The Old Tobacco Shop

He remained there for two days.

What occurred during those two days he could not remember very well afterwards. He slept a great deal, and it seemed that some one with a green patch over his eye came in now and then; but he paid very little attention. All he wanted was to go to sleep and stay asleep.

On the morning after his third night he sat up wide awake. He was hungry. He jumped up and dressed in a hurry. As the floor tilted and sank and rose with him he thought he had never felt so delicious a sensation. He wondered if there would be bacon and eggs for breakfast.

In a moment he had thrown open the door and he was running up a short flight of steps. He was weak and tottery, but he paid no attention to that. He was at the top of the steps, and he drew in a deep breath of the cool morning air.

He was standing on the deck of a great ship. Over his head clouds and clouds of beautiful white canvas swelled out to the breeze. The sun was sparkling merrily on the water, and there was no land to be seen anywhere. Up forward, the bow of the ship was dipping and rising regularly. There were three tall masts, and on the first two the sails were set square to the masts, and on the third lengthwise; every sail seemed to be up. It was glorious.

He walked forward up the deck. Here and there were men in blue overalls, cleaning the deck, coiling ropes, and polishing metal; and in a little house with windows a man was standing beside an upright wheel. Near the first mast, in a group, were Aunt Amanda, Mr. Toby, the Churchwarden, and the two old Codgers. Freddie hailed them with a shout.

"All right, young feller," cried Mr. Toby, as Freddie came up, "here we are! How is this for a corking spree? Beats all the Tolchester excursions you ever see, that's what I say! Blamed if it don't. I ain't been out of bed for two days."

"No more has any of us," said Aunt Amanda. "Do you feel well, Freddie? I declare I'm quite excited. Isn't the air invigorating?"

"Yes'm," said Freddie. "What did you say in your note, Mr. Toby?"

"What note?" said Toby.

"Why, your note to my mother, explaining about me and – "

"By crackey!" cried Toby. "Blamed if I didn't clean forget all about it! Now ain't that too bad! What on earth are we going to do about it?"

"Well!" said Aunt Amanda. "Now ain't that just like you, Toby Littleback? I declare if your head wasn't fastened on you'd – "

"Wery reprehensible," said Mr. Punch. "Wery."

"My dear friends," said the Sly Old Codger, "let us not be disquieted on such a morning as this. Everything is so beautiful. So beautiful! And without any expense whatever. It is a precious thought. How pleasant it is to hear the breeze blowing so gently among all the little capstans up there!"

He took off his high silk hat and looked up among the sails with a rapt expression on his face, and all the others looked up too, trying to see the capstans fluttering in the breeze.

"Look!" cried Aunt Amanda. "Why, there's Mr. Hanlon!"

Far, far up, near the top of the second mast, was a white figure, standing on a rope under the topmost sail, and holding on with one hand and waving the other down at the passengers. Mr. Toby waved his white derby, and Mr. Hanlon began to come down. Freddie trembled with alarm, but Mr. Hanlon was obviously having the time of his life. He skipped swiftly along his dangerous perch, and sliding down and along the spars of wood that held the sails, and actually leaping from one to another, and tripping lightly down ladders of rope, while the whole top swayed dizzily from side to side, he at length came down on the deck with a bounce, and bowing to everybody shook Freddie by the hand.

"Here comes the Able Seaman!" cried Toby. "And see what he's got on his wrist!"

Mr. Lemuel Mizzen came rolling down the deck, and as he approached he took off his cap with his left hand and made a bow. On his right wrist was a blue and red parrot, who cocked his head sideways at the strangers, and then looked up inquiringly at the Able Seaman.

"Good morning, all!" said Mr. Mizzen. "Glad to see the passengers come to life again! Nothing like the open sea, lady and gentlemen!"

"Are you sure it's perfectly safe?" said Aunt Amanda.

"Perfectly safe, ma'am. A tight little bark is The Sieve, provided the dippers hold out. Most of the men is below now, baling out the water with their dippers, and the ship ain't leaking more than ordinary – yet. Of course you never can tell what may happen, but there's plenty of dippers, unless we should founder in a storm, or split up on the rocks, or – "

"Mercy on us!" cried Aunt Amanda. "I wish we hadn't come. If I only had some sewing with me."

