Chapter 1

by Rudyard Kipling

　　The weather door of the smoking-room had been left open to theNorth Atlantic fog, as the big liner rolled and lifted, whistlingto warn the fishing-fleet."That Cheyne boy's the biggest nuisance aboard," said a man in afrieze overcoat, shutting the door with a bang. "He isn't wantedhere. He's too fresh."A white-haired German reached for a sandwich, and grunted betweenbites: "I know der breed. Ameriga is full of dot kind. I deli youyou should imbort ropes' ends free under your dariff.""Pshaw! There isn't any real harm to him. He's more to be pitiedthan anything," a man from New York drawled, as he lay at fulllength along the cushions under the wet skylight. "They've draggedhim around from hotel to hotel ever since he was a kid. I wastalking to his mother this morning. She's a lovely lady, but shedon't pretend to manage him. He's going to Europe to finish hiseducation.""Education isn't begun yet." This was a Philadelphian, curled upin a corner. "That boy gets two hundred a month pocket-money, hetold me. He isn't sixteen either.""Railroads, his father, aind't it'?" said the German."Yep. That and mines and lumber and shipping. Built one place atSan Diego, the old man has; another at Los Angeles; owns half adozen railroads, half the lumber on the Pacific slope, and letshis wife spend the money," the Philadelphian went on lazily. "TheWest don't suit her, she says. She just tracks around with the boyand her nerves, trying to find out what'll amuse him, I guess.Florida, Adirondacks, Lakewood, Hot Springs, New York, and roundagain. He isn't much more than a second-hand hotel clerk now. Whenhe's finished in Europe he'll be a holy terror.""What's the matter with the old man attending to him personally'?"said a voice from the frieze ulster."Old man's piling up the rocks. 'Don't want to be disturbed, Iguess. He'll find out his error a few years from now. 'Pity,because there's a heap of good in the boy if you could get at it.""Mit a rope's end; mit a rope's end!" growled the German.Once more the door banged, and a slight, slim-built boy perhapsfifteen years old, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from one cornerof his mouth, leaned in over the high footway. His pasty yellowcomplexion did not show well on a person of his years, and hislook was a mixture of irresolution, bravado, and very cheapsmartness. He was dressed in a cherry-coloured blazer,knickerbockers, red stockings, and bicycle shoes, with a redflannel cap at the back of the head. After whistling between histeeth, as he eyed the company, he said in a loud, high voice:"Say, it's thick outside. You can hear the fish-boats squawkingall around us. Say, wouldn't it be great if we ran down one?""Shut the door, Harvey," said the New Yorker. "Shut the door andstay outside. You're not wanted here.""Who'll stop me?" he answered deliberately. "Did you pay for mypassage, Mister Martin? 'Guess I've as good right here as the nextman."He picked up some dice from a checker-board and began throwing,right hand against left."Say, gen'elmen, this is deader'n mud. Can't we make a game ofpoker between us?""There was no answer, and he puffed his cigarette, swung his legs,and drummed on the table with rather dirty fingers. Then he pulledout a roll of bills as if to count them."How's your mamma this afternoon?" a man said. "I didn't see herat lunch.""In her state-room, I guess. She's 'most always sick on the ocean.I'm going to give the stewardess fifteen dollars for looking afterher. I don't go down more'n I can avoid. It makes me feelmysterious to pass that butler's-pantry place. Say, this is thefirst time I've been on the ocean.""Oh, don't apologise, Harvey.""Who's apologising? This is the first time I've crossed the ocean,gen'elmen, and, except the first day, I haven't been sick onelittle bit. No, sir!" He brought down his fist with a triumphantbang, wetted his finger, and went on counting the bills."Oh, you're a high-grade machine, with the writing in plainsight," the Philadelphian yawned. "You'll blossom into a credit toyour country if you don't take care.""I know it. I'm an American - first, last, and all the time. I'llshow 'em that when I strike Europe. Pif! My cig's out. I can'tsmoke the truck the steward sells. Any gen'elman got a realTurkish cig on him?"The chief engineer entered for a moment, red, smiling, and wet."Say, Mac," cried Harvey, cheerfully, "how are we hitting it?""Vara much in the ordinary way," was the