CHAPTER V
MARTIN, BEING WILLING TO GO TO SEA, GOES TO SEA AGAINST HIS WILL
Four years rolled away, casting chequered light and shadow over thelittle village of Ashford in their silent passage,--whitening theforelocks of the aged, and strengthening the muscles of the young. Death,too, touched a hearth here and there, and carried desolation to a home;for four years cannot wing their flight without enforcing on us thelesson--which we are so often taught, and yet take so long to learn--thatthis is not our rest,--that here we have no abiding city. Did we butponder this lesson more frequently and earnestly, instead of making ussad, it would nerve our hearts and hands to fight and work morediligently,--to work in the cause of our Redeemer,--the only cause thatis worth the life-long energy of immortal beings,--the great cause thatincludes all others; and it would teach us to remember that our littleday of opportunity will soon be spent, and that the night is at hand inwhich no man can work.
Four years rolled away, and during this time Martin, having failed toobtain his aunt's consent to his going to sea, continued at school, doinghis best to curb the roving spirit that strove within him. Martin was notparticularly bright at the dead languages; to the rules of grammar heentertained a rooted aversion; and at history he was inclined to yawn,except when it happened to touch upon the names and deeds of such men asVasco di Gama and Columbus. But in geography he was perfect; and inarithmetic and book-keeping he was quite a proficient, to the delight ofMrs. Dorothy Grumbit, whose household books he summed up; and to thesatisfaction of his fast friend, Mr. Arthur Jollyboy, whose ledgers hewas--in that old gentleman's secret resolves--destined to keep.
Martin was now fourteen, broad and strong, and tall for his age. He wasthe idol of the school,--dashing, daring, reckless, and good-natured.There was almost nothing that he would not attempt, and there were veryfew things that he could not do. He never fought, however--fromprinciple; and his strength and size often saved him from the necessity.But he often prevented other boys from fighting, except when he thoughtthere was good reason for it; then he stood by and saw fair play. Therewas a strange mixture of philosophical gravity, too, in Martin. As hegrew older he became more enthusiastic and less boisterous.
Bob Croaker was still at the school, and was, from prudential motives, afast friend of Martin. But he bore him a secret grudge, for he could notforget the great fight.
One day Bob took Martin by the arm, and said, "I say, Rattler, come withme to Bilton, and have some fun among the shipping."
"Well, I don't mind if I do," said Martin. "I'm just in the mood for aramble, and I'm not expected home till bed-time."
In little more than an hour the two boys were wandering about thedock-yards of the sea-port town, and deeply engaged in examining thecomplicated rigging of the ships. While thus occupied, the clanking of awindlass and the merry "Yo heave O! and away she goes," of the sailors,attracted their attention.
"Hallo! there goes the _Firefly_, bound for the South Seas," cried BobCroaker; "come, let's see her start. I say, Martin, isn't your friend,Barney O'Flannagan, on board?"
"Yes, he is. He tries to get me to go out every voyage, and I wish Icould. Come quickly; I want to say good-bye to him before he starts."
"Why don't you run away, Rattler?" inquired Bob, as they hurried roundthe docks to where the vessel was warping out.
"Because I don't need to. My aunt has given me leave to go if I like; butshe says it would break her heart if I do; and I would rather be screweddown to a desk for ever than do that, Bob Croaker."
The vessel, upon the deck of which the two boys now leaped, was a large,heavy-built barque. Her sails were hanging loose, and the captain wasgiving orders to the men, who had their attention divided between theirduties on board and their mothers, wives, and sisters, who still lingeredto take a last farewell.
"Now, then, those who don't want to go to sea had better go ashore,"roared the captain.
There was an immediate rush to the side.
"I say, Martin," whispered Barney, as he hurried past, "jump down belowfor'ard; you can go out o' the harbour mouth with us and get ashore inone o' the shore-boats alongside. They'll not cast off till we're wellout. I want to speak to you--"
"Man the fore top-sail halyards," shouted the first mate.
"Ay ay, sir-r-r," and the men sprang to obey. Just then the shiptouched on the bar at the mouth of the harbour, and in another momentshe was aground.
"There, now, she's hard and fast!" roared the captain, as he stormedabout the deck in a paroxysm of rage. But man's rage could avail nothing.They had missed the passage by a few feet, and now they had to wait thefall and rise again of the tide ere they could hope to get off.
In the confusion that followed, Bob Croaker suggested that Martin and heshould take one of the punts, or small boats which hovered round thevessel, and put out to sea, where they might spend the day pleasantly inrowing and fishing.
"Capital!" exclaimed Martin. "Let's go at once. Yonder's a little fellowwho will let us have his punt for a few pence. I know him. Hallo, Tom!"
"Ay, ay," squeaked a boy who was so small that he could scarcely lift theoar, light though it was, with which he sculled his punt cleverly along.
"Shove alongside, like a good fellow; we want your boat for a little torow out a bit."
"It's a-blowin' too hard," squeaked the small boy, as he rangedalongside. "I'm afeared you'll be blowed out."
