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XV.
MRS. CODMAN'S GOOD FORTUNE

Mrs. Codman had been carefully educated at a large expense, and was versed in all the accomplishments which are considered indispensable in a young lady's education nowadays. It was with no degree of hesitation on this point, therefore, that she set out this particular morning to present herself as an applicant for the post of governess. Having no influential friends, however, and not being able to present references from a former employer (this being her first essay in this line), she feared that her application would be unsuccessful. She could not but feel a considerable degree of anxiety, for her circumstances had become desperate, owing to the refusal of her former employers to give her any more sewing.

She dressed herself as neatly as her limited wardrobe would admit, and with hearty good wishes and many glowing predictions of success from her humble friend, Mrs. O'Grady, she set out.

Though some years past thirty, Mrs. Codman so far retained the freshness of youth, that she would hardly have been taken for this age. As a girl she had been very beautiful, and her womanhood did not belie her early promise. Her attire, though not expensive, was in good taste and characterized by a lady-like simplicity.

Such was the applicant for the post of governess, upon whom the curious eyes of Bert and her father fell as she was ushered into the breakfast-room by the servant, who had received orders to do so. She entered the room with the easy grace of a lady. Mr. Bowman at once recognized her claim to be considered such by deferentially rising, and inviting her to be seated.

"If I mistake not," he said, politely, "you are the lady who has been recommended to me as possessing excellent qualifications for the office of governess."

"Perhaps the recommendation was too strong and decided," said Mrs. Codman, modestly. "I shall be glad, however, to be considered an applicant for the position."

Here Mr. Bowman, who chanced to glance at Bert, detected her executing a surprising succession of winks, indicating the favorable impression which had been made upon her by the appearance of Mrs. Codman.

Already prepossessed in favor of the applicant, this was an additional inducement to engage her, as her success would depend, to a very great extent, upon the young lady's good-will.

"I suppose," he said, "you feel prepared to teach the branches and accomplishments usually included in the education of a young lady."

Mrs. Codman bowed.

"I ain't a young lady," interrupted Bert, at this point, who thought she was in imminent danger of becoming too learned.

"We hope you will be some time," said Mr. Bowman.

In reply, Bert winked once more.

There was a piano in the room.

"Will you favor us with a specimen of your playing?" asked Mr. Bowman.

Mrs. Codman sat down to the piano and played two pieces, one slow in movement, the other rapid, showing a nice touch and easy execution.

"Thank you," said Mr. Bowman. "I am inclined to think that I shall be glad to avail myself of your services. Should you be willing to engage for three months at first, to see how we are mutually pleased with each other? The pupil I have to offer you is a little addicted to mischief, and I don't know how you may like her."

"I am quite willing to enter into such an arrangement," said Mrs. Codman; "and in reference to the last point, I am quite sure I shall like my pupil. I begin to like her already."

"Do you?" said Bert, with much satisfaction, rising from the ottoman, and unceremoniously dropping the black kitten, who turned a somerset, and ran off shaking her head.

In answer, Mrs. Codman held out her hand with a smile.

Bert hurried across the room, and placed her own in it confidingly.

"I am so glad you do," said she. "You won't make me study my eyes out, will you?"

"That would, indeed, be a pity," said Mrs. Codman, looking at Bert's bright eyes, sparkling with fun and mischief.

Mr. Bowman observed these signs of agreement between Bert and her new governess with pleasure, and hastened to say, "In regard to business arrangements we will speak by and by. I think I can promise that they will be satisfactory to you."

It may be mentioned here, that Mr. Bowman, who was by no means disposed to deal parsimoniously with those in his employ, fixed Mrs. Codman's salary at six hundred dollars a year, which was four times as much as she had ever been able to gain by her needle.

"When may we expect you?" he asked. "You have, doubtless, some preliminary arrangements to make, for which you will please take whatever time you may require. Meanwhile, accept this sum in advance."

