Chapter XIV: “filled with Gold Doubloons--Sirr, Are Ye Listening?”

The _’Liza Ann_ was about as strange-looking a craft as ever Tom had clapped eyes upon. He was not well enough yet to be hypercritical; but for all that he could not resist the temptation of making his boatman pull right round and round her at some distance away, so that he might see her from every point of the compass.

She lay like a duck on the water, there was no doubts about that; in fact she had about the same comparative breadth of beam that a duck possesses, the same lowness of free-board, and the same depth or rather absence of depth of hull. Her masts, two in all, were set in with a pretty, though rather old-fashioned rake. She was brig-rigged, though, considering her length, she might easily have been a barque. Her spars were not of great height, and her yards were very long. There was no mistake about it, she could take a good spread of canvas. Well, she was painted dark green all over; picked out as to ports with a lighter green, and her bulwarks inside were also light green.

Tom smiled to himself as he sized her up. Barnaby Blunt saw that smile. He was probably six hundred yards away at the time, and standing on the quarter-deck of his own ship; but he had eyes like a hawk, and “barnacles,” as he called the lorgnettes that hung in a patent leather case by his side, to aid those eyes.

“That Britisher is a-sizing of my ship up,” he said to Pebbles his mate. “Britishers don’t know everything. I’ll talk to him.”

The Yankee was politeness itself to his passenger. He had a seat all ready for him on deck under a snow-white awning, a delightfully easy deck chair, in which one might sleep as comfortably as in a hammock, or dream without sleeping.

The mate hastened to assist Tom on board, but the captain was before him.

“With all due deference to you, Mr. Pebbles,” he said, “I’m going to do everything for our guest with my own hands. If my wife was on board I’d turn him over to her. As she ain’t, I does the honours. Take my arm, young man. You ain’t so strong as you think. You’re as shaky as an old chimney-pot.”

“Thank you,” said Tom; “you really are good.”

“I’d do the same for a nigger, sirr, if he were as shaky as you; and if my wife were on board, she’d do more. Now, sit down there; I’m not going to pester you with any extra attentions. Whatever you needs you hollers for.”

“I don’t think,” said Tom, “I’ll have to holler for anything. This chair is delightful, and the awning is a happy thought.”

“We don’t sail before to-morrow morning, cause I’ve more stores to get off. And now, as we don’t dine for an hour yet, suppose we have a drink. What shall it be--wine, old rye, a cup o’ coffee, or a cock-tail?”

“I’d prefer coffee, I think; but isn’t it rather hot?”

“O, bless your innocence, we’ll have it iced! Ginger Brandy, where are you?”

A bullet-headed nigger boy, dressed in white calico, with face and calves as black as pitch, rushed up.

“Heeh I is, sah,” he said.

“Mr. Talisker, here’s your slave. His name is Ginger Brandy. If he irritates you, don’t hit him over the back with a capstan-bar, ’cause you’ll break the bar. Don’t heave a cocoa-nut at his head, ’cause you’ll damage the cocoa-nut. Just get up and toe his shins. Now, Ginger Brandy, bring the ice, and the coffee, and the lemons, and my pipe, and a bundle of smokes. Skedaddle!”

Ginger skedaddled quickly, brought out a little table from the raised poop, spread a white cloth, and in two minutes more had placed thereon two cups of fragrant coffee, with lumps of clear ice floating in each. And when Tom lit his cigar after drinking half of the coffee, Ginger Brandy took his stand beside his chair with a huge fan, and our hero felt as happy and comfortable as ever he had done in his life.

The Yankee’s pipe stood on deck, an immense hubble-bubble; the smoke, which passed through iced-water, being conducted to his lips by means of a tube that seemed yards in length. Sitting there in his rocker, with his long legs dangling over the bulwarks and his eyes half closed, Barnaby Blunt looked the quintessence of enjoyment.

“And what d’ye think o’ my little yacht, sirr,” he drawled at last. “Mind ye, I twigged you sizing her up. I see’d your smile; yes, sirr, I think I heard it.”

