THE COMPLETE SHORT STORIES OF RUDYARD KIPLING: 440+ Tales in One Edition. Rudyard Kipling

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СКАЧАТЬ boat's all right, Captain. When will you come to lunch?"

      "I told you," said the Governor, "it would be a larque to him."

      "Mother of the Saints! then what is his seriousness?" said the captain. "We shall be happy to come when you please. Indeed, we have no other choice," he added bitterly.

      "Not at all," said Judson, and as he looked at the three or four shot-blisters on the bows of his boat a brilliant idea took him. "It is we who are at your mercy. See how His Excellency's guns knocked us about."

      "Senior Captain," said the Governor pityingly, "that is very sad. You are most injured, and your deck too, it is all shot over. We shall not be too severe on a beat man, shall we, Captain?"

      "You couldn't spare us a little paint, could you? I'd like to patch up a little after the—action," said Judson meditatively, fingering his upper lip to hide a smile.

      "Our store-room is at your disposition," said the captain of the "Guadala", and his eye brightened; for a few lead splashes on gray paint make a big show.

      "Mr. Davies, go aboard and see what they have to spare—to spare, remember. Their spar-colour with a little working up should be just our freeboard tint."

      "Oh, yes. I'll spare them," said Mr. Davies savagely. "I don't understand this how-d'you-do and damn-your-eyes business coming one atop of the other in a manner o' speaking. By all rights, they're our lawful prize."

      The Governor and the captain came to lunch in the absence of Mr. Davies. Bai-Jove-Judson had not much to offer, but what he had was given as by a beaten foeman to a generous conqueror. When they were a little warmed—the Governor genial and the captain almost effusive—he explained, quite casually, over the opening of a bottle that it would not be to his interest to report the affair seriously, and it was in the highest degree improbable that the Admiral would treat it in any grave fashion.

      "When my decks are cut up" (there was one groove across four planks), "and my plates buckled" (there were five lead patches on three plates), "and I meet such a boat as the 'Guadala', and a mere accident saves me from being blown out of the water—"

      "Yes. A mere accident, Captain. The shoal-buoy has been lost," said the captain of the 'Guadala'.

      "Ah? I do not know this river. That was very sad. But as I was saying, when an accident saves me from being sunk, what can I do but go away—if that is possible? But I fear that I have no coal for the sea voyage. It is very sad." Judson had compromised on what he knew of the French tongue as a working language.

      "It is enough," said the Governor, waving a generous hand. "Judson of my soul, the coal is yours, and you shall be repaired—yes, repaired all over of your battle's wounds. You shall go with all the honours of all the wars. Your flag shall fly. Your drum shall beat. Your, ah!—jolly boys shall spoke their bayonets. Is it not so, Captain?"

      "As you say, Excellency. But the traders in the town. What of them?"

      The Governor looked puzzled for an instant. He could not quite remember what had happened to those jovial men who had cheered him over night. Judson interrupted swiftly: "His Excellency has set them to forced works on barracks and magazines, and, I think, a custom-house. When that is done they will be released, I hope, Excellency."

      "Yes, they shall be released for your sake, little Judson of my heart." Then they drank the health of their respective sovereigns, while Mr. Davies superintended the removal of the scarred plank and the shot-marks on the deck and the bow-plates.

      "Oh, this is too bad," said Judson when they went on deck. "That idiot has exceeded his instructions, but—but yow must let me pay for this!"

      Mr. Davies, his legs in the water as he sat on a staging slung over the bows, was acutely conscious that he was being blamed in a foreign tongue. He smiled uneasily, and went on with his work.

      "What is it?" said the Governor.

      "That thick-head has thought that we needed some gold-leaf, and he has borrowed that from your storeroom, but I must make it good." Then in English, "Stand up, Mr. Davies. What the—in—do you mean by taking their gold-leaf? My—, are we a set of pirates to scrape the guts out of a Levantine bumboat? Look contrite, you butt-ended, broad-breeched, bottle-bellied, swivel-eyed son of a tinker, you! My Soul alive, can't I maintain discipline in my own ship without a blacksmith of a boiler-riveter putting me to shame before a yellow-nosed picaroon. Get off the staging, Mr. Davies, and go to the engine-room. Put down that leaf first, though, and leave the books where they are. I'll send for you in a minute. Go aft!"

      Now, only the upper half of Mr. Davies's round face was above the bulwarks when this torrent of abuse descended upon him; and it rose inch by inch as the shower continued: blank amazement, bewilderment, rage, and injured pride chasing each other across it till he saw his superior officer's left eyelid flutter on the cheek twice. Then he fled to the engine-room, and wiping his brow with a handful of cotton-waste, sat down to overtake circumstances.

      "I am desolated," said Judson to his companions, "but you see the material that you give us. This leaves me more in your debt than before. The stuff I can replace" (gold-leaf is never carried on floating gun-platforms), "but for the insolence of that man how shall I apologise?"

      Mr. Davies's mind moved slowly, but after a while he transferred the cotton-waste from his forehead to his mouth and bit on it to prevent laughter. He began a second dance on the engine-room plates. "Neat! Oh, damned neat!" he chuckled. "I've served with a good few, but there never was one so neat as him. And I thought he was the new kind that don't know how to put a few words, as it were!"

      "Mr. Davies, you can continue your work," said Judson down the engine-room hatch. "These officers have been good enough to speak in your favour. Make a thorough job of it while you are about it. Slap on every man you have. Where did you get hold of it?"

      "Their storeroom is a regular theatre, sir. You couldn't miss it. There's enough for two first-rates, and I've scoffed the best half of it."

      "Look sharp, then. We shall be coaling from her this afternoon. You'll have to cover it all."

      "Neat! Oh, damned neat!" said Mr. Davies under his breath, as he gathered his subordinates together, and set about accomplishing the long-deferred wish of Judson's heart.

      It was the "Martin Frobisher", the flag-ship, a great war-boat when she was new, in the days when men built for sail as well as for steam. She could turn twelve knots under full sail, and it was under that that she stood up the mouth of the river, a pyramid of silver beneath the moon. The Admiral, fearing that he had given Judson a task beyond his strength, was coming to look for him, and incidentally to do a little diplomatic work along the coast. There was hardly wind enough to move the "Frobisher" a couple of knots an hour, and the silence of the land closed about her as she entered the fairway. Her yards sighed a little from time to time, and the ripple under her bows answered the sigh. The full moon rose over the steaming swamps, and the Admiral, gazing upon it, thought less of Judson and more of the softer emotions. In answer to the very mood of his mind, there floated across the silver levels of the water, mellowed by distance to a most poignant sweetness, the throb of a mandolin, and the voice of one who called upon a genteel Julia—upon Julia, and upon love. The song ceased, and the sighing of the yards was all that broke the silence of the big ship.

      Again the mandolin began, and the commander on the lee side of the quarter-deck grinned a grin that was reflected in the face of the signal-midshipman. Not a word of the song was lost, and the voice of the singer was the voice of Judson.

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