| By Author | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Title | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Language |
|
Download this book: [ ASCII ] Look for this book on Amazon Tweet |
Title: The Voyage of the Arrow - To the China Seas. Its Adventures and Perils, Including - Its Capture by Sea Vultures from the Countess of Warwick, - as set down by William Gore, Chief Mate
Author: Hains, T. Jenkins (Thornton Jenkins)
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Voyage of the Arrow - To the China Seas. Its Adventures and Perils, Including - Its Capture by Sea Vultures from the Countess of Warwick, - as set down by William Gore, Chief Mate" ***
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
THE VOYAGE OF THE ARROW
Works of
T. Jenkins Hains
The Windjammers $1.50
The Black Barque 1.50
The Voyage of the Arrow 1.50
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building
BOSTON, MASS.
[Illustration: “I DREW HER TO ME AND KISSED HER.”
(_See page 236_)]
THE VOYAGE
of the _ARROW_
To the China Seas. Its Adventures and
Perils, including Its Capture by _Sea Vultures_
from the Countess of Warwick, as
set down by _William Gore_, Chief Mate.
By
T. Jenkins Hains
Author of “The Black Barque,” “The Windjammers,”
etc.
_With Six Illustrations by_
H. C. Edwards
[Illustration: colophon]
_Boston_: L. C. PAGE &
COMPANY (Incorporated) _Mdccccvi_
_Copyright, 1906_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, April, 1906
_COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S.A._
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“I DREW HER TO ME AND KISSED HER” (_See page 236_) _Frontispiece_
“MISS WATERS STOOD IN THE DOOR OF THE AFTER COMPANIONWAY” 60
“I FOUND TIME TO DO SOME WORK UPON THE WHEEL GEAR” 141
“GAZING SILENTLY AFTER US, ADRIFT AND ALONE” 197
“‘WHEN I WANT YOU MEN TO COME AFT HERE TO HELP ME, I’LL SEND FOR YOU’” 217
“I FORCED HIM BACKWARDS TO THE POOP-RAIL” 253
THE VOYAGE OF THE ARROW
CHAPTER I.
In setting down this tale, I will say at the beginning that I am only a
sailorman, and rough. Therefore, if I offend, I crave pardon, for my
knowledge is only that of the sea, and my manners are ocean-bred. If any
one is too delicately constituted to listen to a man like myself, and
prefers a tale of gentleness and delicate desire, he had best pass over
this narrative of part of my life, which has already received so much
publicity. I know many people hold off from me. I know some
sweet-scented sea lawyers who fancy they have a taste for description
have called me many hard names, and that many honest folk hold away from
me because of it. This and much more. But I have gone my way in silence
and lived according to the little voice within me, as a strong man
should. And it is not weakness now that prompts me to speak. I feel it
my duty, and will tell what I know and remember about the part of my
life which the public have chosen to discuss so freely.
I do not know who will believe a sailor’s tale, for sailors have been
known to enlarge on their yarns, but my father was a sailor before me
and was an honest man. So were many of the Gores, and I myself have been
master of a deep-water clipper-ship.
In spite of this I hardly feel that I have reached an exalted pinnacle
of human fame, for most people do not regard me as a success, nor am I
held up as a shining example of what man might accomplish in his life’s
work, although I was captain of the _Southern Cross_--until I ran her
ashore and lost her on the Irish coast.
This was all owing to misdirected effort--that is, her loss was; for,
after slaving twelve years fore and aft to get command of a ship and at
last getting one, I tried to break the record from Hongkong to
Liverpool. I did this by five days, and instead of holding offshore
until the weather moderated, I overran my distance during a foggy,
driving gale and left the whitening ribs of the _Southern Cross_ to mark
the success of my endeavour. Had I made harbour, my name would have gone
down to posterity as that of the best sailor afloat, and I would have
had the pick of the whole deep-water fleet, instead of being forced, as
I was, to sign on as mate of the _Arrow_.
It made my eyes misty and something rose in my throat as I did this. I,
a man of twenty-nine, signing the papers for a mate’s berth just as I
had done years ago when barely twenty.
I thought of the wild work I had done on the yard-arm in many a fierce
and freezing gale. I fancied I saw again the ragged rocks of the Ramires
through the gloom of the Antarctic night. The powerful typhoon of the
South Pacific and the hurricane of the Gulf flitted for an instant
before my misty vision. Then--Yes, then I was aware of Mr. Ropesend
gazing down quietly at me over the edge of his gold-rimmed spectacles,
and I signed “William Gore” without a tremor.
Mr. Ropesend was the head of the firm of importers who had chartered the
_Arrow_ for this voyage, and he had appointed old man Crojack as
skipper.
It seemed to me that the old merchant read some of the thoughts which
were uppermost in my mind, for his eyes held such a pitying look that I
arose from my chair with a rough oath. Then I threw the pen down on the
table and bitterly cursed the man who had invented such a thing for a
sailor. I felt like rushing from the office, and I set my teeth hard
when I put on my hat and swaggered out into the street.
It was almost as hard for me to sign that agreement as it would have
been for me to sign on a ship’s articles as a common sailor. I fancied
that some of the clerks smiled, but I really saw nothing distinctly
until I breathed the damp air of the foggy street and mingled with the
busy throng on the pavement.
Making my way slowly through the crowd, I entered the doorway of a
saloon that stood on the corner of a cross-street a few blocks farther
down-town. I had been in there often before, so, nodding to the
proprietor at the bar, I walked into the room and sat down at a vacant
table and ordered a drink. Then, picking up a copy of the _Marine
Journal_, I tried to forget my misfortunes and become interested in the
shipping news.
The noise of people talking as they sat and chattered at each other
around the various tables distracted my attention from the paper. I
looked over the top of the sheet to see if I knew any one in the crowd.
While I looked the gathering over, lazily scanning the men’s faces, two
men entered from the bar, and I recognized them to be clerks in the
shipping department of the office I had just left.
My first impulse was to leave the place, for I knew they recognized me,
although they showed no knowledge of my presence. Then I realized that I
was getting oversensitive and morbid about my downfall, so I buried
myself in the paper again and ordered another drink. I was very
thirsty. The two clerks seated themselves at a table next to mine and
gave their orders. In a few minutes I forgot their presence.
While I read of an overdue vessel which had just arrived with half her
crew down with scurvy, I heard Mr. Ropesend’s name mentioned in a low
tone by one of the clerks. I didn’t hear what was said in connection
with his name, but, in spite of this, my curiosity was excited and I
found myself listening attentively to the low, earnest voices of the
men. This annoyed me extremely when I realized what I was doing, and I
concentrated my thoughts upon the paper again. Picking out a most
exciting incident, I read of how Amos White, a well-digger, had lit the
fuses of three blasts in the bottom of an open caisson in the harbour.
He had then started up the rope ladder, and it had parted and dropped
him down upon them. With great presence of mind he had snuffed two of
the fuses with his fingers, but the third had reached the tamping.
Dropping flat on his breast, he instantly stuck his tongue into the hole
and--
I felt a certain amount of relief when I found that Mr. White had saved
himself from turning into an impromptu sky-pilot. Then my attention
relaxed, and I was aware of the two clerks talking in an animated
manner, with their voices still modulated, though louder than before.
“The evidence is dead against Brown,” said one. “Anderson was pretty
clear in his statement to Mr. Ropesend, and he is not the kind of man to
incriminate any one unless he’s pretty certain about it.”
“That’s all right! That’s all right! I’ll admit that,” said the one with
his back toward me, in an excited and silly manner. “Anderson is pretty
careful about his own skin, and that’s just what stumps me after all
this talk about Brown and his sister. They are engaged, aren’t they?”
“They are, and that’s just what makes me so certain he is right about
it. He never would have kept so quiet about it if his sister wasn’t
concerned. Brown will never know who gave him away.”
“What did the books show, did you find out?”
“Several thousand, I believe, but of course Brown will get his friends
to make it good, and get away. He’s all right with Mr. Ropesend,
somehow, and the old man, I hear, is going to send him off with Captain
Crojack, so it can be hushed up.”
“Well, I’m sorry for him, for one. He’s a good fellow, and he’s done
more than one man a good turn through his influence. He never hesitates
to help a friend, and that is more than can be said for Anderson. I
never did like that fellow’s face--”
Here I lost the drift of what was said. I had heard enough, however, to
excite my curiosity again, and I sat wondering what had happened.
Young Mr. Brown had been cashier for the firm for several years. I had
met him several times in the shipping-house, and we held a sort of
speaking acquaintance. He had handed me my last freight money when I was
master of the _Southern Cross_.
The man Anderson was bookkeeper for the firm and a nephew of Mr.
Tackles, the junior member. I had never spoken to him, but knew him well
enough by sight.
There was evidently something wrong, so I thought, but as more could be
learned by keeping quiet than in any other way, I didn’t allow my
curiosity to worry me.
In a few minutes the clerks left the room, and I finished the drink I
had ordered. Then I paid my score from a bag of rather light pocket
ballast, and strolled down to the dock where the _Arrow_ lay.
Larry O’Toole, the big, red-headed, freckle-faced second mate, was hard
at work on her main-deck getting a mixed cargo into her. He had been
second mate with me once before, and he gave me a hearty greeting as I
climbed aboard.
I reported to Captain Crojack, and then got into my working togs to
start the men loading at the fore hatch. Every one aboard the ship knew
me, and even the old rigger, who was setting up the backstays, had
sailed with my father, Captain Gore, when he was the crack skipper of
the Yankee deep-water fleet, and who had gone on his long cruise when I
was yet a boy.
I felt my position to be rather uncomfortable at first, but a sailor
soon learns to adapt himself to all circumstances, and I reasoned that
it would be better to appear as a good mate than as a poor skipper. Then
I took hold in earnest, and it wasn’t long before we had the clipper
settling in a way that bid fair to have her on her load-line in a pair
of days.
When we knocked off work for the night, I went aft and met Captain
Crojack, who handed me a note from Mr. Ropesend. I opened it and found
that it was an invitation to join a small party of the old merchant’s
friends at his house that evening. I showed it to Captain Crojack and
explained that I was not a man for a social party of either men or
women, and that in my present humour I would prove rather poor company.
After talking over the matter with him, however, he intimated so
strongly that I must go that I finally went to a barber’s and then
rigged myself out as well as possible in a hired suit of clothes. I had
lost all my shore togs, except one ragged suit, in the wreck of the
_Southern Cross_.
After finishing my rig, I made my way in no pleasant frame of mind to
Mr. Ropesend’s residence.
On arriving there I looked at my watch and found that it was exactly the
hour he requested me to be there, so I walked boldly up the broad stone
steps, rang the bell and entered. There was not a soul there besides Mr.
Ropesend and his sister, Mrs. Matthews, but this lady was dressed as
though she expected company. You will understand what I mean by that,
for a sailor can hardly describe the gearings belonging to trim females,
in spite of the fact that he is always talking about them and drawing
comparisons between them and clippers under sky-sails.
The large hall of the house was decorated with great quantities of
rubber-plants, palms, and ferns. The door which led into the passage to
the conservatory was open, and the drawing-room was filled with the
warm, damp odour of flowers and moist earth.
The old merchant came forward and grasped me by the hand as if greeting
his oldest friend. We talked pleasantly about old times for a few
minutes, and then, excusing himself to his sister, he took my arm and
led me into the conservatory, where he intimated that he had something
new in the way of ferns to show me.
As we passed along through the aisles, among the plants, I recognized a
rare Australian fern that I had presented him on my return from the
first voyage I had made in one of his vessels.
It was pleasant to be among those luxurious surroundings, even for a
short time, but as I knew that he had business with me which he was
anxious to settle, my interest centred mostly upon the old gentleman
himself.
After a desultory and one-sided conversation, in which I took the
smaller part, he seated himself on a rustic bench and motioned me to sit
beside him.
“I wished you to be here to-night,” he began, “so you would meet Mr.
Brown and, perhaps, have a talk with him, for he is going to sail with
you on the _Arrow_.”
I remained silent, for I couldn’t quite catch the drift of his meaning.
“Not as a passenger,” he went on, “but as third mate.” Then he was
silent for a moment as he saw I was listening.
“I see,” I answered, but I really saw nothing except the old man’s keen
gray eyes regarding me curiously from over the rim of his eye-glasses. I
am an old sea-dog of the tight-jawed breed, and I’ve always found that
when a man wishes to learn something it is best to let the man imparting
the knowledge do the talking.
“The young man has not been in good health for some time past and we
have thought it advisable that he should take a long sea-voyage on which
he can get plenty of exercise and fresh air. He has expressed a
preference to go with you on the _Arrow_.”
“I see,” I answered again, for although not of a suspicious nature, I
was beginning to see that there was something unhealthy about the
business. I did not feel greatly flattered by the preference bestowed
upon me, so I kept quiet after admitting that I saw.
My manner was not lost upon Mr. Ropesend, for he eyed me keenly, and
continued:
“Mr. Gore, this young man’s father was my earliest friend. I looked upon
him as I would look upon my own brother, and I look upon his child as I
would look upon--well, say my own--had I ever married and had one--you
understand?”
I bowed.
“And as he will have to be in your watch, I want you to take every care
of him that you possibly can, without, of course, interfering with the
ship’s duties or discipline. He will not be one who will try to shirk
hard work.” He said this with great warmth, and after pausing a moment
to allow his words to have their effect, continued:
“I know that your misfortunes have soured your temper to a certain
extent--No, no, don’t misunderstand me,” he put in, hastily, as he saw
my look. “I know that you are only human and what you have been through
would have ruined most men. At the same time you have a great deal to
be thankful for.”
“Yes,” I growled, rather ill-naturedly, “I suppose I should be thankful
that I haven’t the smallpox, or the yellow fever, or a hundred other
things. Being thankful for a number of things that don’t happen to me
does not make me thankful for some that have.”
He was silent for a few moments, and then said, with a smile, “I see you
wish me to believe you a philosopher. How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine,” I answered.
“Have you ever been in love?” he continued, smiling broadly, and the
merry twinkling of his eyes told me plainly that our business was
finished.
“Never in my life,” I answered, firmly, and I never knew until that
moment that I could lie so easily.
“Of course, then, you have never married and don’t know what it is to
have a son of your own.”
“Hm-m-m, well,” I answered, “I’ve made several voyages to China and
Japan, and it is always the custom out there to purchase a wife, if you
can support her and--”
“Never mind, never mind about that,” he interrupted, quickly; “I don’t
want any of your reminiscences at present. You understand what I want
done with Mr. Brown, so we might as well go in and see if any one has
arrived.”
I was astonished, when we neared the door of the drawing-room, to hear a
great hum of voices. We had been in the conservatory only a short time,
but during that interval a number of people had arrived and were seated
at small tables playing euchre.
Mr. Ropesend found a place for me at a table with Mr. Brown, Miss
Anderson, and Captain Crojack’s pretty niece, Miss Waters. How the
evening passed I can hardly remember. I was a poor partner for Miss
Waters, who kept telling me over and over again that she and her mother
were going out with us to China. It was a great relief to me when some
one suggested dancing, so I could get away.
I felt conspicuous among those people, for, after all, I was nothing
but the mate of a deep-water ship. I could dance about as well as a
Chinese mandarin, and my hands were so large and brown that they looked
absurd among the rest of those at the card-table.
I looked around for Mr. Ropesend to say good night and see if he had any
further orders for me. Not finding him, I separated from the rest and
walked into the conservatory and sat down.
After a few minutes the good-natured person playing the piano grew tired
and ceased. Then several couples came laughing into the conservatory and
through it to the garden beyond. I thought I would wait until they all
came out, and then go in and say good night, so I lounged back in my
seat beneath the ferns and palms.
Presently Mr. Brown and Miss Anderson came out and stood just opposite
me, but directly behind a thick bunch of palmettos. They were whispering
earnestly, and the girl leaned heavily upon the young man’s arm.
“How did it happen?” I heard her ask him, passionately.
“I don’t know any more about it than you do, dearest,” he answered. “I
am the cashier, and I’ll be held responsible. That is all, and that is
why, I suppose, that I am going on this voyage. Mr. Ropesend seems to
think it is absolutely necessary to hush the matter up.”
“But I don’t see--”
It seemed to me that I had made great progress in listening to matters
that were none of my business. I reflected, however, that it was through
no efforts of my own, and remained silent. I have always tried to be
broad-minded, and this evening listening appeared to me to be anything
but wrong. There was a short silence, and I caught a glimpse of the
girl’s beautiful face as she looked up at her lover’s.
“Wherever I go, dear, I’ll always--”
“And I’ll be yours, Jack--”
And as she put up her beautiful mouth to be kissed, I gave a deep grunt
of satisfaction before I realized what I was about. I turned away my
head and heard a rustle of silk. When I looked up again, they were
gone.
As soon as possible I found Mr. Ropesend and said good night. Then,
without a word to any one else, I hurried away.
The little scene I had just witnessed impressed me strangely and haunted
me all the way down to the ship. That beautiful, earnest face, with the
trembling, sensitive lips repeating those last words--somehow it brought
back to me an incident that--
I passed a beggar leaning against the side of a house, with his crutch
before him, and, as I passed him heedlessly, I heard the deep curses he
hurled after me. Turning quickly, I grabbed him before he could move
half a fathom.
“Curse, you scoundrel!” I bawled; “curse every one who is up while you
are down. Curse again, damn you; it does me great good. Curse again!”
And I took the last dollar I had left and forced it into his hand. Then
I released him and he fell to the ground, and as I walked away I could
hear the word “devil” hissed in a frightened whisper.
I made my way to my stateroom in the forward cabin without meeting any
one except the man on watch. Then, quickly stowing my shore togs, I
turned in and was instantly asleep.
CHAPTER II.
It is pleasant for a sailor to get his whole night’s sleep once in
awhile, although, for myself, I always wake up whenever eight bells
strike. This, of course, is from habit, and while I usually lie awake
for some minutes afterward, it never can be said to break the night’s
rest.
Twice, as the bells struck during the night, I awoke, and the vision of
a beautiful face with loving eyes passed before me. I lay awake both
times for several minutes, and cursed my luck heartily because I was
still a mate.
Then, before I realized it, I found myself much prejudiced against Mr.
Brown. His pale face annoyed me whenever I thought of it, and once I
half made up my mind to make him wish he had never set foot on a ship’s
deck, if he came into my watch.
When I turned out in the morning my temper had a less sinister aspect. I
heard the black moke of a “doctor” singing in the galley, while the
odour of steaming coffee filled the air--
“Oh, I’se an ole Cape Ho’ner,
An’ I’se gwine round de co’ner,
An’ I’se gwine whar de sun doan nebber shine.”
I drew several long, deep breaths of the fresh morning air and walked
out on the main deck.
“Foine marnin’, Mr. Gore,” said O’Toole, as he came down the starboard
gangway, “an’ if that bloody naygur’ll devote th’ energy he’s wastin’,
t’gettin’ out some belly ballast for us, we’ll be for shorring up as far
as the main hatch by dark.”
A little hinting from Mr. O’Toole as to some sundry personal
disadvantages to the doctor that might arise if breakfast didn’t appear
suddenly on the cabin table, had the effect of silencing the moke and
producing the steward with the hand-bell.
Captain Crojack seated himself at the head of the table and cast a
suspicious glance at me over the rim of his cup, while he drank his
coffee in silence. I said nothing about what I had overheard in the
saloon the day before, and nothing about Mr. Ropesend’s reasons for
sending us an inexperienced officer. I tried to talk of the skipper’s
sister and niece, who were to be our passengers. Then the old man asked
plainly if I knew that Mr. Brown was to sail as third mate, and I
answered bluntly that I did.
It was so evident, from his tone, that he was trying to find out the
reason why the young man should do this that I determined, out of pure
combativeness, not to gratify his curiosity. I might also add that I
could not have truthfully gratified it, even had I so wished, for all I
had heard was but the gossip of clerks and Mr. Ropesend’s transparent
yarn about the young man’s health.
When we were through breakfast, I went forward to relieve O’Toole. I
found, then, that by keeping what I had heard to myself, my feelings
were completely changed toward young Brown. I now felt as though I were
his protector. This sudden turn of affairs caused such a revulsion from
the prejudice I had against him--when I thought of that sweet, upturned
face--that if he had stepped on board that minute I would have given him
a welcome that would probably have astonished him.
I merely mention these senseless facts to show how even the best of
us--if I may be allowed to give myself my own rating--are affected by
trifling matters without realizing it.
That night we found that, by a little pushing, we would be steved and
ready to sail by the next afternoon or following morning. The skipper
then made arrangements to have a crew ready.
Pretty Miss Waters and her mother came on board to see about getting
their baggage stowed, and in the morning Mr. Brown came down and
reported for duty.
I had so much to attend to during that last day that I hardly had a
chance to speak to the young man, but I found that he was as willing to
work as Mr. Ropesend had said.
By the time it was light enough to see, in the morning, the
shipping-master brought down the men. They were as scurvy a lot of
sailors as were ever grouped on a deck. Norwegians, Swedes, Dagos, and
Dutchmen of the lowest class, but there wasn’t an English nor American
sailor in the lot. I mention this to show what sailors are coming to,
for it seems that no Yankee skipper will ship a Yankee crew.
Some of these men were pretty drunk and hardly fit for work, and the
second mate carried aft a dozen bottles of hidden liquor which he found
in their outfits.
Crojack came on deck and gave the order to cast off. The lines were let
go and two tugs pulled us slowly into the stream while a few loungers
and longshoremen, who were attracted by the bustle and noise at that
early hour, waved their hats and cheered as the Stars and Stripes broke
from the peak of the monkey-gaff.
The headline was passed along the port side and stopped at the mizzen
channels in order to turn the ship’s head outward, when she cleared the
dock. One of the men, a dark-faced Spaniard, who was so drunk that he
could hardly understand an order, stood by to cast off the stop when the
time came.
“Leggo!” bawled the skipper, from the poop, and the fellow started to
cast off while standing outside the line which now had the full power of
the tug on it.
In a moment away it went, catching him like a bowstring across the
waist. He shot twenty feet into the air and, whirling over and over,
landed with a splash in the river.
Crojack supposed that he would be dead or disabled when he rose, so he
bawled for the tug to pick him up.
In a few seconds, however, up the fellow came and struck out lustily for
the wharf, and, on reaching it, was hauled up by some of the
longshoremen. He stopped a few moments to catch his breath, and waved
his hand gracefully. Then, putting his thumb to his nose, he spread
forth his fingers in a most aggravating manner at the skipper, who had
the satisfaction of seeing him bolt through the crowd and make off with
what little advance money he had left. This was followed by a yell of
derision from his sympathizing friends on the wharf.
“A divil av a trick t’play on an honest captain an’ thrue Christian
gentleman,” muttered O’Toole, who had watched the affair with a broad
smile on his face.
But Captain Crojack was not a true Christian gentleman. He was a plain
honest sailor, so he bawled out a variety of adjectives, such as no
gentleman would ever use, and called vainly for the crowd on the wharf
to stop his man. Then coming to the sensible conclusion that it would be
better to keep on than lose valuable time hunting the fellow, he
signalled to the steamer to go ahead. I really believe he forgave the
poor fellow in the bottom of his heart.
The old skipper was not much of a gentleman, because he was something of
a Christian, and he was a poor Christian because he was something of a
gentleman. A man will find it hard to be both; for a gentleman must lie
and play the hypocrite often in order to be civil.
As I was saying, we towed down the beautiful bay and through the great
fleet of vessels lying at anchor. Through the Narrows and into the lower
harbour, where we met the clipper _Washington_ just coming into port. I
recognized old Captain Foregaff as he sprang upon her poop-rail and
waved his hand to us. Then Miss Waters felt in her pocket and produced a
handkerchief and waved it frantically as the homeward bound ship drifted
past with the tide.
Soon the low land of the Hook lay on our starboard beam and the swell of
the Western Ocean was felt under the clipper’s forefoot. The topsail
yards were hoisted and the sails sheeted home and in a few minutes the
bar was crossed.
A good breeze blew from the westward and, as the tug let go the
tow-line, we backed the mainyards to put off the pilot. Then, clapping
on every rag that would draw, we headed away on our course a little to
the southward of east.
CHAPTER III.
There is an old saying, rhymed into an old saw, written by some one
familiar with life at sea:
“Six days shalt thou labour
An’ do all ye are able,
The seventh thou shalt NOT rest
But holystone the deck--
An’ scrape the cable.”
It is comprehensive of a sailor’s life, for there is little time for
play for a man at sea. But sailors are not going to the dogs. The man
who has made a voyage and listened to some old grumbling seaman who has
seen his best days will doubtless come ashore and write how seamen are
no longer what they used to be, but the man who knows the sea knows
better. The seagoing portion of the human race has not retrograded any
more than the land portion. There are stout men yet, as stout and strong
as any that ever trod the slanting deck of the old-time packet, and
they are just as intelligent, and they are just as able.
The amusements of all men are naturally governed by their surroundings.
The farmer or well-appointed stock-raiser will naturally take to
developing such games as golf. It is fitted to his surroundings. The man
confined to a ship’s deck will develop a series of amusements which bear
directly upon the peculiar affairs in his life and which appeal to him
most strongly. Life at sea is more or less rough. The sailor has a rough
comprehension of the humourous, and he will indulge in games such as
“paying the footing” and “swinging the sluggard” with the zest that
comes only to natures which have felt privation the victim might
mitigate.
On American deep-water ships games of a romping nature are seldom
indulged in to any extent, but there is no rule. A ship is like a face.
It reflects usually the mind of its master. Some captains encourage
games, but the danger of fighting among mixed races in the forecastle is
too great to encourage anything of a romping kind except under certain
circumstances. If you ask an American sailor what he did on a deep-water
voyage upon an American ship to amuse himself, he will look blankly at
you and smile. After that it will be hard to engage him in conversation,
for he will be convinced that he is talking to a mild sort of lunatic.
Work and sleep--mostly the former--with a few moments to eat, are what
he contents himself with, and if, by any chance, the officers let slip a
little time and there is any vitality left in him, the chances are that
the “holiday” will be spent in mending his much-needed clothes.
Upon men-of-war, where there is a townfull of landsmen and sailors
crowded together, life is entirely different. There they will take every
opportunity for a frolic and indulge in all the time-worn games peculiar
to men-o’-wars’ men. Nearly every one knows of the tropical games, such
as receiving “Father Neptune on the Line,” and the toll exacted from all
who have never crossed before. This frolic is quite impressive upon a
man-of-war when the men have taken the trouble to dress for the
occasion. The old bo’s’n, with a voice like a bull whale in distress,
will come over the bows some warm, quiet morning. His whiskers, a full
fathom long, made of rope-yarn and dripping brine, will give him a most
nautical appearance, and his crowd of retainers, in all sorts of
grotesque rigs, will follow him. Shaving seems to be the most slighted
part of the seaman’s toilet at sea, and it will be necessary to shave
all who have not been initiated. The razor usually consists of a barrel
hoop a couple of feet long and of the usual keenness, and the lather a
mixture which for peculiar and sticky ingredients is limited solely by
the knowledge of the sea-barbers. The mop, or brush, generally gets into
the customer’s mouth the first time he opens it to answer a question
roared at him in a tone which leaves no chance for silence, and, amid
the yells of the sea-demons, he is tossed backward into a tub, or canvas
basin, concealed behind him for the occasion.
But the larks of the “windjammer” of the merchant service have very
little of the old-fashioned fun left in them. This is because the ships
are manned by crews about one-quarter as large as formerly. Their fun is
even more practical.
For instance, the fact that a sailor is lazy awakens a grim form of
amusement among his fellows which often takes evidence in their jerking
him bodily out of his bunk by the leg, and hoisting him high as the
mainyard arm. “Swinging the sluggard” is a proper game, for it teaches
him that he must turn to when the watch is called. He may not be much
account as a man, but there are cold and tired men on deck who need all
the help they can get. If he does not turn to and the mates are easy,
some one will probably have to do his work for a few minutes. On
American ships, however, when a man hangs back, the mate usually comes
right into the forecastle to find out why. He sometimes gets a bad name
in the newspapers for this, but it worries him not at all.
The old-fashioned way to amuse the rest of the watch is to rig a
gantline and make it fast to the sluggard’s leg as he lies in his bunk.
Then the rest tail on to the line, and up he goes, either through the
scuttle above or through the door, either way leaving some cuticle
behind, and accumulating a few black and blue spots in places, while the
men whang him with ropes’ ends. He will probably reach the mainyard feet
foremost, and will be wide-awake when he descends. Once is enough for
the average lazy and selfish sailor of the bunk-loving habit. The
amusement it affords the watch can only be appreciated by one who has
handled frozen lines in the early morning when it was clearly the other
fellow’s place to do so.
In some ships where the sailors’ union is recognized, and the American
element is predominant, the watch will sometimes start a dance, or
march, to the exhilarating tune of the old “shanty:”
“The mate, he got drunk and went below--
He broke the long-necked bottle, oh--oh--oh--oh--
So early in the morning--so early in the morning,
The sailor loves his whiskey,--oh--oh, boy--oh.”
Or they will swing into “Blow a Man Down,” that song which may be
shifted to any old tune to suit the occasion.
In the _Arrow_ it was my duty, as mate, to see that things went well
forward, and I went through the men’s outfits pretty thoroughly. I
always hated to find that a dago had a hidden knife of a dangerous
length when I expected him to do some uncongenial work which might call
for sudden suasion on an officer’s part.
A big Swede met me at the forecastle door, and grinned at me as I
entered. “I tank youse’ll find us a good crew, Mr. Gore. Aye tank youse
a good mate, sir,” said he.
“You mustn’t tank, Yohn,” I answered. “I’ll do the thinking for you. Let
me take a look into your chest.”
His face fell, but he knew better than to refuse, so I opened it for him
and disclosed two bottles of liquor and a heavy pistol, of all of which
I carefully relieved him. The rest of the dunnage proved almost barren
of spoil, and after giving the room a careful survey, I went out again.
The smell of the fresh, salt sea was now in my nostrils and the gloomy
life of the shore left behind. Ahead was the excitement and hope of a
prosperous voyage in company of whom I began to suspect would prove
pleasant passengers. The smells of the rigging, the tar, grease, and
even the bilge as it was stirred up and came through the opening in the
forward hatchway, recalled me to the life as of old, and the melancholy
thoughts I had recently indulged in gave place to the most exhilarating
ones.
“Sing, Dutchy,” I cried to a squat sailor, who was hauling doggedly upon
a royal brace.
“I don’t got no tune, den, what?” said he, grinning.
“Aye tank I kin sing him,” said a Norwegian sailor, tailing on the line
just ahead of him.
“Turn him loose, then,” I cried.
“Sing ye, Jezebel, sing,” cried O’Toole, coming up panting with the
exertion of trying to break a topsail brace. “Sing, an’ stretch th’
line,” and he led off with “Whiskey Johnnie,” into which the rest roared
a chorus.
Four men grabbed the mainskysail halyard and sent the light yard
whisking up the masthead. The fellow who had loosed the sail had not
left the yard and was sent aloft along with it, the men below trying to
send him skyward with a rush.
Suddenly the halyard broke. The man on the yard gave a spring as it
dropped under him. He shot outward, fell headlong downward, and just as
we thought he would plunge headlong to the deck, a hundred feet below,
he reached the backstay with one hand. With a power born of desperation,
he grasped the line. His body swung around with the sweep of a
whip-lash, but he hung on. Then his other hand reached the stay, and he
slid quickly to the crosstrees. Down the ratlines he came on the run.
Reaching the lanyard, he sprang upon the deck and dashed into the crowd
of men who still stood gazing spellbound at his performance.
“Vat you do, hein? Vill you kill me, den?” he screamed, and he lashed
out with a right good-will, knocking two of the men down.
I saw O’Toole grinning, and as I was the mate, it was not my place to
see too much. The big Irishman would take care of the fracas when the
time came to interfere. I made my way around the deck-house out of
sight, and sent a man after a new halyard.
The moke in the galley was hard at it in an argument with the steward. I
saw and heard nothing. The work forward had been started, and all was
well.
CHAPTER IV.
I went aft on the quarter-deck where Captain Crojack stood eying the
towering cloud of snowy canvas, from the foot of the mainsail to the
skysail yards.
