The Lady of the Barge, W. W. Jacobs [feel good books to read txt] 📗

He wondered dimly as he stood whether Thomson was there too, and walking unsteadily round the forecastle, roused the sleepers, one by one, and asked them whether they were Harry Thomson, all answering with much fluency in the negative, until he came to one man who for some time made no answer at all.

The doctor shook him first and then punched him. Then he shook him again and gave him little scientific slaps, until at length Harry Thomson, in a faraway voice, said that he was all right.

“Well, I’m glad I’m not alone,” said the doctor, selfishly. “Harry! Harry! Wake up!”

“All ri’!” said the sleeper; “I’m all ri’!”

The doctor shook him again, and then rolled him backward and forward in his bunk. Under this gentle treatment the solicitor’s faculties were somewhat brightened, and, half opening his eyes, he punched viciously at the disturber of his peace, until threatening voices from the gloom promised to murder both of them.

“Where are we?” demanded the doctor, of a deep voice from the other side of the forecastle which had been particularly threatening.

“Barque Stella, o’ course,” was the reply. “Where’d you think you was?”

The doctor gripped the edge of his friend’s bunk and tried to think; then, a feeling of nausea overcoming all others, he clambered hurriedly up the forecastle ladder and lurched to the side of the vessel.

He leaned there for some time without moving, a light breeze cooling his fevered brow, and a small schooner some little distance from them playing seesaw, as he closed his eyes to the heaving blue sea. Land was conspicuous by its absence, and with a groan he turned and looked about him⁠—at the white scrubbed deck, the snowy canvas towering aloft on lazily creaking spars, and the steersman leaning against the wheel regarding the officer who stood near by.

Dr. Carson, feeling a little better, walked sternly aft, the officer turning round and glancing in surprise at his rags as he approached.

“I beg your pardon,” began the doctor, in superior tones.

“And what the devil do you want?” demanded the second officer; “who told you to come along here?”

“I want to know what this means,” said the doctor, fiercely. “How dare you kidnap us on your beastly bilge-tank?”

“Man’s mad,” murmured the astonished second officer.

“Insufferable outrage!” continued the doctor. “Take us back to Melbourne at once.”

“You get for’ard,” said the other sharply; “get for’ard, and don’t let me have any more of your lip.”

“I want to see the captain of this ship,” cried the doctor; “go and fetch him at once.”

The second officer gazed at him, limp with astonishment, and then turned to the steersman, as though unable to believe his ears. The steersman pointed in front of him, and the other gave a cry of surprise and rage as he saw another tatterdemalion coming with uncertain steps toward him.

“Carson,” said the new arrival, feebly; and coming closer to his friend, clung to him miserably.

“I’m just having it out with ’em, Thomson,” said the doctor, energetically. “My friend here is a solicitor. Tell him what’ll happen if they don’t take us back, Harry.”

“You seem to be unaware, my good fellow,” said the solicitor, covering a large hole in the leg of his trousers with his hand, “of the very dangerous situation in which you have placed yourselves. We have no desire to be harsh with you⁠—”

“Not at all,” acquiesced the doctor, nodding at the second officer.

“At the same time,” continued Mr. Thomson⁠—“at the⁠—” He let go his friend’s arm and staggered away; the doctor gazed after him sympathetically.

“His digestion is not all it should be,” he said to the second officer, confidentially.

“If you don’t get for’ard in two twos,” said that gentleman, explosively, “I’ll knock your heads off.”

The doctor gazed at him in haughty disdain, and taking the limp Thomson by the arm, led him slowly away.

“How did we get here?” asked Mr. Harry Thomson, feebly.

The doctor shook his head.

“How did we get these disgusting clothes on?” continued his friend.

The doctor shook his head again. “The last thing I can remember, Harry,” he said, slowly, “was imploring you not to drink any more.”

“I didn’t hear you,” said the solicitor, crustily; “your speech was very indistinct last night.”

“Seemed so to you, I dare say,” said the other.

Mr. Thomson shook his arm off, and clinging to the mainmast, leaned his cheek against it and closed his eyes. He opened them again at the sound of voices, and drew himself up as he saw the second officer coming along with a stern-visaged man of about fifty.

“Are you the master of this vessel?” inquired the doctor, stepping to his friend’s side.

“What the blazes has that got to do with you?” demanded the skipper. “Look here, my lads; don’t you play any of your little games on me, because they won’t do. You’re both of you as drunk as owls.”

“Defamation of character,” said the solicitor, feebly, to his friend.

“Allow me,” said the doctor, with his best manner, “to inquire what all this means. I am Dr. Frank Carson, of Melbourne; this gentleman is my friend Mr. Thomson, of the same place, solicitor.”

“What?” roared the skipper, the veins in his forehead standing out. “Doctor! Solicitor! Why, you damned rascals, you shipped with me as cook and A.B.”

“There’s some mistake,” said the doctor. “I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to take us back. I hope you haven’t come far.”

“Take those scarecrows away,” cried the skipper, hoarsely; “take them away before I do them a mischief. I’ll have the law of somebody for shipping two useless lubbers as seamen. Look to me like pickpockets.”

“You shall answer for this,” said Carson, foaming; “we’re professional men, and we’re not going to be abused by a bargee.”

“Let him talk,” said Mr. Thomson, hurriedly drawing his friend away from the irate skipper. “Let him talk.”

“I’ll put you both in quod when we