"Would you mend socks, ma'am?"

"Oh, that would be lovely! And I could look after the men's shirts, too, and count the laundry when it comes home, and – I'm sure we are going to have a delightful voyage! I feel better already. I don't believe there's any danger after all. It's all nonsense about the ship's leaking."

"Who's your f-f-f-friends, L-l-lem?" shrieked a voice from Mr. Mizzen's wrist.

Everyone started, and looked in amazement at the parrot, whose head was perked sideways up at Mr. Mizzen's face.

"L-l-lem!" shrieked the parrot, stuttering terribly. "Who's your f-f-f-friends?"

"Never you mind," said Lemuel, "you'll find out soon enough. Breakfast's ready. Anybody want breakfast?"

Before anyone had a chance to reply, the parrot opened his mouth wide and gave a loud laugh, and cried out:

"Th-th-three ch-cheers! Th-th-there's ch-ch-chops, s-s-steak, b-b-bacon and eggs! I'll have l-l-l-liver and onions! Ha! ha! ha! Th-th-three ch-cheers for l-l-l-liver and onions!"

"Be quiet, Marmaduke," said the Able Seaman. "I'll lock you up again, if you ain't careful."

"K-k-k-ker-choo!" said Marmaduke, giving a loud sneeze; and rubbed his beak with his foot and fluttered his feathers. "L-l-l-lock me up in the a-a-after hold, till I g-g-g-get all over this d-d-d-dreadful cold! Th-th-three ch-cheers for hay f-f-f-fever! K-k-k-ker-choo!"

"I'll lock you up in the after hold, if you don't quit being so fresh and bold; I'll learn you manners before I'm through, and if ever I hear one little – "

"Ker-choo!" said Marmaduke, finishing Mr. Mizzen's sentence for him very neatly.

Everyone laughed, except the Able Seaman.

"All right," said he, "just wait till I've had my chow, I'll attend to you proper; now off with you – now!" And he tossed Master Marmaduke off his wrist up into the air. The parrot lit on a spar overhead, just under a sail, and peered down at the company without the least appearance of embarrassment.

"If there's b-b-b-bacon and eggs," he cried, "I'll take l-l-l-liver! Th-th-three ch-ch-cheers for l-l-l-liver!"

Freddie burst into a merry laugh, and all his friends joined; all except Mr. Punch, who looked puzzled.

"'Ow could 'e 'ave liver," said he, "hif there was only bycon an' heggs?"

At this everyone laughed louder than before, and Mr. Punch was completely perplexed.

"I'll explain that to you some day," said Toby. "Didn't you never hear a joke?"

"Ho, yes," said Mr. Punch. "Hi 'eard a wery good joke once; a wery good one indeed. Hi'll relate it to you. When I was a lad – "

"There's the breakfast bell," said Mr. Mizzen. "Sorry to interrupt, but we mustn't let it get cold. We'll hold the election afterwards."

No one waited to hear Mr. Punch's joke. The Able Seaman led the way, and all the others followed him down the deck, towards a kind of three-sided box which opened on a stairway below.

In a moment or two they found themselves in the dining-saloon, and in another moment they were seated about a round table, set for breakfast. The passengers insisted on the Able Seaman's sitting down with them, and he consented to do so.

A lad of about eighteen entered, to wait on the table. He had a shock of bright red hair, and a kind of frightened look in his eyes, as if he were afraid he would do everything wrong, and would always be in hot water about it. He stood behind the Able Seaman's chair, and began to make a queer contortion of the face, in an effort to speak.

"Th-th-th-there's – " he began.

"Skipper first," interrupted Mr. Mizzen, nodding towards Freddie.

The Cabin-boy (for that was what he was) went to Freddie's chair, and began to speak again, with the same contortion of the face.

"Th-th-th-there's ch-ch-chops, s-s-s-steak, b-b-b-bacon and eggs," he said.

"Yes, sir," said Freddie.

The Cabin-boy stared in bewilderment, and began again.

"Th-th-th-there's ch-ch-chops, s-s-s-steak, b-b-b-bacon and eggs," said he.

