Traffics and Discoveries Part 45

"We came in last Tuesday--from Tristan D'Acunha--for overhaul, and we shall be in dockyard 'ands for two months, with boiler-seatings."

"Come and sit down," Hooper put away the file.

"This is Mr. Hooper of the Railway," I exclaimed, as Pyecroft turned to haul up the black-moustached sergeant.

"This is Sergeant Pritchard, of the _Agaric_, an old s.h.i.+pmate," said he.

"We were strollin' on the beach." The monster blushed and nodded. He filled up one side of the van when he sat down.

"And this is my friend, Mr. Pyecroft," I added to Hooper, already busy with the extra beer which my prophetic soul had bought from the Greeks.

"_Moi aussi_" quoth Pyecroft, and drew out beneath his coat a labelled quart bottle.

"Why, it's Ba.s.s," cried Hooper.

"It was Pritchard," said Pyecroft. "They can't resist him."

"That's not so," said Pritchard, mildly.

"Not _verbatim_ per'aps, but the look in the eye came to the same thing."

"Where was it?" I demanded.

"Just on beyond here--at Kalk Bay. She was slappin' a rug in a back verandah. Pritch hadn't more than brought his batteries to bear, before she stepped indoors an' sent it flyin' over the wall."

Pyecroft patted the warm bottle.

"It was all a mistake," said Pritchard. "I shouldn't wonder if she mistook me for Maclean. We're about of a size."

I had heard householders of Muizenburg, St. James's, and Kalk Bay complain of the difficulty of keeping beer or good servants at the seaside, and I began to see the reason. None the less, it was excellent Ba.s.s, and I too drank to the health of that large-minded maid.

"It's the uniform that fetches 'em, an' they fetch it," said Pyecroft. "My simple navy blue is respectable, but not fascinatin'. Now Pritch in 'is Number One rig is always 'purr Mary, on the terrace'--_ex officio_ as you might say."

"She took me for Maclean, I tell you," Pritchard insisted. "Why--why--to listen to him you wouldn't think that only yesterday----"

"Pritch," said Pyecroft, "be warned in time. If we begin tellin' what we know about each other we'll be turned out of the pub. Not to mention aggravated desertion on several occasions----"

"Never anything more than absence without leaf--I defy you to prove it,"

said the Sergeant hotly. "An' if it comes to that how about Vancouver in '87?"

"How about it? Who pulled bow in the gig going ash.o.r.e? Who told Boy Niven...?"

"Surely you were court martialled for that?" I said. The story of Boy Niven who lured seven or eight able-bodied seamen and marines into the woods of British Columbia used to be a legend of the Fleet.

"Yes, we were court-martialled to rights," said Pritchard, "but we should have been tried for murder if Boy Niven 'adn't been unusually tough. He told us he had an uncle 'oo'd give us land to farm. 'E said he was born at the back o' Vancouver Island, and _all_ the time the beggar was a balmy Barnado Orphan!"

"_But_ we believed him," said Pyecroft. "I did--you did--Paterson did--an'

'oo was the Marine that married the cocoanut-woman afterwards--him with the mouth?"

"Oh, Jones, Spit-Kid Jones. I 'aven't thought of 'im in years," said Pritchard. "Yes, Spit-Kid believed it, an' George Anstey and Moon. We were very young an' very curious."

"_But_ lovin' an' trustful to a degree," said Pyecroft.

"Remember when 'e told us to walk in single file for fear o' bears?

'Remember, Pye, when 'e 'opped about in that bog full o' ferns an' sniffed an' said 'e could smell the smoke of 'is uncle's farm? An' _all_ the time it was a dirty little out-lyin' uninhabited island. We walked round it in a day, an' come back to our boat lyin' on the beach. A whole day Boy Niven kept us walkin' in circles lookin' for 'is uncle's farm! He said his uncle was compelled by the law of the land to give us a farm!"

"Don't get hot, Pritch. We believed," said Pyecroft.

"He'd been readin' books. He only did it to get a run ash.o.r.e an' have himself talked of. A day an' a night--eight of us--followin' Boy Niven round an uninhabited island in the Vancouver archipelago! Then the picket came for us an' a nice pack o' idiots we looked!"

"What did you get for it?" Hooper asked.

"Heavy thunder with continuous lightning for two hours. Thereafter sleet- squalls, a confused sea, and cold, unfriendly weather till conclusion o'

cruise," said Pyecroft. "It was only what we expected, but what we felt, an' I a.s.sure you, Mr. Hooper, even a sailor-man has a heart to break, was bein' told that we able seamen an' promisin' marines 'ad misled Boy Niven.

Yes, we poor back-to-the-landers was supposed to 'ave misled him! He rounded on us, o' course, an' got off easy."

"Excep' for what we gave him in the steerin'-flat when we came out o'

cells. 'Eard anything of 'im lately, Pye?"

"Signal Boatswain in the Channel Fleet, I believe--Mr. L.L. Niven is."

"An' Anstey died o' fever in Benin," Pritchard mused. "What come to Moon?

Spit-Kid we know about."

"Moon--Moon! Now where did I last...? Oh yes, when I was in the _Palladium_! I met Quigley at Buncrana Station. He told me Moon 'ad run when the _Astrild_ sloop was cruising among the South Seas three years back. He always showed signs o' bein' a Mormonastic beggar. Yes, he slipped off quietly an' they 'adn't time to chase 'im round the islands even if the navigatin' officer 'ad been equal to the job."

"Wasn't he?" said Hooper.

"Not so. Accordin' to Quigley the _Astrild_ spent half her commission rompin' up the beach like a she-turtle, an' the other half hatching turtles' eggs on the top o' numerous reefs. When she was docked at Sydney her copper looked like Aunt Maria's was.h.i.+ng on the line--an' her 'mids.h.i.+p frames was sprung. The commander swore the dockyard 'ad done it haulin'

the pore thing on to the slips. They _do_ do strange things at sea, Mr.

Hooper."

"Ah! I'm not a tax-payer," said Hooper, and opened a fresh bottle. The Sergeant seemed to be one who had a difficulty in dropping subjects.

"How it all comes back, don't it?" he said. "Why Moon must 'ave 'ad sixteen years' service before he ran."

"It takes 'em at all ages. Look at--you know," said Pyecroft.

"Who?" I asked.

"A service man within eighteen months of his pension, is the party you're thinkin' of," said Pritchard. "A warrant 'oose name begins with a V., isn't it?"

"But, in a way o' puttin' it, we can't say that he actually did desert,"

Pyecroft suggested.

"Oh, no," said Pritchard. "It was only permanent absence up country without leaf. That was all."

"Up country?" said Hooper. "Did they circulate his description?"