Kitabı oku: «Facing the World», sayfa 4

CHAPTER VIII
A LIBERAL OFFER

Then commenced a round of travel—what the professor called a professional tour. By day they traveled in the wagon, carrying their paraphernalia with them, stopping at the principal towns, and giving evening entertainments. At many of these places the magician was well known, and his tricks were not new. But he had an attraction in his young assistant, who was regularly advertised on the posters as the “celebrated young vocalist, whose songs are everywhere received with admiring applause.”

Indeed it was very near the truth. Harry was really a fine singer, and his fresh, attractive face and manly appearance won him a welcome in all the towns on their route. Sometimes a young girl in the audience threw him a bouquet. This made him blush and smile, and the donor felt rewarded.

Where was it going to end? Was he to continue in the service of the professor, and in time become himself a magician and a traveling celebrity? Harry was not sure about it. He saw that it would pay him better than most kinds of business, and he also discovered that Professor Hemenway was even better off than he had represented. Yet, he was not quite ready to select the same profession, but, being only sixteen, felt that he could afford to remain in it a while longer.

One day the professor gave him a surprise.

“Harry,” he said, as they were jogging along a dusty road, “do you think you would like to travel?”

“I am traveling now,” answered Harry, with a smile.

“True, but I don’t mean that. Would you like to go on a long journey?”

“I should like nothing better,” replied Harry, promptly.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about. I recently read in some paper that a man in my line had made a trip to Australia, and reaped a rich harvest. Everywhere he was received with enthusiasm, and made as much money, in one month as he would do here in four. Now why shouldn’t I go to Australia?”

Harry’s eyes sparkled.

“It would be a fine thing to do,” he said.

“Then you would be willing to accompany me?”

“I would thank you for taking me,” answered the boy.

“That is well!” said the professor, in a tone of satisfaction. “I confess I shouldn’t like to go alone. It would be a great undertaking, but with a companion it would seem different. But, is there anyone who would object to your going?”

“Yes,” answered Harry, smiling, “Mr. Fox, my ‘guardeen,’ would.”

“We won’t mind Mr. Fox. Very well, then, Harry, we will consider it settled. I shall rely on you to help me by your singing there as you do here. As to your wages, I may be able to pay you more.”

“Never mind about that, professor. It will cost you a good deal to get us there. I am perfectly willing to work for the same sum I do now, or even less, on account of the extension of the trip.”

“Then you leave that matter to me. I won’t take advantage of your confidence, but you shall prosper if I do.”

“How soon do you propose to go, professor?” asked Harry, with interest.

“As soon as possible. I shall ascertain when the first packet leaves Boston, and we will take passage in her.”

The professor’s decision pleased Harry. He had been a good scholar in geography—indeed, it was his favorite study—and had, besides, read as many books of travel as he could lay his hands on. Often he had wondered if it ever would be his fortune to see some of the distant countries of which he read with so much interest. Though he had cherished vague hopes, he had never really expected it. Now, however, the unattainable seemed within his grasp. He would not have to wait until he was a rich man, but when still a boy he could travel to the opposite side of the world, paying his expenses as he went along.

Two weeks passed. Each day they halted in some new place, and gave an evening performance. This life of constant motion had, at first, seemed strange to Harry. Now he was accustomed to it. He never felt nervous when he appeared before an audience to sing, but looked upon it as a matter of course.

At last they reached Boston. They were to give two entertainments at a hall at the south end. It was the first large city in which Harry had sung, but he received a welcome no less cordial than that which had been accorded to him in country towns.

They were staying at a modest hotel, comfortable, but not expensive. Harry was sitting in the reading room, when a servant brought in a card. It bore the rather remarkable name of

“DR. MENDELSSOHN BROWN.”

“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Vane,” said the servant.

Harry rose and surveyed the stranger in some surprise. He had long hair, of a reddish yellow, with an abundant beard of the same hue. His suit of worn black fitted him poorly, but Dr. Brown evidently was not a devotee of dress. No tailor could ever point to him, and say with pride: “That man’s clothes were made at my shop.”

“Do I speak to Mr. Harry Vane, the young vocalist?” asked the stranger, with a deferential smile.

“That’s my name,” answered our hero.

“You are alone?”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry, a little puzzled.