"Yes, sir," said Freddie, much embarrassed.

"I don't blame you, skipper," said the Able Seaman. "I would too, if I hadn't eaten for two days. Next!"

The Cabin-boy stood behind Aunt Amanda's chair, and began:

"Th-th-th-there's ch-ch-chops, s-s-s-steak, b-b-b-bacon and – Ker-choo!" He gave a hearty sneeze, and pulled out his pocket-handkerchief; so he had to begin all over again:

"Th-th-th-there's ch-ch-chops, s-s-s-s-s – "

"Chops, thank you," said Aunt Amanda.

The Cabin-boy took his stand behind Toby's chair, and began:

"There's – there's – th-th-th-th – Ker-choo! Th-th-there's ch-ch-ch-chops, s-s-s-s-s – "

"Chops and steak," said Toby.

The Cabin-boy stood behind each of the other chairs in turn, and repeated each time his entire list. Everybody gave a different order, and the boy became so bewildered at last that he wiped his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, brushed a tear from his eye, and when he had taken the last order dashed out of the door with a kind of sob.

As soon as he was gone, sounds came through the door by which he had left, as if a dreadful row was going on in the next room.

"Frightful temper, that cook," said the Able Seaman, "but the boy certainly does get on his nerves."

In a short time the Cabin-boy came in with four plates at once, and as he reached Freddie's chair the ship gave a deep lurch downward, and the four plates shot out of his arms across the room, showering the floor with chops, steak, bacon and eggs.

The boy gave a wild cry and burst into tears, and fled through the door. From the next room came the sound of a row more violent than before.

"Never mind," said Mr. Mizzen, "he'll be back."

He came back presently, his eyes very red, and stumbling in and out managed to put down before each one a plate. Every plate contained chops, steak, bacon and eggs.

"Now," said Mr. Mizzen, when the breakfast was over, "we'll go up and hold the election."

When they came on deck, they were astonished to see a considerable number of men in blue overalls, who were sitting on the deck in a group. As the passengers approached, they stood up respectfully, and one of them said something privately to Mr. Mizzen.

"They've held the election already," said the Able Seaman, turning to the passengers. "There's three dozen of 'em, and they've elected the captains and mates for the voyage; thirteen captains and twenty-three mates. They went right ahead without waiting for me, so I'm the only Able Seaman left on the ship."

"What!" said Aunt Amanda. "Do you mean to tell me – ?"

"It's all right, madam," said Mr. Mizzen in an undertone. "You see, they're all free and equal, and everything goes by voting. They won't have it any other way. It's lucky they didn't all want to be captains. It's all right, anyway, because there's none of 'em knows anything about navigation, and I'm the only one on board that does know; so it comes to the same thing as if they had elected me captain. But of course they don't think of that. Not a word. I'll send 'em about their business now, as soon as they've put on their uniforms."

"Well!" said Aunt Amanda, gasping. "I never in my life – !"

The thirteen captains and the twenty-three mates disappeared from the deck in a hurry, and in a very few minutes reappeared. Each one of them wore, in place of his blue overalls, a smart blue suit with brass buttons and gold braid, and a jaunty blue cap with gold braid around it; the mates having only nine instead of ten rows of braid around their sleeves.

The Able Seaman led them aside, and after a few words with them returned to his passengers.

"Everything's settled," said he. "Some of them are going below with their dippers, and the rest of them are to look after handling the ship. The navigation is left to me. We'll get along fine now, provided the leaks don't get any worse."

Freddie wandered off by himself, to inspect the ship. He could walk very well now, in spite of the roll of the ship, and he went everywhere. He found himself finally on the after deck, leaning over the rail and watching the wake of the ship boiling away so white and beautiful behind. He was more and more delighted with this strange adventure. It was too bad that Mr. Toby had forgotten to write the note to his mother, but it couldn't be helped now, and they would sometime find a place somewhere or other where they could post a letter. It was so entrancing to be actually at sea on a ship, with the deck rising and falling, and the wake boiling away behind, and land nowhere in sight, that it would seem a pity ever to arrive at the Spanish Main; but the thought of adventures there – ! However, he was in no hurry to have the voyage over.

