CHAPTER VIII.

THE ‘_PANDORA_.’

The newly-appointed officers were on board the _Pandora_. Abel Coffin was the name of the chief officer. He was a short, broad built man, with a bullet head and square shoulders. Peeping out from beneath his bushy brows were two small black eyes, which winked and blinked, and were apparently never at rest, except when in the arms of Morpheus. His nose was inclined to be celestial, broad and unshapely, and of rather a rubicund tint that corresponded with the tips of his large ears; but whether it arose from the free use of stimulants, or the biting northerly winds of the Atlantic Ocean, it was difficult to say. A strong set of teeth, discoloured by tobacco, were firmly set in his jaw, and covered by a pair of thick lips. A profusion of coarse, wiry hair encircled his face, to which the absence of a moustache gave a dogged appearance. There was a ponderous look altogether about the man. He was not corpulent, but his bones were large, and sinews took the place of flesh. In point of fact, Abel Coffin was exceedingly powerful, and capable of enduring great fatigue. He was a smart man, too; the school in which he had been reared being a severe one, but it had turned him out every inch a sailor.

When quite a lad he had been apprenticed by his father to a Bostonian, which carried timber between Liverpool and the States. In this old tub--which boasted a jackass rig--which took two hands to steer her in an ordinary seven-knot breeze, and whose windmill pump was always required to be kept upon the move, Abel Coffin had gone in at the hawse holes and out at the cabin windows. And doubtless he would have remained in her for ever had she not been so battered about after she had jumped and thrashed her way into a nasty cross sea, that, after having been towed into the Mersey by a compassionate tug, it was decided that she should be broken up as unsafe to make another trip across the ‘duck pond.’ So he had come up to London, and during his wanderings about the docks in search of an outward bounder, had encountered the captain of the _Pandora_, and on producing his tin case of mildewed certificates and discharges, had been duly installed as mate. He was a rough, generous, and good-hearted fellow--a trifle severe, but just and honest, and always to be found at his post when duty required it. On board the old wooden barge he had been accustomed to hear the orders bawled out, and usually accompanied by foul oaths--his only companions had been his mate and boatswain--and his food coarse and unpalatable.

The vessel was badly manned; all her gear stiff and old-fashioned, and she required a deal of handling. Her sails were covered with geordie patches, and when stowed were huddled to the yards in a most ungainly fashion. Red rust was prevalent from the want of paint, or rather coal tar, and her decks were scratched and dented, and had not been acquainted for years with the carpenter’s caulking irons and mallet. In a stiff breeze she yawed and capered about like a tipsy woman, thumping heavily into the seas, and sending banks of angry foam rushing from her basin-shaped bows. She plunged and groaned, compelling the skipper to watch her very closely, as she rushed from her course and then refused to come to, till the wheel was hard down, and she had cracked and strained her timbers and described the letter _S_ in her wake, and the weary helmsman’s arms ached with the amount of labour she required.

To step from such a vessel as this on to the deck of the _Pandora_ was a new experience in Abel Coffin’s life, and he appreciated it accordingly. The trim passenger ship, fitted up with all the latest improvements and designs--well manned by strong able seamen--and provisioned with a goodly supply of live stock and fresh vegetables--was a rich feast for his eyes, and to be her chief officer a stroke of good luck he had never contemplated. It was like leaving two squalid furnished apartments to take up his quarters in a first-class hotel, and though, as yet, not quite at home in his new capacity, Abel Coffin worked with his accustomed zeal, and rather astonished the easy-going seamen. It was the day before the departure of the _Pandora_, and every one on board was active. The last lighters were alongside with their casks and cases, and Jack Blythe was superintending their stowage in the main hatchway. The steward bustled about the decks, attended by his satellites, carrying squeaking fowls and quacking ducks to their coops, which were lashed on top of the house amidships. The black cook and the butchers unmercifully dragged the unfortunate sheep and pigs to their pens, whilst able seamen were busy serving the running gear, and coiling down the warps, to be in readiness to heave out. Small carts and drays waited on the wharf to unload their cargoes of vegetables, cabin stores, and ship’s dry provisions, and porters, with trucks of passengers’ luggage, and seamen’s chests and baggage, with shellbacks, runners, boarding-house keepers, and gaily-dressed women, were all looking out for some one or other, who was about to sail in the _Pandora_. Confusion reigned supreme. The decks were hampered with coils of rope, tins of varnish, sails that were to be bent and gear to be lashed or stowed away, and in the midst of this Babel, Mr Coffin was here, there, and everywhere. Now on the poop slacking away a barge’s stern rope--then on the quarter-deck signing a receipt--anon on the topgallant forecastle, heaving a pall with the capstan, or making up a jib ready to be sent out on to the boom. Jack Blythe was not so active as his superior. He was obliged to stow the last cases and barrels very carefully in the lower decks, so as to leave a passage to the locker, in order that forty tons of gunpowder might be taken aboard, and placed there when the vessel reached the hulks. The third mate was a nice-looking youngster, who had just passed his second officer’s examination. His name was Richard Sparkes. He was a tall lad, with curly brown hair, an apology for a moustache, and bright blue eyes. His duties were confined to the passengers’ stores, the safety of the live stock, and the care of the fresh water.

