The Ocean Cat’s Paw is a Webnovel created by George Manville Fenn.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
“No, sir, that he has not,” replied the French lad eagerly; “but I have gathered from your remarks, and words that Rodd has more than once let drop, how anxious you both are to have a run up country and see something of what the wilds are like.”
“Oh, fudge! Stuff! Nonsense!” cried the doctor petulantly. “That’s quite out of the question.”
“Why?” said the Count.
“Why?” cried the doctor. “Oh, because it’s–that is–er–I feel–“
“Bound by a sense of imaginary duty,” said the Count, smiling. “You think it would be unfriendly to me and my son here to leave us in what you English people call the lurch; and therefore you are depriving yourself of what would be a great pleasure as naturalists and hunters in which you would indulge if we were not here.”
“My dear Des Saix, I do wish you would not talk about it,” cried the doctor. “There, I confess that if we were alone I should probably take advantage of the Spanish captain’s knowledge of the country, and go a little way up with him; but as matters are, with your brig still unfinished, and so much to do, I consider it would be an act of disgraceful selfishness to go away and leave you alone here.”
“Absurd!” said the Count. “You would be going into wilder parts while we should be quite at home here, in the nearly finished brig, and have her in the best of trim by the time you came back.”
“Impossible!” snapped out the doctor. “Nothing of the sort.”
“What do you say, Morny?” continued the Count. “You feel that they are both eager to go?”
“Yes, father; and I am sure that Rodd is burning with desire.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” cried Rodd.
“Well,” said the Count, “ever since we met I have given way, and taken your advice, doctor, in all things; but we have come to a time now when I think I have a right to a.s.sert myself. Captain Chubb thinks that he will have finished in two days more. He is certain that he will have all done, caulked, tarred, and the copper replaced, in three days; so I have come to the conclusion that you people, who have been quite slaves in the way of sharing my troubles, thoroughly deserve a holiday. So I set you free–you too, Morny.”
“Me, father!” cried the lad in astonishment.
“Yes; I am sure you would enjoy a trip with Rodd as much as he would like you to go with him.”
“Yes, that I should,” cried Rodd; “but–“
“Yes,” said Morny gravely; “but–you would not wish me to leave my father like this. Thank you, my father. I could not go, and I will stay.”
“No, Morny; you will obey my wishes. You have your young life saddened enough with disappointments, so that when there is an opportunity to keep one away I call upon you to accompany young Harding here as his companion, and I wish you both a very enjoyable trip.”
“That’s very nice of you–very nice indeed,” cried the doctor; “but I cannot sanction it. I think we should be doing very wrong if we let those boys go alone.”
“But they would not go alone. You would have full charge of your nephew.”
“Now, Des Saix!” snorted the doctor.
“Let me finish,” said the Count good-humouredly; “and as a man in whom I place full confidence I entrust you with the care of my son. Now, doctor, please, no more excuses. I will not deprive you of the pleasures a naturalist would enjoy in such an excursion. Your preparations could be soon made; so send over for the Spaniard to-night and tell him you will be ready to start at the turn of the tide to-morrow, so that it may bear you up into these unknown regions– unknown to us–and a pleasant trip to you!”
“No,” said the doctor, “I shall certainly not think of trusting ourselves to that man and his crew.”
“There I agree with you,” said the Count; “with a good crew of your own trusted men.”
“And if he could be spared,” cried Rodd, “I should like for us to have Joe Cross.”
“Now, look here,” cried Uncle Paul, “this is taking a weak man at his weakest time. Really, Count, we ought not to go. Look at what your position would be in case anything should happen.”
“Nothing is likely to happen,” said the Count, “and if it did, though my brig is still helpless I should have your vessel, with about half your crew, and my own. So now not another word.”
“There,” said the doctor, “I am afraid I am beaten.”
CHAPTER FORTY ONE.
REPTILIAN.
It was just about the same time as the Spaniard had chosen for his other visits, after dark, that his boat was again rowed across to the schooner’s anchorage, the man asking for the doctor.
“I’m here,” said Uncle Paul, going to the side, from where he had been talking to the Count. “What’s the matter?”
“Matter?” said the Spaniard wonderingly. “Oh, there’s nothing the matter. I thought I’d tell you that those two men of mine you gave the physic to are quite well again, and don’t want any more. That’s all.
Go on shooting the crocodiles. Good-night!”
He gave an order to his men, and the boat’s head was turned, but as soon as they had proceeded a little way back the Spaniard gave another order, and his men checked the boat and kept on gently dipping their oars to keep her in the same place. “Doctor there?” shouted the Spaniard.
“Yes.”
“Haven’t thought any more about going up the river, have you?”
There was dead silence for a few moments, and then Uncle Paul said sharply, as if making an effort–
“Yes; I shall start as soon as the tide turns to-morrow morning.”
“Very well,” said the man carelessly. “I will come across with my long-boat and eight of my men. They want a job to keep them awake.”
Then he grumbled out some words in Spanish to those who were with him, while, as if annoyed at what he had heard, Captain Chubb uttered a low growl.
“No, you needn’t do that,” cried Uncle Paul. “Our men would like to go up the river. If you will come across to act as guide I will use my own boat, and take all provisions that are necessary.”
“Very well,” said the Spaniard. “Perhaps that will be best. Your boat’s lighter than mine. Take plenty of powder and shot. Like some of my men to come and help?”
“Oh no; it will not be necessary,” replied the captain.
“Bring blankets,” shouted the Spaniard. “Dew’s heavy. Good-night!”
Then the boat was rowed away.
“You mean to go?” grunted the skipper.
“Yes; I don’t like to lose this opportunity, and our friends here would like us to go.”
“Well,” grunted the skipper, after a few moments’ thought, “he’s only one, and you’ll be how many?”
“I was taking eight of the men to row; that is to say, four rowers, and their relief; Cross for c.o.xswain–nine; and our three selves.”
“Nay, I’m not going till that brig’s finished,” said the skipper angrily.