“By gorry, Mr. Gore,” said he, “we’ve got a good start, and if the wind
holds we’ll make a good offing during the night. I suppose you’ve met my
passengers before?” and he motioned toward Miss Waters and her mother
who stood near the companionway. They were apparently admiring
everything about the ship except her sudden lurches, which caused them
to make sundry clutches for support.
I bowed and spoke to them, but the young girl was so absorbed in the new
scene before her that she said little except that it was “perfectly
lovely,” while the mother began to show signs of paleness coupled with a
nervous catching of the breath at each roll of the ship.
“She’s got a good lively feel to her, don’t you think?” went on the
skipper, referring to his vessel. “The only thing that worried me was
the stowing of all that marble and stuff amidships, and so much iron in
her ends.”
As he spoke, the ship gave a jerk and tremble, throwing the sea from her
weather-bow in a smother and going through it like a half-tide rock in a
strong current.
There was no earthly use of disagreeing with him, so I said nothing,
knowing full well he had overloaded his vessel by three or four hundred
tons in order to make the extra freight money.
In a short time Mr. Brown came aft and, after greeting the passengers,
told me that the second mate wished to see me, as he had mustered the
crew on the deck in the waist.
I left the quarter with the skipper in charge, and went forward to where
O’Toole had all hands lined up to divide into watches.
“Ha!” he cried, “Mr. Gore, but we’ve got some foine burds t’ choose from
this voyage. By th’ sowl av St. Patrick, I niver seen sich a set o’
mugs nayther before nor since. Which wan will ye choose for the first
man? How would that mollyhawk-looking Scandinavian suit yer eye, ey?”
“None of your land-shark tricks on me. I know a man as well as you,” I
replied, sharply, but he caught the expression of my eye and he showed
his teeth in a broad grin. He had a great, freckled, hairless face, this
O’Toole.
So saying, I picked out a stout, heavy-shouldered young German, who was
the most active and intelligent-looking man in the crowd.
O’Toole followed by picking out a powerful young Swede, and I then
motioned for a dago to join me. We kept it up until I had eleven and he
twelve men, for, as I had the third mate, it was better that the loss of
our deserter should fall on my watch.
The carpenter, cook, and Chinese steward made up the rest of the ship’s
company.
After making a short address to the men and giving all hands a glass of
grog, I dismissed them and told off my watch, the port, for the first
after eight bells that evening.
O’Toole, however, called his men into the starboard gangway and
addressed them according to his own ideas of what became a second
officer.
“Now I jist want to hint to ye, so t’ spake,” he began, “that fer a set
av windjammers, ye air a bloomin’, ill-favoured lot o’ sons o’ Belial.
But all ye’ve got t’ do is t’ jump whin I gives the whurd or I’ll knock
the divil and damnation thunder out o’ ye quicker ’n old Nick can scorch
a feather, d’ye see?
“I don’t want no foolin’ nor shirkin’, an’ mum’s the whurd. Ef ye can’t
understand English, yer got yerselves into a mighty unhealthy ship, fer
I only spake ter onct. Ef yer do yer duty, I’ll be as tinder an’ aisy
with ye as yer swatehearts, but ef ye don’t, by the howly, jumping
Jezebel, I’ll bear down on yer, an’ thin stand from under.”
Then, cursing them individually and collectively, he sent them forward
and retired to his own room in the side of the forward cabin.
On going aft again I found the skipper explaining some nautical matters
to Mr. Brown in such a contemptuous tone that it was evident the old man
didn’t believe in young men starting out as sailors with access to the
quarter-deck.
However, the third mate kept his temper, and showed by his answers that
he was by no means ignorant of the theoretical knowledge of navigation,
whatever he might lack in a practical sense. He replied so intelligently
to some of the skipper’s questions that I almost believed that he had
been to sea before, and I was quite pleased with him.
As I now had a chance to observe him closely in his sailor’s togs, I
could see that he was a well-made man and would prove useful with a
little guidance from an older hand. His clear gray eyes looked straight
into mine when I addressed him, and his small, though firm, chin gave
him an air of honesty that was ill coupled with what I had overheard of
him.
I had handled a great many men and had long ago come to the conclusion
that I could judge a man’s capabilities as well as any one, so that
neither denunciation nor praise of a person’s character affected my
judgment. Not that I am entirely impervious to prejudice, for, being
nothing but a rough and not over-intelligent sailor, I can hardly claim
such perfection. Still, I allow it to affect me as little as any human
being can.
While we stood the first watch that evening, I had the opportunity to
judge the sociable side of the young man’s nature, for we talked nearly
the whole four hours, while the ship ran along steadily to the eastward.
Neither Miss Waters nor her mother appeared on deck, and from certain
sounds that issued from the cabin window, it appeared evident that they
were not at present interested in nautical scenery. The skipper came up
from below several times to see how we were heading and to look at the
patent log, which trailed taut from the taffrail. He finally turned in,
after muttering something about the glass having fallen a little.
“Isn’t she loaded very deep, Mr. Gore?” asked Brown, when we were
alone.
“Deep as a sand barge,” I answered, “and she will be about as wet as one
in a seaway.”
“That’s what I thought when they inspected her, but the surveyor said
that as he was not going out in her, Captain Crojack would be the one to
suffer. Somehow it seems to me that the fellows on the main-deck will be
the ones who will suffer the most.”
In this I quite agreed with him, and, having once established this
confidence between us, we became friends henceforth. I have often
thought since, after all we went through together, how much trifles
affect the forming of friendships. Here the treating of an honest
opinion with respect, instead of trying to appear blind to error, won
the confidence of a man whose influence saved me from ruin.
As midnight drew near I sent him to call the second mate, and I stood
near the mizzen waiting for the bells to strike.
Suddenly I heard a deep growling of oaths and sounds of a slight scuffle
in the second officer’s cabin. “Och! Ye spalpeen, I’ll break every bone
in your skin. What d’ye mane by waking an honest man in th’ middle av
his watch below--ah, well, I beg yer pardon, Mr. Brown; but why didn’t
ye make yersilf known first? By th’ sowl av th’ saints, if that boot had
struck ye betwixt wind an’ wather ye would have become a cripple fer th’
space av a year.”
“Confound you for a red-headed fool!” returned Brown, angrily. “If you
are going to kill a man every time he turns you out, I’ll come next time
with a handspike to--”
“What, ye mutinous young devil!” roared O’Toole; “what d’ye mane? Well,
well, never moind; perhaps I was a little hasty. Ye see, I thought ye
ware one av thim dagos, an’ I niver allow ayther dago or Dutchman ter
lay his hand on the Lord’s anointed, which, if ye plaise, is no other
than mesilf. Ye say eight bells have struck? All right. Ye can tell yer
chum, Mr. Gore, that I’ll relave him av his onerous duties in about
three shakes av a sheet rope.”
As he said this the door banged and Brown came on deck.
“That red-headed beast threw his boot at me when I tried to wake him,”
he said, “and the next time I turn him out I’ll be on the lookout for
him.”
I told him not to mind the second mate’s peculiarities, as he was a good
sailor, and that after he knew him he would probably like him better.
That, in fact, very few people were charmed with O’Toole’s manner, but
most men got along with him well enough if they resisted his bullying
ways.
The young man said nothing more, but I could see by the light in his
eyes that, although he was a baby in size compared to the giant
Irishman, he would try and give a good account of himself if they should
ever quarrel.
In a few minutes the bells struck and O’Toole came on deck, while the
starboard watch filed out into gangway.
“It’s an apology I owe to Mr. Brown,” said the big fellow, “for he’s th’
right sort av man, an’ it would have been a pity had I broken his neck
with that boot. Ye see, I’m of a very nervous temperament, an’ like th’
news av a thing broken gently. Me own mother was av th’ same nature,
for whin th’ owld man died, through th’ interposition av Providence an’
th’ fore part av a steam-ingine, they had to appoint me brother Mike t’
break th’ news to her aisy like. So he sez, sez he, ‘My dear, ’tis a
short toime th’ owld man will live now.’
“’An’ why?’ sez she; ‘can’t he drink more whiskey an’ curse harder than
any man in town?’
“‘’Cause he’s dead,’ said Mike, and th’ owld woman always hild that th’
aisy manner Mike had in breaking av th’ news was th’ only thing that
previnted her from dyin’ av th’ shock.”
I told him to be more careful in the future, and Brown, coming up at
that moment in time to hear the second mate’s remarks, laughed
good-humouredly, so I felt that there would be no further ill-feeling
between them.
I gave O’Toole the course to steer, if the wind held as it was, and then
went below and turned in. The glass over my bunk had fallen four-tenths
during the day and appeared to be still going down rapidly. I watched
it as I lay awake for a few moments and then suddenly dropped off into a
sound sleep.
As the weather had been clear and wind light enough for skysails, I took
no precautions to fix myself firmly in my bunk. I was, therefore,
astonished to awake suddenly just in time to prevent myself from falling
to the deck as the ship gave a sharp lurch and brought up with a jerk.
Four bells struck, and I found I had only slept two hours, so, jamming
myself in firmly with a blanket, I tried to sleep again.
I heard O’Toole’s footsteps on the deck overhead, and now and then an
oath when he halted at the break of the poop. The vessel seemed to be
off her course, for she now took a heavy rolling sea on the port beam
that sent her jerking and switching along in a most uncomfortable
manner.
Soon I heard O’Toole’s voice giving orders to take a pull in the
foretopsail brace, followed by the tramp of men and clucking rattle of
blocks. Then came the order to take in the skysails, and, with the
creaking of halyards and distant slatting of canvas, I again lost
consciousness.
CHAPTER V.
Bang! Bang! Bang! went a heavy hand on my door, and a sailor poked his
head inside a moment afterward with the news that it was eight bells,
and that I must leave the warm blankets to turn out for my watch on
deck.
I lay awake listening to the deepening hum of the wind in the rigging,
and I knew that it was blowing a stiff breeze aloft. The air in my room
was cold, and, as I heard O’Toole’s footsteps overhead, the desire to
keep within a warm, snug berth was almost overpowering. I could tell by
the shuffling of the second mate’s feet that he was having a cold time
of it. However, I turned out and found Brown already on deck talking to
O’Toole, who was evidently giving him some instructions he did not
understand.
The ship was tearing along under t’gallantsails, heading a little to
the southward of east, and braced sharp on her backstays to the
northeast breeze that was increasing steadily.
The glass had gone down three-tenths since I had turned in, and Captain
Crojack had come on deck to take a look at the weather. The odour of his
toilet--which consisted invariably of three fingers of rum mixed with
sugar and water--was perceptible in the crisp air, and he appeared a
trifle nervous. As everything was all right, and it would not be
daylight for nearly two hours, he finally came to the conclusion that
everything would go along just as well if he went below and turned in
again.
“Looks sort o’ dirty away t’ th’ north’ard, Mr. Gore,” said O’Toole,
“but I’ve held her up to her course till th’ last half-hour. I was just
tellin’ Mr. Brown here that he wants t’ be careful about that weather
maint’gallant leech-line, as it’s badly chafed. We’ll have a chance t’
reeve another pretty soon.”
I could see Brown’s teeth in the darkness, for he knew no more of the
whereabouts of that leech-line than he did of Captain Kidd’s treasure.
He was sensible enough, however, not to show his ignorance to the second
mate.
“I’ll reeve the beast, if it don’t take too much blood,” he answered,
and the second officer stood staring at him in amazement for the space
of half a minute. Then he touched his head significantly with his
carroty forefinger, and went below muttering something about men who
were “off the handle” during the first part of their morning watches.
I came to the rescue as soon as we were alone and asked:
“Have you ever been to sea before--that is, on deep water?”
“No, never, except once when I was a small boy and went with my father.
He was a master, you know, and had an interest in some of the finest
vessels the firm ever chartered. But it won’t take me long to get the
hang of these ropes, for they are not so many as they appear to be after
one gets used to them. If you’ll give me a pointer now and then, I’ll be
able to do something.”
I was sorely tempted to ask him why he had taken the notion to come out
on this voyage as third mate. Then, when I thought of what I had heard,
it seemed too bad to stir up unpleasant memories with him, so I forbore.
He appeared so pleasant and willing that I made up my mind then and
there to stand by him. It was hard enough for him to start out and make
his living as a sailor, even if he might be able to hold a mate’s berth
in a few years, so I cheered him up and told him that he would get along
all right. I had had hard knocks and a rough struggle all my life, and I
have always believed that a man who has suffered hard knocks is less
liable to pass them along to others than a narrow-minded, soft-handed
fellow who doesn’t know what the lives of some men are.
We didn’t have much time for discussing nautical subjects on this
morning, for, after we had been on deck five minutes, I saw that we were
going to have trouble with the canvas, if the vessel wasn’t shortened
down quickly. I wasted but few moments before giving the order to take
in the fore and main t’gallantsails.
When the morning dawned, the deepening haze in the northeast turned a
dull, steel blue, while the sun sent fan-shaped beams of light through
it, giving it an unpleasant look to a nautical eye.
To windward the sea had a ghastly pale colour, and the whitening combers
showed that it was beginning to get a good, quick run to it from the
northeast.
Captain Crojack came on deck, accompanied by his niece. The young girl
wore an old sou’wester, which had done duty for the skipper for many a
year, and was wrapped in a shawl. She made a ludicrous picture, standing
there at the companion hatch rigged out in those togs.
“Isn’t this grand, Mr. Gore?” she cried, as I came aft to the skipper.
“I do hope we will have a terrible storm. I do so want to see something
exciting. It’s awful to be stuck away down there in that stuffy old
cabin.”
“I certainly hope we will have nothing of the kind,” I answered, rather
shortly, for the idea of any one wishing for a gale was exceedingly
distasteful to me, especially in the hours of the morning watch when I
was hungry and half-frozen.
She laughed pleasantly at my ill-humour, and begged Mr. Brown to take
her forward, which the skipper, to my surprise, let him do.
“Going to have a fracas before night,” said the old man; “you better see
to those hatches, that they are lashed fast. She will be dry enough at
both ends, but she’ll be a brute for taking water over her amidships.”
I went forward and had the carpenter get out two heavy timbers to lash
over the after hatch, and then saw that the fore and main were battened
properly.
The men eyed the third mate curiously while he helped Miss Waters on to
the poop again and then joined in the work of lashing the timbers. I
noticed a smile or two in the group and saw some of the fellows exchange
glances.
The big, burly German--the first man I had chosen in my watch, and who
looked like an overgrown sculpin--made a remark to the man next to him,
as they bent over the timber.
I brought the end of the lashing across the fellow’s broad shoulders so
heavily that he started up with an oath and faced around at me.
It was only for an instant, for I held my face close to his and he
caught the look of my eye while I cursed him in a low, even tone for
being so slow at his work. Then he bent to it again, flashing out
venomous glances at me from the corners of his little black eyes.
Before going to breakfast, the skipper took in the maingallantsail, and
we ragged along under topsails with the weather clew of the mainsail
hauled up. Forward, the lower sails were the maintopmast-staysail,
foresail, and forestaysail, and they strained away at a rate that sent
the clipper flying through a perfect smother of white foam suds.
O’Toole came on deck, and Brown, the skipper, and myself went to
breakfast.
Miss Waters came to the table, but her mother was too ill to leave her
bunk. The cleats were fastened to the board to keep the dishes from
slipping to leeward, and the young girl appeared to enjoy this novelty.
I couldn’t help thinking how bright and rosy she looked as she steadied
her plate and laughed gaily at every lurch of the racing ship.
She and Brown kept up a cheerful conversation, while the skipper and I
drank our coffee in silence. Once I fancied the old men regarded his
third mate a little sourly. However, he said nothing disagreeable and,
after finishing his coffee, contented himself with some remarks about
the weather. We were nearly through the meal when the vessel took a
sudden heel to leeward.
A deep, booming roar overhead, mingled with the hoarse cries of the
second mate and thundering crack of flying canvas, told us plainly that
something was wrong on deck. Captain Crojack jumped from his chair,
letting the dish of cold beef slide to the deck, and together we made
our way on deck, closely followed by the third mate.
The ship, struck by a squall, was almost on her beam ends, while the
main and mizzen topsails, which O’Toole had let go by the run, were
thundering away at a rate that threatened to take the masts out of her.
“Hard up the wheel!” bawled Crojack, as he gained the poop.
“Maintopmast-stay-sail, Mr. Gore, quick!” he yelled again as I cast off
the halyards and got a couple of men at the down-haul.
O’Toole bawled for all hands, and, as I turned, he and a dozen men
sprang into the main rigging and up they went to secure the maintopsail.
Young Brown kept with the men on deck and helped wherever he could lend
a hand, for, as he was stout and active, his weight on a down-haul or
clewline was equal to any.
The wind increased rapidly while the vessel was paying off before it, so
by the time the main and mizzen upper topsails were snug, we were kept
hard at it struggling with the main and fore sails.
As she came slowly to, the full force of the wind could be realized, and
the flying drift and spray gave the thing a nasty look to windward. The
sea began to make rapidly.
I took my watch below a little before two bells, while the skipper
stayed on deck with the second mate.
Miss Waters stood in the door of the after companionway holding to the
combings of the hatch-slide. She looked a little frightened, but was
apparently enjoying the ship’s plunges in spite of it. By the present
outlook of things to windward, it appeared as though her wish for
excitement would be fulfilled before many hours passed.
Brown turned in, or rather he went below, when I did. I fancied that he
did it for appearances, as there was little chance for a landsman to
rest.
An old sailor will never miss his watch below in bad weather if he can
help it, for he never is sure of how long it will be before all hands
are turned out for a fight with canvas.
He will manage to get to sleep even if he is stood on his head every few
minutes. But
[Illustration: “MISS WATERS STOOD IN THE DOOR OF THE AFTER
COMPANIONWAY.”]
to a person unaccustomed to the motion of an overloaded ship, the
jerking and crashing going on below are unbearable. It is entirely
different from a comfortable ’tween decks of a passenger ship. Every
plank and timber is groaning with the strain, and the tremendous
cracking will make it appear, at first, as if the vessel is going to
pieces in a few moments.
On the contrary, an old sailor knows that the more noise in the working
timbers, up to a certain extent, the safer is the ship, for it is only
sound timber that makes a great noise. As for me, I was asleep almost as
soon as I had stretched out in my bunk, but almost instantly afterward I
was awakened by a thundering shock that made the ship stagger. In a
moment my door was burst open and a man stuck in his head and bawled,
“All hands, sir!”
CHAPTER VI.
On gaining the deck I found a huge sea had fallen into the waist,
filling the main-deck knee-deep with water. The weather was looking wild
enough to windward.
The ship was plunging into a mountainous sea, with nothing on her except
the three narrow bands of lower topsails and forestaysail. She was
heeling over to the gale until her lee deckstrake was level with the
sea, while the deep roar of the wind, as it tore its way through the
rigging, told plainly of the pressure on the canvas.
The flying, swirling drift struck the face so hard that it was
impossible to look but for a moment to windward. I noticed Brown had
turned out and was sheltering himself as best he might while he clung to
the lee mizzen rigging. Captain Crojack was on deck, and O’Toole had
gone forward to call all hands. We had been hove to all the morning on
the port track, but, as the barometer fell steadily, the skipper saw, as
soon as the wind began to chop around to the eastward, that he was
nearing the centre of the cyclone. All hands were then called to wear
ship.
As the men took their places at the braces, the skipper gave the order
to put the wheel hard up, when the forestaysail, which had held during
all the morning, parted from the stay with a loud crack and was gone.
The heavy ship wore slowly under the three lower topsails, but finally
came up on the starboard tack, heading almost due north.
When she first headed the sea, a big fellow caught her a little forward
of the starboard beam and bore her down until her lee rail was well
under water. Then, with a sudden lurch, she righted, sending the flood
across the deck and filling the forward cabin and alleyways. The
main-deck was full of water, and under the extra load the clipper
settled almost to her deck amidships.
The ports in the bulwarks were nailed up and the water would not get
clear fast enough through the scuppers. The men were called aft on the
poop, while O’Toole and myself, armed with handspikes, started to break
out the bulwarks in the waist.
In a few moments we were joined by the third mate, who stood knee-deep
in the foam and strove lustily to force the heavy planks from the
vessel’s timbers.
While we worked I felt the ship take a heave to windward, and at the
same instant heard Crojack’s voice bawling out something.
I turned my head just in time to see a blue hill of water rise high
above the weather-rail.
Then, with a tremendous, smothering crash, it fell on deck and rolled
over us.
I had just time to grasp the main brace when my feet were swept from
under me and I felt myself beneath the surface.
Holding on with both hands, I tried to get my head out of the water, and
in a moment the ship righted, jerking me back on to the main-deck.
As soon as I could see anything, I looked for O’Toole and Brown. And
then, yes, and then I must confess how weak a strong man is, I looked
aft to see if a bright face was enjoying the excitement.
There, in the lee scuppers, lay the red-headed giant holding fast to the
topsail brace with one hand while the other was fast in the collar of
the third mate’s jacket.
O’Toole was up to his armpits in the swirl, but his freckled face and
red hair shone like a beacon in the surrounding waste of whiteness,
while his deep voice, half-choked with salt water, spluttered out a
string of oaths as he dragged Brown to his feet.
“Ef it’s swimmin’ ye’re afther, ’twill be hard to keep up with us,” he
roared into the third mate’s ear, “an’ it’s a divin’-bell ye’ll be
wantin’ if yer goin’ to help us here, so git on to th’ poop before
another sea washes ye clane out av yer skin.” So saying, he released the
young man and, grabbing his handspike that floated near, began to start
the planking with powerful blows.
The third mate seemed reluctant to leave, but, as his handspike had gone
overboard on that sea, there was nothing else for him to do. He climbed
on to the poop and held on to the lee rigging. In a few moments we stove
out the ports, and the vessel began to relieve herself of the load on
her main-deck. Then we climbed back on the poop and held on, watching
the lower topsails as they tugged and strained at the clews.
Captain Crojack stood near the wheel, and his seamed and lined face wore
an anxious look as he strove to pierce the cloud of flying drift and
spray which bore down on the staggering ship.
I remember watching him and the pretty face in the companionway
alternately. There was much of the sturdy sailor’s nature expressed in
the soft face of the young girl. And I have always found much to admire
in strong, sturdy characters.
Even, as is often the case, if the strong personality has a coarse
fibre, and lacks the soft and delicate traceries of sentiment of the
weaker, I have always felt that more reliance could be placed in the
former than in the latter, and under any circumstances.
Old Crojack’s strong, lined face and puckered eyes, as he stood there
trying to look to windward, was a study of resolute responsibility.
All of a sudden there was a loud crack, and the maintopsail seemed to
melt away from the yard-arm as if it were a sheet of ice under a tropic
sun. Then, almost instantly, the wind began to fall until in a few
moments a candle would have burned on deck.
“Clew down the mizzentopsail,” roared the skipper, as he sprang for the
halyards, and in a moment the watch were all struggling with that bit of
canvas and had it rolled snug on the yard in less time than it takes to
tell it.
“Keep her northeast b’ north,” he sung out again, as the ship, becoming
unmanageable, began switching and plunging into a high lumpy sea that
seemed to come from all points of the compass at once. All around us
hung low, thick banks of heavy, dark, and oily-looking clouds, their
lower edges almost resting on the heaving ocean. The air had become as
warm as if we had suddenly entered the tropics. In the dull, uncertain
light I thought I noticed something white on the water to the southward.
Then, above the thundering of the seas that fell on the ship’s deck, I
could hear a deepening murmur. It swelled into a deep roaring as the
hurricane, driving the tops of the seas before it until they were as
level as a plain of driven snow, bore down on our starboard quarter.
With a rush that made every shroud and backstay sing to the strain,
until the booming roar was deafening, it struck us and away we went
before it.
The foretopsail held long enough to get the ship’s head off before it;
then it parted from the clews and jackstay and disappeared like a giant
bird into the drift ahead.
It blew so hard that it almost lifted me from my feet as I crossed the
deck.
Captain Crojack fastened the cabin door and pulled the slide to the
companionway, for he knew that, running deep as we were, it would only
be a few minutes before the sea would begin to board us.
“By th’ sowl av Saint Patrick, we struck th’ cintre av it this time,
sure,” said O’Toole, who, with Brown and a couple of hands in my watch,
sheltered themselves behind the mizzen.
“It puts me in moind av th’ time we had on th’ _Eagle_ frigate whin we
struck into th’ cintre av one o’ thim circular storms ter th’ north’ard
av th’ Bermudas. There was a parrot on board owned by an Irishman in my
mess, and ivery time a sea would strike an’ board us th’ baste would
laugh outrajis. Th’ fellow was so scared av th’ oncanny cratur that he
thought it was Davy Jones himself. So he took him ter th’ spar-deck in
his cage an’ opens th’ door, an’ says, ‘Scat, ye baste!’ an’ th’ burd
was gone t’ leeward like a streak av green lightnin’.
“‘Now laugh, ye divil incarnate!’ he yelled, ’an’ thank yer stars me
conscience previnted me from wringing yer bloody neck!’
“Do yer know, ’pon me whurd, for a fact, the wind fell so that by dark
we were ready t’ loose th’ maint’gallantsail. The fellow that owned th’
burd was th’ first on th’ yard, an’ th’ first thing he saw there,
lookin’ down at him from th’ r’yal truck, was a big pair o’ green eyes.
Th’ next minute a wild, oncanny laugh broke out from th’ heavens above
to th’ earth beneath.
“He gave one yell an’ let go, an’, if it hadn’t been for th’ belly av
th’ mainsail being tight as a board, he would have broke his neck. As it
was, he slid right down on to th’ main-deck an’ landed on his feet, but
he wouldn’t go aloft again till they’d caught th’ burd.
“Now, both ye, Mr. Brown and yersilf, are friendly with th’ ladies, an’
I’m thinking if ye could loose that cockatoo av th’ older one’s, there
would be nothin’ but good come from it. Hold hard!” and suiting the
action to the yell, he sprang on to the saddle of the spanker boom. The
rest of us grabbed whatever came within reach, for we saw a great hill
of water high above the stern, and we knew its combing crest would go
over us.
The men at the wheel jumped around forward of it, as, with a thundering
crash, the mass of green water rolled over the poop.
It tore the bitt-coverings to match-wood and crashed through the cabin
door. A glimpse of struggling arms in the smother of foam that went over
the port side told the fate of one of the quartermasters.
“All hands save ship!” roared old Crojack, as soon as the flood had
passed over. “Good God! Mr. Gore, she won’t stand another like that;
she’s half up in the wind now,” and we sprang to the wheel to keep her
from broaching to.
“Lay aft, bullies!” I bawled, and, followed by O’Toole, Brown, and a
dozen sailors, I made my way as rapidly as possible to the lazarette to
procure a tarpaulin.
We carried it into the mizzen rigging and, by dint of hard work, managed
to lash it up and down the ratlines just as another sea boarded us and
half-filled the cabin.
Shrieks issued from below, but there was no time to see what was the
matter. Captain Crojack was almost drowned at the wheel, but he and the
sailor left there held on. The man was the heavy-set German whose
shoulders had felt the weight of my rope’s-end. When I saw how bravely
the fellow held the racing ship up to her course, I was almost sorry
that I had been so hasty.
As soon as we had the tarpaulin in the mizzen, and the bare yards braced
for the starboard tack, the wheel was put down and the clipper rolled up
in the trough of the sea. She managed to head up, however, although she
took a comber into her waist that stove two men, who were at the braces,
so heavily against the t’gallant-rail, that one died by the time he was
taken forward, and the other had two ribs broken and was crippled for
weeks afterward.
Luckily the wind began to haul to the westward, and we found that on the
starboard tack, with nothing but the tarpaulin in the mizzen, she would
head up within four points of the sea, while the hauling wind drove the
spray over her in clouds but two points forward of the weather beam.
Dripping wet and half-blinded with salt, I made my way aft to where the
skipper stood at the wheel. The cries continued to come up the smashed
companionway, and, as I drew near, Crojack motioned for me to go below
and see what was wrong.
I scrambled down into the cabin, and almost immediately found Mrs.
Waters in my arms.
She was hysterical with fright, and begged me never to leave her.
She was a plump, good-looking woman, and I own that I felt a little
flattered at this show of absolute confidence. I took her to the weather
side of the cabin, clear of the water, and strove to quiet her, and in a
short time she was silent. I then thought that it was about time that I
should go on deck and attend to my duties.
As soon as I started to leave, she became nervous again and grasped me
tightly.
“You’ll never leave me here alone, Mr. Gore; you’ll never leave me?” she
cried.
“No,” said I, mechanically, “I’ll never leave you,” and the words were
no sooner out of my mouth than I was aware of a stateroom door being
open and a half-smiling, half-frightened face regarding us intently.
“Mr. Gore!” bawled Captain Crojack down the companionway.
“Ay, ay, sir!” I answered, and, freeing myself, I made my way on deck.
The skipper eyed me curiously.
“Better see about getting a new maintopsail ready for bending, and get
the foresail close reefed,” he said, with some energy. And I immediately
went forward.
During the dog-watch that evening we bent new fore and main lower
topsails and were soon riding comfortably enough. After supper we kept
away and drove off to the eastward, with the wind astern and enough
canvas on the ship to keep her clear of the running hill behind us.
The carpenter was sent aft to mend the cabin door and clear away the
wreck in the after cabin.
So much water had poured down the companionway that many movable things
were washed clear into the forward cabin. Among these I noticed a book
which I thought I recognized, by its peculiar cover, as my private
log-book. I remember wondering how it could have floated out of my room,
but I picked it up and laid it carefully in my bunk to dry.
When I took my watch below, I opened it to see if it was damaged by the
water, and was astonished to find neat entries made in it by an
unmistakably feminine hand.
On the first page were a few terse lines, thus: “April 16th, left New
York. Am a little seasick. Am much amused at the antics of the ogling
first officer. His name is Gore, an abbreviation of gorilla. He
certainly looks like one,” etc.
I was a little cut at this. I am not handsome, and that made it hurt all
the more.
I closed the book and looked out my door into the forward cabin. It was
empty. Noiselessly I stole to the door in the bulkhead and looked into
the after cabin. It was empty also, and from the sounds that came from
the skipper’s room it appeared that he and the passengers were absorbed
in conversation over our recent danger. Here was my chance. I went
softly to Mrs. Waters’s door and turned the latch. It opened and I saw
that all was dark within, so I quickly deposited the book into what I
supposed was the empty bunk and turned to flee. Instantly I felt my hair
seized from behind and a piercing shriek rent the air close to my ear. I
struggled frantically to escape, and had just gained the centre of the
cabin when Crojack’s door flew open and he and his niece rushed out into
the room.
The two staterooms were directly opposite and opened into the main
cabin, so it was evident that he had heard the shriek and had sprung to
the rescue.
He was upon me in an instant, and I believe would certainly have killed
me before I could have said a word of explanation, had it been in his
power to do so.
As it was, I gripped him around the body, holding his arms to his sides
and strove to explain matters.
Mrs. Waters tugged lustily at my hair and screamed at the top of her
voice, while her daughter looked on in consternation.
In a few moments the good lady let go my hair and very properly fainted.
Then I soon had Crojack listening to reason.
When matters were straightened out a little, I went back to my bunk and
lay there all the rest of my watch below, cursing my ill luck.
I said, in the beginning, that I was broad-minded, and I’ve always
believed that, if there is an all-good and all-powerful Creator, there
can be no wrong deduced from any action. He could and would prevent it.
Therefore, from this logical standpoint, there can be no wrong, for
every one must believe in an all-good and all-powerful Creator.
From a social or religious standpoint the matter is quite different. A
person can do much wrong from this standpoint.
This is not entirely a new line of reasoning, perhaps, but I’ve since
come to the conclusion that it might have appeared so to Crojack and his
niece at that time. Both of those looked upon that absurd affair from an
illogical standpoint. Which goes to show how much wrong can be done a
man by being more religious than logical. Why do good women always
suspect wrong of good men? Bah!
CHAPTER VII.
In the morning, after standing our regular watches, all hands felt
better.
I had been wondering how I could treat the affair of the log-book, and
how I could get courage to face the passengers at the breakfast-table.
