of death. For a few minutes only. Next minute she had shaken herself free, and was dashing through the water at a pace that only a yacht could have beaten.

The thunder now went rolling down to leeward, and the rain ceased, but the gale increased in force, and in a short time she had to be eased again, and now she was scudding along almost under bare poles. It would be hours before mate Tandy could get below; but Ransey's watch was now off deck, so he went down to ask Janeira, the stewardess, if Nelda was in bed.

She was in bed most certainly, but through the half-open doorway she could hear Ransey's voice, and shouted to him.

"I fink, sah," Janeira said, "she am just one leetle bit afraid."

There was no doubt about that, and the questions with which she plied her brother, when he took a seat by her bunk to comfort her, were peculiar, to say the least.

"Daddy won't be down for a long, long time?"--that was one.

"The poor men, though, how many is drownded?"--another.