The Pirates in the Deep Green Sea (7 page)

The gangway was pulled aboard, the little steamer backed out into the harbour, and turned and headed to the south. The boys stood on the
pier and waved till their father was out of sight.

The wind was still blowing hard, though the weather was improving and Sam said it would be a fine evening. But it was cold on the pier, and before the steamer had reached the harbour-mouth they hurried back to the old shooting-brake in which they had driven down from Popinsay House.

Then, just as they were about to start, Timothy cried, ‘Stop! Stop, Sam; don't you see who's coming in?'

He pointed to the mouth of the harbour, and there, with the broken waves dancing like fountains before her, was the fishing-boat
Endeavour.
Her skipper, Old Mattoo Marwick — his Christian name was Matthew, but everyone called him Old Mattoo — had not waited for the gale to go down, but had brought his boat across from the mainland in spite of rough weather, and as soon as they saw her plunging in the tide-rip at the harbour-mouth, Sam Sturgeon and Timothy and Hew jumped out of the shooting-brake and ran back to the head of the pier to wait her arrival.

She came quickly in through the sheltered water of the harbour, and as she approached the pier the sun broke the clouds and cast a vivid light on her; and Timothy and Hew and Sam Sturgeon all agreed that nowhere could they have seen a prettier picture. For not only had the
Endeavour's
engine been overhauled, but she had been newly painted from masthead to keel, and her topsides were a pale bright green like new leaves, with a
golden bead running from stem to stern; and below the water-line she was a dark red that gleamed through the green sea; and her little deck-house was primrose yellow with a brown roof; and the small sail she carried was the colour of autumn leaves. So they waited in great excitement till she came alongside and tied up to the pier, and then hurried aboard to shake hands with Old Mattoo, and James William Cordiall who was the mate and the engineer as well.

Sam Sturgeon had a long discussion with Old Mattoo and James William Cordiall about the state of the engine, while Timothy and Hew admired the new paint, and finally it was decided that
Endeavour
should lie that night in Fishing Hope and sail round to Inner Bay on the following morning. And after that had been settled, Sam Sturgeon drove the boys home, and for the rest of the day they did nothing in particular. But late at night they were wakened by a curious noise.

Timothy was the first to get up. He slipped out of bed and shook Hew's arm. Hew whispered, ‘I heard it too. What do you think it is?'

‘It sounds like people laughing,' said Timothy.

A dead calm had followed the gale, and the night was utterly silent except for the sound, like very distant thunder, of the sea breaking on the western cliffs. But then, while they listened, the silence was broken by a great din as if someone in the house were playing a trombone. Or was it a bass drum? Or could it be somebody — somebody with lungs of
leather and a throat of brass — leaning back in his chair and roaring with laughter?

‘Oh, what can it be?' asked Hew,

‘Let's go and see,' said Timothy.

Very quietly they opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the corridor. There was a lighted lamp, turned very low, on the landing at the top of the stairs, and under the door of their father's room there showed a narrow glow of light, and from behind the door came the sound of deep voices, talking.

‘Burglars?' whispered Hew.

‘Let's go and see,' said Timothy again.

He opened the door. They went in together, and to their great surprise saw Gunner Boles, magnificently dressed in red silk pyjamas, in their father's big mahogany bed; and Sam Sturgeon, in his ordinary clothes, in an arm-chair facing him. On a small table, convenient for both, were two tall tumblers half-f of a splendid-looking drink, with slices of lemon afloat on top, and beside them a china bowl from which rose a little steam and a strong sweet scent.

‘Well, now,' exclaimed Gunner Boles in a hearty voice — and the boys stood, astonished, at the foot of the bed — ‘Well, now, we're going to have a party, I do declare! Here come the old gamecock's young chickens, and a welcome sight they are, to be sure. Come in, my sweet boys. Come in and have a sip of this fine drink that Sam Sturgeon has made for me. There's nothing in it but rum
and hot water and honey and lemon-juice, and it won't do you any harm, my dears. Say what you think of it, Timothy. Take a taste of it, Hew. Take a taste of it from an old sailor's glass.'

