Afloat at Last Part 19

It was one of the pigs, which, giving vent to a most diabolical yell, appeared to leap from the long-boat deliberately over the port side of the s.h.i.+p into the sea, sinking immediately with a stifled grunt, alongside.

Then more weird squeaking was heard, and a second pig imitated his comrade's example, jumping also from the boat overboard--just as if they were playing the game of "follow my leader" which we often indulged in when sky-larking in the second dog-watch!

This was no sky-larking, however, for the captain on the p.o.o.p, as well as Mr Saunders and myself up in the mizzen-top, had witnessed the whole of the strange occurrence the same as Tim Rooney, and all of us were equally astonished.

As for Captain Gillespie, being a very superst.i.tious man, he seemed strongly impressed by what had happened. His voice quite trembled as he called out to Tim Rooney after a moment's pause, during which he was too much startled to speak:

"Wha--what's the matter with them, bosun?"

"Sorry o' me knows," replied Tim in an equally awestruck voice, either full of real or very well a.s.sumed terror, "barrin' that the divil's got howld av 'em; an' it's raal vexed I am, sorr, av spakin' so moighty disrespectful av his honour jist now. Aye, take me worrud for it, cap'en, they're possiss'd, as sure as eggs is mate!"

"I think the same, and that the deil's got into 'em," said Captain Gillespie gravely, wrinkling up his nose so much and nodding his head, and looking so like an old owl in the bright light of the moon which had rapidly risen, and was already s.h.i.+ning with all the fulness and brilliancy it has in these southern lat.i.tudes, that it was as much as I could do to keep from bursting out laughing and so betraying my presence in the top above his head. I was all the more amused, too, when "Old Jock" turned to the second mate and added: "I look upon this as a visitation, and am glad I never killed the animals; for I would not touch one now for anything! Have the remaining brute chucked overboard, Saunders; it would be unlucky to keep it after what has happened. I'm sure I could not bear the sight of it or to hear it grant again!"

So saying, Captain Gillespie went below and took a stiff gla.s.s of grog to recover his nerves. He must then have got into his cot for he did not appear on deck again until the middle watch--a most unusual thing for him to do.

"It's an ill wind that blows n.o.body any good," however, and the aptness of the adage was well ill.u.s.trated in the present instance, the men feasting on roast pork, besides putting by some t.i.t-bits salted down for a rainy day, at the expense of "Old Jock's" superst.i.tious fears.

It was wonderful, though, how many legs were owned by that one "last pig" which the captain had ordered to be chucked overboard, and which Mr Saunders had, instead, given over to Ching w.a.n.g's tender mercies for the benefit of himself and the crew, stipulating, however, that he was to have one of the best pieces stuffed and baked, the second mate being a great glutton always, and fond of good living. Yes, it was wonderful for one pig to have no less than twelve legs!

I will tell you how this was.

Tom Jerrold let me into the secret. It seems that the apparent suicidal tendencies of the pigs who jumped into the sea in that mysterious way was caused by the fore-topgallant stu'n'sail halliards being dexterously fastened round them by a couple of the hands previously in sling fas.h.i.+on; and when the poor brutes were jerked overboard by the aid of these, they were allowed to tow under the keel of the s.h.i.+p until their squeals were hushed for ever, and then drawn inboard again and cut up in the forecastle. When they were carved properly into pork, the men thought them none the less delicious because they had come to their death by water instead of by the ordinary butcher's knife; and, as I had the opportunity of testing this opinion in a savoury little pig's fry which Ching w.a.n.g presented me with the same evening for supper, I cannot but acknowledge that I agreed thoroughly with the judgment of the hands in the matter of "spiflicated pork," as Tom Jerrold called it.

"d.i.c.k, d.i.c.k, what do you think of it all?" said I, chirping to the starling, who was whistling wide awake when I turned out next morning at "eight bells" after dreaming of the poor murdered pigs, on my way to the galley to get some hot coffee. "What do you think of it all--eh, d.i.c.k?"

"Tip us your flipper!" hoa.r.s.ely croaked the bright-eyed little bird with the voice of Tim Rooney, only seeming to be a very long way off. He also seemed to have the nose of Captain Gillespie, which we all said his long beak strongly resembled. "Tip us your flipper!"

