Chapter 12. Making Friends

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_ CHAPTER TWELVE. MAKING FRIENDS

"Well, what is it?" said the skipper gruffly, as his son followed him on deck and touched him on the arm.

"Don't you think it possible, father, that--"

"That I could turn aside from what I have got to do, boy? No, I don't."

"But he's ill and weak, father."

"Of course he is, and he's getting better as fast as he can. What's more, he's a boy--in the depth of despair now, and in half-an-hour's time he'll be himself again, and ready to forget his trouble."

"I don't think he will, father."

"Don't you? Then I do. I have had more experience of boys than you have, and I have learned how Nature in her kindness made them. Look here, Poole, I believe for the time that boys feel trouble more keenly than do men, but Nature won't let it last. The young twig will bend nearly double, and spring up again. The old stick snaps."

The skipper walked away, leaving his son thinking.

"I don't believe father's right," he said. "Fitz doesn't seem like most boys that I have met. Poor chap, it does seem hard! I don't think I ever felt so bad as he must now. I wish I hadn't had to come away, for it was only an excuse on father's part. He doesn't want me. It was only to leave the poor chap alone."

Acting upon these thoughts, Poole tried to think out some excuse for going down to the cabin again as soon as he could. But as no reasonable excuse offered itself, he waited till the half-hour was expired, and then went down without one, opened the cabin-door gently, and gravely stepped in, to stop short, staring in astonishment at the change which had come over his patient, for he was sitting bent down with his hands upon his knees at the edge of his berth, swinging his legs to and fro, with every trace of suffering gone out of the eyes which looked up sharply.

If Poole Reed was surprised at the midshipman's appearance, he was far more so at his tones and words.

"Hallo!" he cried. "Thought you'd gone to fetch those fishing-lines."

"I--I--Oh, yes, I'll get them directly," stammered Poole.

"Look sharp, then. The fish are playing about here like fun. I saw one spring right out of the water just now after a shoal. The little ones look like silver, and the big chap was all blue and gold."

"All right; I won't be long," cried Poole, and he hurried out, letting the door bang behind him.

"Well, I was a fool to worry myself about a chap like that. Why, he doesn't feel it a bit."

But Poole Reed was not a good judge of human nature. He could not see the hard fight that was going on behind that eager face, nor how the well-trained boy had called upon his pride to carry him through this struggle with his fate.

Poole thought no more of his patient's condition, but hurried to the boatswain, who scowled at him fiercely.

"What!" he said. "Fishing-lines? Can't you find nothing else to do, young fellow, on board this 'ere craft, besides fishing?"

"No; there is nothing to do now."

"Wha-a-at!"

"You know I spoke about them before. It is to amuse the sick middy."

"Yah!" came in a deep growl. "Why didn't you say so before? Poor boy! He did get it hot that time."

"Yes," said Poole maliciously, "and I believe it was you who knocked him down."

The grim-looking, red-faced boatswain stared at the speaker with his mouth wide open.

"Me?" he said. "Me? Why, I was alongside the chap at the wheel."

"Were you?" said Poole, grinning to himself at the effect of his words. "Then it couldn't have been you, Butters. Come on and get me the line."

"Gammon!" growled the boatswain. "You knew it warn't all the time. Come on."

He led the way to his locker and took out a couple of square reel-frames with their cord, hooks, and sinkers complete.

"Ketch hold," he said gruffly, and then giving Poole a tin box which rattled loudly, he growled out, "Plenty of spare hooks in there. But don't lose more than you can help. Where are you going to fish? Off the taffrail?"

"No; out of the stern-window."

"What! How are you going to haul in your fish?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"See what a mess you'll make, my lad."

"I'll clean up afterwards," said Poole.

"I don't believe you will get any. If you hook one you'll knock it off in pulling it in. Why don't you bring the poor lad up on deck and let him fish like a human being, not keep him cuddled up below there like a great gal?"

"But he's so weak, he can hardly stand."

"Set him down, then, in a cheer. Do him good, and he'll like it all the more."

"Well, I never thought of that," said Poole eagerly. "I will. But oh, I mustn't forget the bait. I must go and see the Camel."

"Nonsense! Bait with a lask cut off from the first fish you catch."

"Of course," cried Poole; "but how am I to catch that first one first?"

"'M, yes," said the boatswain, with a grim smile. "Tell you what; go and ask the Camel to give you a nice long strip of salt pork, fat and rind."

"Ah, that would do," cried Poole; and he hurried off to the galley, where he was welcomed by the cook with a nod and wink, as he drew a little stew-pan forward on the hot plate, and lifted the lid.

"Joost cast your nose over that, laddie," he whispered mysteriously.

