CHAPTER XVIII.

NEWS FROM HOME.

The voice that greeted Breeze so heartily was that of Captain Ezra Coffin, and the schooner he had just boarded was the _Fish-hawk_. The boy could hardly believe his senses. Could it be that he had again fallen in with friends on the high seas? Was this really the schooner he had left in Gloucester more than a month before? It did not seem possible, and yet here was Captain Coffin shaking his hand, old Mateo dancing about and trying for a chance to embrace him, and other familiar faces, seen dimly by the lantern-light, crowding forward to greet him.

Mateo, the cook, could not contain his joy, but danced and shouted extravagantly, “We found ’em! we found ’em! Me tella you fader we finda you, Breeza. Where zat rasca, Nimba, zat Guinea boy? You bringa him, eh, Breeza?”

“Here I,” cried Nimbus, who had stood back unnoticed as the crew crowded around Breeze. “Who callin’ me rask? Wot he mean? Ware he?”

At the sound of this voice old Mateo, who had just succeeded in embracing Breeze, left him, made one bound to where the black man stood, and seizing him by his wonderful ears, began to shake his head violently, exclaiming, “You no a raska, eh? you black pickaninny! Ole Mateo teacha you! He pulla you ear many time! you forgetta him, eh?”

Nimbus was at first bewildered and thrown off his guard by this sudden attack, but recovering himself quickly, he seized the little cook with his powerful hands, and raising him clear of the deck, held him, kicking and screaming, at arm’s-length above his head, while he executed a waddling, uncouth sort of a war-dance. As he did so he shouted, or rather chanted,

“Ah, you ole Mateo! Now I know um well! You ole Portugee man! You pull Nimbo’s ears when he pickaninny! You show um de cookin’ ob de duff an’ de scouse! Now you gwine a-fishin’! You t’ink you catch um one time mo’, but you is mistooken! He grown to be a whale! He catch you, an’ he eat you! You ole rask yo’se’f!”

All this was shouted out in a singsong tone, to which the grotesque dancing-steps of the black man kept time. The whole affair was so ludicrous that the members of the crew screamed with laughter, and rolled on the deck in the excess of their merriment. Even Captain Coffin and Breeze were compelled to join in the general mirth, and the latter laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. It was a great relief and pleasure to enjoy a hearty laugh once more after the sadness and anxiety of the days just past, and it did the boy more good than anything that could have happened just then.

The comical actions of Mateo and Nimbus were their peculiar modes of expressing great joy at again meeting with each other. Years before, Mateo, while cooking on board a vessel engaged in the African trade, had picked up Nimbus, then a boy, and taken him as an assistant. They had sailed together for several years, and had then lost sight of each other. This curious encounter in mid-ocean was their first meeting since that time.

When Nimbus set Mateo down, the old cook shook his fist in the face of his former pupil. He said nothing to him then, for he had just bethought himself of a neglected duty, and stepping over to where Breeze and the captain were standing, he uttered the famous expression that had so often proved a welcome one to the boy:

“Vell, Breeza, you hongry, eh?”

“I should say I was hungry. I guess anybody would be if he’d had only a couple of dry ship’s biscuit to eat in more than twenty-four hours.”

“Holy feesh!” exclaimed Mateo, “you got ze ship’s cook an’ nottin’ do for eat? zat lazy Nimba! heem no good!”

The two castaways certainly tried their best to lay in a liberal supply of food for future use that evening, and it was hard to tell which was the happier, old Mateo in seeing them eat, or they in eating. Of course Nimbus found fault with each dish, and would not acknowledge that anything was as good as he could have prepared it, had he been lord of the galley, and of course Mateo treated his claims to be considered a cook with scorn. Thus was begun the professional rivalry between these two curious specimens of sea cooks, that offered infinite amusement to the crew of the _Fish-hawk_, and made this voyage one long to be remembered and laughed over.

When he had reached the stage at which he began to think of ship-biscuit much as Wolfe had done after their first meal on the brig, Breeze left the cooks to settle their differences as best they might, and went on deck for a talk with the skipper. From him he learned that the _Fish-hawk_ was only four days out from Gloucester, and that when he last saw Mrs. McCloud she was well, though worrying sadly over the unexplained disappearance of her boy.

“How did it all happen, Breeze?” asked the captain. “Wolfe Brady tried to tell me something about it, but I hadn’t time to hear much.”

“Wolfe Brady!” exclaimed Breeze. “What do you mean? Where have you seen Wolfe Brady?”

