ALL HANDS TO THE PUMPS
I
It is not far off a century now since the good ship Merry Andrew , with many a queer cargo on board, sailed to and fro upon the grey North Sea.
She was a fair-sized schooner, stoutly built to face all weathers, and John Middlemas, her skipper, was her owner as well. He had served other masters for the best part of his youth, voyaging far away in the big East Indiamen of his time. But he longed for home at last, and came back to Peterhead, where he was born. With the money he had saved he contrived [1] to build and fit out the Merry Andrew , and soon his ship won the name of being the surest sailer on the coast.
So Skipper John Middlemas had no lack of traffic [2] for her. Now he carried barrels of fish from Peterhead to London town. Again he took coals from Fife to some of the Baltic ports, returning with grain or timber or foreign flax.
No storm had yet got the better of him. It was said that he knew every rock and shoal [3] from the Pentland Firth to Dungeness. In the darkest night his keen eye could make out each dim and flickering beacon light. In the coldest blast of winter his hand could bend the tiller to his will; no noise of howling wind could disturb his cool and steady head as he gave out his orders.
No wonder his crew liked to serve under John Middlemas. He was a silent man with none too easy a temper, yet they trusted his seamanship, and could have good hope, on the wildest night, of getting home to wife and children again.
But there came a storm, in the cold white days of one New Year, which was to test John Middlemas's skill; and, but for the aid of an unwelcome passenger, it might have gone hard with the Merry Andrew and her men.
The unwelcome passenger joined the vessel at the port of Leith, where John Middlemas was unshipping a cargo of slates, and taking on flour from the mills on the Water of Leith. The stranger was hanging about on the quay, a thin, pale young fellow with a look of sorrow in his eyes; and he eagerly begged for work.
THE SKIPPER
Now Captain Middlemas was a frugal man, who did not care to pay wages for help that was not needed; but he liked not the look of the sky to seaward, and was in haste to be gone. So he hired the stranger with a surly grunt, and bade him give a hand with the rest.
The man worked hard, though plainly unused to such toil; for the sweat poured from his brow as he staggered from wagon to gangway with each fresh sack.
At sight of his distress, John Middlemas's hard face softened, and, in the end, he paid him an extra shilling with something not unlike a smile.
But the smile gave place to a frown when, some few hours later, the ship being now well out in the Firth, he came upon the stranger huddled up amid some lumber in the hold. He had darted on board at the last moment, and in the stir of setting sail none had noticed him.
Skipper John Middlemas with flashing eyes and angry voice told the stranger what he thought of him, and the poor stowaway listened shrinking till the skipper had said his say. Then the young man held out the few coins he had so lately earned, and prayed John Middlemas, for the love of God, to give him a passage to Peterhead.
At the name, the skipper's harsh tones softened."Peterhead!" he said. "What want you there?"
And then the stranger told him that, his wife being dead, his little daughter lived with her grandparents at Peterhead. "And she is dying," he ended. "They wrote me this four days ago. I was out of work and had no money left. Let me go to her, sir!" he pleaded.
Humph! said Skipper John Middlemas. "We are out to sea now, and I cannot well souse [4] you in the Firth. If I know aught about the weather, you will have had enough of sailing ere ever we reach Peterhead!"
But he brushed aside the money which the unwelcome passenger still offered to him. "Tut, man!" he said. "Keep your siller [5] for the bairn!"
* * *
[1] contrived: Managed, planned.
[2] traffic: Coming and going; business.
[3] shoal: Shallow place.
[4] souse: Throw into the water.
[5] siller: Silver; money.