“What a dear boy it is!” thought Mrs. Kettering, as she looked at Charlie’s open countenance, and his fair golden curls, blowing about his face, browned by the weather to a rich manly hue, and lit up with the excitement and exercise of his work. Many qualms of conscience crossed Mrs. Kettering’s mind, in the transit of that mile and a half of blue water which sparkled between “the Swede” and the shore. Much she regretted her want of decision and habits of delay in not completing the important document that should at once make that handsome boy the head of his family; and firmly she resolved that not another week should pass without a proper consultation of the universal refuge, “her family man-of-business,” and a further legal drawing-up of her last will and testament. Then she remembered she had left one unfinished, that would make an excellent rough draft for the future document; then she wondered where she had put it; and then she thought what a husband the handsome cousin would make for her own beautiful girl; and rapidly her ideas followed each other, till, in her mind’s eye, she saw the wedding—the bridesmaids—the procession—the breakfast—and, though last, not least, the very bonnet, not too sombre, which she herself should wear on the occasion.
Not one word did Mrs. Kettering hear of a long-winded story with which Hairblower was delighting Blanche and Charlie; and which, as it seemed to create immense interest and sympathy in his young listeners, and is, besides, a further example of the general superstition of sailors as to commencing any undertaking on a Friday, we may as well give, as nearly as possible, in his own words.
“Blown, Master Charles?” said the good-humoured seaman, in answer to a question from hard-working Charlie. “Blown? Not a bit of it; nor yet tired; nor you neither. I was a bit bamboozled though once somewhere hereaway. It’s a good many years past now; but I don’t think as I shall ever forget it. If you’d like to hear it, Miss Blanche, I’ll tell it you, as well as I can. You see, it was rather a ‘circumstance’ from beginning to end. Well, the fact is, I had built a smartish craft very soon after I was out of my time, and me and a man we used to call ‘Downright’ went partners in her, and although maybe she was a trifle crank, and noways useful for stowage, we had pretty good times with her when the mackerel was early, and the prices pretty stiffish. But there never was no real luck about her, and I’ll tell ye how it was. My uncle, he promised to help me with the money for her of a Friday. She was put upon the stocks of a Friday—finished off of a Friday—sailed her first trip of a Friday—and went down of a Friday; so, as I say, Friday’s the worst day, to my mind, in the whole week. Well, the Spanking Sally—that’s what we called her, Miss—always carried a weather helm. And one day—it was a Friday, too—me and my mate was coming in with a fairish cargo—Downright he said all along she was over-deep in the water—with a light breeze from the nor’-nor’-west, and the tide about half-flood, as it might be now. I had just gone forward to look to the tackle, when the wind suddenly shifted right on the other tack, and looking out down Channel, I saw what was coming. Black, was it, Master Charlie? Not a bit; it was a white one; and I knew then we should get it hot and heavy. It takes something pretty cross to frighten me, but I own I didn’t like the looks of it. Well, afore I could douse foresail the squall took her. She capsized, and down she went; and though me and Downright stood by for a start to windward, we never knew exactly how it was till we found ourselves grinning at each other over a spare oar that happened to be on board when she misbehaved, for all the world like two boys playing at see-saw with their mouths full of salt water. Downright he was an older man, and not so strong as me; so when I saw two was no company for one oar, I left it; and thinks I, if I can get off my fisherman’s boots and some of my clothes, I may have a swim for it yet.
“The squall was too soon over to get up anything like a sea, and Downright he held on to his oar and struck out like a man. Well, what between floating and treading water, I got most of things clear. I was as strong as a bull then, and though it was a long swim for a man I had before me, I never lost heart noway. Downright, too, kept on close in my wake; we didn’t say much, you may be sure, but I know I thought of his missus and four children. At last I hear him whisper quite hoarse-like, ‘Hairblower, it’s no use, I be goin’ down now!’ And when I turned on my back to look at him he was quite confused, and had let the oar cast off altogether. I couldn’t see it nowhere. I tried to get alongside of him, but he was gone. I saw the bubbles though, and dived for him, but it was no use, and after that I held on alone. The sun was getting down too, and queer fancies began to come into my head about Downright. Sometimes I thought he was in heaven then, and once I’ll swear I heard something whisper to me, but I couldn’t tell what it said. The gulls, too, they began to stoop at me, and scream in my ears; one long-winged ’un flapped me on the cheek, and for a bit I scarcely knew whether I was dead or alive myself. At last, as I came over the tops of the rollers, I saw the spars in the harbor, and the chimneys at St. Swithin’s, and for awhile I thought I should get home after all, so I turned on my side to get my breath a bit. I ought to have made a buoy, as I calculated, about this time, but seek where I would, I couldn’t see it nowhere, only looking down Channel to get my bearings a little, I saw by the craft at anchor in the bay that the tide was on the turn. My heart leapt into my mouth then. I had pulled a boat often enough against the ebb hereabouts, and I knew how strong it ran, and what my chance was, swimming, and nearly done too. First I thought I’d go quietly down at once, like my mate did, and I said a bit of a prayer, just inside like, and then I felt stronger, so I thought what was best to be done; and says I, ‘’bout ship’ now is our only chance, and maybe we shall get picked up by some fishing craft, or such like, afore we drift clean out to sea again. Well, the Lord’s above all, and though I thought once or twice I was pretty nigh out of my mind, I was picked up at last by a Frenchman. He’d no call to be where he was; I think he was there special, but I knew very little about anything else, for I was in the hospital nine weeks afore I could remember as much as I’ve told you. Howsoever, Friday’s an unlucky day, Miss Blanche, you may take your Bible oath of it.”
Hairblower did not tell them that half his earnings as soon as he got well went to the support of his mate’s widow and her four children; perhaps it was as well he did not, for Blanche’s eyes were already full of tears, and Charlie felt more than half inclined to embrace the honest seaman, but a bump against the shingle disturbed all their comments, at the same time that it broke through Mrs. Kettering’s day-dreams, and Blanche had hardly got as far as “Here we are, mamma, and here’s——” when she was interrupted by Cousin Charlie’s vociferous “Look alive, aunt. Hurrah! three cheers—who’d have thought it? There’s Frank Hardingstone!”
[CHAPTER II]
THE ABIGAIL
BLANCHE’S BOUDOIR—A LADY’S LADY’S-MAID—MRS. KETTERING AT LUNCHEON—AN HOUR’S PRACTICE—THE “MAN OF ACTION”—FOOD FOR THE MIND—A FRIEND IN NEED—A VISIT TO DAVID JONES
Whilst Mr. Hardingstone offers an arm—and a good strong arm it is—to each of the ladies, and assists them slowly up the toilsome shingle, let us take advantage of Blanche’s absence to peep into her pretty room, where, as it is occupied only by Gingham, the maid, we need not fear the fate of Actæon as a punishment for our curiosity.