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XVIII.
ANTONIO'S RESOLVE

"What has been going on?" asked Randall, perceiving, from the position of the sailors and their looks, that something had happened. What it was, he surmised, having heard something of the noise of the conflict.

No one of the sailors spoke, but all looked at each other in hesitating silence.

"What was it? Are you all deaf?" demanded the mate, impatiently.

"A little fight, that is all, Mr. Randall," answered Bill Sturdy, coolly hitching up his pants.

"And you were one of the parties?"

"I believe I was."

"And who was the other?"

"Antonio."

"And where is he now?"

"He has gone below," said Bill, in a significant tone.

"What was the fight about?" inquired Randall, who, in ordinary cases, would not have cared to pursue the subject farther, but had an undefined idea that it was in some way connected with our hero, for whom he felt no peculiar affection.

"The fact is," said Bill Sturdy, "Antonio undertook to abuse that lad there," pointing to Charlie; "and I ain't one to stand by and see a boy abused. Besides," he added, with a latent humor which all understood, though he did not allow it to alter the gravity of his countenance, "I knew he was your nephew, and that made me the more anxious to defend him."

Randall was placed in an awkward predicament. He could not deny that Charlie was his nephew after his express declaration to that effect, while at the same time the relationship which he claimed was far from exciting, in his own mind, any attachment for the boy. Still it closed his mouth for the time. He only muttered, in an undertone, that the boy must fight his own battles, and disappeared from the deck.

"Fight his own battles!" repeated Sturdy, indignantly. "A pretty sort of an uncle he is, to match a boy of fourteen against a grown man, and a strong one at that. However," added Sturdy, complacently, "the lad's got a friend that is a match for Antonio at any time."

"That he has," answered a comrade; "but I say, Bill; I couldn't help laughing to see how you made that old shark shut up his mouth by telling him it was his nephew you were fighting for. It made him mad, but he didn't know what to say against it."

"His nephew! No, Jack, it's well the lad isn't any kith or kin of his. A drop of his blood would be enough to spile a decent lad."

"Ay, that it would."

Presently Antonio came on deck with a sullen air, half of defiance, half of humiliation, at his recent defeat. He smarted under the conviction, that henceforth his authority among the crew would be small. Hitherto he had been the champion and bully of the quarter-deck, and although the crew had no liking for him, but rather a decided feeling of an opposite nature, yet strength and prowess always command a certain rude respect among sailors, and that respect he enjoyed. But now all was changed. He had been beaten, and that in a fair fight, where all could see that no underhand means had been employed. Strength had been matched against strength, and he had come off second best. That had been a Waterloo day to him, and he knew that he returned to the deck no longer the same man so far as consideration went.

Bill Sturdy was a generous antagonist. He had no idea of indulging in exultation over his vanquished foe, but treated him as if nothing had happened.

But Antonio's resentment was deep and implacable. He thirsted for revenge, and determined to lull to sleep the suspicions of his late opponent, until some opportunity should present itself for an effectual and safe revenge.

Accordingly he suddenly recovered from his sullenness, and made some half advances towards Sturdy, which the latter met, but not without reserve.

"I can't kind o' feel as if the feller was to be trusted," said Bill to Charlie, one evening, as they were alone together. "There's something in his eye that I don't like; a sort of deceitful gleam, as if there was something covered up that he didn't like to show. For my part, I like to be fair and above board, and show just what I am."

"I'm sorry you have made an enemy of this man on my account," said Charlie.

"Avast, my lad, do you think I was going to stand still and let him abuse you? Thank heaven, old Bill Sturdy isn't such a lubber as that."

"But he may do you a mischief yet, Bill."

"Let him come within the reach of my arm," said Bill, swinging his brawny right arm as he would a flail, "I guess he wouldn't want to try it again."

"But he may take you at advantage."

"He will have to get up early in the morning, then," said Sturdy, in a tone of confidence. "No lubberly foreigner is likely to get ahead of Bill Sturdy, I can tell you that, my lad."

Both Bill and Charlie supposed that they were alone, and that this conversation was unheard by any other person, but in this they were mistaken.

On the other side of the mast crouched the dark figure of a man, who seemed to be listening intently to the conversation between the two. He remained very quiet, fearing, doubtless, that he should be observed. Evidently what he heard did not affect him pleasantly. His brow contracted, and a scowl of hatred made his features look even more dark and forbidding than was their wont, especially when Bill Sturdy made use of the last expression, his face exhibited a concentrated malice, which could only have been generated in a heart full of evil passions.

