Light Freights. William Wymark Jacobs

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      “You can tell ‘em from me they’re blamed fools,” said Mr. Bliss.

      There was an uncomfortable silence; Mr. Bliss lit his pipe, but it did not seem to draw well.

      “Did you like that pot o’ six-half I stood you last night?” he inquired somewhat pointedly of Bob.

      Bob hesitated and looked at his plate.

      “No, it was a bit flat,” he said at length.

      “Well, I won’t stop you chaps at your grub,” said Private Bliss, bitterly, as he turned to depart.

      “You’re not stopping us,” said Ted, cheerfully. “I’d offer you a bit, only—”

      “Only what?” demanded the other.

      “Skipper’s orders,” said Ted. “He ses we’re not to. He ses if we do it’s helping a deserter, and we’ll all get six months.”

      “But you’re helping me by having me on board,” said Private Bliss; “besides, I don’t want to desert.”

      “We couldn’t ‘elp you coming aboard,” said Bill, “that’s wot the old man said, but ‘e ses we can ‘elp giving of him vittles, he ses.”

      “Well, have I got to starve?” demanded the horror-stricken Mr. Bliss.

      “Look ‘ere,” said Bill, frankly, “go and speak to the old man. It’s no good talking to us. Go and have it out with him.”

      Private Bliss thanked him and went on deck. Old Thomas was at the wheel, and a pleasant clatter of knives and forks came up through the open skylight of the cabin. Ignoring the old man, who waved him away, he raised the open skylight still higher, and thrust his head in.

      “Go away,” bawled the skipper, pausing with his knife in his fist as he caught sight of him.

      “I want to know where I’m to have my dinner,” bawled back the thoroughly roused Mr. Bliss.

      “Your dinner!” said the skipper, with an air of surprise; “why, I didn’t know you ‘ad any.”

      Private Bliss took his head away, and holding it very erect, took in his belt a little and walked slowly up and down the deck. Then he went to the water-cask and took a long drink, and an hour later a generous message was received from the skipper that he might have as many biscuits as he liked.

      On this plain fare Private Bliss lived the whole of that day and the next, snatching a few hours’ troubled sleep on the locker at nights. His peace of mind was by no means increased by the information of Ted that Bystermouth was a garrison town, and feeling that in spite of any explanation he would be treated as a deserter, he resolved to desert in good earnest at the first opportunity that offered.

      By the third day nobody took any notice of him, and his presence on board was almost forgotten, until Bob, going down to the forecastle, created a stir by asking somewhat excitedly what had become of him.

      “He’s on deck, I s’pose,” said the cook, who was having a pipe.

      “He’s not,” said Bob, solemnly.

      “He’s not gone overboard, I s’pose?” said Bill, starting up.

      Touched by this morbid suggestion they went up on deck and looked round; Private Bliss was nowhere to be seen, and Ted, who was steering, Had heard no splash. He seemed to have disappeared by magic, and the cook, after a hurried search, ventured aft, and, descending to the cabin, mentioned his fears to the skipper.

      “Nonsense!” said that gentleman, sharply, “I’ll lay I’ll find him.”

      He came on deck and looked round, followed at a respectful distance by the crew, but there was no sign of Mr. Bliss.

      Then an idea, a horrid idea, occurred to the cook. The colour left his cheeks and he gazed helplessly at the skipper.

      “What is it?” bawled the latter.

      The cook, incapable of speech, raised a trembling hand and pointed to the galley. The skipper started, and, rushing to the door, drew it hastily back.

      Mr. Bliss had apparently finished, though he still toyed languidly with his knife and fork as though loath to put them down. A half-emptied saucepan of potatoes stood on the floor by his side, and a bone, with a small fragment of meat adhering, was between his legs on a saucepan lid which served as a dish.

      “Rather underdone, cook,” he said, severely, as he met that worthy’s horror-stricken gaze.

      “Is that the cabin’s or the men’s he’s eaten?” vociferated the skipper.

      “Cabin’s,” replied Mr. Bliss, before the cook could speak; “it looked the best. Now, has anybody got a nice see-gar?”

      He drew back the door the other side of the galley as he spoke, and went out that way. A move was made towards him, but he backed, and picking up a handspike swung it round his head.

      “Let him be,” said the skipper in a choking voice, “let him be. He’ll have to answer for stealing my dinner when I get ‘im ashore. Cook, take the men’s dinner down into the cabin. I’ll talk to you by and by.”

      He walked aft and disappeared below, while Private Bliss, still fondling the handspike, listened unmoved to a lengthy vituperation which Bill called a plain and honest opinion of his behaviour.

      “It’s the last dinner you’ll ‘ave for some time,” he concluded, spitefully; “it’ll be skilly for you when you get ashore.”

      Mr. Bliss smiled, and, fidgeting with his tongue, asked him for the loan of his toothpick.

      “You won’t be using it yourself,” he urged. “Now you go below all of you and start on the biscuits, there’s good men. It’s no use standing there saying a lot o’ bad words what I left off when I was four years old.”

      He filled his pipe with some tobacco he had thoughtfully borrowed from the cook before dinner, and dropping into a negligent attitude on the deck, smoked placidly with his eyes half-closed. The brig was fairly steady and the air hot and slumberous, and with an easy assurance that nobody would hit him while in that position, he allowed his head to fall on his chest and dropped off into a light sleep.

      It became evident to him the following afternoon that they were nearing Bystermouth. The skipper contented himself with eyeing him with an air of malicious satisfaction, but the crew gratified themselves by painting the horrors of his position in strong colors. Private Bliss affected indifference, but listened eagerly to all they had to say, with the air of a general considering his enemy’s plans.

      It was a source of disappointment to the crew that they did not arrive until after nightfall, and the tide was already too low for them to enter the harbour. They anchored outside, and Private Bliss, despite his position, felt glad as he smelt the land again, and saw the twinkling lights and houses ashore. He could even hear the clatter of a belated vehicle driving along the seafront. Lights on the summits of the heights in the background, indicated, so Bill said, the position of the fort.

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