is just what I told him we should want. An open boat is no use except when the weather is fine, and then one must always keep close to port in case the wind should drop, and when it comes calm you have to break your back with rowing. Oh, we will have fine sails together, and as you grow older we can go farther away, for she should be safe anywhere. When you become a man I daresay he will get for you something bigger, and then perhaps we can sail together to Greece, and perhaps the master will go with you, for he loves Greece as much as we do.”
There was a fortnight of hard work. William Martyn was in command, and kept Horace at work as if he had been a young midshipman under his orders; while Marco turned his hand to everything, singing snatches of sailor songs he had sung as he fished when a boy, chattering in Greek to Horace, and in broken English to the two men.
“You are going to be skipper, I hear,” William Martyn said to him one day.
“Going to skip!” Marco repeated vaguely. “I know not what you mean.”
“Going to be captain – padrone.”
Marco shook his head. “No, sir. Can sail open boat good, but not fit to take charge of boat like this. Going to have man at Seaport, a good fisherman. He sailed a long time in big ships. Man-of-war’s man. When war over, came back to fish. I shall look after young master, cook food for him, pull at rope, steer sometimes; but other man be captain and sail boat.”
William Martyn nodded. “Quite right, Marco; these fishermen know the coast, and the weather, and the ports and creeks to run into. It is all very well in fine weather, but when you get a blow, a craft like this wants a man who can handle her well.”
Horace’s pride in the craft increased every day. As she lay weather-beaten and dismantled on the mud she had seemed to him larger but not superior in appearance to the fishing craft of Seaport, which were most of them boats of ten or twelve tons; but each day her appearance changed, and at the end of ten days – with all her rigging in place, her masts and spars scraped, her deck fairly white, and her sides glossy with black paint – she seemed to him a thing of perfect beauty. It was just the fortnight when the paint and varnish of the cabins were dry, the furniture in its place, and everything ready for sea. Horace’s delight culminated when the anchor was got up, sail set on her, and William Martyn took the helm, as with a light wind she ran down through the craft in the harbour for a trial trip.
“She is a wonderfully handy little craft,” the mate said approvingly, as she began to rise and fall on the swell outside; “the old captain knew what he was doing when he laid down her lines. She is like a duck on the water. I have been out in her when big ships were putting their noses into it, and she never shipped a pailful of water. I can tell you you are in luck, youngster. How are you going to take her round?”
“I was going to write to-night for Tom Burdett – that is the man Marco spoke about – to come over by coach.”
“I will tell you what I will do, youngster; I will take her over for you. I shall enjoy the trip. If you like we will start to-morrow morning.”
“I should like that immensely,” Horace said; “we shall astonish them when we sail into the port.”
“Very well, then, that is agreed; you had better get some stores on board; I mean provisions. Of course if the weather holds like this we should be there in the evening; but it is a good rule at sea never to trust the weather. Always have enough grub and water for a week on board; then, if you happen to be blown off shore, or anything of that sort, it is of no consequence.”
CHAPTER II
A YACHT
MARCO, who acted as banker and appeared to Horace to be provided with an unlimited amount of money, was busy all the evening getting crockery, cooking-utensils, knives and forks, table-cloths, towels, and other necessaries.
“Why, it is like fitting out a house, Marco.”
“Well, it is a little floating house,” the Greek said; “it is much better to have your own things, and not to have to borrow from the house every time. Now we will get some provisions, two or three bottles of rum for bad weather, or when we have visitors on board, and then we shall be complete. Mr. Martyn said he would see to the water. Now, we will go to bed soon, for we are to be down at the wharf at six o’clock; and if we are not there in time you may be sure that you will get a rating.”
“There is no fear of my being late, Marco. I don’t think I shall sleep all night.”
“Ah! we shall see. You have been on your feet since seven this morning. I shall have to pull you by your ear to wake you in the morning.”
This, however, was not necessary. The boy was fast asleep in five minutes after he had laid his head on the pillow; he woke soon after daylight, dropped off to sleep several times, but turned out at five, opened the door of the Greek’s room, and shouted:
“Now, then, Marco, time to get up: if you do not, it is I who will do the ear-pulling.”
They were down at the wharf at a quarter to six. As the clock struck the hour William Martyn came down.
“Good-morning, youngster! you are before your time, I see. You wouldn’t be so ready to turn out after you had had a year or two on board ship. Well, it looks as if we are going to have a grand day. There is a nice little breeze, and I fancy it will freshen a good bit later on. Now, then, tumble into the dinghy, I will take the sculls; the tide is running out strong, and you might run her into the yacht and damage the paint; that would be a nice beginning.”
As soon as they were on board, the mate said:
“Now, off with those shoes, youngster. You can go barefoot if you like, or you can put on those slippers you bought; we have got the deck fairly white, and we must not spoil it. You should make that a rule: everyone who comes on board takes off his boots at once.”
The Greek made the dinghy fast, and then took off his shoes and stockings. Horace put on the slippers, and the mate a pair of light shoes he had brought on board with him.
“Now, then, off with the sail-covers; fold them up and put them down under the seat of the cockpit. Knot up the tyers loosely together, and put them there also. Never begin to hoist your sails till you have got the covers and tyers snugly packed away. Now, Marco, get number two jib out of the sail-locker. I don’t think we shall want number one to-day. Now, hook on the halliards. No; don’t hoist yet, run it out first by the outhaul to the end of the bowsprit. We won’t hoist it till we have got the mainmast and mizzen up. Now, Marco, you take the peak halliards, and I will take the main. Now, then, up she goes; ease off the sheet a bit. Horace, we must top the boom a bit; that is high enough. Marco, make fast; now up with the mizzen; that is right. Now, Horace, before you do anything else always look round, see that everything is right, the halliards properly coiled up and turned over so as to run freely, in case you want to lower or reef sail, the sheets ready to slacken out, the foresail and jib sheets brought aft on their proper sides. There is nothing in our way now; but when there are craft in the way, you want to have everything in perfect order, and ready to draw the moment the anchor is off the ground. Otherwise you might run foul of something before you got fairly off, and nothing can look more lubberly than that. Now you take the helm, and Marco and I will get up the anchor. The wind is nearly dead down the river; don’t touch the tiller till I tell you.”
Horace stood by the helm till the mate said:
“The chain is nearly up and down; now put the tiller gently to starboard.”
As he spoke he ran up the jib, and as the boat’s head payed off, fastened
