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DEEP-SEA PLUNDERINGS




By FRANK T. BULLEN.


  =Deep-Sea Plunderings.= 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  =The Apostles of the Southeast.= 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  =The Log of a Sea-Waif.= _Being Recollections of the First Four
    Years of My Sea Life._ Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  =Idylls of the Sea.= 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.

  =The Cruise of the Cachalot.= _Round the World After Sperm Whales._
    Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.


[Illustration: They met in full career, rolling each over each.

                                                       (See page 6.)
]




  DEEP-SEA
  PLUNDERINGS


  BY
  FRANK T. BULLEN, F. R. G. S.

  AUTHOR OF “THE CRUISE OF THE CACHALOT,”
  “THE APOSTLES OF THE SOUTHEAST,” ETC.


  _With Eight Illustrations_


  [Illustration]


  NEW YORK
  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
  1902




  COPYRIGHT, 1901
  BY FRANK T. BULLEN

  _All rights reserved_


_Published March, 1902_




  TO

  DR. ROBERTSON NICOLL

  A SMALL BUT SINCERE
  TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION AND ESTEEM

                      F. T. B.




PREFATORY NOTE


Warned by previous experience, I do not propose to make any apology for
the publication of these stories in book form, but I hope my generous
critics will at least pardon me for expressing my gratitude for the
way in which they have received all my previous efforts. Naturally, I
sincerely hope they will be equally kind in the present instance.

                                        F. T. BULLEN.

NEW BEDFORD, MASS., _September, 1901_.




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE
  THROUGH FIRE AND WATER                                               1

  THE OLD HOUSE ON THE HILL                                           17

  YOU SING                                                            53

  THE DEBT OF THE WHALE                                               93

  THE SKIPPER’S WIFE                                                 117

  A SCIENTIFIC CRUISE                                                127

  A GENIAL SKIPPER                                                   141

  MAC’S EXPERIMENT                                                   157

  ON THE VERTEX                                                      169

  A MONARCH’S FALL                                                   179

  THE CHUMS                                                          189

  ALPHONSO M’GINTY                                                   199

  THE LAST STAND OF THE DECAPODS                                     211

  THE SIAMESE LOCK                                                   235

  THE COOK OF THE CORNUCOPIA                                         259

  A LESSON IN CHRISTMAS-KEEPING                                      269

  THE TERROR OF DARKNESS                                             279

  THE WATCHMEN OF THE WORLD                                          289

  THE COOK OF THE WANDERER                                           297

  THE GREAT CHRISTMAS OF GOZO                                        307

  DEEP-SEA FISH                                                      319

  A MEDITERRANEAN MORNING                                            329

  ABNER’S TRAGEDY                                                    335

  LOST AND FOUND                                                     347




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                  FACING
                                                                    PAGE
  They met in full career, rolling each over each
                                                  _Frontispiece_

  The toiling men were breaking out the junk’s cargo                  60

  Gently she covered their ruddy faces                               121

  The skipper produced from his hip-pocket a revolver                163

  He gasped “In manus tuas, Domine,” and fell                        208

  He clutched his insulter by the beard and belt                     263

  She was to him brightest and best of all damsels                   309

  A huge sailing-ship crushed her into matchwood                     353




DEEP-SEA PLUNDERINGS




THROUGH FIRE AND WATER


“What a clumsy, barrel-bellied old hooker she is, Field!”

Thus, closing his telescope with a bang, the elegant chief officer of
the Mirzapore, steel four-masted clipper ship of 5000 tons burden,
presently devouring the degrees of longitude that lay between her
and Melbourne on the arc of a composite great circle, at the rate of
some 360 miles per day. As he spoke he cast his eyes proudly aloft at
the splendid spread of square sail that towered upward to a height
of nearly 200 feet. Twenty-eight squares of straining canvas, from
the courses, stretched along yards 100 feet or so in length, to the
far-away skysails of 35 feet head, that might easily be handled by a
pair of boys.