He drew from his pocket-book a fifty-dollar note, which he handed to Mrs. Codman. She could not feel any embarrassment in accepting a sum so tendered, and bowing her thanks, intimated that she would make her appearance on the following Monday, it being now Thursday.

The advance payment proved very acceptable to Mrs. Codman, as with it she was enabled to replenish her wardrobe, a step rendered necessary by her residence in Mr. Bowman's family. She was busily engaged for the remainder of the week in supplying its deficiencies.

No one could be more overjoyed than was the humble washer-woman at the success of her friend, of which she felt sure from the first, knowing Mrs. Codman to be a rale lady. The latter, feeling that she owed her present good fortune mainly to the zealous recommendation of her friendly neighbor, purchased a neat dress, which Mrs. O'Grady was prevailed upon to accept, on being convinced she would not thereby be distressing herself, a fact of which she was assured on being told of Mr. Bowman's liberality.

Yet there was, as the reader well knows, one thought which contributed to diminish the joy which Mrs. Codman would otherwise have felt at being restored, in a measure, to the mode of life to which she had been accustomed, and relieved from the necessity of unremitting labor in order to sustain life. This was, the thought of Charlie, her own brave, handsome boy, who had been the joy and life of her little household, now gone,—she knew not whither. The uncertainty as to his fate cost her many a sleepless night. She was sustained, however, by a strong confidence that he was yet living, and had little doubt that the suggestion of Peter Manson was correct, that he had been carried off by the captain of some vessel short of hands. Of course, she did not for an instant harbor the suspicion that Peter himself had had anything to do with his disappearance, being quite unaware that any motive existed powerful enough to tempt the old man to such a crime.

"I shall hear from him; I shall see him again," she said, with earnest conviction. "He is under the eye of Providence, wherever he may be, and no harm shall befall him."

Still, even with this strong feeling of trust, there was an uncertainty about the time when her wishes could be realized, which could not fail to weigh upon the mother's heart. Then there was the constant longing for his bright and enlivening presence, greater, because he was her only child, and she was a widow.

The furniture which Mrs. Codman had in her rooms she was enabled to dispose of without a very great sacrifice. She reserved a few articles, endeared to her by association, which she stored in the room of her friendly neighbor.

With her, also, she left a sum of money, sufficient to pay for her month's rent, which would not be due for a fortnight after her removal to the house of Mr. Bowman. Peter Manson was not a little surprised and disappointed when, on visiting his tenant,—prepared to witness her distress and hear entreaties for a reduction of her rent,—to find her already gone, and to hear that she had obtained an advantageous situation, though where, he was unable to ascertain, as Mrs. O'Grady, with whom he was no favorite, was not disposed to be communicative.

Leaving Mrs. Codman thus comfortably provided for, we must now follow the fortunes of our young hero, Charlie, whom we left securely bound in the forecastle of the Bouncing Betsey.

XVI.
THE BEGINNING OF CHARLIE'S SEA-LIFE

When the Bouncing Betsey was fairly out to sea, Captain Brace, anticipating, with the malicious delight which a petty tyrant feels in the sufferings of those subject to him, the grief and terror of our young hero, ordered Charlie to be released from his bonds and brought before him.

This order the mate chose to execute in person.

The pressure of the cords, with which he had been bound, had chafed his limbs, and the constraint of his position had made them ache.

As the mate busied himself in unbinding him, Charlie inquired, with a glimmering of hope, "Are you going to let me go?"

"Where?" asked Randall.

"On shore."

"Perhaps you don't know that, by this time, we are at least forty miles from Boston."

"Could you send me back?" asked Charlie, his heart sinking within him.

"I suppose we might turn the ship about, and go back for your accommodation," said the mate, with a sneer; "but I don't think Capt. Brace would consent."

"Is there no way?" implored Charlie. "Couldn't you put me on board some ship going back?"

"You can speak to the captain about that. He has sent for you. Come along, and don't be all day about it."

Charlie stretched himself with the intent of gaining some relief from the stricture he had suffered, and prepared to do what he knew there was no means of evading, he followed Randall to the presence of Capt. Brace.

