Chapter 8

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_ CHAPTER EIGHT.

It was a pleasant sound: sometimes a mere humming, sometimes the melody sung to a few of the words.

For Carey was lying in his berth with his head turned so that he could gaze through the open port-hole at the glorious, glistening sea, and as the doctor very softly pushed the door a little open there came clearly to the listeners' ears a scrap of the old sea song, "The Mermaid":--

"And we jolly sailor boys were sitting up aloft,
And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,
And the land-lubbers lying down below.

"Hullo! Who's that? Oh, you, doctor! I say, what a time you've been! I'm so hungry. Mayn't I get up?"

"Good signs those, my lad," said the doctor, cheerily; "but not yet," and he sat down, after easing the poor boy's bandages, to chat to him about the state of affairs, every word of which was eagerly drunk in, while Bostock played the part of cook and warmed up some gravy soup.

It soon became evident that Carey was going to develop no bad symptoms from the injury to his head, and that his sufferings were to be confined to the broken collar-bone, which, under Doctor Kingsmead's care, gave promise of a rapid knitting together. There was pain enough to bear, but the boy's bright elastic temperament was in his favour. He was what the doctor called a good patient, and health and youth joined to help him on.

As soon as possible he was allowed on deck to watch the making of a raft and use his uninjured glass in studying the shore of the island, with its constant change of hue. Then, too, there was the reef with the clouds of spray, and the beautiful lagoon, alive at times with the fish which came in with the tide through an opening in the reef, beyond which there was the heaving, open sea.

"It doesn't seem a bit like being shipwrecked," said Carey one day, as he lay back in a cane chair. "One has so many things about one. Shipwrecked folk don't generally have plenty of tools and things. I say, doctor, shall I be fit to go with you the first time you go ashore?"

"Would you like to?"

"Like to! Oh, I say," cried the boy; "fancy being left here alone in the ship when you two go. I say, don't leave me; it would make me worse."

"Wait a bit, and we'll see. The raft is not ready yet. Bostock has not fitted the mast and sail."

"No," said Carey, thoughtfully. "I say, isn't he dreadfully slow?"

The doctor laughed.

"Well, I was thinking something of the kind, certainly, my boy."

Carey was silent and thoughtful for a few minutes, and then he began again.

"It's very beautiful lying back here," he said at last, "and sometimes I feel as if I should like to do nothing else for a month to come. Then I get hot and fidgety and tired of it all. Yes, he is horribly slow. I've watched him, and instead of knocking a nail right in at once he gets boring holes and measuring and trying first one and then another till he gets one to suit him. It makes me feel sometimes as if I should like to throw books at him. I'll tell him to make haste and finish."

"Better not, perhaps," said the doctor, quietly, as he busied himself trying to catch some of the floating jelly-fish over the side with a rope and bucket. "You may hurt his feelings."

No more was said on the subject then, for there was enough to interest the patient in examining with a magnifying glass the curious creatures captured; but Carey had not forgotten, and that evening when the doctor was below and Bostock had brought up the bag of tools he used to work upon the clumsy-looking raft he was building, the boy lay back watching him chewing away at a piece of tobacco, and bending thoughtfully over the structure.

"I say," cried Carey at last in a peevish tone, "when are you going to finish that raft?"

"Finish it, my lad?"

"Yes, finish it. How many more days are you going to be?"

Bostock screwed up his face, rose erect in a very slow and deliberate way, laid down the auger he held, and took off his cap to scratch his head.

"Finish it?" he said, thoughtfully. "Well, I don't quite know; you see, I must make it reg'lar strong."

"Of course," cried Carey, "but you spend so much time thinking about it."

"Well, yes, my lad, I do, certainly; but then, you see, I have to do the thinking and making too. There's on'y me, you see."

"Why didn't you let the doctor help you? He did want to."

"Ye-es, he did want to, my lad," said the old sailor, in the slowest and most provoking way. "He's a wonderful clever man too, is the doctor. See what a beautiful job he's making of your broken timbers; but what does he know about making a raft? This is my job, and bime-by it'll be my job to make a boat, which'll want more thinking about than even this."

"Pooh! I could have made it in half the time."

"Ah, you think so, my lad, just the same as I might think I could ha' mended your broken colly bone. But I couldn't, and I wouldn't offer to, and of course I don't want the doctor to meddle with my work."

"It's horrible to watch you," said Carey, pettishly. "I get sick of seeing you."

"Do you, now?" said Bostock, smiling; but he shook his head. "Not you, my lad; you only say so. You're getting better; that's what's the matter with you."

"Pish!" ejaculated the boy, contemptuously. "There, drive in a few more nails to make all fast, and then it'll be done."

"Done, sir? Not it," said the old man, walking slowly round the cumbrous construction. "I've been thinking that I shall put in two more casks, one on each side."