I was quite angry at the treatment I had received, but, on thinking the
matter over during the night, I concluded to put on a bold front and act
as though nothing had happened to strain my feelings.
Ill luck, I reasoned, could not make a man mean unless the man already
had the instincts of a mean person to start with. It would only make him
a little more careful and more stern of purpose.
I knew that a man with ill luck always appears mean to women, because
women can seldom realize anything but success as a combination of all
the virtues in man. It is probably best for them that this is so, for it
dissolves a great many combinations between men and women which might
result in great discomfort to both. Therefore, I determined to dismiss
the matter from my mind.
We had lost two men during the gale, and there was work to be done on
our spars and rigging that would keep all hands busy for several days.
In spite of the feeling of relief which was expressed on the faces of
all the men, there was a silence among them that told plainly how the
loss of a shipmate will affect even the roughest sailor at first.
The dead man in the fo’c’sle was a ghastly sight, and the wounded one
groaned loudly at times, so it was little wonder that the men of the
starboard watch refused to heave down with a chorus when they trimmed
the braces.
O’Toole cursed them roundly for a half-hearted set of loafers. He always
cursed men from habit, and never struck them when his ideas and theirs
were found to be different. As the morning wore on, the sun shone at
brief intervals through the gaps between the flying gulf clouds, and its
warmth began to dry out our wet clothes and make things more cheerful.
Miss Waters joined us at breakfast, and appeared none the worse for the
shaking up she had been through.
She was dressed in a neat-fitting cloth jacket that showed off her
beautiful figure to great advantage, and she chatted and laughed in
gentle good humour.
I have been in almost all countries and have seen nearly all kinds of
women, but it seemed to me at that time that I had never seen one so
beautiful in face and figure, and so gentle in disposition.
The girl, however, always appeared more interested in the third mate
than in anything else.
Of course, I didn’t resent this, but it somehow made me feel conscious
of my rough appearance, and convinced me that my sailor manners were out
of place at the cabin table while she sat there. Her deep blue eyes had
a roguish look in them as she glanced across at me this morning.
I saw that she intended to say something to me, and I felt my cheeks
burn at the fear of some allusion to the unfortunate incident of the
evening before.
“Well, Mr. Gore,” she broke forth, “I suppose you are not going to
forgive me for wishing for that storm? You can’t be so superstitious as
to believe that my wishing had anything to do with the state of the
weather. You need never fear that I’ll wish for another, though, for I
never was so frightened before in all my life.”
“I suppose you know that we lost two men and that another was badly
injured?” I answered, quickly, and then immediately felt what a fool I
was to throw such a shadow over the young girl’s spirits.
“Why, no, indeed, I knew nothing of the kind,” she answered, and her
laugh was gone, and her face grew pale.
“Where is the injured man?”
“In the fo’castle,” I answered, and, as I did so, the skipper gave me a
warning frown.
“Uncle David, I want you to let me go with Mr. Gore to see the poor
man,” she said, quietly. “I had no idea anything so dreadful happened.”
The old skipper scowled at me and grunted out some reply, and I could
see that he was anything but pleased at my reference to the accident.
However, I had no sooner gone on deck, after breakfast, than Miss Waters
came to me and asked me to take her forward. The ship was running along
easily under t’gallantsails, and the main-deck was safe enough, so,
offering my arm for support, we started.
I noticed Brown hurrying along the port gangway and saw him enter the
fo’castle. Then, when we arrived, he came out and answered my look by
telling Miss Waters that she might enter.
It was no imagination on my part when I noticed the young girl shrink at
the sight of dirty, wet clothes and the none too clean floor as we
entered.
She still held to my arm, and we walked up to the form of a man lying in
one of the bunks. The third mate sprang quickly in front of us and
pointed to a bunk farther forward, just as I was about to address a
corpse.
The girl saw my quick movement as I turned my gaze in the right
direction, and, although only the back of the dead man’s head was
visible, she guessed the mistake I had made, for she trembled violently.
She went up to the wounded sailor, who stared at her in stupid wonder.
Then she asked him how he felt, and put her soft little hand on his face
and tried to cheer him up.
The poor fellow appeared almost frightened at this, and muttered some
nonsense about an angel. But he was a foul-looking dago of the lowest
class, and the girl could not understand him.
Finally, after promising to make him some gruel, she went on deck again,
much to my relief. I could not help admiring the feeling of sympathy she
showed for the man, but I felt that the fo’castle of a ship was not the
place for a girl to enter, even attended as she was.
When we went on deck, she drew a long breath and appeared thoughtful for
some moments. Finally she said:
“Are all forecastles on ships like that?”
“Yes,” I answered, “only most of them are a good deal dirtier and worse
ventilated. When I first went to sea, the fo’castle was always below,
’tween decks, and not a big, airy room, with windows in it, like the one
we’ve just left. I remember, on the old clipper _Mohawk_, we would have
thought a fo’castle like this one equal to the captain’s cabin.”
She was silent while we walked aft, and I supposed she was thinking of
the sailor forward. Just as we gained the poop she turned her head and
looked up at me, saying:
“And you were a sailor once and had to live in a place like that?”
“I am a sailor yet, I believe, and I will probably never be anything
else, except a fool, also,” I answered; “but as for living in places
like our fo’castle, I must confess that I’ve spent at least ten years in
them.”
She let go my arm and, I fancied, gave a hopeless little sigh.
“I think I’d rather be a cow and live in a comfortable barn,” she
remarked, rather drily.
“No objection on my part,” I answered, quickly.
Then she thanked me for going with her, and joined the skipper, who had
been standing near the quarter-rail watching us intently. He saw her
safely aft to the companionway and then returned to where I stood. He
was silent for some time and then looked at me and smiled. I have always
believed the old skipper was something of a mind-reader.
“Women are queer things,” he said.
I said nothing, but looked an affirmative answer.
“But with man,” he went on, “more is to be hoped from. He should not let
his thoughts dwell too much on the necessity of his getting married and
propagating his species. It is natural for a woman to wish to get
married for many reasons; but a man should not let this be the
principal object in his life. That this is, unfortunately, not always
the case is proved by his thoughts and actions.
“When you get to be an old shellback, like me, you will see that, while
love of women is good enough to a certain extent, there are other duties
for an honest man to perform before his cruise is out.
“Now, take yourself, for instance. You never made a fool of yourself
about women. And that’s the reason you had the _Southern Cross_--before
you lost her. Whereas, if you were like O’Toole, who is always reading
story-books, where would you be to-day? Story-books and women have kept
him down, and one is about the same thing as the other. I’ve had
hundreds of story-books sent aboard here by those women folks at the
sailors’ mission, and one and all had the getting married and
propagation of species as the central object for the yarn. Sometimes the
hero would differ a little in regards to the details of getting the
weather gauge of the sweet, beautiful, fine, handsome girl--but the
ends were all alike.
“No, sir, Mr. Gore, take my word for it, story-books and women, women
and story-books--they are all the same in the end. They’ve kept O’Toole
down for having them and you’ve worked your way up--to a certain
extent--by not having them. A man should stick to his duty and let them
alone until he gets old enough to understand them as I do.”
He was a rough, outspoken man, was old Captain Crojack.
CHAPTER VIII.
During the next week the ship held her course to the eastward, carrying
all sail, and as the lumpy gulf clouds disappeared on the western
horizon, we hauled to the southward to pick up the northeast trade.
The effects of the storm were no longer visible. The dead sailor we
buried the day after we ran out of it. The loss of this man and the one
who was swept overboard by the sea that pooped us caused every one to be
depressed in spirit for several days. But a man is soon forgotten when
he loses the number of his mess. Great and small they drop out, and are
never missed long afterward. In a little while the songs and croakings
that accompanied an accordion belonging to the starboard watch told
plainly that the few tears shed for a lost shipmate among our men were
soon dried and forgotten. Miss Waters repeated her visits to the sick
sailor when his watch were on deck, and several times I saw her going
forward with the third mate, carrying some gruel she had made for him.
Since her remarks to me about having been a sailor and living in a black
hole of a fo’castle, she had said little to me. Her mother still kept to
her bunk during meal hours, and I had escaped facing her, but the girl’s
studied coldness more than outweighed this pleasure.
I could hardly understand why she should object to a man who was a
sailor, when her father and grandfather had both worked their way from
the fo’castle to the quarter-deck. But, then, the woman’s reasoning, I
argued, was peculiar to herself and none the less obstinate for being
illogical.
Although I was at first put out of temper by her remarks, I now saw that
she devoted her attention almost entirely to young Brown when we were at
meals together. This attachment appeared much more fitting for a girl of
her years and position.
I cursed myself heartily for being such a fool as to allow her a moment
in my thought. What was I but a mate and a man nearly twice her age? In
any case, I had no right to expect her to be more than half-civil to me.
As the weather grew warmer, after we picked up the northeast trade, it
was pleasant on deck during the hours of the evening dog-watch. Captain
Crojack was easy enough on his mates during good weather, so Brown and I
got in the habit of sitting on the combings of the after hatch in the
evenings smoking and spinning yarns while waiting for eight bells to
strike.
Supper always took up nearly half of the two hours, and it was hardly
worth while to turn in for the remainder of the watch if the weather was
good.
O’Toole thought as the rest of us did upon this subject, for he
invariably came on deck after his supper at the second table and smoked
a short, black pipe while he spun his yarns.
People often wonder why sailors find it necessary to smoke and lie,
after eating a hearty meal of salt junk and hardtack.
It is just as impossible to explain this as it is to tell why
coal-heavers, or longshoremen, invariably put the receipts for their
truckloads into their hats. It is for some purpose that the sailor is so
constituted. Perhaps good, hard, all-around lying promotes the digestion
of salt food, by getting the system so thoroughly saturated with
deception that the stomach believes the junk fresh. Whatever the
purpose, it is probably a good one.
One night we were running along under skysails, with the trade abaft the
beam. We heeled over gently and sent the foam-flakes swashing from the
sides with a musical, tinkling sound.
The soft hum of the breeze through the rigging, coupled with the regular
sound of the water, was very pleasing to the ears of Brown and myself as
we lounged on the combings and smoked. It lacked half an hour of eight
bells, and then we would relieve O’Toole, who stood at the break of the
poop, lazily watching the canvas.
I dozed until the watch was called, and then the second mate roused me
and gave the ship’s course, observing:
“‘Tis no use av ye goin’ aft whin th’ owld man is there with th’
leddies. He’s in a divil av a timper because I made a remark to th’ man
at th’ wheel an’ th’ young gurl an’ her ma heard me. But he’s always
finding fault lately an’ something seems t’ be bearing down his mind,
an’, by th’ saints, I believe ’tis nothing else than th’ weight av his
own opinion.”
“He says you are a devil for story-books and women, O’Toole, and that’s
the reason you are such a bad second mate,” I answered, smiling.
But O’Toole didn’t laugh. He appeared thoughtful for some moments, and
then said, with great earnestness: “Maybe I am, Mr. Gore, but is it
right for th’ owld man to say it? Is it right for a man who’s had a good
income and a handsome wife t’ blackguard a poor divil av a mate because
he can’t have either, and say that it is his own fault? No, Mr. Gore, I
spake for th’ whole crowd av poor divils, like us, what no dacent
woman’ll take up with. You may not be a bright man, Mr. Gore, savin’
your prisence, but, by th’ Prophet, I give ye th’ credit av being a just
one. But no matter, I’ll say no more.”
He was silent for a few moments, and then broke out afresh:
“Ha! Ha! ’Twas only yisterday, whin they turned th’ roosters an’ hens
out on th’ main-deck t’ give thim an airing, that he began t’ pitch into
th’ fowls thimselves. He chased a couple av thim from under th’ break av
th’ poop, throwin’ a belayin’-pin an’ bawlin’, ‘Git out, ye ornery
burds! Have ye got no regard for ayther time, place, or circumstance?’
’Pon me whurd, ’tis a wonder he didn’t break out his Bible an’ read one
av th’ tin commandments t’ thim. It’s a sky-pilot he’s makin’ av th’
owld, rip-roarin’ skipper he used t’ be.”
I went aft and found Crojack talking to the passengers, so, after saying
a few words, I made some excuse to go forward again. O’Toole was still
sitting on the hatch combings, talking to the third mate. I walked
athwartships, under the break of the poop, watching the canvas aloft
and at the same time listening to scraps of the conversation.
“Faith, I don’t mind gettin’ th’ blame for me own sins,” he was saying,
for he was still sore from Crojack’s faultfinding, “but ’tis the takin’
av other people’s upon mesilf that makes me feel onhealthy. I’ve seen
enough av the world t’ know that it don’t pay t’ take overmuch
responsibility.
“There was a case av th’ kind happened aboard th’ _Eagle_, frigate, whin
I was captain av th’ maintop, and used t’ teach my fellows how t’ swing
a cutlass an’ handle a pistol without making it safer t’ be an inimy
than a friend. This, av course, I did whin I was on deck.
“We was in Havana, an’ ’twas hot work drillin’ there, but it wouldn’t
have been so bad if th’ owld man hadn’t shut down on th’ beer. As it
was, th’ men tried all kinds av ways t’ get th’ stuff on deck from th’
shore. Sometimes they would try and concale it in their clothes, in
order to get it aboard, but it was a poor way whin so many was thirsty.
“Finally, th’ bhoys got hold av an idea to float th’ stuff down th’
tideway by th’ keg at night, an’ thin pull it aboard over th’ cat-head
whin no one was lookin’.
“There was one divil av a Mike, that was always gettin’ into scrapes,
who paid a dago to start a keg one night about eight bells in th’ first
watch.
“He was on the lookout for it, an’ got it aboard all safe enough, but
th’ officer av th’ deck comin’ for’ard at th’ time, he was forced to
concale th’ stuff as quick as he could, an’ he did this by rollin’ th’
stuff into th’ bo’s’n’s locker.
“Ye see, th’ bo’s’n was a dead square and proper man, an’ he niver broke
a rule or disobeyed an order; so he thought it was safe.
“Somehow or other, th’ officer, McGraw, wanted a cringle for something,
an’ av course he went straight for th’ locker an’ found it.
“Williams was called t’ the mast an’ asked t’ explain how a keg av good
beer made its way into his locker.
“Ye see, he had an idea that he must shield th’ feller Mike, who was no
good whatever, an’ made more trouble aboard than th’ whole ship’s
company besides. So when Captain Broadchin asked th’ question th’ bo’s’n
got mighty quiet like, an’ the old man had t’ repeat th’ askin’ more’n
onct. He looked awful glum and solemn when he did answer.
“‘Whist!’ sez he, in a deep, pious tone, ‘faith, an’ yer honour, I
belave th’ ship’s ha’nted.’
“‘What’s that?’ sez th’ owld man.
“‘Yes, sir,’ sez he. ‘I was walking for’ard, just afore eight bells,
whin I see a keg av beer floatin’ in th’ air abaft th’ fore riggin’. I
knew ’twas ’gainst orders t’ tech th’ stuff, an’ th’ only way t’ save
the boys was to hide th’ keg as soon as it lit on th’ main-deck. How th’
rest av th’ watch missed seein’ the keg floatin’ past th’ fore riggin’ I
can’t make out at all, at all. But that’s th’ truth, th’ whole truth,
an’ a divil a bit besides th’ truth, s’help me Gawd!’
“Well, ye see, old Broadchin was so well satisfied with th’ explanation
that he niver said another whurd, an’ he believed so well that he was
a-tellin’ av th’ truth that he clapped him in irons an’ kept him ’tween
decks th’ whole av’ th’ cruise.
“Whin he was discharged he was all broke in health, an’ he got good an’
drunk an’ came back t’ say good-bye t’ all hands, for he was a good
feller, even in liquor.
“‘Good-bye, O’Toole, an’ may th’ Lord bless an’ prosper ye,’ sez he. An’
thin he shakes hands all around an’ comes aft t’ where th’ officers was
sittin’.
“‘Good-bye, Mr. McGraw, an’ may th’ Lord bless an’ prosper ye,’ sez he
t’ th’ liftenant. Then he walked up t’ th’ owld man.
“‘Good-bye t’ ye, too, sir,’ sez he. ‘Good-bye, Captain Broadchin, an’
may th’ Lord bless an’ prosper ye, too, sir--but to a damned limited
extint!’
“An’ there was a good bo’s’n gone, all because av that Mike. So I made
up me mind thin an’ there niver t’ take another man’s sins upon me sowl,
nor shield any av his ornery doin’s by mesilf.”
Brown laughed a little at O’Toole’s account, and then said, with more
earnestness than I thought the occasion required:
“After all, the bo’s’n did the right thing, for it would have been
rather a mean piece of business to have told how the beer came into his
possession and gotten the whole watch in trouble.”
“Not a bit av it--it would have saved a good bo’s’n an’ me a lot av
rope’s-ending upon th’ hide av that good-for-nothing man, Mike.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” replied Brown, “I don’t think much of a
man who won’t shield his friends. Suppose, for instance, you had a good
friend or brother, and something occurred that might get him into
trouble. Wouldn’t you do what you could to keep him out of it?”
“Now, ’pon me whurd, if ye ain’t entirely out av your reckoning. I’d see
him forty fathoms below anywhere at all before I’d risk mesilf.”
Brown rose from the hatch and gave a groan of disgust. Then he went aft
on the quarter-deck, and all of that watch he appeared to be thinking
over some interesting subject. He was so absorbed that he hardly spoke
to me until midnight. Then he gave a sigh of relief, and, as O’Toole
came to relieve us, we went below.
I stopped a few moments to take a bite of the salt junk set out on the
cabin table for the mates. Afterward, seeing the light in his stateroom,
I passed by his open door to see why a third mate should stay awake
during his watch below.
There he sat in his bunk, with a great pile of the most flashy police
reports of the period on the stool beside him.
“Come in, Mr. Gore,” said he. “I have just made a fine haul of papers.
Found them in that quartermaster’s chest this morning. Take one; they
are uncommonly interesting,” and he gave me one with an enormous woman
in tights pictured on the cover.
“Thanks,” I said. “Good night,” and I went to my room and turned in.
CHAPTER IX.
The weather continued fair, and in three weeks we crossed the line in
about twenty degrees west longitude.
We had seen but few vessels on the run down, but now sails were sighted
almost daily.
Some of these were heavily loaded clippers, bound round Cape Horn, that
had kept well to the eastward, in order to pick up the southeast trade
as far over as possible and keep from getting jammed to the northward of
Cape St. Roque.
As the northeast trade died out it left us entering the region of the
doldrums, with its squalls and calms. We did well to carry the trade
across the line, and then we drifted about for several days without
making any southing to speak of. The southeast trade appeared to be well
to the southward and the weather continued hot and calm.
One damp, overcast morning, a large ship appeared on the northern
horizon, standing almost directly after us. She drifted along all day
without coming near enough for Captain Crojack to make out who she was,
and toward evening she disappeared in a thick smudge of rain.
After supper it cleared off, and the moon shone brightly over a sea of
oily smoothness.
The ship astern had drifted quite close during the rain squall, and now
she suddenly appeared on the port quarter not half a mile distant.
It was a pretty sight to see her there, with her canvas all glimmering
in the moonlight, and all hands took a good look at her. She appeared
innocent enough.
By and by the skipper made her out to be an Englishman, and he sat aft
looking at her for a long time.
Mrs. Waters and her daughter came on deck and placed chairs, so they
could sit and watch the stranger, for she was the only vessel that had
come within hailing distance of us since we left port.
It is a strange feeling of fellowship that comes over people who are
abroad on the wide ocean when they find themselves in the vicinity of an
unknown vessel. There is as much interest taken in a strange ship at sea
as there would be in one carrying dear friends on soundings.
While Captain Crojack and his passengers were gazing at the vessel
astern the third mate came aft and seated himself close to Miss Waters.
The young girl and he conversed in low tones, so I could not hear what
was said; but as she appeared to lose all interest in the ship, it is
barely possible that they were not discussing nautical matters.
I can’t explain why this irritated me. It may have been the effect of
the moonlight, for the tropic moon has a powerful effect upon people if
they sleep with it shining in their faces.
I was irritated and had just about concluded to put in a word to help
the conversation, and was starting toward them, when Crojack put down
his night-glass with an impatient jerk.
“Where in thunder is that fellow heading?” he asked, turning and looking
at me. “If he keeps on, he’ll be aboard us in an hour or two.
“It’s just the way with some of those thick-headed Englishmen! They’ll
come drifting down on you in a dead calm, and, before you know it,
they’ll be afoul of you and tear half the stunsails out of you, to say
nothing of breaking the booms. It’s nigh eight bells, so suppose you
call the second mate and tell him to bring his speaking-trumpet and hail
the fellow. To run foul of a ship during a blow is bad enough, but to
run foul of one during a calm means that we might lay alongside for a
week and roll everything out of us aloft, stunsail-booms and all.”
Brown instantly started with me as I went forward, for the skipper
brought his eye to bear on him and saw he was becoming unnautical with
his niece. I sent him to call O’Toole.
“Wants me ter hail him, hey?” growled the red-headed giant, as he
tumbled out on the main-deck. “B’ th’ sowl av Saint Patrick, jist
hearken ter me. If thim illigant leddies av his are below, ye will hear
me talk Spanish t’ th’ bloody Englishmen, sich as ye niver heard before
nor since. Hello! Wait a minit--” and the second mate, catching a
glimpse of a dress in the moonlight, dived below again in a hurry.
As he had turned out just as he turned in, he had forgotten, in his
eagerness, to put on his trousers.
He appeared again in a few minutes better attired for the quarter-deck.
Then, growling something not very complimentary to passengers in
general, he came aft.
“Hail that fellow and tell him to stand off before he drifts afoul of
us,” said the skipper. “Tell him there’s room enough on the Western
Ocean without crowding.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered O’Toole, as he walked to the rail and glared
fiercely at the stranger astern.
“S’ o--o--hoy!” he roared, in a voice like a fog-horn, and then stopped
to listen.
He repeated the hail through his speaking-trumpet at the request of the
skipper, although it was evident that he held such an instrument in high
disdain and deemed any artificial acceleration to his voice as entirely
unnecessary.
Soon a faint answer came floating over the calm, moonlit waters.
“What d’ yer want?” it said.
“Stand off, or you’ll be afoul of us!” roared O’Toole.
“Go to ’ell!” came the response, clear and distinct. Then the quiet of
the tropic night fell again upon the sea.
“What a brute!” exclaimed Mrs. Waters. “I wonder how a man can be so
coarse and vulgar. What is the matter with him?”
“It’s a disease that afflicts a great many shipmasters, and it appears
hard to cure,” I ventured. “It’s a--”
“Beggin’ your pardon,” interrupted O’Toole. “’Tis a disease I’ve had
occasion t’ cure often enough, an’, by th’ faith, I’ve always seen it
give way, most rapid like, before th’ inflooence av prayer, an’ th’
layin’ on av hands. I know av a case where a man--”
“By thunder!” snapped Crojack, suddenly, “if it falls as calm as this
to-morrow I’ll go aboard that fellow and see who he is. Mr. O’Toole, you
will be on deck in the morning, and I wish you to have one of the boats
ready. I’ve sailed in most seas and have met all kinds of people, but
for a real out an’ outer, with a loose jaw tackle, give me one of those
swine-gutted, bull-headed, egotistical Englishmen in the Indian trade.
Seems to me, though, I’ve heard that voice before.”
“It’s pretty hard to tell at this distance,” I answered, “but we’ll be
able to find out very soon, for she’s drifting down on us all the time.”
The skipper remained quiet for some moments, gazing steadily at the
stranger through his glass, so I took the opportunity to lean on the
taffrail close to where Miss Waters sat in her chair. She was looking
silently at the towering white cloud of canvas astern and her profile
shone clear in the moonlight.
Her large blue eyes had a dreamy, stupid look in them as they gazed from
under their long lashes, such as I had often noticed before in pretty
women; but her skin had a rich, creamy colour about the throat, and the
outlines of her willowy figure showed such beautiful curves that I
suddenly found my eyes roving in a most uncomfortable manner from ship
to girl and from girl to ship.
I don’t attempt to explain it. It may have been the moonlight that made
her look so pretty, but as I gazed I suddenly felt as if my blood had
turned to melted lead in my veins. The heat of it made my face burn, and
I could not utter a word, but I drew a long breath.
I shut my teeth hard and had just made up my mind to beat a retreat,
when, to my dismay, she turned and looked me straight in the eyes.
The next instant she burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
“Why, Mr. Gore, I didn’t know you suffered so with asthma,” she said
aloud. “You must pardon me, but you really made such a noise choking
that I was quite frightened. I should think the night air was bad for
you.”
For an instant I felt as if the ship had sunk under me, but, as I caught
the skipper’s inquiring look, my nerve, which seldom deserted me,
returned.
“Well, you see, I’m so used to walking fore and aft during my watch on
deck that I don’t notice it much while I’m in motion,” I replied. “It’s
only when I get lazy and sit down that it affects me. After all, it
don’t amount to much, and serves as well as a pipe to keep me on the
move during the night.”
I noticed the old man scan the breadth of my beam with a quizzical look;
for, you see, while I’m not as tall as some men, there is a certain heft
to my shoulders even yet that is ill connected with a man weak in the
wind.
However, my answer appeared to satisfy him, and I went below as quickly
as possible, and turned in with a feeling of resentment against
everybody on board the ship.
At midnight I turned out, and found the stranger close aboard our port
quarter, and O’Toole furious at the answer he had received on hailing
him.
“He won’t stand off, Mr. Gore,” said the second mate as I came aft, “an’
if it holds calm another hour he’ll be alongside.”
After O’Toole had gone below, I took the glass and watched the man who
had just relieved the watch on her quarter-deck. He was not over fifty
fathoms distant, and I could see that he was tall and wore a full beard.
Just below the stranger’s white quarter-rail was a yellowish streak on
her black hull, and on focusing the night-glass upon it I read _Countess
of Warwick_ in small gold letters.
She drifted steadily nearer and I hailed her again.
At that moment a sturdy, bow-legged man appeared on deck and joined the
one I had been watching.
He came to the rail and stared at me for several minutes, and then
answered in a deep, gruff, even tone:
“By the great eternal! Ain’t this ocean big enough for you, that you
must come wailing like a babe in the night? S’help me Gawd, when I
sailed Yankee clippers there was little trouble in finding room enough
in any ocean. This here lady is a real countess, and you needn’t be
afraid of her sassiety, even if she is a little fast. She won’t foul
them blooming stunsails of yours.”
At the sound of this voice, which was now quite near and distinct, I
heard a quick movement in the skipper’s cabin, and I glanced down into
it through one of the open ports.
Crojack had jumped out of his bunk and was in the act of swallowing a
stiff drink of grog,--his usual toilet,--and as he finished it he
bounded on deck with a series of sudden springs.
“Hello, there!” he bawled at the stranger.
His answer was a hoarse chuckle from the stout man, which swelled into a
hearty laugh.
“Hello, there! Is that you, Bill Garnett?” repeated the skipper.
I heard the bow-legged man mutter something, and then take off his cap
and mop his bald head, which shone in the moonlight.
“Well, sure enough, so it is,” he finally answered.
“Who the devil would be sailing with such a cargo but me? Why in thunder
didn’t you tell me ’twas you, messmate? and I would have tried to put
more water atween us--though there ain’t no danger.”
I had been watching him while he was talking, and I now recognized the
old mate easily enough. Nearly every man in the deep-water trade at that
time had seen or heard of old Bill Garnett.
“I might have known it was you,” growled Crojack. “Always an ornery,
bull-headed, headstrong mate, trying to make trouble. Why don’t you keep
off and give us more room?”
“Well, well, I am mate o’ this craft, sure enough,” laughed the old
sailor, “but it ain’t such a bad job alongside o’ being a d----d,
shad-bellied, thieving shipmaster. As for room, you’ve got the whole
ocean and can change your course as easy as my skipper can change
his--but you was always a hard man to reason with.”
And old Garnett began to walk fore and aft on his deck, chuckling
audibly.
“I might have known it,” repeated the skipper to himself. Then turning
to me:
“I’ve had Garnett with me as mate six voyages, Mr. Gore, and I’ve never
seen a more unreasonable critter in my life. What do you suppose he’s
doing on that Englishman, anyway? She looks mighty light for the India
trade.”
“I don’t know why he should be on her, except for the pay,” I replied.
“Garnett’s a rough mate and would just as soon sail under one flag as
another. He’s been under about all. The vessel does look uncommonly
light.”
The skipper stood watching the Englishman for some time, but as she
appeared to draw no nearer, he finally went below. The _Arrow_, having
no steering way, now drifted so as to bring the stranger almost head
on, so I could no longer see the men on her quarter-deck.
In the morning, after I had passed a restless night, I turned out with
but little appetite for breakfast. I knew well enough what was the
matter with me, and, had I been ashore, I would have put some distance
between myself and our passengers.
I was about as awkward at the table as it was possible to be, but I
dared not shirk the ordeal, for fear of making an idiot of myself before
Captain Crojack.
It’s all well enough to joke about such matters, and say they don’t
last, and that no man ever died for love, but joking don’t help the case
in any way whatever.
The cholera don’t last long after it takes a man, either, for that
matter. It’s just as well to look the subject squarely in the face.
That no man ever died for love is an absurd statement. There are more
men killed or ruined by this mental disturbance than any other.
That its origin is not purely physical even a deep-water sailor knows.
That it don’t last is also certain, for nothing human ever does last
above a certain limited time.
I have seen this passion burn itself out like a flash of tropical
lightning, and I’ve seen it smoulder like the damp coal in a ship’s hold
and last until it passes quietly into the perfect friendship between an
old man and an old woman.
But because it don’t last, don’t think that it lacks force while it does
act.
I’m a plain man and known as “Bull Gore” among the deep-water men. My
face is too big to be handsome, and I’ve the girth of forty-five inches
around the heave of my chest. In spite of this, I knew I was going to
have a tough struggle and would need all my strength for the fracas
brewing within me.
Who is it, I say? Who is it that has felt this passion and can say no
one was ever hurt or killed by it?
Why, I once saw a Japanese samurai pass his heavy two-handed sword
through nine men in succession for--
Well, I’m not a young man, but I don’t mean to be garrulous.
CHAPTER X.
I don’t remember how I made out at the breakfast-table that morning, but
as soon as I came on deck I looked for the _Countess of Warwick_.
She lay right abreast of us, and so close aboard that I could have flung
a belaying-pin into her waist.
Our passengers went aft and sat in the shade of the spanker. They
appeared very much interested in the English ship.
Her great black hull sat well in the water, though she was not loaded
deep. At every roll of the swell I could see over her high
t’gallant-rail and catch a momentary glimpse of the men on her
main-deck.
Full rigged fore and aft, she showed a tremendous spread of canvas from
her three skysail-yards to the foot of her courses. Her tall spars and
long, tapering yards made stunsails unnecessary, and the bright
blackness of her standing rigging told plainly that she had a mate on
board who understood his business.
Below, her copper showed a foot clear of the sea, and the water was so
quiet and clear that the eye could easily follow it down under her
bilge, where it seemed to give forth a soft, greenish sheen as the light
fell on it at each swing of the hull.
At every roll of the swell her sails slatted against her masts and
backed and filled with short, irregular jerks at the clews, until the
rattle sounded like the distant roll of musketry.
While I stood looking at her, a short, slight man with red whiskers
appeared emerging from the after-companionway. He wore a cap with a long
visor, and a dark waistcoat flying loose and unbuttoned, which set off
the semi-whiteness of his shirt-sleeves to great advantage. He stood
looking at us a few moments, and then sung out:
“Hey there! where are you bound?”
“Hongkong, if you don’t foul and roll the gear out of us,” answered
Crojack, somewhat shortly.
“I will be aboard you in a minute,” came the response, and the small
skipper held up his hand as if to ward off any further conversation
until he arrived.
“Mr. Garnett!” he bawled, as he advanced to the edge of the poop, “Mr.
Garnett!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came the gruff response from somewhere directly beneath
his feet.
The next instant the sturdy figure rose from the main-deck, and a
shining bald head was furiously mopped within a foot of the skipper’s
knees.