Aunt Amanda was sitting somewhere with a pile of sailors' socks in her lap, perfectly contented. Mr. Hanlon was swinging his feet away up yonder from the topmost yard of the second mast. The Churchwarden, Mr. Punch, Toby, and the Sly Old Fox were engaged in an earnest discussion in chairs beside the deck-house. The Old Codger with the Wooden Leg was speaking confidentially in the ear of the twenty-first mate, in an effort to borrow a pipeful of tobacco.

Suddenly Freddie heard behind him the loud harsh laughter of Marmaduke the parrot. Turning round, he saw the parrot perched on the ship's rail, and before him was the Cabin-boy, shaking his finger in the parrot's face, and storming away at him angrily. Freddie immediately went over to them.

"I w-w-w-won't s-s-s-s-stand it no l-l-l-l-longer!" the Cabin-boy was bawling, his face nearly as red as his hair. "I w-w-w-won't! W-w-w-what do you m-m-m-mean by m-m-m-mocking me all the t-t-t-ime?"

"Who? M-m-m-m-m-me?" said the parrot.

"Y-y-y-yaas, y-y-y-you!" cried the Cabin-boy. "Just because I s-s-s-s-s-stutter, do you – do you – do you have to – have to – s-s-s-s-stut-stutter too?"

"M-m-m-m-me? You're entirely m-m-m-m-mistaken. You're the one that s-s-s-stut-s-s-s-stutters."

"Ain't you always s-s-saying – saying – ch-ch-chops, s-s-s-steak, b-b-b-b-bacon and eggs? Ain't you? You've got to k-k-k-k-quit – r-r-right now, d'you hear? I w-w-w-won't s-s-s-stand it no l-l-l-l-longer, and you b-b-b-better b-b-b-believe it!"

"Highty-tighty! Sixty, ninety! Uncle Sam! Pop pop! Th-th-there's ch-ch-chops, s-s-s-steak, b-b-b-bacon and eggs! Th-th-three ch-ch-cheers for l-l-l-liver and onions!"

The poor Cabin-boy burst out crying.

"All ri-i-i-ight," he sobbed, stamping his foot. "All ri-i-i-ight. I c-c-can't help it – if – I do s-s-stutter. But there ain't no p-p-p-p-parrot going to m-m-m-m-mock me, M-m-m-m-mizzen nor no M-m-m-m-mizzen. I'll wring – your – bla-a-a-asted – neck first, you ornery – l-l-l-little – varmint, you s-s-s-see if I – see if I – d-d-d-don't!"

"Marmaduke's my name!" shrieked the parrot. "Please to note the same! Pop, pop, pop! I'll have l-l-l-liver and onions, l-l-l-l-liver and onions, l-l-l-l-liver and onions, pop, pop, pop!"

The Cabin-boy, shaking with sobs, raised his hand threateningly.

"D-d-d-d-don't you d-d-d-dare t-t-t-to – Ker-choo!" He sneezed, and out came his handkerchief.

"Ker-choo!" sneezed the parrot, and rubbed his beak with his foot.

This was the last straw. The Cabin-boy reached for Marmaduke's neck, and would surely have choked him then and there, if Freddie had not caught his arm and pulled him away.

The Cabin-boy allowed himself to be led off, and Freddie drew him along towards the companion-way.

"Come along down to my room," said Freddie.

"All r-r-right," said the Cabin-boy, wiping his eyes and sniffling. "I'll c-c-c-come, b-b-b-but there's going to be trouble – trouble – on this sh-sh-sh-ship along o' that p-p-p-parrot before this – before this v-v-v-voyage – is over, you m-m-m-mark m-m-m-m-my w-w-w-w-words!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE CABIN-BOY'S REVENGE

It was a soft moonlight night in southern seas. Our party of adventurers, with Mr. Mizzen in their midst, were sitting quietly on the after part of the deck, enjoying the balmy air and watching the bright track which the full moon made on the water. The sea was very calm. There was only a light breeze, and The Sieve was hardly moving.