Truly she made a gallant show--the graceful ship, that in spite of
her enormous size was so perfectly modelled on yacht-like lines that,
overshadowed as she was by the mighty pyramid of sail, the eye refused
to convey a due sense of her great capacity. And the way in which she
answered the challenge of the west wind, leaping lightsomely over
the league-long ridges of true-rolling sea, heightened the illusion
by destroying all appearance of burden-bearing or cumbrousness. But
the vessel which had given rise to Mr. Curzon’s contemptuous remark
was in truth the antipodes of the Mirzapore. There was scarcely any
difference noticeable, as far as the contour of the hull went, between
her bow and stern. Only, at the bows a complicated structure of massive
timbers leaned far forward of the hull, and was terminated by a huge
“fiddle-head.” This ornament was carved out of a great balk of timber,
and in its general outlines it bore some faint resemblance to a human
form, its broad breast lined out with rude carving into some device
long ago made illegible by the weather; and at its summit, instead of a
head, a piece of scroll-work resembling the top of a fiddle-neck, and
giving the whole thing its distinctive name.

The top-hamper of this stubby craft was quite in keeping with her hull.
It had none of that rakish, carefully aligned set so characteristic
of clipper ships. The three masts, looking as if they were so huddled
together that no room was left to swing the yards, had as many kinks
in them as a blackthorn stick; and this general trend, in defiance of
modern nautical ideas, was forward instead of aft. The bow-sprit and
jibboom looked as if purposely designed by their upward sheer to make
her appear shorter than she really was, and also to place her as a
connecting link between the long-vanished galleasses of Elizabethan
days and the snaky ships of the end of the nineteenth century. In one
respect, however, she had the advantage of her graceful neighbour. Her
sails were of dazzling whiteness, and when, reflecting the rays of
the sun, they glistened against the deep blue sky, the effect was so
fairy-like as to make the beholder forget for a moment the ungainliness
of the old hull beneath.

The wind now dropped, in one of its wayward moods, until the rapid rush
past of the Mirzapore faltered almost to a standstill, and the two
vessels, scarcely a mile apart, rolled easily on the following sea,
as if in leisurely contemplation of each other. All the Mirzapore’s
passengers, a hundred and twenty of them, clustered along the starboard
poop-rail, unfeignedly glad of this break in what they considered the
long monotony of a sailing passage from London to the colonies. And
these seafarers of fifty-five days, eagerly catching their cues from
the officers, discussed, in all the hauteur of amateur criticism,
the various short-comings of the homely old tub abeam. Gradually
the two vessels drew nearer by that mysterious impulse common to
idly-floating things. As the different details of the old ship’s deck
became more clearly definable, the chorus of criticism increased,
until one sprightly young thing of about forty, who was going out
husband-seeking, said--

“Oh, please, Captain James, _do_ tell me what they use a funny ship
like that for.”

“Well, Miss Williams,” he replied gravely, “yonder vessel is one of the
fast-disappearing fleet of Yankee whalers--‘spouters,’ as they love to
term themselves. As to her use, if I don’t mistake, you will soon have
an object-lesson in that which will give you something to talk about
all the rest of your life.”

And as he spoke an unusual bustle was noticeable on board of the
stranger. Four boats dropped from her davits with such rapidity that
they seemed to fall into the sea, and as each struck the water she shot
away from the side as if she had been a living thing. An involuntary
murmur of admiration ran through the crew of the clipper. It was a
tribute they could scarcely withhold, knowing as they did the bungling,
clumsy way in which a merchant seaman performs a like manœuvre. Even
the contemptuous Curzon was hushed; and the passengers, interested
beyond measure, yet unable to appreciate what they saw, looked blankly
at one another and at the officers as if imploring enlightenment.

With an easy gliding motion, now resting in the long green hollow
between two mighty waves, and again poised, bird-like, upon a foaming
crest, with bow and stern a-dry, those lovely boats sped away to the
southward under the impulse of five oars each. Now the excitement
on board the Mirzapore rose to fever-heat. The crew, unheeded, by
the officers, gathered on the forecastle-head, and gazed after the
departing boats with an intensity of interest far beyond that of the
passengers. For it was interest born of intelligent knowledge of the
conditions under which those wonderful boatmen were working, and also
tempered by a feeling of compunction for the ignorant depreciation
they had often manifested of a “greasy spouter.” Presently the boats
disappeared from ordinary vision, although some of the more adventurous
passengers mounted the rigging, and, fixing themselves in secure
positions, glued their eyes to their glasses trained upon the vanishing
boats. But none of them saw the object of those eager oarsmen. Of
course, the sailors knew that they were after whales; but not even a
seaman’s eye, unless he be long-accustomed to watching for whales,
possesses the necessary discernment for picking up a vapoury spout five
or six miles away, as it lifts and exhales like a jet of steam against
the broken blue surface. Neither could any comprehend the original
signals made by the ship. Just a trifling manipulation of an upper
sail, the dipping or hoisting of a dark flag at the mainmast head, or
the disappearance of another at the gaff-end sufficed to guide the
hunters in their chase, giving them the advantage of that lofty eye far
behind them.