“Mr. Garnett,” roared the little captain, “get that port quarter boat
overboard, sir, and don’t keep me waiting here all the morning. Jump,
now, for I can’t abide waiting for a lazy, worthless set of loafers like
your watch.”
A hoarse growling followed this order, and instantly all was noise and
action on the ship. The men rushed for oars and tackles, and I was
astonished at the large number of them in sight.
Above the turmoil could be heard some of Garnett’s favourite oaths,
which had more power of expression than any equal number of words before
put together.
The tackles were hooked on, and in another minute the boat was over the
side and ready.
“Give Mr. Carter the course, but tell him to lie by until we come aboard
again, and don’t keep me waiting here, but get into that boat and take
me to the American clipper _Arrow_. Come, bear a hand there.”
“Boat’s all ready, sir,” roared the mate, as he swung himself over the
rail and dropped into her stern-sheets, red in the face with exertion.
“Are the cushions in her?” inquired the skipper, looking cautiously over
the rail.
“Ay, ay, sir,” came the answer.
“Is the compass and water-breaker stowed safe?”
“Ay, ay, sir, all safe, sir.”
“Are provisions on board, in case we lose our bearings and can’t get
back again?”
“Ay, ay, sir, grub enough to last a week.”
“Have you the ‘navigator’ with you?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Have you the ‘navigator’? No! Well, how many times will I have to tell
you, Mr. Garnett, never to start off on a cruise until you are ready?
Get the ‘navigator,’ and be quick about it.”
The mate climbed on deck again and went below, reappearing in a moment
with the “navigator” tucked lovingly under his arm.
“All right, sir,” he cried, as he dropped over into the boat.
At this the little skipper climbed carefully down into the mizzen
channels and stepped into the stern-sheets, while the steward came to
the rail and passed the skipper’s coat to Mr. Garnett.
“Shove off! don’t sit there looking at me,” and the men let go and
shoved clear of the vessel’s side. Then they raised their oars to a
peak.
“Let fall!” and the two oars clattered clumsily into the row-locks.
“Give ’way together!” and the boat shot out from the ship’s side and
came toward us.
“Git on to th’ style av th’ Johnnie Bull,” chuckled O’Toole, who had
just come on deck; “wan would think ’twas a man-o’-war sindin’ out a
bloomin’ admiral. Now, b’ th’ faith av th’ howly saints! Who’s the mug I
see squattin’ there in th’ stern-sheets? Garnett! B’ th’--”
“In bow! Weigh enough!” cried the little skipper, as the boat with six
sweeping strokes fell alongside.
The next instant he sprang over the rail on to our main-deck, closely
followed by his mate.
Then he deliberately put on his coat, waved Garnett to stand back, and
approached Captain Crojack with a majestic step.
“Captain Webster, sir, yes, sir; Captain Webster of the _Countess of
Warwick_,” he cried, as he reached the quarter-deck, where our skipper
stood.
“Ah, did I hear aright? Crojack? Captain Crojack, I’m most happy to meet
you, sir; most eternally tickled. Ah, your wife and daughter, I see.
Madam, I bow to you. It gives me most uncommon pleasure, miss; yes, I
may even say delight. But now, sir,” he cried, turning suddenly upon
Crojack, “what is this row about, and what do you mean by hailing me and
ordering me to stand off?”
His attack upon the skipper was so sudden that Crojack staggered back a
pace or two in amazement and stared with open-eyed wonder at the little
man, while his features worked convulsively as if he didn’t know whether
to laugh or throw his guest overboard.
“Come, come, sir; I can’t waste all the morning here. Do you see that
flag, sir?” and he pointed to the British ensign that hung in folds from
his vessel’s peak.
“That is her Majesty’s flag, sir, and I’m her Majesty’s most humble
servant, though a most uncommon man, sir; and if there’s anything I can
do for you, sing out. Don’t stand there staring at me, sir. There’s
nothing aggravates me so, sir, as to have a man stare at me. Come, come,
don’t be afraid of me,” and he held out his hand in a friendly manner.
“Gee-whillikins!” gasped Crojack.
“Nothing of the kind, sir; not at all. Lionel Webster, if you please,
and an extraordinary man in some respects, if I do venture to say so
myself. Come, come, don’t be afraid. But, ah! Maybe the subject will not
bear discussion before the ladies, in which case we’ll go below, sir;
yes, sir, quite out of sight, sir,” and he grasped Crojack’s hand and
led him like a man who is not quite awake down the companionway into the
after cabin.
As they disappeared, I turned to meet Garnett, who, with O’Toole, had
stood silently watching the skippers in order to render any assistance
if necessary.
“Well, well, ’pon me whurd, for a fact! So it’s you, you old
bald-headed, bow-legged bean-swiller. Sure, there’s no mistaking that
stove-in figurehead av yourn. Say, but I’m glad t’ see ye again,
messmate. My, how it brings back the times we windjammers used t’ have
together, ’mongst th’ archipelagoes. Well, well, ’pon me whurd, how is
it you are afloat again, an’ on a bloody Johnnie Bull at that?”
“Don’t meddle with family affairs, shipmate. If a respectable married
man chooses to follow the sea for a living, why, there it is. There is
no more pious calling than a mate’s, as you might know yourself. But by
the eternal thunder! I wonder they allow a man with a head like yours
aboard a vessel carrying soft coal and oil in bulk. May the eternal fire
swinge me, but you are a freckle-faced, red-headed bulldog--
“You say you’re for China?”
Then he turned to me.
“Ah, Mr. Gore, blast me, but it does me good to get amongst the old
crowd. Seems like we’ll have a spell o’ weather, hey?” and the old mate
mopped his bald head with a dirty red handkerchief.
I shook hands with him and told him I was glad to see him again, for,
although he was an old man, he was active yet, and knew more about
handling square canvas than any man living.
I’m not a man to bemoan my luck, like nearly all sailors, and when I
find I’m down I make the best of it. So when old Bill Garnett--who had
been mate with my father a score of years before--looked askance at me
and called me Mr. instead of captain, knowing my rating, I shook his
hand and sat beside him on the main hatch.
Once in the shade of the mainsail the old mate fixed himself comfortably
and took from his coat pocket a small nickel-plated vial, at which he
sniffed loudly.
“What in th’ name av the saints have ye got yer fins on now?” asked
O’Toole, who had seated himself opposite. He stared in wonder at the
operation while the odour of peppermint filled the air.
“Blarst me if I know,” grunted Garnett, still sniffing violently at the
vial.
“What! peppermint? Ye coom t’ that in yer owld age? ’Pon me whurd,
’twas a different odour ye used to carry about ye.”
“I ain’t as young as I was onct, and that place in my head troubles me
more as I grows older. This little thing was sold to me by a fellow on
the beach, who said it was good for things in the head, an’ he wasn’t
the biggest liar I ever knew, for it does me a power o’ good, ’specially
at night. You see, I’m too old, anyway, to be cruising about much
longer, and if it wasn’t for the money to be gotten out of a cargo like
we carry, I would stay on the beach. Then, again, there’s family affairs
that makes me want to feel the heave of a ship’s deck under me once
more; but these are private matters and don’t concern no one but the
parties involved.
“This here little thing’s called ‘Killakoff Kurakold,’ which, the fellow
said what sold it to me, was Roosian for neuralg’a cure; but it has an
almighty Yankee smack to it. After all, when a man gets along toward his
last cruise, like me, he has to take some things for granted--an’ he
sees the value of leading an unselfish life, and that the only real
pleasures are those what relieve sufferings of others.”
“‘Pon me whurd, you have got it down mighty fine. Th’ very whurds old
Father Easyman used t’ say; an’ I do belave th’ medicine has virtue whin
it kapes an owld memory alive like that. ‘Sufferin’s av others,’ hey!
Which goes t’ show yer mane th’ fellow what invented that little
instrument was a thrue philanthropist, an’ a man after yer own heart.”
“I don’t remember hearing those words before,--leastways, not put in
that way,--but if you mean to say I didn’t make them up myself, why, I
suppose you’re right,” growled Garnett.
“As for making words brand-new, it’s a trade I don’t go into much. All
words I ever seen or heard, except some in foreign languages, was
invented long afore I was afloat,--such as Tom, Bill, and the likes. You
say that dapper chap there, talking to Johnson, is third mate? S’help
me! I suppose old man Crojack will be shipping sky-pilots and holy Joes
next,” and he carefully replaced his vial in his pocket, while he
listened to Brown talking to one of the boat’s crew who had climbed on
deck.
“He’s the best mate I ever sailed with,” I said, as I saw the look of
disdain gathering on the old mate’s face. “But tell us how you came to
be aboard an Englishman, and what kind of a cargo it is that pays so
well. You say you are bound for the Andamans?”
“I’m coming to that now,” he replied, “if you’ll just give a man time to
get his bearings,” and he reached into his pocket and drew forth an
enormous piece of plug tobacco. He bit off a couple of ounces and began
to manipulate the quid so as to get it securely stowed in his cheek
while he replaced the remainder of the plug in his pocket.
He then drew a long breath, as if about to begin his yarn, and squirted
a huge mouthful of tobacco juice on to the clean white deck.
“You see, when I married--”
“Here, Bill, get a swab an’ wipe up th’ dirty mess,” cried O’Toole to a
sailor. “This ain’t no bloody Johnnie Bull, an’ we don’t make no pig-pen
av the main-deck. But go ahead, messmate; there’s a swab for ye, an’ ye
can take snap shots at it betwixt breaths. Leave it lay, Bill.”
Garnett scowled at the sailor, who dropped the swab; then, taking no
further notice of the interruption, he began.
CHAPTER XI.
“As I was saying, when I married and settled down amongst the hills to
the east’ard o’ the Sacramento, I thought I’d about served my time on
deep water and had come on the beach for good. You see, I married old
man White’s daughter--he was a brother to Skipper White, what sailed
that race with old man Gore around the Cape--and, as the gal was young
and had helped keep house for the old man, I reckoned we’d get along
first-rate. But there was bad blood in that White family. The old man
had run a boarding-house down by the St. Joe Mission, and he was a bad
man. His wife’s brother, Skipper Anderson, had done some queer things,
and had got a hard name on the West Coast long ago, when I was with him.
So, you see, there was bad blood in the family.
“After I had married and bought a little farm, I just settled down,
peaceful like, and waited for the family to increase and multiply. You
can bet I was some astonished one day, about two months afterward, when
I found the family had increased and multiplied all of a sudden like.
“So I went to the fellow what sold me this vial--which cures most things
in the head--and he told me there was no accounting for the strange and
curious things what happen along in the course o’ nature. At first,
though, he began on science, and told me there was no explanation unless
I could follow him through a lot o’ stuff what was writ in a book in a
foreign language. He had just about convinced me that all was right when
he began on the course o’ nature.
“I ain’t much when it’s a question of science or foreign languages, but
I’m way up as high as a skysail truck when it comes down to the course
o’ nature. So I told him I guessed it was a family affair, and that I
wouldn’t be missed much if I left the valley.
“He grinned some, and told me I was a suspicious old duffer, and I
smashed a bottle of castor-oil over his figgerhead, and started for
’Frisco.
“You see, I had a bit o’ stuff left out of that deal on the Clipperton
Reef, where we dived for gold in a couple of fathoms of water as it lay
in the bilge of the _Isabella_. I reckoned to live easy enough without
standing watch. I wouldn’t trust to them banks, so I had the stuff in
bills stitched in a belt around my waist. When I got to town, a man came
up to me with a rush and grabbed me by the hand, and he was no other
than that rascal mate of Hollender’s what got two years for an incident
on a voyage to Havre.
“I wasn’t glad to see the fellow, as I always had a liking for clean
company. But I was feeling lonesome. He just fell down and rolled over
with laughing, saying: ‘Oh, it can’t be true, it can’t be true. Oh, no,
no, no; it can’t possibly be true. It ain’t so. There ain’t no such
luck.’ And he laughed so hard that the tears rolled down out of his
little, fishy eyes. All the time swearing that, of all men, he was most
pleased to meet his old shipmate Garnett.
We went about town and took a few drinks together, and he kept on
laughing and telling me how glad he was to meet me again. I paid for the
drinks, and I guess I drank some.
“The next morning when I woke up, I didn’t have a thing left in the
world but the shirt I slept in. The scoundrel would have taken that,
too, if it hadn’t fitted me so tight. He even took my old shoes.
“There I was, half-naked, a-roarin’ an’ bellowin’ for further orders,
till they clapped me into the calaboose for a crazy, half-drunken old
sailor. They gave me some togs after I got sober enough to put them on,
and, as I had nothing left in the world, I had to sign on, and I soon
finds myself in Liverpool.
“But it was all them clothes’ fault I took to this job. Them Samaritans
wot lives intirely fer the sake o’ others mostly fumigates all their
clothes o’ the clink. Likewise the smell o’ the sulphur sticks in them,
an’ somehow I must have smelt like a gorilla, fer as soon as I heaves in
sight o’ any one, they puts their fingers to their noses and sheers off.
Sink me, Mr. Gore, that was a fine odour I carries about me, an’ if ye
object to a bit o’ peppermint salts,--which is good fer the head,--yer
ought ter smelt me then.
“I asked a man fer a job buildin’ a house,--not as I ever had a hand at
buildin’ afore, but he just sheers off and coughs, an’ calls me a
stinkin’ skunk, and I heaves a brick at him. Then I tries a store
sellin’ meat, but they sicks the dog on me, and I heaves away again.
“‘Twas that way everywhere I goes. Nobody would stand near me an’ listen
to my tale. I couldn’t shuck the clothes, and I couldn’t get clear o’
the smell. So I finally starts down alongshore, where the smells is so
mixed there’s no tellin’ which stinks the worst.
“Here I runs across this Webster, who is cousin to old man Jackson at
the Falklands, and who is the most uncommon damn fool, as he says
himself.”
“‘Pon me whurd, he’s got the proper man for a mate to back him, thin,”
observed O’Toole.
“I do know something about handling canvas,” answered Garnett, taking
the remark for a compliment; “but may I eternally stew if I don’t speak
the truth when I says it takes a m-a-n to handle those gangs about
decks.”
“What air ye pratin’ about, man? Do ye mane yer own watch?”
“Now, stave me endwise if you ain’t the same red-headed idiot you always
was,” growled Garnett. “Calling a watch a gang! Lord love ye, man, there
are one hundred and twenty men atween decks o’ that clipper, and every
mother’s son is an out an’ out, all around--”
“Steady, steady, mate,” I said. “Those ladies will hear you if you don’t
brace up that tongue of yours.”
“D’ye mane t’ say ye are a convict ship?” cried O’Toole, in amazement.
I tried to conceal my astonishment, but O’Toole jumped up and stood on
the hatch, staring hard at the Englishman. “‘Pon me whurd, it is so, fer
a fact. Now may the prophet sind us a good wind to waft us from sich
company. B’ th’ faith av the howly saints, Garnett, I never thought it.
’Pon me whurd I didn’t. Now that’s a cargo I don’t want to sail with,
an’ ye must be way down, shipmate, when ye drop t’ th’ carrying av a lot
av human cattle. Lord! One hundred and twenty poor divils goin’ ter hell
as fast as Bill Garnett can pilot them. So that’s the whyfore ye are
headed for the Andamans.”
“Sure,” was Garnett’s laconic answer.
“But you don’t turn to the whole gang at once, do you?” I asked.
“How in the name of thunder can ye turn to a hundred and twenty men in
irons,” answered the old mate, with a grin. “Turn them out in small
gangs, man. Poor devils they be, sure enough, but they get plenty of
exercise atween decks when the old hooker gets a-switching into it, when
it comes on to blow. Besides, those ports you see painted on her sides
there are not all make-believe. Some of them will open and let in the
air, when the hatches make it too close. I’ve been in worse places than
that ’tween decks on that ship, and I never was a convict, either.”
“I’ve heard tell that law and justice were two things av an ontirely
different nature,” grunted O’Toole, without removing his gaze from the
convict ship.
“S’help me, ’tis a fact,” chuckled Garnett, “and I onct heard a skipper
say that he had onct met a man who was a bigger fool than Larry
O’Toole,--but he couldn’t call to mind exactly who the fellow was.”
While the mates were chaffing each other, an uproar arose from the after
cabin.
I could distinguish Crojack’s hoarse voice, raised to a pitch that I
knew meant danger to some one. The cabin skylight was open, and the
voices of both skippers seemed to come from just beneath it.
“D’ye mean to say that England owns the whole Western Ocean?” roared
the old man.
“Up to within three miles of any beach whatever,” cried the little
Englishman. “But don’t bellow at me, sir; I’m not deaf, and I won’t
allow any one to bellow at me, sir.”
“Well, by gorry! England don’t,” roared Crojack.
“I decline to argue the case any further with you, sir,” replied the
small skipper, “but I’ll head my course just the same. You have a most
uncommon voice, sir, also most extraordinary good grog. So fill my glass
and don’t sit there bellowing at me, sir. Nothing aggravates me more
than a man bellowing at me. Don’t do it, I say, or I’ll go--”
“You may go to hell!” roared Crojack.
“I may, sir, indeed I may, but”--then came a pause during which I could
hear the clink of glasses--“if I do, sir, I’ll head a straight course,
sir, and arrive there shipshape with my yards squared, so her
Majesty’ll have no cause to be ashamed of me, though I sincerely
hope--”
Then the voice of the little skipper drew away, and I glanced at the
door of the companionway just as his cap appeared above the combings.
As he stepped on deck he bowed to the ladies and proceeded, with great
deliberation, to put on his coat. He had removed it during the
discussion below.
“Madam,” said he, addressing Mrs. Waters, “I should extend the
hospitality of my ship to you--that is, I would invite you to do me the
honour of a visit--were it not that the cargo we carry is unworthy of
inspection. I, therefore, wish you a pleasant voyage, and trust your
husband will learn moderation from you. If not, he will prove a most
uncommon and extraordinary companion for you,” and he waved his hand at
Crojack, who stood on the top step of the companionway. The little
skipper then walked quietly to the break of the poop and sung out
lustily for Mr. Garnett. Captain Crojack remained aft, his face wearing
an expression of extreme ill humour.
Garnett was within two fathoms of his master, but he sprang to his feet
at the hail and answered, “Ay, ay, sir,” in hurricane tones.
“Mr. Garnett, is the boat ready?”
“Yes, sir, all ready, sir,” bawled the old sailor as he glanced at the
two men of his crew. They immediately sprang over the rail and dropped
into her.
“Is all the gear in her?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Then take me aboard my ship as quick as you can, for I’ve wasted all
the morning talking to a blockhead.” And he made his way over the side
without a word of farewell to Crojack. Garnett followed instantly, and
in a few moments they were back again on board the Englishman.
From our decks we could hear the old mate bawling orders to a crowd of
sailors, who hooked on the tackles and whisked the small boat on to its
berth almost before the skipper had walked aft to the poop.
[Illustration: “I FOUND TIME TO DO SOME WORK UPON THE WHEEL GEAR.”]
CHAPTER XII.
It remained calm all that day, and the two vessels were in close
proximity. Miss Waters sat aft under an awning rigged over the after
part of the poop and gazed down at the smooth surface of the sea. Small
objects went floating slowly downward through the clear medium, sending
scintillating rays of light as they twisted with the motion. I found
time to do some work upon the wheel gear, for the calm weather permitted
the unreeving of the tackles as the vessel would not steer. Between
times I had a small chance to sit upon the taffrail and answer certain
questions that only a mate is expected to answer to passengers. Miss
Waters seemed preoccupied and took more than usual interest in the
movements of Brown, who seemed willing to aid me in my work by keeping
as close to me as possible. Twenty-five feet beneath the surface of the
sea the keel of the _Arrow_ showed above the void beneath all. Miss
Waters was gazing down absently into the depths when she suddenly made
out a vague form, brownish yellow in the light, as all objects appear at
great depths. The form grew larger, undulating, waving, but steadily
increasing in size. Then, at a depth of about fifty feet the shape of a
giant turtle appeared.
“Look,” she cried, “what a monster! What can it be?”
Brown looked over the rail, but failed to make the animal out. I saw the
turtle would come to the surface, and called two men to get a boat
ready.
“Looks like a logger-head,” I said, “and, if you care to, you can have
the sport of catching him.”
“I certainly will, then,” she cried, and sprang up ready to get into the
small boat. Crojack hardly liked the proceedings, but I made it all
right with him by a promise of a fine turtle steak for supper. Then,
getting the whale-irons, of which we had two aboard, into the small
boat, I called Brown and two men to get into her, and we were soon
alongside the _Arrow_.
“Come,” I said to Miss Waters, “let us see what kind of a sailor you
are, for, if you can get in and out of a small boat while the _Arrow_ is
rolling in this swell, you can prove yourself.”
She sprang instantly into the mizzen channels, disdaining the help
offered by Crojack, and then dropped lightly into the small boat’s
bottom. We were all ready and shoved clear of the ship’s side.
The turtle had risen to the surface of the sea about ten fathoms
distant, but, on seeing the ship and hearing the noise, he had sounded
again. However, I knew he would soon reappear, and I forthwith made my
way forward and made an iron ready for him. We rowed silently over the
oily ocean, keeping a sharp lookout for the game. The two ships seemed
suddenly very small and distant, and the vastness of the sea became
apparent. It is always that way, and when a person has never been upon
the broad sea in a small boat, the very greatness of the surrounding
space affects one. Miss Waters seemed subdued, and I noticed that she
was gazing anxiously now and then at the _Arrow_ that lay wallowing and
rolling like a log.
“I don’t think we better go too far away, do you?” she asked.
“That turtle will take us a long way before we get him,” I answered. “If
you are afraid, we will go back.”
She blushed a trifle at this.
“We’ll not go back until you show us whether you are able to get him or
not,” she said, with some spirit.
That settled it. We would get him if there was any show. I liked the
spirit of the girl. Brown said nothing.
“Aye tank dat’s him, sur, right over dere t’ starboard,” said the Swede
pulling the stroke oar. The head of the turtle rose slowly above the
surface and remained there. We stopped the boat, and waited for him to
get quiet before starting to creep upon him. Then, with great caution,
we sent the craft drifting slowly toward him, the oars making no noise.
I held the iron ready, and waited until we were within a couple of
fathoms. Then I plunged the weapon through his forward flipper, and it
toggled fast. We had him.
But he was a determined monster, and he weighed nearly five hundred
pounds. He started off across the ocean, and, in spite of all our
efforts, we could not stop him. Hauling the line short, we poked him and
jabbed him with the boat-hook, but he heeded this very little, keeping
his head well down and drawn in out of the way. All the time he swam
vigorously with his flippers, and we found that we were gradually
getting a long way from the ship.
“If we only had something to kill him with,” said Brown.
“Aye tank I do it, den,” said the Swede, who had been most interested in
the affair; “I catch ’em in de old country--so.”
He drew his sheath-knife and lashed it firmly upon the butt-end of the
boat-hook. Then he went forward and leaned over the bow, while we hauled
the boat as close to the turtle as we could. Watching his chance, the
sailor made a lunge, and drove his blade through the creature’s neck.
This had the effect of slowing down his efforts, although it far from
finished him. Wounded and harassed as he now was, we gained upon him,
and in ten minutes had him landed safely in the bottom of the boat,
although he almost swamped the craft in his final struggles.
“He’s big and ugly enough for anything,” said Miss Waters. “Do you mean
to eat the monster?”
“He will make excellent steak for all hands,” I answered. “However, if
you don’t like him, we might swap some of him for a piece of fresh pork.
They have pigs aboard the _Countess of Warwick_, and Garnett told me
they would probably kill one to-day. What do you say, shall we go aboard
of her?”
“By all means. I would like nothing better,” she answered.
I looked at the cloudless sky. There was not the slightest sign of a
breeze. I determined to risk old man Crojack’s wrath. Then I remembered
that I was responsible for the young woman. I had taken her out upon the
open ocean almost without her uncle’s consent. We had drifted over a
mile from the ship, and, although the weather promised to remain calm
and clear, we were on the edge of the equatorial belt, and squalls would
soon be of hourly occurrence.
“I reckon we better not go aboard her without first getting the
captain’s permission,” I said.
“I suppose you are afraid to,” she answered. “Two officers in one small
boat, and not able to do things without permission.”
“I take no responsibility at all,” said Brown, “but I think Mr. Gore is
right. Better keep on the good side of the old man, and we may be able
to go again to-morrow.”
“A man who is good because afraid to be bad is a mighty mean fellow, I
allow,” I said; “but that isn’t the nature of the emotion which governs
me in this case.”
“You have so many queer emotions, I hardly know what to think at times,”
she answered; “but, if you want to go back aboard the _Arrow_, why, go
ahead. I’m simply a passenger. And then, I’m not especially fond of
pork, even if we haven’t had fresh meat for a month or two.”
“Nevertheless, you shall have some to-morrow, if they do their killing,”
said Brown. “As for me, I’ll eat turtle. One don’t get good fresh turtle
every day. Besides, the day after to-morrow is Thanksgiving Day.”
“The pig is the turkey of the seamen,” I said, and I noticed the face of
the Swede pulling the stroke oar beam in anticipation. “They’ll
certainly kill pork soon on board that ‘Johnny Bull.’ It’s a pity the
old man didn’t bring something besides those stringy fowls along with
him.”
“It seems so funny to have Thanksgiving with a temperature of ninety,
and with thin linen clothes,” said Miss Waters. “I’d forgotten all about
it.”
We came alongside the _Arrow_, and a line of heads poked over the waist,
for the men had seen our catch and were curious. A tackle soon heaved
the turtle on deck and then we followed, but I left the small boat to
tow astern in a most unseamanlike manner, for I had plans for the
morrow.
CHAPTER XIII.
The _Countess of Warwick_ had drifted off during the night and was a
good two miles away to the eastward when the hot equatorial sun burned
his way into a mass of heavy clouds upon the horizon the day after we
caught the turtle. Lumpy masses of cumuli lined the horizon, and solid
quadrilaterals, slanting with well-defined edges, reached from them to
the sea beneath, showing that we might expect the tropical rainpour. Now
and then a slight air ruffled the surface of the ocean, but it came from
almost anywhere, and we made no headway on our course. I could see that
Garnett had clewed up his courses on the _Warwick_ to keep his heavy
canvas from slatting out with the rolling of his ship, and O’Toole had
done our own up in a similar manner. The hot, damp air of the early
morning was fresh with the salt dew, and the decks and rails were
streaming with the moisture. Sounds from forward were heard distinctly,
and even the low voices of men conversing in the forecastle were carried
aft. The clatter of pans and pots in the galley told of a busy “moke,”
but the weather was too warm for any great appetite. I had slept badly
and was in no good humour, so with great perseverance I kept clear of
the main-deck to avoid trouble. At that time in the morning a ship’s
officer is hardly more than human, and a man in my condition is
generally a little less. I stood upon the break of the poop and watched
O’Toole sitting upon the main hatch smoking a short pipe. He was in his
undershirt and was very warm.
“‘Tis a bit warm, or I’d lick th’ whole av th’ ship’s company,” said he
to a Dutchman, who strolled past toward the galley for his watch’s
breakfast.
“Vat I do, I do noddings, sur,” said the fellow, edging away.
“Och, ’tis fer that alone I’d whale ye, Dootch. Kape away from me, fer
I’m th’ divil while this weather lasts. Git.”
“Good marnin’, Mr. Gore,” he continued, without taking his pipe from his
mouth, “I’m havin’ steak an’ eggs fer th’ order, an’ may ye enjoy yer
vittles. ’Twas a foine burd, that baste ye caught, fer within him ware
no less than a hundred eggs. If ye want to take a slice av him over to
Garnett an’ that Captain Webster, ’tis all ready fer ye. I’m clane
homesick fer a bit av pig, an’ ’twill be a good deal if ye can make a
trade. ’Tis uncommon warm.”
“O’Toole,” said I, “you’re a big, red-headed, ugly ruffian, and you’ve
that to be thankful for. If you were anything else, I’d come down off
this poop and knock the insolence out of you. If you want that pig, you
go after it yourself, and don’t you go giving me instructions.”
The second mate grinned.
“‘Twas no offence I meant, sir, but, sink me, if ye want ter try a small
bit av a dispute, I’ll accommodate ye, sure,” and he rolled up a sleeve,
showing an arm of power.
I knew he had been thinking of how I’d go in the small boat with Miss
Waters, and it was none of his business. That and the hot morning made
me quarrelsome. At the same time I had no intention of coming down off
the quarter-deck, at least at his invitation. The steward was bringing
the breakfast aft, and I had a means of evading the issue.
“You think too much and work too little, O’Toole,” I said, starting for
the forward cabin in the wake of the meal.
“Go to th’ divil,” said the officer, and he whisked a match along the
seat of his trousers and relit his pipe.
Brown had shaved and looked clean when he appeared at the table. I felt
he had no business there, for it is always the third mate’s place to eat
with the carpenter, steward, and the rest. I never like special
arrangements for officers with a pull. The two ladies and Captain
Crojack came in from the after cabin, Miss Waters dressed in a white
muslin frock which fitted her splendid figure and made her bare arms and
throat look all the whiter. Crojack had put on a clean duck suit, and
took his seat with a quizzical look along his table.
“It’s a good thing to have passengers aboard ship at times,” said he,
“for it calls forth the razor and brush. I remember the time when I
could hardly tell who was who aboard this ship, for the matted hair and
beards which hid the faces of the mates. That steak looks good. It won’t
hurt you to eat as much as you can. The ‘doctor’ boiled a piece of
silver with a chunk of the turtle meat, and it was as bright as glass
after he was through. Turns black--jet-black--if the fish or turtle meat
is poisonous. I’ve eaten dolphin boiled with a silver dollar and had it
blacken. It broke out in boils all over me within two days.”
“The dollar?” I asked, with some concern.
Crojack looked at me askance. He was not aware of my humour, but was a
bit suspicious.
“No, the dolphin,” he said, slowly.
Miss Waters smiled, but Brown looked hard into his plate.
“I once knew a man,” I ventured, “who had figures of women--and
ships--all over his body. They were tattooed on him, to be sure, but I
don’t quite call to mind ever having seen a man with ‘dolphins.’”
“There are so many things a young fellow of your age hasn’t seen, it
would tire one out to tell of them,” said the skipper, good-humouredly.
“Better have another piece of turtle.”
I took it and ate doggedly, while the old man held forth upon the evils
of fresh pork in the tropics.
However, in spite of the heat and mugginess of the air, Miss Waters
managed to get her own way. Crojack allowed her to go with the boat to
the _Countess of Warwick_. The English ship lay motionless and at a
distance which put the skipper in a better humour. He would not go
himself, especially after seeing what manner of man her captain had
shown himself, but I went with two men and Miss Waters, taking half the
turtle along with us, some old American papers and magazines, and some
bottled beer.
“This is like yachting,” I said, as I settled myself in the stern-sheets
and made the young lady comfortable. “If going to sea would only consist
of this sort of thing it would not be so intolerably lonesome and
monotonous.”
“I suppose I should feel flattered, but I’m at present more interested
in the English ship,” said Miss Waters. “Do you think the little skipper
will allow us aboard?”
“He made it a point not to invite you, surely,” I answered. I was in no
very good humour even yet, and the girl deplored it.
The row across the intervening space of ocean was made rapidly, for the
sea being perfectly smooth, the small boat, propelled by two strong men,
sheared its way easily through the surface. The sun rose higher above
our heads and the heat was intolerable.
Arriving alongside, I saw Garnett leaning over the rail amidships,
gazing down at us. He was joined by half the watch, and then he pulled
out his little vial and sniffed at it hard while he mopped his bald
head.
“Now that’s what I call sailorizing, fer a fact,” said he. “Sink me, Mr.
Gore, but that’s the way all mates should go about, with a trim little
tender alongside. What have ye got? Beef? Beer? I’ll call the old
man--wait.”
“Hold on,” I cried, “wait until I--”
But it was too late, the old mate had gone aft, and in a moment he was
calling down the cabin companionway to his master.
“I hev to report a small boat alongside, sir,” said Garnett, in a loud
tone, sticking his head under the slide of the hatchway. Captain Webster
was evidently dozing, for he made no answer at once. Then the mate
repeated the hail.