grave reply. "The youngare as polite as ever to their elders, an' their elders are e'entryin' to appreciate it.A low chuckle came from a corner. The German opened his cigar-caseand handed a skinny black cigar to Harvey."Dot is der broper apparatus to smoke, my young friendt," he said."You vill dry it? Yes? Den you vill be efer so happy."Harvey lit the unlovely thing with a flourish: he felt that he wasgetting on in grown-up society."It would take more'n this to keel me over," he said, ignorantthat he was lighting that terrible article, a Wheeling "stogie.""Dot we shall bresently see," said the German. "Where are we now,Mr. Mactonal'?""Just there or thereabouts, Mr. Schaefer," said the engineer."We'll be on the Grand Bank to-night; but in a general way o'speakin', we're all among the fishing-fleet now. We've shavedthree dories an' near skelped the boom off aFrenchman since noon, an' that's close sailin', ye may say.""You like my cigar, eh?" the German asked, for Harvey's eyes werefull of tears."Fine, full flavour," he answered through shut teeth. "Guess we'veslowed down a little, haven't we? I'll skip out and see what thelog says.""I might if I vhas you," said the German.Harvey staggered over the wet decks to the nearest rail. He wasvery unhappy; but he saw the deck-steward lashing chairs together,and, since he had boasted before the man that he was neverseasick, his pride made him go aft to the second-saloon deck atthe stern, which was finished in a turtle-back. The deck wasdeserted, and he crawled to the extreme end of it, near theflagpole. There he doubled up in limp agony, for the Wheeling"stogie "joined with the surge and jar of the screw to sieve outhis soul. His head swelled; sparks of fire danced before his eyes;his body seemed to lose weight, while his heels wavered in thebreeze. He was fainting from seasickness, and a roll of the shiptilted him over the rail on to the smooth lip of the turtle-back.Then a low, grey mother-wave swung out of the fog, tucked Harveyunder one arm, so to speak, and pulled him off and away toleeward; the great green closed over him, and he went quietly tosleep.He was roused by the sound of a dinner-horn such as they used toblow at a summer-school he had once attended in the Adirondacks.Slowly he remembered that he was Harvey Cheyne, drowned and deadin mid-ocean, but was too weak to fit things together. A new smellfilled his nostrils; wet and clammy chills ran down his back, andhe was helplessly full of salt water. When he opened his eyes, heperceived that he was still on the top of the sea, for it wasrunning roundhim in silver-coloured hills, and he was lying on a pile of half-dead fish, looking at a broad human back clothed in a blue jersey."It's no good," thought the boy. "I'm dead, sure enough, and thisthing is in charge."He groaned, and the figure turned its head, showing a pair oflittle gold rings half hidden in curly black hair."Aha! You feel some pretty well now'?" it said. "Lie still so: wetrim better."With a swift jerk he sculled the flickering boat-head on to afoamless sea that lifted her twenty full feet, only to slide herinto a glassy pit beyond.But this mountain-climbing did not interrupt blue-jersey's talk."Fine good job, I say, that I catch you. Eh, wha-at? Better goodjob, I say, your boat not catch me. How you come to fall out?""I was sick," said Harvey; "sick, and couldn't help it.""Just in time I blow my horn, and your boat she yaw a little. ThenI see you come all down. Eh, wha-at? I think you are cut intobaits by the screw, but you dreeft - dreeft to me, and I make abig fish of you. So you shall not die this time.""Where am I?" said Harvey, who could not see that life wasparticularly safe where he lay."You are with me in the dory - Manuel my name, and I come fromschooner "We're Here" of Gloucester. I live to Gloucester. By-and-by we get supper. Eh, wha-at?"He seemed to have two pairs of hands and a head of cast-iron, for,not content with blowing through a big conch-shell, he must needsstand up to it, swaying with the sway of the flat-bottomed dory,and send a grinding, thuttering shriek through the fog. How longthis entertainment lasted, Harvey could not remember, for he layback terrified at the sight of the smoking swells. He fancied heheard a gun and a horn and shouting. Something bigger than thedory, but quite as lively, loomed alongside. Several voices talkedat once; he was dropped into a dark, heaving hole, where men inoilskins gave him a