He ground his white teeth together and muttered to himself, as he crept cautiously from his place of concealment, and made his way to his bunk in the forecastle. "We shall see, we shall see. No man shall insult and triumph over me without repenting of it. He shall know, some time, what it is to excite the vengeance of a desperate man. He thinks the lion has become a lamb. He will find out his mistake."

Antonio might more appropriately have compared himself to a serpent, for his character had more of the subtlety of the noxious reptile than of the boldness and freedom of the monarch of the forest.

Unconscious of the concealed listener to their discourse, Bill Sturdy and our young friend continued their conversation. In the hours of darkness, when night broods upon the ocean, and no sound is to be heard save the dashing of the waves against the sides of the vessel, the sailor who is obliged to stand his watch would find the hours pass wearily if it were not for some method of killing the time. Among these is the spinning of yarns, for which sailors are so noted. This it was that occurred to Bill, as he stood with Charlie leaning over the side.

"I say, my lad, suppose we spin a yarn apiece, and that will make the time pass quicker."

"But I am not an old sailor, Bill; I don't know anything about spinning yarns."

"Tush, lad, I don't expect a salt-water yarn from you. I want a land yarn. I am sure, you have read a good many, and can think of one now. Just lead off, and when you get through, I'll try my hand at it."

Thus adjured, Charlie said, "Let me think a minute."

Bill leaned over the rail in silent expectation.

XIX.
CHARLIE'S LAND YARN

Charlie deliberated a moment, when he chanced to think of Nicholas Nickleby, the only one of Dickens's works he had ever read, and which, as it had interested him exceedingly, had impressed itself upon his remembrance.

"Did you ever hear of Nicholas Nickleby, Bill?" he inquired.

"Yes," was Bill's unexpected response; "when I was at Liverpool three years ago, she was lying alongside our ship."

"She!" exclaimed Charlie, in amazement.

"Yes," answered Sturdy, in a matter-of-fact tone, "she was a very good craft, and was in the West India trade. I saw considerable of her, being as how I got acquainted with Tom Seagrove, one of the men on board."

"Oh, yes, I see what you mean," said Charlie; "but I don't mean a ship, I mean a story of the same name."

"No, I never heard of it. Named after the ship, like enough."

Charlie thought it more probable that the vessel was named after the story, but as this was a point of little importance to the present occasion, he passed it by, and continued, "Well, Bill, it's a very interesting story, and as I remember that about as well as anything I ever read, I believe I will tell you part of it."

"Heave ahead, my lad."

"You must know that this Nicholas Nickleby was a young man whose father died when he was about nineteen, leaving him very little money, but a mother and sister to provide for. He had an old uncle Ralph, who was very rich, but an old rascal, who didn't trouble himself about his poor relations."

"That's the way with a good many rich people," said Bill. "They leave the smaller craft to shift for themselves."

"However, on being applied to, he did manage to get the sister a place in a millinery establishment, and, as for Nicholas, he got him a place as assistant teacher in a country boarding-school."

"He was a sort of first mate in the school, wasn't he?"

"Well, something like that, only he didn't fare half so well as a mate or any kind of an officer. All the old fellow gave him for his services was about twenty-five dollars a year and board."

"What made him ship on board the craft, then?"

"It was the only chance he had, so he thought he'd take it till he could find a better."

"What was the captain's name?" asked Bill, who stuck to his marine phraseology.

"His name was Squeers, and a tough old fellow he was. He had some thirty or forty boarding scholars, whom he treated shamefully. In the first place, he didn't allow them enough to eat."

"Why didn't they mutiny, and pitch the lubber overboard?" exclaimed Bill, indignantly.

"Because he had starved the spirit out of them. Besides, they were mostly small, and he had a wife as bad as himself, as well as a daughter who was–"

"A chip of the old block."

"Exactly. Do you want to know how he took away their appetites so that they wouldn't eat so much? He used to make them swallow a spoonful of boiling hot molasses, which scalded their throats, and made it hard for them to swallow."

"I'd like to have overhauled him," said Sturdy.

"If you had, I don't believe there'd have been much left of him, for he was a spindling sort of a man, tall and thin."

"And how did the young fellow like his place?"

"Not very much. He found they were going to half-starve him, too. However, he wouldn't have minded that so much as seeing the poor children abused. While all this was going on, the school-master's daughter fell in love with him."

"Was she pretty?"