“Boat alongside? Tell him to get away at once,” came the voice, now
aroused. “What does he mean by coming alongside? Who is it, that
Yankee?”
“‘Tis the mate an’ a young lady, an’ they’ve got some beer, bull-beef,
an’ a lot o’ papers fer you, sir.”
“Get that accommodation ladder over the side, Mr. Garnett, and ask the
lady aboard. Don’t keep her waiting,--jump, or I’ll come on deck
myself.”
CHAPTER XIV.
He was a strange little skipper, Captain Webster, and he asked us aft
with some civility, making sundry comments at the insolence of our
master, who had the impudence to question his right upon the high seas.
We were ushered below and not allowed to remain upon the deck in the hot
sun. I saw several men who wore arms, and noticed a gun-rack at the foot
of the stairway. But Webster was garrulous and took the trouble to
answer no questions. He showed Miss Waters over the cabin, taking her
through the forward room, where he had quite a lot of ferns and plants
ranged in pots upon a sort of dais. It interested the girl very much to
see a miniature greenhouse aboard a ship in mid-ocean, and she spent
some time examining the plants. Garnett followed me below and announced
that, if we would wait a little, we would have a side of short-ribs to
take back for our pains. They were just starting to work upon a couple
of hogs as we came aboard. The beer he appreciated very much indeed; as
for the papers, he could tell better after he had read them.
As it is always the custom to make presents of whatever vegetables,
meat, or other commodity prized by the sailor when deep-water ships are
becalmed in company, we showed our appreciation by waiting. I was
talking to Garnett and his mate, a tall lanky Scotchman, when a loud
noise from forward caused us to listen. There were hoarse cries, deep
groans, and above all a steady rush of trampling feet, which told of a
desperate struggle. I looked for my charge, Miss Waters, and saw her
coming through the cabin doorway, while Webster rushed for the deck. The
rest of us followed without delay, and, as we reached the open air, a
scene of strife met our gaze. They were after a hog of uncommon size,
and the animal was making the fight of his life.
Garnett seized a belaying-pin--his favourite weapon--and his mate
grabbed a bar. The next instant they were in the fracas.
Knowing Miss Waters was safe in the saloon, I made my way to the break
of the poop to see the scrimmage, and as I did so the animal came racing
down the deck.
The cook who had him in charge made the first pass, and ripped the skin
of the animal’s neck enough to madden him, and in ten seconds the beast
had broken away and was in full career on the lower deck. Men crowded
after him, flung themselves upon him, stabbed, fought, and struggled,
but the noble beast tore his way clear of all obstacles and dragged the
entire watch into the forward cabin, smashing through doors and
furniture until it looked as though a cyclone had ripped through the
ship. All attempts to seize his legs and trip him were in vain. One man,
clasping him boldly about the neck, was carried until scraped off
against a bulkhead like a barnacle on a pile. Two men, each holding to
his hind legs, were dragged the entire length of the ship amid the
cheers of their comrades, who in turn seized their own legs and
endeavoured to hold them back. At the turn of the cabin door a dozen
more men fell upon the animal and endeavoured by sheer weight to hold
him down. The captain coming down the poop steps to see the fracas was
struck by the moving mass of men and hog, and he disappeared beneath
them, to emerge a moment later covered with blood and glory. For ten
minutes the noble animal made his fight, dodging past hatchways, through
open doors, and with never less than five, and generally more than
fifteen, stout seamen in his wake. Cheered on by the cook and first
officer, and spurred to desperation by the curses of the thoroughly
indignant captain, the men fought until their clothing was in rags and
the perspiration poured from them. The modern game of football would
have made a poor showing on that ship’s deck, for, in spite of all
massed plays, the pig would gallantly emerge from the pile of rolling
seamen, and with a steady “Hough, hough,” raised in battle-cry, charge
again and again. For a long time the savage play was kept up until the
men looked as though they belonged to the boarding party of a hostile
ship. They finally conquered. For their hard-earned victory, the captain
rewarded them with the four feet of the hero, about enough meat upon
them to satisfy the ship’s cat.
In less than ten minutes afterward, we had a prime piece of pork in our
small boat, along with some apples Webster had managed to save, and we
were ready for the row back aboard the _Arrow_.
The little skipper of the _Countess of Warwick_ came to the side and
ushered Miss Waters over in a most gallant manner.
“It has given me great pleasure, madam, I might say even delight, to
have had the honour of your society upon my ship. You may tell your
insolent uncle that I forgive him his trespass upon me this voyage, for
this is the day of all days we should be thankful that we are in no
worse condition than that in which we find ourselves. I bid you
farewell. It is now time that I let some of my cargo out upon the deck
for an airing.”
We shoved off and started back, and in a few moments it seemed that the
decks of the _Warwick_ were crowded with men. I made no comment, for
there was little use of calling the girl’s attention to their garb. The
ship lay at some distance and the sun was very hot, so I let the men row
slowly.
Suddenly the sunshine seemed to grow dimmer. I looked around over the
calm ocean, and noticed what looked to be a sort of mist close aboard.
“Aye tank something is going to happen,” said the man rowing the bow
oar. “Look, sur, at the ship.”
Turning, I saw the light canvas coming in by the run. The noise of gear
sounded distinctly over the water. Then, suddenly, the mist seemed to
envelop the _Warwick_, and as it did so there fell upon my ears a
thundering thrashing of flying canvas, and I saw her heel heavily over
as she disappeared in the smudge.
“White squall,” I yelled, and swung the boat’s head around to face the
wind. “Hold her steady, head to it,” I cried, and at that moment a blast
of wind rushed over the sea, pushing up the foam ahead of it like a wall
of snow. We had just time to get the boat straightened out to meet it
when it struck us.
A storm of flying water swept over us, but the men, bending all their
weight to the oars, held the craft head to the wind, while with the
rudder I gave what help I could. The _Countess of Warwick_ had
completely disappeared, and the rush of the wind and sea about us
quickly blotted out everything save the ocean close alongside. It blew
like the blast from a gun, whirling, whistling over us. Then in less
than five minutes down came a deluge of water. The wind was over.
I felt a small hand grasp mine holding the tiller rope. Then I looked
into the face of the girl, and her eyes met mine.
Ten minutes later the sun broke out from behind the bank with unabated
vigour. The _Arrow_ lay a mile away with some of her lighter canvas
hanging from the yards.
“I wonder what uncle will say,” said Miss Waters.
“What he will say will be of small interest,” I answered. “It is more
important what he will do. However, let’s hope there was little damage
done and that he is still in good humour.”
“I see now why he didn’t think it any too safe,” she said.
“It was the finest squall I ever saw,” I answered, “and it has done more
to make me thankful than anything that has happened to me for some
years.”
“Perhaps you will enjoy the pork just as much,” she commented, but she
let her gaze fall to the bottom of the boat and said no more until we
were alongside.
CHAPTER XV.
In the windjammer, the tropical doldrums are usually the scene of more
or less fun. The scupper holes are plugged and a tremendous downpour
soon fills the main-deck a foot deep with clean fresh water. The decks
of deep-loaded ships are often so much under water that seaweed grows
upon them, and they are consequently apt to be clean after the growth is
removed. The main-deck’s hatches make a shallow amidships, and all
across the broad width the water rolls with the heave of the ship. In
the waterways it is often two feet deep.
In this huge tub the sailor takes his semi-annual bath. He does not
bathe alone, neither does he overlook any of his belongings. Everything
washable, from blankets to breeches, is laid out upon the white deck
planks and rubbed with soap. After a foamy lather is formed upon the
large pieces, he will slide upon them like the small boy does upon ice,
his feet gathering up a bow-wave of lather and dirt. Then the wash is
dragged into deeper water for a rinsing.
At such times “skylarking,” as it is called, is indulged in freely. The
men chase each other about the deck, splashing water and whipping each
other upon the naked skin with wet clothes. Sometimes a sailor would be
initiated into untying a most complicated knot which some wag would tie
in his trouser legs, while a shipmate engaged him in conversation. It is
said that, if cleanliness is next to godliness, the sailor’s soul is
doomed, but this must surely be a fallacy, as no man can be very filthy
who does not have to bathe but once or twice a year.
In the trade-winds’ belts, where the wind is steady and sail is seldom
handled from one day’s end to another, many original kinds of amusements
are indulged in upon ships whose masters stand for frolics. Checkers and
squeaking fiddles, which are a part of all forecastle accessories, are
laid aside, and boxing taken up. There are never any gloves, and the
test of skill invariably ends in a mix-up in which rules are superfluous
and absurd. Dancing is common, and there are few sailors who cannot do a
fair trick with the feet, if some one will produce a mouth-organ and
play and “pat” for them.
We allowed the usual routine of this sort, and it did the men good, for
they were a dirty set at best, much dirtier than American or English
seamen. After a good shave all around they presented a passable
appearance. Day after day the hot calm continued, and always at sunrise
the sails of the English ship were upon the horizon. As we would head
the same course to the Cape, this was not remarkable, but somehow the
presence of the vessel worried me unaccountably.
Three days later, while it was still calm, we drifted close to her again
and Crojack’s comments upon her master’s navigation brought forth a
torrent of invective from both Garnett and Webster that would be
impossible to equal.
It was now plainly evident the vessel we were in company with was one
of the English prison transports used for carrying convicts from England
to the outlying colonies. The passengers aboard this one were to be
transported for terms of years varying from five to that of an ordinary
lifetime. They were, therefore, dangerous men, and had to be handled
carefully. The armed guard of soldiers sent along to keep control were
apparently numerous enough to handle them, but I knew well enough that a
vessel of that kind should not have a fool for a commander.
“Why is it, Mr. Gore,” Miss Waters said to me as I came aft, “that
sailors are so brutal and rough?”
“Are they?” I asked.
“What do you think of the officers of that ship? Are they such as you
would term gentlemen by any stretch of the imagination? I’ve read
sea-tales, and all of them picture the American captains and mates as
brutes. Don’t you think it is so?” And she smiled wickedly.
“I think the man who writes or says all the American or English
officers are brutes is a bit prejudiced,” I answered. “Whatever
roughness they have in their natures, though, must certainly have gotten
there while they were sailors before the mast. Take that Garnett, for
instance. All the deviltry he knows--and he has learned something--he
picked up while a sailor before the mast. I’m sorry, however, that you
don’t care for sailors.” And I turned away. When I looked aft again, I
saw Miss Waters had gone below and I deplored my temper and stupidity.
Here I was trying, without doubt, to be civil and attentive to a young
woman, and what a mess I made of it. I was a poor lover, though a strong
one, and I reasoned that a weaker and less sensitive nature could give
me long odds at the game. My solace was my pipe, and while I smoked I
felt my spirits return, for the voyage would be a long one. We were only
half-way and much might happen yet.
All day the vessels were within hailing distance, and at noontime we saw
the guard of six soldiers--there were a dozen or more on board--taking
a gang of convicts out on the main-deck to give them air and exercise.
As darkness came on, a squall of rain, accompanied by a light air,
drifted the _Arrow_ a mile or more to the eastward. Then it fell calm
again and the night was hot and sultry.
I was very nervous that evening. Something oppressed me, and I chafed at
the seeming indifference Miss Waters had shown that day for the passion
I had been unable to conceal.
On turning in I found it was impossible to sleep, and I lay awake in my
bunk thinking thoughts concerning Brown that I afterward tried to
forget.
O’Toole’s step sounded loudly on the deck overhead, and the creaking of
a brace sheave, when the slight swell made the ship roll, sounded loud
and distinct.
It was four bells in the midwatch when I heard an exclamation from the
second mate. At first I thought he was talking to the men in his watch,
who usually lay, or rather sat, in a group abaft the deck-house during
the calm weather. With one on the t’gallant fo’castle as lookout and
another at the wheel, there were ten men left with nothing to do but
keep awake.
I was wide-awake when I heard the second mate’s voice again. This time
he appeared to hail some one at a distance. Thinking this strange, I
listened intently.
Suddenly I heard a low, regular sound. There was no mistaking the noise;
it was the regular, rocking sound made by oars in rowlocks, and the
swing of the oars was quick.
A man hailed us at no great distance, but I couldn’t make out what he
said. Then the oar-strokes grew louder, and I raised myself on my elbow.
All of a sudden O’Toole roared, “All hands! Mr. Gore! Help!” and a
rifle-shot rang out sharp and clear, followed by a terrific uproar
alongside the ship.
I made a dive to the foot of my bunk and grasped a revolver that lay
there on a small shelf. The next instant I burst through the door of
the forward cabin on to the main-deck.
In the darkness I heard O’Toole’s oaths near the port side amidships. I
had no idea what had happened, but through the gloom I made out a crowd
of men struggling about an object which I rightly guessed to be the
second mate’s red head. Men’s faces appeared by the score coming over
the bulwarks, and I realized that we were being boarded.
Then I plunged into the crowd, bawling for the watch to lay aft and
help.
The second mate was surrounded by a throng of strange men, and was
laying about him with an iron belaying-pin, warding off thrusts from
knives and cutlasses.
Before I could reach him a dozen or more set upon me and I backed away,
firing chamber after chamber of my revolver at the men nearest to me.
I heard shouts from aft, and Crojack’s hoarse voice from the
companionway. Then there was rapid firing from all quarters at once.
Men swarmed over the t’gallant-rail and fired at our men crowding under
the fo’castle head.
A tall man in front of me flashed a pistol so close to my face that it
almost blinded me and the powder burnt my cheek.
I took deliberate aim at him with my last cartridge and shot him dead.
Then they closed in on all sides and bore me to the deck. I felt a knife
point at my throat, but the next instant a hand dashed the blade aside
and a powerful voice ordered that I be bound hand and foot.
Men crowded about me and upon me. In spite of my struggles, my empty
revolver was wrenched from my grasp and a line quickly passed around my
body, lashing my arms to my sides.
I saw O’Toole fighting like a demon. Twice a dozen or more men bore him
by sheer weight to the deck. But he fought free, as a bulldog in a swarm
of rats. Each time he went down, struggling fiercely, and instantly
afterward arose, dragging the crowd of men to their feet along with
him.
Cutlasses flashed, but there was no chance to use them in the crush. He
struck out with both fists, the men clinging to him, and whether
belaying-pin or knuckles landed, the man dropped who caught the blow.
It was inspiring to see the red-headed giant fling about him, and I
found myself cheering him on.
“On, O’Toole, for ever!” I yelled, almost laughing as he knocked a man
over, and he bawled out something in reply, at the same time struggling
with renewed vigour.
It was too unequal a fight to last long. A tall man reached over his
comrades’ heads and dealt the second mate a heavy blow over the ear with
a handspike, and that ended the fight as far as that officer was
concerned.
The firing continued on the poop for a few moments longer. Then
Crojack’s hoarse cries ceased, and I knew what had happened aft.
A man came forward and gave an order in the deep, strong voice I had
noticed before, and the next instant O’Toole and I were dragged aft
along the deck and into the cabin. There we were bundled into a heap
with Captain Crojack and Brown, both of the latter being wounded.
The old skipper lay panting hard and, although I couldn’t see what he
had done on deck, I knew he had made a desperate fight for his ship.
We understood now what had happened, so there was little to be said. I
found myself thinking of old Bill Garnett, and wondered if the convicts
had killed him and the rest of the officers on his ship. Then the
thought of the women on board our vessel flashed through my mind for the
first time.
I looked at Crojack and was about to ask him a question, but he read the
look in my eyes and turned away his face. I heard him give a deep groan.
Then I knew what was to happen.
As the uproar died away forward, the men swarmed into the cabin, and for
the first time, by the aid of the cabin lamp, we had an opportunity to
get a good look at the convicts’ faces.
All of them were pale from the effects of long confinement, but their
bristling, uncombed hair and beards gave them a fierce appearance. Many
of them were blear-eyed and unsteady on their feet from the effects of
the rum they had captured.
They had taken their vessel, as we learned by their talk, shortly before
midnight. They had planned the affair carefully and had risen in a body,
overpowering the guard by sheer force of numbers. After this they had
taken their arms, and, after a desperate fight with the crew and
after-guard, they were in possession of the ship.
All of them appeared to be rough men, except the man whose powerful and
commanding voice I had heard above the general uproar. He was followed
everywhere by a few who kept close at either hand, and the way he roared
out orders told plainly that he was the leader.
He was a tall, fine-looking young man, and his powerful frame showed in
marked contrast to the rest. But it was his face that appeared most
different from those of his followers. Every line in it spoke the
leader, and every feature, from the fierce, bright eyes to the square,
heavy jaw, spoke the man of indomitable spirit and sudden action.
When I first had a good look at him I could hardly believe such a
fine-looking man could be a great villain. It was easy to gather from
the remarks of his companions, however, that his appearance belied him,
and that even the worst of them stood in awe of his passions. Afterward,
when I had learned his history, I realized the enormous power for evil
that this man was capable of and the great influence he held over nearly
all with whom he came in contact.
It was he who had planned the uprising and had taken advantage of the
calm weather when he was allowed on deck to communicate with his
fellows.
As he entered the cabin where we lay, the men who were ransacking some
of the skipper’s lockers desisted, and their shouting and swearing
moderated a little. He forced his way through the crowd without noticing
any one and strode up to where we lay. He stopped and gazed at us a few
moments, and then, speaking in a low tone to a couple of the ruffians
who followed at his heels, he started up the companionway.
The two men spoken to remained behind and sat on the transom near us,
holding away from the rest of their fellows and evidently watching us
closely, although we were all four fairly wrapped in coils of rope.
I turned my head to see where the leader had gone, and as I saw his head
pass the opening of the hatch I noticed his face was reflecting a ruddy
glare of light.
A loud exclamation from Brown, who lay staring up through the skylight,
made me turn my eyes in the direction he was looking and I saw the lurid
glare reflected on the hoisted spanker.
Crojack tried to turn, but was too weak. “It’s the _Countess of
Warwick_,” he gasped, “and these devils intend to stay aboard of us. Is
O’Toole dead?” and he tried to look into the face of his second mate.
“He made a great fight,” I answered, “but he got a clip on the head from
a handspike. What did these fellows fire their ship for?”
“Just to take this one so no one will recognize them,” answered the old
man.
“And us?” asked Brown, “what will they do with us?”
“We’ll have to go the way Garnett went, I guess,” gasped Crojack,
“though I wouldn’t mind it so much if it wasn’t for those poor women.
Mrs. Waters got a bullet meant for me. She won’t live till morning. Shot
through the breast--”
“But Miss Waters?” I managed to get out in a whisper.
“Locked in my stateroom and that tall devil has the key.”
CHAPTER XVI.
What my thoughts were when I realized the position of the woman I loved
I can hardly remember.
I am a plain sailor-man, and, perhaps, a rough one. But I believe my
skin is no thicker than most men’s.
Now, when I look back on that time and remember what I went through, I
try to think if it would have been any better for the people who look
down on me, or if I would have been a better man had I acted
differently.
I’m not a man to cry out against the rulings of a fate I’ve fought
against with all my power. If I’m looked down upon as an untrustworthy
man, I’m willing to take my rating accordingly. I know I’m shunned and
called a pirate by some, but I still feel as if I did about what might
have been ex pected from one in my position and condition, and that I
was as near right as possible.
I know, also, that Brown acted from as good an impulse as I did,
although it may not have been the same. Had old Captain Crojack lived he
would have made it plainer to landsmen why we stood together in the part
we played. But I don’t mean to say that the honest old fellow would have
joined us.
As it was, before eight bells in the morning Captain Crojack was stark
and stiff, lying dead where they had left him on the cabin floor. He had
received several wounds after Mrs. Waters was shot, while she was
clinging to him.
Not a word of complaint about himself had passed his lips. He died the
man he had lived, and the deep-water fleet lost one of the best and
bravest men that ever trod a quarter-deck.
At eight bells this convict, Benson, who now had command of the ship
with a hundred and more men for her desperate crew, came into the after
cabin.
There were only the two men left to watch us in there of this gang, and
he glanced quickly at them and then at us.
Then he took a key from his pocket, opened the door of the captain’s
stateroom, and entered there alone.
In a few moments I heard a piteous cry, followed by the noise of a
slight scuffle. Then all was quiet. Something seemed to swell within me
as if my whole life or spirit was striving to burst forth from my lashed
body. I remember that I suddenly found myself with my mouth open,
gasping for breath. Then I strained every nerve and sinew to start my
lashings. I saw nothing, but felt a strand of rope give slightly.
Steadily I kept the strain until it seemed as if I was losing
consciousness. Then I felt the rope part across my chest and I forced
one arm free. The next instant the two men were upon me.
They were powerful men. I struggled and fought fiercely in the vain
effort to free myself, but the coils wrapped me closely from my
shoulders to my ankles. I bent and doubled and struck out savagely with
my free arm. But it was no use.
They pinned me down and soon had another turn around my arm and I lay
helpless. One of the villains, however, got his hand too near my mouth
and I cut the thumb from it with my teeth as clean as if done with a
knife. Then something crashed upon my head and a great flame burned
before my eyes. The struggle was over.
When I regained consciousness from the blow, an hour or two afterward,
the blood was running from my nose and mouth in a thin stream. A
hurricane roared in my ears, but I could see objects distinctly. The red
fluid ran down the deck seams and trickled on to O’Toole’s cheek,
rousing him as it became cold. I remember watching it with a feeling of
indifference, except that I hoped it would continue to run.
Benson came out of the stateroom and stood languidly resting his elbow
against the bulkhead. His face wore a devilish smile and his dark eyes
looked straight and steadily into mine. His shirt was open at the front
and I recall the smooth white skin of his neck. I watched him closely
and hoped he would come near enough to me. If he had, bound and lashed
as I was, I should have killed him with my teeth. I was breathing hard,
but otherwise I was cool and collected. “You are the mate,” said the
convict leader in a low, even tone, still looking me in the eye and
smiling.
O’Toole moved his head slightly and I saw that he was aware of what the
man was saying.
“I’ll give you three men the choice of joining or leaving,” went on
Benson. “You will have to navigate the ship to where we want to go. What
is it, stay or leave?”
“Me friend,” said O’Toole in a strained voice, “ye cannot expect me ter
spake with th’ rope a-cuttin’ through me. I can’t think av th’
proposition till ye’ll loosen a few turns av th’ gaskets about me wind.”
Whether it was my desire to live in order to revenge myself upon this
felon, Benson, or whether it was the thought of staying and doing what I
could for the girl, that swayed me most, I leave people to judge for
themselves. I will admit that these two ideas were the only ones in my
head at the time, but I cannot honestly recall which of them governed me
the most. I know that I never wished to live, before or since, with the
desire that came upon me at that moment.
Thoughts come rapidly to a man used to emergencies, and I made up my
mind what to do before O’Toole had ceased speaking.
I saw the light in Benson’s eyes when he turned his gaze toward the
second mate. Although the matted beard he wore partly covered the
smiling movement of the convict’s mouth, I felt that he had passed
sentence on O’Toole at that glance. He remained perfectly quiet,
however, and awaited my answer. I know that some people have said that
men, such as Crojack, O’Toole, and myself, ought to have given better
account of ourselves in a fight where we knew it was almost certain
death to be beaten. But we were not story-book heroes. We were just
plain sailor-men.
There were only three convicts killed in the fight and four wounded.
Three of these latter had the unmistakable marks of the second mate’s
belaying-pin on their heads.
With the exception of the big-shouldered German sailor in my watch, the
men had offered no resistance whatever. This one man had made some show
of resistance when cornered under the t’gallant fo’castle, but he was
quickly overpowered.
O’Toole and myself were strong men, but what did that count for in such
a crowd. Crojack and Brown had defended the quarter-deck until they were
shot down and overpowered. They were but two against fifty.
I knew that every man of our crew who would not join would walk the
plank long before daylight.
There had been no unnecessary noise about it. The deep, sullen murmur of
angry voices forward, followed by splashes alongside, told plainer than
words what Benson meant to do with us unless we joined him in his crime.
I knew, also, that he would not suspect the feeling I bore toward his
poor victim left in the captain’s cabin, and if I stayed, I might watch
for my chance for either rescue or revenge. Even if rescue were out of
the question, I felt that nothing could save the villain’s life, should
I once again be free.
Therefore, I looked him straight in the eyes and answered:
“I promise to join you for good or bad. Turn me loose and give your
orders.”
“And you?” he said, quietly, addressing Brown.
“I’ll follow Mr. Gore in anything,” he answered.
O’Toole gasped, struggled, and half-rose in a sitting posture, crying
out:
“My God! Mr. Gore! Mr. Gore! What have ye done? What have ye done?”
Benson opened the door in the bulkhead which separated the fore and
after cabins, and instantly three men, who appeared to be his chief
followers, entered and cut my lashings and cast me adrift to my ankles.
These fellows had evidently been listening and waiting for this.
Then they handed me a sheet of paper and placed pen and ink on the cabin
table. I was requested to write that agreement with Benson that stated I
joined him of my own free will. This paper was used against me at the
trial to prove my piracy. I wrote it and signed it without being
threatened in any way.
After that my ankles were freed and Brown was cast loose. He was
bleeding slightly from a bullet-hole through his leg, and could scarcely
stand from weakness caused by the loss of blood, which had continued for
hours.
He was given the paper and pen and he wrote as I had already written.
O’Toole was loosened as far up as his waist and allowed to stand. He
avoided our looks, and stood with his gaze bent on a seam in the
planking beneath his feet.
His great red head bore a gash above his ear, and the clotted blood made
a sickening spectacle. But his spirit was neither bent nor broken.
“‘Twould have been better if we was all killed in th’ scuffle,” he
said, in a deep, sad voice. It may have been the roaring in my head from
the blow I received, but there was something in his tone that made me
think of the low, deep murmur of the sea on a quiet night.
“I’ve lived too long already, but if I’d lived t’ be a hundred I’d never
expected to see a thing like that,” and he looked at the paper on the
table. “I’ll take the walk on nothin’, me friend, for there ain’t no
power you’ve got can make a damned, dirty convict av th’ second mate av
this ship.”
At that moment I felt meaner than I would care to own, and I noticed
that Brown was busy bandaging his wounded leg. A sudden feeling of shame
came over me, and, for an instant, I glanced around the cabin for a
weapon to make a last rally. Then my eye fell upon that stateroom door,
and I remembered.
Men crowded suddenly through the door of the forward cabin, and O’Toole
was led out to his doom.
As I saw him hold his head up, and a hard, determined look settle over
his seamed and lined face when he turned away, my voice came back to me,
and I called loudly for my captain.
I had learned the villain’s name before this. He had no intention of
leaving Brown and myself alone in the cabin, so he turned at my hail and
stood in the doorway.
“Give him a chance,” I said. “Don’t do that!” and I pointed forward.
The scoundrel raised his eyebrows and drew a revolver from his belt. He
slowly cocked the weapon, while men crowded up on either side.
“If you murder him, I’ll stand by him,” I said, and I began to measure
my distance. “You may set him adrift and let him take his chance.”
He was no fool, this Benson, and saw that if he killed us both there
would be no one aboard he could depend on to navigate the ship. A vessel
adrift is an awkward thing, especially if she is overcrowded with
desperate men.
He held his pistol lower and I saw that he was hesitating, so I took my
advantage.
“Put him in one of the small boats with grub and water and give him a
chance for his life. He don’t know where we are going, and can do no
harm even if he is picked up,” I argued.
The pistol went down to his hip.
“I give orders aboard this ship,” he said, “and don’t let me hear from
you again. Come on deck and show me what the men would like to do. If
it’s convenient I may have it done. You are one of us and have a right
to ask questions; but don’t let me hear any orders.”
Some of the men appeared disappointed at the ending of the affair, and I
fancy most of them would have been better pleased if their leader had
shot me. One heavy-set, short ruffian, who stood at Benson’s side,
glared savagely at me as I went on deck.
I looked about me for a sign of a ship, but there was nothing in sight.
We were drifting ahead before a light air, so I couldn’t tell whether
the _Countess of Warwick_ had burned and foundered or been left astern.
The deck about me was crowded with men. I looked to see if there was any
trace of the scuffle, and I saw several dark smears on the white
planking that told of either the second mate’s belaying-pin or my
revolver.
On the starboard hand, amidships, was a heavy plank run out over the
topgallant rail, about two fathoms beyond the vessel’s side. Its inner
end was lashed fast and a crowd of men with pale faces and rough beards
stood near it. That big-shouldered German, who had fought like a man,
was being led toward it. Behind him came O’Toole. They were the last to
go. Benson meant to leave but little to chance and he intended to leave
no witnesses to hang him. I’ve no doubt that he meant to get rid of me
in the same manner, after he had used me to take him where he intended
to go.
The German sailor halted at the inner end of the plank. His arms were
lashed fast to his sides, but his legs were free.
He was lifted or pushed up the steps set against the rail and then he
stood on the plank’s end.
“Walk!” came the hoarse order from a lean scoundrel.
The German hesitated and the command was followed by a thrust from a
boarding cutlass.
Instead of walking to the end, he turned quickly. The convict’s face was
within a couple of feet of the plank.
He looked down on the villain coolly while he measured the distance with
his eye. Then he kicked out so fully that the convict dropped as if
shot. Both of his eyes were ruined and he never could see well enough
afterward to get about the deck alone.
Then the sailor walked slowly out over the side, while several convicts
aimed their pistols at him. As he reached the farthest end of the plank
he started to turn around. Several reports cracked out, and I saw him
sway from the bullet-strokes. Then he fell with a splash and was gone.
O’Toole was led up next. His face was hard set and he walked with a firm
step. He reached the steps at the rail and a crowd of men started to
push him up.
“Bring him aft!” roared Benson, and the men hesitated.
The leader’s hand went to his belt, but he did not repeat the order.
His short henchman, who had stuck to his side, plunged his heavy-set
body into the crowd and reached those nearest the second mate. Three
more of the leaders then helped clear the way, while Benson stood there
with his pistol out. The arms the convict ship had carried to control
her cargo were the principal cause of her loss. A revolver, backed by a
man like Benson, was an affair of authority that few men would care to
dispute.
O’Toole was led aft to the quarter-deck.
“Bring a boat alongside,” ordered Benson.
Several boats were towing astern, where
[Illustration: “GAZING SILENTLY AFTER US, ADRIFT AND ALONE.”]
they had been dropped by the convicts after they had gained the deck.
One of these, a double-ended craft, was hauled alongside.
There was a breaker of water in the stern-sheets, and several oars lay
upon the thwarts. A man was sent below and presently he came back with a
bag of ship’s biscuit which he tossed over the side into the boat.
O’Toole’s lashings were cast adrift as he stood in the mizzen channels,
and he was shoved into her. A man let go the painter, forward, and,
before the second mate could turn around, he was adrift and going slowly
astern.
I watched him as he stood there in the sunlight, while the breeze, which
just ruffled the ocean, made long, dark streaks in the water around his
boat. I thought of his past and what a fine mate he had been. Rough man
as he was, he appeared grand to me, standing there gazing silently after
us, adrift and alone.
The ruffians crowded to the rail and hailed him with jeers and curses.
He remained silent and motionless, with his arms folded and his head
bowed slightly forward, until he drifted slowly out of sight.
I tried to bid him farewell, but the words stuck in my throat.
Benson’s voice sounded behind me, and I turned.
The breeze had increased, and I was ordered to lay a course to the
southward. After a good deal of bungling I finally had the ship braced
sharp up to the southeast trade, which we were now beginning to feel,
and when I had a chance to look about me again there was nothing in
sight astern save the blue sea and sky.
CHAPTER XVII.
I am not going to dwell too long on that cruise under Benson and
describe its horrible details; there are enough hard things in the
future, without going back into the past. Any one who has a morbid taste
for listening to tales of deviltry will have to get someone else to go
into the minor incidents of that strange voyage.
As to that convict Benson, I will say that the excesses and mutinies
that he overcame and put down with an iron hand showed the power of the
man’s character. Had he been a man of principle, a better one never
lived to command a ship. Authority was in every tone of his voice and
every motion of his hand; but he was a villain and his ship was a
floating hell.
When we headed away to the s’uth’ard he had a ship and crew capable of
keeping the seas for a couple of months at the least, and the men were
ready for any known or unknown crime. Ten of our men had joined.
