The Happy Mariners (4 page)

Elizabeth took Guy's arm, dragged him to the cabin door, and shut him in. Then, turning to Rex, she answered: ‘Well, I had the ship first, didn't I? Perhaps I had a better look at her than you did—before the bottle broke, I mean, when she was only a little one. Besides, Father explained where and what everything was. It's very convenient, I must say.'

‘Was it he told you about the cook's galley?'

‘Of course! Don't you remember?' She looked thoughtful. ‘But how shall we get the stove alight?'

They suddenly discovered that Martin was missing. ‘Oh dear!' cried Elizabeth. ‘Where can he have got to?'

Rex yelled: ‘Martin! Where are you?'

‘Here I am,' said a small voice at his back. ‘I say,
Rex, I've been exploring. This isn't half a fine ship. I'm jolly glad I came, I am. I've never seen a better ship than this, and you may lay to it.' Young Martin cocked his head on one side and looked very knowing and nautical. ‘Do you know this ship's got holes in the side of it? To shoot through at the pirates, I expect.' His eyes glistened.

‘Bloodthirsty little thing!' said Elizabeth, smiling.

‘And there are guns, you know,' Martin went on. ‘Two of them. Besides a lot of little ones for us. I say, when are we going to start our cruise, Elizabeth? You're captain, aren't you? Have you got the map of the island with you? We shall need that.'

‘Look here, young Martin,' said Rex, in his most grown-up tone. ‘You didn't go down below, did you? Down that hatchway?' He pointed.

Martin shook his head, and Elizabeth, who looked surprised, asked: ‘Why do you want to know?'

‘Ah!' said Rex mysteriously.

But though Rex, as usual, tried to look grand about his secret, Elizabeth could see that he wasn't quite happy about it. There was something on his mind.

‘Rex,' she said, ‘have you seen something down there?'

‘I may have done,' said Rex evasively.

‘Is it something … rather awful?'

‘Awful? Of course not. There's nothing so awful about a man, is there?'

Elizabeth stared: ‘A man! What was he doing?'

‘Doing? Oh, just lying down.'

‘Did he see you?'

‘No. At least I don't think so. You've got what father calls a thirst for knowledge to-night, haven't you, Elizabeth?'

‘Was he asleep?' persisted Elizabeth.

Rex turned resolutely away. ‘I don't know. He … didn't seem to be moving much. That is, he wasn't snoring or anything.'

Elizabeth shuddered, and Martin's eyes were round with astonishment. ‘Don't be so comic!' she said to Rex. This was a saying in the family. It usually meant that the speaker's patience was running out, and that an explosion of temper was likely to occur at any moment. But this time Elizabeth used it to gain time and to keep the conversation quiet and matter-of-fact. ‘Say what you mean, Rex. Is the man a … a dead man?'

‘Hullo!' remarked Guy cheerfully. He emerged from the cabin wrapped round in a blanket. ‘Who's talking about a dead man?'

They all turned, startled, to look at him. But at this moment there came a noise of somebody moving down below: heavy footsteps, a crash as of a chair or table overturned, the growl of a man, and then a snatch of queer song. The footsteps came nearer, nearer, stumbling up the hatchway.

The children exchanged startled glances. ‘What's that?'

‘Come here, Martin!' said Elizabeth. ‘Hide behind me.'

The two elder boys planted themselves in front of their sister.

‘If he gives trouble,' said Guy, hoarsely whispering into his brother's ear, ‘I'll collar him low. And then you can sit on his head.'

The door of the hatch opened, and a man's head appeared in the aperture.

‘Belay there, my hearties!' cried the stranger. He roared indeed, but he roared rather drowsily and to no one in particular.

The face was wrinkled and leathery and weather-beaten; the voice had a strong rustic twang; and the man to whom they belonged proved to be, so soon as he stepped on to the deck, no other than the old mariner who had presented Elizabeth with the little
Resmiranda.
He was not, perhaps, in years, so very old—probably rather less than forty; but he had the appearance of being old in wisdom. Elizabeth felt at once that he was a man who could be trusted. He was puzzling all the same. It was difficult to know quite how to take him. Those little wrinkles round his eyes made you think, until you got used to the man, that he was smiling all the time. When she first met his wondering glance Elizabeth thought it only polite to smile back.

He stared at the four children, looking from face to face, and then rubbed his eyes as though he were only half awake. They gave him stare for stare, but said no word.

