The Greatest Sea Adventure Novels: 30+ Maritime Novels, Pirate Tales & Seafaring Stories. R. M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ the dangers of the North.

      Dr Hopley had few weaknesses. His chief one was an extravagant belief in phrenology. We would not be understood to imply that phrenology is extravagant; but we assert that the doctor’s belief in it was extravagant, assigning, as he did, to every real and ideal facility of the human mind “a local habitation and a name” in the cranium, with a corresponding depression or elevation of the surface to mark its whereabouts. In other respects he was a commonplace sort of a man.

      Mr Millons, the first mate, was a short, hale, thick-set man, without any particularly strong points of character. He was about thirty-five, and possessed a superabundance of fair hair and whiskers, with a large, broad chin, a firm mouth, rather fierce-looking eyes, and a hasty, but by no means a bad temper. He was a trustworthy, matter-of-fact seaman, and a good officer, but not bright intellectually. Like most men of his class, his look implied that he did not under-estimate his own importance, and his tones were those of a man accustomed to command.

      Tim Rokens was an old salt; a bluff, strong, cast-iron man, of about forty-five years of age, who had been at sea since he was a little boy, and would not have consented to live on dry land, though he had been “offered command of a seaport town all to himself,” as he was wont to affirm emphatically. His visage was scarred and knotty, as if it had been long used to being pelted by storms—as indeed it had. There was a scar over his left eye and down his cheek, which had been caused by a slash from the cutlass of a pirate in the China Seas; but although it added to the rugged effect of his countenance, it did not detract from the frank, kindly expression that invariably rested there. Tim Rokens had never been caught out of temper in his life. Men were wont say he had no temper to lose. Whether this was true or no, we cannot presume to say, but certainly he never lost it. He was the best and boldest harpooner in Captain Dunning’s ship, and a sententious deliverer of his private opinion on all occasions whatsoever. When we say that he wore a rough blue pilot-cloth suit, and had a large black beard, with a sprinkling of silver hairs in it, we have completed his portrait.

      “What’s come of Glynn?” inquired Captain Dunning, as he accepted a large cup of smoking tea with one hand, and with the other handed a plate of buttered toast to Dr Hopley, who sat next him.

      “I really cannot imagine,” replied Miss Martha.

      “No, cannot imagine,” whispered Miss Jane.

      “He promised to come, and to be punctual,” continued Miss Martha (“Punctual,” whispered Miss J), “but something seems to have detained him. Perhaps—”

      Here Miss Martha was brought to an abrupt pause by observing that Mr Rokens was about to commence to eat his egg with a teaspoon.

      “Allow me, Mr Rokens,” she said, handing that individual an ivory eggspoon.

      “Oh, cer’nly, ma’am. By all means,” replied Rokens, taking the spoon and handing it to Miss Jane, under the impression that it was intended for her.

      “I beg pardon, it is for yourself, Mr Rokens,” said Martha and Jane together.

      “Thank’ee, ma’am,” replied Rokens, growing red, as he began to perceive he was a little “off his course” somehow. “I’ve no occasion for two, an’ this one suits me oncommon.”

      “Ah! you prefer big spoons to little ones, my man, don’t you?” said Captain Dunning, coming to the rescue. “Let him alone, Martha, he’s used to take care of himself. Doctor, can you tell me now, which is the easiest of digestion—a hard egg or a soft one?”

      Thus appealed to, Dr Hopley paused a moment and frowned at the teapot, as though he were about to tax his brain to the utmost in the solution of an abstruse question in medical science.

      “Well now,” he replied, stirring his tea gently, and speaking with much deliberation, “that depends very much upon circumstances. Some digestions can manage a hard egg best, others find a soft one more tractable. And then the state of the stomach at the time of eating has to be taken into account. I should say now, that my little friend Ailie, here, to judge from the rosy colour of her cheeks, could manage hard or soft eggs equally well; couldn’t you, eh?”

      Ailie laughed, as she replied, “I’m sure I don’t know, Doctor Hopley; but I like soft ones best.”

      To this, Captain Dunning said, “Of course you do, my sensible little pet;” although it would be difficult to show wherein lay the sensibility of the preference, and then added—“There’s Rokens, now; wouldn’t you, doctor—judging from his rosy, not to say purple cheeks—conclude that he wasn’t able to manage even two eggs of any kind?”

      “Wot, me!” exclaimed Mr Rokens, looking up in surprise, as indeed he well might, having just concluded his fourth, and being about to commence his fifth egg, to the no small anxiety of Martha and Jane, into whose limited and innocent minds the possibility of such a feat had never entered. “Wot, me! Why, capting, if they was biled as hard as the head of a marline-spike—”

      The expanding grin on the captain’s face, and a sudden laugh from the mate, apprised the bold harpooner at this point of his reply that the captain was jesting, so he felt a little confused, and sought relief by devoting himself assiduously to egg Number 5.

      It fared ill with Tim Rokens that evening that he had rashly entered into ladies’ society, for he was a nervous man in refined company, though cool and firm as a grounded iceberg when in the society of his messmates, or when towing with the speed of a steamboat in the wake of a sperm-whale.

      Egg Number 5 proved to be a bad one. Worse than that, egg Number 5 happened to belong to that peculiar class of bad eggs which “go off” with a little crack when hit with a spoon, and sputter their unsavoury contents around them. Thus it happened, that when Mr Rokens, feeling confused, and seeking relief in attention to the business then in hand, hit egg Number 5 a smart blow on the top, a large portion of its contents spurted over the fair white tablecloth, a small portion fell on Mr Rokens’ vest, and a minute yellow globule thereof alighted on the fair Martha’s hand, eliciting from that lady a scream, and as a matter of course, an echo from Jane in the shape of a screamlet.

      Mr Rokens flushed a deep Indian-red, and his nose assumed a warm blue colour instantly.

      “Oh! ma’am, I ax yer parding.”

      “Pray don’t mention it—a mere accident. I’m so sorry you have got a bad— Oh!”

      The little scream with which Miss Martha interrupted her remark was caused by Mr Rokens (who had just observed the little yellow globule above referred to) seizing her hand, and wiping away the speck with the identical handkerchief that had floored the cat and swept away the pat of butter. Immediately thereafter, feeling heated, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and unwittingly transferred the spot thereto in the form of a yellow streak, whereat Ailie and the first mate burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Even Miss Martha smiled, although she rather objected to jesting, as being a dangerous amusement, and never laughed at the weaknesses or misfortunes of others, however ludicrous they might be, when she could help it.

      “How can you, brother?” she said, reproachfully, shaking her head at the captain, who was winking at the doctor with one eye in a most obstreperous manner. “Do try another egg, Mr Rokens; the others, I am sure, are fresh. I cannot imagine how a bad one came to be amongst them.”

      “Ah, try another, my lad,” echoed the captain. “Pass ’em up this way, Mr Millons.”

      “By no manner o’ means; I’ll eat this ’un!” replied СКАЧАТЬ