“Harry—Mr Collingwood, I mean—seems anxious that I should go home in some other vessel,” Ella replied, dolefully.
“Well, now, that’s news, that is,” answered Bob. “Since when has he taken that idee into his head?”
“We were talking about it this morning,” said Ella; “and he said it would be more dangerous for me to go home in the Water Lily than in a large ship. Is the Water Lily dangerous, Bob?”
“Dangerous!” exclaimed Bob, in a tone of angry scorn. “Was she dangerous in that blow off the Horn, when a big ship capsized and went down with all hands, close alongside of us? Was she dangerous when we had that bit of a brush with the pirates? If she hadn’t been the little beauty that she is, she’d ha’ gone down in the gale and a’terwards ha’ been made a prize of by the cut-throats.” (Bob, in his angry vindication of the cutter’s character, was wholly oblivious of the “bull” he had perpetrated, and Ella seemed too much interested to notice it.) “Dangerous! why, what’s the boy thinking about, to take away the little barkie’s character that a-way?”
“I wish, Bob, you would not keep calling Ha—, Mr Collingwood, a boy; he is quite as much a man as you are, though of course not so old. I don’t like—I don’t think it sounds respectful,” exclaimed Ella rather petulantly.
“Not call him a boy?” echoed Bob; “why, what should I call him then, missie? In course, now you comes to mention it, I knows as he is a man, and an uncommon fine speciment too; but, Lord, when I knowed him fust he was quite a dapper young sprig; and it comes nat’ral-like to speak of him as a boy. Hows’ever,” continued he apologetically, “in course, since you don’t like it, I won’t call him a boy no more. What shall I call him, so please your ladyship?”
“Now you are laughing at me, you horrid old creature,” said Ella, with a little stamp of passion upon the deck; “and I never said I did not like it; I merely said that it did not sound respectful. Why do you not call him captain?”
“Why not, indeed?” answered Bob. “He’s got as good a right to be called ‘skipper’ as e’er a man as ever walked a deck; and dash my old wig if I ain’t a good mind to do it, too; my eyes! how he would stare. ’Twould be as good as a pantomime to see him;” and the worthy old fellow chuckled gleefully as his fancy conjured up the look of surprise which he knew such a title on his lips would evoke from me.
“I declare,” exclaimed Ella, in a tone of great vexation, “you are the most provoking— But there, never mind, Bob dear, I do not mean it; you are very kind to me, and must not take any notice of my foolish speeches. And so you really think the Water Lily is not dangerous? Why then should Mr Collingwood wish me to leave her? He told me this morning that he should be sorry if I did so, and yet he seems unwilling to let me stay.”
“Don’t you believe it, little one,” I heard Bob answer. “He don’t want ye to go; it’s some kind of conscientious scruple as he’s got into his head that makes him talk that a-way. Between you and me,”—here his voice sank to a kind of confidential growl, but I distinctly heard every word, nevertheless—“it’s my idee that he’s got some sort of a notion as we may yet fall in with that infarnal Albatross ag’in; but, if we do, we’ve got chances of getting away from the chap that large ships haven’t; and for my part, if I must be in their blackguard neighbourhood, I’d a deal rather be in the Lily than in a large ship. Their best chance of getting the weather-gauge of us is by surprise; but in a little barkie like this here we larns the knack of sleeping with one eye open, and they’ll have to be oncommon ’cute that surprises us.”