Benson was not very communicative, but I gathered from his remarks that
he had been pretty nearly everything that was bad and very little of
anything that was good. He certainly appeared well informed on all
subjects. I learned from the men that he was but little over thirty
years old and that he had a life sentence against him. Afterward I found
out that it was for a desperate attempt upon a Dublin bank, where two
officers were killed on surprising the gang of burglars at work.
There were all kinds of wild stories told about him among the men, and,
although they were perhaps greatly exaggerated, he certainly appeared
equal to any occasion where coolness and nerve were to be depended on.
He gave me orders to head the ship for the coast of Patagonia and drive
her to the southward with all possible speed.
The plan that he and his closest followers had worked out was to make a
landing on this wild coast and then divide into bands. After doing this
they would separate and each band would work out its own salvation.
They had, apparently, nothing to fear from the _Countess of Warwick_.
She had been set on fire, with the survivors of her crew on board, bound
securely hand and foot. Then the convicts had taken to the boats with
the fixed intention of capturing the _Arrow_ and sailing away as
peaceable Yankee merchantmen. So far their plans had worked out well.
Six Swedes, two dagos, the cook, and steward, from the crew of the
_Arrow_, joined the gang. The rest of our men were forced to go
overboard, three alive and the others killed in the fracas when the
mutineers came over the side. Gus, a big Swede, who had been in my
watch, spoke to me the first night afterward while I stood at the edge
of the poop. He was coiling down the foretopsail brace, and the crowd of
convicts who had tailed on left him alone to do the work.
“I had to join, Mr. Gore,” said he in a whisper, “but if there’s a way
out let me know, den. I go wid you. A man only lives once. I radder be a
live pirate dan a dead admiral, but if dere’s a chance, I go wid you an’
take de chance.”
“Is there any other man who will stand by us?” I asked.
“Aye tank dere’s de cook. He fight if dere’s a show.”
“He’s enough. Let him speak with me the first chance he gets,” I said.
Benson saw we were close together and probably talking, so he came up.
“I say, Gore,” said he, “this is a fine night for a run. How much do we
do an hour?”
“About seven and a half knots,” I answered.
“Will this wind hold for a long time, long enough for us to make a good
many miles toward Patagonia?”
I said I thought it was the trade and would hold for a couple of weeks,
when we might expect to run out of it in the latitude of the River
Plate.
“Well, Gore,” said he, “you seem to be a capable sort of fellow, and I
like you. It isn’t every man I like, now I tell you. If you do the
square thing and get us to the southward of the river, not too far, but
far enough so we can make a good get-away from the ship, I’ll not forget
you.”
“I appreciate my position thoroughly,” I answered, “and also your
commendation, but what’s to become of me when we get down to where you
want to leave the ship? Do I get a fair show on the beach, or am I
expected to stick to the vessel?”
“Well, you will go with me, if you do the right thing. I’m a square man
to deal with.”
I have always been suspicious of the man who proclaims his honesty to
the world. I never knew a really honest man to say he was square. But
this fellow’s tone and manner was so like that of many a shipping
merchant I had had dealings with, I almost laughed.
Benson saw the glimmer of my smile in the moonlight and evidently
thought me pleased with the prospect, for his tone was even more
conciliating as he went on.
“If there’s anything of value in the ship, of value which can be turned
into ready money, understand, let me know about it,” he went on. “We
will go halves on whatever you can turn to account. There don’t seem to
be much that we could take ashore with us except the nautical
instruments, and I suppose they would excite suspicion if we tried to
sell them.”
“We might bond the ship,” I said, “by taking her into Buenos Ayres, and
then make a quick get-away to the southward. If you are a good hand at
forgery you might get out some kind of papers that would pass at the
custom house long enough for us to get the money and clear out.”
“No, there’s too many of us. The rest could not be kept under long
enough for any such deal. You see that we don’t get too close to the
river. We must take our chances with the little we have.”
“Do you mean to sink her?” I asked.
“No, burn her,” he said, “and do you think it would be best for all of
this crowd to get ashore at once?”
I saw his hideous meaning. The fellow was making it pretty clear that I
was never to get ashore at all. There was every prospect of the large
majority of the convicts remaining aboard, for Benson certainly never
meant that half a hundred men should be turned loose upon South America
to tell of their happenings. Just how he intended to dispose of the mass
was the question.
“We have six boats,” I said, “and they will hold every one aboard
easily, if the weather isn’t too rough.”
“A ship will always sink after she is burned, don’t you think?” he
asked.
“Yes, if she is burned deep enough,” I answered.
“Well, she will be burned deep enough and the weather will be very
rough. We will need all the boats to carry what stuff we can pick up.”
“What do you mean to pick up?” I asked.
“Now, I say, Gore, you must know that men can’t live without money. The
first sail we sight you will report to me. It’s probable that all
vessels going this way carry something of value, isn’t it?”
I said I thought it was.
“Well, then, we must take what we can get and not take too much trouble
asking about the ownership. You get your share, you see, and I expect
you to give a good account of yourself in a fracas. You’re a stocky
built fellow and put up a good fight the day we took you. Now you must
show what you can do taking the other fellow in turn.”
“I see,” I said, “I reckon I’ll do my share.”
“If it wasn’t for the risk, I would like to keep cruising along
indefinitely,” said Benson. “Life is very pleasant aboard a fine ship,
especially when one has a wife and good crew.”
I would have jumped him then and there if Johnson had not come up at
the moment. I turned my face to windward and gazed out over the ocean
sparkling in the moonlight, and wondered how I managed to control
myself. The grim horror of the ship passing along over that sparkling
sea like some great black spectre in the night was almost unbearable.
Like a great, black, ghostly shadow she slid along over the smooth sea,
not a light burning aboard her and her crew of villains resting easily
in the warm air. I tried to keep my thoughts from Benson and his
deviltries, and wondered if there really were an intelligent power
governing the universe, and if so, why these things could happen. And
yet I knew they were happening elsewhere continually and it was the part
of man to bear them as best he might.
CHAPTER XVIII.
I drilled enough active men aside from the men of the _Arrow_, and
divided them into watches for a crew; so I managed to keep canvas on the
ship and get about all there was out of her in regard to speed. The
weather was perfect, and there was no call to do much else than steer
and tend the braces. A few of the convicts had been to sea before, and
these I used for work aloft. As soon as Brown’s leg was well enough to
allow him to stand on deck he relieved me as far as attending to the
steering.
I worked out the ship’s position every day at noon, and Benson would
pick it off carefully on a chart pinned to the cabin table. But we were
never alone together a moment. The four men who acted as Benson’s
lieutenants were always at hand, and the heavy-set short villain,
Johnson, was always on deck when his master was below.
Brown and I seldom had a chance to speak to each other. A score of eyes
were upon us all the time when we were on deck, on the lookout for any
act of treachery. I could see by Brown’s look of inquiry that he was
trusting to my knowledge of seamanship to get us out of the difficulty.
Once he came near me and asked: “What’s the chance?” But that heavy-set
devil, Johnson, saw him speak to me, though he couldn’t hear what was
said, and he came up to us with a string of oaths and ordered Brown
forward.
I don’t think I slept more than a few hours during the first days of
that cruise. At times my blood would rush to my head and I would find
that I could stand it no longer. A dozen times I started up from my bunk
and made ready for the end. I had no weapon except a sailor’s
sheath-knife, but I knew that if I once could get within reach of Benson
nothing could save his life. But I knew that if I killed him it would
leave the girl to the mercy of the common crowd. This thought would make
me so weak at times that the sweat would run down my face and neck, and
I would get so dizzy that I could scarcely stand. I was as near being
crazy as a sane man could possibly get.
Every idea as to wrecking the ship, should it come on to blow, I worked
and studied over. As to running the vessel off her course by false
reckoning, I had to give that over as absolutely useless. Benson was not
a man one could deceive easily, and he knew a compass as well as I did.
I might get a hundred miles out in a week or two, without his seeing the
error, but a hundred miles one way or the other would not count for
anything in the middle of the South Atlantic Ocean. We could get no
nearer help in that way.
There was nothing to do but carry on and trust in Providence that we
would be overhauled on suspicion, though there was but little hope of
this happening on an American merchantman. I tried to calculate
O’Toole’s chances of being picked up. All alone in the middle of the
ocean, and under an equatorial sun. I knew there was but little hope
for him. And even if he should be picked up he would not be able to give
the slightest clue to our whereabouts or destination.
Studying and planning all sorts of desperate schemes I passed the first
week. Then I determined to put off action until a favourable moment.
The weather remained fair and the lumpy little trade clouds flew merrily
past our skysail trucks.
Benson took care that Miss Waters did not appear on deck often, for the
temper of the men was not such that he could trust them. More than once
there were mutterings concerning the life aft.
I dreaded this very much, for if the men once took charge, the horror of
the conditions would be more than bearable. It would mean that both
Brown and myself would be forced to go out in a futile fight against
odds which could not be overcome.
One evening I managed to get near the cook without being noticed. The
moke gave me a look and I spoke.
“Is there any way you can thin the crowd down?” I asked.
“What yo’ mean, sir?” he answered, with a grin.
“You know,” I said. “Hasn’t Gus spoken to you?”
“Yaassir, dat he has.”
“There’s rat-poison by the box in the fore-hold,” I said.
It was a wild and grotesque idea, but it shows the straits we were put
to when we even considered such a thing. It would not do to have
anything happen to Benson or his mate Johnson until the men forward were
thinned out. Further consideration of the scheme showed its futility,
for it would be impossible to carry out anything so destructive, owing
to the different watches and messes. I was sorry I had spoken, for it
put an idea into the moke’s head which well-nigh proved fatal to all.
One day shortly afterward the men complained of their food and took
occasion to flog the cook for not providing better.
The poor fellow was haled to the main rigging and his hands made fast
to the sheer-pole, his feet just clearing the deck. Then every man of
the complaining crowd took a few whacks at his bare back with a stiff
piece of ratline stuff. He made no outcry, but fell fainting to the deck
when cut down. When he came around again I saw the white of his eye and
noticed the peculiar gleam, which boded no good for some one.
Two days later we passed the Argentine steamer, from Buenos Ayres to
Liverpool. She was one of those new screw vessels, and the absence of
the big side paddle-boxes made her look very shipshape. She was going
along about ten knots and her decks were crowded with passengers. Now
and then a white dress fluttered in the breeze.
As we drew near Benson came to me.
“How fast do we go, Mr. Gore?” said he.
The _Arrow_ was heeling down and tearing along steadily now under
everything we could put on her, for the trade was steady and held
perfectly fair at east-southeast.
“I believe we are going a bit faster than the steamer,” I ventured.
An ugly gleam lit up his dark eyes. I saw what he meant before he spoke,
for he was most ignorant of seamanship and all things concerning a
vessel.
“If you can catch her, lay us up alongside,” he said, “for we have
particular business aboard her.” And he called to Johnson and some
others who were standing aft.
I tried to explain that although we were going much faster than the
steamer it would be absolutely impossible to board her, but he could not
or would not see it.
“We can only go one way,” I said, “and to try to catch him would simply
make us absurd. He would only have to head up into the wind and we would
come aback all standing, stopping dead. Then he would only have to get a
mile or so to windward and come down upon us. We could not possibly get
out of his way in time and he could run us down easily.”
As it was certain the steamer would not stop for us, the affair would
only have a bad ending, perhaps complicating matters still more. For
that reason I was not overkeen to do anything foolish. The steamer drew
up so quickly on our weather beam that Benson was forced to give up any
idea of trying his villainy upon her. It showed plainly, however, that
he would stop any sailing ship he might see, and there was much to be
hoped from this. My evident desire not to board a ship would be of good
stead to me when the right time came. I could use it to advantage. There
would be vessels in sight soon now, for we were nearing the latitude of
the river at a ten-knot rate.
It was while the men were all engrossed watching the liner that the cook
took the opportunity for revenge. He had managed to get below and
procure enough rat-poison to kill a dozen ship’s companies. This he
mixed with the dinner for all hands, sparing none.
One of the men who started to eat noticed the taste and called attention
to it while the rest waited suspiciously, remembering the affair of the
flogging. Soon the fellow was nauseated and the men broke forth in a
fury.
The moke was haled forward. Gus, who had been seen talking to him, was
also brought up. Then they were told to eat, and some of the mess food
was placed before them. There were cries for Brown and myself and a gang
of rascals came tumbling aft for us.
Benson met them at the edge of the poop with his revolver drawn, and
Johnson came up behind him with a double-barrelled gun. A tall fellow
who was in Benson’s confidence stood near the after companionway and
laid two pistols upon the deck within reach of both his hands.
“What do you want?” asked Benson, sharply.
“We want the mate and the young fellow,” said the spokesman of the gang,
and the rest took up the cry.
[Illustration: “‘WHEN I WANT YOU MEN TO COME AFT HERE TO HELP ME, I’LL
SEND FOR YOU.’”]
“Who will run this ship, then?” asked the leader, levelling his pistol
at the man starting up the ladder to the poop. He spoke in a low, deep
voice, but so distinctly that the fellow hesitated.
“I’m running this vessel,” said Benson, “and when I want you men to come
aft here to help me I’ll send for you. You’d hang the whole crowd of us
if you had your way. Go back forward and if the grub is no good make the
cook eat it--and then pick your own cook. Go back.”
But the men were angry and hesitated.
“Do you think Mr. Gore would try to poison you, you fools?” he
continued. “What good would that do him? Can he run the ship alone?”
Brown, who had turned in, having relieved me during the last watch,
heard the rumpus and came on deck through the forward door of the cabin
house. The men were standing there and surrounded him at once. It looked
as though he would be roughly handled.
Benson saw that some quick action must be made at once. He thrust his
pistol in his belt and made a flying leap from the break of the poop,
landing upon the heads of the men who had gripped the third mate. With
immense power he swung them first this way and then that as the bunch
rolled upon the deck. Then dragging two of them to their feet along with
him, he shook them and shoved them forward. Johnson stood motionless
with his gun ready and Brown climbed the ladder to the poop. In a moment
Benson came back. “You see, Gore, what a mess a man can make of things,”
he said, coolly. “I know you had nothing to do with the cook, or I’d
make you eat some of the grub. Better go aft out of the way.”
It was good advice, and Brown followed me to the taffrail.
“It’s a pity,” I whispered, “that the moke didn’t use better judgment.
If he had given a little less we might have had a chance.”
“It has given Benson an idea at any rate,” said Brown. “You can look out
for a pain in the stomach when we sight the land.”
A man was detailed from the crowd of convicts to do the cooking
afterward, and others watched him and took turns cleaning up. The moke
and Gus disappeared. We never saw them again.
CHAPTER XIX.
As long as the trade-wind lasted I managed to run the ship well enough
with Brown’s help, for there was seldom much to do in the way of
handling canvas, but as we neared the zone of variables things took a
different turn. The third mate was not enough of a sailor to take
advantage of the slants, and the heavy weather of the pampero was
approaching. It made it necessary for me to be on deck most of the time,
and even then I could not save some of the lighter canvas which was
caught in a squall. The strain was hard, but Benson, who kept strict
watch with his mate, Johnson, called me at any sudden change and spared
me not at all.
One morning it fell dead calm. The sun shone through a sort of haze and
the day was cool. We had made thirty-three degrees of southing and were
about four hundred miles off the Plate. The swell ran smoothly, but even
through its oily surface one could see the swirls of the current from
the great river. They formed tide rips which ridged the ocean for a
space and then disappeared only to form again when a mass of water would
force its way to the surface. The sea had lost its blue colour and it
was dull. About eleven o’clock in the morning the sun broke through the
haze and shone strongly. There was absolutely no wind and we lay
drifting all around the compass. Suddenly, from a great distance, came
the deep roll of thunder. The sky was now absolutely cloudless and the
rolling crashes following each other at close intervals made an uncanny
sound. Not a tip of cloud bank rose above the horizon, and the men about
the deck gazed in some astonishment at the noise.
I knew it well, and knew it was the pampero from the River Plate. We
would get a touch of it during the night and then things would be
somewhat mixed aboard the _Arrow_.
It started to breeze up gently from the westward about sundown, but not
a cloud rose above the horizon. By nine o’clock that night it grew very
dark. The blackness was most impenetrable. The wind came sighing over
the smooth sea, and I began to strip the ship for the fracas.
We carried no running lights, as Benson didn’t care to be seen at night,
although, for that matter, he would have been much safer than in the
daytime. His ideas upon nautical subjects were at a variance with my
own, but I made no comment. We carried a light in the binnacle in order
to steer. Besides this single lamp there was never a light allowed
aboard the ship except in the captain’s cabin.
I was very tired that evening, but stayed upon the poop watching the
west on the lookout for the first signs of a squall. About ten o’clock
there was sharp lightning to starboard. We were heading almost due south
and our yards were sharp on the starboard tack. Suddenly the blackness
grew denser to windward. A deep murmuring came over the inky sea. Then a
puff of wind smote sharply.
“Hard up, hard up that wheel,” I bawled, as the thrashing of the weather
leech of the maintopsail warned me. Brown sprang to the wheel and with
the man already there rolled it hard up. Then with a rush and droning
roar through the rigging the pampero struck us.
Luckily, we had steering-way, for if she had not answered her helm on
the instant, the _Arrow_ would have been taken flat aback and dismasted,
which would have meant a terrible ending for the desperate rascals. A
dismasted ship in mid-ocean is usually a lost ship. The horrors of a
boat cruise in overloaded small craft in that latitude meant the worst
that could happen to the seafarer.
With a heel to leeward that brought the water well up on her deck, the
_Arrow_ paid off before the gale and tore her way through a sea which
now shone ghastly and white with the phosphorescent foam. I looked
aloft and saw that every yard-arm and truck held a ball of fire. The
bellying lower topsails of the heaviest double nought canvas strained
away like the wings of some giant bird in the night overhead. The roar
of the wind rushing through the standing rigging and pouring out under
the foot of the canvas made the cries of the men sound faint and
distant, those on the yard-arms rolling up the lighter canvas bawling to
those on deck in strained and frantic tones. None of the convicts had
seen such weather before and the flare of the St. Elmo fires lent a
ghastliness to the scene that might have made a sailor’s heart beat
quicker. A man came close to me on the poop muttering curses and prayers
and feeling about for something he probably did not want. A bright flash
of lightning lit the scene, and I saw a crowd of men on the main-deck
forward, huddled under the port side of the forward house. They seemed
absolutely panic-stricken. However, we had some sailor-men aboard, and
they worked manfully getting gaskets upon the yards and the gear
cleared up after a fashion. Then I managed to get the yards squared and
ran the ship dead before the blast, leaving a wake flashing and
whitening a full hundred feet on either side.
A flash of lightning showed Benson standing near the break of the poop.
He was straining his eyes to windward and holding on to a line, but he
appeared little concerned. Close by, leaning against the mizzen with his
arms folded and pipe stuck rakishly in his mouth, was Johnson. Whatever
the two ruffians felt, I knew that fear found no place in their hearts.
They were trusting me to see them safely through, and all the time,
whether they knew it or not, the thought of the girl below in the
scoundrel’s stateroom was the only thing that kept me from sending them
to hell. A sudden swing into the wind and a couple of cast off braces,
and the fate of the villains would be as certain as death and suffering
itself. Yet, there they stood, trusting me. I never could understand it,
and I thought upon it for some time that night in the black rush of the
pampero. The futility of their struggles, the absolute hopelessness of
their case, were all plain before me, but they were unconcerned.
Benson was a fatalist of the most pronounced type. He dealt only and
simply with the present. The past was irrevocably dead, blotted out. The
future was a mystery, absolute and unyielding to even the subtlest mind.
He dealt with what matter he had in hand nor worried himself the least
with that he held in no control.
On and on into the blackness ahead we tore at the rate of fifteen knots
an hour with the wind upon our starboard taffrail. No one went on
lookout, although I ordered a man to do so. Whoever went forward was
probably swallowed in the crowd of frightened convicts, or took
advantage of the panic to turn in and get some much needed rest. I knew
we were entering the zone of commerce and would probably sight some
vessel soon, and the thought of tearing away into the night at the wild
rate we were going without a light made me strain every nerve for
something ahead.
It was about midnight that I thought I saw a light ahead. I called
Benson and asked him to look, for my eyes were raw from the salt spume
and want of rest. The fellow saw nothing, and we stood together gazing
into the blackness beyond the jib-boom end. Then I suddenly made out a
green light close aboard and to port, and I knew we were upon a vessel
hove to in the storm.
We had been running with the wind drawing more and more upon the
starboard quarter and I saw that it would not do to luff any further and
cross the stranger’s bow. Besides, he might be going ahead some in spite
of the sea which was now running heavily. There was not a second to
lose, and I sprang to the wheel and rolled it up to pass his stern.
Almost before the lubber’s mark began to shift, the green light
disappeared and the blackness ahead took form. Right in front of us lay
an immense ship wallowing along under short canvas and not fifty
fathoms distant.
Not a word had come from forward. Not a soul had seen her. Before any
one on the main-deck knew of her whereabouts we were grinding along her
stern, our yard-arms hooking into the vang of her spankergaff and
tearing that spar out of her while our mainbrace bumkin tore away a
piece of her taffrail. Hoarse yells came from her quarter-deck, and I
heard distinctly a deep voice asking, “What ship is that?” but we went
rushing onward without a word and disappeared. It was a close call.
Benson turned his face toward me and I tried to catch the look of his
eye, but it was too dark.
“I reckon we’ll not hit anything more to-night,” I said. “I’m about
tired out and will leave Brown on deck to call me if there is any
change.”
“All right,” he answered, coolly.
And I went below.
CHAPTER XX.
On reaching the forward cabin, I turned to the table to see if there
happened to be a bite of anything to eat upon it. There always had been
in days past. In the darkness I could not tell, and I opened the door
leading aft to see if I could get a little light from the captain’s
room. The creaking of the straining bulkheads blended with the noise
from the deck and in the semi-darkness made by Benson’s lamplight
streaming through a door well aft, I seemed to hear the voices of the
murdered as the shadows moved upon the deck. A figure flitted past me
toward the door on the other side, and for a moment I believed I saw a
ghost. The next instant I sprang across the deck and seized it.
“Let me go, Mr. Gore. Don’t stop me,” said Miss Waters.
“Good God, are you still alive?” I asked, more for something to say than
anything else.
She raised her hand to her head and leaned against the bulkhead,
sobbing.
“Yes, I’m alive,” she said, controlling herself, “I was not taught the
trade of murder.”
“I didn’t mean that,” I said, hastily, and I drew her to me. As I did so
I felt a bandage upon her wrist.
“Are you hurt?” I asked. “Has he injured you by trying to cut you?”
“No, I did it myself. It was the only way I had--I used his knife on
both arteries. But why torture me with it--”
I said nothing for a moment. The anguish she suffered was clear to me.
She continued in a low, strained voice which wrenched me the more.
“He only insists that I belong to him, him alone--that is all--and he
keeps me with him nearly all the time. I am his wife without any form of
ceremony. Otherwise I’m well enough.”
“Yes, it’s either that, or worse,” I spoke haltingly, yet with an effort
at comforting her.
“You might have killed me,” she sobbed, “you said you cared for me, and
how did you show it--by letting me live like this?”
“It isn’t easy to kill the woman you love.”
“And, oh, I can’t go over the side. I can’t go down into that black void
beneath. It seems so horrible to think of it, the endless blackness, the
vastness of it, the loneliness of this great ocean. No, I must go on, I
must live. I could have killed myself with the knife, but he found me
and tied up the cuts--No, it’s no use--let me go--”
“I’ll let you go,” I said, “but you needn’t hurry away. There’s no one
coming below for some time and you might as well talk with me while we
have the opportunity. I intend to get you out of the ship in a short
time.”
She listened and grasped the edge of the bulkhead.
“How can you? Can you get me into a small boat? They would certainly
get us before we could row away.”
“I haven’t decided upon the manner yet,” I said, “but the time will be
here shortly, and you must help me. There are many ways of getting clear
when we get close to the beach.”
“But you are not to get ashore. You are to die with the rest. I heard
him tell Johnson so the other night after the poisoning among the men.
They are going to get rid of nearly everybody by leaving them upon the
ship when she is set on fire. I’m sorry for you, as sorry as I can feel
with my own trouble upon me, and I’m glad to be able to tell you, Mr.
Gore.”
“You are telling me what I long suspected,” I answered, “but Benson is
not a great sailor. He knows very little indeed of the ways of ships,
although he seems to be informed very well upon matters of rascality. I
think he’ll make a little mistake before he finishes. I suppose you are
to go with him?”
“Yes, he will take me along until he tires of me, I suppose. Then I’ll
find the same fate as the rest.”
“Has he told anything of his future plans?” I asked.
“Only that when you get them within thirty or forty miles of the coast,
they will take to the small boats. They will get all the boats overboard
and alongside, with what plunder they can carry. Then the half-dozen or
more who are to get away will get into the small boats and get clear of
the ship while Benson sets her on fire. He is to jump overboard and be
picked up at once, and then they will row off so the rest can’t get to
them.”
“It’s an excellent scheme, and does its developer great credit,” I said;
“but how about the arms? Won’t the convicts fire on the boats when they
find they are left aboard a burning ship?”
“I really don’t know about those details,” said Miss Waters. “I’m only
telling what I overheard. If you think you can do something to stop
them, I’ll do anything to help you. Don’t spare me in any way, and
don’t mind what risk I have to take. Nothing could be any worse for
me.”
“It’s a pretty bad business,” I agreed. “Brown is the only man left
aboard I can trust to help us if anything turns up. Has Benson told you
anything about himself?”
“Only that he has no money to get away with, nothing to pay his expenses
to some foreign country, where he hopes to live quietly until the affair
is forgotten. He is going to take the first vessel we meet to loot her
and get what he may.”
“I see,” I said; “perhaps he will have a chance very soon. We are in the
lanes of ocean travel, and it’s likely we’ll overhaul a vessel before
many days pass. Maybe we will have a chance. I’m to do my share, I
suppose he told you?”
“If I thought you would, I would not be talking to you. You may be
afraid to die, as I am, but I don’t think you’ll turn pirate.”
Afraid to die? The sound of the words rang clear. Was I afraid to die?
Good God! I who had faced some pretty hard happenings. I certainly
didn’t want to die, but I had never thought of it in the way she put it.
I didn’t rightly know whether I was afraid to die or not. It was so
different for a man. I could go into a fight with a joyful heart,
without a thought of dying; the possibility of death never occupied
space in my thoughts. But to sit down in cold blood and kill myself to
avoid some wrong thrust upon me by some one else? That was a different
matter. I thought of O’Toole. He certainly was not afraid of anything in
any form.
“No, I don’t know whether I’m afraid or not,” I said, slowly. “Certainly
I don’t blame you for hesitating. You tried once when your courage was
high, and now you admit you are afraid. I know I’m no braver than you.”
“You are good and kind, anyhow,” she answered. “I feel that you are
sorry for me, that you will be my friend--”
“I shall certainly be your friend. I am your devoted friend, if you will
have me for one,” I said, “and as for yourself, you have done the only
thing you could do. As you say, you have not been schooled in the murder
line.”
She held out her hand and I took it, holding it for some moments.
“Whatever has happened to you will make no difference in my feelings,” I
said. “We must forget the past and deal with the present. You have done
as much as any woman could, and that is all you could do. Stand by while
I cast about for some means to get rid of the villains.”
“No, no--you must forget me--only as a friend,” she panted, trying hard
to hold back the sobs. “I must live my life alone--and I must go now
before he suspects me. If he knew I talked with you, he would kill you.”
I drew her to me and kissed her.
The next moment she had disappeared, going through the cabin and into
the stateroom of the villain who even now stood on deck just overhead. I
was tempted again to go on deck and stand near him, close to the rail.
In the darkness a sudden rush and thrust from my knife, and no one
might see the outcome. But, no, it would only make matters worse. The
daylight would show the leader missing, and I could not hold the gang in
check. I finally made my way to my room and turned in.
CHAPTER XXI.
The morning dawned upon a wild sea. We were running off to the eastward
so fast that it was necessary to stop the _Arrow_. The tremendous sea
following us threatened several times to board, and about nine o’clock
in the morning a big fellow fell in the waist. A dozen men were standing
near the galley door when the water fell on deck, and a full hundred
tons of it thundered upon the rascals. All forward disappeared in the
white smother, and I had just a glimpse of a puff of white steam
mingling with the storm of spray and splinters. The whole side of the
galley had been swept away and the place gutted, the double planking
being torn off as though a heavy shell had struck and exploded within.
Six men were carried overboard with the wash, and nothing could be done
for them. They passed out of sight before we recovered from the shock
of the rushing water. Benson stood near me on the poop and smiled
grimly.
“She won’t stand many like that, will she?” he asked.
“One or two more will finish her,” I assented. “We will have to stop
her.”
By desperate endeavour I managed to get some men to the braces, and
after half an hour’s hard work hove the _Arrow_ to in as mighty a sea as
ever ran in the South Atlantic. She would drop her long jib-boom down
the side of a hill of water until it dipped, while looking over the
stern we could still see a long way up the slanting sea. It was a grand
but disagreeable sight, for we were ill manned for heavy weather, and I
had no officers except Brown to help or relieve me. But she rode it down
without further mishap, plunging for two days before the gale subsided
and allowed us to get way upon her again. Then the weather moderated and
we stood along upon our course to the southwest. The stove was rigged
up in the galley, and the hungry men, now desperate with the hardship,
grumbled and growled and showed a temper which boded no good.
We had made nothing toward our destination for some days, and when this
fact became known, I was treated to growls and surly looks from all
hands.
On the sixteenth day of our run we were about three hundred miles to the
eastward of the River Plate and had crossed the thirty-fifth parallel.
One or two sails had been sighted; but we had never raised the craft
above the horizon’s rim, and the men had become hopeful in their
security. But, with a gang of cutthroats, an easy, quiet life soon
palls. After the danger of hanging disappears for a time, they soon
become discontented for lack of excitement. They long for some new
danger to interest them. The past is not pleasant to dwell upon and the
present is dull.
On this sixteenth day the men were grouped about the main-deck in the
afternoon, as had been their custom from the start. Some were playing
cards in the lee of the deck-house, while others threw dice or lounged
and smoked in the gangways. Benson was below, but his trusty man,
Johnson, was on the poop. I had occasion to send a man aloft to overhaul
a leech-line, and the man who went up was a sharp-eyed young villain who
had been to sea before and knew what was needed.
He had hardly reached the crosstrees when he hailed the deck:
“Sail on port bow!” he bawled, and pointed in the direction the vessel
bore, which was just over the port cat-head. My heart gave a jump, but I
tried to appear careless. I climbed up a few ratlines in the mizzen and
looked forward. In a moment I saw a tiny white speck reflecting the
slanting light of the sun. Then I looked down on deck and caught the
look in Brown’s eyes. He was ready for action.
Our vessel had been fitted out for a long voyage, the run to China often
taking five months; but the excesses of the convicts had quickly
finished off the kegs of spirits and the bottled liquors for the
after-cabin mess. The three men who acted as cooks were kept busy all
the time serving out the plundered victuals meant for the after-guard,
so that after the first week Benson was forced to cut them down to
ship’s rations. This had caused a mutiny, and it was only put down after
a few men were killed and some injured. The effects of the disturbance
were still visible and there was a good deal of loud grumbling done
forward at meal-time.
Johnson gazed at the strange sail a few moments, and then told the man
at the wheel to luff all he could and bade me attend to the bracing of
the yards. I saw what he meant to do, and never did I jam a ship’s yards
on to her backstays as I did them.
I believe the villain intended to commit piracy from the first; but,
aside from this, he had such an overpowering taste for liquor that he
was willing to run any risk in order to procure some, either by trade or
otherwise, without waiting for Benson.
The wind held steady and we went through the smooth sea at the rate of
eight or nine knots. The stranger rose rapidly on our weather bow, and
it was evident that we were overhauling him fast enough.
At eight bells his courses were rising above the water, and my heart was
pounding away under my ribs like a sledge. The men aboard us were about
as poor sailors as, inversely, they were a fine set of rascals.
Otherwise, they would have been suspicious, on seeing the depth of the
stranger’s topsails, and stood away to leeward with all possible speed.
