The Second String

Abe Sharp laughed again. He, too, was in a good humour.

"I confess I had a trifle on that horse Slack named. Only a trifle, mind you. I'll see what can be done for you; but if steam is up, and you sail in two hours, I fear it will be impossible for me to accede to your request."

"Steam can be let off," said Job.

"What do you require on board?" asked Sharp.

"Most things; you can't go wrong whatever you send aboard, unless it be salt," said Job.

"You have never complained before about the provisions."

"Your memory is failing. I made one complaint five years ago, and said I'd let it stand good so that I need not be at the trouble of repeating myself."

"I understand; and let me tell you, Captain Seagrave, we are perfectly satisfied with you. Our firm never forgets the men who serve us well."

"I have been in your employ about twenty years," replied Job, "and if you have not forgotten me, I cannot say you have remembered me."

"You have had your salary raised," said Sharp.

"That has not hurt me. The rise was imperceptible."

"Really, I think you deserve some consideration. I'll mention the matter to the Board."

"We shall be half way to Australia then."

Abe Sharp was amused. He knew very well Captain Seagrave was underpaid; but he could do very little for him on his own initiative.

"You must sail as soon as possible. When can you leave?" he asked.

"When I get my two passengers on board. I have to find them first."

"That's awkward; but have you no idea where they are?"

"The young fellow who rode Topsy Turvy yesterday I can lay hands on pretty quick, and no doubt he'll find his chum."

Sharp was interested.

"Is Jack Redland going out with you?"

"Yes; I thought you knew."

"I was not in the office when he came with Marton. His father was a well known man in the city."

"Was he? Then the son does not take after him. He's a gentleman," said Job, who hated the city and the men in it.

Abe Sharp winced. He said sharply —

"I am busy now, Captain Seagrave; but I'll see about sending down to the ship."

"And when must we sail?"

"I'll have the papers ready for you to-morrow."

"Very well, I may not see you again. I always feel like that when I leave London in the 'Golden Land,'" said Job, with which parting shot he stalked out of the office.

He sent a telegram to Jack Redland to Brighton, and received a reply to the effect that he would be on board the next day.

"That's business," said Job as he read it.

He did not leave the ship again, and the following morning the chief officer put his head in at the door of his cabin and said —

"It's come, sir."

"What's come?" asked Job.

"The consignment from the office."

"Good lord, you don't say so. What is it?"

"Cases. Tinned stuff and bottled stuff."

Captain Seagrave went out to inspect.

Piled up on the deck were over a dozen cases, and his practised eye saw at a glance they were of the right sort.

"Any message with them?"

"None, except that they were sent with Mr. Sharp's compliments to Captain Seagrave. How did you work it?" asked Slack.

"I gave him a pretty lively half hour. I reckon he'll not be sorry when we are at sea. I told him I had made my will, and left a written statement behind as to the state of the 'Golden Land.'"

Sam Slack laughed heartily.

"How did he take it?" he asked.

"Solemnly, he didn't care for the medicine."

"And I got a fiver out of him. Skipper, something's going to happen. Sharp's been converted."

"Perhaps he has; but he'll be no credit to the sect he patronises. They'll have to lock up the collection boxes pretty quick."

The chief engineer walked solemnly round the cases as he saw them on deck.

"Where are these from?"

"The office."

"Is it rat poison?"

"No, it's a present from Sharp to the skipper."

Mac sat down; the blow was too much for him.

"A present from the office?" he said slowly. "You're certain it's not explosives?"

"She'll go down soon enough without any assistance of that kind," said the chief officer.

"Does he know about it?" and he pointed towards the captain's cabin.

"Oh, yes; he worked the oracle yesterday."

"He actually pumped some of the milk of human kindness into Sharp's wretched body?"

"That is so."

"Then I'll go and shake hands with him," said Mac, and went to the cabin. He stood looking at the skipper solemnly, and Job said —

"What is it, Mac?"

"I want to shake hands with you, captain. I'll consider it an honour."

The skipper held out his hand, wondering what it was all about.