“It is well. I will come to business at once. You have probably heard of me, eh?”

“Probably I have, but I do not remember names well.”

“The name of Mendelssohn Brown, is pretty well known, I flatter myself,” said the visitor, complacently. “To be brief—I heard you sing last evening, and was much pleased with your rendition of the various selections.”

Harry bowed.

“I am about to form a juvenile Pinafore company, and would like to have you take the leading part. You would make an excellent Admiral. I propose to take my opera company all over the United States. I should be willing to pay you, as the star performer, twenty-five dollars a week.”

Harry opened his eyes in amazement.

“Do you think me capable of singing in opera?” he asked.

“Yes, after being trained by your humble servant. What do you say?”

“I thank you for your flattering offer, Dr. Brown, but I don’t feel at liberty to leave Professor Hemenway.”

The doctor frowned.

“Let me tell you, you stand in your own light, Mr. Vane,” he said, impatiently. “There is some difference between a common juggler, like the Magician of Madagascar,”—the doctor laughed ironically—“and a well-known musical director, who could make you famous. Does Hemenway pay you as much as I offer?”

“No, sir.”

“I thought so. Then how can you hesitate?”

“We are about to make an Australian tour,” answered Harry, “and, apart from all other considerations, I am glad to have a chance to travel.”

“Couldn’t you put it off?”

“No, sir.”

“Then,” said Dr. Brown, rather crestfallen, “I can only bid you good-morning. I think you are making a mistake.”

“Perhaps, after I return from Australia, I might be ready to accept your offer.”

“It will be too late,” said the doctor, gloomily.

“Twenty-five dollars a week is large pay,” thought Harry, “but I don’t believe I should ever get it. Dr. Brown doesn’t look much like a capitalist.”

Half an hour later Professor Hemenway entered the hotel.

“Well, my boy,” he said, “the die is cast! Next Saturday we sail from Long Wharf, bound for Australia.”

“But professor, I have just had an offer of twenty-five dollars a week to sing in Pinafore.”

“And have accepted!” exclaimed the magician in dismay.

“No; I respectfully declined. I would rather go with you.”

“You shan’t regret it, Harry!” said the professor, relieved. “If I am prosperous, you shall share in my prosperity.”

“Thank you, professor; I am sure of that. What is the name of our vessel?”

“The Nantucket. It’s a good, solid-looking craft, and I think it will bear us in safety to our destination.”

CHAPTER IX
THE PASSENGERS

The Nantucket, Capt. Jabez Hill, master, was a large vessel, stanch and strong, and bore a good record, having been in service six years, and never having in that time met a serious disaster. It was a sailing vessel, and primarily intended to convey freight, but had accommodations for six passengers. Of these it had a full complement. Harry and the professor I name first, as those in whom we are most interested.

Next came John Appleton, a business man from Melbourne, who had visited the United States on business. He was a plain, substantial-looking person, of perhaps forty-five. Next came Montgomery Clinton, from Brooklyn, a young man of twenty-four, foolishly attired, who wore an eyeglass and anxiously aped the Londen swell, though born within sight of Boston State house. Harry regarded him with considerable amusement, and though he treated him with outward respect, mentally voted him very soft. Fifth on the list was a tall, sallow, thin individual, with a melancholy countenance, who was troubled with numerous symptoms, and was persuaded that he had not long to live. He was from Pennsylvania. He carried with him in his trunk a large assortment of pills and liquid medicines, one or another of which he took about once an hour. This gentleman’s name was Marmaduke Timmins. Last came a tall, lean Yankee, the discoverer and proprietor of a valuable invention, which it was his purpose to introduce into Australia. Mr. Jonathan Stubbs, for this was his name, was by no means an undesirable addition to the little circle, and often excited a smile by his quaintly put and shrewd observations on topics of passing interest.

It was the third day at sea, when Harry, who had suffered but little from seasickness, came on deck, after a good dinner, and saw the dudish passenger, till now invisible, holding himself steady with an effort, and gazing sadly out upon the wild waste of waters without the help of his eyeglass.

“How do you feel, Mr. Clinton?” asked Harry.

“Horribly, Mr. Vane,” answered Clinton, with a languid shudder. “I never thought it was such a bore, crossing the ocean, don’t you know. I’ve a great idea of offering the captain a handsome sum to land somewhere, I don’t care where.”