"Eh? What for?"

"It's the middy laddie's soup fresh made, joost luvely."

"Oh yes, splendid," said the lad, and he hurriedly stated his wants, had them supplied, and went back to the cabin ready to prepare for catching the first fish.

"Look here, Burnett," he said, "it'll be very awkward fishing out of this window. How'd it be if I put a cane-chair close up under the rail? Don't you think you could manage if I helped you up there?"

"I don't know. I am afraid I couldn't walk," said the boy dubiously. "I'd try."

"Oh, never mind about your walking! If you'll come I'll run up and put a chair ready, and then come back for you. I could carry you easily enough if I got you on my back."

One moment Fitz had been looking bright and eager; the next a gloomy shade was passing over his face.

"Like a sack," he said bitterly.

"Well, then, shall I make two of the lads carry you in a chair?"

"No," said the boy, brightening up again. "If I put my arm over your shoulder, and you get one round my waist, I think I could manage it if we went slowly."

"To be sure," cried Poole, and he hurried on deck, thrust a long cane reclining chair into the place he thought most suitable, and had just finished when his father came up.

"What are you about, boy?" he said; and Poole explained.

"Well, I don't know. I meant for him to come up this afternoon, but I thought that it was all over after that upset. How does he seem now?"

"Just as if he were going to make the best of it, father."

"Then bring him up."

A minute later the tackle and bait were lying on the deck beside the chair, and Poole hurried down to the cabin to help his patient finish dressing, which task was barely completed when there was a tap at the door and the Camel appeared, bearing his morning "dose," as he termed it.

This was treated as a hindrance, but proved to be a valuable fillip after what the boy had gone through, and the preparation for that which was to come, so that, with the exception of once feeling a little faint, Fitz managed to reach the deck, leaning heavily upon his companion; but not unnoticed, for the mate caught sight of him from where he was on the look-out forward, and hurried up to take the other arm.

"Morning, Mr Burnett," he said eagerly. "Come, this is fine! Coming to sit in the air a bit? Oh, we shall soon have you all right now."

The boy flushed and looked pleased at the kindly way in which he was received, and as he reached the chair there was another welcome for him from the hand at the wheel, who had the look of an old man-of-war's man, and gave him the regular salute due to an officer.

"Feel all right?" said the mate.

"Yes, much better than I thought."

"Fishing, eh?" said the mate. "Well, good luck to you! Come, we shan't look upon you as an invalid now."

"Lie back in the chair a bit," said Poole, who was watching his companion anxiously.

"What for?"

"I thought perhaps you might feel a little faint."

"Oh no, that's all gone off," cried the boy, drawing a deep long breath, as he eagerly looked round the deck and up at the rigging of the smart schooner, whose raking taper masts and white canvas gave her quite the look of a yacht.

There was a look of wonder in the boy's eyes as he noted the trimness and perfection of all round, as well as the smartness of the crew, whose aspect suggested the truth, namely, that they had had their training on board some man-of-war.

From craft and crew the boy's eyes wandered round over the sea, sweeping the horizon, as he revelled in the soft pure air and the glorious light.

"How beautiful it seems," he said, half aloud, "after being shut up so long below."

"Come, that's a good sign," said Poole cheerily.

"What's a good sign?" was the sharp reply.

"That you can enjoy the fresh air so much. It shows that you must be better. Think you can hold the line if I get one ready?"

"Of course," said Fitz, rather contemptuously.

"All right, then."

Poole turned away and knelt upon the deck, laughing to himself the while, as he thought that if a big fish were hooked the invalid would soon find out the difference. And then the boy's fingers moved pretty quickly as he took out his junk-knife and cut a long narrow strip from the piece of fatty pork-rind with which the cook had supplied him.

Through one end of this he passed the point of the hook, and then brought it back to the same side by which it had entered, so that a strip about six inches long and one wide hung down from the barbed hook. The next process was to unwind twenty or thirty yards of the line with its leaden sinker, and then drop lead and bait overboard, running out the line till the bait was left about fifty yards astern, but not to sink far, for there was wind enough to carry the schooner along at a pretty good pace, trailing the bait twirling round and round behind, and bearing no small resemblance to a small, quickly-swimming fish, the white side of the bait alternating with the dull grey of the rind, and giving it a further appearance of life and movement.

"There you are," said Poole, passing the line into the midshipman's hands. "I will unwind some more, have fished like this before, haven't you?"

"Only a little for whiting and codlings," was the reply. "I never got hold of anything big. I suppose we may get a tidy one here?"

"Oh yes; and they are tremendously strong."

"Not so strong but what I can hold them, I dare say," said Fitz confidently.