Mr. Mizzen was scratching the head of Marmaduke the parrot, who was perched on the Able Seaman's wrist. From the forward part of the deck, where the skippers and mates were sitting in a party of their own, could be heard the tinkle of a guitar and the sound of a voice singing.

"One always enjoys," said Mr. Punch, "a bit of singing by moonlight on the water. Hi remember when I was a lad – "

"Why don't you sing for us yourself?" said Toby.

"Oh, do!" cried several of the others.

Mr. Punch looked down at the deck bashfully. "Hi should be wery glad to oblige," said he, "but I 'ave a slight cold, and besides, Hi only know one song."

"What is the name of it?" said Aunt Amanda.

"Kathleen Mavourneen," said Mr. Punch.

"That's a very good song," said Aunt Amanda. "Sing it."

"Wait a minute," said Mr. Mizzen, "and I'll get the guitar. I can play it."

While he was gone, and while the others were talking, Freddie felt a hand on his arm, and looking down saw the Cabin-boy sitting on the deck beside his chair, and winking up at him with a strange excited look on his face. The Cabin-boy pulled Freddie's head down, and whispered in his ear.

"S-s-s-sh! K-k-keep your eyes o-o-ope-open! Something's going to happen to-to-tonight! You'll see! Down with M-m-mizzen and M-m-marmaduke!"

Freddie gazed at the Cabin-boy in some alarm, and was about to ask a question, when Mr. Mizzen returned with the guitar.

"Now we're ready," said he, taking his seat and putting Marmaduke on the rail of the ship. "Here's the chord. All right, Mr. Punch."

"Hi really 'ave such a cold – " said Mr. Punch.

"That's understood," said Toby. "Now then, strike up."

Mr. Punch cleared his throat very loud, and coughed once or twice, and began to sing:

"Kathleen Mavourneen, the gr'y dorn is bryking,The 'orn of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill."

"Ha! ha! ha! ha!" roared Toby. "The 'orn of the 'unter! Blamed if I ever hear the like of that before! My stars! What's the matter, Mr. Punch, can't you put in a little 'h' now and then? The 'orn of the 'unter! Oh my stars! Ha! ha! ha! ha!"

Mr. Punch was deeply offended. "Hit is quite sufficient," said he. "Hi shall sing no more." And nothing that anybody could say could induce him to go on.

"Toby Littleback," said Aunt Amanda, "it's just like you, all over. Now you ask Mr. Punch's pardon, right this minute."

Toby apologized, and Mr. Punch said that it was of no consequence whatever; but he would not sing.

"Then I guess you'll have to sing for us yourself, Mizzen," said Toby.

"Right-o," said Mr. Mizzen, thrumming on his guitar. "What'll it be?"

The Cabin-boy sniffed and spoke in an undertone close to Freddie's ear.

"He'll be s-s-singing on the other s-s-side of his f-f-face before this night's o-o-over, you mark m-m-m-my wo-wo-words!"

"Lady and gentlemen" – began Mr. Mizzen.

"Ker-choo!" sneezed the parrot. "A wet sh-sh-sheet and a f-f-flowing s-s-s-sea! Three cheers f-f-for the – Ker-choo! Three cheers f-f-for hay f-f-fe-fever!"

"Down with b-b-b-both of 'em!" whispered the Cabin-boy fiercely in Freddie's ear.

"Suppose you sing us something about yourself," said Aunt Amanda.

"Ay, ay, ma'am," said Mr. Mizzen; and after playing a few chords and quivers on the guitar, he began to sing, in a voice like a fog-horn muffled by a heavy fog, the following song concerning the

LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF L. MIZZEN"When I was a lad I was bad as I could be,Wouldn't say 'Thank you' nor 'Please,' not me,And at church I wouldn't kneel but only on one knee,And at school I wouldn't study my A B C,And I couldn't conscientious with the Golden Rule agree,Nor understand the secret of its popularitee,Nor get a ounce of pleasure from the Rule of Three, —I was bad right through; sweared 'hully gee,'And worse sometimes, like 'jiminee;'Scrawled with a pencil on my jographee,Stole birds' eggs in the huckleberry tree, —Oh, I was bad; tried to learn a fleaHow to keep his balance on a rolling pea, —Oh, regular bad; and my ma, said she,'If you don't be better than what you be,I'll put you in the cupboard and turn the key.'But I wouldn't and I wouldn't, no sirree,So I ran away to sea;Yes, I ran away to sea;With a little gingham, bottle of cambric tea,And a penny wrapped up in my hankerchee,For I wanted to be free,So I ran away to sea."