"Why, yesterday! Didn’t I tell you? How careless! I thought I told you first thing after you came aboard that we fell in with the _Esmeralda_ yesterday; no, I mean to-day, for it isn’t midnight yet, about noon, and seeing her signal of distress I went aboard of her.

“I was never more surprised in my life than when I found your father and Wolfe Brady on the vessel, and all alone. You could have knocked me down with a rope yarn. They were in terrible low spirits over losing you, and didn’t know how to account for it. They had not waked until daylight, and had no idea of how long you had been gone or what had happened. Their only hope was that so long as the black man and the dory had gone too, you were both drifting round somewhere in it. They would have put their brig about and started back to look for you, but they hadn’t the strength to swing the yards. Altogether they formed a melancholy ship’s company.”

“That accounts for Mateo’s asking if I had brought Nimbus with me,” said Breeze. “I wondered how he knew anything about it. Poor father and poor Wolfe! Could you do anything to help them, captain?”

“Oh yes; I put two men aboard to take the brig into Gloucester, and promised to sail over the course they had just come, and keep the sharpest kind of a lookout for you. Wolfe Brady wanted to come with us, but felt that his duty lay with your father. He said, though, he would never go dorymates with anybody else if you shouldn’t turn up again. Captain McCloud was very much broken down over losing you under such circumstances, so soon after your wonderful meeting with each other, and I was afraid he was going to have a relapse of his fever. For that reason I made him promise, before I left him, that he would take the brig at once into port, and not attempt to find you. I, of course, had no idea that you could be found, and had not the slightest hope of ever seeing you again. How did you manage to follow the brig’s course so well without any compass and under a clouded sky?”

“We had a compass,” replied Breeze, smiling.

“Did you? They said on board the brig that there was none in the dory, and that, provided you were in it, you would probably be lying to a drag about where they left you.”

Then Breeze told Captain Coffin the whole story of the golden ball, and the important part it had played in directing their movements.

When he had finished the captain said, “Well, it has certainly saved you this time by bringing you to this point; for if I had kept the course I was steering all night, and you had simply drifted before the wind, we might have been anywhere from thirty to fifty miles apart by morning. I don’t see now why you didn’t drift farther to the northward with this southerly wind.”

“I guess it was because I made a pretty big allowance for leeway,” replied Breeze.

“Oh yes; if you thought of that, I’ve no doubt it was.”

“By-the-way, captain, how does it happen that you are only just now on your way to the Banks?” asked Breeze. “I thought you were to start within a week after the _Vixen_ left Gloucester.”

“So we did,” replied the skipper, “and got as far as Banquereau. There we lost our foremast in a gale, and ran back after a new stick. While we were refitting I heard such bad reports from the Banks that I determined to try a new ground to me, and make a trip to the Iceland coast after a load of fletched[H] halibut.”

Footnote H:

Fletch, a corruption of _flench_, or _flense_, meaning to strip off in layers. A fletched halibut is one from which the meat is cut off in strips and salted, to be afterwards smoked.

“To Iceland!” cried Breeze, in dismay.

“Yes, lad, to Iceland. Sixteen hundred miles farther away from Gloucester than we are now. Twenty-four hundred miles to go, and the same distance to return, is a pretty long fishing trip, isn’t it? But it will soon be over, and early next autumn we’ll land you safe and sound in Gloucester again, in plenty of time to get ready for a winter’s trip to George’s if you want to take one.”

The idea of going on such a long voyage, and having his return home deferred for several months, was so startling to Breeze that for a few moments he remained silent, not knowing what to answer.

“Why, lad,” said the captain, “what else is there for you to do? You know I can’t afford to put back to Gloucester again simply to carry you there. It would cost a thousand dollars to do that. Even if we should put about now and try to find the brig again, it isn’t at all likely we could do so. I am short-handed from having let two men go back with her, and you and your black friend will just give me a full crew again. Besides, your dunnage is already aboard and waiting for you. I meant to have sent it up to your house before sailing, but I forgot it. But, I say, Breeze, you haven’t told me yet how you happened to take French leave and come off to the Banks the way you did. Your poor mother was almost distracted when you didn’t come home that night, nor yet the next day. She sat up all night long waiting for you, and was at my house by daylight to get me to go and look for you.”

“Poor mother!” said Breeze, pityingly. “The worst of being carried off so was the thought of her distress, and now she’ll have a new cause for trouble when father and Wolfe get home and can’t tell her whether I’m dead or alive.”

“You were carried off, then?”