“Well,” said Tom, “to tell you the truth, I never saw so strange a craft before; and had I met her at sea, I shouldn’t have been able to say what was her nationality.”

“You do me honour. She’s my own idee. I’ve sailed in all kinds o’ craft, and saved a little pile. ‘Barn,’ says my wife to me onct, ‘why don’t ye build a boat o’ your own, and deal in notions?’ Well, sirr, the same thing had been runnin’ thro’ my head for months, and I set to work and planned out the _’Liza Ann_. She is the safest brig that sails. She’s maybe not the fastest. Safety before speed, sirr. ‘I don’t mind waitin’ a month or six weeks,’ says my wife to me; ‘I don’t mind that, Barn,’ says she, ‘but always come home in your own ship, and not atop o’ the hencoop.’

“Yes, sirr, and the _’Liza Ann_ won’t broach to either, and she can’t be taken aback, and the sticks won’t blow out o’ her, and she’ll float in shoal water if a punt can, and if she does ship green seas, sirr, why they slide off again like rain off a garden roller. That’s what my _’Liza Ann_ is, sirr.”

Tom laughed at the Yankee’s enthusiasm.

“All my own idee--all my own and ’Liza’s remember.”

“Well, it must be a pleasant life--going anywhere and seeing anything.”

“You bet it is; making a few dollars too. There is nothing I won’t trade in. Now, those curios o’ yours--they did tempt me. I guess you’d better sell. The white ants may eat them all if they lie long at Guayaquil.”

“I’ve provided against that. They’re all preserved in tin cases; but as they are for my uncle, I wouldn’t sell them for the world.”

“What! you’re goin’ to pawn them then?”

“No, no, no; I don’t mean _that_ uncle. I mean my uncle Robert; who, like yourself, is a splendid fellow and a thorough sailor. And I’m sure he’ll be delighted to make your acquaintance if ever he has the good luck to meet you.”

“Give us your hand, young man. That little speech is good enough for the senate. I say, what a pity you ain’t a true-born American. I guess you’re a sailor yourself out and out.”

Tom was indeed a sailor out and out. When he went on deck next day he found that the _’Liza Ann_, with all sail set and almost dead before the wind, was ploughing and plunging southwards through the Gulf of Guayaquil. The anchor had been weighed, and a start made in the moonlight long before the sun or Tom either had dreamt of rising.

“Young man, come in to breakfast,” said a voice behind him. “Ye can’t live without eating, you know. Good-morning. I hope you slept--and your cat? Droll idee a cat. Ha, ha! Well, come and tuck in a bit. Why, you’re looking better already.”

Talking thus, Captain Barnaby Blunt led the way into the poop, which was flush with the upper deck in the grand old fashion. He pointed to two chairs.

“There’s a seat for you, sirr, and one for your friend. Droll idee, truly. Ha, ha, ha! Looks as wise as a Christian, and I daresay is better than many. Now, sirr, you see what’s on the table. Eat, drink, and be merry; and during all this voyage I’m your servant, Brandy’s your slave, and you’ve nothing to do but get well.”

Before touching a knife or fork, however, this strange Yankee lifted his right hand piously to his ear to ask a blessing. It was quite the length of a short prayer, but evidently came right away from the speaker’s heart.

Tom liked him better after this.

“Now fall to, sir. Ginger Brandy, keep that fan moving.”

It was pretty evident that during this voyage Barnaby Blunt was going to do most of the talking. Tom was rather pleased than otherwise that it should be so. He was now in that delightful, half-dreamy stage of convalescence that all must have experienced who have ever been downright ill, and in which existence itself seems a pleasure, and everything one looks at is seen through rose-coloured glasses.

But had Tom been even in robust health, a voyage like that he was now embarked in would have been pleasant in the extreme.

The ship was everything that could be desired from bowsprit to binnacle. She had every good quality except speed. But who could wish to speed over an ocean like that which sparkled all around them in the sun’s rays; a sun, mind, that did not feel a single degree too hot, albeit they were almost on the equator. The wind too was favourable, and kept so for over a week, and when it did at last die almost down, no one on board appeared to regret it; even the ship herself seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world she should take it easy a bit.