hot drink and took off his clothes, and hefell asleep.When he waked he listened for the first breakfast-bell on thesteamer, wondering why his stateroom had grown so small. Turning,he looked into a narrow, triangular cave, lit by a lamp hungagainst a huge square beam. A three-cornered table within arm'sreach ran from the angle of the to the foremast. At the after end,behind a well-used Plymouth stove, sat a boy about his own age,with a flat red face and a pair of twinkling grey eyes. He wasdressed in a blue jersey and high rubber boots. Several pairs ofthe same sort of foot-wear, an old cap, and some worn-out woolensocks lay on the floor, and black and yellow oilskins swayed toand fro beside the bunks. The place was packed as full of smellsas a bale is of cotton. The oilskins had a peculiarly thickflavour of their own which made a sort of background to the smellsof fried fish, burnt grease, paint, pepper, and stale tobacco; butthese, again, were all hooped together by one encircling smell ofship and salt water. Harvey saw with disgust that there were nosheets on his bed-place. He was lying on a piece of dingy tickingfull of lumps and nubbles. Then, too, the boat's motion was notthat of a steamer. She was neither sliding nor rolling, but ratherwriggling herself about in a silly, aimless way, like a colt atthe end of a halter. Water-noises ran by close to his ear, andbeams creaked and whined about him. All these things made himgrunt despairingly and think of his mother."Feelin' better?" said the boy, with a grin. "Hev some coffee?" Hebrought a tin cup full, and sweetened it with molasses."Is n't there milk?" said Harvey, looking round the dark doubletier of bunks as if he expected to find a cow there."Well, no," said the boy. "Ner there ain't likely to be till'baout mid-September. 'Tain't bad coffee. I made it."Harvey drank in silence, and the boy handed him a plate full ofpieces of crisp fried pork, which he ate ravenously."I've dried your clothes. Guess they've shrunk some," said theboy. "They ain't our style much none of 'em. Twist round an' seeef you're hurt any."Harvey stretched himself in every direction, but could not reportany injuries."That's good," the boy said heartily. "Fix yerself an' go on deck.Dad wants to see you. I'm his son, - Dan, they call me, - an' I'mcook's helper an' everything else aboard that's too dirty for themen. There ain't no boy here 'cep' me sence Otto went overboard -an' he was only a Dutchy, an' twenty year old at that. How'd youcome to fall off in a dead flat ca'am?""'Twasn't a calm," said Harvey, sulkily. "It was a gale, and I wasseasick. 'Guess I must have rolled over the rail.""There was a little common swell yes'day an' last night," said theboy. "But ef thet's your notion of a gale -" He whistled. "You'llknow more 'fore you're through. Hurry! Dad's waitin'."Like many other unfortunate young people, Harvey had never in allhis life received a direct order - never, at least, without long,and sometimes tearful, explanations of the advantages of obedienceand the reasons for the request. Mrs. Cheyne lived in fear ofbreaking his spirit, which, perhaps, was the reason that sheherself walked on the edge of nervous prostration. He could notsee why he should be expected to hurry for any man's pleasure, andsaid so. "Your dad can come down here if he's so anxious to talkto me. I want him to take me to New York right away. It'll payhim."Dan opened his eyes, as the size and beauty of this joke dawned onhim. "Say, dad!" he shouted up the fo'c'sle hatch, "he says youkin slip down an' see him ef you're anxious that way. 'Hear, dad?"The answer came back in the deepest voice Harvey had ever heardfrom a human chest: "Quit foolin', Dan, and send him to me."Dan sniggered, and threw Harvey his warped bicycle shoes. Therewas something in the tones on the deck that made the boy dissemblehis extreme rage and console himself with the thought of graduallyunfolding the tale of his own and his father's wealth on thevoyage home. This rescue would certainly make him a hero among hisfriends for life. He hoisted himself on deck up a perpendicularladder, and stumbled aft, over a score of obstructions, to where asmall, thick-set, clean-shaven man with grey eyebrows sat on astep that led up to the quarter-deck. The swell had passed in thenight, leaving a long, oily sea, dotted round the horizon with thesails of a dozen fishing-boats. Between them lay little blackspecks, showing where the dories were