"No," said Charlie. "She was the image of her father, and he wasn't anything of a beauty. She was thin, with a hatchet face and yellow hair. However, she continued to make herself think that Nicholas was in love with her, and one day, when her father and mother were gone to London to get a new scholar, she posted off to a female friend of hers, and told her that she had got a beau, and invited her friend and her beau to come to tea. When tea-time came, there they all were in the sitting-room, drinking tea, and faring a great deal better than Nicholas had before, since he had been at the school, when the other young lady and her beau began to poke fun at Nicholas, all on account of Matilda Squeers, whom they supposed him to be in love with. He didn't understand it at all, and told them so.

"'Why,' said John Brodie,—that was the other girl's beau,—'ain't you courtin' Tilda, here?'

"Nicholas protested that he never so much as thought of the thing. At this, Matilda turned all sorts of colors, for she had confidently told both of them that he was in love with her, and, besides, she had no idea that a poor, under-paid teacher would think of refusing her, the–"

"Captain's daughter," suggested Bill Sturdy.

"Exactly so. So you see the tea-party didn't end quite so pleasantly as it began, and from that moment Nicholas had a bitter enemy in the daughter of his employer."

"That's the way with female craft," said Bill. "What happened next?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Squeers came home, bringing the new boy with them. The first thing they did was to give a whipping all round, to make up for the time they'd been away."

"I wish I'd been there," said Bill, swinging his brawny arms.

"Among the scholars was one, worse treated than the rest, named Smike. He had been with them ever since he was a boy of six or eight, and his friends had deserted him. Mr. Squeers would have cast him off, only he found his work more than paid for the scanty food he ate, so he kept him; but he was so beaten and cuffed, and made to drudge so constantly, that it would have been better for him if he had been turned away. At last he determined to run away."

"Good for him!" said Bill.

"As soon as Mr. Squeers found he was gone, he went after him post haste, and, as the boy was weak and couldn't travel very fast, he soon overtook him, and brought him back, bound hand and foot, in the chaise. He suspected that Nicholas had helped Smike to escape, so he determined to inflict a cruel punishment upon him in presence of his assistant. Accordingly, he armed himself with a large whip, and, calling all the school together, he told Smike to strip, and was just about to lay the whip on his naked back when Nicholas shouted out 'Stop!' Squeers glared round, and said in a fierce voice, 'Who said that?' 'I said it,' said Nicholas; 'I tell you, stop!' Squeers turned white with rage, and threatened to whip Nicholas, also. He was about to commence the punishment, when Nicholas sprang from his seat, and, pulling the whip from his hand, knocked Squeers over, and began to belabor him with his own whip."

"Good!" exclaimed Bill, who had become much interested in the narrative. "I hope he made him scream for mercy."

"So he did, and Nicholas kept on belaboring him, notwithstanding Mrs. Squeers and her daughter went at him tooth and nail, and tried to pull him off. But he was so excited with anger that he felt strong enough to cope with half a dozen, and never left off till Squeers was black and blue and aching all over."

"Hurrah for Nicholas!" shouted Bill Sturdy, in great delight, at the school-master's discomfiture. "What happened next?"

"Nicholas packed up his clothes and left the house, but took care to carry Smike with him, knowing that he would otherwise fare badly."

"And what became of Nicholas afterwards? Did he reach port?"

"He met with a variety of adventures, but at length became rich and happy."

"That's a pretty good yarn," said Bill Sturdy. "I should have liked to help him whip the school-master, though."

"Now, Bill, I am ready to hear your yarn," said Charlie.

XX.
BILL STURDY'S STORY

After pausing a moment to collect his ideas, Bill Sturdy commenced his story.

"It was, mayhap, twelve years ago, or it might have been thirteen, since I sailed from New York in the ship Peregrine, bound for Havana. The Peregrine was quite a sizable ship, and I expected a pleasant voyage, as the captain was a frank, good-humored looking man. So he was when he was in his sober senses, but, unfortunately, this wasn't always the case. However, he used to keep pretty straight when he was at home, for if he had shown himself out it might have been hard for him to get employment. If Jack gets drunk it's no serious damage to the ship, but if the chief officer, to whom all look for commands, allows himself to drink too much, especially when a storm threatens, it's a pretty bad matter. You see, my lad, that when a captain is drunk, he does not generally know it himself, and is apt to think that he is perfectly able to manage the ship.

"Well, Captain Harvey, for that was his name, was an excellent seaman when he was sober. He was a thorough sailor, and knew every rope in the ship. But, as it happened, it would have been better if we had had a captain who knew less and kept sober.

