Dick Sands, the Boy Captain

On the 2nd of February, 1873, the Pilgrim, a tight little craft of 400 tons burden, lay in lat. 43° 57′, S. and long. 165° 19′, W. She was a schooner, the property of James W. Weldon, a wealthy Californian shipowner who had fitted her out at San Francisco, expressly for the whale-fisheries in the southern seas.

James Weldon was accustomed every season to send his whalers both to the Arctic regions beyond Bering Straits, and to the Antarctic Ocean below Tasmania and Cape Horn; and the Pilgrim, although one of the smallest, was one of the best-going vessels of its class; her sailing-powers were splendid, and her rigging was so adroitly adapted that with a very small crew she might venture without risk within sight of the impenetrable ice-fields of

It was about nine o’clock in the morning of that day that Dick and little Jack had perched themselves together on the topmast-yards. The weather was very clear, and they could see the horizon right round except the section behind them, hidden by the brigantine-sail on the mainmast. Below them, the bowsprit seemed to lie along the water with its staysails attached like three unequal wings; from the lads’ feet to the deck was the smooth surface of the foremast; and above their heads nothing but the small topsail and the topmast. The schooner was running on the larboard tack as close to the wind as possible.

Dick Sand was pointing out to Jack how well the ship was ballasted, and was trying to explain how it was impossible for her to capsize, however much she heeled to starboard, when suddenly the little fellow cried out⁠—

“I can see something in the water!”

“Where? what?” exclaimed Dick, clambering to his feet upon the yard.

“There!” said the child, directing attention to the portion of the sea-surface that was visible between the staysails.

Dick fixed his gaze intently for a moment, and then shouted out lustily⁠—

“Look out in front, to starboard! There is something afloat. To windward, look out!”

On the morning of the 9th an incident occurred which could not fail to be observed as somewhat remarkable. Jack was half lying, half sitting on the deck, amusing himself with his letters, and had just finished putting together a word with which he intended to puzzle old Tom, who, with his hand sheltering his eyes, was pretending not to see the difficulty which was being labouriously prepared to bewilder him; all at once, Dingo, who had been gambolling round the child, made a sudden pause, lifted his right paw, and wagged his tail convulsively. Then darting down upon a capital S, he seized it in his mouth, and carried it some paces away.

“Oh, Dingo, Dingo! you mustn’t eat my letters!” shouted the child.

But the dog had already dropped the block of wood, and coming back again, picked up another, which he laid quietly by the side of the first. This time it was a capital V. Jack uttered an exclamation of astonishment which brought to his side not only his mother, but the captain and Dick, who were both on deck. In answer to their inquiry as to what had occurred, Jack cried out in the greatest excitement that Dingo knew how to read. At any rate he was sure that he knew his letters.

Dick Sands smiled and stooped to take back the letters. Dingo snarled and showed his teeth, but the apprentice was not frightened; he carried his point, and replaced the two blocks among the rest.

“Negoro,” said Dick sharply, “you know as well as I do, that they are both drowned.”

“Then where am I to get my orders from?” asked the fellow insolently.

“From me,” promptly rejoined the apprentice.

“From you! from a boy of fifteen?”

“Yes, from me,” repeated Dick, in a firm and resolute voice, looking at the man until he recoiled under his gaze. “From me.”

Mrs. Weldon had heard what passed.

“I wish everyone on board to understand,” she interposed, “that Dick Sands is captain now. Orders must be taken from him, and they must be obeyed.”

Negoro frowned, bit his lip, sneered, and having muttered something that was unintelligible, made his way back to his cabin.

Meantime, the schooner under the freshening breeze had been carried beyond the shoal of the crustaceans.

Worn out by fatigue, the little party were glad to lie down, but they had scarcely dropped off to sleep when they were aroused by a sharp cry.

“Who’s that? who’s there? what’s the matter?” exclaimed Dick, the first to rise to his feet.

“It is I,” answered Benedict’s voice; “I am bitten. Something has bitten me.”

“A snake!” exclaimed Mrs. Weldon in alarm.

“No, no, cousin, better than that! it was not a snake; I believe it was an orthoptera; I have it all right,” he shouted triumphantly.

“Then kill it quickly, sir; and let us go to sleep again in peace,” said Harris.

“Kill it! not for the world! I must have a light, and look at it!”

Dick Sands indulged him, for reasons of his own, in getting a light. The entomologist carefully opened his hand and displayed an insect somewhat smaller than a bee, of a dull colour, streaked with yellow on the under portion of the body. He looked radiant with delight.

“A diptera!” he exclaimed, half beside himself with joy, “a most famous diptera!”

“Is it venomous?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“Not at all to men; it only hurts elephants and buffaloes.”

“But tell us its name! what is it?” cried Dick impetuously.

The naturalist began to speak in a slow, oracular tone.

“This insect is here a prodigy; it is an insect totally unknown in this country⁠—in America.”

“Tell us its name!” roared Dick.

“It is a tsetse, sir, a true tsetse.”

Dick’s heart sank like a stone. He was speechless. He did not, dared not, ask more. Only too well he knew where the tsetse could alone be found. He did not close his eyes again that night.