“I don’t think we shall go near any land, Mr. Clinton. I think you will have to make the best of it.”

Hearing a step behind him, Harry turned, and his eyes rested on the melancholy countenance of Marmaduke Timmins, the chronic invalid.

“Good-morning, Mr. Timmins,” said our hero. “I hope you stand the voyage well?”

“I’ve had several new symptoms since I came on board,” responded Mr. Timmins, gloomily, “and I’ve made a dreadful discovery.”

“What is it?” inquired Montgomery Clinton, in alarm.

“I find I’ve mislaid or forgotten to bring my box of Remedial pills. I don’t know what I shall do without them.”

“I’ve got a box of Brandeth’s pills downstairs,” said Clinton. “You’re welcome to a part of them, I’m sure.”

“They wouldn’t do! What can you be thinking of, young man? Do you think there’s no difference between pills?”

“I’m sure I can’t tell, don’t you know?”

“Young man, you are sadly ignorant,” said Timmins, severely. “I’ve got five other kinds of pills downstairs, for different maladies I am subject to, but none of them will take the place of Remedial pills.”

“Will any of them cure seasickness?” asked the dude, eagerly.

“I can give you a remedy for seasickness, Mr. Clinton,” said Mr. Holdfast, the mate, who chanced to overhear the inquiry.

“What is it, Mr. Holdfast? I shall be really grateful, I assure you, if you can cure that beastly malady.”

“Swallow a piece of raw salt pork about an inch square,” said the mate gravely, “and follow it up by a glass of sea water, taken at a gulp.”

“That’s horrid, awfully horrid!” gasped Clinton, shuddering, and looking very pale. “It actually makes me sick to think of it, don’t you know,” and he retreated to the cabin, with one hand pressed on his stomach.

“That young man’s a fool!” said Mr. Timmins. “He knows no more about pills than a baby.”

“Nor do I, Mr. Timmins,” said Harry, smiling.

“I pity you then. My life has been saved several times by pills.”

“I’d rather live without them.”

Marmaduke sadly shook his head as he walked away.

“That man’s a walking drug store,” said the mate, looking after him. “I’d rather go to Davy’s locker, and be done with it, than to fill myself up with pills and potions.”

“You’re looking chipper, my boy,” said a newcomer, in a nasal voice. “Haven’t been seasick, I guess.”

Harry recognized the voice of the Yankee inventor, Jonathan Stubbs.

“No, sir; I have had very little trouble.”

“I’m goin’ to get up a cure for seasickness when I have time—a kind of a self-acting, automatic belt—I guess there’d be plenty of money in it.”

“It would be a great blessing, Mr. Stubbs. Poor Mr. Clinton would no doubt be glad to buy it.”

“Do you mean that languishin’ creeter with an eyeglass and spindle legs? What are such fellows made for?”

“Rather for ornament than use,” answered Harry, gravely.

The Yankee burst into a loud guffaw, and regarded Harry’s remark a capital joke.

The voyage was to be a long one, and after a couple of weeks they all had their sea legs on. All had become acquainted, and settled down to a regular routine. But the time dragged, and as there were no morning or evening papers, something seemed necessary to break the monotony.

“Harry,” said the professor, “I have an idea.”

“What is it, professor?”

“Suppose we give an exhibition for the benefit of our fellow passengers and the crew.”

“I am ready to do my part.”

“Then I will speak to the captain.”

The result was that on the first quiet day Professor Hemenway and his assistant gave a matinee performance on the deck of the Nantucket, at which all who could possibly be spared were present. To some of the sailors it was a novelty, and the magician’s tricks actually inspired some with the feeling that he was possessed of supernatural powers.

“Will you lend me your hat, Mr. Clinton?” he asked presently, of the dude.

“Certainly, professor,” drawled the young man.

The professor took it, and tapped it.

“Are you sure there is nothing in it?” he asked.

“I am sure of it. Really, I don’t carry things in my hat, don’t you know.”

“What do you say to this, then?” and Professor Hemenway drew out of the hat half a dozen onions, a couple of potatoes, and a ship biscuit.

“My dear sir, I think you are mistaken,” he said. “I see you carry your lunch in your hat.”

All present laughed at the horrified face of the dude.