"What!" cried Carey, angrily. "Why, that'll take you another fortnight."

"Nay, nay," said the old sailor, coolly; "not a fortnight; say a week or ten days."

"And it will make it heavier too. I don't believe you can launch it as it is."

"Not launch it?" said Bostock, tapping the casks at the four angles, one after another, with the handle of the auger, and being apparently so well satisfied with the drum-like tones that he worked round once more. "Oh, yes, I can get her launched easy enough with a rope through a block and the stern capstan. There won't be no trouble about that."

"Finish it off then, and never mind putting two more casks in."

"Look ye here, my lad," said the old fellow, solemnly, "do you suppose I want that there raft to capsize and shoot us off among the sharkses?"

"Of course not. Seen any of them, Bob?"

"Lots, my lad. They come swimming round this morning as if looking out for bits for breakfast. Why, if that raft capsized they'd chew us up like reddishes. I'm not going to risk that, my lad. I've got a character to lose, you see. I'm making this raft, and I want it to be a raft as you and the doctor'll be proud on--a raft as we can row or sail or go fishing with."

"Yes, fishing," said Carey, eagerly. "When am I to have that line and try for something?"

"Oh, we'll see about that," said the old sailor, coolly. "Let's get the raft done first."

"Get the raft done first!" cried Carey, angrily. "You'll never get it done."

"Oh, yes, I will, my lad; and it'll be one you could dance on if you liked. Don't you be in such a precious hurry."

"Precious hurry, indeed. Do you know what it means to be sitting here and hardly allowed to move day after day?"

"Course I do, my lad. I see you."

"But you don't know how horribly tiresome it is," cried Carey, who was growing more and more exasperated. "Look here, haven't you promised me time after time that you'd have a fishing-line ready for me so that I could hold it when the tide came in and get a few fish?"

"To be sure I did," said Bostock, coolly.

"Then why don't you do it?"

"Look ye here, my lad, you are getting better, you know, and that's what makes you so rusty."

"Anyone would get rusty, doing nothing day after day. Now then, Bob, I'll stand no more nonsense. You get the fishing-line directly. Do you hear?"

"Oh, yes, my lad, I hear. You spoke loud enough."

"Then why don't you go and get one?"

"'Cause I'm busy making a raft."

"That you're not. You're only fiddling about it like an old woman."

"Hor, hor!" laughed the man. "Like an old woman!"

"Will you fetch me a long fishing-line?"

"No good now, sir; tide's going out."

"Never you mind about that. I want a line."

Bostock carefully placed the auger against one end of a plank, grunted twice over, and then began to turn the handle.

"Precious hard bit o' wood, sir."

"Are you going to fetch me that line, sir?" cried Carey.

"Bime-by, my lad."

"No, I want it now," cried Carey.

Bostock took the auger from the hole he had begun to make, and held it as if it was a hammer with which he was going to threaten the boy.

"Look ye here, my lad," he said, "do you know what the fish is like as comes into this lagoon?"

"Yes, of course I do; like fish," said Carey, angrily.

"Fish they is; but do you know how big some of 'em are?"

"No."

"Well, I do. There's some of 'em big enough to pull like donkeys. Now, jest s'pose as you hooks one."

"Well, suppose I do? We'll have it out, and you shall cook it. Doctor Kingsmead said it would be nice to have a bit of fresh fish."

"That's right enough, my lad; but let's go back to what I said. Suppose you hook one, what then?"

"Why, I should catch it."

"Not you, sir. You'd be a bit excited, and you'd pull, and the fish'd pull, and in about a brace o' shakes we should have your upper timbers, as the doctor's been taking so much trouble to mend, all knocked to pieces again. Now then, my lad, what have you got to say to that?"

Carey had nothing to say to it, so he lay back with his face puckered up, staring straight before him.

The old sailor used the auger as a hammer and tapped the end of one of the casks so that it sounded loudly.

"Now then, my lad," he cried, sharply, "aren't that true?"

"I suppose it is, Bob," said Carey, rather dolefully.

"That's right, my lad. You're getting right, and I want to see you quite right, and then you shall have a line half a mile long, if you like."

Carey was silent, and after giving him a nod the old sailor turned deliberately to his work, grunting slowly and laboriously over boring at the hole, and resting from time to time, while as the boy watched him a thought flashed into his head and gradually grew brighter and brighter till he could contain himself no longer, for the old sailor's actions seemed to be so contrary to all that the boy knew, and he felt that he had got hold of a clue.

"Look here, Bob," he said, "suppose--"

"Yes, sir," said the old sailor, for the boy stopped, and he was glad of the opportunity for resting. "I am supposing, sir; go on."