“Of course we were. You don’t suppose I would have gone off in that way of my own accord, do you?”

“No, not exactly; but there were ugly stories around town about your having been seen at Grimes’s, and been chased by the police for creating a disturbance on the streets. Of course your mother wouldn’t believe a word of them, and I didn’t wholly either, for I know how such things get exaggerated; but I was afraid you might have got into some sort of a scrape.”

When Breeze had told Captain Coffin the whole story of that night, the latter said, cordially,

“I believe every word you tell me, Breeze, and I think you acted just right under the circumstances; in fact, I do not see how you could have done anything else. Still, I think your long absence on this voyage will prove a good thing for you. It will give Wolfe Brady plenty of time to deny all the false stories, and will also give people time to believe him. You know it always takes folks longer to believe good than bad stories about a person.”

“Well, sir,” said Breeze, “under the circumstances, and as the only other thing to do would be to get into dory No. 6, and drift away again, I believe I’ll ship with you for this Iceland trip.”

“Yes, I think you had better,” replied the skipper, gravely.

Breeze was much pleased to find again the outfit of clothing that he had transferred to the _Fish-hawk_ from the _Albatross_. After weeks of wearing old garments, picked up here and there among his recent shipmates on the _Vixen_, it was indeed a comfort to be able to dress himself once more in a full suit of his own clothes.

The _Fish-hawk_ was a much larger and more comfortable schooner than any he had sailed in before; and only the thought that there were sorrow and anxiety in the little home cottage on his account prevented him from thoroughly enjoying the prospect of a trip in her to far distant seas. Even this cause of trouble was partially removed two days later, when they sighted several fishing schooners, and the skipper offered to run down to them, and ask the first one that should be homeward bound to take letters, and also to report Breeze McCloud as safe and well.

As they drew near, one of these anchored vessels seemed strangely familiar to Breeze, who, after looking at her through a glass, said, “I do believe it’s the old _Vixen_.” He was right, and no men could have been more surprised than were her crew, when, soon afterwards, he and Captain Coffin rowed to her in dory No. 6. They welcomed Breeze as one from the dead, and there was not a man on board but shook him heartily by the hand and gave him a cordial greeting. Of them all, none appeared so glad to see him as poor Hank Hoffer, who, still suffering greatly from the effects of his exposure in the ice, had never ceased to mourn the loss of his brave young rescuers.

They were intensely interested in the story he had to tell them of his experiences since drifting away in the fog, and all declared that they had never before heard of any one person having such peculiar adventures during a single trip to the Banks. The _Vixen_ was to return to Gloucester in two or three weeks more, and her skipper promised to contradict any unpleasant rumors he might hear concerning Breeze, and to tell the true story of his mysterious departure. He also promised to deliver, immediately upon his arrival, the letter Breeze had written to his mother, telling of his safety and where he had gone.

Before they left the _Vixen_ her skipper told Captain Coffin that his anchor was caught on an ocean telegraph cable, and asked him whether he thought he ought to try and haul it up, thus running the risk of breaking the telegraph, or cut his own cable when he got ready to leave.

“Buoy your own cable and cut it, by all means,” replied Captain Coffin, promptly. “The telegraph company will pay you the full value of all that you lose, as soon as you send in a statement of the case to them. I did the same thing myself only about a year ago.”

After getting the suit of shore clothes he had left on the _Vixen_, Breeze bade his old shipmates good-by, and he and Captain Coffin returned to the _Fish-hawk_, one of the _Vixen_ men going with them to carry back dory No. 6. Breeze could not help watching the departure of the old dory with regret, as he thought of all he had gone through with in it, and how often it had served him in times of danger.

As they sailed away from the _Vixen_, the thought of her being fast to a telegraph cable caused Breeze to ask the skipper how many cables there were crossing the Atlantic.

“I believe there are ten in all,” was the answer. “Two of them run to Newfoundland, and eight cross the fishing banks, and land either on the Nova Scotia or New England coast.”

“Is the very first one still working?” asked Breeze.

“No, the first one, which was laid in 1858, was only able to transmit, very feebly, one or two messages, and then it became silent, never to speak again. The first one that was of any real service was laid in 1864, as I well remember, for I saw the _Great Eastern_ while she was laying it; but I believe that also has been long since abandoned.”

While they were thus talking they lost sight of the _Vixen_, and were once more alone on the broad ocean. Then Breeze, for the first time, fully realized that he was really bound on a long voyage across the stormy Atlantic to the distant coast of Iceland.