When I had had a good look at the canvas ahead, I could hardly keep from
smiling, and I feared I might do something to show my thoughts. I knew
no merchant vessel afloat hoisted a full topsail fore and aft.
“What is he?” asked Johnson, coming close to me when I came on the poop.
“I can’t tell at this distance,” I answered, “but he looks to be a West
Coast trader. Most likely he is one with a mixed cargo.”
“There’ll not be many men on him, then?”
“No,” I answered, carelessly, well knowing what the scoundrel was
thinking of. “Probably a dozen or fifteen at the most.”
Benson had now come on deck, and he, together with Johnson and the few
leading men, held a conference as to what they should do about the
strange ship ahead. It didn’t take long for them to decide after I gave
them to understand the number of men they would probably find in the
crew.
“There’ll be no trouble about overhauling him before dark?” asked
Benson.
“None in the world,” I answered; “we can go ten fathoms to his one any
time.”
“Then hoist the Roger and let him know his time has come,” said the
swaggering villain.
Some of the more reckless spirits among the men had made a black flag
and had stitched the canvas figures of a skull and cross-bones across
its centre. They had never used it, and had made it more out of a spirit
of bravado, while trying to kill time, than anything else. In a few
moments it flew free and straight from the peak of the monkey-gaff.
The men were almost wild when they found it was decided to take the
strange ship. Benson stood on the break of the poop and gave orders for
getting things in readiness forward. Then it was as though a pack of
wolves had broken loose on the main-deck.
Weapons were gotten out and cleaned. Cutlasses from the _Countess of
Warwick_ and sheath-knives from the slop-chest were carefully sharpened.
Before the sun had sunk near the horizon, the black hull of the stranger
rose above the sea, and the villains were ready to take him.
He was about three miles ahead now and drawing a little to leeward, so
there was no trouble about him seeing our flag if he chose to look. I
felt that he would be interested in its peculiar colour.
I passed Brown and made a sign for him to be ready. I fixed my knife
where it would be handy.
Every moment was precious now. If the stranger would only see that flag
before the convicts could tell of their mistake and crowd on canvas and
get the weather-gage, all would be well.
I watched him and saw the slanting rays of the sun shining on carefully
scraped spars and snowy canvas, but no funnel showed above his deck and
no ports showed in the long, smooth stretch of his shining black sides.
Suddenly something fluttered in the wind. I looked harder, for we were
so close now that the British ensign could be seen distinctly as it
stood out straight in the breeze.
Yes, I was not mistaken. Surely he was springing his luff and the canvas
was slatting. Then I saw something that made my heart jump.
Up he came to the wind, and as he did so I saw a line of even breaks in
the smooth black hull as he dropped his ports outboard. Then a puff of
white smoke spurted from his side, and by the time the report of the gun
reached our ears the convicts saw an English gunboat awaiting the
explanation of the flying of that black flag.
CHAPTER XXII.
It would be hard to describe the disorder and terror aboard the _Arrow_
when the convicts realized their mistake.
Benson roared and raved like a madman, and I expected him to vent his
anger upon Brown and myself at any moment for having deceived him. But
he evidently believed that I was as much astonished as himself at the
identity of the stranger. Not being a sailor-man, he did not understand
the language of spars and canvas, and had no reason to think that my
eyes were any better than his own.
At all events, even if he did intend to settle with me afterward, he now
saw that his own life and the lives of his men depended on my being able
to run the clipper clear of the English guns.
The Black Roger was pulled down quicker than it takes to tell of it,
and the American ensign run up in its place. But it was now too late to
correct the error.
The stranger luffed sharply, and soon her main and mizzen yards swung
quickly and evenly with the man-o’-war’s precision. Then, letting go his
bow-line, he came about and stood across our hawse; at the same time
clapping on and sheeting home every rag possible below and aloft.
We were a little to windward of his course now, but he was well ahead. I
saw that when he tacked ship it would only be a question of minutes
before we were right under his guns, unless we wore ship instantly and
ran for it. Even then he would probably be close enough to knock the
spars out of us before we could get out of range.
He was evidently determined to find out the meaning of that joke about
the flying of a black flag on the high seas.
“Shall we turn and run, or try and pass him to the windward?” I asked
Benson, hurriedly, intimating that the former was what I should choose,
for I knew he would choose the opposite.
“Head your course, d----n you! If you fail to clear him, you are a dead
man,” he roared.
The villain didn’t notice the smile I felt on my lips when he said this,
or he would probably have finished with me then and there. He must have
been much upset to have talked so wild, for he was usually cool enough.
“Get the men below in the fore-hold,” he bawled to his man, Johnson, and
that fellow bundled them down the fore-hatch like sheep, leaving only
about a dozen to lounge about the deck as if they were sailors.
By the time this was accomplished we had closed the gap between the
vessels to less than half a mile. The Englishman was on the starboard
tack and crossing our course with everything drawing. He was heeling
over and driving through a perfect smother of foam, and I could see the
men running about the decks as they went to stations for stays. He had
gotten the weather-gage of us without difficulty.
In a few moments he luffed again on our weather-bow about a quarter of a
mile distant. Then, without waiting to use signals, he fired a shot
across our course just under our jib-boom end.
“He wants us to heave to,” I said to Benson, for it was evident that the
gunboat was not going to be overnice about signalling to men who joked
with their colours. Benson ordered me to dip the stars and stripes, but
hold steadily on our course. As we came abreast, the stranger came about
and lay right on our weather beam with his mainyards aback. I could see
that he intended to board us. A second puff flew from an after gun, and
with the report a shot tore a great hole through our foresail and
whistled away to starboard, but Benson still held on.
I saw great beads of perspiration roll down Brown’s face as he stood
watching us driving through the gunboat’s lee. It was a trying moment.
If the Englishman fired a broadside into an American ship flying the
ensign, it would be no joke for him if all was as it should be on board
of her. On the other hand, there was much to justify him in overhauling
a ship that had altered her course and set a black flag on sighting him,
even if her name was on his register. It seemed an age to me as I stood
there, hoping against hope, and I was thinking quickly and coolly of
some way to check the ship should she drive past. I knew that if we once
went through the Englishman’s lee he would let us pass, so I made ready
for the end.
It was not long coming.
We were now but fifty fathoms from the stranger’s broadside, and I could
see the men at the guns. I thought to hail him, but I saw that at the
first word I would be knocked on the head.
Suddenly a man appeared on the gunboat’s rail with a speaking-trumpet.
“What ship is that?” he bawled, though he might have read the name
easily enough, as it was painted on either quarter in letters a foot
deep.
“American ship _Arrow_, Captain Crojack!” roared Benson in return, as he
sprang on to the rail at the mizzen.
“Heave to and I’ll send a boat,” came the hail.
“I will not,” roared Benson.
“I will fire on you if you don’t,” replied the stranger.
“I dare you,” roared Benson, in his most menacing tone. There was never
anything like it. That man’s coolness and nerve would have made him an
admiral had he not been a villain. He had a truculent way of talking
that made people think twice before acting against him.
The Englishman hesitated at his audacity, and the ship, driving along
with every rag a rap-full, went through the gunboat’s lee. I then saw
that we would be allowed to pass free, and I knew that the time for
action had come. As Benson turned to jump down from the poop-rail on to
the deck I was in front of him, and he saw the look in my
[Illustration: “I FORCED HIM BACKWARDS TO THE POOP-RAIL.”]
eye that told him plainly what I meant to do. Quick as lightning he drew
his revolver and fired slap into me and then sprang to the deck. I felt
the numbing stroke of the lead, but felt no pain, and the next instant
we had closed.
I seized his weapon by the barrel as he fired again, and, although the
bullet cut my wrist, it did not loosen or weaken my hold. Then I drove
my knife into him with such force that the blade broke close off at the
haft.
Dropping the useless hilt, I gripped him suddenly with both arms about
his body, holding his arms to his sides. Then, exerting all my strength,
I forced him backwards to the poop-rail. He brought up against it for an
instant and wrenched his pistol hand free. Then I hurled him over the
side. He clutched frantically at me, but I tore his grip loose, and he
fell with a splash into the sea.
Glancing forward, I saw Johnson and a couple of men coming aft at full
speed to their leader’s help. Then I saw Brown spring suddenly from
behind the mizzen, knock the foremost ruffian headlong into the lee
scuppers by a blow from an iron belaying-pin, and close with the rest.
Without stopping an instant to see the outcome of the affair, I dashed
for the wheel.
The man there had seen the struggle on the poop, and he met me with
drawn knife. But I struck him fairly with my right fist upon the point
of the jaw, and he dropped like a log of wood.
Grabbing the spokes, I whirled the wheel over, and then plunged down the
companionway into the after cabin. I heard a rush of feet on the deck
overhead and the sharp cries of Brown, mingled with the hoarse oaths of
frantic men. Then I drove full speed against the door of Crojack’s
stateroom and crashed into the space within.
That poor, dear girl was--but no matter, there are some parts of every
affair that are nobody’s business. In a second I had her in my arms and
was leaping up that companionway, while the cries and oaths of the
scuffle drew farther aft.
As I cleared the hatchway I saw the quarter-deck free ahead of me, and,
giving a yell to Brown to follow, I plunged headlong over the taffrail
into the sea. When I reached the surface with the girl in my arms, I
turned to look back. I saw Brown hurl his belaying-pin into the crowd
that had followed him aft, and as they chased him to the side he leaped
over the rail on to the deck-strake. Then, running rapidly along the
narrow projection on the vessel’s side, he threw up his hands and took a
flying dive astern. When he came to the surface he was over one hundred
feet from his pursuers, and the ship was still forging ahead from her
headway, although her canvas was all back and everything in a mess
aloft.
With a few strokes Brown reached me, and together we held the girl
afloat and struck out for the English ship.
Those on board the gunboat had seen something of the fracas, and, as
soon as they saw the _Arrow_ luff, they started to get out their boats
as fast as willing hands could hoist them.
I swam easily, but I soon found that I was getting very faint, and that
my breath seemed to burn like a flame in my throat and chest. I tried to
tell Brown that I was going, but I could not utter a word. I remember
seeing a boat approaching swiftly, and I remember noticing the even
sweep of the oars until they appeared to row over my head and thunder
past my ears. The noise was deafening, and my brain felt as if it were
splitting with the roar. I put my hand to my head, felt something near
it--awoke and found myself lying in a bunk on board of a strange ship.
Then a soft hand brushed soothingly over my temples as gently as the
breath of the trade-wind. A sweet voice whispered in my ear to lie
quiet, and it made me feel so well that, in my upset state, I began to
believe that I had at last cruised into the port of missing ships. I
soon found, however, that I was not so badly wounded as I had reason to
suppose, and that Brown was aboard there with me, his wounded leg doing
well in spite of the twitching it received in that last rally.
CHAPTER XXIII.
During the short time I was in the water, a desperate fight was going on
aboard the _Arrow_. Johnson, seeing how matters were turning out,
rallied his men for a stand.
Five boats from the man-o’-war, filled with blue-jackets, armed and
ready for the fight, drew alongside before the convicts could get the
ship out of irons. She lay with her yards aback, and those who worked
intelligently had their work undone by those who in their frantic haste
worked like maniacs.
The boarders from the first small boat fastened to the mizzen channels,
and, as they did so, Johnson dropped a mass of iron weighing two hundred
pounds into the boat’s bottom, tearing her open. She filled at once and
sank before the men could climb aboard. Benson, though desperately
wounded from my knife, managed to get hauled back aboard by willing
hands. He joined the crowd aft, and, holding to the taffrail for
support, fired a double-barrelled gun with deadly effect into the
approaching boats. A sailor fired at him with a rifle, and the bullet
tore a hole through his chest, but he staggered back to his place at the
rail and fought on. Two of the best, or rather worst, men in the gang
used cutlasses with effect upon the men who crowded over the rail in the
waist. An officer engaged one of these in single combat and for a short
time there was a bit of sword-play. Then a sailor coming in from the
starboard side smote the villain over the head with his cutlass butt and
stretched him out for further orders.
Benson rallied the few followers aft, and together they forced a passage
along that deck, with himself and Johnson leading. They joined the mass
of men forward and crowded under the topgallant forecastle for a last
stand. Within the slanting peak of the ship, and covered from attack
above, they fought with a desperation that called forth all that was in
the crew of the man-of-war. An officer led a charge upon the huddled
villains, and fired again and again into their leader, who received no
less than five bullet-wounds, any one of which would have let the life
out of an ordinary man. But Benson still fought on.
The convicts, being badly armed and improperly drilled, fought at a
disadvantage. The ranking officer of the boat crews formed his men in
line behind those fighting in the press and then called a retreat. The
advanced men fell slowly back, and the convicts were loth to follow and
leave their shelter. Then the sailors fired a volley point-blank into
the crowd. This was more than the ordinary man could stand, and many
wounded threw down their arms and came out to surrender. But not Benson.
The leader, seeing that there was no hope, hurled his empty gun at the
men in uniform. Then he seized a cutlass, and walked staggering and
swaying toward the line of levelled rifles. One or two men fired and a
bullet hit him upon the head, passing through and flinging him half-way
around. He fell upon his hands and knees, but tried to raise himself, a
ghastly sight. Three or four times he almost staggered to his feet,
blinded, half-insensible, and dying, and then a man mercifully struck
him upon the neck with his cutlass. His fight was over.
Johnson still resisted, but, under cover of the guns of the rest, three
men dragged him forth and passed a lashing about him. Then the fight
ended. In a short time the wounded were lowered into the boats and sent
aboard the gunboat, while a few sailors turned to and cleared up the
decks of the _Arrow_. Several men of the gunboat’s crew were killed and
several more badly wounded, and these latter were brought below to where
Brown and I lay.
I now learned how the _Arrow_ had been retaken after desperate
resistance on the part of the convicts. The commander of the man-of-war,
the _Petrel_, at first accused Brown and myself of being with the
convicts in everything, and produced those papers we had written and
signed to prove that they spoke the truth. But those papers did more
than anything we could do or say to clear us of the charge among our
English friends, who were somewhat inclined at first to believe the
statement of Johnson: that we only turned after being caught. Alice
Waters’s statement did much to help our cause.
The result was that Captain Spencer and his officers treated Brown and
myself with every consideration and abstained from passing any private
judgment against us before we could be tried. He told us how he had
sighted the _Arrow_ about the same time we had the _Petrel_, and of his
amazement when he saw us haul our wind and run up the Black Roger to our
peak. He thought, of course, that the skipper of our craft was drunk and
that the affair was intended as a practical joke to the gunboat. After
we had gone through his lee with the American ensign flying he was
afraid that he had already gone too far into the matter, and regretted
his last shot, which had torn our foresail. He would have let us go, for
the _Arrow’s_ name was in his register, and he had not the faintest idea
of the true state of affairs on board. Having heard nothing of the
_Countess of Warwick_, he had no reason to understand matters until
after Brown and I had explained them. He put a prize crew on the clipper
and sent her into the River Plate to be turned over to her agents at
Buenos Ayres. When we reached England, Johnson made things look a little
black for us at first. The villain had no scruples about perjuring
himself to any extent, and he was backed by the rest of the ringleaders.
But finally he and three of the latter were convicted of murder and
piracy and hanged. The rest soon found themselves bound out on a voyage
for the East. They never came back again.
Brown and I were cleared and sent back to the States, where we arrived
safe enough, Brown’s leg having entirely healed and my chest having
become sound again, except for a slight shortness of breath for awhile
when I exerted myself.
The _Petrel’s_ surgeon very gallantly informed me that I owed my
complete recovery to a certain amount of very gentle nursing I had
received, and not entirely to my robust constitution. As he had done
little more than prescribe for me and oversee the dressing of my wound,
it was evident that he did not wish to take this obligation to himself.
As to the nursing, I quite agreed with him, for the three weeks spent in
a bunk on board the _Petrel_ were among the pleasantest of my
existence--up to that time.
When Miss Waters and I separated at Portsmouth, it was understood that I
should meet her again in the States. When I was released, after the
trial, I found that she had already sailed for New York.
When Brown and I arrived there and had given an account of this
disastrous voyage to Mr. Ropesend, it was only natural that I should
inquire for the girl who had passed through so much along with us.
To my great surprise, the old merchant announced that he had heard
nothing of her whatever since she arrived in England.
As soon as possible I hastened to the office of the line of vessels on
which I had heard she had sailed. I found that the vessel on which she
had left England had arrived safely ten days since. Her name was on the
passenger list, showing that she had arrived in America, but all my
efforts to trace her beyond the point of landing were useless. She had
disappeared and had left no clue that might aid any one to follow her.
CHAPTER XXIV.
When a man makes up his mind to do a certain thing, half the trouble and
worry over the matter are things of the past. It makes no difference
whether he is able to accomplish his purpose or not, the agonies of
vacillation are gone. Over the future he has but little control. Over
his present actions he has complete.
There is always a satisfied feeling within a man when he has thought
over the matter and decided upon it absolutely in regard to what action
he will take.
This was the feeling I possessed during the six weeks I was on the
beach, waiting for the return of the _Arrow_. Mr. Ropesend still had
faith in me and I was to take her out on her return from the River
Plate.
The matter I had decided upon, however, was not exactly of a nautical
nature, and I went to every known friend and acquaintance of Captain
Crojack’s to get the information necessary to enable me to accomplish my
purpose.
The apathy of the old sailor’s friends shown in the search for his niece
galled me. I sometimes felt almost glad that the old man was dead, so he
could not see the indifference of people he once thought so much of.
Brown, who was on waiting orders like myself, stayed with me night and
day. He did not go to the office, and avoided all other society as much
as possible, except when helping me in my search.
In this manner we passed the time until the vessel arrived. Then we took
up our quarters on board. I was placed in command, but it was with
anything but a feeling of joy that I stepped again on that quarter-deck,
so connected with sad memories.
Every plank seemed to recall those terrible days when I was, perforce, a
pirate. However, as I said before, a sailor has but little time to
indulge in memories, so I shook myself together and started to get ready
to put to sea.
Brown I had with me, but, although he had learned a good deal of
nautical affairs, it was necessary that the ship should have two
experienced men to relieve me. So I set out immediately to find them.
Our adventures had become thoroughly known to all long before this, and
Brown and I both suffered from the charity peculiar to nearly all human
beings. It was well known that we had joined the convicts, and the busy
world had no time to waste discussing any excuse or necessity for our
having done so. It was enough that we did it. The sensational newspapers
offered a hundred reasons for our having done it,--all of them the worst
possible ones,--and the people could take their choice or let them
alone. They appeared to let them alone in order to form original ones
nearly as bad, that were too unreasonable to bear discussion.
Boarding-house keepers eyed me curiously when I entered their dens.
Small knots of rough-looking men gathered and whispered whenever I
entered any of the many dives where, I knew from experience, mates were
in the habit of going to indulge their hard pleasures. Once or twice
personal remarks were made in regard to myself in a tone loud enough for
me to hear.
At one bar a big red-faced longshoreman made a jeering allusion to the
part I played in joining the men who had taken my ship. It was a foul
statement and I felt the blood rush into my face.
Then I turned on the ruffian like a flash.
It was a foolish thing to do, but the talk of so many had rankled in my
heart until I lost control of my temper and I felt that I must bear it
no longer.
I did not stop to argue the matter and set his reasons for my actions
aright, but I lashed out and stretched him stiff on the floor. Then I
looked the group over carefully to see if there were any matters of
importance I might miss. But they were silent to a man. I turned and
walked slowly out of the room and down the street. I was not followed
and I soon found myself on the _Arrow’s_ deck with little hope of
securing my mates.
It was late in the evening when I returned, and Brown, who had been at
work on the ship’s stores, had gone up-town.
There was nothing for him to do on board after knocking off work, so I
supposed he had strolled up the street. He had never left me before to
go off in the evening alone, but, as we were to sail within the week, I
supposed he had some private affairs to attend to.
I finished supper alone and then lit my pipe and strolled along the
decks. The question of securing mates I would leave to the office and
would trouble myself no more with the matter.
Men were lounging about on the slip between the vessels I passed, and
gangs of longshoremen were leaving for the night.
I walked down a slip to where a Norwegian bark was being warped into her
berth. She had just arrived and her black sides were gray with crusted
salt, telling of a long cruise and careless officers. The men on the
t’gallant fo’castle had a line to the capstan and were walking it in
with a will to the time of a chorus of hoarse voices.
Soon the vessel fell alongside the slip and I saw the voyage end. Then I
turned and walked up the street, thinking of how a man can enjoy life
after a six months’ cruise on deep water.
I soon became aware of two men following close behind me, who were
talking away at a great rate.
“Yes, but th’ case av mine, it was different,” said one. “They come
a-crowdin’ over th’ side like a swarm av rats before I knowed what their
lay was. B’ th’ soul of St. Patrick! But didn’t I wade inter thim! Bang!
Slam! I must have druv a whole ship’s company inter th’ main-deck like
so many trunnels, an’ as fast as I druv thim in their fri’nds would pull
thim out, till nigh on to three hunderd av thim hit me a clip on me
burgoo case all t’onct--”
“Scutt! ye bloody old red-headed liar; there wasn’t half that many in
the whole outfit.”
“‘Pon me whurd, for a fact, Garnett, ’tis outrajis th’ way ye have av
takin’ an honest man up whin he’s tellin’ a straight yarn. I’ve shifted
more’n one man’s ballast for less.”
“Now, by the Great Eternal, if I wasn’t so old an’ stove up I’d make ye
prove that, ye braggart,” growled the other; “but never mind, I’m too
old to quarrel, as it affects my narvous system enormous. Stick to
facts, man, always. I’ve no doubt that you were so scared that you
thought they was a thousand. You always was sort o’ timid at times.
’Twas too bad about Bull Gore, though, wasn’t it? I’d never thought to
see him come aback all standing like that. But it’s generally the way
with folks what always think themselves better’n anybody else.”
“No more would I have thought it, Garnett. T’ think av him turnin’ pirit
on one av owld Ropesend’s own ships. ’Tis a quare world an’ honest men
ain’t most plentiful hereabouts. Had it been you, I wouldn’t have been
surprised, for ye’re little better than an unhung pirit, anyways, by yer
own account.”
“S’help me, I’d never disgrace a decent rope with a figgerhead like
yourn. What--”
I had turned and stood face to face with old Bill Garnett and O’Toole.
The next instant the old mate had grabbed my hand with a hearty grip.
“So it’s you yourself, Mr. Gore,” he bawled, “just turned up while this
red-headed heathen was saying pleasant things about you. Blast me, but I
am glad to see you, though I wish you had stayed with that gang a little
longer. I might ’a’ joined somewhere, and with two such fellows as you
and me afloat together, there’s no telling what might have happened in
the South Pacific afore the year was out.”
“‘Pon me whurd, Mr. Gore, what I said was but th’ truth, an’ it won’t
stand atween two old shipmates, even if they don’t happen t’ be
agreeable on some principles. Here’s me hand, sir. Ye saved th’ last av
th’ O’Tooles,” and the honest fellow held out his great carroty
fingers, and I grasped them.
“‘Tis a fact, ’pon me whurd, ye saved me life, sure, by makin’ thim cast
me adrift, though I didn’t thank ye much at th’ time, seein’ a cruise in
an open boat ain’t a pleasant trip for a man all alone in th’ calms.
Yes, sir, ye saved me, sure, an’ I’m th’ last av thim. There was Reddy,
me brother, lost in Chaney with th’ owld man, an’ there was Mike, me own
cousin, on th’ West Coast, an’ I’m th’ only one left, an’ ye did save
me--”
“Worse luck,” grunted Garnett; “‘tis a pity you’re alive to say it, for
it was the worst of all his crimes. I could forgive him everything else,
but saving you to come back here and talk people to death with your
bragging yarns.”
“Tell me,” I said, “how the devil you fellows ever got clear of the
scrape.”
“That’s jist about what we would like you to tell us about yourself,”
said Garnett, “and maybe you can explain to this low-minded Irishman the
reason you were not hung. Come on with us, if you don’t mind watching
this beast get drunk. We’re just ashore from that bark there, and we’ve
got the night bearing dead ahead till sunrise. I’ll not be responsible
for the respectability of the places this red-headed man’s steering
for.”
I thought for a moment. I knew well enough that I owed my berth as
master of the _Arrow_ solely to the fact that Brown happened to be on
board during her last cruise. If I left the matter of hiring mates to
the office and had any difficulty with them afterward, it was an even
chance that the influence of Mr. Ropesend would cease, and in spite of
his friendship I would be on the beach for good and all. While I
suspected the influence Brown had with the head of the firm was due to
more than friendship, especially after the old man’s remark about my
never having been married and having children of my own, yet I was by no
means certain of it. Here were two mates I wished to have above all
others, anyhow, for I knew them and they were my friends. I could count
on Garnett, if he would remain sober enough to talk to, and I made up
my mind to take him.
O’Toole I was not so certain about, but I made up my mind to try him. So
I went with him up the dirty street to Garnett’s favourite haunts in the
neighbourhood of the Battery.
As we walked along the old sailor told how he had been overpowered along
with the rest of the crew and guard on the _Countess of Warwick_, and
how the convicts had taken to the boats after setting fire to the ship
and leaving the whole ship’s company to burn.
One man had finally burned himself clear, and while badly injured had
managed to clear one of his comrades. Then they were all cast loose and
set to work to build a raft.
They left the burning ship while the villains were fighting us, and were
not discovered by them. A vessel had picked them up the fifth day
afterward, and a month later landed them at Cape Town. While waiting
there a vessel came in, and off her walked O’Toole. He had been afloat
twenty days in the open boat, and was all but dead when rescued. His
first desire appeared to be to give Garnett a thrashing for having been
the indirect cause of his sufferings, as it was owing to Garnett’s
steering that caused the _Countess of Warwick_ to remain in our vicinity
for such a long time. Had she been a few miles farther off that night,
the convicts would probably not have noticed us. In the end, however,
the mates compromised matters by becoming friendly again and sailing
together for the States.
When we turned into the street that led past the office, I was
astonished to find the lower rooms of that building lit up with a bright
light which shone through the closed shutters. It was long after office
hours, so, fearing there might be a fire within the building, I stopped
and looked about me for the watchman. He was not in sight.
Without waiting any longer I made O’Toole and Garnett raise me on their
shoulders until I could peep through the shutters into the room.
The gas was burning brightly, and there at a desk sat Mr. Anderson. He
was talking, with flushed face and angry gestures, to Brown, who stood
quietly before him.
I couldn’t hear the words well enough to distinguish their meaning, but
it was evident that something unusual was being discussed.
“What the devil makes you so long about it--is it a ghost?” asked
Garnett, who was getting tired holding half my weight.
“No,” I said, “but it might be one soon if it were you in there,” and
little did I think as I joked that my words were almost prophetic.
I came down and told them that Mr. Anderson was in there talking to a
man. Nothing more was said about the matter, and we continued on our
way.
The little scene I had just witnessed caused me to do some thinking, and
before we reached “Old Ben’s,” I decided to see what was taking place in
the shipping-office.
“You men meet me here in an hour. I have something important to tell
you,” I said, as we reached the tavern door.
“Jest one drink on me,” said Garnett, “before ye go.”
We had one round, and then I left them, both promising to be on hand at
the time appointed.
CHAPTER XXV.
As I drew near the shipping-office, I saw the light was still burning
bright, and the window-blinds, though drawn, allowed it to stream
through the space between them and the sash. Few business houses in this
section have lights burning at night. I stopped a moment to consider
what to do. Of course it was none of my business what took place between
Brown and Anderson, but, as the young man had served with me as an
officer and had acquitted himself thoroughly, I felt some interest and I
might confess also a bit of curiosity. I had heard enough to know that
there was something irregular with the business of Brown going out with
me on that fateful voyage. I believed him innocent of any wrong-doing,
but, as it had been Mr. Ropesend himself who had sent him, I was not
certain. A young man might do many things which would get him into
trouble and still not be a very bad sort of chap. I had committed
several little acts in my day that I would not care to repeat, but I
never held that I was a great villain because of them. Ignorance and
temptation are factors which the tolerant and trained observer of events
must take into consideration. I’ve always noticed that the man who is
quick to condemn is quick to commit crime.
Crime is the practical application of selfishness and the unselfish man
does not condemn his fellow. I was prepared to hear Brown own up to some
foolish speculation which involved the firm’s finances, and I went
boldly to the side door, the door which opened into the room in which I
had seen them talking but a short time before.
Knocking loudly, I listened for further developments. There were sounds
of a scuffle, then panting and shuffling of feet, as when men are
struggling in desperate encounter. A loud crash followed this, and then
there was a cessation of noises, but the panting breaths of the men
continued.
“It’s Gore, let me in,” I cried, pounding again upon the panels and
putting the whole weight of my shoulder upon the door.
“I can’t get up, he has me down,” gasped Brown from somewhere within.
“What’s the matter?” I bawled. “Open the door.”
Anderson, probably seeing that I would force an entrance directly, went
to the latch, and in a moment I entered the room. Brown was in the act
of rising from the floor. He greeted me with a knowing look.
“Well, what’s the trouble?” I asked.
Anderson gave a deprecatory gesture with both hands and sat down at the
desk. He evidently had nothing to say. Brown hesitated while he regained
his composure. Then he spoke.
“You know what I went to sea for,” he began, “you know that I was
accused of appropriating the firm’s money--”
He stopped a moment, and I nodded.
“Yes,” I said, “I had heard something to that effect.”
“Well, here is the culprit,” said he, and pointed to Anderson.
“I always thought as much,” I said, with some feeling, and as I spoke
the man at the table turned upon me.
“See here, Gore,” said he, “you are not wanted in this affair, my
father--Mr. Ropes--” Here he stopped a moment.
“He doesn’t know, but as long as you have begun, you might as well tell
him all,” said Brown. “Mr. Ropesend is Mr. Anderson’s father, and you
will doubtless incur the wrath of the firm if you meddle with this, so
you might just as well go.”
“I’ll go if you say so,” I said, “but it looked as though murder was
being done when I broke in,” and for the life of me I could not help the
following question, “And Miss Anderson is not your sister, then?”
“Thank God, no, she is not,” put in Brown.
“Mr. Ropesend will not care to have any of his sailing-masters taking
part in this affair,” said Anderson, coldly. “What you have heard you
can keep to yourself. If you don’t you will probably suffer the
consequences. Now you can get out, for Mr. Brown and I will settle this
matter before we leave here to-night.”
“I fail to see how we can settle it without you making good and
confessing everything,” said Brown. “There is hardly room in the firm
for both of us, and I’m tired of going to sea.”
Anderson rose from his chair. He was cool and collected, but something
in his manner made me think he was on the point of collapse.
“You had better go, Mr. Gore,” said he, quietly. “There will be no more
disturbance, I forgot myself just before you arrived, and I thank you
for coming when you did. You can go without fear of any harm to Mr.
Brown. Good-bye.”
He held out his hand and I took it. His fingers were cold and, although
he was a large and powerful fellow, he shook visibly when I let go.
“Good night,” I said, and turned to the door.
“Good night, Gore,” said Brown. “I have your word not to talk about
anything you have seen or heard.”
“Yes,” I answered, “good night.” And I went forth.
CHAPTER XXVI.
I met the two sailors at “Old Ben’s” tavern. They had been waiting,
taking a nip or two at a table until I came.
“‘Tis good liquor,” said Garnett, as he put down his glass; “‘tis a most
holy an’ pious drink, makin’ all manner of holy an’ pious thoughts come
into my old head. ’Tis good liquor an’ well fitted for a man along in
years, like myself, who has filled his skin with all manner of truck and
ruined his digestion. You say you’ll have another?”
The glasses were refilled.
“Now, ’pon me whurd, fer a fact, Mr. Gore, ’tis fer gettin’ outrajis
drunk that baldheaded infidel is after; jist obsarve him.”
Garnett had removed his cap and was hard at work mopping the dent in the
top of his shining, bald cranium, where he had been “stove down” by a
handspike in the hands of a sailor on one of his early voyages. Then he
pulled out his little nickel-plated vial and sniffed at it violently.
“I don’t mind his personalities,” he remarked, “for I call to mind the
time well enough when I could make him or any of his kin toe a seam. We
had a little fracas onct, when I was mate with old man Anderson, and he
remembers well enough what I used to be when it came to finding out who
was who on a vessel’s main-deck.”