"I congratulate you," said Mac. "I did not think any man breathing could have done it."

"Done what?" asked Job.

"Tapped Sharp," said Mac, as he walked quietly away, and Job Seagrave roared with laughter.

CHAPTER SEVENTH

WEATHERING THE STORM

The "Golden Land" started on her voyage to Fremantle with Jack Redland and Harry Marton installed on board in the most comfortable cabin in the ship.

"I'd have given you mine with pleasure," said Job, "but although it's pleasant and airy, it's difficult to manage. You want to know it thoroughly or you come to grief. In a rough sea you stand a good chance of being washed out if the door is left open, and you might forget to shut it."

Jack Redland said they were quite satisfied with their present quarters, and had no desire to turn the skipper or anyone else out.

He had bid a hurried farewell to Sir Lester and Winnie, and the parting was keener than he anticipated.

Left alone with the girl he was sorely tempted to ask her to be his wife, but he knew it would not be fair to bind her in any way. He saw by her face that she was deeply moved, and his heart beat high with hope. She might wait for him. She might be true to the unspoken love they both felt. If he made a fortune in a few years all might be well, but he knew he must hurry and leave no stone unturned if he meant to win her.

"Take this, Jack," she said, handing him a small miniature of herself, which her father had had painted not long before. "It will remind you of me in the distant land, and I hope, make you feel you have a friend whose thoughts are with you at all times."

"It is the greatest treasure I have," he said, and then, unable to control himself longer, he took her in his arms and kissed her. In another moment he was gone, hurrying from the house, almost afraid of what he had done; but as he turned round to wave farewell, he saw her standing there, both arms outstretched, as though she would call him back at the last moment. He knew he would never forget that picture or the kiss he had given her. Winnie was sorrowful, and yet happy. Jack had betrayed himself, and she knew he loved her.

"Poor Jack," she murmured, "I will wait for him until he returns, no matter how many years it may be."

She told her father, and he smiled. Jack was out of the way, and she might forget. He could afford to be generous; at the same time he sympathised with them, and had financial matters been other than they were, nothing would have pleased him better than to have the young man for his son-in-law.

"I gave him my miniature, I hope you do not mind," she said. "I wished him to have some remembrance of me."

"You did quite right; nothing could have pleased him more, and you can have another painted," he replied.

So the "Golden Land" steamed on her way, parting the lovers as the ocean has parted thousands for ages past.

Although an old boat, she acted fairly well, and was not quite so coffin-like as her skipper described her.

They coaled at Port Said, where Jack and his friend went ashore, to find the usual cosmopolitan crowd, as dirty and unclean as ever. They were not sorry to be on board again, and when they left the Red Sea behind and steamed out into the wide ocean, the refreshing breezes invigorated and put new life into them. The sea air seemed to tell of hope and fortune, and Harry Marton especially was not at all sorry he had left London far behind.

"We'll have a night ashore at Colombo, young men," said the skipper the day before they arrived at Ceylon. "There's plenty to see, and it will be a change for you; and it's our last port of call."

They were nothing loath, and when the ship entered the harbour she was quickly surrounded with all manner of small boats, of various shapes and sizes, manned by noisy shouting natives, clamouring for custom.

Job Seagrave was not long in putting things in order, and leaving the chief officer in charge, they were pulled ashore by a couple of villainous looking dark-skinned natives.

"A nice couple of niggers to row respectable white men," said Job.

One of the men grinned. He evidently had some idea of the nature of the remark.

"You look uglier than ever now," said Job. "Take my advice, and keep your smile for dark nights; it's far too powerful for daylight."

They walked through the bazaars and the skipper showed them most of the sights that were interesting. Everything was new to them: the bright coloured garments, the waving tropical trees, with their huge leaves, the almost naked natives and rickshaw runners. It was difficult to tell the women from the men. Outside the town swarms of dark-eyed naked children surrounded them, clamouring for coins, no matter how small, and showering blessings upon their path, in quaint broken English, as they walked along.

They strolled about for the greater part of the night, and in the early morning returned to the ship.

