Facing the World

THE PASSENGERS

The Nantucket, Capt.  Jabez Hill, master, was a large vessel, stanch and strong, and bore a good record, having been in service six years, and never having in that time met a serious disaster.  It was a sailing vessel, and primarily intended to convey freight, but had accommodations for six passengers.  Of these it had a full complement.  Harry and the professor I name first, as those in whom we are most interested.

Next came John Appleton, a business man from Melbourne, who had visited the United States on business.  He was a plain, substantial-looking person, of perhaps forty-five.  Next came Montgomery Clinton, from Brooklyn, a young man of twenty-four, foolishly attired, who wore an eyeglass and anxiously aped the Londen swell, though born within sight of Boston State house.  Harry regarded him with considerable amusement, and though he treated him with outward respect, mentally voted him very soft.  Fifth on the list was a tall, sallow, thin individual, with a melancholy countenance, who was troubled with numerous symptoms, and was persuaded that he had not long to live.  He was from Pennsylvania.  He carried with him in his trunk a large assortment of pills and liquid medicines, one or another of which he took about once an hour.  This gentleman’s name was Marmaduke Timmins.  Last came a tall, lean Yankee, the discoverer and proprietor of a valuable invention, which it was his purpose to introduce into Australia.  Mr. Jonathan Stubbs, for this was his name, was by no means an undesirable addition to the little circle, and often excited a smile by his quaintly put and shrewd observations on topics of passing interest.

It was the third day at sea, when Harry, who had suffered but little from seasickness, came on deck, after a good dinner, and saw the dudish passenger, till now invisible, holding himself steady with an effort, and gazing sadly out upon the wild waste of waters without the help of his eyeglass.

“How do you feel, Mr. Clinton?” asked Harry.

“Horribly, Mr. Vane,” answered Clinton, with a languid shudder.  “I never thought it was such a bore, crossing the ocean, don’t you know.  I’ve a great idea of offering the captain a handsome sum to land somewhere, I don’t care where.”

“I don’t think we shall go near any land, Mr. Clinton.  I think you will have to make the best of it.”

Hearing a step behind him, Harry turned, and his eyes rested on the melancholy countenance of Marmaduke Timmins, the chronic invalid.

“Good-morning, Mr. Timmins,” said our hero.  “I hope you stand the voyage well?”

“I’ve had several new symptoms since I came on board,” responded Mr. Timmins, gloomily, “and I’ve made a dreadful discovery.”

“What is it?” inquired Montgomery Clinton, in alarm.

“I find I’ve mislaid or forgotten to bring my box of Remedial pills.  I don’t know what I shall do without them.”

“I’ve got a box of Brandeth’s pills downstairs,” said Clinton.  “You’re welcome to a part of them, I’m sure.”

“They wouldn’t do!  What can you be thinking of, young man?  Do you think there’s no difference between pills?”

“I’m sure I can’t tell, don’t you know?”

“Young man, you are sadly ignorant,” said Timmins, severely.  “I’ve got five other kinds of pills downstairs, for different maladies I am subject to, but none of them will take the place of Remedial pills.”

“Will any of them cure seasickness?” asked the dude, eagerly.

“I can give you a remedy for seasickness, Mr. Clinton,” said Mr. Holdfast, the mate, who chanced to overhear the inquiry.

“What is it, Mr. Holdfast?  I shall be really grateful, I assure you, if you can cure that beastly malady.”

“Swallow a piece of raw salt pork about an inch square,” said the mate gravely, “and follow it up by a glass of sea water, taken at a gulp.”

“That’s horrid, awfully horrid!” gasped Clinton, shuddering, and looking very pale.  “It actually makes me sick to think of it, don’t you know,” and he retreated to the cabin, with one hand pressed on his stomach.

“That young man’s a fool!” said Mr. Timmins.  “He knows no more about pills than a baby.”

“Nor do I, Mr. Timmins,” said Harry, smiling.

“I pity you then.  My life has been saved several times by pills.”

“I’d rather live without them.”

Marmaduke sadly shook his head as he walked away.

“That man’s a walking drug store,” said the mate, looking after him.  “I’d rather go to Davy’s locker, and be done with it, than to fill myself up with pills and potions.”

“You’re looking chipper, my boy,” said a newcomer, in a nasal voice.  “Haven’t been seasick, I guess.”

Harry recognized the voice of the Yankee inventor, Jonathan Stubbs.

“No, sir; I have had very little trouble.”

“I’m goin’ to get up a cure for seasickness when I have time—­a kind of a self-acting, automatic belt—­I guess there’d be plenty of money in it.”

“It would be a great blessing, Mr. Stubbs.  Poor Mr. Clinton would no doubt be glad to buy it.”

“Do you mean that languishin’ creeter with an eyeglass and spindle legs?  What are such fellows made for?”

“Rather for ornament than use,” answered Harry, gravely.

The Yankee burst into a loud guffaw, and regarded Harry’s remark a capital joke.

The voyage was to be a long one, and after a couple of weeks they all had their sea legs on.  All had become acquainted, and settled down to a regular routine.  But the time dragged, and as there were no morning or evening papers, something seemed necessary to break the monotony.