“On my honor, I don’t know how those horrid things came in my hat,” he stammered.

“Are you fond of onions, Mr. Clinton?” asked Harry.

“I wouldn’t eat one for—for a new suit of clothes!” protested Clinton, earnestly.

“Allow me to return your hat, Mr. Clinton,” said the professor, politely. “I suppose you want the vegetables too. Here are the onions, and the rest.”

“They are not mine, on my honor,” said Clinton, very much embarrassed. “Here, my good man, can you make use of these?”

The sailor whom he addressed accepted the gift with a grin.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” he said, “If so be as I ain’t a-robbin’ you.”

“I have no use for them, my good man. I never ate an onion in my life.”

“Then I don’t think you know what’s good,” said Mr. Stubbs. “An onion, let me tell you, is mighty good eatin’, and healthy, too.”

At the close of the magical entertainment, Harry sang by request, and no part of the performance was more popular. He received many warm congratulations.

“Really, Mr. Vane, you sing like a nightingale, don’t you know,” was the tribute of Clinton.

“Bless me!” said Mr. Timmins; “I was so absorbed in your song that I have forgotten to take my catarrh medicine.”

“Thank you, sir; that is the best compliment I have received,” returned Harry, with a smile.

Little has been said thus far of Captain Hill, the chief officer of the Nantucket. He was a stout, red-faced seaman, nearing fifty years of age, and had been in service ever since he was fifteen. He was a thorough sailor, and fitted in every way but one to take charge of a ship bound to any part of the world. His one disqualification may be stated briefly—he had a passion for drink.

It was not immediately that this was found out. He took his meals with the passengers, but it was not then that he indulged his appetite. He kept a private store of liquors in his cabin, and had recourse to them when by himself, under the impression that he could keep it a secret. But intemperance, like murder, will out.

Harry and the professor were standing by the rail looking out at sea, one day, when a thick voice greeted them, “Good-mor’n’, gentlemen,” this address being followed by a hiccough.

Both turned quickly, and exchanged a significant glance when they recognized the captain.

“Yes,” answered Professor Hemenway, “it is indeed a fine morning.”

“I am sorry to see this, Harry,” said the professor.

“Yes, sir; it is a pity any gentleman should drink too much.”

“Yes, but that isn’t all,” said the professor, earnestly; “it is a pity, of course, that Captain Hill should so sin against his own health, but we must consider furthermore, that he has our lives under his control. Our safety depends on his prudent management.”

“He seems to understand his business,” said Harry.

“Granted; but no man, however good a seaman, is fit to manage a vessel when he allows liquor to rob him of his senses. I wish I had had a knowledge beforehand of the captain’s infirmity.”

“Suppose you had, sir?”

“I wouldn’t have trusted myself on board the Nantucket, you may be sure of that.”

“It may be only an exceptional case.”

“Let us hope so.”

The next occasion on which the captain displayed his infirmity was rather a laughable one. He came up from the cabin about three o’clock in the afternoon so full that he was forced to stagger as he walked. Directly in front of him the young dude, Montgomery Clinton, was pacing the deck, carrying in his hand a rattan cane such as he used on shore. As he overhauled him, Captain Hill, with the instinct of a drunken man, locked arms with the young man, and forced him to promenade in his company, talking rather incoherently meanwhile. Clinton’s look of distress and perplexity, as he submitted to his fate, caused Harry nearly to explode with laughter. They were indeed a singular pair.

Finally there came a disaster. A lurch of the vessel proved too much for the captain, who, in losing his equilibrium, also upset Clinton, and the two rolled down under one of the ship’s boats, which was slung on one side.

Montgomery Clinton picked himself up, and hurriedly betook himself to his cabin, fearing that he might fall again into the clutches of his unwelcome companion. The captain was helped to his feet by the mate, and was persuaded also to go downstairs.

“The captain was pretty well slewed, professor,” said Mr. Stubbs, who chanced to be on deck at the time.

“It looks like it,” answered Professor Hemenway.

“If he does that often it’ll be a bad lookout for us.”

“Just what I am thinking, Mr. Stubbs.”

