More Cargoes Part 31

"Anything interesting, cook?" demanded the mate.

"About George, sir," said the cook, stopping in his reading. "There's pictures of 'im too."

He crossed to the side, and, handing the paper to the mate, listened smilingly to the little e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of surprise and delight of that deceitful man as he gazed upon the likenesses. "Wonderful," he said emphatically. "Wonderful. I never saw such a good likeness in my life, George. That'll be copied in every newspaper in London, and here's the name in full too--'George Cooper, schooner _John Henry_, now lying off Limehouse.'"

He handed the paper back to the cook and turned away grinning as George, unable to control himself any longer, got up with an oath and went below to nurse his wrath in silence. A little later the mate of the brig, after a very confidential chat with his own crew, lit his pipe and, with a jaunty air, went ash.o.r.e.

For the next hour or two George alternated between the fo'c'sle and the deck, from whence he cast hara.s.sed glances at the busy wharves ash.o.r.e.

The skipper, giving it as his own suggestion, acquainted him with the arrangements made in case of the worst, and George, though he seemed somewhat dubious about them, went below and put his bed in order.

"It's very unlikely she'll see that particular newspaper though," said the skipper encouragingly.

"People are sure to see what you don't want 'em too," growled George.

"Somebody what knows us is sure to see it, an' show 'er."

"There's a lady stepping into a waterman's skiff now," said the skipper, glancing at the stairs. "That wouldn't be her, I s'pose?"

He turned to the seaman as he spoke but the words had hardly left his lips before George was going below and undressing for his part.

"If anybody asks for me," he said, turning to the cook, who was regarding his feverish movements in much astonishment, "I'm dead."

"You're wot?" inquired the other.

"Dead," said George, "Dead. Died at ten o'clock this morning. D'ye understand, fathead?"

"I can't say as 'ow I do," said the cook, somewhat acrimoniously.

"Pa.s.s the word round that I'm dead," repeated George hurriedly. "Lay me out, cookie. I'll do so much for you one day."

Instead of complying the horrified cook rushed up on deck to tell the skipper that George's brain had gone; but, finding him in the midst of a hurried explanation to the men, stopped with greedy ears to listen.

The skiff was making straight for the schooner, propelled by an elderly waterman in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, the sole pa.s.senger being a lady of ample proportions, who was watching the life of the river through a black veil.

In another minute the skiff b.u.mped alongside, and the waterman standing in the boat pa.s.sed the painter aboard. The skipper gazed at the fare and, s.h.i.+vering inwardly, hoped that George was a good actor.

"I want to see Mr. Cooper," said the lady grimly, as she clambered aboard, a.s.sisted by the waterman.

"I'm very sorry, but you can't see him, mum," said the skipper politely.

"Ho! carn't I," said the lady, raising her voice a little. "You go an'

tell him that his lawful wedded wife, what he deserted, is aboard."

"It 'ud be no good, mum," said the skipper, who felt the full dramatic force of the situation, "I'm afraid he wouldn't listen to you."

"Ho! I think I can persuade 'im a bit," said the lady, drawing in her lips. "Where is 'e?"

"Up aloft," said the skipper, removing his hat.

"Don't you give me none of your lies," said the lady, as she scanned both masts closely.

"He's dead," said the skipper solemnly.

His visitor threw up her arms and staggered back. The cook was nearest, and, throwing his arms round her waist, he caught her as she swayed. The mate, who was of a sympathetic nature, rushed below for whisky, as she sank back in the hatchway, taking the reluctant cook with her.

"Poor thing!" said the skipper.

"Don't 'old 'er so tight, cook," said one of the men. "There's no necessity to squeeze 'er."

"Pat 'er 'ands," said another.

"Pat 'em yourself," said the cook brusquely, as he looked up and saw the delight of the crew of the _Endeavour_, who were leaning over their vessel's side regarding the proceedings with much interest.

"Don't leave go of me," said the newly-made widow, as she swallowed the whisky, and rose to her feet.

"Stand by her, cook," said the skipper authoritatively.

"Ay, ay, sir," said the cook.

They formed a procession below, the skipper and mate leading; the cook with his fair burden, choking her sobs with a handkerchief, and the crew following.

"What did he die of?" she asked in a whisper broken with sobs.

"Chill from the water," whispered the skipper in response.

"I can't see 'im," she whispered. "It's so dark here. Has anybody got a match? Oh! here's some."

Before anybody could interfere she took a box from a locker, and, striking one, bent over the motionless George, and gazed at his tightly-closed eyes and open mouth in silence.

"You'll set the bed alight," said the mate in a low voice, as the end of the match dropped off.

"It won't hurt 'im," whispered the widow tearfully.

The mate, who had distinctly seen the corpse s.h.i.+ft a bit, thought differently.

"Nothing 'll 'urt 'im _now_," whispered the widow, sniffing as she struck another match. "Oh! if he could only sit up and speak to me."

For a moment the mate, who knew George's temper, thought it highly probable that he would, as the top of the second match fell between his s.h.i.+rt and his neck.

"Don't look any more," said the skipper anxiously; "you can't do him any good."

His visitor handed him the matches, and, for a short time, sobbed in silence.

"We've done all we could for him," said the skipper at length. "It 'ud be best for you to go home and lay down a bit."

"You're all very good, I'm sure," whispered the widow, turning away.

"I'll send for him this evening."

They all started, especially the corpse.

"Eh," said the skipper.