When at last the mariner spoke, it was himself, not them, that he addressed: ‘Now here be a mighty strange thing, and a marvel to see! Phineas, old lad, th' art at thy plaguy dreaming again.'

The Robinsons stared with big eyes, but said nothing. The mariner continued to reason with himself. ‘Four children I see—four little new-laid eggses. Now what should sich be doing on the deck of my ship? Nothing. Nothing at all. How could sich have got there? They couldn't have got there. That be plain enough. As plain as Barnabas Kitto that was shipmate with me five year come Martinmas, and had his nose cut off by the Samboses. Four children—three lads prinked up for a party, and a little wench as neat as a new schooner. Four children? Nay, 'tis naught but four nogginses of good rumbullion I'm seeing, as I'm a living sinner!'

Rex thought it time to intervene. ‘If it's us you're speaking of,' he began politely, ‘we're the Robinsons.'

‘Aha!' chuckled the mariner. ‘They speak, too, these dreams of mine. Naught but four nogginses of good rumbullion, and dang me if they don't speak! Here be a fine to-do!'

‘I say, you know,' said Guy, advancing a pace, ‘you're making a big mistake if you think we're not real. Our name is Robinson, and I'm Guy Robinson. Who are you?'

The mariner made no answer; nor did he even so much as glance in Guy's direction. He just put his head on one side, stared dreamily at distance, and smiled. ‘Yes,' he murmured, nodding his head solemnly, ‘they speak. And a queer kind of speech it is.' He seemed fond of talking to himself, for he
went on: ‘I'm not denying, mark 'ee, that it's pretty to the ear, but I'll wager it'd take me a long cruise to catch the drift of it.'

‘It's ordinary English, anyhow,' said Rex, perhaps a trifle offended.

‘English it is and English it may be, for what should an Englishman hear in his dreams but his own mother tongue?' The mariner's eyes were now closed. His body rocked to and fro, and his voice rose and fell in a kind of drowsy chant. He clutched one hand to his brow, while with the other he groped his way forward. ‘Turn thee over, Phineas lad!' said he. ‘Turn 'ee over and rest easy, and have done with this fantastical stuff. Four nogginses, or was it four bottles? Four nogginses dressed up as mortal children and answering back, man to man—didst ever hear the like!' He gave a sudden lurch, sat down heavily, opened his eyes, and began to sing. He sang to a melancholy droning tune; and now his voice would sink to a murmur, and now it would rise to a kind of roaring, almost as though it were being blown about in a hurricane:

Our ship may sink, our ship may float,
Whatever befall, we care not a groat,
So long as there be a thirst i' the throat
And a cask of old rum-bull-i-on.

Heave Jack, ho Jack, pickle me a Don
In a cask of old rum-bull-i-on!

For storm and battle we have no lust,
Live while a may and die when a must,
But mariners all we put our trust
In a cask of old rum-bull-i-on.

Heave Jack, ho Jack, pickle me a Don
In a cask of old rum-bull-i-on!

Martin, who had begun by being a little timid of the strange man, now plucked up courage. Determined to join in the fun he emerged from behind Elizabeth's short skirts and stepped forward boldly.

‘Are you a pirate, old son of a gun?' said he. ‘And what are you doing on this Spanish ship? Don't you know it belongs to Elizabeth?'

And, surprising though it may sound, Martin succeeded, where his brothers had failed, in getting the mariner's attention; for at the magic word
Elizabeth
the strange fellow emerged from his trance. His eyes glistened with pleasure and amusement to see young Martin standing up to him in so threatening a style. His hand shot out suddenly and seized Martin two inches above the elbow. ‘Hullo, young fighting cock!' Martin struggled to get free, but the mariner held him in an iron grip and roared with laughter. The next minute the other three—Rex, Guy, and Elizabeth not least—had flung themselves upon the man and were pummelling him heartily. In a trice he had leapt to his feet and was shaking them gently off. Rex, who continued dancing round him like a true pugilist,
received a tap on the chest that sent him sprawling. ‘Calm thyself, pretty bantam!' said the mariner, and, seeing the look of comical surprise with which Rex sat down on the deck, he burst into another great roar of laughter.

Reassured by that laughter, which was after all quite friendly, and not, as they had at first thought, cruel and mocking, Guy and Elizabeth began laughing too; and even Rex, though his dignity had been a little hurt, joined in. Martin, to whom it had been nothing but a game all the time, was for continuing the fight; but a word from Elizabeth brought him back to her side.

