Shifting Winds | Page 8

John among the rest. They've
made him coxswain o' the new lifeboat since ye last went to sea."
Stephen set down the cup, which he had just raised to his lips, untasted,
and rose hastily.
"Wrecks at the pier-head, lass," he exclaimed, "and you let me sit here
idle!"
"Don't go, Stephen," entreated Mrs Gaff; "you're not fit to do anything
after sitch a night, an' its o'er late."
The man paid no attention to the remonstrance, but buttoned up his coat,
and seized his cap.
Mrs Gaff promptly locked the door with an air of thorough
determination, put the key in her bosom, and crossed her arms thereon
tightly.
Stephen smiled slightly as he turned, raised the window, and leaped

through it into the road, followed by a vociferous cheer from Billy,
whose spirit was wildly stirred by the boldness and success of the
movement, and mightily rejoiced at the discomfiture of his mother.
Mrs Gaff relieved her feelings by slapping the Bu'ster's face, and was
about to close the window when her husband quietly stepped through it
again, saying--
"Open the door, lass, you've no need to fear; I'll remain now."
There was a trampling of many feet outside. The door had scarcely
been unlocked when they were in the passage. Next moment four
fishermen entered, bearing the figure of a man in their arms.
"He an't drownded, lass, only swownded," said one of the men to Mrs
Gaff, with the view of relieving the good woman's anxiety, as they laid
a seaman on the bed. "Look alive now, old girl, an' git hot blankets an'
bottles."
While Mrs Gaff obeyed in silent haste, the room was filled with men,
some of whom supported or half-carried others, whose drooping heads,
torn garments, and haggard faces, showed that they had just been
rescued from the angry sea. None of them were more than partially
clothed; some were nearly naked. With excited haste the fishermen
crowded the wrecked men round the fire, and spread blankets and sails,
or whatever came first to hand, on the floor for those who were most
exhausted to lie down upon, while Stephen Gaff poured hot tea and hot
grog indiscriminately into cups, saucers, pannikins, and soup-plates,
and urged them to drink with rough but kindly hospitality.
The wrecked men, (there were twelve of them), were Russians, and as a
matter of course could not understand a word that was said to them,
although some of the fishermen asked them, with as much earnestness
as if their lives depended on the answer, "Who--they--wos--an'--whar'--
they--com'd--fro'?"
Receiving for reply a stare and a shake of the head from such of the
men as were able to attend, one of the fishermen tried them again with

great precision and slowness of speech, and with much solemnity of
manner, "What--part--o' the arth--d'ye hail fro',--lads?"
No answer, accompanied by a stare and a shake.
"Oh, it's o' no use," cried one, "let the poor lads a-be."
"Hallo! Dan," cried another, as a man forced his way through the
crowded room towards the fire, "you've bin in Toorkey, I believe; I say,
try them fellers wi' a screed o' Toorko. P'raps they'll make thatout."
The individual addressed was very different from the men amongst
whom he stood. He was a thin, slightly-made, yet strong and active
young man, in a very short grey coat, a very long striped vest, and very
tight corduroy trousers--a sort of compound of footman and jockey. In
truth, Daniel Horsey was both; being at once valet and groom to the
romantic Kenneth, whose fate it was, (according to the infallible Mrs
Niven), to be "drownded."
Dan's first inquiry was as to whether any one had seen his master, and
the tones in which the question was put betokened him, beyond all
doubt, a son of the Green Isle.
Being told that no one had seen his master, he was about to leave the
hut in quest of him when he was collared by several stout men, and
placed forcibly in front of a Russian with a huge red beard, who
appeared to be the least exhausted of the party.
"Come now, Dan, say somethin' to them Roosians."
"Arrah! d'ye think I'll spake a word av ye stick yer great ugly fists into
my jooglar veins like that? Hands off," he cried indignantly, "or niver a
taste o' spaitch ye'll git from me, bad or good. Besides, what duv I know
about Roosian?"
"Ye've bin in Toorkey, han't ye?" inquired a fisherman.
"Troth I have, an' what o' that?" replied Dan, as his captors released

their hold of his collar.
"Ye can speak Toorko, can't ye?"
"Maybe I can," he replied cautiously.
"Well, I'm told that Toorkey lies to the suthard o' Roosia, just as
England lies to the suthard