A Pirate of the Caribbees

A PIRATE OF THE CARIBBEES

BY HARRY COLLINGWOOD

CHAPTER ONE.

A FRIGATE FIGHT IN MID-ATLANTIC.

"Eight bells, there, sleepers; d'ye hear the news?--Rouse and bitt, my
hearties! Show a leg! Eight bells, Courtenay! and Keene says he will
be much obliged if you will relieve him as soon as possible!"

These words, delivered in a tone of voice that was a curious alternation
of a high treble with a preternaturally deep bass--due to the fact that
the speaker's voice was "breaking"--and accompanied by the reckless
banging of a tin pannikin upon the deal table that adorned the
midshipmen's berth of H.M. frigate _Althea_, instantly awoke me to the
disagreeable consciousness that my watch below had come to an end,
especially as the concluding portion of the harangue was addressed to me
personally, and accompanied by a most uncompromising thump upon the side
of my hammock. So I surlily growled an answer--

"All right, young 'un; there's no occasion to make all that hideous row!
Just see if you can make yourself useful by finding Black Peter, will
you, and telling him to brew some coffee."

The lad was turning away to do my bidding when a pattering of naked feet
became audible as their owner approached, while a husky voice
ejaculated--

"Who's dat axin' for Brack Petah? Was it you, Mistah Courtenay?" And
at the same instant the shining, good-natured, grinning visage of a
gigantic negro appeared in the narrow doorway, through which the fellow
instantly passed into the berth, bearing a big pot of steaming hot
coffee.

"Ay, you black demon, I it was," answered I. "Is that coffee you have
there? Then find my cup and fill it, there's a good fellow, and I'll
owe you a glass of grog."

"Hi, yi!" answered the black, his eyes sparkling and his teeth gleaming
hilariously, "who you call `brack demon,' eh, sah? Who eber hear of
brack demon turnin' out at four o'clock in de mornin' to make coffee for
young gentermen, eh? And about de grog, Mistah Courtenay; how many
glasses do dis one make dat you now owe me, eh, sah? Ansah me dat, sah.
You don' keep no account, I expec's, sah, but _I_ do. Dis one makes
seben, Mistah Courtenay, and I'd be much obleege, sah, if you'd pay some
of dem off. It am all bery well to say you'll _owe_ 'em to me, sah, but
what's de use ob dat if you don' nebber _pay_ me, eh?"

"_Pay_ you, you rascal?" shouted I, as I sprang to the deck and began
hastily to scramble into my clothes, "do you mean to say that you have
the impudence to actually expect to _be paid_? Is it not honour and
reward enough that a gentleman condescends to become _indebted_ to you?
Pay, indeed! why, what is the world coming to, I wonder?"

"Bravo, Courtenay, well spoken!" shouted young Lindsay, the lad who had
so ruthlessly interrupted my slumbers, "how well you express yourself;
you ought to be in Parliament, man! Give it him again; bring him to his
bearings. The impudence of the fellow is getting to be past endurance!
Now then, you black swab, where's the sugar? Do you suppose we can
drink that stuff without sugar?"

After a search of some duration the sugar was eventually found in a
locker, in loving contiguity to an open box of blacking, some boot
brushes, a box of candles, a few fragments of brown windsor,--one of
which had somehow found its way into the bowl,--and a few other fragrant
trifles. In my haste to get on deck, and betrayed by the feeble light
of the purser's dip, which just sufficed to render the darkness visible,
I managed to convey this stray morsel of soap into my coffee along with
the sugar wherewith I intended to sweeten it, and only discovered what I
had done barely in time to avoid gulping down the soap along with the
scalding liquid into which I had plunged it. A midshipman, however,
soon loses all sense of squeamishness, so I contented myself with
muttering a sea blessing upon the head of the unknown individual who had
deposited this "matter in the wrong place," and dashed up the hatchway
to relieve the impatient Keene.

"1100590568"

A Pirate of the Caribbees