‘But do you mind telling us,' asked Elizabeth in her primmest voice, ‘what your name is?'

‘Phineas Dyke, lady, if it please 'ee. And Phineas Dyke, heaven help me, whether it please 'ee or not; for that's my name, it is that, given in holy baptism, which none can gainsay me nor shall, asking your pardon. Ay, Phineas Dyke, a common mariner by trade, but master, by the grace of heaven, of this same Spanish ship, and happy, I'm sure, to entertain a lady.'

‘Yes, but don't you know'—Guy repeated Martin's question—‘that this ship belongs to Elizabeth?'

‘God save the Queen!' said Phineas Dyke, standing up stiff and straight as a ramrod. ‘Know it I do, and who should know it better! Hers it is, by right of conquest, and as tricky a little craft as ever put out of
Spain. But who won it for her? Answer me that.' Phineas placed a forefinger against the side of his nose, and winked prodigiously, and looked very sly. ‘Perhaps it was the Lord Admiral Howard himself, but it wasn't, and thee may take affidavy to that. Perhaps it was Captain Drake, you're thinking? And perhaps it was no sich thing, says I. Perhaps, think 'ee, it was Captain Hawkins, and him as likely a gentleman as another, or perhaps it was Captain Frobisher, for if 'twasn't one, thee sayest, 'twas another. There be four squadrons and no more, thee be telling me, and one of them must have taken this little craft, or if they did not, thee shall give it up, shall 'ee? And what does Phineas answer? Suppose it
was
Drake's squadron, says Phineas, what then? Drake's Drake and a squadron's a squadron, and there's ships in a squadron, or I be mightily mistaken, and there be masters on ships, or I'm no able-bodied mariner, and there be men that serve those same masters, or I've never loaded a culverin. Which I mean to say, my dear, there's some as gets first on an enemy craft and there's some as gets last; there's some as strikes the first blow and some as strikes the last, and that's the plain truth of the tale as I'm a mortal man.'

‘We don't quite understand,' said Rex, after an awkward silence, ‘Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher, and all that. They were the chaps that licked the Spanish Armada, weren't they?'

‘Spanish fandangle!' snorted Phineas Dyke gleefully. ‘Druv 'em off the sea, they did, and into it, and under it. And, mark 'ee, they made a good brave show and carried stout hearts aboard. Spaniards they were, 'tis true, and foreign Spaniards at that if thee takes my meaning, but as good as gold in a fight, and a pretty sight for to behold was that same Spanish fandangle.'

‘But I mean,' said Rex politely, ‘that happened ages ago, didn't it? We've just been doing it at school, don't you see?'

‘Ages ago?' echoed Phineas. ‘What wild tales have they been telling 'ee, lad? 'Twas but last night this ship was taken. My ship was the
Firefly,
commanded by Master Miles Winterhie. 'Twas a dark night and we were sailing quietly, all hands ready, all sails set, cleaning the seas of any little bits of rubbish that was left after the great victory. The fight was over, so 'twas; and when we spied the
Resmiranda
it was smart work for every mother's son, which is gospel truth, boy, and no word of a lie. There was a power of fight left in her, give her her due, and did her begin blazing away at us or did her not? Ask that of Kit Hooper, my gun-mate—Kit Hooper, who fell with a ball in his breast and will never run nigh trouble again, the rascal! There was a high sea raging, and whether or no, with one thing or another, our shots fell wide, so we sailed right in at her, grappled with her, boarded her, and took her. And who was the first to jump aboard her and kill
his man? Phineas Dyke it was, by the mercy of heaven. And who was the only man left when the fight was over, the only man-jack on the ship?'

‘Phineas Dyke!' cried the children in chorus, clapping their hands.

Phineas looked round in astonishment. ‘How did ye know that, me hearties? Yes, by'r lakin, it was me, and no other. A cruel hard fight, man to man, steel to steel, on this same deck…'

‘Where are they now?' asked Rex. For Rex privately thought the old mariner a bit crazy, and wanted to bring it home to him that this wonderful battle, if it had happened at all, couldn't possibly have happened last night, since the ship was perfect, her sails unharmed, her deck clean and smelling of nothing but tar. ‘If this happened last night, where are they now, the … the bodies, I mean?'