Mr. Mizzen stopped, and looked towards the stern of the ship. "I thought," said he, "I kind of noticed something queer about the stern rail; looked as if it was lower. But I guess I'm mistaken."

Everyone looked, but saw nothing amiss. The Cabin-boy tittered into Freddie's ear.

"Would you like to hear the second verse?" said the Able Seaman.

"Yes, yes! Go on!" said several voices at once.

"Here goes, then," said Mr. Mizzen, thrumming on the guitar. "After I ran away to sea, I had a good many adventures, and some of 'em – anyway —

"When I was young I followed the EquatorFrom Pole to Pole in the ship Perambulator,A four-wheeled schooner, a smoky old freighter,Loaded with sulphur for an old dead craterIn the Andes Mountains, and a night or two laterWith a three-knot gale blowing loud and rudeAs the dark grows darker and the gale increasesOf a sudden we strike and we goes all to piecesOn the forty-seventh parallel of latitude.And then and there we formed a committeeAnd went in a body up to London CityAnd walked up the steps and pulled the little bell,And spoke out bold to the Lords of CreationWhere they sat in their wigs making rules of navigation,And explained to 'em the dangers of the Deadly Parallel.'Take 'em down and pull 'em in,'That's the way we did begin:''Tisn't leaks nor 'tisn't whiskeyMakes the sailor's life so risky,It's the parallel as lies acrost our track.It's the Deadly Parallel, lying there so long and black,Is the subject of our moderate petition;'Tisn't much that we are wishin',But we humbly beg permissionTo implore, —Coil 'em up, we implore, where they won't be in the way,Out of sight, safe ashore, we humbly pray;For there's many a tidy barkStrikes against 'em in the darkAnd is never never heard of any more.So we'll thank you heartileeIf so very kind you'll beAnd remove this awful danger from the sea.'But we couldn't make 'em do it;No, they simply wouldn't do it;And the bailiff shoved us gently from the door.And we wept uncommon salty,For their reason did seem faulty,Any way that we could view it:And the reason which they gave usWhy they really couldn't save usWas because the thing had ne'er been done before;No, such a thing had ne'er been done before."

Mr. Mizzen stopped again, and looked along the deck and up at the masts, and said, "I can't get it out of my head that the deck is slanting a little more than usual; the ship doesn't seem to come up well at the stern. However, – would you like to hear any more of this song?"

Everybody begged him to go on.

The Cabin-boy plucked Freddie's sleeve. "I've done it. You'll s-s-s-see! Won't that M-m-marmaduke and that M-m-m-mizzen sing another tune when they f-f-f-find out?" Freddie looked at him in amazement; but the Able Seaman was commencing the third verse of his song:

"When I was older, and bold as you please,I shipped on the good ship Firkin of Cheese,For a v'yage of discovery in the far South Seas,To gather up a cargo of ambergrisThat grows in a cave on the amber treesWhere the medicine men, all fine M.D.'s,For the sake of the usual medical fees,Crawl in by night on their hands and kneesIn a strictly ethical manner to seizeThe amber fruit that is used to greaseThe itching palm in Shekel's Disease, —On a long long v'yage, as busy as bees,Never stopping for a moment to take our ease,Never changing our course, except when the breezeTook to blowing to windward, – we had slipped by degreesDown the oozy slopes of the Hebrides,And passed through the locks of the Florida Keys,Which in getting through was a rather tight squeeze,But danger is nothing to men like these,When suddenly the lookout, a PortugueseWho had better been below a-shelling peas,Shrieked out, 'They are coming! By twos and threes!On the starboard bow! We are lost! – "

"We're lost! we're lost! we're lost!" came a terrible cry from the forward part of the ship, as if in echo of Mr. Mizzen's song. "We're lost! The dippers! The dippers!"