“Harry,” said the professor, “I have an idea.”

“What is it, professor?”

“Suppose we give an exhibition for the benefit of our fellow passengers and the crew.”

“I am ready to do my part.”

“Then I will speak to the captain.”

The result was that on the first quiet day Professor Hemenway and his assistant gave a matinee performance on the deck of the Nantucket, at which all who could possibly be spared were present.  To some of the sailors it was a novelty, and the magician’s tricks actually inspired some with the feeling that he was possessed of supernatural powers.

“Will you lend me your hat, Mr. Clinton?” he asked presently, of the dude.

“Certainly, professor,” drawled the young man.

The professor took it, and tapped it.

“Are you sure there is nothing in it?” he asked.

“I am sure of it.  Really, I don’t carry things in my hat, don’t you know.”

“What do you say to this, then?” and Professor Hemenway drew out of the hat half a dozen onions, a couple of potatoes, and a ship biscuit.

“My dear sir, I think you are mistaken,” he said.  “I see you carry your lunch in your hat.”

All present laughed at the horrified face of the dude.

“On my honor, I don’t know how those horrid things came in my hat,” he stammered.

“Are you fond of onions, Mr. Clinton?” asked Harry.

“I wouldn’t eat one for—­for a new suit of clothes!” protested Clinton, earnestly.

“Allow me to return your hat, Mr. Clinton,” said the professor, politely.  “I suppose you want the vegetables too.  Here are the onions, and the rest.”

“They are not mine, on my honor,” said Clinton, very much embarrassed.  “Here, my good man, can you make use of these?”

The sailor whom he addressed accepted the gift with a grin.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” he said, “If so be as I ain’t a-robbin’ you.”

“I have no use for them, my good man.  I never ate an onion in my life.”

“Then I don’t think you know what’s good,” said Mr. Stubbs.  “An onion, let me tell you, is mighty good eatin’, and healthy, too.”

At the close of the magical entertainment, Harry sang by request, and no part of the performance was more popular.  He received many warm congratulations.

“Really, Mr. Vane, you sing like a nightingale, don’t you know,” was the tribute of Clinton.

“Bless me!” said Mr. Timmins; “I was so absorbed in your song that I have forgotten to take my catarrh medicine.”

“Thank you, sir; that is the best compliment I have received,” returned Harry, with a smile.

Little has been said thus far of Captain Hill, the chief officer of the Nantucket.  He was a stout, red-faced seaman, nearing fifty years of age, and had been in service ever since he was fifteen.  He was a thorough sailor, and fitted in every way but one to take charge of a ship bound to any part of the world.  His one disqualification may be stated briefly—­he had a passion for drink.

It was not immediately that this was found out.  He took his meals with the passengers, but it was not then that he indulged his appetite.  He kept a private store of liquors in his cabin, and had recourse to them when by himself, under the impression that he could keep it a secret.  But intemperance, like murder, will out.

Harry and the professor were standing by the rail looking out at sea, one day, when a thick voice greeted them, “Good-mor’n’, gentlemen,” this address being followed by a hiccough.

Both turned quickly, and exchanged a significant glance when they recognized the captain.

“Yes,” answered Professor Hemenway, “it is indeed a fine morning.”

“I am sorry to see this, Harry,” said the professor.

“Yes, sir; it is a pity any gentleman should drink too much.”

“Yes, but that isn’t all,” said the professor, earnestly; “it is a pity, of course, that Captain Hill should so sin against his own health, but we must consider furthermore, that he has our lives under his control.  Our safety depends on his prudent management.”

“He seems to understand his business,” said Harry.

“Granted; but no man, however good a seaman, is fit to manage a vessel when he allows liquor to rob him of his senses.  I wish I had had a knowledge beforehand of the captain’s infirmity.”

“Suppose you had, sir?”

“I wouldn’t have trusted myself on board the Nantucket, you may be sure of that.”

“It may be only an exceptional case.”

“Let us hope so.”

The next occasion on which the captain displayed his infirmity was rather a laughable one.  He came up from the cabin about three o’clock in the afternoon so full that he was forced to stagger as he walked.  Directly in front of him the young dude, Montgomery Clinton, was pacing the deck, carrying in his hand a rattan cane such as he used on shore.  As he overhauled him, Captain Hill, with the instinct of a drunken man, locked arms with the young man, and forced him to promenade in his company, talking rather incoherently meanwhile.  Clinton’s look of distress and perplexity, as he submitted to his fate, caused Harry nearly to explode with laughter.  They were indeed a singular pair.

Finally there came a disaster.  A lurch of the vessel proved too much for the captain, who, in losing his equilibrium, also upset Clinton, and the two rolled down under one of the ship’s boats, which was slung on one side.

Montgomery Clinton picked himself up, and hurriedly betook himself to his cabin, fearing that he might fall again into the clutches of his unwelcome companion.  The captain was helped to his feet by the mate, and was persuaded also to go downstairs.

“The captain was pretty well slewed, professor,” said Mr. Stubbs, who chanced to be on deck at the time.

“It looks like it,” answered Professor Hemenway.

“If he does that often it’ll be a bad lookout for us.”

“Just what I am thinking, Mr. Stubbs.”