out fishing. The schooner,with a triangular riding-sail on the mainmast, played easily atanchor, and except for the man by the cabin-roof - "house" theycall it - she was deserted."Mornin' - good afternoon, I should say. You've nigh slep' theclock around, young feller," was the greeting."Mornin'," said Harvey. He did not like being called "youngfeller"; and, as one rescued from drowning, expected sympathy. Hismother suffered agonies whenever he got his feet wet; but thismariner did not seem excited."Naow let's hear all abaout it. It's quite providential, first an'last, fer all concerned. What might be your name? Where from (wemistrust it's Noo York), an' where baound (we mistrust it'sEurope)?Harvey gave his name, the name of the steamer, and a short historyof the accident, winding up with a demand to be taken backimmediately to New York, where his father would pay anything anyone chose to name."H'm," said the shaven man, quite unmoved by the end of Harvey'sspeech. "I can't say we think special of any man, or boy even,that falls overboard from that kind o' packet in a flat ca'am.Least of all when his excuse is thet he's seasick.""Excuse!" cried Harvey. "D'you suppose I'd fall overboard intoyour dirty little boat for fun?""Not knowin' what your notions o' fun may be, I can't rightly say,young feller. But if I was you, I wouldn't call the boat which,under Providence, was the means o' savin' ye, names. In the firstplace, it's blame irreligious. In the second, it's annoyin' to myfeelin's - an' I'm Disko Troop o' the "We're Here" o' Gloucester,which you don't seem rightly to know.""I don't know and I don't care," said Harvey. "I'm grateful enoughfor being saved and all that, of course; but I want you tounderstand that the sooner you take me back to New York the betterit'll pay you.""Meanin'- haow?" Troop raised one shaggy eyebrow over asuspiciously mild blue eye."Dollars and cents," said Harvey, delighted to think that he wasmaking an impression. "Cold dollars and cents." He thrust a handinto a pocket, and threw out his stomach a little, which was hisway of being grand. "You've done the best day's work you ever didin your life when you pulled me in. I'm all the son Harvey Cheynehas.""He's bin favoured," said Disko, drily."And if you don't know who Harvey Cheyne is, you don't know much -that's all. Now turn her around and let's hurry."Harvey had a notion that the greater part of America was filledwith people discussing and envying his father's dollars."Mebbe I do, an' mebbe I don't. Take a reef in your stummick,young feller. It's full o' my vittles."Harvey heard a chuckle from Dan, who was pretending to be busy bythe stump-foremast, and the blood rushed to his face. "We'll payfor that too," he said. "When do you suppose we shall get to NewYork?""I don't use Noo York any. Ner Boston. We may see Eastern Pointabaout September; an' your pa - I'm real sorry I hain't heerd tellof him - may give me ten dollars efter all your talk. Then o'course he mayn't.""Ten dollars! Why, see here, I -" Harvey dived into his pocket forthe wad of bills. All he brought up was a soggy packet ofcigarettes."Not lawful currency, an' bad for the lungs. Heave 'em overboard,young feller, and try ag'in.""It's been stolen!" cried Harvey, hotly."You'll hev to wait till you see your pa to reward me, then?""A hundred and thirty-four dollars - all stolen," said Harvey,hunting wildly through his pockets. "Give them back."A curious change flitted across old Troop's hard face. "Whatmight you have been doin' at your time o' life with one hundredan' thirty-four dollrs, young feller?""It was part of my pocket-money - for a month." This Harveythought would be a knockdown blow, and it was - indirectly.Oh! One hundred and thirty-four dollars is only part of hispocket-money - for one month only! You don't remember hittin'anything when you fell over, do you? Crack ag'in' a stanchion,le's say. Old man Hasken o' the "East Wind" - Troop seemed to betalking to himself - "he tripped on a hatch an' butted themainmast with his head - hardish. 