As the clock struck twelve work was knocked off, and the youngest officer being left in charge of the ship, the two elders stepped on to the quay, and went to get their mid-day meal.

Vernon Blythe walked to a small hotel, in the bar window of which the landlord had placed a placard to the effect, that he had ‘Good accommodation for officers and midshipmen.’ There he sat down to a _table d’hôte_, and afterwards amused himself with _Lloyd’s Shipping News_, whilst inhaling the fragrant bouquet of a well-coloured pipe, and giving an occasional thought to Alice Leyton’s near arrival.

But where Mr Coffin disappeared to, it would be difficult to say. He was an entirely different man from his second. His habits, manners, and associates were all rough and unpolished. He had been born in a fishing village, and nurtured among whalers, deep-sea fishers, and lime-juicers. He had never entered cultivated society, consequently he was shy and reserved, and when on shore sought out such habitats as sailors of his stamp usually frequent. He had looked with astonishment, not unmixed with contempt, at Jack Blythe’s handsome and refined features, close cropped hair, well kept hands, and neat attire. He had already set him down as a fair-weather sailor, and a dandy, and doubted his ability in a time of trouble. Before the voyage was over Abel Coffin had acknowledged to himself and Vernon Blythe that he was wrong.

In the afternoon the busy throng that waited on the quay, and the dock loafers that hung about the shipping, gradually cleared away, and at five o’clock the hatches were battened down, and Mr Coffin reported the _Pandora_ ready for sea. By the time the dinner-bell was sounded, most of the passengers had arrived to answer to its summons.

Jack Blythe had received the Leytons at the head of the gangway. Mrs Leyton, a fragile-looking woman, whose delicate health had been the cause of her residing in England for some years past, came first, with her youngest born, a heavy child of four years old, in her arms.

‘Give baby to me, Mrs Leyton,’ cried Jack, eagerly, as she came toiling along the gangway. ‘Why didn’t you let one of the sailors carry her? She is much too heavy for you.’

‘She is so naughty,’ sighed the poor mother; ‘she will go to no one but myself.’

‘Ah, you spoil her,’ said Jack, as he helped them both on deck.

‘It’s more than she does me!’ exclaimed Alice’s merry voice behind them.

‘Everybody spoils you, you monkey,’ replied her lover, as he turned to greet her.

‘Well, did you think we had altered our minds, and were never coming, Jack? And how do you like me, now _I have_ come?’ inquired Alice, consciously.

‘You look charming, as you always do,’ he answered.

Most men would have returned a more enthusiastic reply, for Alice was looking her very best. Robed in a yachting costume of white serge, with gilt anchor buttons, and a sailor’s hat bound with white ribbon, set coquettishly upon her sunny curls, she _ran a muck_ of the heart of every son of Neptune who saw her step upon the deck.

‘Well, it’s something to get a compliment out of you, Jack. “All scraps thankfully received.” But come along and show us our cabin, and help us to get straight. I can’t think how we are all going to get into it.’

‘I wish I could obey your bidding, Alice, but it’s impossible,’ replied Jack. ‘I can’t stir from here. I’m on duty.’

A cloud came over Alice’s fair face.

‘I don’t believe it. You’re looking out for somebody else.’