“What Anderson was that?” I asked. “You mean the one who used to be in
with Mr. Ropesend?”
“Sure, no other, though I supposed he was dead long afore this. He was
an out an’ outer when he was on deep water, an’ a little more so when he
was on the beach. I misremember something about a shindy he got into on
the West Coast, when he was skipper of the _Ivanhoe_. He did the right
thing, though, for he took the boy along with him as soon as he growed
big enough an’ carried him around the Cape. Afterward he made a present
of him to old man Brown’s wife, who had no young uns of her own, an’ who
was always making pets of dogs and parrots aboard and driving the old
man half crazy. Old man Brown and your father, old man Gore, were great
chums, and so he was with old Mr. Ropesend--”
“Ye can’t believe nothin’ a garrulous owld man like him says,”
interrupted O’Toole. “Let’s have another round av th’ crayther an’
discuss somethin’ worth hearin’, sich as wimmin, for instance. He’s an
ondacent owld scandal. A rale owld scandal.”
“Pay no attention to him,” said Garnett, and I could tell by the slight
thickness of his speech that the old mate was getting his head sheets in
the wind. “I was about to tell of one of old Brown’s monkeys, when he
stuck his head into the muzzle of the fog-horn one day, an’ this boy
turned her loose, full blast. Gord! I believe the critter ain’t through
climbin’ yet--up an’ down--mizzen r’yal truck--then to the mainmast
head--then for’ards an’ up agin--”
“Hold on a minute,” I said, “before we have any more liquor; I want to
ask both of you if you will sail with me on the _Arrow_ the day after
to-morrow?”
“What! sail away again afore a man has a chanct to get the sea roll out
of his legs an’ some good liquor into them?” roared Garnett. “I reckon
not. What’s liquor made for, anyway? D’ye expect we’d think o’ sech a
thing?”
“Certainly; the pay is good, and we are bound for China.”
Neither answered for several moments; but Garnett gave me a sidelong
glance from the corner of his eye and then looked at O’Toole.
Finally he said:
“I might go as mate, but nothin’ would tempt me to sail under a fellow
like that.” And he pointed at O’Toole.
O’Toole seemed to be hunting for something in the bottom of his glass,
and he said nothing.
“Well,” I observed, somewhat dryly, “come take a turn through the park
and let’s discuss the matter before it’s too late. There’s plenty of
time to get a brace on afterward. I must have a couple of men that I can
rely on.” And, making this last appeal to their vanity, I arose from the
table and they followed me.
After settling the score, we walked up the street, which was still
filled with people, and were just about to enter the park when a crowd
forming on the sidewalk on the block beyond attracted our attention.
“‘Tis a bit av a fracas, maybe,” said O’Toole. “Let’s have a look at it
and take a hand--if necessary.”
We made our way quickly along the pavement and forced ourselves through
the crowd of gaping people.
A man was lying in the centre of the crowd, and his head was pillowed in
a woman’s lap. His pale face was upturned, and the woman wiped away the
blood that flowed from a gash in his forehead upon her clean white
handkerchief.
“Stand back, please, and give him air,” she cried, and her voice made me
jump and start forward. Every nerve in me seemed to throb at the sound.
But the people only crowded closer. I could not see the woman’s face,
for her back was turned toward me, but I recognized her voice quick
enough. Taking a brace against the huge form of O’Toole, I shoved with
all my strength against the crowd, and together we managed to force a
gap of a few paces in extent about the fallen man. The next instant an
ambulance came driving up at full speed. Several officers leaped out and
tore their way through the jam of curious people to the injured man’s
side. They raised him quickly, bore him to the wagon, and drove rapidly
away.
“Knocked down and run over,” some one said in a low tone, as I turned to
where the woman now stood with a policeman beside her.
“Who was it?” the officer asked her.
“I don’t know.”
“What is your name?”
“I have no name,” she answered, quietly, and was gone in the crowd
before the policeman thought to detain her.
In an instant I was after her and caught her.
“Alice--Miss Waters!” I cried, and I seized her arm.
She turned at the sound of my voice as if shot.
“Let me go! Oh, please let me go, Mr. Gore,” she pleaded, and I saw her
face flush and her eyes fill up.
“Not unless you’ll come with me to Mr. Ropesend’s house--or tell where
you live,” I answered, but, at the same time, I did let go her arm.
“Oh, I can’t. I can’t do it, I tell you, so please go away. You have no
right to stop me. Oh, please go away.” And she broke into sobbing and
crying like a child.
That was enough. I passed my arm through hers and led her out of the
crowd and up the street.
“I shall see you home,” said I, “and I will not leave you until you
promise to let me see you in the morning.”
She went along quietly enough at first, and then suddenly burst out
afresh into such a violent fit of crying that I was frightened.
“Let me go. Let me go, please,” she sobbed, and I was so upset at the
earnest tone of her voice that I almost hesitated and started to turn
around.
Then I saw a sturdy, bow-legged form dragging a great, tall giant along
the pavement close behind me.
“What can any one want with me?” the poor girl sobbed in such a bitter
tone that it cut me like a knife. Then she grew more quiet, though the
tears still ran down her cheeks. I took the arm I had dropped and went
on.
What I said is no one’s business. But before we reached the place where
she was staying she had promised to do as I had asked her.
We walked slower as we drew near the house where she was staying, and
those ruffians behind us began to catch up.
“I niver thought it; ’pon my whurd, fer a fact, I didn’t. But ’tis clear
as a tropic night, with a moon, t’ me now.”
“You never think, anyways, you red-headed infernal--”
“‘Pon me whurd, I forgive him, Garnett. I might av died for a principle,
savin’ yer ugly prisince, but by th’ sowl av Saint Patrick I’d turn
pirit this minute fer a leddy like that.”
“The more fool, you, you--”
“Phwat’s th’ matter with ye? She’s young and hasn’t half th’ divilments
av a widder--”
“If you are going to sail with me get out and get as drunk as you
please. If you are not aboard in the morning I go without you. Get out!
Clear!”
There was something in my voice that made them look at me, and they both
understood. The next minute they disappeared down a cross street.
CHAPTER XXVII.
A couple of hours later I went down the street with feet that felt so
light that they seemed to barely touch the ground.
I had had a long talk with Miss Waters and the poor woman with whom she
had been staying, and the former had promised me something.
I was glad to get out of the squalid little tenement parlour, for a man
who is used to the fresh air of the sea is always uncomfortable in a
close little room. It’s different from a fo’castle. I remember that I
stopped once and started to dance a hornpipe on a dark corner nearly
opposite the shipping-office. Then, fearing that some one would see me
and think me drunk, which I was not, I ceased and looked quickly up and
down the street.
The light in the office was still burning as brightly as when I passed
there a few hours earlier.
I went along the pavement on the opposite side of the street until I
stood directly in front of the building. Suddenly the door opened and a
moment afterward the light went out. Then a figure came slowly down the
front steps and looked hard at me.
It was Brown, but his face was so distorted with some mental disturbance
that I barely recognized him.
He appeared to be suffering keenly, for his cheeks were pale and drawn,
and the lines about his mouth showed plainly in the light of the
street-lamp.
I had never seen him look so upset, even during the time he was serving
with Benson, and I hesitated about joining him.
He, however, did not give me a chance, for he did not even speak to me,
but walked rapidly away and disappeared down the now deserted street.
I was too busy with my own thoughts to pay any more attention to the
matter for the present, and I went on board the _Arrow_ and turned in,
thinking that he would be there when I awoke in the morning.
When I turned out he was not there, and a short time afterward I heard
the news that Mr. Anderson was dead.
He had been found sitting at his desk in the office. The gas was turned
on in the room and the doors and windows closed. When the janitor opened
the place for business in the morning, he had been almost suffocated. As
soon as he recovered sufficiently he called for help, and he and several
others entered the room and dragged the unfortunate young man into the
hall. They found that he had been dead for several hours.
That was all. I’ve never heard anything more definite about the matter.
But I was satisfied that my friend Brown was cleared.
Alice Waters and myself were married the next day.
As luck was with us, that very day the old clipper _Morning Light_ came
in, and, after a good deal of fuss and bother, I made a deal to get
transferred to her.
Williams, her skipper, was a friend of mine, and he backed me in the
effort to exchange to the point of resigning altogether. He owned enough
shares in the vessel to finally settle the matter, and this gave me a
couple of weeks longer on the beach and Williams a chance to go to
China, which was what he wanted.
Brown suddenly changed his mind about sailing with us, and had his
things put ashore. He never came near the _Morning Light_ until just as
the tug took our towline. Then we suddenly found that Garnett--as usual
when about to start off soundings--had disappeared during the bustle of
clearing to take a nip at a neighbouring gin-mill. O’Toole, in a
fighting temper, started after him.
The big Irishman soon had him half-way down the dock before the old mate
realized his undignified position. Then he lashed out and struck O’Toole
a powerful blow, and the prospect became interesting. A crowd gathered,
and this attracted the attention of a policeman, who forced his way to
where the mates were struggling. With the help of a few bystanders he
parted them, and then, seizing Garnett by the coat, he started to drag
him off to the lockup, when Brown appeared on the scene, pointing to me
and saying something to the officer which checked him long enough for me
to make a landing on the dock.
“Who is he?” asked the policeman, as I made my way toward them.
“Windjammer from the shade o’ night, that’s what I am,” panted the old
mate, thickly.
“I mean his business?” snapped the officer.
“Tending to other people’s, you brassbound soger,” and with that Garnett
made a rush that came near landing both overboard. But O’Toole and I
seized him and hustled him aboard ship, while Brown explained matters
and pacified the officer. He soon accomplished this, and then he came on
board and shook hands with the mates, my wife, and myself while the
lines were being cast off. The tug blew her whistle and the ship began
to drift away from the dock, holding only by the taut headline to spring
her clear.
Brown wished us all manner of good luck and sprang ashore. He stood a
moment on the edge of the wharf, waved a farewell salute, and then
disappeared in the crowd looking on. Garnett stood staring after him as
if he had seen a ghost. Then he turned suddenly and bawled out:
“All clear forward! Captain Anderson.” And then he took out his little
nickel-plated vial and sniffed hard at it for several moments.
“‘Tis th’ liquor in th’ baste yit,” grinned O’Toole, who stood close to
me. “He knows old Ropesend’s son well enough, an’ a good bye he is.
Shall we go ahead, sir?”
“Yes, let her go!” I bawled, and we were gone.
That is all. The voyage was the pleasantest that I can remember, and our
run to ’Frisco was made in 120 days.
When we returned, homeward bound, both Mr. Ropesend and Brown were
quietly at work in the office, and each of them gave me a hearty
welcome. Brown’s wife invited mine to stay with her while the ship was
discharging, and they became fast friends.
I often think of those early friendships we both cultivated, and as to
those women, they were always together.
Alice often tries to make me give up some of my “I’s” since then, saying
that there wouldn’t be enough left to go around among the single mates
if I didn’t. But I’m a man of habit, so, if there seems to be too many
of them in my yarns, I can’t help it.
THE END.
* * * * *
L. C. Page and Company’s Announcement List of New Fiction
Carolina Lee
By LILIAN BELL, author of “Hope Loring,” “Abroad with the Jimmies,”
etc.
With a frontispiece in colour from an oil painting by Dora Wheeler
Keith $1.50
A typical “Lilian Bell” book, bright, breezy, amusing, philosophic, full
of fun and bits of quotable humour.
Carolina is a fascinating American girl, born and educated in Paris, and
at the beginning of the story riding on the top wave of success in New
York society. A financial catastrophe leaves her stranded without money,
and her only material asset an old, run-down plantation in South
Carolina. In the face of strong opposition she goes South to restore the
old homestead and rebuild her fortunes. Complications speedily follow,
but, with indomitable faith and courage, Carolina perseveres until her
efforts are rewarded by success and happiness.
The Cruise of the Conqueror
BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE MOTOR PIRATE. By G. SIDNEY
PATERNOSTER, author of “The Motor Pirate,” etc.
With a frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill $1.50
One of the most fascinating games to childhood is the old-fashioned
“hide-and-seek,” with its scurrying for covert, its breathless suspense
to both hider and seeker, and its wild dash for goal when the seeker is
successful. Readers of “The Motor Pirate” will remember the exciting
game played by the motor pirate and his pursuers, and will be glad to
have the sport taken up again in the new volume.
In “The Cruise of the Conqueror,” a motor-boat enables the motor pirate
to pursue his victims in even a bolder and more startling way, such, for
example, as the hold-up of an ocean steamer and the seizure for ransom
of the Prince of Monte Carlo.
* * * * *
The Passenger from Calais
A DETECTIVE STORY. By ARTHUR GRIFFITHS.
Cover design by Eleanor Hobson $1.25
A bright, quickly moving detective story telling of the adventures which
befell a mysterious lady flying from Calais through France into Italy,
closely pursued by detectives. Her own quick wits, aided by those of a
gallant fellow passenger, give the two officers an unlooked-for and
exciting “run for their money.” One hardly realizes till now the
dramatic possibilities of a railway train, and what an opportunity for
excitement may be afforded by a joint railway station for two or more
roads.
It is a well-planned, logical detective story of the better sort, free
from cheap sensationalism and improbability, developing surely and
steadily by means of exciting situations to an unforeseen and
satisfactory ending.
The Golden Arrow
By T. JENKINS HAINS, author of “The Black Barque,” “The
Windjammers,” etc.
With six illustrations by H. C. Edwards $1.50
Another of Captain Hains’s inimitable sea stories, in which piracy,
storm, and shipwreck are cleverly intermingled with love and romance,
and vivid and picturesque descriptions of life at sea. Mr. Hains’s new
story describes the capture on the high seas of an American vessel by a
gang of convicts, who have seized and burned the English ship on which
they were being transported, and their final recapture by a British
man-of-war.
The Treasure Trail
By FRANK L. POLLOCK.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.25
This is a splendid story of adventure, full of good incidents that are
exceptionally exciting. The story deals with the search for gold
bullion, originally stolen from the Boer government in Pretoria, and
stored in a steamer sunk somewhere in the Mozambique Channel. Two
different search parties are endeavouring to secure the treasure, and
the story deals with their adventures and its final recovery by one
party only a few hours before the arrival of the second.
The book reads like an extract from life, and the whole story is vivid
and realistic with descriptions of the life of a party of gentlemen
adventurers who are willing to run great odds for great gains.
There is also “a woman in the case,” Margaret Laurie, who proves a
delightful, reliant, and audacious heroine.
* * * * *
Miss Frances Baird, Detective
By REGINALD WRIGHT KAUFFMAN, author of “Jarvis of Harvard,” etc.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.25
A double robbery and a murder have given Mr. Kauffman the material for
his clever detective story. Miss Baird tells how she finally solved the
mystery, and how she outwitted the other detective at work on the case,
by her woman’s intuition and sympathy, when her reputation for keenness
and efficiency was hanging in the balance.
The Idlers
By MORLEY ROBERTS, author of “Rachel Marr,” “Lady Penelope,” etc.
With frontispiece in colour by John C. Frohn $1.50
The _London Literary World_ says: “In ‘The Idlers’ Mr. Morley Roberts
does for the smart set of London what Mrs. Wharton has done in ‘The
House of Mirth’ for the American social class of the same name. His
primary object seems to be realism, the portrayal of life as it is
without exaggeration, and we were impressed by the reserve displayed by
the novelist. It is a powerful novel, a merciless dissection of modern
society similar to that which a skilful surgeon would make of a
pathological case.”
The _New York Sun_ says: “_It is as absorbing as the devil._ Mr. Roberts
gives us the antithesis of ‘Rachel Marr’ in an equally masterful and
convincing work.”
_Professor Charles G. D. Roberts_ says: “It is a work of great ethical
force.”
Stand Pat
OR, POKER STORIES FROM BROWNVILLE. By DAVID A. CURTIS, author of
“Queer Luck,” etc.
With six drawings by Henry Roth $1.50
Mr. Curtis is the poker expert of the _New York Sun_, and many of the
stories in “Stand Pat” originally appeared in the _Sun_. Although in a
sense short stories, they have a thread of continuity, in that the
principal characters appear throughout. Every poker player will enjoy
Mr. Curtis’s clever recital of the strange luck to which Dame Fortune
sometimes treats her devotees in the uncertain game of draw poker, and
will appreciate the startling coups by which she is occasionally
outwitted.
* * * * *
The Count at Harvard
BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE ADVENTURES OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF FASHION
AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY. By RUPERT SARGENT HOLLAND.
With a characteristic cover design $1.50
With the possible exception of Mr. Flandrau’s work, the “Count at
Harvard” is the most natural and the most truthful exposition of average
student life yet written, and is thoroughly instinct with the real
college atmosphere. “The Count” is not a foreigner, but is the nickname
of one of the principal characters in the book.
The story is clean, bright, clever, and intensely amusing. Typical
Harvard institutions, such as the Hasty Pudding Club, _The Crimson_, the
Crew, etc., are painted with deft touches, which will fill the soul of
every graduate with joy, and be equally as fascinating to all college
students.
* * * * *
Selections from L. C. Page and Company’s List of Fiction
WORKS OF ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS
_Each one vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative_ _$1.50_
The Flight of Georgiana
A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF THE YOUNG PRETENDER. Illustrated by H. C.
Edwards.
“A love-story in the highest degree, a dashing story, and a remarkably
well finished piece of work.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._
The Bright Face of Danger
Being an account of some adventures of Henri de Launay, son of the
Sieur de la Tournoire. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
“Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself. We thank him heartily. The
story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, rational and
convincing.”--_Boston Transcript._
The Mystery of Murray Davenport
(40th thousand.)
“This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. Those
familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of this
praise, which is generous.”--_Buffalo News._
Captain Ravenshaw
OR, THE MAID OF CHEAPSIDE. (52d thousand.) A romance of Elizabethan
London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other artists.
Not since the absorbing adventures of D’Artagnan have we had anything so
good in the blended vein of romance and comedy.
The Continental Dragoon
A ROMANCE OF PHILIPSE MANOR HOUSE IN 1778. (53d thousand.)
Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
A stirring romance of the Revolution, with its scene laid on neutral
territory.
* * * * *
Philip Winwood
(70th thousand.) A Sketch of the Domestic History of an American
Captain in the War of Independence, embracing events that occurred
between and during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York and London.
Illustrated by E. W. D. Hamilton.
An Enemy to the King
(70th thousand.) From the “Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur
de la Tournoire.” Illustrated by H. De M. Young.
An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the
adventures of a young French nobleman at the court of Henry III., and on
the field with Henry IV.
The Road to Paris
A STORY OF ADVENTURE. (35th thousand.) Illustrated by H. C.
Edwards.
An historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account of the
life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite ancestry.
A Gentleman Player
HIS ADVENTURES ON A SECRET MISSION FOR QUEEN ELIZABETH. (48th
thousand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.
The story of a young gentleman who joins Shakespeare’s company of
players, and becomes a friend and protégé of the great poet.
WORKS OF CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS
Red Fox
THE STORY OF HIS ADVENTUROUS CAREER IN THE RINGWALK WILDS, AND OF
HIS FINAL TRIUMPH OVER THE ENEMIES OF HIS KIND. With fifty
illustrations, including frontispiece in color and cover design by
Charles Livingston Bull.
Square quarto, cloth decorative $2.00
“Infinitely more wholesome reading than the average tale of sport, since
it gives a glimpse of the hunt from the point of view of the
hunted.”--_Boston Transcript._
“True in substance but fascinating as fiction. It will interest old and
young, city-bound and free-footed, those who know animals and those who
do not.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._
“A brilliant chapter in natural history.”--_Philadelphia North
American._
* * * * *
The Kindred of the Wild
A BOOK OF ANIMAL LIFE. With fifty-one full-page plates and many
decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull.
Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00
“Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal stories that
has appeared; well named and well done.”--_John Burroughs._
The Watchers of the Trails
A companion volume to “The Kindred of the Wild.” With forty-eight
full-page plates and many decorations from drawings by Charles
Livingston Bull.
Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00
“Mr. Roberts has written a most interesting series of tales free from
the vices of the stories regarding animals of many other writers,
accurate in their facts and admirably and dramatically told.”--_Chicago
News._
“These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and yet robust in
their appreciation of some of the rougher phases of woodcraft. Among the
many writers about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an enviable
place.”--_The Outlook._
“This is a book full of delight. An additional charm lies in Mr. Bull’s
faithful and graphic illustrations, which in fashion all their own tell
the story of the wild life, illuminating and supplementing the pen
pictures of the author.”--_Literary Digest._
Earth’s Enigmas
A new edition of Mr. Roberts’s first volume of fiction, published
in 1892, and out of print for several years, with the addition of
three new stories, and ten illustrations by Charles Livingston
Bull.
Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.50
“It will rank high among collections of short stories. In ‘Earth’s
Enigmas’ is a wider range of subject than in the ‘Kindred of the
Wild.’”--_Review from advance sheets of the illustrated edition by
Tiffany Blake in the Chicago Evening Post._
Barbara Ladd
With four illustrations by Frank Verbeck.
Library 12mo, gilt top $1.50
“From the opening chapter to the final page Mr. Roberts lures us on by
his rapt devotion to the changing aspects of Nature and by his keen and
sympathetic analysis of human character.”--_Boston Transcript._
* * * * *
Cameron of Lochiel
Translated from the French of Philippe Aubert de Gaspé, with
frontispiece in color by H. C. Edwards.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
“Professor Roberts deserves the thanks of his reader for giving a wider
audience an opportunity to enjoy this striking bit of French Canadian
literature.”--_Brooklyn Eagle._
“It is not often in these days of sensational and philosophical novels
that one picks up a book that so touches the heart.”--_Boston
Transcript._
The Prisoner of Mademoiselle
With frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top $1.50
A tale of Acadia,--a land which is the author’s heart’s delight,--of a
valiant young lieutenant and a winsome maiden, who first captures and
then captivates.
“This is the kind of a story that makes one grow younger, more innocent,
more light-hearted. Its literary quality is impeccable. It is not every
day that such a heroine blossoms into even temporary existence, and the
very name of the story bears a breath of charm.”--_Chicago
Record-Herald._
The Heart of the Ancient Wood
With six illustrations by James L. Weston.
Library 12mo, decorative cover $1.50
“One of the most fascinating novels of recent days.”--_Boston Journal._
“A classic twentieth-century romance.”--_New York Commercial
Advertiser._
The Forge in the Forest
Being the Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, Seigneur de
Briart, and how he crossed the Black Abbé, and of his adventures in
a strange fellowship. Illustrated by Henry Sandham, R. C. A.
Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50
A story of pure love and heroic adventure.
By the Marshes of Minas
Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated $1.50
Most of these romances are in the author’s lighter and more playful
vein; each is a unit of absorbing interest and exquisite workmanship.
* * * * *
A Sister to Evangeline
Being the Story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went into exile
with the villagers of Grand Pré.
Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated $1.50
Swift action, fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion, and
searching analysis characterize this strong novel.
WORKS OF LILIAN BELL
Hope Loring
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.
Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.50
“Lilian Bell’s new novel, ‘Hope Loring,’ does for the American girl in
fiction what Gibson has done for her in art.
“Tall, slender, and athletic, fragile-looking, yet with nerves and
sinews of steel under the velvet flesh, frank as a boy and tender and
beautiful as a woman, free and independent, yet not bold--such is ‘Hope
Loring,’ by long odds the subtlest study that has yet been made of the
American girl.”--_Dorothy Dix, in the New York American._
Abroad with the Jimmies
With a portrait, in duogravure, of the author.
Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.50
“Full of ozone, of snap, of ginger, of swing and momentum.”--_Chicago
Evening Post._
“ ... Is one of her best and cleverest novels ... filled to the brim
with amusing incidents and experiences. This vivacious narrative needs
no commendation to the readers of Miss Bell’s well-known earlier
books.”--_N. Y. Press._
At Home with the Jardines
A companion volume to “Abroad with the Jimmies.”
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
“Bits of gay humor, sunny, whimsical philosophy, and keen indubitable
insight into the less evident aspects and workings of pure human nature,
with a slender thread of a cleverly extraneous love-story, keep the
interest of the reader fresh, and the charmingly old-fashioned happy
ending is to be generously commended. Typical, characteristic Lilian
Bell sketches, bright, breezy, amusing, and philosophic.”--_Chicago
Record-Herald._
* * * * *
The Interference of Patricia
With a frontispiece from drawing by Frank T. Merrill.
Small 12mo, cloth, decorative cover
$1.00
“There is life and action and brilliancy and dash and cleverness and a
keen appreciation of business ways in this story.”--_Grand Rapids
Herald._
“A story full of keen and flashing satire.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._
A Book of Girls
With a frontispiece.
Small 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.00
“The stories are all eventful and have effective humor.”--_New York
Sun._
“Lilian Bell surely understands girls, for she depicts all the
variations of girl nature so charmingly.”--_Chicago Journal._
_The above two volumes boxed in special holiday dress, per set, $2.50_
WORKS OF ALICE MacGOWAN AND GRACE MacGOWAN COOKE
Return
A STORY OF THE SEA ISLANDS IN 1739. With six illustrations by C. D.
Williams.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
“So rich in color is this story, so crowded with figures, it seems like
a bit of old Italian wall painting, a piece of modern tapestry, rather
than a modern fabric woven deftly from the threads of fact and fancy
gathered up in this new and essentially practical country, and therein
lies its distinctive value and excellence.”--_N. Y. Sun._
“At once tender, thrilling, picturesque, philosophical, and dramatic.
One of the most delightful romances we have had in many a
day.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._
The Grapple
With frontispiece in color by Arthur W. Brown.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
“The movement of the tale is swift and dramatic. The story is so
original, so strong, and so finely told that it deserves a large and
thoughtful public. It is a book to read with both enjoyment and
enlightenment.”--_N. Y. Times Saturday Review of Books._
* * * * *
The Last Word
Illustrated with seven portraits of the heroine.
Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50
“When one receives full measure to overflowing of delight in a tender,
charming, and wholly fascinating new piece of fiction, the enthusiasm is
apt to come uppermost. Miss MacGowan has been known before, but her best
gift has here declared itself.”--_Louisville Post._
Huldah
With illustrations by Fanny Y. Cory.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
Here we have the great-hearted, capable woman of the Texas plains
dispensing food and genial philosophy to rough-and-ready cowboys. Her
sympathy takes the form of happy laughter, and her delightfully funny
phrases amuse the fancy and stick in one’s memory.
WORKS OF MORLEY ROBERTS
Rachel Marr
By MORLEY ROBERTS.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
“A novel of tremendous force, with a style that is sure, luxuriant,
compelling, full of color and vital force.”--_Elia W. Peattie in Chicago
Tribune._
“In atmosphere, if nothing else, the story is absolutely
perfect.”--_Boston Transcript._
“Will be widely read and shrewdly and acutely commented upon through
many years yet to come.”--_Philadelphia North American._
“A splendidly wrought book, strong as the winds and waves are strong,
and as unregardful as they of mean barriers.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._
Lady Penelope
By MORLEY ROBERTS. With nine illustrations by Arthur W. Brown.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
“For celerity of movement, originality of plot, and fertility of
invention, not to speak of a decided audacity in situation, ‘Lady
Penelope’ is easily ahead of anything in the spring output of
fiction.”--_Chicago News._
“A fresh and original bit of comedy as amusing as it is
audacious.”--_Boston Transcript._
* * * * *
The Promotion of the Admiral
By MORLEY ROBERTS.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
“If any one writes better sea stories than Mr. Roberts, we don’t know
who it is; and if there is a better sea story of its kind than this it
would be a joy to have the pleasure of reading it.”--_New York Sun._
“There is a hearty laugh in every one of these stories.”--_The Reader._
“To read these stories is a tonic for the mind; the stories are gems,
and for pith and vigor of description they are unequalled.”--_N. Y.
Commercial Advertiser._
WORKS OF STEPHEN CONRAD
The Second Mrs. Jim
By STEPHEN CONRAD. With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery.
Large 16mo, cloth decorative $1.00
Here is a character as original and witty as “Mr. Dooley” or “the
self-made merchant.” The realm of humorous fiction is now invaded by the
stepmother.
“It is an exceptionally clever piece of work.”--_Boston Transcript._
“‘The Second Mrs. Jim’ is worth as many Mrs. Wiggses as could be crowded
into the Cabbage Patch. The racy humor and cheerfulness and wisdom of
the book make it wholly delightful.”--_Philadelphia Press._
Mrs. Jim and Mrs. Jimmie
With a frontispiece in colors by Arthur W. Brown.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
This book is in a sense a sequel to “The Second Mrs. Jim,” since it
gives further glimpses of that delightful stepmother and her philosophy.
“Plenty of fun and humor in this book. Plenty of simple pathos and
quietly keen depiction of human nature afford contrast, and every
chapter is worth reading. It is a very human account of life in a small
country town, and the work should be commended for those sterling
qualities of heart and naturalness so endearing to many.”--_Chicago
Record-Herald._
* * * * *
WORKS OF ARTHUR MORRISON
The Green Diamond
By ARTHUR MORRISON, author of “The Red Triangle,” etc.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, with six illustrations $1.50
“A detective story of unusual ingenuity and intrigue.”--_Brooklyn
Eagle._
The Red Triangle
Being some further chronicles of Martin Hewitt, investigator. By
ARTHUR MORRISON, author of “The Hole in the Wall,” “Tales of Mean
Streets,” etc.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
“Better than Sherlock Holmes.”--_New York Tribune._
“The reader who has a grain of fancy or imagination may be defied to lay
this book down, once he has begun it, until the last word has been
reached.”--_Philadelphia North American._
WORKS OF ELLIOTT FLOWER
Delightful Dodd
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
“‘Delightful Dodd’ is a new character in fiction who is filled to the
brim with sound philosophy and who gives it quaint expression. In all
comments concerning every-day life, there is something which appeals to
the human heart and which is soundly philosophical and philosophically
sound. The story is one of quiet naturalness.”--_Boston Herald._
“The candor and simplicity of Mr. Flower’s narrative in general give the
work an oddity similar to that which characterized the stories of the
late Frank Stockton.”--_Chicago News._
The Spoilsmen
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
“The best one may hear of ‘The Spoilsmen’ will be none too good. As a
wide-awake, snappy, brilliant political story it has few equals, its
title-page being stamped with that elusive mark, ‘success.’ One should
not miss a word of a book like this at a time like this and in a world
of politics like this.”--_Boston Transcript._
* * * * *
Slaves of Success
With twenty illustrations by Jay Hambidge.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
“In addition to having given the reading public the best collection of
political short stories we have yet seen, Mr. Flower has blazed a new
trail in the more or less explored country of practical politics in
fiction. There is not a story in the book which is not clever in
construction, and significant in every sentence. Each is excellent,
because it depicts character accurately and realistically, while
unfolding a well-defined plot.”--_New York Evening Post._
WORKS OF THEODORE ROBERTS
Brothers of Peril
With four illustrations in color by H. C. Edwards.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
A tale of Newfoundland in the sixteenth century, and of the now extinct
Beothic Indians who lived there.
“An original and absorbing story. A dashing story with a historical
turn. There is no lack of excitement or action in it, all being
described in vigorous, striking style. To be sure, the ending is just
what is expected, but its strength lies in its naturalness, and this
applies to the whole story, which is never overdone; and this is
somewhat remarkable, for there are many scenes that could be easily
spoiled by a less skilful writer. A story of unusual interest.”--_Boston
Transcript._
Hemming, the Adventurer
With six illustrations by A. G. Learned.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
“A remarkable interpretation of the nomadic war correspondent’s
life.”--_N. Y. Evening Post._
“Its ease of style, its rapidity, its interest from page to page, are
admirable; and it shows that inimitable power,--the story-teller’s gift
of verisimilitude. Its sureness and clearness are excellent, and its
portraiture clear and pleasing. It shows much strength and much mature
power. We should expect such a writer to be full of capital short
stories.”--_The Reader._
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Voyage of the Arrow - To the China Seas. Its Adventures and Perils, Including - Its Capture by Sea Vultures from the Countess of Warwick, - as set down by William Gore, Chief Mate" ***
Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.