The Missing Merchantman | Page 5

catch
us somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Line, I expect, if not before;
and, should the weather be fine, I hope you will come on board and
dine with me, and make the acquaintance of my passengers, who, I
assure you, seem to be very capital people."
"Thank you very much," was the response; "but you know very well
that this poor little ship has no chance whatever with such a spanking
craft as the Southern Cross. Look how deep we are in the water; and we
don't even know our proper trim. Then, too, the glass seems inclined to
drop a little, which probably means that the wind is going to haul round
from the southward, which, with the twenty-four hours' start you will
have, will carry you down channel nicely enough, whilst we shall be
hung up in the Downs. So that, altogether, I consider you ought to
reach Melbourne about eight days, at least, ahead of us, which will give
you ample time to tell them that we are coming."
And so, with mutual protestations of disbelief in each other's
prognostications, the rival skippers laughingly shook hands and parted.
On the following morning the two ships hauled out of dock, the
Southern Cross leading, and proceeded down the river in tow, the one
anchoring off Gravesend to take her passengers on board, whilst the
other went alongside the wharf at Tilbury Fort. The ammunition was all
ready for shipment, as it happened; and, securely packed in
copper-lined cases, was that same afternoon carefully stowed on top of
all in the after hatchway, whence, if necessary, it could be easily and
quickly removed and launched overboard in case of an outbreak of fire.
The Southern Cross, meanwhile, with her tug hanging on to her, had
only paused long enough to allow of her captain going on shore and
fetching off her passengers, when she had proceeded. The Flying Cloud,

on the other hand, having now completed her cargo, and battened down
everything, shifted her berth and anchored off Gravesend pier; but, as it
had not been expected that she would receive quite such quick despatch
at Tilbury, the passengers would not be on board until the following
morning, so there was no alternative but to wait for them. In the
meantime there was plenty for the crew to do in getting the decks
cleaned up and everything made ship-shape; and this task was so
satisfactorily performed, under the supervision of the mates, that
Captain Blyth's spirits rose, and he began to hope that he had secured
not only a good crew, but good officers as well. He was also
particularly pleased to notice that the steerage passengers--twelve in
number, all men, who had joined the ship in the docks on the preceding
evening--though a rough-looking lot, were scarcely as bad as they
looked, evincing a distinct inclination to make themselves useful and to
assist the crew as much as possible.
On the following morning, directly after breakfast, Captain Blyth
proceeded on shore in his gig to look up his passengers; and about ten
o'clock they were seen approaching the ship, a shore-boat being in
attendance with the trunks, portmanteaux, etcetera, which contained
their immediate necessaries (the bulk of their luggage having been sent
on board whilst the ship was in dock). Upon this, the windlass was at
once manned, the cable hove short, and the tug signalled to come
alongside and take the tow-rope. These preparations were still actively
in progress when the two boats pulled alongside the ship; and by the
time that the passengers had reached the decks and their luggage had
been passed up, the tug had received the tow-rope and had passed
ahead, and the anchor was reported ready for tripping. The shore-boat
was then discharged, the gig hoisted up, the windlass was again
manned, the paddles of the tug began to revolve, the anchor was broken
out of the ground, and the long voyage had at length actually
commenced.
The saloon passengers were seven in number (quite a pleasant little
family party, Captain Blyth averred), and they consisted of a Doctor
and Mrs Henderson, with their daughter, Lucille, aged six; Miss Sibylla
Stanhope, Mrs Henderson's sister; Mr and Mrs Gaunt, and their son,

Percy, aged seven.
Dr Henderson was a medical man who, notwithstanding his undoubted
ability, had found it difficult to establish a satisfactory practice in
England, and was therefore going to try his fortune in the southern
hemisphere, taking his family and his wife's orphan sister with him; and
Mr Gaunt was a civil engineer on his way to the colony to take up a
lucrative professional appointment. They were both clever, quiet,
unassuming men, very gentlemanly in manner, but with nothing
particularly striking in their appearance; the kind of men, in