'Baout three weeks afterwards,old man Hasken he would hev it that the "East Wind" was acommerce-destroyin' man-o'-war, so he declared war on Sable Islandbecause it was Bridish, an' the shoals run aout too far. Theysewed him up in a bed-bag, his head an' feet appearin', fer therest o' the trip, an' now he's to home in Essex playin' withlittle rag dolls."Harvey choked with rage, but Troop went on consolingly: "We'resorry fer you. We're very sorry fer you - an' so young. We won'tsay no more abaout the money, I guess.""'Course you won't. You stole it.""Suit yourself. We stole it ef it's any comfort to you. Naow,abaout goin' back. Allowin' we could do it, which we can't, youain't in no fit state to go back to your home, an' we've jest comeon to the Banks, workin' fer our bread. We don't see the ha'af ofa hundred dollars a month, let alone pocket-money; an' with goodluck we'll be ashore again somewheres abaout the first weeks o'September.""But - but it's May now, and I can't stay here doin' nothing justbecause you want to fish. I can't, I tell you!""Right an' jest; jest an' right. No one asks you to do nothin'.There's a heap as you can do, for Otto he went overboard on LeHave. I mistrust he lost his grip in a gale we f'und there.Anyways, he never come back to deny it. You've turned up, plain,plumb providential for all concerned. I mistrust, though, there'sruther few things you kin do. Ain't thet so?""I can make it lively for you and your crowd when we get ashore,"said Harvey, with a vicious nod, murmuring vague threats about"piracy," at which Troop almost - not quite - smiled."Excep' talk. I'd forgot that. You ain't asked to talk more'nyou've a mind to aboard the "We're Here". Keep your eyes open, an'help Dan to do ez he's bid, an' sechlike, an' I'll give you - youain't wuth it, but I'll give - ten an' a ha'af a month; saythirty-five at the end o' the trip. A little work will ease upyour head, an' you kin tell us all abaout your dad an' your ma n'your money efterwards.""She's on the steamer," said Harvey, his eyes fill-with tears."Take me to New York at once.""Poor woman - poor woman! When she has you back she'll forgit itall, though. There's eight of us on the "We're Here", an' ef wewent back naow - it's more'n a thousand mile - we'd lose theseason. The men they wouldn't hev it, allowin' I was agreeable.""But my father would make it all right.""He'd try. I don't doubt he'd try," said Troop; "but a wholeseason's catch is eight men's bread; an' you'll be better in yourhealth when you see him in the fall. Go forward an' help Dan. It'sten an' a ha'af a month, ez I said, an', o' course, all f'und,same ez the rest o' us.""Do you mean I'm to clean pots and pans and things?" said Harvey."An' other things. You've no call to shout, young feller.""I won't! My father will give you enough to buy this dirty littlefish-kettle" -- Harvey stamped on the deck - "ten times over, ifyou take me to New York safe; and - and - you're in a hundred andthirty by me, anyway.""Ha-ow?" said Troop, the iron face darkening."How? You know how, well enough. On top of all that, you want meto do menial work" - Harvey was very proud of that adjective -"till the Fall. I tell you I will not. You hear?"Troop regarded the top of the mainmast with deep interest for awhile, as Harvey harangued fiercely all around him."Hsh!" he said at last. "I'm figurin' out my responsibilities inmy own mind. It's a matter o' jedgment."Dan Stole up and plucked Harvey by the elbow. "Don't go totamperin' with dad any more," he pleaded. "You've called him athief two or three times over, an' he don't take that from anylivin' bein'.""I won't!" Harvey almost shrieked, disregarding the advice; andstill Troop meditated."Seems kinder unneighbourly," he said at last, his eye travellingdown to Harvey. "I don't blame you, not a mite, young feller, noryou won't blame me when the bile's out o' your systim. 'Be sureyou sense what I say? Ten an' a ha'af fer second boy on theschooner - an' all f'und - fer to teach you an' fer the sake o'your health. Yes or no?""No!" said Harvey. "Take me back to New York or I'll see you -"He did not exactly remember what followed. He was lying in thescuppers, holding on to a nose that bled, while Troop looked downon him serenely."Dan," he said to his son, "I was sot ag'in' this young fellerwhen I first saw him, on account o' hasty jedgments. Never you beled astray by hasty jedgments, Dan. Naow I'm sorry for him,because he's clear distracted in his upper works. He ain'tresponsible fer the names he's give me, nor fer his otherstatementsnor fer jumpin' overboard, which I'm abaout ha'af convinced hedid. You be gentle with him, Dan, 'r I'll give you twice what I'vegive him. Them hemmeridges clears the head. Let him sluice itoff!"-Troop went down solemnly into the cabin, where he and the oldermen bunked, leaving Dan to comfort the luckless heir to thirty millions.