The Ocean Cat's Paw Part 23

Was he thinking of the French as well as the savages when he said this?

Perhaps so. If one of his men thought so, why shouldn't he? Well, I will ask him first time I get him alone. Hullo! What are they doing there? Somebody going ash.o.r.e from the brig."

Rodd could see with the naked eye the lowering down of a ship's boat over the brig's side, and that made him quickly focus his gla.s.s again, and while he was busy scanning the boat as it kissed the water and the oars fell over the side, Joe Cross came up behind him and made him start.

"Well, sir," he said, "what do you make of her now?"

"Nothing, Joe," said the boy, "only that it seems a very nice brig."

"Very, sir, and well-manned. Look at that."

"What?" asked the boy.

"That there boat they've lowered down, and how she's manned. She's no merchantman. Look at the way they are rowing. Why, they're like men-of-war's men, every one. I don't like the looks of she, and if the old skipper don't get overhauling her with them there eyes of his I'm a Dutchman; and that's what I ain't."

"Ah, you make mountains of molehills, Joe," said Rodd.

"Maybe, sir; maybe. But I suppose it's all a matter of eddication and training to keep watch. There, you see, it's always have your eyes open, night or day. For a man as goes to sea on board a man-of-war, meaning a King's ship, has to see enemies wherever they are and wherever they aren't, for even if there bean't none, a chap has to feel that there might be, and if he's let anything slip without seeing on it, why, woe betide him! There y'are, sir! Look at that there boat. You have hung about Plymouth town and seen things enough there to know as that there aren't a merchant brig."

"Well, she doesn't look like a merchant's sh.o.r.e boat, certainly," said Rodd, with his eyes still glued to the end of the telescope.

"Right, sir," cried Joe Cross. "Well, then, sir, as she aren't a merchant brig's boat, and the brig herself aren't a man-of-war, perhaps you will tell me what she is? You can't, sir?"

"No, Joe."

"No more can I, sir; but if we keeps our eyes open I dare say we shall see."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

IN THE FRENCH PORT.

In spite of the knocking about by the storm, the schooner was none the worse, and in the course of the day as the weather rapidly settled down and the western gale seemed to have blown itself out, while the sailors had been busy swabbing the rapidly drying planks, and, the wind having fallen, shaking out the saturated sails to dry, Uncle Paul strolled with his nephew up and down the deck, waiting till the skipper seemed to be less busy before going up to him.

"Well," said Uncle Paul; "are we damaged at all?"

"Not a bit," was the gruff reply. "It's done her good--stretched her ropes and got the canvas well in shape."

"But how do you feel about the schooner?"

"As if she was just what we wanted, sir. Given me a lot of confidence in her."

"Then as the weather is settling down you will sail again to-night?"

"No; I want to get a little more ballast aboard, and this is all a little bit of show. We shall have more weather before long. I shan't sail yet."

The work being pretty well done--that is, as far as work ever is done in a small vessel--Rodd noticed that some of the men had been smartening themselves up, and after hanging about a bit watching the captain till he went below, Rodd saw them gather in a knot together by the forecastle hatch, talking among themselves, till one of the party, a heavy, dull-looking fellow, very round and smooth-faced and plump, with quite a colour in his cheeks, came aft to where Rodd and his uncle were standing watching the busy scene about the wharves of the inner harbour, and discussing as to whether they should go ash.o.r.e for a few hours to look round the town.

"I am thinking, Pickle, that after such a bad night as we had, we might just as well stay aboard and rest, and besides, as far as I can see everything's muddy and wretched, and I fancy we should be better aboard."

"Oh, I don't know, uncle. We needn't be long, and it will be a change.

But here's the Bun coming up to speak to you."

"The what!" cried Uncle Paul.

"That man--Rumsey."

"But why do you call him the Bun?"

"Oh, it's the men's name for him," said Rodd, laughing. "They nicknamed him because he was such a round-faced fellow."

"Beg pardon, sir," said the man, making a tug at his forelock.

"Yes, my man; you want to speak to me?"

"Yes, sir; the lads asked me to say, sir, that as it's been a very rough night--"

"Very, my man--very," said Uncle Paul, staring.

"They'd take it kindly, sir, if you'd give about half of us leave to go ash.o.r.e for a few hours."

"Oh, well, my man, I have no objection whatever," said Uncle Paul. "As far as I am concerned, by all means yes."

"Thankye, sir; much obliged, sir," said the man eagerly, and pulling his forelock again he hurried forward to join the group which had sent him as their spokesman to ask for leave.

Rodd turned to speak to his uncle, and caught Joe Cross's eye instead, wondering at the man's comical look at him as he closed an eye and jerked one thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the group forward as they began whispering together, and then, thrust forward towards the side by his companions, the Bun began to signal towards the Frenchmen hanging about the nearest landing-place, where several boats were made fast to the side of the dock.

Just at that moment the skipper came up from below, saw what was going on at a glance, strode towards the group, which began to dissolve at once, the Bun being the only man whose attention was taken up by a boatman who was answering his signal. Just while the signaller was making his most energetic gestures he leaped round in the most startled way, for the skipper had closed up and given him a very smart slap on the shoulder.

"Now, Rumsey, what's this?" he cried.

"Boat, sir. Going ash.o.r.e, sir."

"Who is?" said the skipper, frowning.

"Us six, sir."

"Us six! Why, you're only one."

"Yes, sir. These 'ere others too, sir."

"What others?" cried the captain, and Rumsey, looking anxiously around, found for the first time that he was alone.

"The lads as was here just now, sir--six on us."

"Oh, indeed!" said the skipper sarcastically, and raising his cap he gave his rough hair a rub. "Let me see; when did I give you leave to go ash.o.r.e?"

"No, sir; not you, sir. Dr Robson, sir."