PETER BLAKE’S HOME.

The sailmaker’s house was not many yards distant. As Captain Norcott and Peter ascended the staircase to the second floor, they heard a young boyish voice singing loudly, and a woman’s soft sweet note chiming in. The words of the chorus rang clearly out, as they stood for a minute listening at the closed door:--

“We’re out on the ocean sailing, To a home beyond the tide.”

“That’s Victor and Bessie,” said Peter, with a smile of pride; “they’re always at it, specially Victor.”

Quietly he opened the door, and Captain Norcott saw a large, old-fashioned room, with a deep bow-window, looking out upon that part of the Thames called the Pool. The ceiling was low, and discolored by time; and the wainscotted walls had been painted of a color which it was now impossible to tell. There was little furniture in it, but it was good and clean, and a bright fire was burning without ashes in the large old grate. On one side of the fireplace stood a huge antique wooden cradle, with long rockers, beside which sat an old Frenchwoman, with dark, brilliant eyes, and a withered sallow face, which seemed the sallower from the whiteness of the cap she wore. She was rocking the heavy cradle with one foot, whilst her thin yellow hands were busy knitting a sailor’s cap. Bessie was getting tea ready, and was standing for a minute waiting for the kettle to boil. Victor, a bright handsome boy of thirteen, was nursing fondly a little girl of about five years of age. Peter paused for a few seconds, and Captain Norcott stood silent, looking on at the pleasant little home before him, whilst a sudden thought of the rough life on board flashed across him. The only one who saw them at the door was the child on Victor’s knee, who stared solemnly and shyly at the stranger.

“Mother! here’s Captain Norcott,” said Peter, loudly. The singing suddenly ceased, and the two women felt a sharp pang of dread. The sight of a sea captain in their pleasant room was a sure sign of a coming sorrow.

“Ay! you know what I’m come for Bessie,” said the captain, shaking hands with her and the old mother; “it’s for Peter again. You must be a brave lass, and bid your husband go along with me. He’s willing, if you are. A short voyage; good pay; no bullying, and as much of his own way as he can get. Those are the terms; come, don’t let his shipmates say he’s tied to his wife’s apron-strings, and turned molly-cot.”

“You men don’t know what it is,” said Bessie, half crying, “sitting in the house, and watching, and waiting, and seeing the storms blow up, and hearing the wind howl, and thinking of Peter in some nasty old ship that’s only fit for firewood. I only wish Peter had to do it, and he’d soon find work on land or on the river.”

“The ship, is it a good ship?” asked the old mother, staying her busy foot and hands; “is it a very good, strong, large ship? Peter is my very good son, and he must go in a very good ship. His father, Peter Blake, my husband, was a good man, and he voyaged in a bad ship, and he came back never, never.”

“She is a very good ship, madam,” answered Captain Norcott, speaking loudly, as if the old Frenchwoman was deaf; “Peter can go and see her, and I hope he will. Why, there’s me and a dozen more ready to run the risk, what risk there is, and Peter is as brave as any one of us. Don’t make him a coward. Peter’s calling is to the sea, and he’ll do no good off it. Fleck’s one of the crew, and if there’s any danger, catch Fleck going. You all know what Fleck is. He’ll only go when there’s a good job on hand.”

“Fleck’s a coward,” said Bessie, more hopefully; “he’s been in jail twice for breaking articles. Now if Peter signs he’ll go; there’d be no keeping him back. But suppose Fleck deserted at the last minute again?”

“If Fleck’s signed articles it’s all right,” said Peter; “he knows his boat, you may depend on it. He’s not going aboard any old one, and he’s not going to run himself into jail again. But I’ll go down and look at her myself, and then I’ll sign. I’m thinking I must go with you this once, captain.”

Victor had pushed himself forward in the little group, and stood looking up intently into his brother’s face, as if his own fate hung upon his decision. Now he uttered a shout of gladness, and caught Peter’s arm between both his hands.

“And take me as cabin boy!” he cried; “mother’ll let me go with you, Peter. I’ve been out to Dunkirk many a time, and to Havre twice. I know a boat almost as well as you do, Peter.”

“Ay, it’s true,” said Peter, looking to the captain; “you know Victor, sir. I’ll answer for him being obedient and trustworthy, and I don’t deny I’d like having him along with me.”

“Why, this is just as it should be,” answered Captain Norcott; “I’m in want of a cabin boy, and Victor’s a born seaman. Only look here; you must decide sharp. We must go out with the tide to-morrow, and if you don’t come I’ve to find others that will. Go down and see her at once, Blake; it’s light enough yet, and they’re getting her cargo in as fast as they can. Let me know to-night if you’ll come or no. I’m lodging in Red Lion Street, hard by.”

