The Blue Lagoon: A Romance Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII

  “S-H-E-N-A-N-D-O-A-H”

  He had slept an hour and more when he was brought to his senses by athin and prolonged shriek. It was Emmeline in a nightmare, or moreproperly a day-mare, brought on by a meal of sardines and the hauntingmemory of the gibbly-gobbly-ums. When she was shaken (it always took aconsiderable time to bring her to, from these seizures) and comforted,the mast was restepped.

  As Mr Button stood with his hand on the spar looking round him beforegoing aft with the sheet, an object struck his eye some three milesahead. Objects rather, for they were the masts and spars of a smallship rising from the water. Not a vestige of sail, just the nakedspars. It might have been a couple of old skeleton trees jutting out ofthe water for all a landsman could have told.

  He stared at this sight for twenty or thirty seconds without speaking,his head projected like the head of a tortoise. Then he gave a wild“Hurroo!”

  “What is it, Paddy?” asked Dick.

  “Hurroo!” replied Mr Button. “Ship ahoy! ship ahoy! Lie to till I beafther boardin’ you. Sure, they are lyin’ to—divil a rag of canvas onher—are they aslape or dhramin’? Here, Dick, let me get aft wid thesheet; the wind’ll take us up to her quicker than we’ll row.”

  He crawled aft and took the tiller; the breeze took the sail, and theboat forged ahead.

  “Is it daddy’s ship?” asked Dick, who was almost as excited as hisfriend.

  “I dinno; we’ll see when we fetch her.”

  “Shall we go on her, Mr Button?” asked Emmeline.

  “Ay will we, honey.”

  Emmeline bent down, and fetching her parcel from under the seat, heldit in her lap.

  As they drew nearer, the outlines of the ship became more apparent. Shewas a small brig, with stump topmasts, from the spars a few rags ofcanvas fluttered. It was apparent soon to the old sailor’s eye what wasamiss with her.

  “She’s derelick, bad cess to her!” he muttered; “derelick and donefor—just me luck!”

  “I can’t see any people on the ship,” cried Dick, who had creptforward to the bow. “Daddy’s not there.”

  The old sailor let the boat off a point or two, so as to get a view ofthe brig more fully; when they were within twenty cable lengths or sohe unstepped the mast and took to the sculls.

  The little brig floated very low on the water, and presented a mournfulenough appearance; her running rigging all slack, shreds of canvasflapping at the yards, and no boats hanging at her davits. It was easyenough to see that she was a timber ship, and that she had started abutt, flooded herself and been abandoned.

  Paddy lay on his oars within a few strokes of her. She was floating asplacidly as though she were in the harbour of San Francisco; the greenwater showed in her shadow, and in the green water waved the tropicweeds that were growing from her copper. Her paint was blistered andburnt absolutely as though a hot iron had been passed over it, and overher taffrail hung a large rope whose end was lost to sight in the water.

  A few strokes brought them under the stern. The name of the ship wasthere in faded letters, also the port to which she belonged.“_Shenandoah_. Martha’s Vineyard.”

  “There’s letters on her,” said Mr Button. “But I can’t make thim out.I’ve no larnin’.”

  “I can read them,” said Dick.

  “So c’n I,” murmured Emmeline.

  “S-H-E-N-A-N-D-O-A-H,” spelt Dick.

  “What’s that?” enquired Paddy.

  “I don’t know,” replied Dick, rather downcastedly.

  “There you are!” cried the oarsman in a disgusted manner, pulling theboat round to the starboard side of the brig. “They pritind to tacheletters to childer in schools, pickin’ their eyes out wid book-readin’,and here’s letters as big as me face an’ they can’t make hid or tail ofthem—be dashed to book-readin’!”

  The brig had old-fashioned wide channels, regular platforms; and shefloated so low in the water that they were scarcely a foot above thelevel of the dinghy.

  Mr Button secured the boat by passing the painter through a channelplate, then, with Emmeline and her parcel in his arms or rather in onearm, he clambered over the channel and passed her over the rail on tothe deck. Then it was Dick’s turn, and the children stood waitingwhilst the old sailor brought the beaker of water, the biscuit, and thetinned stuff on board.

  It was a place to delight the heart of a boy, the deck of the_Shenandoah_; forward right from the main hatchway it was laden withtimber. Running rigging lay loose on the deck in coils, and nearly thewhole of the quarter-deck was occupied by a deck-house. The place had adelightful smell of sea-beach, decaying wood, tar, and mystery. Bightsof buntline and other ropes were dangling from above, only waiting tobe swung from. A bell was hung just forward of the foremast. In half amoment Dick was forward hammering at the bell with a belaying pin hehad picked from the deck.

  Mr Button shouted to him to desist; the sound of the bell jarred on hisnerves. It sounded like a summons, and a summons on that deserted craftwas quite out of place. Who knew what mightn’t answer it in the way ofthe supernatural?

  Dick dropped the belaying pin and ran forward. He took the disengagedhand, and the three went aft to the door of the deck-house. The doorwas open, and they peeped in.

  The place had three windows on the starboard side, and through thewindows the sun was shining in a mournful manner. There was a table inthe middle of the place. A seat was pushed away from the table as ifsome one had risen in a hurry. On the table lay the remains of a meal, ateapot, two teacups, two plates. On one of the plates rested a forkwith a bit of putrifying bacon upon it that some one had evidently beenconveying to his mouth when—something had happened. Near the teapotstood a tin of condensed milk, haggled open. Some old salt had justbeen in the act of putting milk in his tea when the mysterioussomething had occurred. Never did a lot of dead things speak soeloquently as these things spoke.