"Nonsense!" cried Bob Croaker, grasping the rope which the boy threw tohim. "Jump on board, younker; we don't want you to help us, and you'retoo heavy for ballast. Slip down the side, Martin, and get in while Ihold on to the rope. All right? now I'll follow. Here, shrimp, hold therope till I'm in, and then cast off. Look alive!"
As Bob spoke, he handed the rope to the little boy; but, in doing so, letit accidentally slip out of his hand.
"Catch hold o' the main chains, Martin,--quick!"
But Martin was too late. The current that swept out of the harbourwhirled the light punt away from the ship's side, and carried it outseaward. Martin instantly sprang to the oar, and turned the boat's headround. He was a stout and expert rower, and would soon have regained theship; but the wind increased at the moment, and blew in a squall offshore, which carried him further out despite his utmost efforts. Seeingthat all further attempts were useless, Martin stood up and waved hishand to Bob Croaker, shouting as he did so, "Never mind, Bob, I'll makefor the South Point. Run round and meet me, and we'll row back together."
The South Point was a low cape of land which stretched a considerabledistance out to sea, about three miles to the southward of Biltonharbour. It formed a large bay, across which, in ordinary weather, asmall boat might be rowed in safety. Martin Rattler was well known at thesea-port as a strong and fearless boy, so that no apprehension wasentertained for his safety by those who saw him blown away. Bob Croakerimmediately started for the Point on foot, a distance of about four milesby land; and the crew of the _Firefly_ were so busied with their strandedvessel that they took no notice of the doings of the boys.
But the weather now became more and more stormy. Thick clouds gathered onthe horizon. The wind began to blow with steady violence, and shifted acouple of points to the southward; so that Martin found it impossible tokeep straight for the Point. Still he worked perseveringly at his singleoar, and sculled rapidly over the sea; but, as he approached the Point,he soon perceived that no effort of which he was capable could enable himto gain it. But Martin's heart was stout. He strove with all the energyof hope, until the Point was passed; and then, turning the head of hislittle boat towards it, he strove with all the energy of despair, untilhe fell down exhausted. The wind and tide swept him rapidly out to sea;and when his terrified comrade reached the Point, the little boat was buta speck on the seaward horizon.
Well was it then for Martin Rattler that a friendly heart beat for him onboard the _Firefly_, Bob Croaker carried the news to the town; but no onewas found daring enough to risk his life out in a boat on that stormyevening. The
little punt had been long out of sight ere the news reachedthem, and the wind had increased to a gale. But Barney O'Flannaganquestioned Bob Croaker closely, and took particular note of the point ofthe compass at which Martin had disappeared; and when the _Firefly_ atlength got under weigh, he climbed to the fore-top cross-trees, and stoodthere scanning the horizon with an anxious eye.
It was getting dark, and a feeling of despair began to creep overthe seaman's heart as he gazed round the wide expanse of water, onwhich nothing was to be seen except the white foam that crested therising billows.
"Starboard, hard!" he shouted suddenly.
"Starboard it is!" replied the man at the wheel, with prompt obedience.
In another moment Barney slid down the back-stay and stood on the deck,while the ship rounded to and narrowly missed striking a small boat thatfloated keel up on the water. There was no cry from the boat; and itmight have been passed as a mere wreck, had not the lynx eye of Barneynoticed a dark object clinging to it.
"Lower away a boat, lads," cried the Irishman, springing overboard;and the words had scarcely passed his lips when the water closedover his head.
The _Firefly_ was hove to, a boat was lowered and rowed towards Barney,whose strong voice guided his shipmates towards him. In less than aquarter of an hour the bold sailor and his young friend Martin Rattlerwere safe on board, and the ship's head was again turned out to sea.
It was full half an hour before Martin was restored to consciousness inthe forecastle, to which his deliverer had conveyed him.
"Musha, lad, but ye're booked for the blue wather now, an' no mistake!"said Barney, looking with an expression of deep sympathy at the poor boy,who sat staring before him quite speechless. "The capting'll not let yeout o' this ship till ye git to the gould coast, or some sich place. Hecouldn't turn back av he wanted iver so much; but he doesn't want to, forhe needs a smart lad like you, an' he'll keep you now, for sartin."
Barney sat down by Martin's side and stroked his fair curls, as he soughtin his own quaint fashion to console him. But in vain. Martin grew quitedesperate as he thought of the misery into which poor Aunt DorothyGrumbit would be plunged, on learning that he had been swept out to seain a little boat, and drowned, as she would naturally suppose. In hisfrenzy he entreated and implored the captain to send him back in theboat, and even threatened to knock out his brains with a handspike if hedid not; but the captain smiled and told him that it was his own fault.He had no business to be putting to sea in a small boat in rough weather,and he might be thankful he wasn't drowned. He wouldn't turn back now forfifty pounds twice told.
At length Martin became convinced that all hope of returning home wasgone. He went quietly below, threw himself into one of the sailor'sberths, turned his face to the wall, and wept long and bitterly.