‘Now, now, Gunner Boles,' said Sam, ‘get back under the clothes and behave yourself.' — For Gunner Boles had come down to the foot of the bed and was holding out his tumbler of rum punch to Timothy and Hew, who weren't quite sure whether they should take it or not. — ‘The boys are in my charge,' said Sam, ‘and they're not old enough to be drinking rum, not for ten years yet. Milk or lemonade's what they like, and milk or lemonade is all they're going to get while I'm responsible.'

‘I thought we were going to have a party,' said Gunner Boles in a disappointed voice. ‘It's my birthday, boys, and no one's remembered to give me a present but my dear friend Sam Sturgeon.'

‘If we'd only known,' said Timothy———

‘I'm a hundred and seventy-two to-day,' said the Gunner proudly.

‘Then you're old enough to know better,' said Sam, ‘and if you don't get back into bed you won't have no more rum punch.'

‘Whatever you say, Sam, just whatever you say,' answered the Gunner, and settling himself comfortably against the pillows again, pulled up the blankets. Then he lighted his pipe and puffed away as vigorously as an old steamer.

‘Now I dare say,' said Sam, ‘that you boys are
wondering what right we've got to be drinking rum punch in your father's room when he's far away.'

‘Not to speak of taking our pleasure in his red silk pyjamas,' added the Gunner.

‘We thought you were burglars,' said Hew.

‘Well, it isn't as bad as that,' said Sam, but he looked rather uncomfortable and a little guilty.

Timothy said nothing. He was thinking how angry his father would be to find an unknown sailor in his bed, and how he would roar till the windows rattled to see the sailor wearing his good silk pyjamas. Captain Spens's bedroom was a dignified and rather solemn apartment, with long curtains and heavy mahogany furniture, and a photograph of King George V in a silver frame on the chest of drawers, and a coloured engraving of the battle of the Nile over the mantelpiece. Gunner Boles, smoking a pipe and drinking rum in bed, looked out of place in it. — But Timothy didn't want to offend the Gunner, or to say anything that would upset Sam Sturgeon, so he kept his thoughts to himself and remained silent.

Sam got up and softly shut the door. ‘We don't want Mrs. Matches coming in to interrupt us, do we?' he said. ‘And now, to resume the conversation, what we were talking about was Gunner Boles's birthday———'

‘A hundred and seventy-two,' said the Gunner complacently, ‘and I started life as a little squalling baby, just like you did.'

‘Just so,' said Sam. ‘And when Mr. Boles told me that he hadn't slept in a proper bed since the year before the battle of Trafalgar———'

‘In 1805,' said Timothy.

‘It seemed to me,' said Sam, ‘that he deserved a birthday treat. And the nicest treat I could think of was a good lie-down in a Captain's bed, with a glass of rum in his hand and a hot-water bottle at his feet, which is what he's got.'

‘And very nice it is, Sam,' said the Gunner contentedly.

‘Moreover,' said Sam, ‘Mr. Boles has brought important news that required something in the nature of a celebration. He has discovered, or so he has reason to believe' — Sam was talking in a very solemn and impressive manner — ‘the whereabouts of something that we've been hoping to find for a long time past.'

‘The pirate ship!' said Timothy.

‘Where did he find her?' demanded Hew.

‘In North Bay,' said Sam, ‘not far from where your father calculated she'd be found.'

‘Is there any treasure aboard?' asked Timothy.

‘That's what we're going to find out,' said Sam.

‘Now you be careful, Sam,' said Gunner Boles, ‘and remember what I told you. On the main deck, under the break of the poop, there's no weed at all. On all other parts of her, wherever she's showing above the sand, there's great long tangles of weed, and her timbers are green as grass. But under the break of the poop she's clean, and it looks
to me as though she'd been swept clean. It looks suspicious to me.'

‘It was the storm that did it,' said Sam. ‘It was the storm that swept her clean.'

‘That may be, and it may be otherwise,' said Gunner Boles.

Timothy and Hew had a dozen questions to ask, and a dozen plans for exploring the wreck without delay. They paid no attention to Gunner Boles's warning of danger, and they had quite forgotten their surprise at finding him in their father's bed. It now seemed quite natural that he should be drinking rum in red silk pyjamas, with Sam Sturgeon in an arm-chair beside him. There was nothing in the situation that was now astonishing, except that Sam and Gunner Boles were in no hurry — or so it appeared — to begin treasure-hunting.

‘But when are we going to start?' cried Hew.