More than an hour passed thus tantalizingly on board the Mirzapore,
and even the most eager watchers had tired of their fruitless gazing
over the sea and at the sphinx-like old ship so near them. Then some
one suddenly raised a shout, “Here they come!” It was time. They were
coming--a-zoonin’, as Uncle Remus would say. It was a sight to fire the
most sluggish blood. About five hundred yards apart two massive bodies
occasionally broke the bright surface up into a welter of white, then
disappeared for two or three minutes, to reappear at the same furious
rush. Behind each of them, spreading out about twenty fathoms apart,
came two of the boats, leaping like dolphins from crest to crest of the
big waves, and occasionally hidden altogether by a curtain of spray.
Thus they passed the Mirzapore, their gigantic steeds in full view of
that awe-stricken ship’s company, privileged for once in their lives
to see at close quarters one of the most heart-lifting sights under
heaven--the Yankee whale-fisher at hand-grips with the mightiest,
as well as one of the fiercest, of all created things. No one spoke
as that great chase swept by, but every face told eloquently of the
pent-up emotion within.

Then a strange thing happened. The two whales, as they passed the
Mirzapore, swerved each from his direct course until they met in full
career, and in a moment were rolling each over each in a horrible
entanglement of whale-line amid a smother of bloody foam. The buoyant
craft danced around, one stern figure erect in each bow poising a long
slender lance; while in the stern of each boat stood another man, who
manipulated a giant oar as if it had been a feather, to swing his craft
around as occasion served. The lookers-on scarcely breathed. Was it
possible that men--just homely, unkempt figures like these--could dare
thrust themselves into such a vortex amongst those wallowing, maddened
Titans. Indeed it was. The boats drew nearer, became involved; lances
flew, oars bent, and blood--torrents of blood--befouled the glorious
azure of the waves. Suddenly the watchers gasped in terror, and little
cries of pain and sympathy escaped them: a boat had disappeared. Specks
floated, just visible in the tumult--fragments of oars, tubs, and heads
of men. But there was no sound, which made the scene all the more
impressive.

Still the fight went on, while the spectators forgot all else--the
time, the place; all senses merged in wonder at the deeds of these,
their fellow-men, just following, in the ordinary way, their avocation.
And the thought would come that but for an accident this drama being
enacted before their eyes would have had no audience but the screaming
sea-birds hovering expectantly in the unheeding blue.

The conflict ceased. The distained waters became placid, and upon
them floated quietly two vast corpses, but recently so terrible in
their potentialities of destruction. By their sides lay the surviving
boats--two of them, that is; the third was busy picking up the wrecked
hunters. And the old ship, with an easy adaptation of her needs to the
light air that hardly made itself felt, was gradually approaching the
scene. The passengers implored Captain James to lower a boat and allow
them a nearer view of those recently rushing monsters, and he, very
unwillingly, granted the request. So slow was the operation that by the
time the port lifeboat was in the water the whaler was alongside of
her prizes, and all her crew were toiling slavishly to free them from
the entanglement of whale-line in which they had involved themselves.
But when the passengers saw how the lifeboat tumbled about alongside
in the fast-sinking swell, the number of those eager for a nearer view
dwindled to half a dozen--and they were repentant of their rashness
when they saw how unhandily the sailors manipulated their oars.
However, they persisted for very shame’s sake, their respect for the
“spouters’” prowess, and, through them, for their previously despised
old ship, growing deeper every moment. They hovered about the old tub
as they saw the labour that was necessary to get those two enormous
carcases alongside, nor dared to go on board until the skipper of her,
mounting the rail, said cheerily, “Wunt ye kem aboard, sir,’n’ hev a
peek roun’?”

Thus cordially invited, they went, their wonder increasing until all
their conceit was effectually taken out of them, especially when they
saw the wonderful handiness and cleanliness of everything on board. The
men, too, clothed in nondescript patches, with faces and arms almost
blackened by exposure, and wearing an air of detachment from the world
of civilized life that was full of pathos; these specially appealed
to them, and they wished with all their hearts that they might do
something to atone for the injustice done to these unblazoned warriors
by their thoughtless, ignorant remark of so short a time before.