But his confidence was not shared by his companion, who unwound the line till there was no more upon the frame, and then gave the end two or three turns about one of the belaying-pins, leaving a good many rings of loose line upon deck.

There was need for the foresight, as was soon proved. Fitz was sitting leaning right back with his eyes half-closed, thoroughly enjoying the change; the trouble of the morning was for the moment numbed, and no care assailed him. He was listening as he enjoyed the sensation that thrilled the nerves of his arm as the bait and lead sinker were drawn through the water far astern with a peculiar jigging motion, and questioning Poole about the kind of fish that they were likely to encounter as far south as they then were.

"You have been across here, then, before?" he said.

"Oh yes; four times."

"Ever seen any sharks?"

"Lots; but not out here. I saw most close in shore among the islands."

"What islands?"

"Oh, any of them; Saint Lucia, Nevis, Trinidad. Pretty big too, some of them."

"Ever catch one?"

"No, we never tried. Nasty brutes! I hate them."

"So does everybody, I suppose. But, I say, think we shall catch anything to-day?"

"Oh yes; but you mustn't be disappointed if we don't. Fish swarm one day, and you can see as many as you like; another time--you go all day long and you don't see one."

"I say, this isn't going to be one of those days, is it? I haven't had a bite yet. Think the bait's off?"

"Not it. That tough skin closes up round the hook, and you would almost have to cut it to get it over the barb. It makes a capital bait to stick on, but of course it isn't half so attractive as a bit of a bright silvery fish. I'll change it as soon as I can. I wish we had got one of those big silvered spoons. I think father's got two or three. I will go and ask him if you don't soon get a--"

"Oh! Poole! Here! Help! I--I can't--Oh, he's gone!" panted the middy.

For all at once his right arm received a violent jerk, and as the line was twisted round his hand he was dragged sideways, and but for Poole's ready help would have been pulled off the chair helplessly on to the deck. Fortunately for him the skipper's son was on the _qui vive_, and stopping the convalescent's progress with one hand, he made a snatch at the line with the other.

"He's too much for you," cried Poole. "Here, shake your hand clear of the line. I've got him. That's the way. Has it hurt you?"

"It seemed to cut right into the skin," panted Fitz. "He must be a monster. Oh, whatever you do, don't let him go!"

"No, I won't let him go," was the reply; "not if I can help it. He is a pretty good size. We will make a double job of it. Here, I'll haul him in a few feet, and then you can take hold in front of me, and we will haul him in together. No, he won't come yet. I shall have to let him run a little--I mean, we shall have to let him run a little. Now then, foot by foot. Let's let the line run through our hands."

This was done steadily and slowly, till another fifty yards of line had been given, the fish that had been hooked darting the while here and there, and at a tremendous rate, and displaying enormous strength for a creature of its size.

But it had to contend not only with the drag kept up by the boys, but the motion of the schooner as well, with the result that its strength soon began to fail, till at last it was drawn behind the gliding schooner almost inert.

"There," cried Poole; "now I think we might have him in. I was afraid to haul before for fear of dragging the hook out of its jaws. Look at that now!" he cried impatiently.

"What's the matter? Don't say he has gone!"

"Oh no, he's not gone. Why, he is making a fresh dash for his liberty. But we can't lift him in by the hook, and I never thought about getting a gaff.--Here, hi!" he cried. "Come here, Chips!"

One of the sailors sidled up--a dry-looking, quaint man with a wrinkled face, who broke out into a smile as he saw what was going on.

"Fish, sir?" he said, and his hand made a movement toward his cap. "Want me to fetch my bag of tools?"

"Yes," cried Poole. "I mean, get that long-handled gaff from down below."

"Right, sir," and the man trotted off, leaving the two lads slowly and steadily hauling in yard after yard of the line.

"Still fast on, sir?" cried the man to Fitz, as he stood what looked like a highly-educated boat-hook against the rail.

Fitz made no reply, for his face was flushed and his teeth hard set in the excitement of his task.

"Oh yes, we've got him fast enough, Chips," said Poole. "Be very careful, for he's a heavy one, and Mr Burnett here wouldn't like to lose him now."

"All right, sir," said the man, taking up the long shaft again, and lowering it down over the side. "I don't know, though, whether I shall be able to reach him from up here. It looks like being best to get down to the rudder-chains. No; it's all right. I shall manage him if you get him close up to the side."

"Steady! Steady!" cried Poole. "He's making another flurry. Let him go again. No, it's all right--all over; haul away."

By this time the great drops of perspiration were standing upon Fitz's brow, joining, and beginning to trickle down the sides of his face; but his teeth were still hard set, and intent upon the capture he kept on hauling away as hard as his weakness would allow.