‘When are we going to look for it?' asked Timothy. ‘The treasure, I mean?'

‘We needn't wait till Father comes back, need we?'

‘We can begin to-morrow morning, can't we?'

‘It's quite light at four o'clock.'

‘Or even earlier …'

Sam listened patiently to all they had to say, and promised to do his best to satisfy them, and waste no time. Then Gunner Boles interrupted them, and spoke rather sharply.

‘Sam,' he said, ‘it looks to me as if my glass was
empty. It looks to me, Sam, as if you were forgetting what day it is to-day.'

‘I'm not forgetting anything,' said Sam, and filled the Gunner's glass again from the china bowl on the table. ‘It's your birthday, Mr. Boles, and I'm sure we all wish you many happy returns!'

Gunner Boles smacked his lips, and smiled happily, and said, ‘A hundred and seventy-two to-day, and my heart's as young as ever it was!'

‘A long time ago,' said Timothy, ‘when we first met you on a raft in the South Atlantic, you told Sam — at least I think you did, but I may have been dreaming — that you were in a ship called the
Royal Sovereign
at the battle of Trafalgar, and got hit on the breast-bone by a French musket-ball.'

‘And very painful it was, too,' said Gunner Boles.

‘Then why weren't you killed?' asked Hew.

‘In any case,' said Timothy, ‘it's very unusual to live till you're a hundred and seventy-two, even if you don't get hit by a musket-ball.'

‘Ah!' said Gunner Boles. ‘It wants a lot of explanation, doesn't it?'

‘You boys are asking too many questions,' said Sam. ‘It's time you were going back to your beds.'

‘But I want to know,' said Timothy.

‘And so do I,' said Hew.

‘Well,' said Gunner Boles, ‘you've heard about cats, haven't you? Everybody knows about cats, and a cat's got nine lives, hasn't it?'

‘That's what people say,' said Timothy.

‘And in the old days,' said Gunner Boles, ‘our sailors went on long voyages in little ships that tossed and tumbled on the great waves of the wild green sea, and when the storm-winds blew, the sailormen had to go aloft in the darkness of the night and wrestle with the sails, that were hard as a board, and conjure with ropes, that were swift as serpents. They had to live on biscuits that were full of weevils, and salt-horse that tasted only of the brine, and ale that was sour as vinegar. They had to fight with Frenchmen and Spaniards, with Dutchmen and Moors, with buccaneers and privateers. They said good-bye to their mothers when they were young boys only, and they didn't come home again till there were great beards on their chins. They sailed into the northern seas where every rope was cased in ice till it looked as thick as the fore-topsail yard, and they lay becalmed in the southern ocean where the sea-worms ate the timbers beneath them, so when they came home through the chops of the Channel they were leaking like an old woman's basket. They sailed all over the world, and where-ever they went they had hardship and danger for their messmates, and found bitter enemies lying in wait for them. Sometimes, when their seafaring was over and done with, they retired with a pocket full of gold, and sometimes with a wooden leg. Sometimes the people came down to the quay and cheered 'em, and told 'em they were heroes; but often they got no reward at all. And such being
their life, old sailormen weren't like ordinary mortal folk. Their skin grew tough as sailcloth and their cheeks were as hard as the main-course. Their bones were like oak-trees, and their veins were full of Jamaica rum. They had hearts of pure valour, and fingers like meat-hooks. They had bright blue eyes that could see a mile on the darkest night, and they weren't afraid of nothing. And like cats — which both of you know about — they had nine lives apiece, and needed them. Nine lives at least.'

‘So even though you were killed at Trafalgar,' said Timothy, ‘it didn't mean that you were — well, that you were
quite
killed?'

‘You're asking too many questions,' said Sam again, ‘and you're losing your sleep. Now off you go, and no more argument. Off to your beds, or I won't take you to sea to-morrow.'

They protested still, and pleaded for permission to stay and talk to Gunner Boles a little longer. But Sam would not listen, and made them say good-night and return to their room. But it was some time before they went to sleep, because their minds were filled with thoughts of the pirate ship that lay under the sea, and of Gunner Boles's hard life in olden times. And when at last they were too sleepy to think even of treasure and battles long ago, they were kept awake — but not for long — by strong hoarse voices raised in song. Gunner Boles and Sam Sturgeon were singing now.