Captain Mugford: Our Salt and Fresh Water Tutors Read online

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  CAPTAIN MUGFORD'S SATURDAY LESSON.

  With a new week commenced our studies--order in tasks and play takingthe place of the licence and excitement of the first days of novelty.

  By Mr Clare's rule we reached our school-house in the wreck everymorning at eight--that is, every morning except Saturday and Sunday.The brig's bell was our summons. Captain Mugford struck it aspunctually as if the good order and safety of a large crew weredependent on his correctness. Our school-hours continued untilhalf-after one. The remainder of each day was our own, only subject tothe general directions of Mr Clare and the instructions of CaptainMugford in boating. Of course that was no task--rather the very bestsport we had. Mr Clare grew fast in our good opinions. He was strict;but boys do not dislike strictness when it is mated with justice andguided by a firm and amiable disposition, as it was with our tutor.

  We soon got to see that Mr Clare, in his way, was as much of a _man_ asCaptain Mugford, and that the Captain respected him highly. The Captainalways liked to have an evening smoke with our tutor, and the boatingexcursions were much jollier when Mr Clare made one of the party, as heoften did. He was our master in school, but only wished to be ourcompanion in play. In every athletic exercise he excelled, and I daresay that was one great reason of the powerful influence he soon gainedwith us--for boldness, strength, and agility are strong recommendationsto boyish admiration. About two weeks after the commencement of ourcape life, as we were going to bed one night, "our fresh tute" becamethe subject of discussion; and our first opinions were changed by avote, in which all but Drake joined, that Mr Clare was a regular brick.Drake had a prejudice against tutors that required more than two weeksto break up. He allowed that Mr Clare seemed a very respectable sortof fellow, but then he said--

  "I can't join in all the praise you boys give him; now my idea of a`regular brick' is our `salt tute.' He's the sort of man for me. IfCaptain Mugford _only_ knew Latin and Greek!"

  Mr Clare was from the north of England. His parents being poor, he hadobtained his education under difficulties, and did not enter collegeuntil he was twenty-three years of age. His parents had emigrated whenhe was a child to Canada, where he had seen a good deal of wild lifeamong the Indians. For some cause his father returned--to takepossession of a small property, I believe--and brought him with him.After the common country schooling he could pick up in winter, he beganto prepare himself for college in the hours he was off work on hisfather's farm, or had to take from sleep. So he had a life of somedifficulty and adventure; and now, in his own hours, he was studying tobecome a clergyman. Notwithstanding such a boyhood of labour, hismanners were good and agreeable, and no one would ever have guessed thathis training until he went to college had been little above that of afarm servant.

  It was some time before we made acquaintance with the sailing-boat whichhad been provided by our father, for the first weeks of our new lifewere stormy and cold. What whetted our desire for a sail was thatCaptain Mugford would not even show us the boat. We would tease him,and guess at every mast we saw in the bay; but the Captain only laughed,and put us off with such remarks as "Keep your powder dry, my younghearties!" "Avast heaving! the skipper is dumb."

  However, one fine morning the Captain steered into our breakfast-roombefore all the fresh brown bread and clotted cream and eggs and baconhad been quite stowed away. "At it, ain't you, boys, with forecastleappetites? Pitch in, old fellows; make the butter fly!" He had wishedMr Clare a good morning, sat down on a corner of a side-table, wipedhis forehead with a great red silk handkerchief, and got his elbows wellakimbo, before he directed the remark to us. There he sat shaking witha pleasant little interior rumble of laughter at our earnestness in themeal, and expressing his appreciation every few moments with, "Well!that's jolly!" which remark each time portended another series ofsub-waistcoat convulsions. He got through laughing as we finishedbreakfast, and then each of us went up for a shake of his hand.

  "Your cargoes are in. When do you sail?"

  "O Captain! can we sail to-day?" we all cried, for the joke and hisunusually radiant face signified something better to come.

  "I have a fancy that way, if Mr Clare says yes. That's my businesshere this fine Saturday. Yes, Mr Clare? Thank you! the youngsters aremad for a trip under canvas. You will go with us, sir, I hope? Thankyou again!--Scamper, boys, for your caps! Ha! ha! ha!--With yourpermission, Mr Clare, I will fill my pipe.--Juno! Juno! Ah! there youare. Do, like a good old woman, get me a coal out of your wood-fire--just such a red, round piece of oak as Clump always chooses."

  Presently Juno trudged smiling back, with a hot coal held in the tongs.

  "Here, massa! here, Capting, is de berry heart of de fire!" and layingit carefully in the bowl of his pipe--"dat, sar, will keep yer terbackergwine all day."

  "Thank you, marm Juno! We shall try and bring you home some fish fordinner. A ninety-pound halibut, eh?"

  The Captain having performed that operation so very necessary to hiscomfort, we all sallied forth for the long-anticipated sail.

  The cape was about three-quarters of a mile wide where our house stood--it being on high ground, about halfway between the ocean and bay-side.The ground fell gradually in wavelike hillocks in both directions, andits chief growth was a short fine grass on which the sheep throve well.Here and there we saw them in little companies of eight or ten, butbefore we could get within fifty yards they scampered off in a fright,so unaccustomed were they to strangers.

  Soon we descried a boat with pennant flying at moorings just off the bayshore before us. That, the Captain told us, was our "school-ship."

  "And now come, boys," said he, "let us see which one of you will be thebest hand on watch when we sail a frigate together--let us see which onecan first read the boat's name; it is on the pennant."

  At that distance we were all baffled.

  "Well, try ten yards nearer; there, halt. Now try."

  We all strained our eyes. I thought it read, _Wave_.

  "No, Robert, it is not _Wave_.--Come, boys, sharpen your eyes on thesides of your noses, and try again."

  "I can read it," shouted Harry Higginson, throwing up his hat."_Youth_! _Youth_!--that's it."

  "Yes, that's it. Hurrah for you, Master Harry! I promote you on thespot captain of the maintop."

  We hurried down to a white sand-beach on which lay a punt. In that theCaptain pulled us, three at a time, out to the _Youth_. When well undersail and standing out for more open water, our good skipper at thetiller, having filled his pipe, rolled up his sleeves, and tautened thesheet a bit, said--

  "Boys, this craft is yours, but I am Commodore until each and all of youhave learned to sail her as well as I can. May you prove quick tolearn, and I quick to teach. But as I'm an old seadog, my pipe is outalready. Give us a light, shipmate?"--I was trying with flint and steelto strike a few sparks into our old tinder-box--"there!--puff--puff--puff--that will do. I must talk less and smoke more."

  As the jolly Captain got up a storm of smoke, slapped me a stinger onthe knee, and winked at the pennant, Mr Clare jumped up, and swinginghis hat, cried--

  "Boys, let's give cheers, three rousing cheers, for our brave boat, the_Youth_, and her good master, Captain Mugford!"

  And didn't we give them!!!