Adventures in Many Lands by - (summer reads txt) 📕

been run up to the davits. Life-buoys too had been thrown overboard, but not one of them had fallen near enough to the struggling boy to enable him to grasp it. Young Marryat happened at the time of the accident to be standing in the waist of the ship conversing with the captain of the main-top of the watch below. Hearing the splash and the excited cries of "Man overboard!" which rang out fore-and-aft, he rushed to the gangway to see if he could be of any assistance in the emergency.

One can imagine his feelings on beholding his arch-enemy, the bully of the midshipmen's berth, struggling desperately for life under the frigate's counter. Being an admirable swimmer himself, Marryat saw at a glance that his messmate was helpless in the water, and indeed was on the point of sinking. Without a moment's hesitation, and without waiting to throw off coat or boots, the plucky youngster boldly plunged overboard, and quickly rising to the surface, struck out for his now almost unconscious enemy, and fortunately managed to seize him and keep him afloat, whilst he shouted to those on board to lower the cutter as quickly as possible. The men were only too eager to go to his assistance, and the instant the lifeboat was safely in the water, her crew got their oars out, and, pulling vigorously to the spot, soon hauled both midshipmen, wet and dripping, inboard.

Cobbett was unconscious, his face being as pale as death, but it was only a matter now of a few seconds to get him aboard the frigate, where he soon revived under the care of the surgeons, and was able to return to duty in the course of a day or two, much humbled in spirit, and very grateful to the courageous young messmate who had so gallantly saved his life at the risk of his own.

Writing home to his mother on the subject of this adventure, Marryat concluded his account by saying: "From that moment I have loved the fellow as I never loved friend before. All my hate is forgotten. I have saved his life."

A ludicrous adventure in the water once befell Captain Marryat. In the gallant officer's private log occurs this entry: "July 10th.—Anchored in Carrick Roads, Falmouth. Gig upset with captain."

Florence Marryat in her father's memoirs thus relates the incident: "When this gig was capsized, it contained, besides Captain Marryat, a middy and an old bumboat woman. The woman could swim like a fish, but the boy could not, and as Captain Marryat, upon rising to the surface of the water and preparing to strike out for the ship, found himself most needlessly clutched and borne up by this lady, he shook her off impatiently, saying: 'Go to the boy! Go to the boy! He can't swim!'

"'Go to the boy!' she echoed above the winds and waves. 'What! hold up a midshipman when I can save the life of a captain! Not I indeed!' And no entreaties could prevail on her to relinquish her impending honours. Who eventually did the 'dirty work' on this occasion is not recorded, but it is certain that no one was drowned."

As is well known, sailors are devoted to animals, and Marryat was no exception to the rule. He has left on record a story of a pet baboon, which was on board the Tees with him—

"I had on board a ship which I commanded a very large Cape baboon, who was a pet of mine, and also a little boy, who was a son of mine. When the baboon sat down on his hams he was about as tall as the boy when he walked. The boy, having a tolerable appetite, received about noon a considerable slice of bread-and-butter to keep him quiet till dinner-time. I was on one of the carronades, busy with the sun's lower limb, bringing it into contact with the horizon, when the boy's lower limbs brought him into contact with the baboon, who, having, as well as the boy, a strong predilection for bread-and-butter, and a stronger arm to take it withal, thought proper to help himself to that to which the boy had already been helped. In short, he snatched the bread-and-butter, and made short work of it, for it was in his pouch in a moment.

"Upon this the boy set up a yell, which attracted my notice to this violation of the articles of war, to which the baboon was equally amenable as any other person in the ship, for it is expressly stated in the preamble of every article, 'all who are in, or belonging to.' Whereupon I jumped off the carronade and, by way of assisting his digestion, I served out to the baboon monkey's allowance, which is more kicks than halfpence! The master reported that the heavens intimated that it was twelve o'clock, and, with all the humility of a captain of a man-of-war, I ordered him to 'make it so'; whereupon it was made, and so passed that day.

"I do not remember how many days it was afterwards that I was on the carronade as usual, about the same time, and all parties were precisely in the same situations—the master by my side, the baboon under the booms, and the boy walking out of the cabin with his bread-and-butter. As before, he again passed the baboon, who again snatched the bread-and-butter from the boy, who again set up a squall, which again attracted my attention. I looked round, and the baboon caught my eye, which told him plainly that he'd soon catch what was not at all my eye; and he proved that he actually thought so, for he at once put the bread-and-butter back into the boy's hands!

"It was the only instance of which I ever knew or heard of a monkey being capable of self-denial where his stomach was concerned, and I record it accordingly. This poor fellow, when the ship's company were dying of the cholera, took that disease, went through all its gradations, and died apparently in great agony."

XVIII THE PILOT OF PORT CREEK

The sun, low in the west, was sinking behind a heavy cloudbank, which, to nautical eyes, portended fog at sea.

