THE OWNER’S SON.

Peter Blake watched anxiously for a chance of speaking with the captain unobserved. But the mate seemed here, there, and everywhere, always in the way; an alert and untiring spy, never to be caught off his guard. Every man on board believed him to be a secret scout for Penrose. But Peter’s chance came at last. The mate had turned in, and was safely asleep in his berth below; while the captain was in his little cabin on deck. Peter knocked at the door, and entering, closed it carefully behind him. Small as the cabin was, it had been crowded with some cases of fire-arms, which had been put on board as part of the cargo at the last minute.

“Captain,” said Peter, “Fleck swears that this isn’t the real ‘Dolphin’ that he’s sailed in twice before; and all the crew credit him. You’ve only to go round about her, and look her over well, and you’ll see she’s an older ship than she has the appearance of. In my opinion, she’s nought else save a painted old Jezebel.”

“What then, Blake?” asked Captain Norcott sadly.

“Why, sir,” he answered, “you’ve known me a many years, and you can take my word now. I’ve not breathed a syllable to my shipmates; but I come to you, and I say run her into the nearest port, and save our lives and your own. She’s Penrose’s boat; and he’s lost too many for us to trust him. The weather’s changing, captain, you know. The stars twinkled too much last night; and there have been wind-dogs amid the clouds. There was a high dawn this morning, and the sky was red and lowering. Just look up, and you’ll see scud-clouds driving across the sky at this minute. I haven’t spoke a word, sir; but, oh! captain, run in for the shore, for the nearest port, before it is too late.”

Captain Norcott seemed lost in thought, and made no answer, while Peter went on with deeper earnestness--

“Think of all the women and children belonging to us men!” he said. “There’d be a bare chance for us, and nothing more, if the ‘Dolphin’ foundered, for she’d go to pieces like a child’s plaything. We’re no better off than rats caught in a trap, you and us, sir. The ship’s meant to be cast away, and, the mate’s here to make sure of it. Look here, sir; these fire-arms, what are they? They are no more fire-arms than they are the Queen’s crown jewels. It’s salt; nothing but salt. The lid of one of them started a little when they were lying on deck, and I saw it; ay, and tasted it. What does that mean, captain?”

“It means the most cursed, infernal roguery, if it’s true,” exclaimed the captain, with passionate vehemence. “Those cases are insured for 1,500_l._, and Penrose begged me to have them safe in my own cabin here. I’ll look into them, Blake.”

The lid of the topmost case was prised open in a few seconds, and Captain Norcott saw with his own eyes that there was only salt within it, instead of the valuable fire-arms he believed it to contain. He stood staring at it for a minute or two; and then sat down, covering his face with both hands. Here was a terrible perplexity. What was he to do? What could it be his duty to do? Was he justified in pursuing the voyage in the face of a coming storm, and with such evidence before him that the owner of the ‘Dolphin’ was guilty of foul play? Or must he put into port, and run himself into the difficulty and trouble of bringing exposure, ruin, and disgrace on the head of his employer? Penrose richly deserved it; but would he not, by some means or other, shift the blame from himself, and make a scapegoat of some innocent person? He knew such men could often evade the law; and that not seldom those who did their utmost to bring evil practices to light were the chief sufferers for their moral courage. It would need a great amount of moral courage to fight a man like Penrose. Was he strong enough himself for the task?

Captain Norcott had almost forgotten Peter Blake’s presence, so absorbed was he in these painful thoughts, when suddenly the clear voice of Victor rang down from the mizzen-top-mast.

“Boat astern! Stop her!” he shouted.

In a moment both the captain and Peter were out on deck. Victor was swinging down the mast as swiftly as a monkey, and presented himself almost breathless before the captain. “There’s a boat drifting, please sir,” he gasped; “only one man in her. He’s making signals to me. Oh, please, sir, may I go with them in the quarter-boat to pick him up?”

Captain Norcott could not help smiling at the lad’s eagerness, as he walked up with his telescope, Victor following him closely. Presently he made out for himself a little pleasure-boat, drifting and tossing helplessly on the water. A man was standing on one of the thwarts, evidently striving to attract their notice. He ordered a boat to be lowered at once, and Fleck and Peter, with Victor at the tiller, to hasten to the rescue, while the “Dolphin” lay to until they could return.

It was more than half an hour before they came alongside the little boat, which, tossing as it was upon the waves, plainly made no attempt to meet them. But when they reached it at last they found a young man sitting well-nigh exhausted on the thwart and hardly able to speak to them. It was a little pleasure-boat, gayly painted, meant for no rougher voyage than cruising about some sheltered bay.

“I lost one of my oars,” said the young boatman, faintly, “and the boat drifted out with the tide. I’ve had nothing to eat all night, and I’m nearly lost. Have you anything to eat with you?”

“No; but we’ll be back in the ship in half an hour,” answered Peter, steadying him with his strong hand as he stepped from his own boat into theirs; “we didn’t stay for any provisions, sir. But you’re safe now.”

“Yes, I’m safe now,” said the stranger. He spoke confusedly, and his eyes, which had a worn-out, terrible expression, looked intently into Peter’s face.

“I’ve been near death!” he said, as he sank down on a bench; “I’ve been near death!” He looked about him on the dancing waves, bewildered and awe-stricken. “I’ve been near death!” he muttered a third time.

“Ay, ay, sir! We’re all of us near death,” said Peter, turning to him for a moment from fastening the pleasure-boat safely to their own; “there’s only a step betwixt us and death.”

“Only a step betwixt us and death!” he repeated, with a puzzled look; “but I’m safe now, thank God!”

“Look here, Peter!” cried Fleck, pointing to the name painted in letters of green and gold on the prow of the pleasure-boat; “what do you call that, eh?”

“‘The Penrose!’” exclaimed Peter.

“That’s my name,” said the stranger, faintly; “I’m Arthur Penrose.”

“Are you the son of Penrose, the shipowner, who has a wharf and warehouse down at Wapping?” asked Peter, eagerly.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Yonder’s one of his ships,” put in Fleck, “and we’re part of the crew. The ‘Dolphin’ she is, sir.”

“But the ‘Dolphin’ was lost at sea,” said young Penrose, putting his hand to his head, and still looking about him confusedly.

“Ay, ay, sir!” cried Fleck; “yet there she is, and you’ll soon be aboard of her; one of your father’s own ships, sir. There’s something to think about!”

He grinned as he spoke, and glanced aside at Peter, with a gesture that said plainly that the lad of twenty whom they had just rescued was a poor blockhead, with no more wits than a baby. He looked delicate and feeble, and sat shivering in the boat, until Victor stripped off his blue jacket and wrapped it about his shoulders. Victor felt as if he had rescued him from death. If he had not been at the mast-head looking keenly round about him, the chances were great that young Mr. Penrose would not have been seen by any one of the crew.

“Safe now, thank God!” murmured the young man again.

“Aye, thank God!” said Victor. Never had he felt so happy. God had chosen him to save the life of a fellow-creature, and his heart leaped with a triumphant gladness such as he had never felt before. He sprang on board the “Dolphin” and rushed aft to the captain, crying in an exultant voice--

“We’ve saved him, sir; and it’s young Mr. Penrose!”