"They turn night into day here," said Jack, "and no wonder, for it must be unpleasantly hot in the burning sun."

"You are right, it is," replied Job, "but you'll find it a lot hotter where you are going to, and if you tackle Barry Tuxford's pearling business you'll be as near to a certain place as it is possible to get in this world."

"A nice look-out, anyway," replied Jack, "but we shall not back down."

After leaving Colombo a couple of days there were signs of a storm, and Captain Seagrave knew what that meant in this latitude. Once he had given up all hope of saving the "Golden Land," but she pulled through, although it was a narrow squeak. He had no desire for another such experience. Anxiously he scanned the sky, and saw great black masses rolling and chasing each other like angry billows. There was a peculiar moaning sound in the air like spirits in torment; he had heard it before, and dreaded it. The heat was oppressive, and Jack thought the ship was as hot as an oven. He, too, watched the sky, but was not aware of the danger. He saw the skipper on the bridge and went towards it.

"There's something brewing up there," said Job shouting down to him.

"Rough weather, eh?"

"Yes, we're in for it."

"We have had no occasion to grumble so far," replied Jack, "and we can hardly expect to get through without some kind of a rough and tumble."

Blacker and blacker grew the clouds, and the roaring sound increased in volume.

"Better get below," roared Job, "or hold hard on to something."

Jack caught hold of the rail near him, and steadied himself. He had no intention of going below and was curiously anxious to see a storm at sea. As he looked up at Captain Seagrave, and saw his face, he felt there was a man who could be trusted, who would never lose his courage, and he commenced to understand why the "old tub" had weathered so many storms. The skipper might be a rough man, unpolished, but his heart was in the right place, his nerves true as steel, and the desire to do his duty strong within him. Such men as these, Jack thought, have made England the nation she is, and raised her merchant vessels and ocean steamers to the highest pitch. Ashore Captain Seagrave might cause smiles to cross the faces of men who were as mere pigmies compared to him now.

Suddenly the coming storm struck the ship. She staggered, quivered, groaned, swerved, then righted herself and plunged forward into the boiling, seething mass of water again.

Jack held on tight, for the wind howled and shrieked around him, and every timber seemed to creak and groan. Far ahead he saw Sam Slack gesticulating furiously at some of the crew; he wondered how he kept his legs with such a heaving, shivering mass beneath him. Sam, in his way, was quite as good a man as the skipper, although he was not born to control and lead like Job Seagrave. He obeyed any orders given him, no matter the danger involved in carrying them out, but he would have been afraid to give them on his own responsibility.

Jack watched him curiously, and then looked up at the bridge. Captain Seagrave was shouting through a trumpet to Slack, who heard him amidst all the din, and came towards him. Then there was a roar of words which were unintelligible to him, but which the chief officer understood, and hurried "forrard" again. It seemed easy for him to walk the deck; Jack tried the experiment, but as he let go his hold the ship lurched; he fell heavily, and a huge wave washed him into the centre of the vessel. He was unhurt, and laughed at his experience, but had no desire to try it again. All through the night the wind howled, and the seas swirled round the "Golden Land," in huge angry masses. When Jack staggered on deck again next morning he saw Captain Seagrave at his post on the bridge, braving the still furious elements, fighting them until they were beaten.

"He's been there all night," said Sam Slack, as he shouted into Jack's ear; "you never catch our old man leaving the bridge in a gale like this. I'll be glad when we're out of it. So long as he sticks at it we stick at it for shame's sake. Mac's been down in the engine-room all night, and he's there yet. If strong language can keep his boilers going it'll be done. Mac's powerful in a storm, it kind of works him up, and he knows the engines are none too good, and want watching like babies. Where's your mate?"

"Down below. He's very bad; wishes he was ashore, I think," said Jack laughing.

Towards the afternoon the storm slackened, and Job Seagrave left the bridge. Jack followed him into his cabin.

"You have had a rough night's work," he said. "I can quite understand now why the 'Golden Land' has made so many safe passages."

Job smiled as he pulled off his oilskins.