A mariner, far out in the Channel, in a small boat, was shading his eyes with his hand and gazing towards the south-western horizon.

The lad—he was not more than eighteen—was calculated to attract attention. He was of fine physique. His hair shone like burnished gold. His eyes were deep blue, clear, and bright. A marked firmness was about his mouth and chin; and when he seized the oars and rowed to counteract the boat's leeway caused by the tide, the grip of his hands was as that of a vice.

He was the pilot of Port Creek—no official title, but one given him by a lawless set of men amongst whom, for many years, his lot had been cast.

Astern, faint and indistinct, loomed the low-lying coast-line. One could only judge it to be a wild, inhospitable shore.

The sun disappeared, and the shades of night began to fall. Suddenly the clouds parted, and a ray of sunshine shot obliquely down towards the south-west.

The pilot immediately muttered: "That's well!"

The bright ray had struck the dark sails of a lugger, and in her he had recognised the craft he had come out to pilot to a fateful destination.

Smartly he ran up a small lugsail, and set his boat's head towards the stranger. She was black hulled, and with a rakish rig that gave her the appearance of being a fast sailer.

At the critical moment, when it appeared the lugger was about to cut him down, the pilot suddenly ported helm, and ran his boat under the lugger's side. Smartly he lowered his sail and fastened on the vessel with his boathook.

"Heave a rope!" called he. "I'm coming on board."

"And who are you?" asked a swarthy man, who had been watching from the lugger's bows.

"I bring a message to your captain."

"Catch, then!" and a coil of rope went curling through the air.

The pilot deftly caught it, and hitched the end to the bow of his boat.

"Carry it astern, and make fast!" ordered he, like one accustomed to command. "She'll tow till I want her."

The boat dropped astern, but the pilot nimbly boarded the lugger.

A powerful man in reefer jacket, sou'-wester, and sea-boots greeted him with—

"You seem pretty free with strangers, my lad."

The pilot held out a piece of paper. The captain took it and read—

"It is by our order and for the good of the cause that the bearer is authorised to act."

The signature was a rude hieroglyphic. The captain's manner immediately showed that he recognised it, and respected it.

"Am I to understand that you take command?"

The pilot bowed, and tendered a second paper. The captain read—

"Should the bearer fail to accomplish that which he has undertaken, it will be for the captain of the 'Swift' to see that he gives no further trouble."

A wicked gleam came into the captain's eyes.

"If you fail in that which you are instructed to do—and which I know nothing of at present—this is your death-warrant?"

"It is."

"Then see you fail not."

"Rely on it, I shall not fail!"

The words were spoken in such cold, deliberate tones that the captain—a man who boasted he knew not fear—shivered as though from the touch of an icy hand.

"What are your orders?" presently asked the captain, eyeing him keenly.

"To pilot the lugger to the head of Port Creek, where friends await her cargo. The old landings are played out; but who would suspect a lugger to effect a run in the creek after dark?"

"No human hand could steer that course!"

"Yet I am here."

"The thing is impossible!"

"The tide flows at midnight. My orders are to go in with the rising tide and bring you out on the ebb, that you may make a good offing before dawn."

"It cannot be done! I'll not have the risk——"

"You have your commands, I my orders," coldly interrupted the pilot.

"Then I'll execute mine to the letter!"

"And I—we shall see."

He bent low over the binnacle, afterwards glancing swiftly shoreward.

"Keep her away a couple of points. We'll come about presently and fetch the creek on the other tack, just after dark, and with the tide half made."

Long and intently the captain studied the boy's fearless face. Then he began to recall an almost forgotten memory.

"Boy," said he suddenly, "you remind me of some one I have known."

The pilot's gaze remained as steady as his own, but there was a slight expression of cynicism playing about his mouth.

"Ay!" continued the captain, seeming to speak his thoughts aloud. "The eyes are the same, just as they looked that night when I—— Bah!" recovering himself. "What a fool I am! This new venture unmans me."

The pilot did not seem to hear, but his eyes seemed to glow with a green sheen, as the gathering gloom obscured his face. A violent emotion was possessing him.

"Boy!" again cried the captain, "you interest me. How comes it that one so young holds so responsible a position in the cause?"

"By past services have I been judged."

"Come, tell me the story."

"As you will."

"You will find me a ready listener."

"Be it so; but not yet. Now set the course north-west. A single light here at the binnacle, and no other to show from anywhere on board. As soon as we are in the creek, see that the sails are smartly trimmed to my order. There'll be little time to spare."

The captain passed the word, and began to moodily pace the deck. He had never thought to question the genuineness of the two papers. There stood the pilot, his life forfeited by any failure tending to bring disaster upon the lugger; and it was a good guarantee.

Anon the captain glanced at