The Honour of the Flag | Page 8

the red wharf you moored alongside of.
We were six of a ship's company. John Bunk was skipper, I, Tom Fish,
was the mate, the others were Bill Martin, Jack Stevens, a man named
Rooney, and a boy called William. On board craft of this sort there is
very little discipline, and the sailor's talk to the captain as though he
lived in the forecastle.

"John," sings out Bill Martin, casting his eyes over the greasy yellow
surface of the water streaming shorewards, "are ye going to try for it
without the tug?"
"Ay," answered old Bunk.
"And quite right, tew. No good a-messing about here all day," says Jack
Stevens at the tiller.
The land was flat and treeless on either hand the river, but it rose, about
a couple of miles off, curving into a front of glaring chalk, with a small
well known town sparkling in the distance like a handful of frost in a
white split. The horizon astern was broken by the moving bodies of
many ships in full sail, and the sky low down was hung with the smoke
of vanished steamers as though the stuff was cobwebs black with dust.
The stream was the turn of the flood. Old Bunk went forward into the
bows, and the brig flapped forwards creaking like a basket on the small
roll of the shallow water. We overhung her rails, and watched for
ourselves. John Bunk, trying to look dignified with the drink in him,
stared stately ahead; sometimes singing out to the helmsman to port,
and then to starboard, and so we washed on, fairly hitting the river's
mouth, and stemming safely for a mile, till the flat coast was within an
easy scull of our jolly-boat, and you saw the spire of a church, and a
few red roofs amidst a huddle of trees on the right, at that time two
miles distant.
Just then the Venus took the mud; she grounded just as a huge fat sow
knuckles quietly ere stretching herself.
"All aback forrard!" sings out Bill Martin, with a loud silly laugh.
We were a brig of a hundred and eighty tons, and there was nothing to
be done with poling; nor was kedging going to help us at this the first
quarter of ebb.
"Tom," says John Bunk, coming aft and speaking cheerfully, "there's
no call to make any worrit over this shining job. The tug's bound to be

coming along afore sundown, anyhow. See that village there?" says he,
pointing. "My brother lives in that village, at a public house of his own,
called the 'Eight Bells,' and seeing as we're hard and fast, I shall take
the boys on a visit to him and leave you and William to look arter the
brig."
"Suppose the tug should come along?" said I.
"She could do nothing with us till the flood floats us," said he; "I shall
let go the anchor for security and go ashore."
He talked like a reckless old fool, but was tipsy, and in no temper to
reason with. The situation of the brig was safe enough as far as ocean
and weather went; nothing could hurt her as she lay mud-cradled on her
fat bilge. We clewed up and let the canvas hang by its rigging, and then
dropped the anchor; after which old Bunk and the others cleaned
themselves up and got the boat over, and went away in her, singing
songs, leaving me and William to look after the brig.
It was ten o'clock in the morning, a very fine hot day. I went into the
cabin for a smoke, and after lounging an hour or so below whilst the
boy boiled a piece of beef for our dinner, I stepped on deck, and found
that the sea was already half-way out of the bay with twenty lines of
foaming ripples purring not a quarter of a mile off, and the channel of
the river was already plain, coming out from the land, and through the
dry mud like a lane of water till it met the wash of the yellow brine and
melted into it. The brig lay with an uncomfortable list to starboard.
When the mud should come a-dry it would be an easy jump from her
decks to it.
At half-past twelve William came below with my dinner, and I told the
lad to out with his knife and eat with me. We munched together, taking
it easy. There was nothing to be done on deck, no sign of the tug, no
use we could put her to, even if she should heave into sight, and the
time hung heavy. After dinner I lay upon a locker smoking, and
William sat at the table with a pipe in his mouth.
Presently I