"Weel. Weel, ye're in luck, ma son, and we'll no grudge ye the luck. But ye owes it to the captain, and to us, as ye mak' guid a' that luck. Ye've got to pu' yer weight as a man which doesn't leak, or lee, or steal, but does guid honest man's wark as a shipmate, come cauld, or storm, or wrack, frae heere to Cape Stiff, and roond, and hame agin, not leaving any ither mon to tak' yer trick at the wheel, or yer lookout aheid, or yer ain bunt, or earring, or jobs at sailorizing."
There was something about Bill's eyes told the Scotsman that this lad would not fail. Indeed, the youngster was looking not at Jock at all, but at his mother, who stood behind the seaman just as in life, nor was she changed by death save for a strange rare glory, love in her eyes, amusement in her smile, then on her lips a word. That word was "Peace!"
III
Auld Jock had likened the Yankee to a dog with an inch of brain and a fathom of jaw; and of a surety there was some faint suggestion, but not of a dog exactly. The retreating forehead, cold eyes, red eyelids, lean, ravenous jaws, and yellow fangs, the mean and stealthy smile with upcurved lip, were not quite those of a dog, but rather of a wolf. The one barks, and the other snarls, but this man kept silence watching, waiting. The Englishmen, the Norwegian, and the Iroquois Indian would make the best of things or share the worst in common, but the American would master the lot or go under. The hours they wasted he had filled with study. He would be second officer, then mate, and a bucko mate at that, then command a ship, and own one while they were still in the forecastle. They could play the game, but he would win.
As yet it had not entered into his mind that he, an American, had aught to learn from Britishers. Hatred for the British Government was part of his heritage, contempt for the British a portion of his faith. He would read them a lesson.
As his nation had nothing to learn from Great Britain, so Silas would have accounted anybody lunatic who claimed that he could be the better man for a lesson at the hands of these Britishers. He sat on the edge of his bunk contemptuous alike of the Scotsman's tolerance and the boy's simplicity. Auld Jock had affronted him, and Silas would get even. As for Willie Muggins or whatever his tally might be, here was a sodger, a mere bargee taking a man's pay for a boy's work. The shrewd American was too good a seaman to tolerate false ratings in his watch. He would take the shine out of Willie Muggins. "He'll wish himself dead," said Silas to himself, "before I'm through with him."
IV
The Beaver and her consort the Nereid lay at Falmouth completing for their voyage to Oregon. Captain Home had taken the coach to London, where he would get his final orders from the Hudson Bay House and say good-by to his family. His crew were at work from dawn until after dark, watering, taking in fuel, loading the ship's stores, and making all shipshape aloft. Except for an anchor watch, the people had the nights in the crowded forecastle, when foul air made the flame of the slush lamp blue, while in the bunks men lay half suffocated. Willie Muggins had been on anchor watch, trying hard to realize that he was really and truly Bill Fright of the Polly Phemus, and of London River, one who had vowed himself to a religious life, been in great dreams, beheld tremendous visions. He was all adrift, and now in light and troubled sleep haunted by nightmare. At last his body, tired out, lapsed into deep sleep, and his soul dreamed true.
A creature of fairy grace poised on the edge of the bunk, then settled down to pull his ears, to kiss his upturned nose.
"Oh, Slug! Wake up!" she said. "Storm! Storms-all-of-a-sudden! Wake up!"