It was a momentous occasion. The two skippers sat in the private bar ofthe "Old Ship," in High Street, Wapping, solemnly sipping cold gin andsmoking cigars, whose sole merit consisted in the fact that they hadbeen smuggled. It is well known all along the waterside that thisgreatly improves their flavour.
"Draw all right?" queried Captain Berrow-a short, fat man of few ideas,who was the exulting owner of a bundle of them.
"Beautiful," replied Captain Tucker, who had just made an excursion intothe interior of his with the small blade of his penknife. "Why don't youkeep smokes like these, landlord?"
"He can't," chuckled Captain Berrow fatuously. "They're not to be'ad--money couldn't buy 'em."
The landlord grunted. "Why don't you settle about that race o' yours an'ha' done with it," he cried, as he wiped down his counter. "Seems to me,Cap'n Tucker's hanging fire."
"I'm ready when he is," said Tucker, somewhat shortly.
"It's taking your money," said Berrow slowly; "the Thistle can't hold acandle to the Good Intent, and you know it. Many a time that littleschooner o' mine has kept up with a steamer."
"Wher'd you ha' been if the tow rope had parted, though?" said themaster of the Thistle, with a wink at the landlord.
At this remark Captain Berrow took fire, and, with his temper rapidlyrising to fever heat, wrathfully repelled the scurvy insinuation inlanguage which compelled the respectful attention of all the othercustomers and the hasty intervention of the landlord.
"Put up the stakes," he cried impatiently. "Put up the stakes, and don'thave so much jaw about it."
"Here's mine," said Berrow, sturdily handing over a greasy fiver. "Now,Cap'n Tucker, cover that."
"Come on," said the landlord encouragingly; "don't let him take the windout of your sails like that."
Tucker handed over five sovereigns.
"High water's at 12.13," said the landlord, pocketing the stakes. "Youunderstand the conditions?-each of you does the best he can for hisselfafter eleven, an' the one what gets to Poole first has the ten quid.Understand?"
Both gamblers breathed hard, and, fully realising the desperate natureof the enterprise upon which they had embarked, ordered some more gin. Arivalry of long standing as to the merits of their respective schoonershad led to them calling in the landlord to arbitrate, and this was theresult. Berrow, vaguely feeling that it would be advisable to keep ongood terms with the stakeholder, offered him one of the famous cigars.The stakeholder, anxious to keep on good terms with his stomach,declined it.
"You've both got your moorings up, I s'pose?" he inquired.
"Got 'em up this evening," replied Tucker. "We're just made fast one oneach side of the Dolphin now."
"The wind's light, but it's from the right quarter," said CaptainBerrow, "an' I only hope as 'ow the best ship'll win. I'd like to winmyself, but, if not, I can only say as there's no man breathing I'dsooner have lick me than Cap'n Tucker. He's as smart a seaman as evercomes into the London river, an' he's got a schooner angels would beproud of."
"Glasses o' gin round," said Tucker promptly. "Cap'n Berrow, here's yourvery good health, an' a fair field an' no favour."
With these praiseworthy sentiments the master of the Thistle finishedhis liquor, and, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, noddedfarewell to the twain and departed. Once in the High Street he walkedslowly, as one in deep thought, then, with a sudden resolution, turnedup Nightingale Lane, and made for a small, unsavoury thoroughfareleading out of Ratcliff Highway. A quarter of an hour later he emergedinto that famous thoroughfare again, smiling incoherently, and,retracing his steps to the waterside, jumped into a boat, and was pulledoff to his ship.
"Comes off to-night, Joe," said he, as he descended to the cabin, "an'it's arf a quid to you if the old gal wins."
"What's the bet?" inquired the mate, looking up from his task ofshredding tobacco.
"Five quid," replied the skipper.
"Well, we ought to do it," said the mate slowly; "'t wont be my fault ifwe don't."
"Mine neither," said the skipper. "As a matter o' fact, Joe, I reckonI've about made sure of it. All's fair in love and war and racing, Joe."
"Ay, ay," said the mate, more slowly than before, as he revolved thisaddition to the proverb.
