One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for IndiaStrang, Herbert
History
One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for India
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; British -- India -- Juvenile fiction; India -- History -- 18th century -- Juvenile fiction
He went below. The captain was left with Mr. Toley and the other
officers. Barker and Toley always got on well together, for the simple
reason that the mate never thwarted his superior, never resented his
abuse, but went quietly his own way. He listened now for a quarter of
an hour, with fixed sadness of expression, while Captain Barker poured
the vials of his wrath upon everything under the sun. When the captain
had come to an end, and sunk into a state of lowering dudgeon, Mr. Toley
said quietly:
"’Tis all you say, sir, and more. I guess I’ve never seen a harder
case. But while you was speaking, something you said struck a sort of
idea into my brain."
"That don’t happen often. What is it?"
"Why, the sort of idea that came to me out o’ what you was saying was
just this. How would it be to take soundings?"
"So that’s your notion, is it? Hang me, are you a fool like the rest of
’em! You’re always taking soundings! What in the name of thunder do you
want to take soundings for?"
"Nothing particular, cap’n. That was the kind o’ notion that come of
what you was saying. Of course it depends on the depth hereabouts."
"Deep enough to sink you and your notions and all that’s like to come of
’em. Darned if I han’t got the most lubberly ship’s company ever mortal
man was plagued with. Officers and men, there en’t one of you as is
worth your salt, and you with your long face and your notions--why, hang
me, you’re no more good than the dirtiest waister afloat."
Mr. Toley smiled sadly, and ventured on no rejoinder. After the
captain’s outburst none of the group dared to utter a word. This
pleased him no better; he cursed them all for standing mum, and spent
ten minutes in reviling them in turn. Then his passion appeared to have
burnt itself out. Turning suddenly to the melancholy mate, he said
roughly:
"Go and heave your lead, then, and be hanged to it."
Mr. Toley walked away aft and ordered one of the men to heave the
deep-sea lead. The plummet, shaped like the frustum of a cone, and
weighing thirty pounds, was thrown out from the side in the line of the
vessel’s drift.
"By the mark sixty, less five," sang out the man when the lead touched
the bottom.
"I guess that’ll do," said the first mate, returning to the
quarter-deck.
"Well, what about your notion?" said the captain scornfully. But he
listened quietly and with an intent look upon his weather-beaten face as
Mr. Toley explained.
"You see, sir," he said, "while you was talking just now, I sort o’ saw
that if they attack us, ’twon’t be for at least two hours after dark.
The boats won’t put off while there’s light enough to see ’em; and won’t
hurry anyhow, ’cos if they did the men ’ud have nary much strength left
to ’em. Well, they’ll take our bearings, of course. Thinks I, owing to
what you said, sir, what if we could shift ’em by half a mile or so?
The boats ’ud miss us in the darkness."
"That’s so," ejaculated the captain; "and what then?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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