"I was going to say, suppose we knew that the _Chusan_ was breaking up under our feet; how long would it take you to finish that raft?"

"But she aren't a-breaking up under our feet, sir. You might take the old _Susan_ on lease for one-and-twenty year, and she'd be all solid at the end."

"But suppose she was going down, Bob."

"But she couldn't be going down, my lad," argued the old sailor; "she's got miles o' solid coral rock underneath her."

"Never mind what she has underneath her. I say, suppose she was sinking under our feet; how long would it take you to finish the raft so that we could get ashore?"

"Well, 'bout five minutes," said the old fellow, with a grim smile.

"There, I knew it!" cried Carey, excitedly. "I knew it; and you're going on day after day regularly playing with the job for some reason of your own."

"Nay, nay, nay," cried the old fellow, picking up a nail, seizing a hammer, and driving away loudly.

"It isn't because you're lazy."

"Oh, I dunno, sir; there's no skipper now, and everything's to one's hand. I don't see why one should work too hard."

"That's all gammon, Bob," said Carey, sternly.

"Hark at him! Why, I never heard you talk that how afore, sir."

"You're dawdling on for some reason, Bob. You see, you owned that you could make the raft seaworthy in five minutes."

"Ay, ay, my lad, but then she'd only be rough. I'm going on polishing like, and making her a raft to be proud on. I said so afore."

"That's all stuff and nonsense, Bob," cried Carey. "I know. Now tell the truth; you've some reason for being so long."

Bostock was silent, and he screwed up his mahogany-tinted face till he looked ten years older.

"Come, sir, speak the truth."

"Allus does," said the old fellow, gruffly.

"Let's have it then. Why are you spinning out this job so long and won't get it done?"

"Am I, sir--spinning it out like?"

"Yes, you know you are. Now, are you going to tell me why?"

"No, I aren't," growled the old fellow.

"Very well, but I believe I know."

"Not you, my lad. I tell you I'm going to make an out-and-out good job of it."

"Keeping it back so as not to go till I'm well enough to go too. That's why," said Carey, and he looked at the old sailor searchingly, and tried to catch his eye, the one that was open, the other being close shut. But it was impossible, for Bostock made believe to have great difficulty in hitting that nail exactly on the head, and hammered away with all his might.

"Now then, are you going to own it, sir?" cried Carey.

Bostock gave seven or eight final blows with the hammer as if he were performing on an old-fashioned knocker, and finished off with a final bang, before turning round, and with both eyes open now he said defiantly:

"Own up, sir? No, I aren't, but there, she's finished now."

"Quite ready to go into the water?" said Carey.

"Yes," said the old fellow, bluntly; "she'd bear us and a load o' bricks if we had 'em."

"And that's why you've kept her back," said Carey, half-mockingly, but with a choking sensation in his throat--due to weakness perhaps.

"I aren't going to say naught," said the old fellow, gruffly.

"But you haven't polished her."

"No; I aren't," said Bostock, and he began to gather up his tools.

"But you can't be proud of such a rough thing as that."

Carey laughed at the queer look the old fellow gave.

"There," he cried, "didn't I say you were making believe?"

"Nay, that you didn't, sir. I never heard you."

"Here's Doctor Kingsmead coming up."

"Here, I say, don't you say a word to him, my lad," cried the old sailor in an anxious whisper.

"Will you own to it then?"

"Nay, that I won't," came in a growl.

"Here, doctor," cried Carey, loudly.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Oh, Master Carey, don't tell on a fellow," whispered Bostock.

"You're just in time. The raft's done. Bostock has just driven in the last nail."

"Glad to hear it," said the doctor. "Then I suppose we may get her into the water to-morrow."

"Yes, sir, she'll do now," growled the old sailor.

"That's right," said the doctor. "Look here, Carey, my lad, we'll try how she rides in the water to-morrow, and if she's all right, I think we might swing you down in a chair from a block, and you might go with us, for you need not exert yourself in the least. You would sit in the chair."

"Yes," cried the boy, eagerly. "I feel sure it wouldn't hurt me a bit."

"What do you say, Bostock? Could we manage?"

"That we could, sir; wrap him up and drop him down so as we shouldn't disturb a fly on him."

"Then we'll try," said the doctor, to the boy's great delight.

A few minutes later Bostock watched for his chance when the doctor had gone below, and went up to Carey's chair.

"Thought you was going to split on me, sir," he whispered.

"Then I was right?" said Carey.

"Well, what was the good o' us going and leaving you behind, my lad? You wouldn't ha' liked that?"

"No," said the boy, drawing a deep breath, as he looked half-wonderingly at the rough old sailor, and thought something about good-heartedness and kindly thought, as he said aloud:

"No, Bob, I don't think I should have liked that." _

Read next: Chapter 9

Read previous: Chapter 7

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