CHAPTER X
THE YOUNG SAILOR

The crew of the Nantucket consisted of twelve sailors and a boy, not counting the officers. This boy was about Harry’s age, but an inch or two shorter, and with great breadth of shoulders. He had a good-natured face, and was a general favorite on board, as is apt to be the case with a boy, if he possesses any attractive qualities. He came from New Hampshire and he was known as Jack.

It was natural that Harry, as the only other boy on board, though a passenger, should be attracted to Jack. He took an opportunity when Jack was off duty to have a chat with him.

“How long have you been a sailor, Jack?” he asked.

“Three years; I first went to sea when I was thirteen.”

“How did you happen to go in the first place?”

“I may say to begin with, that I always liked the water. I was born in a little village bordering Lake Winnipiseogee, and was out on the lake whenever I could get the chance, either in a rowboat or sailboat. I felt as much at home on the water as on the land. Still, I never should have gone to sea had it not been for my stepfather.”

“Then you have a stepfather?”

“Yes. My father died when I was ten, leaving my mother a little farm and a comfortable house. I was a young boy, and it is hard for a woman to carry on a farm. A man came into town, and started in some small business. He pretended that he had money, but I guess he had precious little. At any rate, he didn’t object to more. Pretty soon he fixed his eyes on our farm, and, finding that mother owned it clear, he got to coming round pretty often. I never liked him, though he pretended to be fond of me, and used to pat me on the head, and bring me candy. I wondered what made him come so often, but I didn’t mistrust anything till one day mother called me and said she had something important to say to me.

“‘Jack,’ she said, ‘what do you think of Mr. Bannock?’

“‘I don’t think much of him,’ I answered.

“‘He is to be your father, Jack. I have promised to marry him.’

“‘You may marry him,’ I answered hotly, ‘but he will be no father of mine. My father lies in the churchyard. I wish he were alive again.’

“‘So do I, Jack’ said mother, wiping her eyes, ‘but we know that can’t be.’”

“How did he treat you, Jack?” asked Harry, interested.

“He never liked me, and I didn’t like him at all He tried to impose upon me, and order me round, but he didn’t make out much. Still, he was always annoying me in mean little ways, and finally I got all I could stand, and the long and short of it is that I ran away to Portsmouth, and went on a coasting voyage. After I got back I shipped from Boston for Liverpool, and ever since I’ve kept sailing in one direction or another. This will be my longest voyage.”

“Haven’t you been to see your mother since you left home three years ago?” Harry inquired.

“Of course I have,” said Jack, promptly. “I always go to see her as soon as I get home from a voyage. Poor mother! She was looking pale and thin when I saw her three weeks ago. I am sure she has repented marrying, but she won’t own up. When I’m a man–”

“Well, Jack; when you’re a man?”

“I’ll see that she has a better time, and if old Bannock don’t like it he can clear out. I think he will anyway.”

“Clear out?”

“Yes; he will have spent all the property by that time, and when that is done, he won’t make much objection to going away. Then I will take care of mother, and see that she does not suffer for anything.”

“You are right, Jack. I sympathize with you. I hope you’ll succeed. I only wish I had a mother to look out for,” and Harry’s fine face wore an expression of sadness. “But there’s one thing I can’t help saying, though I don’t want to discourage you.”

“What is that, Harry?”

“I don’t see how you are going to lay up much money in going before the mast. Your pay must be small.”

“It is. I only earn ten dollars a month,” replied Jack.

“And out of that you must buy your clothes?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Then how do you expect to better yourself?” asked Harry, looking perplexed.

“I’ll tell you, if you won’t say anything about it,” answered Jack, in a lower tone.

“Go ahead.”

“We are going to Australia, you know. I’ve heard there are good chances of making money there, in mining or herding cattle, and I mean to leave the ship at Melbourne. Of course, I don’t want anything said about it.”

“Do you think the captain would try to prevent you, Jack?”

“I think he would. He don’t like me, at any rate.”

“Why not?”

“That is more than I can tell, but I can see that he has a prejudice against me.”

The boys were so absorbed in their talk that they did not notice the approach of the captain till his harsh voice was heard.

“What are you two boys chattering about?” he demanded, with a frown.

Jack turned round startled, but Harry faced the captain calmly, and did not speak.

“Will you answer me?” he repeated, raising his voice.

“I was talking about home and my mother,” said Jack.

“Mighty interesting, upon my word! And what were you talking about?” continued Captain Hill, turning to Harry.

