Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Steve Young > This page
Steve Young, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 5. Revenge By Deputy |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER FIVE. REVENGE BY DEPUTY "Better, Steve?" said the captain, giving him a friendly nod; and without waiting for his answer, he went forward to where the engineer, who had nothing to do, was talking to the mate, and then they all went below into the engine-room. One of the Norway men was at the wheel, the other sailors were in the forecastle, and there was no one to talk to; so Steve went forward, and was nearly abreast of the galley when Watty Links, the shock-headed boy, came out bearing a bucket of potato peelings and refuse, looking sour and sore, but as soon as he caught sight of Steve his face expanded into a broad grin, and, evidently in a high state of delight, he trotted to the side, turned the contents of the bucket overboard, and ran back into the galley, keeping his head averted as if to hide his mirth. The blood flushed up into Steve's cheeks, and he turned away, walking aft to watch the grey gulls which seemed to have arrived all at once, and were flying about in quite a crowd, making darts down to the surface to seize some fragment that was floating, amidst querulous screaming and the beating of wings. It was a curious sight to see the rapidity with which a scrap of biscuit or fat was darted upon, and borne aloft by the hungry birds; but somehow in the grey cloud of feathers wheeling round and rising and falling above the glittering sea, Steve seemed to see the mocking face of Watty, who, smarting from the contempt with which he had been treated, snatched at the opportunity for triumphing over the other's misfortune; and he could not have selected a way more likely to sting him than by a display of derision. "Verra beautiful, Meester Young, isn't it?" said a voice, and Steve turned sharply to find it was the Scottish sailor who had approached unheard. "What, the sparkling sea, Andra?" "Nay, the burruds, sir. Look at the pretty things. It minds me o' being in Loch Fyne, coming down from Crinan in ane o' Meester Macbrayne's bonnie boats on the way to Glasgie." "Does it? I've never been there." "Eh, then she ha'e lost a gran' treat, laddie. There's plenty o' watter here, but never a mountain, nor a toon glinting oot o' the shore. Look yonder, laddie; there's a bit of a fesh." "Porpoise!" cried Steve excitedly; "and another, and another. Why, there's a regular shoal." "Ay, after the herrin', maybe, laddie. See how they come up and turn over, and dive doon again. Canny kind o' fesh a porpoise, but they're much finer than these in the Clyde. I'm thenking, though, that we'll ha'e to shorten sail a wee. It means wint." Captain Marsham was evidently of the same opinion, for coming on deck soon after he gave orders which resulted in a little of the canvas being lowered down, and the _Hvalross_ then steadily continued her course without sending the spray scattering in a brilliant shower over the forward part of the deck. While this was being done Steve passed the galley door again, and bit his lip, for Watty, taking advantage of the cook's back being turned, thrust out his head as if by accident, gave a sham start as if astonished to see Steve, burst into a silent fit of laughter, which he pretended to smother, and drew his head in again. "I wonder whether it would hurt my shoulder much if I were to punch his head?" thought Steve. He walked on, feeling that he ought to treat the annoyance with contempt; but even as he felt this he could not help looking back, when he saw that Watty was watching him, but clapped his hand over his mouth and drew in his head directly. This was repeated again and again that day, as if the boy found some satisfaction for his disgrace in annoying some one of his own years. Steve pretended not to heed it; but so sure as he went forward Watty's head was thrust out of the galley, and drawn back again, apparently to conceal the uncontrollable mirth from which the lad pretended to be suffering; while in spite of Steve's efforts all this stung him more and more, till he felt as if he must do something by way of revenge. It was not easy, and he knew that it was _infra dig_ even to show that he was annoyed, let alone attempting to "serve the boy out," as he termed it; but the desire to give Watty some punishment for his annoyance increased. The opportunity came at last; the extent of Steve's forbearance was at an end. He was going forward to join the four Norwegians, who were busy preparing one of the boats for their first expedition against the walrus, so that when the time came everything might be quite ready, when Watty rushed hurriedly out of the galley, turned sharply upon seeing him, burst into one of his silent fits of laughter, and hurried back through the door. It all happened in a moment, and Watty's departure was hastened far more than he intended. There was a bound, a kick, and the boy disappeared with a crash, followed by a burst of objurgations, the sound of cuffs and blows, and a whining voice raised pitifully in appeal and explanation. But he had evidently knocked something down in his unceremonious and hasty entrance, and the irate cook was in no temper either to listen to explanations or to believe in what he immediately set down as an excuse. Steve stood listening to the struggle within, his anger gone, like the electricity in a Leyden jar, at a touch, and he was about to enter the galley and explain, when Watty rushed out, darted forward, and dived down the hatchway into the forecastle, from which place he was ignominiously fetched by the cook like some culprit arrested by a policeman; and the next time he met Steve without the faintest suggestion of a smile upon his countenance. _ |
||