‘You’ve hit it!’ he exclaimed, with a merry laugh. ‘I am waiting for my other girl.’ And, at that moment, as if to confirm his joking assertion, Mrs and Miss Vansittart appeared.

‘Mr Sparkes,’ Jack had just time to call out, ‘take these ladies into the saloon, and tell the stewardess to show them their cabin,’ and then he turned away to attend to the new comers. Alice Leyton pouted visibly at what she considered her lover’s neglect; but Mr Richard Sparkes was so delightfully pleasant and gallant, that she soon forgot all about it.

‘Allow me,’ said Vernon Blythe gracefully, as he extended his hand for the convenience of Mrs Vansittart.

‘Lor’! thank you, sir, I’m sure!’ exclaimed the panting, good-humoured woman, as she clawed hold of his arm with her enormous fist. ‘Moving is a worry, and no mistake. However, thank heaven! it’s for the last time. When I’ve once got home, no one will tempt me back again. Where are you, Grace? Don’t tumble into the water, whatever you do. It’s a real risk of life to ask any one to cross such a narrow plank as that.’

‘Here I am, mamma--close behind you,’ replied Grace.

‘And the peril is over, for this time at least,’ observed Jack, as he helped her on to the deck. Grace smiled upon him very graciously. She was struck with his bright, handsome face at first sight. If all the officers of the _Pandora_ were like this one (she thought) the voyage might not pass so tediously as she anticipated. Mr Vansittart followed closely on the heels of his wife and daughter, and Godfrey Harland, who had been staying at their house for the last few days, brought up the rear. As the latter raised his head, and encountered the honest eyes of the young sailor looking straight into his, although the glance was only instigated by a natural curiosity, he turned his uneasily away. These men had never met each other before. They were not even aware of each other’s names, and yet they instinctively felt a mutual dislike. Godfrey put Vernon down at once as a conceited, impertinent puppy--above his condition in life--and likely to give trouble in case of being roused. And Vernon mentally decided that Godfrey was shifty, independable, and a man to be avoided.

‘Nasty eyes,’ he said to himself afterwards; ‘I wouldn’t trust that fellow with change for a sovereign. If there’s any play going on during the voyage, I shall keep a sharp look out upon him.’ But at the moment he was compelled to be all politeness.

‘Vansittart--stern cabins 1 and 2,’ he said, as he glanced at their tickets. ‘If you will take the ladies into the saloon, sir, you will find the steward ready to show you the way. Mr Godfrey Harland, No. 14, your cabin is aft amongst the gentlemen;’ and with this Vernon Blythe turned curtly away, and commenced to give orders concerning the passengers’ baggage.

Godfrey Harland perceived his manner towards him, and resolved to resent it. ‘I’ll pay that puppy out for his impertinence before many days are over,’ he thought, as he followed his employers to the saloon. By seven o’clock the whole party were seated at dinner. At the head of the table sat Dr Lennard, who was always in great request by all the ladies on board. He had a very handsome woman placed upon his right, to whom he was paying the most deferential attention; but he had soon entered into friendly conversation with the Vansittarts and Godfrey Harland, whose seats were all near him. At the other end, in the captain’s chair, sat Mr Coffin, looking strangely out of place amongst the pretty girls and well-dressed men by whom he was surrounded, and almost surly in his nervousness, as he ladled out the soup and carved the joints. Beside him was seated the third officer, who had contrived, for this evening at least, to secure a seat next to Alice Leyton, whose pretty face, merry laugh, and animated conversation kept all the men round her in a state of excitement; and especially interested a certain Captain Lovell, who could not take his eyes off her. Yes, Alice could laugh, and flirt, and enjoy herself, although Vernon Blythe was not by her side,--not even enjoying his dinner at the same time. On the poop (or, as many sailors call it, the ‘knife-board’), he paced up and down, keeping his watch till he should be relieved from duty, now and then glancing at the weather-vane, as if expectant of a sudden shift of wind.

‘I say, what do you do that for?’ inquired a voice near him, in drawling, languid tones.

Jack looked round at the speaker, as if he considered the question altogether too silly to answer.

‘Is there anything up there?’ continued the new-comer, indicating the weather-vane.

‘More than there is down here by a good deal,’ replied Jack, referring to the stranger’s brains.

But Harold Greenwood deserves a chapter to himself.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]