"It was pretty rough, I acknowledge; but we have been in many worse things in our time. As for me being on the bridge, I would not leave the old tub in any other hands; they'd smash her for a certainty – don't know her as well as I do. We understand each other, and when I give my orders, she obeys. Sam's all right, a real good sort, but she'd not do for him what she will for me."

Mac came in, grimy, and mopping his face with a greasy rag.

"I told 'em to let me know when you'd come off the bridge," he said. "You'll be the death of me some day. It's hell down below, and every minute I'm afraid there'll be a burst up."

"Not with you in charge, Mac. I have been telling Mr. Redland the ship understands me better than any man on board, and it's the same with you and the engines."

"Yours is a cooler job than mine," growled Mac.

"I know you are always nice and warm," replied Job, "but think what an advantage it is in cold weather."

"We never run into cold weather," replied Mac with a grunt. "Why don't you take a trip to the Arctic regions to give us a chance of getting even with you?"

"I'll think it over," replied Job. "Meanwhile try this, it will do you good," and he poured out a stiff nip of whisky.

Mac drained it at a gulp, and his eyes glistened.

"One more will just about recompense me for a beastly night in the black hole," he said.

Job laughed and gave him another.

"Is this some of Sharp's stuff?" he asked.

"Yes, do you like it?"

"It's all right. Sharp is a much better man than I took him for; there's a probability of a rise all round when we get back."

During the remainder of the voyage the weather was glorious, and as they neared the coast of Australia, Jack and his friend were keeping a keen look-out for the promised land. The first sight of it was not prepossessing, it looked a barren uninviting coast line, but Job Seagrave told them, although it seemed inhospitable, there were plenty of grand places inland.

The "Golden Land" entered the harbour at Fremantle, and Jack and Harry felt a keen regret that the voyage was at an end. Throughout the trip everyone on board had done their best to make things pleasant, and to part with Captain Seagrave, Sam Slack and Rufus Macdonald, was like taking leave of old friends.

"You have no occasion to hurry," said Job. "Make the ship your home for a day or two longer if you like; you are quite welcome. But I expect it won't be long before we have Barry Tuxford on board. He's a quick man, is Barry, and when he hears we are in port he'll be down as soon as he can, no matter where he may be."

This was true enough, for the morning after they arrived at Fremantle he came on board. He recognised Harry Marton at once, and cast a sharp glance at Jack when he was introduced.

"They'll do, I fancy," he said to Job Seagrave, who stood by watching him with some amusement. He knew Barry's way of reckoning up people, and making up his mind on the spot.

"Yes, they'll do; mind they are not too good for you. They are clever, very clever, and far better than most of the men you get out here."

"I have had some good ones through my hands in my time," was the reply.

"Come and dine with us to-night," said Job. "We'll have a merry party on board, and it will serve to make you better acquainted. I have something important to tell you about one of these young men that will interest you very much indeed. You are fond of racing, and you'll be surprised when you hear my yarn."

"I like a bit of sport," replied Barry, "and I have a few good horses, but I don't let it interfere with my regular work, not if I know it."

"And what may be your regular work this trip?" asked Job.

Barry laughed as he replied —

"Fishing, my boy; fishing in deep waters, and what's more, finding 'em too."

"Finding what?" asked Job.

"Pearls, lovely pearls," replied Barry, "and I'll be back for dinner, skipper, and tell you all about it."

CHAPTER EIGHTH

BARRY TUXFORD

Barry Tuxford was one of those clever, shrewd colonials who can turn their hands to almost anything, and make it pay. He would tackle any business or job with no fear of failure, and in his time he had followed many occupations. A hard worker himself, he expected the men in his employ to follow his example, and he was not at all slow at reminding them of their faults, when they had any that particularly annoyed him. He had travelled in many parts of Australia and seen life on the gold fields when the miners' camps were rough and dangerous, and men sought for the precious metal with their lives in their hands. He had tried station life, and found it too slow, accordingly he changed it, and took an hotel in a mining township. Here, much to his credit be it said, he held his own, conducted his house as respectably and orderly as could be expected in a community where customers pitched nuggets into a bucket in payment for "quenchers," and where the women caused even more trouble than the miners. The police respected Barry, and he was wise enough to keep in their good books. He had a bullet wound in his arm, caused by a shot from an angry miner, at close quarters, across his counter; but he made light of it at the time, and went on with his business without interruption. His coolness and courage were unquestionable, and he might have been in more than one big thing in his time had his restless spirit not led him to seek new sources of labour.