But time pressed, and they felt in the way besides; so, bidding a
humble farewell to the grim-looking skipper, who answered the inquiry
as to whether they could supply him with anything by a nonchalant
“No, I guess not; we aint a-ben eout o’ port hardly six month yet,”
they returned on board, having learned a corner of that valuable
lesson continually being taught: that to judge by appearances is but
superficial and dangerous, especially at sea.

Night fell, shutting out from the gaze of those wearied watchers the
dumpy outlines of the old whale-ship. Her crew were still toiling, a
blazing basket of whale-scrap swinging at a davit and making a lurid
smear on the gloomy background of the night. One by one the excited
passengers sauntered below, still eagerly discussing the stirring
events they had witnessed, and making a thousand fantastic additions
to the facts. Gradually the conversation dwindled to a close, and
the great ship was left to the watch on deck. Fitful airs rose and
fell, sharp little breaths of keen-edged wind that but just lifted
the huge sails lazily, and let them slat against the masts again as
if in disgust at the inadequacy of cat’s-paws. So the night wore on,
till the middle watch had been in charge about half an hour. Then,
with a vengeful hiss, the treacherous wind burst upon them from the
north-east, catching that enormous sail-area on the fore side, and
defying the efforts of the scanty crew to reduce it. All hands were
called, and manfully did they respond; Briton and Finn, German and
negro toiled side by side in the almost impossible effort to shorten
down, while the huge hull, driven stern foremost, told in unmistakable
sea-language of the peril she was in. Hideous was the uproar of
snapping, running gear, rending canvas, breaking spars, and howling
wind; while through it all, like a thread of human life, ran the
wailing minor of the seamen’s cries as they strove to do what was
required of them.

Slowly, oh, so slowly! the great ship paid off; while the heavier sails
boomed out their complaint like an aerial cannonade, when up from the
fore-hatch leapt a tongue of quivering flame. Every man who saw it felt
a clutch at his heart. For fire at sea is always terrible beyond the
power of mere words to describe; but fire under such conditions was
calculated to paralyze the energies of the bravest. There seemed to be
an actual hush, as if wind and waves were also aghast at this sudden
appearance of a fiercer element than they. Then rang out clear and
distinct the voice of Captain James--

“Drop everything else, men, and pass along the hose! Smartly, now! ’Way
down from aloft!” He was obeyed, but human nature had something to say
about the smartness. Men who have been taxing their energies, as these
had done, find that even the spur actuated by fear of imminent death
will fail to drive the exhausted body beyond a certain point. Moreover,
all of them knew that stowed in the square of the main-hatch were fifty
tons of gunpowder, which knowledge was of itself sufficient to render
flaccid every muscle they possessed. Still, they did what they could,
while the stewards went round to prepare the passengers for a hurried
departure. All was done quietly. In truth, although the storm was now
raging overhead, and the sails were being rent with infernal clamour
from the yards, a sense of the far greater danger beneath their feet
made the weather but a secondary consideration.

Then out of a cowering group of passengers came a feeble voice. It
belonged to the lady querist of the afternoon, and it said, “Oh, if
those brave sailors from that wonderful old ship were only near, we
might be saved!”

Simple words, yet they sent a thrill of returning hope through those
trembling hearts. Poor souls! None of them knew how far the ships
might have drifted apart in that wild night, nor thought of the drag
upon that old ship by those two tremendous bodies alongside of her.
So every eye was strained into the surrounding blackness, as if they
could pierce its impenetrable veil and bring back some answering ray of
hope. The same idea, of succour from the old whale-ship, had occurred
to the captain, and presently that waiting cluster of men and women saw
with hungry eyes a bright trail of fire soaring upward as a rocket was
discharged. Another and another followed, but without response. The
darkness around was like that of the tomb. Another signal, however, now
made itself manifest, and a much more effective one. Defying all the
puny efforts made to subdue it, the fire in the fore-hatch burst upward
with a roar, shedding a crimson glare over the whole surrounding sea,
and being wafted away to leeward in a glowing trail of sparks.

“All hands lay aft!” roared the captain, and as they came, he shouted
again, “Clear away the boats!”