That was all I could get out of him; but I thought that, really, a wrong had been righted, and the captain's marmalade imposition on us and on the hands forward been amply avenged.

Poor "Old Jock's" live stock of late appeared to be in a very bad way; for, not only was he deprived of his favourite pigs so unfortunately, but since we had begun to run more to southward after leaving the Line, his supply of eggs from the collection of hens he had in the coops on the p.o.o.p daily dwindled down to nothing, although they had previously been good layers.

Somehow or other the fowls seemed to have the pip, while the three c.o.c.ks, one a splendid silver and gold fellow, who lorded over the harem of Dorkings and Brahmas, all looked torn and bedraggled as if they had given way to dissipated habits. Besides this, they took to crowing defiance against each other at the most unearthly hours, whereas, prior to this, their time for chanticleering had been as regular as clock- work, in the afternoon and in the "middle watch" generally.

Captain Gillespie couldn't make it out at all.

One fine morning, however, coming on the deck through the cuddy doors below the break of the p.o.o.p instead of mounting up to the latter by the companion way as usual, before the time for was.h.i.+ng down, he surprised a number of the men a.s.sembled about the cook's galley.

There was Ching w.a.n.g in the centre of the group, holding Captain Gillespie's pet gold and silver crower and urging it on to fight one of the other c.o.c.ks, which the carpenter was officiating for as "bottle holder" in the most scientific way, he apparently being no novice at the cruel sport.

The captain did not see what they were about at first; but the delinquent was soon pointed out by Pedro Carvalho, between whom and the Chinaman the most deadly enmity existed, and who had indeed already informed the captain of the cook's treatment of his fowls, the Portuguese steward doing this with much alacrity, as if proud of being the informer.

"Look dere, sah!" cried Pedro. "Dere is dat Ching w.a.n.g now, sah! Oh, yase, dere he was, sah, as I say, killin' your c.o.c.kles magnificent--oh!"

The captain's appearance at once broke up the ring, the carpenter dropping his bird incontinently and fleeing into the forecastle with the other men; but, the Chinaman never moved a muscle of his countenance when he turned his round innocent-looking, vacuous, Mongolian face and caught sight of "Old Jock's" infuriated look bent on him.

He did not even let go the gold and silver c.o.c.k, whose plumage had been sadly tarnished by a previous tournament with the Dorking which the carpenter had squired. No, he held his ground there before the galley with a courage one could not but admire, the only sign he gave of an inward emotion being the occasional twinkling of his little beady Chinese eyes.

"Wh-wha-what the d.i.c.ken's d-d-d'ye mean by this?" stuttered and stammered Captain Gillespie, his pa.s.sion almost stopping his speech.

"Wh-wh-what d'ye mean, I say?"

"Me only hab piecee c.o.c.ky-fightee," answered Ching w.a.n.g as calmly as possible. "Me chin chin you, cap'en."

Captain Gillespie fairly boiled over with rage.

"This beats c.o.c.k-fighting!" he cried, stating the case inadvertently in his exclamation. "I thought it was those confounded cats we have aboard the s.h.i.+p that ill-treated the poor fowls and prevented them from laying me any eggs, till Pedro here told me it was you, though I didn't believe it. I wouldn't have believed it now if I hadn't seen you at it. By jingo, it's shameful!"

Ching w.a.n.g, however, paid no attention to this violent tirade, only salaaming humbly and looking the very picture of meekness and contrition.

But his eyes, as I could see, being close by, having been attracted by the row as most of us were, had altered their expression, now flas.h.i.+ng with a peculiar glare as the Chinaman, with a more abject bow than before to the captain, asked him deferentially:

"And dis one manee you tellee Ching w.a.n.g c.o.c.ky-fightee one piecee--hi?"

"Yes, Pedro told me," replied Captain Gillespie, sniffing and snorting out the words. "And a good job too; for, else, I wouldn't have known of your goings on!"

Ching w.a.n.g's yellow face almost turned white with anger.

"Hi, blackee-brownee manee," he yelled, springing upon Pedro like a tiger. "You takee dat number one, chop chop!"

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A STRANGE SAIL.