"Captain Harvey kept pretty straight at first, as I was saying, and we men began to like him. He was a pleasant-spoken man, though he meant to be obeyed when he gave an order. I liked him all the better, because the captain I had gone with last was a different kind of man. It wasn't always a word and a blow with Captain Lafarge, but oftentimes the blow came first. Well, times seemed changed, and that was what I was saying to a messmate of mine, who had sailed with me under the other captain, when Captain Harvey came on deck. That was the third day out; his face looked unusually red, and his eyes bloodshot. He staggered up to us, gave me a blow side of the head, as he said, or rather hiccoughed, for he couldn't speak very plain, 'Wh—what are you—hic—doing there, you rascal?'

"Now, my lad, I'm not one to stand a blow very patiently; I'm rather apt to resent it, and so I should this time, but as I looked up I saw how matters stood, and that took away my anger. I liked Captain Harvey, and I knew that when he was right he would never think of giving me a blow without any cause, so I didn't do anything, but answered, as respectful as I could,—

"'I hope I am doing my duty, Captain Harvey.'

"'You lie,' he stuttered again.

"I did not feel called upon to give any answer to this charge. It was as well that I didn't, for he waited a minute and then left me.

"Well, this was the first that any of us knew of the captain's habits. We were all sorry, even those that liked to drink themselves, for this was the only fault we could detect in our chief officer, and it was a pretty serious one, as it turned out. I told you, didn't I, that we were bound for Havana?"

"Yes," said Charlie.

"Well, it sometimes happens that there are violent storms in those latitudes, and the coast is dangerous to approach. Time passed, and although Captain Harvey would have his blow-out now and then, yet there had been no particular damage so far, perhaps because we had had pretty quiet weather. Now, however, we had got into the region of gales, and we all hoped the captain would keep sober.

"But that wasn't to be.

"One morning, I remember, we had a powerful gale. The ship was behaving pretty well under it. She was a staunch craft when we started, and bade fair to see a great many years' service. So, on the whole, we didn't feel uneasy till the captain came on deck.

"We saw at once that he was drunk, a good deal drunk, and not fit to take care of the ship. He staggered up to the mate, and asked him how fast the ship was going.

"The mate reported, ten knots an hour.

"'Ten knots an hour!' repeated the captain, contemptuously. 'Is that all? We must go faster.'

"'But, Captain Harvey,' said the mate, 'there is a violent gale. Do you think it prudent to increase our speed?'

"'Prudent!' thundered the captain, 'do you think I would give the order if I didn't think so? Not a word more, sir, but call all hands, and make sail.'

"Nothing was to be done but to obey.

"Accordingly the reefs were let out of the topsails, the top gallant sails set, and even the fore top-mast studding sail. Now, my lad, although you are not much of a sailor, you can understand that it was perfect madness to carry so much sail in such a tempest. I knew at once what would happen, and prepared for the worst. There was a hen-coop lying on deck, and I resolved, that if the worst should come to the worst, I would spring for that.

"The worst did come to the worst. The ship pitched about like a mad thing, and creaked and groaned as if she were a human being in the greatest distress, and I can tell you the sailors looked black enough. We felt that our lives were being risked, and all for the intemperance of one man. That scene cured me of drinking grog. I haven't drank a drop since."

"Did anything happen to the ship?"

"Yes, my lad, something did happen to the ship. A heavy sea struck her amidships, and pitched her over upon her side. After we recovered, we found that she was strained severely and leaking badly. Well, the end of it was, that we had to abandon her. The rest of the crew got on board the boats, but there wasn't fairly room, and they were so overloaded that I thought it would be safer trusting to the old hen-coop. They tried to get me on board the boats, but I had a kind of suspicion that the boats wouldn't live. So I stuffed all my pockets with biscuit, filled a tin measure with water, and trusted myself to the hen-coop."

"Did the boats live?" inquired Charlie, with interest.

"Not a single one. They were never heard from again. No doubt they all went down in the storm.

"Well, my lad, it wasn't the pleasantest thing pitching about on a hen-coop on the wild sea, fifty miles, at least, from land. But my hope was, that I should be seen by some vessel bound for Havana. In that case I knew I would be safe. I had provision enough to last me three days, and I could make my water last as long by being sparing of it. I had to hold on to the hen-coop pretty tight, or I should have been washed off by some of the heavy seas. Of course, I got completely drenched by the salt water, and what was worse, the biscuit got drenched too, which didn't improve its taste, I can tell you.

"So I tossed about for twenty-four hours. By this time the gale had gone down, and the sea was more quiet. It was at this time that, casting my eyes about to see if I could anywhere catch sight of a sail, I descried one apparently making towards me."

"Wer'n't you delighted?"

"I was at first," said Bill, "but as she came nearer I tried not to attract her notice."

"Why?" asked Charlie, in great surprise.

"Because, my lad, I recognized in her the Red Rover, one of the most noted pirates that cruised in those seas."