“Are you sure it is a very good ship?” asked the mother, eagerly; “they are my two only sons. In France one takes care the ships are good enough, but here in England you do all as you please. If I was a sailor I would go tap, tap all over the ship before I say I will go. My poor husband, he laughed at me, but all the same his good ship did break up like a little match-box, and he drowned himself. If my two only sons drowned themselves, what must we do, Bessie and me, and the two little babies?”

“You trust them to me,” shouted the captain, “and I’ll bring them safe home again. I knew your husband, madam, and he was a brave man. Now, Blake, go and look at the ‘Dolphin,’ and let me know what you mean to do as soon as you can.”

Captain Norcott walked back to Red Lion Street slowly and thoughtfully. For some days past there had been a few teazing doubts and suspicions troubling him, which seemed to have gathered tenfold strength when set against the little home scene he had just left. All the rest of his crew he had found and engaged about the docks and wharfs, where the transaction had been a mere matter of business. But he had gone with Peter Blake into his home; he had seen his old mother, a foreigner and stranger, and his little children, and his anxious young wife. The unwelcome misgivings that had been haunting him about the good ship “Dolphin” were certainly deepened by the interview. He had spoken cheerily and confidently to the women, because he looked upon them as timid creatures who would be afraid of the best vessel that sailed on the seas. But was the “Dolphin” as good a ship as he had assured them she was?

Captain Norcott was an honest man and a well known careful commander. He took every reasonable precaution, in his own opinion. There was not a spark of cowardice in his nature, and the risk of the present voyage did not appear to him so great as many he had run into with his eyes open. But he had been on shore some time, and he was eager to be off again. He did not know for certain that the “Dolphin” was not thoroughly seaworthy; though he had a shrewd suspicion that she belonged only nominally to Blackburn, the owner whose name appeared on the ship’s papers. Penrose was the real owner--old Penrose, whose name was notorious among seafaring men and at insurance offices. Penrose was superintending the lading, and the cargo was not of such a character as to remove the captain’s doubts. He wished he had not told Peter so positively that the “Dolphin” did not belong to Penrose. He did not think for a moment of drawing back from his own engagement, but he hesitated when he thought of Peter Blake and the bright young lad Victor. If harm came of this voyage, what would those two helpless women say to him?

He turned sharply about to hurry back to the sailmaker’s house. But the recollection came to him of the emphatic manner in which he had assured them all that the ship was good. Well! no doubt she was good enough; he had nothing definite to say against her. And if the story got wind and reached Penrose’s ears, how could he explain himself? Besides, it would be better for all sides to take a steady, trusty, able seaman like Peter, and a brisk intelligent boy like Victor, than pick up any idle loafers he might find hanging about the docks. The voyage would be all the safer with such good hands on board; and if he failed in getting the full crew, he knew very well old Penrose would send the “Dolphin” to sea undermanned.

Surely the chances were at least even. The weather was calm and the wind favorable. His crew was a fair one, taken altogether, though the mate was a stranger to him--a man of the name of Blackburn, related to the owner, and put in by Penrose. But he knew quite half his men. Peter Blake in himself was worth three of the others. No; he could not let Blake off. All that a captain could do he would to ensure the success of the voyage. He would hold himself ready to sacrifice property to life at the first certainty of danger. He would not run the risks he should feel it to be his duty to if he knew assuredly his vessel to be a sound one. No! no! The crew should be saved whatever else was lost.

He strolled down to the water’s edge and looked at the shipping in the river. They were still busy at Penrose’s wharf, and he could see the long arm of the crane swinging to and fro as the cargo was being lowered into the hold. A man and a boy stood near, looking on. They must be Peter Blake and Victor. Well! They should decide for themselves. Peter was quite as able to form an opinion as himself; he knew a good boat when he saw one. The captain turned away, and walked off to his quiet, old-fashioned lodging in Red Lion Street.

In about an hour’s time he was called away from his fireside to speak to a sailor at the house-door. It was Peter Blake, and Victor’s eager young face met the captain’s eye as they stood in the light of the street lamp. He scarcely knew what he wished them to say. They would be valuable to him; but the thought of those women and the little children still weighed heavily on his heart.

“Well, Blake!” he said.

“We’ll sign articles to morrow, captain,” answered Peter; “Fleck says she’s all right, and I don’t see aught amiss with her as yet. We’ll go.”