Then might be seen the effect of that awful neglect of boats so common
to merchant ships. Davits rusted in their sockets, falls so swollen
as hardly to render over the sheaves, gear missing, water-breakers
leaky--all the various disastrous consequences that have given
sea-tragedies their grim completeness. But while the almost worn-out
crew worked with the energy of despair, there arose from the darkness
without the cheery hail of “Ship ahoy!”

Could any one give an idea in cold print of the revulsion of feeling
wrought by those two simple words? For one intense moment there was
silence. Then from every throat came the joyful response, a note like
the breaking of a mighty string overstrained by an outburst of praise.

Naturally, the crew first recovered their balance from the stupefaction
of sudden relief, and with coils of rope in their hands they thronged
the side, peering out into the dark for a glimpse of their deliverers.

“Hurrah!” And the boatswain hurled the mainbrace far out-board at some
dim object. A few seconds later there arrived on board a grim figure,
quaint of speech as an Elizabethan Englishman, perfectly cool and
laconic, as if the service he had come to render was in the nature of a
polite morning call.

“Guess you’ve consid’ble of a muss put up hyar, gents all,” said he;
and, after a brief pause, “Don’t know ez we’ve enny gre’t amount er
spare time on han’, so ef you’ve nawthin’ else very pressin’ t’ tend
ter, we mout so well see ’bout transhipment, don’t ye think?”

He had been addressing no one in particular, but the captain answered
him.

“You are right, sir; and thank you with all our hearts! Men, see the
ladies and children over-side!”

No one seemed to require telling that this angel of deliverance had
arrived from the whale-ship; any other avenue of escape seemed beyond
all imagination out of the question. Swiftly yet carefully the helpless
ones were handed over-side; with a gentleness most sweet to see those
piratical-looking exiles bestowed them in the boat. As soon as she
was safely laden, another moved up out of the mirk behind and took
her place. And it was done so cannily. No roaring, agitation, or
confusion, as the glorious work proceeded. It was the very acme of good
boatmanship. The light grew apace, and upon the tall tongues of flame,
in all gorgeous hues that now cleft the night, huge masses of yellow
smoke rolled far to leeward, making up a truly infernal picture.

Meanwhile, at the earliest opportunity, Captain James had called the
first-comer (chief mate of the whaler) apart, and quietly informed him
of the true state of affairs. The “down-easter” received this appalling
news with the same taciturnity that he had already manifested, merely
remarking as he shifted his chaw into a more comfortable position--

“Wall, cap’, ef she lets go ’fore we’ve all gut clear, some ov us ’ll
take th’ short cut t’ glory, anyhaow.”

But, for all his apparent nonchalance, he had kept a wary eye upon the
work a-doing, to see that no moment was wasted.

And so it came to pass that the last of the crew gained the boats,
and there remained on board the Mirzapore but Captain James and his
American deliverer. According to immemorial precedent, the Englishman
expressed his intention of being last on board. And upon his inviting
his friend to get into the waiting boat straining at her painter
astern, the latter said--

“Sir, I ’low no dog-goned matter ov etiquette t’ spile my work, ’n’ I
must say t’ I don’ quite like th’ idee ov leavin’ yew behine; so ef
yew’ll excuse me----”

And with a movement sudden and lithe as a leopard’s he had seized the
astonished captain and dropped him over the taff-rail into the boat as
she rose upon a sea-crest. Before the indignant Englishman had quite
realized what had befallen him, his assailant was standing by his side
manipulating the steer-oar and shouting--

“Naow then, m’ sons, pull two, starn three; so, altogether. Up with
her, lift her, m’ hearties, lift her, ’r by th’ gre’t bull whale it’ll
be a job spiled after all.”

And those silent men did indeed “give way.” The long supple blades
of their oars flashed crimson in the awful glare behind, as the
heavily-laden but still buoyant craft climbed the watery hills or
plunged into the hissing valleys. Suddenly there was one deep voice
that rent the heavens. The whole expanse of the sky was lit up by
crimson flame, in the midst of which hurtled fragments of that once
magnificent ship. The sea rose in heaps, so that all the boatmen’s
skill was needed to keep their craft from being overwhelmed. But the
danger passed, and they reached the ship--the humble, clumsy old
“spouter” that had proved to them a veritable ark of safety in time of
their utmost need.

Captain James had barely recovered his outraged dignity when he was
met by a quaint figure advancing out of the thickly-packed crowd on
the whaler’s quarter-deck. “I’m Cap’n Fish, at yew’re service, sir.
We haint over ’n’ above spacious in eour ’commodation, but yew’re all
welcome t’ the best we hev’; ’n’ I’ll try ’n’ beat up f’r th’ Cape ’n’
lan’ ye’s quick ’s it kin be did.”