"There," cried Poole, at last. "You caught him; but you had better let me have the line to myself now to get him closer in, so that Chips can make a good stroke with the gaff and pull him right aboard."

"Yes," said Fitz, with a sigh; "I suppose I must," and with his countenance beginning to contract with the disappointment he felt, he resigned the line and sat back in the chair, breathing hard, gently rubbing his aching muscles, and intently watching what was going on. That did not take long, but it was long enough to attract the other men who were on deck, and they came round, to form a semi-circle behind the middy's chair, while Poole hauled the fish closer and closer in beneath the counter, and then stayed his hand.

"Can you do it now?" he cried.

"Not quite. I'll come round the other side," replied the handler of the gaff, who, suiting the action to the word, changed his place, leaned right over the rail, almost doubling himself up, and then uttered a warning--

"Ready?"

"Yes," was the reply.

"Now then, half-a-fathom more."

What followed was almost instantaneous. Poole made two fresh grips at the line, pulled hard, and then with an ejaculation fell backwards on to the deck with the hooks upon his chest.

"Gone!" groaned Fitz; but his exclamation was drowned in a roar of laughter from the men, and a peculiar flapping, splashing noise caused by the fish, in which the gaff had taken a good hold, bending itself into the shape of a half-moon as it was hauled over the side, giving the man saluted as Chips a violent blow with its tail, and then as it flopped down upon the deck slapping the planks with sounding blow after blow.

Following directly upon the laughter there was a loud cheer, and in the midst of his excitement at the triumphant capture, Fitz heard the mate's voice--

"Well done, Mr Burnett! That's about the finest bonito I ever saw. I thought you'd lost him, Chips."

"Nay, sir; I'd got my hook into him too tight; but it was touch and go."

"Yes, that's a fine one," said Poole, taking hold of the detached hook and drawing the captive round in front of Fitz's chair.

"Yes," replied the boy, who sat back wiping his brow; "but it isn't so big as I expected to see."

"Oh, he's pretty big," said the mate--"thick and solid and heavy; and those fellows have got such tremendous strength in those thin half-moon tails. They are like steel. Going to try for any more?"

The mate looked at Fitz as he spoke.

"It's very exciting," he said, rather faintly, "but I am afraid I am too tired now."

"Yes," said the mate kindly. "I wouldn't try to overdo it the first time you are up on deck. Lie back and rest, my lad. Send for the Camel, Poole, lad, when you have done looking at it. Now, my lads, two of you, swabs."

He turned away, and a couple of the men set to work to wash and dry the slimy deck, but waited until the little admiring crowd had looked their fill, the foremost men seeming to take a vast amount of interest in fishology, making several highly intellectual remarks about the configuration of the denizen of the deep. Before long though the real reason of their interest escaped them, for one made a remark or two about what a fine thick cut could be got from "just there," while another opined that a boneeter of that there size ate tenderer boiled than fried.

By that time Fitz's excitement had died down, and he no longer took interest in the beautiful steely and blue tints mingled with silver and gold, that flashed from the creature's scales. In fact, in answer to a whispered query on the part of Poole, he nodded his head and let it lie right back against the chair. This was the signal for the Camel to be fetched to help bear the big fish forward to the galley, ready for cutting up, while the two men with bucket and swab rapidly finished cleaning and drying the deck, so that the damp patches began to turn white again in the hot rays of the sun.

It was all very quickly done, and then Poole began to slowly wind up the long line, giving every turn carefully and methodically so as to spread the stout hempen cord as open and separate for drying purposes as could be.

He took his time, dropping in a word or two now and then, apparently intent upon his task, but keenly watching his companion all the while.

"Hasn't been too much for you, has it?" he said.

"No," replied Fitz; "not too much, for it was very interesting; but it was quite enough. I don't quite know how it is, but I have turned so sleepy."

"Ah, you are tired. Sit quite back, and I will draw the chair over here into the shade. A nap till dinner-time up here in the air will do you no end of good, and give you an appetite for dinner. There; the sun won't be round here for an hour."

It was easily done, the cane legs gliding like rockers over the well-polished deck, and the lad returned to his place to turn the winder where he had stood the line to dry. This process was going on rapidly, and he stopped bending over the apparatus to examine the hook and stout snood, to see that it had not been frayed by the fish's teeth. This done, he turned to speak to Fitz again, and smiled to himself.

"Well," he said, "it doesn't take him long to go to sleep," for the tired midshipman's eyes were tightly closed and he was taking another instalment of that which was to give him back his strength. _

Read next: Chapter 13. A Question Of Duty

Read previous: Chapter 11. Thoughts Of Home

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