"Well, Jack," said Capt. Brace, showing his teeth in an unpleasant manner, "how do you like life on shipboard?"

"My name is not Jack," was our hero's reply.

"Indeed! Perhaps you will do me the favor to tell me what is it."

"My name," said our hero, not liking the captain's tone, "is Charlie Codman."

"So you pretend to be wiser than your uncle," said Capt. Brace, looking towards the mate.

"He is not my uncle," said Charlie, boldly. If he had felt it to be prudent, he would have added that he had no desire for a relationship to Randall, but he knew that it would not be wise.

"Do you dare to contradict my first officer?" demanded the captain, with a frown.

"I am only telling the truth," said Charlie, undauntedly.

"Silence!" roared the captain, in a passion. "If he chooses to call you his nephew, you shall be so; do you hear that? I say, do you hear that?" he repeated, pounding with his clenched fist upon the table before him.

"Yes, sir," said our hero.

"Take care that you remember it then. Your name, henceforth, is Jack Randall,—at any rate, as long as you remain aboard this ship."

"How long am I to remain on board, sir?" Charlie could not help asking.

"How long?" repeated the captain. "Forever, if I choose. And now as this is the last conversation which I intend to hold with you on this point, you will bear in mind that you are shipped on board this vessel as a boy, and that, if you don't do your duty you'll get–"

We suppress the word with which the captain closed his sentence, not being willing to soil our pages with it.

This was rather a hard trial for our young hero, accustomed to a mother's gentle and affectionate words. Had he been less manly, he would have burst into tears; but he only turned pale a little, and bit his lips.

"Take him on deck, Mr. Randall, and set him to work," said the captain; "and mind, Jack, that I don't hear any complaints of you."

Charlie followed the mate to the deck. He had made up his mind that he must stay in the ship during the voyage, or, at all events until they reached land somewhere, and resolved that, since it was forced upon him, he would do his duty as well as he could, and so afford as little advantage as possible to those who seemed determined to persecute him.

He was set to work by Randall, who told him, in a sharp tone, to "mind his eye and keep to work, if he knew what was best for himself."

The work was not difficult, but Charlie's fingers were unpractised, and he might very soon have incurred the wrath of the captain and mate, if Bill Sturdy, the sailor whose friendly advances to our hero have already been noticed, had not approached him, the mate being temporarily out of earshot, and given him a little instruction.

"Well, my lad, what news?" inquired Bill. "Shipped for the voyage, are you?"

"That's what the captain and mate say," returned Charlie.

"They're a pair of precious rascals," said Bill, lowering his voice, "and it's my opinion they're well matched, so far as villainy goes."

"What made you ship on board the vessel?" inquired Charlie.

"Bless your soul, boy, I wouldn't a done it if I'd known who was in command; leastways, if I had known a little more about him. But I didn't ask any questions. I had just got in from a v'y'ge to Calcutta, and happened to see one of my old shipmates, Jim Davis, walking on the wharf. 'Bill,' says he, 'why won't you ship along of me?' I asked him where he was bound, and he telled me to Valparaiso, on board the Bouncing Betsey. Well, I've been most everywhere else, but I had never been there, and reckoned I should like to see it. Besides, I'd got tired of going to Calcutta. I've been there, man and boy, six or eight times. It's too hot to live there some parts of the year. So I just told him I was in for it if he was, provided there was a vacancy. I asked him if he knew anything about the officers. He said he didn't, but he guessed they would pass. So I just stepped into the office and shipped. There, lad, that's the whole story. I don't mind it much myself. They don't generally meddle much with me."

"Have you sailed with bad captains before?" inquired our hero.