"I just nipped round and saw a chap I used to know named Dibbs," saidthe skipper. "Keeps a boarding-house for sailors. Wonderful sharp littlechap he is. Needles ain't nothing to him. There's heaps of needles, butonly one Dibbs. He's going to make old Berrow's chaps as drunk aslords."
"Does he know 'em?" inquired the mate.
"He knows where to find 'em," said the other. "I told him they'd eitherbe in the 'Duke's Head' or the 'Town o' Berwick.' But he'd find 'emwherever they was. Ah, even if they was in a coffee pallis, I b'leevethat man 'ud find 'em."
"They're steady chaps," objected the mate, but in a weak fashion, beingsomewhat staggered by this tribute to Mr. Dibbs' remarkable powers.
"My lad," said the skipper, "it's Dibbs' business to mix sailors'liquors so's they don't know whether they're standing on their heads ortheir heels. He's the most wonderful mixer in Christendom; takes areg'lar pride in it. Many a sailorman has got up a ship's side, thinkingit was stairs, and gone off half acrost the world instead of going tobed, through him."
"We'll have a easy job of it, then," said the mate. "I b'leeve we couldha' managed it without that, though. 'Tain't quite what you'd callsport, is it?"
"There's nothing like making sure of a thing," said the skipperplacidly. "What time's our chaps coming aboard?"
"Ten thirty, the latest," replied the mate. "Old Sam's with 'em, sothey'll be all right."
"I'll turn in for a couple of hours," said the skipper, going towardshis berth. "Lord! I'd give something to see old Berrow's face as hischaps come up the side."
"P'raps they won't git as far as that," remarked the mate.
"Oh, yes they will," said the skipper. "Dibbs is going to see to that. Idon't want any chance of the race being scratched. Turn me out in acouple of hours."
He closed the door behind him, and the mate, having stuffed his claywith the coarse tobacco, took some pink note-paper with scalloped edgesfrom his drawer, and, placing the paper at his right side, and squaringhis shoulders, began some private correspondence.
For some time he smoked and wrote in silence, until the increasingdarkness warned him to finish his task. He signed the note, and, havingput a few marks of a tender nature below his signature, sealed it readyfor the post, and sat with half-closed eyes, finishing his pipe. Thenhis head nodded, and, placing his arms on the table, he too slept.
It seemed but a minute since he had closed his eyes when he was awakenedby the entrance of the skipper, who came blundering into the darknessfrom his stateroom, vociferating loudly and nervously.
"Ay, ay!" said Joe, starting up.
"Where's the lights?" said the skipper. "What's the time? I dreamt I'doverslept myself. What's the time?"
"Plenty o' time," said the mate vaguely, as he stifled a yawn.
"Ha'-past ten," said the skipper, as he struck a match, "You've beenasleep," he added severely.
"I ain't," said the mate stoutly, as he followed the other on deck."I've been thinking. I think better in the dark."
"It's about time our chaps was aboard," said the skipper, as he lookedround the deserted deck. "I hope they won't be late."
"Sam's with 'em," said the mate confidently, as he went on to the side;"there ain't no festivities going on aboard the Good Intent, neither."
"There will be," said his worthy skipper, with a grin, as he lookedacross the intervening brig at the rival craft; "there will be."
He walked round the deck to see that everything was snug and ship-shape,and got back to the mate just as a howl of surprising weirdness washeard proceeding from the neighbouring stairs.
"I'm s'prised at Berrow allowing his men to make that noise," said theskipper waggishly. "Our chaps are there too, I think. I can hear Sam'svoice."
"So can
I," said the mate, with emphasis.
"Seems to be talking rather loud," said the master of the Thistle,knitting his brows.
"Sounds as though he's trying to sing," said the mate, as, after somedelay, a heavily-laden boat put off from the stairs and made slowly forthem. "No, he ain't; he's screaming."
There was no longer any doubt about it. The respectable andgreatly-trusted Sam was letting off a series of wild howls which wouldhave done credit to a penny-gaff Zulu, and was evidently very much outof temper about something.