Barry Tuxford had money; how much no one ventured to surmise, for it was difficult to reckon him up financially, he had a finger in so many pies. He could not have summed up his financial position in a few hours, it would take him months. His wealth fluctuated according as the enterprises in which he was engaged panned out, but he seldom lost much over his ventures, and was generally considered a lucky man. All his life he was of an uncertain age – he might be anything from forty to fifty, or more – he had fought for his own hand, and if the cards favoured him, so much the better. As a lad he had been turned loose in a mining camp when his mother died, and his father was shot in a brawl. At this time he was twelve years old, and knew as much almost as a man of twenty. Miners are a rough lot, but the majority of them are straight goers, and dislike bouncers and blackguards. They are also generous when their luck is in. Young Barry Tuxford was popular; his misfortunes touched the right chord in many a rough nature, and he lived a merry life in the camp for some years. He managed to secure a claim in a new rush, and it turned out fairly well. He sold it for a considerable sum and cleared out of Victoria to Western Australia. It was one of the peculiar characteristics of Barry Tuxford that at this time he should have made his way to a colony about which very little was known, and that little anything but encouraging. Advice was given him to go to New South Wales, as it was a prosperous colony, while Western Australia was a desert sparsely populated. His reply was that he preferred the desert as there would be more room for him, and not so much chance of being crowded out. He had some difficulty in reaching Perth, and when he arrived there was so disgusted at his prospects that he shipped with a pearler to Batavia, and from there eventually found his way to North-West Australia, and on to the Lacepede Islands, where there was such an abundance of green turtle that he wondered if anything else managed to live in the place. This pearl shelling expedition was not a success, so far as he was concerned; but he had never forgotten his experiences, or the probabilities held out if a rich lot of shell could be discovered. For many years after his return to Perth he was too much occupied to put to any practical use these experiences of his early days, until a chance meeting decided him to try pearl fishing again on his own account. One Jacob Rank, a man Barry had known in Victoria, informed him that good pearls were to be had in a large bay some five hundred miles to the north of Fremantle. How he came by his knowledge he imparted to him, and as it was a question of his having the money and his informant none, he made very good terms. Unfortunately, Jacob Rank was drowned on the first trip of the pearling boats, and the men who accompanied him declared on their return that the whole thing was a hoax, and that there was no pearl shell in the bay.

Barry Tuxford paid them off, but did not believe their story. He had his doubts as to how Jacob Rank came by his end, for they were a rough crew he had with him. He kept his suspicions and his opinion to himself, but he meant to have those pearls. Jacob Rank had no reason to give him false information; on the contrary, it was to the man's interests to deal fairly by him. He even had his doubts about Rank having been drowned, and thought it more than probable he had been deserted when absent from the schooner. The crew of the boats were only paid wages, and had no interest in the venture, so it was possible they determined to make the trip one of pleasure, and not toil, and accomplished this by leaving the leader of the expedition in the lurch. It was about this time Barry Tuxford received Harry Marton's letter, and it occurred to him he would be a useful, trustworthy representative to send out with a second fleet. It was not necessary he should know anything about the sailing of such vessels, all that would be required of him would be to see that everything was carried out in a satisfactory way. It was with this intention he wrote to him, and asked him to bring a chum if he wished. Two such men would be better than one.

When he saw Harry Marton and Jack on the "Golden Land," he was quite satisfied he had acted for the best. He at once took a fancy to them, and he was quick in his likes and dislikes. Captain Seagrave was an old friend, and he was ready enough to accept his invitation to dine on board, more especially as it would enable him to find out what manner of young men these were. The captain had so he said, "spread himself" in the matter of providing good entertainment for his visitor.