"Houly Moses, it's a fine picture ye are, my beauty," said the mate; "and if oi'll be scraping ye down with a shovel, it's yer own fayther wouldn't know ye, so clane ye'll be."
"To the which I would add, man," said Dick, "that if ye'd let yersel' drip into the lubricators you'd be worth siller to us; not to say onything o' the discoorse I micht verra weel preach on Satan from yer present appearance."
The banter turned the man from his more meaning purpose. He stood gibbering for a moment, while the crowd pressed on him with gibes and jeers; but he had his revenge, after all, for there was a tar-bucket at the foot of the upper-deck ladder, and with this he armed himself. The brush was well-charged and dripping, the tar yet liquid, the Scotsman's face was all-inviting. With a fierce shout the enraged man went to the attack, and painted his lantern-jawed opponent merrily. In less time than I can tell of it, the Ranter dripped from head to foot; the black stuff poured from his hemp-like hair, from his ears; it oozed down his neck, it even ran through to his boots; and when his enemy could no longer wield the brush from fatigue, he emptied the bucket on the man's head as a last triumphant vindication of his strength.
"Now we're a pair!" he said, pausing for breath, and surveying his work as an artist surveys a finished picture; "and I guess you ain't going to take the biscuit in this beauty show."
"Man, I could hae weel dispensed wi't," spluttered the Scotsman; "but I thank ye for dyeing my breeks. They've been wanting colour since New Year."
The laughter had not yet died away when the men went to their cabins, and we posted the watches before turning in. We were at that time in Lat. 65° N. at a rough calculation, and we passed the Danish settlement of Godthaab early on the next morning, though so far out at sea that I could make nothing of it; while we lost the coast of Greenland altogether before the day had passed, a hazy shower of dust-like snow greeting our coming to the Atlantic and to a perceptibly warmer latitude. During this day, and until we sighted the Shetlands, the small screw tender kept our course, and we exchanged signals with her every morning, her purpose being explained to me by "Four-Eyes," on the fourth morning out, in his child-like phraseology.
"Faith, she's Liverpool bound, and we'll pick her up again south of the Scilly when she's tidings of ships out. Bedad, sir, there's fine times coming; what wi' the say full av big ones, and we one agen 'em, I'm like to believe as we'll step ashore with our throats cut, ivery man av us, and on the shore av me own counthry, which sorra a day I left for this job."
"Why did you leave it, 'Four-Eyes'?" I asked cheerfully; and he said—
"'Twas this way, sorr, but it's a long yarn, and ye don't nade more than the p'ints av it. When I was priest's bhoy in Tipperary, me and Mike Sullivan had atween us what you gents call a vendeny, and coming out av church—'twas Sunday mornin' five year ago—I met Mike, an' he puts coals av fire on me head. 'Begorra,' says I, 'it's lucky for ye I'm in the grace, but plase God I'll not be to-morrow;' but the spalpeen went to Cork next day, and it wasn't till a year that I run agen him, prepared to do my dooty."
"And you did it, I'll be bound!"
"Sorra a bit; I just fell in with the divil, being an aisy sort av sowl, and he made me as drunk as a gentleman—that's why I'm here, sorr. He shipped me aboard and got five pounds from me, me that meant to thread on his head, the dirty skunk—but it's the way av the world, sorr; help a man that's down, an' the moment the spalpeen's on his fate he'll dance on ye."
"Which is verra true," said Dick the Ranter, who after two days had still tar upon him, and was wrapped in a woman's shawl; "but will ye postpone your thirdly, and go below to the doctor, who's wanting ye to see the gear?"
They had not yet shown me the engines of the nameless ship, and I welcomed the opportunity, grown weary with watching the dull green of the sea, and the monotony of the sky-laden clouds. Dick led the way quickly from the gallery to the lower deck, and thence down an iron ladder to the great engine-room. Here truly was a wondrous sight; the sight of three sets of the most powerful engines that have yet been placed in a battle-ship. Each of them had four cylinders, eighty inches in diameter; and all were driven by the hydrogen from the huge gasometers which our holds formed. The gas itself was made by passing the steam from a comparatively small boiler through a coke and anthracite furnace, the coke combining with the oxygen and leaving pure hydrogen. The huge cylinders drove upwards with a double crank to carry their motion to the screw; and I found that the difficulty of starting and reversing was overcome by an intermediate bevel-wheel gearing and friction clutch, which could throw the motion off the shaft, and allow that instantaneous going astern otherwise impossible in a gas-engine. That day there was a huge fire in the furnace, emitting terrific heat and crackling sparks, for the men were making gas, in view of a run or two off the coast of Ireland. It was more pleasant than I can tell you to watch the entire absorption of the gifted engineer, in the maze of machinery which surrounded him, to paint the paternal pathos of his look as he watched every motion and eyed every bearing. The maker of an empire certainly he was; the man of mind who, for the time, had given these ruffians the kingship of the sea; had made mockery of the opposition of the nations; and, I could not help but reflect as I turned away sick at heart at the sight of so much power, had caused me to be a prisoner, perhaps for life, in that citadel of metal. Yet, he was a genius; and to the end of my days I shall think, as I thought then, of the superb gifts so wasted in their channel, of the masterful intellect devoted only to pillage and plunder.
In such a frame of mind I left the engine-room and mounted to the upper deck, to hear the cry, "Land on the port-bow."
It was the coast of Ireland, they told me; and I know not if I have ever had a greater pleasure than that distant view of my own country gave to me. For it was as though I had passed from a dead land to the land of man, from the silent ways of night to the first breaking of the God-sent day.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE ROBBERY OF THE "BELLONIC."
Our view of the distant shore of Ireland was a fleeting one; and we passed thence almost immediately to the open sea, steaming due S.W. for some hours, but at no great pace. It was not until daybreak on the following morning that we reached the track of ocean-bound ships; but our voyage was altogether in favour of Black, for the sun had scarce risen when Doctor Osbart got me from my bed to see what he called my first introduction to business.
"There's the Red Cross Line's Bellonic not a mile off on the starboard quarter," cried he exultingly, "and we're going to clear her. Come out, man, and get the finest breakfast you ever tasted."
I dressed anyhow, almost as excited as he was, and stepped on to the gallery, to see a rolling waste of dull-green breakers, and a sky washed with broken thunder-clouds, through which the risen sun was struggling. The wind was keen from the south, and drove a fine rain, which lashed the face as with a whip; while much spray broke upon us and there was moaning of the cowls and the shrouds, and many signs of more wind to come. These atmospheric difficulties troubled no one, however, for all eyes were turned to the north, where, now almost abreast of us, at a distance of half a mile or less, there was the long and magnificent hull of the great liner. She was then in the full sunlight, a fine spectacle; and I could see her bare decks, trodden only by the watch, while a solitary officer paced the bridge. The contrast between her sleepy inactivity and our keen alertness was very marked, for all hands trod our decks, and there was a restlessness and an evident ferocity amongst the little group upon the bridge which marked a purpose brooking no delay.
I had begun to ask myself when the work would be done, for the liner went at a tremendous pace and was rapidly leaving us, when I got my answer with the crash of the great gun forward, and the sight of a shell ploughing the sea fifty yards ahead of the Bellonic. The cries of "Well shot, Swearing Dick!" had not died away before the effect of the call was seen upon the great vessel, whose decks were soon dotted with black objects, while three more men appeared on the bridge, and the signal flags ran up, and were answered by us. "Four-Eyes" was at our mast, and interpreted the message to Black, who followed