The Ocean Cat's Paw Part 40

THE KING'S s.h.i.+P.

It was the afternoon of a blazing hot day, when the pitch was oozing out in drops in every exposed place, and Rodd had found it exceedingly unpleasant to touch any piece of the bra.s.s rail, bolt, the bell, or either of the guns, for the schooner was gliding on southward with every sc.r.a.p of her white sails spread, and the wind that wafted her onward sent a feeling of la.s.situde through all on board.

Some days before, Captain Chubb had set his men to work to rig up a small awning aft, and the doctor having declared that it was too hot for work, he and Rodd had spent most of their time beneath this shelter, till the latter had struck against it, declaring it was all nonsense, for the sun came hotter through the canvas than it did where there was no shade at all, or else it seemed to, for there was no breeze in the shelter, and though what wind there was seemed as if it had come past the mouth of a furnace, still it was wind, and the lad declared that it was far preferable to stewing under the awning.

It was a lazy time, and the men, who had dressed as lightly as they could contrive, went very slowly about their several tasks, and at last when Rodd strolled towards the man at the wheel, he had to listen to a pet.i.tion.

It was fat Isaac Gregg who was taking his trick, as he called it, and he began at Rodd at once.

"I've got something to ask you, sir," he said.

"Oh, bother!" cried Rodd, taking off his straw hat to turn it into a fan. "It's too hot to listen. Don't ask me anything, because if you do, I shall be too stupid to tell you."

"Oh, it aren't hard, sir," said the man innocently, as he let a couple of spokes pa.s.s through his hands and then ran them back again. "It's only as the lads asked me--"

"Well, well, go on," said Rodd, for the man stopped. "Phew! It's just as if the tops of the waves where they curl over were white hot."

"Yes, sir, it is a bit warm," said the man; "but I've felt it warmer."

"Couldn't," said Rodd abruptly.

"Oh yes, sir; much hotter than this."

"What! You've felt it hotter than this?"

"Oh yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you melt away? I should have thought you would run like a candle all into a lump."

"Ah, that's your fun, sir. Some of the lads has been telling you that I am fat. That's a joke they have got up among them, just because I'm a little thicker than some of the others. But as I was a-saying, sir, they ast me to ast you--"

"Now it's coming then," sighed Rodd. "Phew! Wish all my hair had been cut off. It gets so wet, and sticks to my forehead."

"Yes, sir, it's best short," said the man. "Just you look at mine. You should have it done like this."

As he spoke the sailor took off his hat and exhibited a head which had been trimmed down till all the scalp resembled a dingy brush, for it was cut with the most perfect regularity, for the hair to stand up in bristly fas.h.i.+on for about a quarter of an inch from the skin.

"Why, who cut that?" cried Rodd, with something approaching to energy, this being the first thing that had taken his attention that day.

"Joe Cross, sir. He's a first-rate hand with a comb and a pair of scissors. You let him do your head, sir and you won't know yourself afterwards."

"Oh yes, I should," said the boy sleepily, gazing down at the quivering compa.s.s and its many points.

"I mean you would feel so comfortable, sir."

"Oh, well, then, I will. Anything," cried Rodd--"anything not to be so hot!"

"That's right, sir. Ast me to ast you, sir."

"Well, you've been asking for the last half-hour. What is it?" cried Rodd peevishly.

"To ast the doctor, sir--"

"For some physic to make them cool?" snapped out Rodd. "Tell them to go and ask him themselves, and he'll say what I do--that they are not to eat so much nor drink so much, and not to work in the sun. There, that's all uncle would say."

"Yes, sir, but that aren't it," cried Gregg, making one of the spokes of the wheel swing from hand to hand.

"Then what do they want?"

"Why, sir, it seems rum, but Joe Cross and the other lads know better what's good for them than I do. You see, sir, they want to get to work again at your fis.h.i.+ng and hauling, or rowing about, for they says they can keep much cooler when they are moving about and got to think what they are doing than when there's no work on hand and nothing to think about at all."

"Oh, very well," said Rodd grumpily, "I'll go and ask him, for I am about sick of this. I think there must be some volcanoes here, or something of that kind, for I never felt it so hot before."

"You aren't used to it, sir; but I thought you would, sir, and the lads said they thought you would too. Thank you, sir."

Rodd yawned, turned slowly on his heels, and strolled away to where Uncle Paul was sitting back in an Indian cane chair, resting the carefully-focussed spy-gla.s.s upon a half-opened book standing upon its front edges propped upon four more in the middle of a little table.

"Ah, Pickle, my lad! You had better stop in the shade. I don't want you to be getting any head trouble in this torrid sun."

"Oh, I am all right, uncle; but the men want to begin fis.h.i.+ng or doing something again, keeping cool."

"Too hot till towards evening, my boy," replied the doctor. "But look here; you were saying only the other day how strange it was that we saw so few vessels. Well, here's one at all events--a three-master."

"Oh, whereabouts, uncle?" cried the boy eagerly.

"Away to the west yonder, hull down. There, take the gla.s.s."

As Rodd was arranging it to his own satisfaction the doctor went on quietly--

"Out here I am not going to give an opinion, but if we were in the garden at home in the look-out I should say that was a man-of-war coming into Plymouth port."

"Yes, that she is, uncle," cried Rodd, who had forgotten the heat in this new excitement.

"A man-of-war--that she is!" said Uncle Paul quietly. "That sounds ridiculous, Pickle. But one has to give way to custom."

"Yes," said Rodd--"a frigate. I can tell by her white sails."

"Not big enough for a frigate, my boy. A sloop of war, I should think.

Now, what can she be doing down here?"

"I know, uncle," cried the boy excitedly--"looking after the slave s.h.i.+ps."

"Ah, very likely," cried Uncle Paul. "I shouldn't be surprised. We are pretty near to that neighbourhood; and if she is it's quite likely that she'll overhaul us. Ah, here's Captain Chubb coming up. Look here, skipper!"

The captain, who looked very hot, and whose face proclaimed very plainly that he had been having an after-dinner nap, came slowly up, stooped within the awning, and in silence took hold of the spy-gla.s.s, whose glistening black sides were quite hot, and which Rodd thrust into his hands.

He wanted no telling what for, but raised and adjusted the gla.s.s to his own sight, took a quick shot at the distant object upon the horizon, and then lowered it directly. "British man-of-war," he grunted. "That's bad."

"Why?" cried Rodd sharply.