“That can be of no interest to you, Captain Hill,” said Harry, coldly. “You appear to forget that I am a passenger.”

As he walked away, the captain regarded him with an ominous scowl. He wished that for fifteen minutes Harry had been one of the crew. It was fortunate for Jack that his temper was diverted, for, apparently forgetting the young sailor, he strode on, and Jack managed to slip down to the forecastle.

This was not by any means the last conversation Harry had with Jack Pendleton—for this he found to be the young sailor’s name—and they soon became excellent friends.

“Jack,” said Harry, one day, “I never should take you to be a sailor if I met you on land.”

“Why not?”

“Because you talk like a well-educated boy.”

“So I am. I was always fond of my books, and stood high in school. But for my stepfather I might be there yet. As it is, my education stopped at the age of thirteen.”

“Not necessarily. You have learned a good deal since.”

“Yes, but not of books. I hope sometime to be able to continue my studies. At present it is my business to learn seamanship.”

Harry had the more time on his hands, as his traveling companion, the professor, took sick, and was confined for three or four weeks to his cabin. There was no danger, but still the ship’s surgeon advised him to stay below.

“What makes you keep company with that boy, Mr. Vane?” asked Montgomery Clinton, who would have liked more of Harry’s society himself.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because he is a common sailor, don’t you know.”

“I think he is rather an uncommon sailor. He is very well educated.”

“Oh, yes; I suppose he can read and write; but, of course, he can never be admitted into society, don’t you know?”

“No, I don’t, Mr. Clinton. He may be a captain some day.”

“But he isn’t now. I give you my word, I noticed this morning, when you were speaking with him, that his fingers were all soiled with tar. That’s horrid, don’t you know.”

“Don’t you think he’s a good-looking boy, Mr. Clinton?”

“Well, yes; I suppose, for one of the lower order, Mr. Vane.”

“You forget we don’t have any distinction of classes in America.”

“Don’t we though? By Jove! Mr. Vane, you don’t put yourself on a level with those creatures that dig ditches and climb masts, and such things?”

“Your sentiments are very undemocratic, Mr. Clinton. You ought to have been born in England.”

“I wish I had been. I like their institutions a good deal better than ours, don’t you know?”

“When I first spoke with you, Mr. Clinton, I thought you might be an Englishman.”

“Did you, really?” inquired Clinton, with evident pleasure. “I’m often taken for an Englishman, on my honor. I don’t know why it is, but positively, I’m often asked when I came from the other side.”

“Would you rather be taken for an Englishman than an American?”

“Well, you see, there are some Americans that are so vulgar, don’t you know—talk through their noses, and all that.”

“Where were you born, Mr. Clinton?”

“In Massachusetts, not far from Boston.”

“By the way, Mr. Vane, are you descended from Sir Henry Vane, one of the royal governors of Massachusetts? I have been meaning to ask you.”

“I can’t tell you, Mr. Clinton; but my name happens to be the same—Harry.”

“Really, that is very interesting. I should think you would look up the matter.”

“Perhaps I will when I return home!” said Harry, who cared very little about the matter. From this time, however, Clinton regarded him with increased respect, and manifested an increased liking for his society, from his supposed aristocratic lineage. Our hero treated him with good-natured toleration, but much preferred the company of Jack Pendleton, sailor as he was, though his fingers were not infrequently smeared with tar. Harry did not mind this; but was attracted by the frank, good-humored face of young Jack, and was always glad to have a chat with him. He had a chance, though at considerable personal risk, to do him a signal service before long.

The captain’s habits, it must be said, did not improve. His stock of liquor was ample, and he continued to indulge himself. Generally he kept within safe bounds, but at times he allowed his appetite to get the better of him. Whenever that happened, it was fortunate if he drank himself into a state of stupefaction, and remained in his cabin, leaving the management of the ship to the mate, Mr. Holdfast, who was thoroughly temperate. Unfortunately, he was not always content to remain in the cabin. He would stagger upstairs and give orders which might or might not, be judicious.

One day—it was about a month after they left port—Captain Hill came up on deck in one of his worst fits of intoxication. All the passengers were on deck, it being a fair day. They regarded the captain with alarm, for in his hand he held a pistol, which he carried in such careless style that it might be discharged at any time.