"Yes, my lad, sometimes. One captain I sailed with—I was a young man then—was Captain Maguire. He was a sort of an Irishman, I surmise, and mighty fond of drink. He was pleasant enough when he was sober, but that wasn't often. When he was drunk, he got into a regular fury. He would tear round the deck like as he was crazy, and so he was after a fashion, for he didn't seem to know, after he had got out of his fits, what he had done when he was in 'em. One day, I remember, as I was at work, he came up to me, and gave me a terrible thwack side of the head, swearing like a trooper all the time."

"What did you do?" asked Charlie, looking up with interest into the weather-beaten face of the old sailor.

"I'll tell you," said Sturdy; "you see, I'm pretty strong," glancing at his brawny arms and herculean frame with pardonable complacency; "I don't often meet a man I can't manage as easily as the mate can manage you. Now the captain wasn't a large man, by any means, nor very strong, either. As to the mates,—one of them was sick in his berth, and the other was in another part of the ship; so I just took the captain up in my arms, and carried him down to the cabin, kickin' and cursin', as might be expected, and laid him down there. The officers did not see what was goin' on, or there'd have been trouble. As for the crew, they enjoyed it, and wouldn't a man of 'em tell; and as the captain didn't remember anything about it the next day, I didn't get punished."

"Did you ever get punished?" asked Charlie.

"Never since I grew up, and had these to fight my way with," said Bill Sturdy, showing his fists, which looked as if a blow from either of them would have felled an ox. "No, my lad, these are what I call my sledge-hammers, and I'd as lives have them to rely upon as a pair of pistols."

At this point in the conversation Bill was called off to some other part of the vessel, and the mate coming up discovered, somewhat to his disappointment, that our hero had discharged his task in a manner which did not admit of censure.

XVII.
THE RIVAL CHAMPIONS

It is customary to divide a ship's crew into two watches, whose duty it is to alternate in keeping a lookout at night. The first night-watch commences at eight o'clock, and continues till midnight. This watch is then relieved by the second, who have had an opportunity of sleeping in the mean time, and who remain on duty till four A. M. They then give place to the first, who are again on duty till eight in the morning. Thus it will be seen that a part of the crew have eight hours' sleep, while the remainder have but four. This inequality, however, is remedied the next evening, when the hours are changed.

Charlie was fortunate in one respect. He was placed on the same watch with Bill Sturdy, who had established himself, in some sort, as the boy's protector, and did not scruple to avow it. When some of the crew began to tease and play rough practical jokes upon Charlie,—a mode of treatment to which boys are frequently subjected on board ship,—Bill Sturdy interfered, and in a sonorous voice exclaimed,—

"Look here, shipmates, don't lay a finger on this boy!"

"And why not?" inquired a burly sailor, with naturally repulsive features.

"Because I say so," retorted Bill Sturdy.

"Who is he, I should like to know, that we are to keep our distance?"

"I'll tell you who he is, shipmates," was the answer. "He's a boy that the mate has entrapped on board without his own consent."

"Isn't he the mate's nephew?"

"No more than I am, though the mate chooses to call him so. He's got a mother living in Boston, and he's her only boy. She doesn't know what has become of him. Now, shipmates, he seems to be a fine lad, and I'm going to stand by him for his sake and his mother's."

Sailors are generous when you reach their hearts, and there was a murmur of approbation when Bill concluded.

But there is no rule without an exception, and that exception was the scowling sailor who has already been mentioned. Few knew much about him. This was his second voyage on board the Bouncing Betsey. Next to Bill Sturdy he was the stoutest and most athletic sailor on board the ship. During the previous voyage he had been the bully of the crew, taking advantage of his personal strength. Now they were relieved from his tyranny. In Bill Sturdy he had more than found his match. No one, comparing the two men, could doubt, that in a contest, the odds would be decidedly in favor of Bill. Antonio, for this was his name, for he was a Spaniard by birth, could not help seeing the changed state of affairs. Now no one likes to be eclipsed, and to see the authority passing from his hands into those of another. Certainly Antonio did not behold this transfer with indifference. He could not brook holding the second place, where the first had been his. But how could he help it? Very evidently the opinions of the crew favored Bill Sturdy; not only because they believed him to excel Antonio in physical qualities, which hold a high value in the eyes of a sailor, but because he had, as yet, shown no disposition to abuse his power. Antonio was resolved not to yield without a struggle, and therefore determined to take the first occasion to pick a quarrel with his rival, as this would give him an opportunity to measure his strength with him. Antonio did not see, what was evident to all else, that his rival was undeniably his superior in prowess. People are generally slow to admit their own inferiority. That is only natural. He hoped, therefore, that he should be able to re-establish his supremacy by coming off a conqueror in the contest which he had determined to do all in his power to bring about.