Although a coward at heart, the Portuguese steward, nerved by his intense hatred of the cook, made a bold resistance to his first onslaught, clutching at Ching w.a.n.g's pigtail with one hand and clawing at his face with the other; while the Chinaman gripped his neck with his sinewy fingers, the two rolling on the deck in a close embrace, which was the very reverse of a loving one.

"Carajo!" gurgled out Pedro, half-strangled at the outset, but having such a tight hold of Ching w.a.n.g's tail, of which he had taken a double turn round his wrist, that he was able to bend his antagonist's head back, almost dislocating his neck. "Matarei te, podenga de cozenheiro!"

"Aha cutus pijjin, me catchee you, chop chop!" grunted the other through his clenched teeth; and then, not another word escaped either of them as they both sprawled and tumbled about in front of the galley, locked together, the Chinee finally coming up on top triumphantly, with Pedro, all black in the face and with his tongue protruding, below his lithe enemy.

"Take him off the man, some of you," cried Captain Gillespie, who had not made any effort to stop the combat until now that it bad arrived at such an unsatisfactory stage for the steward. "Don't you see that yellow devil's murdering him? He looks more than half dead already!"

Tim Rooney hereupon stepped forwards; but Ching w.a.n.g did not need any force to compel him to quit his powerless foe.

Disengaging his pigtail from Pedro's limp fingers, he arose with a sort of native dignity from his prostrate position over the Portuguese, his round face all one bland smile--although it bore sundry scratches on its otherwise smooth surface, whose oiliness had probably saved it from greater hurt.

"Him no sabbey," he exclaimed, pointing down to the still prostrate Pedro, who, now that the Chinaman's grip had been released from his throat, began to show signs of returning life, "what me can do. Him more wanchee, Ching w.a.n.g plenty givee chop chop!"

"I tell ye what, me joker," cried "Old Jock" after him as the victorious cook retired into his galley on making this short speech, with all the honours of war--the hands raising a cheer, which the presence of the captain could not drown, at the result of the encounter; for all of them looked on the steward as one opposed to their interests, and who cheated them in their provisions when serving them out, regarding the Chinaman, on the other hand, as their friend and ally, he always taking their part in this respect. "I tell ye what, me joker, I'll stop your wages and make ye pay for my fowls when we get to Shanghai! I don't mind your basting the steward, for a thras.h.i.+ng will do him good, as he has wanted one for some time; but I do mind your knocking those fine birds of mine about with your confounded 'one piecee c.o.c.k-fightee.' Look at this one, now; he's fit for nothing but the pot, and the sooner you cook him the better."

Ching w.a.n.g only smiled more blandly than ever as the captain, who had picked up the two c.o.c.ks, flung the silver and gold one into the galley, taking the other aft and restoring it to its coop; while Pedro, rising presently to his feet, amidst the grins of the men around, sneaked after "Old Jock," saying never a word but looking by no means amiable. His departure ended the incident of the morning, and we immediately finished sluicing the decks, the cook and steward fight having somewhat delayed this operation, as it was getting on for "eight bells" and nearly breakfast-time.

Towards noon, on the same day, we pa.s.sed by the island of Tristan da Cunha, the land bearing on our port quarter sou'-west by south when seen; and, on the thirteenth day after turning our backs on the Martin Vas Rocks, we crossed the meridian of Greenwich in lat.i.tude 46 degrees 58 minutes south, steering almost due east so as to weather the Cape of Good Hope. The westerly wind was dead aft, which made us roll a bit; but we "carried on," with the s.h.i.+p covered with sail from truck to kelson and stu'n'sails all the way up both on our weather side and to leeward, as well as spinnakers and a lot of other things in the sail line whose names I can't remember.

Proceeding thus gaily along, with our yards squared and every st.i.tch of canvas drawing fore and aft, in another couple of days or so the Cape pigeons and shearwaters began to come about the s.h.i.+p, showing that we were approaching the stormy region Mr Mackay had warned me of; and on the fourth night the sky ahead of us became overcast, while a lot of sheet and zig-a-zaggy "chain lightning," as sailors call it, told us to look out for squalls.

This was a true portent; for the wind freshened during the first watch, causing us to take in all of our stu'n'sails before midnight. Then followed the royals and topgallants in quick succession, the main-sail and inner and outer jibs being next furled and the foresail reefed, the vessel at "four bells" being only under topsails and fore-topgallant staysail and reefed foresail.