There were plenty of books on board, plenty of ice, Ginger Brandy with his fan, and Barnaby Blunt with his ever cheery smile and his wealth of droll conversation.

“Say, young man,” said Barnaby to Tom one day as both reclined in their chairs on deck, “don’t you wonder where you’re goin’ to?”

“No,” said Tom with half-shut eyes. “It never occurred to me to ask. You said I was to come with you, and I’ve come. By the way, where are we going? To Tahiti, to Fife, New Zealand, or where?”

“Ha, ha, ha! Well, that cat and you are a pair, I guess. Ha, ha, ha! How ’Liza, my wife, would enjoy you. But now, look here. I’m going to tell you a story.”

“I’m all attention.”

“Well, don’t go to sleep. Once upon a time--”

“That’s a nice beginning,” said Tom.

“Once upon a time a ship filled with gold doubloons--Sirr, are you listening?”

“Yes, gold doubloons--”

“Seems to me you nodded. But never mind. She sailed away from Calla--O. It was all specie and nothing else she had on board. There must have been pretty near five million dollars. Are you awake?”

“I’m listening. I like to keep my eyes shut when anyone else is telling a good story. Go on.”

“Well, sirr, a certain bad lot who lived at Lima got wind of it, and pursued this craft in a hired cruiser, with a hired crew--assassins--overtook--ugly affair--spared none--plank--sharks--Australia--back--island--mutiny--gold hidden--terrible sufferings--death--nobody found--Galapagos Islands--”

The above disjointed sentences are the skipper’s strange story as Tom heard it--not as the Yankee told it; and at the word “islands” Tom dropped to sleep altogether, and did not awake until Barnaby had finished.

“Very remarkable story indeed!” said Tom; “very remarkable! And of course they hanged him?”

“Hanged whom--eh?”

“Why, didn’t you say that somebody--Why, I do believe I _was_ half asleep.”

“I guess you were, and so was the cat. But there, it don’t matter. I mean to find that pile. If I don’t somebody else will, and then Barnaby Blunt won’t have it--eh?”

“Certainly not.”

“And when Barnaby Blunt does find it and does get it on board, then hurrah! for ’Frisco and my old woman ’Liza, and no more going to sea for me on this side the grave. Only, altho’ I must confess you ain’t the most inquisitive coon ever I came across, still I thought I’d tell you the strange story, and let you know where I was bearing up for, and the kind o’ notion Barnaby Blunt had in his long head.”

“Well, I’m much obliged, Captain Blunt, for your confidence in me; and all will, I hope, turn out well and for the best.”

It may as well be confessed here at once that Tom’s notions even now as to where the ship was going to were the most hazy imaginable.

All went well in the _’Liza Ann_ for two more weeks.

The men called her the lazy _’Liza_; but certainly they appeared to enjoy the ship’s laziness very much. They were only ten all told, including Ginger Brandy; but _dolce far niente_ was their motto, from Pebbles the mate all the way down.

The masts, as I have said, were not tall, and as there was patent reefing tackle they never had far aloft to go; so their work was very easy. But they kept the ship as clean as a new sovereign. They sang all day long, and danced in the evening--verily a happy-go-lucky crew.

Tom the cat was a favourite forward; indeed, this strange puss, being thoroughly up to the ways of ships and sailors, seemed happier now than ever he had been in his life.

He used to sit in the weather-bow of a night till a flying-fish came on board, then catch it and come aft with it to his master, and go back and wait for another. The men averred that these fish flew at Tom’s eyes, because they looked like a couple of ship’s lanterns in the dark. Perhaps this was the true explanation. At all events, the fish did fly on board, and were duly cooked for breakfast every morning; and if there be anything nicer for breakfast than a broiled flying-fish, I have yet to learn something new about the sea, and things in general.

Years and years after this, Tom--our hero, not the cat--used to look back to the days he spent on board of the lazy _’Liza_ as among the most delightful--dreamily delightful--in all his experience of a seafarer’s life.

Ah! but they came to an end in a sadly unexpected way.