  One could conjure it all up. The skipper, most likely, had finished histea, and the mate was hard at work at his, when the leak had beendiscovered, or some derelict had been run into, or whatever it was hadhappened—happened.

  One thing was evident, that since the abandonment of the brig she hadexperienced fine weather, else the things would not have been leftstanding so trimly on the table.

  Mr Button and Dick entered the place to prosecute enquiries, butEmmeline remained at the door. The charm of the old brig appealed toher almost as much as to Dick, but she had a feeling about it quiteunknown to him. A ship where no one was had about it suggestions of“other things.”

  She was afraid to enter the gloomy deck-house, and afraid to remainalone outside; she compromised matters by sitting down on the deck.Then she placed the small bundle beside her, and hurriedly took therag-doll from her pocket, into which it was stuffed head down, pulledits calico skirt from over its head, propped it up against the coamingof the door, and told it not to be afraid.

  There was not much to be found in the deck-house, but aft of it weretwo small cabins like rabbit hutches, once inhabited by the skipper andhis mate. Here there were great findings in the way of rubbish. Oldclothes, old boots, an old top-hat of that extraordinary pattern youmay see in the streets of Pernambuco, immensely tall, and narrowingtowards the brim. A telescope without a lens, a volume of Hoyt, anautical almanac, a great bolt of striped flannel shirting, a box offish hooks. And in one corner—glorious find!—a coil of what seemed tobe ten yards or so of black rope.

  “Baccy, begorra!” shouted Pat, seizing upon his treasure. It waspigtail. You may see coils of it in the tobacconists’ windows ofseaport towns. A pipe full of it would make a hippopotamus vomit, yetold sailors chew it and smoke it and revel in it.

  “We’ll bring all the lot of the things out on deck, and see what’sworth keepin’ an’ what’s worth leavin’,” said Mr Button, taking animmense armful of the old truck; whilst Dick, carrying the top-hat,upon which he had instantly seized as his own special booty, led theway.

  “Em,” shou
ted Dick, as he emerged from the doorway, “see what I’ve got!”

  He popped the awful-looking structure over his head. It went right downto his shoulders.

  Emmeline gave a shriek.

  “It smells funny,” said Dick, taking it off and applying his nose tothe inside of it—“smells like an old hair brush. Here, you try it on.”

  Emmeline scrambled away as far as she could, till she reached thestarboard bulwarks, where she sat in the scupper, breathless andspeechless and wide-eyed. She was always dumb when frightened (unlessit were a nightmare or a very sudden shock), and this hat suddenly seenhalf covering Dick frightened her out of her wits. Besides, it was ablack thing, and she hated black things—black cats, black horses;worst of all, black dogs.

  She had once seen a hearse in the streets of Boston, an old-time hearsewith black plumes, trappings and all complete. The sight had nearlygiven her a fit, though she did not know in the least the meaning of it.

  Meanwhile Mr Button was conveying armful after armful of stuff on deck.When the heap was complete, he sat down beside it in the gloriousafternoon sunshine, and lit his pipe.

  He had searched neither for food or water as yet; content with thetreasure God had given him, for the moment the material things of lifewere forgotten. And, indeed, if he had searched he would have foundonly half a sack of potatoes in the caboose, for the lazarette wasawash, and the water in the scuttle-butt was stinking.

  Emmeline, seeing what was in progress, crept up, Dick promising not toput the hat on her, and they all sat round the pile.

  “Thim pair of brogues,” said the old man, holding a pair of old bootsup for inspection like an auctioneer, “would fetch half a dollar anyday in the wake in any sayport in the world. Put them beside you, Dick,and lay hold of this pair of britches by the ends of em’—stritch them.”

  The trousers were stretched out, examined and approved of, and laidbeside the boots.

  “Here’s a tiliscope wid wan eye shut,” said Mr Button, examining thebroken telescope and pulling it in and out like a concertina. “Stickit beside the brogues; it may come in handy for somethin’. Here’s abook”—tossing the nautical almanac to the boy. “Tell me what it says.”

  Dick examined the pages of figures hopelessly.

  “I can’t read ’em,” said Dick; “it’s numbers.”

  “Buzz it overboard,” said Mr Button.

  Dick did what he was told joyfully, and the proceedings resumed.

  He tried on the tall hat, and the children laughed. On her old friend’shead the thing ceased to have terror for Emmeline.

  She had two methods of laughing. The angelic smile before mentioned—arare thing—and, almost as rare, a laugh in which she showed her littlewhite teeth, whilst she pressed her hands together, the left one tightshut, and the right clasped over it.

  He put the hat on one side, and continued the sorting, searching allthe pockets of the clothes and finding nothing. When he had arrangedwhat to keep, they flung the rest overboard, and the valuables wereconveyed to the captain’s cabin, there to remain till wanted.

  Then the idea that food might turn up useful as well as old clothes intheir present condition struck the imaginative mind of Mr Button, andhe proceeded to search.

  The lazarette was simply a cistern full of sea water; what else itmight contain, not being a diver, he could not say. In the copper ofthe caboose lay a great lump of putrifying pork or meat of some sort.The harness cask contained nothing except huge crystals of salt. Allthe meat had been taken away. Still, the provisions and water broughton board from the dinghy would be sufficient to last them some ten daysor so, and in the course of ten days a lot of things might happen.

  Mr Button leaned over the side. The dinghy was nestling beside the briglike a duckling beside a duck; the broad channel might have beenlikened to the duck’s wing half extended. He got on the channel to seeif the painter was safely attached. Having made all secure, he climbedslowly up to the main-yard arm, and looked round upon the sea.