"Ahoy, Thistle! Ahoy!" bellowed the waterman, as he neared the schooner."Chuck us a rope?-quick!"
The mate threw him one, and the boat came alongside. It was then seenthat another waterman, using impatient and deplorable language, wasforcibly holding Sam down in the boat.
"What's he done? What's the row?" demanded the mate.
"Done?" said the waterman, in disgust. "Done? He's 'ad a small lemon,an' it's got into his silly old head. He's making all this fuss 'cos hewanted to set the pub on fire, an' they wouldn't let him. Man ashoretold us they belonged to the Good Intent, but I know they're your men."
"Sam!" roared the skipper, with a sinking heart, as his glance fell onthe recumbent figures in the boat; "come aboard at once, you drunkendisgrace! D'ye hear?"
"I can't leave him," said Sam, whimpering.
"Leave who?" growled the skipper.
"Him," said Sam, placing his arms round the waterman's neck. "Him an'me's like brothers."
"Get up, you old loonatic!" snarled the waterman, extricating himselfwith difficulty, and forcing the other towards the side. "Now, up yougo!"
Aided by the shoulders of the waterman and the hands of his superiorofficers, Sam went up, and then the waterman turned his attention to theremainder of his fares, who were snoring contentedly in the bottom ofthe boat.
"Now, then!" he cried; "look alive with you! D'ye hear? Wake up! Wakeup! Kick 'em, Bill!"
"I can't kick no 'arder," grumbled the other waterman.
"What the devil's the matter with 'em?" stormed the master of theThistle, "Chuck a pail of water over 'em, Joe!"
Joe obeyed with gusto; and, as he never had much of a head for details,bestowed most of it upon the watermen. Through the row which ensued theThistle's crew snored peacefully, and at last were handed up over thesides like sacks of potatoes, and the indignant watermen pulled back tothe stairs.
"Here's a nice crew to win a race with!" wailed the skipper, almostcrying with rage. "Chuck the water over 'em, Joe! Chuck the water over'em!"
Joe obeyed willingly, until at length, to the skipper's great relief,one man stirred, and, sitting up on the deck, sleepily expressed hisfirm conviction that it was raining. For a moment they both had hopes ofhim, but as Joe went to the side for another bucketful, he evidentlycame to the conclusion that he had been dreaming, and, lying down again,resumed his nap. As he did so the first stroke of Big Ben came boomingdown the river.
"Eleven o'clock!" shouted the excited skipper.
It was too true. Before Big Ben had finished, the neighbouring churchclocks commenced striking with feverish haste, and hurrying feet andhoarse cries were heard proceeding from the deck of the GOOD INTENT.
"Loose the sails!" yelled the furious Tucker. "Loose the sails! Damme,we'll get under way by ourselves!"
He ran forward, and, assisted by the mate, hoisted the jibs, and then,running back, cast off from the brig, and began to hoist the mainsail.As they disengaged themselves from the tier, there was just sufficientsail for them to advance against the tide; while in front of them theGood Intent, shaking out sail after sail, stood boldly down the river.
"This was the way of it," said Sam, as he stood before the grim Tuckerat six o'clock the next morning, surrounded by his mates. "He came intothe 'Town o' Berwick,' where we was, as nice a spoken little chap asever you'd wish to see. He said he'd been a-looking at the GOOD INTENT,and he thought it was the prettiest little craft 'e ever seed, and theexact image of one his dear brother, which was a missionary, 'ad, andhe'd like to stand a drink to every man of her crew. Of course, we allsaid we was the crew direckly, an' all I can remember after that is twocoppers an' a little boy trying to giv' me the frog's march, an'somebody chucking pails o' water over me. It's crool 'ard losing a race,what we didn't know nothink about, in this way; but it warn't ourfault?-it warn't, indeed. It's my belief that the little man was amissionary of some sort hisself, and wanted to convert us, an' that washis way of starting on the job. It's all very well for the mate to havehighstirriks; but it's quite true, every word of it, an' if you go an'ask at the pub they'll tell you the same."
MATED