Antonio's attention had not been especially called to our hero, until he heard Bill Sturdy avow his determination to take him under his protection. Then, in a spirit of perverseness, and because he thought it would open the way for the trial of strength which he courted, he resolved to oppose him, and openly espouse the other side.

Accordingly, when the murmurs of applause, which had been elicited by his rival's frank and generous appeal to the sympathies of the crew, had subsided, Antonio looked round on the rough faces which surrounded him, and growled,—

"Well, shipmates, are you going to submit to what this fellow says? He dares you to touch this snivelling milk-sop of a boy."

Some of the faces grew dark and threatening at this representation. Nothing stirs up a sailor's heart to opposition so readily as anything which resembles a threat.

Bill Sturdy hastened to reply.

"He is wrong. I don't threaten any of you. I only ask if it is right to play tricks, and abuse a boy who has already been treated so scurvily by the mate. I don't believe there's any one of you that wants to curry favor with Mr. Randall and the captain. Now there is nothing they will like better than to see you kicking round this lad."

Neither the captain nor the mate stood very high in the good graces of the crew, and the effect produced by this statement showed that it was adroitly conceived.

Bill Sturdy took advantage of this to add, "Now, lads, when I say I am going to stand by this boy, and see that he isn't abused, I know you'll stand by me."

This frank and bold speech produced a decided reaction in favor of Charlie.

There was another murmur of approbation, which was interrupted by a stamp upon the deck by Antonio, who, with a ferocious contortion of countenance, shouted, "If you're all going to follow this man's lead, and do like dogs whatever he bids you, you'll find there's one here that dares to be independent."

Saying this, he advanced suddenly to Charlie, who was at work near by, and, seizing him by the shoulder, was about to proceed to some act of violence.

As soon as Bill Sturdy perceived his design, he sprang forward and gave him a powerful blow which would have felled him to the deck, had not Bill slipped a little, as he delivered it.

Instantly the Spaniard's sallow face was suffused, and, with a torrent of oaths and a howl of fury, he precipitated himself upon Sturdy.

But it was easier to catch a weasel asleep, than to take the stout sailor unprepared.

With his feet firmly planted upon the deck, and his fists in a proper position, he received the bully, parrying his blows with wonderful dexterity, and succeeding in planting others no less effective.

A ring of sailors gathered around, eager to watch the progress and termination of the affray. There were not a few among them, who enjoyed the punishment which they foresaw the Spaniard would receive from his antagonist. He had so tyrannized over them in the past, that they felt little sympathy for him now.

Baffled, blinded, and howling with mingled rage and vexation, the Spaniard continued the unequal fight. As for Bill Sturdy, he was cool and collected, apparently neither angry nor excited, but wary and on the alert.

At length Antonio, perceiving a marlinespike at a little distance, sprang towards it. It was a critical moment for Bill Sturdy, for a marlinespike, in the hands of a furious and determined man, is a formidable weapon.

His movement did not escape the notice of Sturdy.

He had acted principally on the defensive thus far, but he now saw that something decisive must be done.

Springing forward, he closed with his assailant, lifted him from the deck, and, carrying him to the companion-way, hurled him down stairs.

Then, turning to the crew, he exclaimed, "Shipmates, I call you to witness that this quarrel was forced upon me. Have I done right or wrong?"

"Right!" exclaimed all, in concert.

At this moment the mate, attracted by the noise, came on deck.