Four Afloat Part 16

"Well, if we can beat her at that," said Dan, "what's the use of worrying?"

Tom came up with a dish of pilot bread and a jar of marmalade, and there was an impromptu feast in the c.o.c.kpit.

"How about the kid down there?" asked Dan. "Maybe he's hungry, too."

"That's so," exclaimed Nelson. "I'll take some of this truck down to him." When he returned he said: "Glad you thought of it, Dan; the poor duffer's putting that pilot bread away as though he hadn't seen a square meal in an age."

"Maybe he hasn't," said Bob. "I don't believe the grub's very good at the captain's table."

"Much the fellow down there would know about the captain's table,"

scoffed Dan. "He probably ate in the forecastle."

"Not if he was cabin boy," returned Bob. "Cabin boys eat at the officers' mess."

"Who said he was cabin boy?" asked Dan. "I'll bet he was just a-a sort of apprentice. Why can't we have him up here and hear what the row is?"

"They might see him from the tug," said Tom, glancing uneasily toward that boat.

"What if they do? They know he's here, anyhow. Call him up, Nelson."

And in a moment he appeared at the steps, glanced about him anxiously and diffidently, and stood as though awaiting further instructions. He was a small boy, but he looked hard and healthy. His rather thin face was bronzed by the wind, and the skin on the end of his funny little upturned nose was peeling off, perhaps from the same cause. He didn't look overly clean, but he had rather nice, honest brown eyes and a serious mouth, at one corner of which, just at present, a flake of pilot bread was adhering. He was dressed in a pair of brown trousers, which were neither long nor short but which left off a good three inches above his shoes, a blue-and-white-striped cotton s.h.i.+rt, guiltless of collar or tie, and a jacket, very much too large for him, of a color once blue and now a queer brownish purple. His hands were broad, and brown and scarred-not at all pretty to look at-with broken and blackened nails. On his touseled brown hair he wore a dirty canvas cap. As the Four observed him for a moment in silence, he took off his cap, awkwardly and hesitatingly, and clutched it in his hands.

"What's your name?" asked Bob kindly.

"Spencer Floyd," was the answer in a husky voice that seemed years too old for him.

"Well, Spencer, supposing you sit down there and tell us what the trouble is," Bob suggested. "Your friend the captain's after us in the tug back there, but I don't believe he'll catch us. What's the trouble between the captain and you? Let's hear about it."

The boy climbed up so that he could see the pursuing tug. He watched it for a moment silently. Then he sat down obediently on the top step and looked at his cap. Evidently he needed prompting.

"Wasn't the captain good to you?" asked Dan. Spencer shook his head slowly.

"He beat me," he muttered finally.

"Beat you, did he? What for?"

"'Cause I wanted to go home."

"Where do you live?" asked Nelson, taking up the role of examiner.

"Mullen's Cove."

"Where's that?"

"Long Island."

"Oh, Long Island, eh? Folks living?"

"My mother is," answered the runaway. "My father died three years ago.

He was first mate on the _Independence_."

"Fisherman?"

"Yes, sir; seiner. She was wrecked on the Banks."

"Oh!" said Nelson sympathetically. "That was bad, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir. He didn't leave much money, but we own our house, and ma she raises vegetables and sells milk."

"I see. And where does the captain come in? By the way, what's his name?"

"Captain Sauder."

"Not soft solder, I'll bet," murmured Dan.

"Is he a relative of yours?" Nelson asked.

"No, he ain't," was the decided reply. "But he and my father used to be together on some boat once. And he used to come and see us sometimes.

And when father died, he offered to take me and learn me to be a sailor.

So ma, she let me go for a year."

"Did you like it?"

"No, sir."

"But you stuck it out?"

"Yes, sir."

"And then what?"

"When my time was up with him I told him I was going to leave and go home. But he said I couldn't. Said I'd signed articles for two years, and if I tried to get away he'd flog me."

"Did you try?"

"Yes, sir, about three weeks ago. But he caught me."

"Did he flog you?"

The boy s.h.i.+vered and nodded.

"Bu-bu-brute!" growled Tom.

"And you say you never signed anything?"

"No, sir, I never did. And I ain't heard from my mother for most a year, and-and-" He stopped and sniffed, the tears welling into his eyes.

"That's too bad!" said Nelson. "But don't you worry. We'll get you ash.o.r.e somewhere, and you can get home."