The Englishman had hardly voice to reply; but, recollecting himself, he
said, “I’m afraid, Captain Fish, that we shall be sadly in your way for
dealing with those whales we saw you secure yesterday.”

“Not much yew wunt,” was the unexpected reply. “We hed t’ make eour
ch’ice mighty sudden between them fish ’n’ yew, ’n’, of course, though
we’re noways extravagant, they hed t’ go.”

The simple nobility of that homely man, in thus for self and crew
passing over the loss of from eight to ten thousand dollars at the
first call from his kind, was almost too much for Captain James, who
answered unsteadily--

“If I have any voice in the matter, there will be no possibility of the
men, who dared the terrors of fire and sea to save me and my charges,
being heavily fined for their humanity.”

“Oh, _thet’s_ all right,” said Captain Silas Fish.




THE OLD HOUSE ON THE HILL


CHAPTER I

There is something in the stress and struggle of tumultuous life in
a vast city like London that to me is almost unbearable. Accustomed
from a very early age to the illimitable peace of the ocean, to the
untainted air of its changeless circle of waves and roofless dome of
sky, I have never been able to endure satisfactorily the unceasing
roar of traffic in crowded streets, the relentless rush of mankind in
the race for life which is the normal condition of our great centres
of civilization. Yet, for many years, being condemned by circumstances
to abide in the midst of urban strife and noise without a break from
one weary year to another, I lived to mourn departed peace, and feed
my longing for it on memory alone, without a hope that its enjoyments
would ever again be mine. Then came unexpected relief, an opportunity
to visit a secluded corner of Wiltshire, that inland division of
England which is richer, perhaps, in memorials of our wonderful history
than any other part of these little islands, crowded as they are with
reminiscences of bygone glorious days.

I took up my quarters in a hamlet on the banks of the Wylye, a
delightful little river, taking its rise near the Somersetshire
border, and wandering with innumerable windings through the heart of
Wiltshire, associating itself with the Bourne and the Nadder, until at
Salisbury it is lost in that most puzzling of all streams, the Avon.
I said puzzling, for I believe there are but a handful of people out
of the great host to whom the Avon is one of the best-known streams
in the world from its associations, who know that there is one Avon
feeding the Severn near Tewkesbury, which is Shakespeare’s Avon; there
is another, upon which Bristol has founded her prosperity, and there
is yet another, the Avon of my first mention, which, accumulated from
numberless rivulets in the Vale of Pewsey, floweth through Salisbury,
and loses itself finally in the waters of the English Channel at
Christchurch in Hampshire. But I must ask forgiveness for allowing the
wily Avon to lure me away thus far.

One of the chief charms of Wiltshire is its rolling downs rising upon
either side of the valley, which in the course of ages the busy little
Wylye has scooped out between them in gentle undulations, a short,
sweet herbage for the most part covering their masses of solid chalk,
coming to within a foot or two of those emerald surfaces. This is the
place to come and ponder over the rubbish that is talked about the
over-crowding of England. Here you shall wander for a whole day if you
will, neither meeting or seeing a human being unless you follow the
road that winds through the Deverills, five villages of the valley,
all, alas, in swift process of decay. Even there the simple folk will
stare long and earnestly at a stranger as he passes, before turning
to resume their leisurely tasks, the uneventful, slumberous round of
English village life. To me it was idyllic. A great peace came over
me, and I felt that it was a sinful waste of nature to shut myself
within four walls even at night. Long after the thirty souls peopling
our hamlet had gone to bed I would sit out on the hillside behind the
cottage, steeping my heart in the warm silence, only manifested--not
broken--by the queer wailing cry of an uneasy plover as it fluttered
overhead. And when, reluctantly, I did go to bed, I was careful to prop
the windows wide open, even though I was occasionally awakened by the
soft “flip-flip” of bats flying across my chamber, dazzled by the small
light of my reading lamp.

The grey of the dawn, no matter how few had been my hours of sleep,
never failed to awaken me, and, hurrying through my bath and dressing,
I gat me out into the sweet breath of morning twilight while Nature was
taking her beauty sleep and the dewdrops were waiting to welcome with
their myriad smiles the first peep of the sun. And so it came to pass
that one morning, just as the eastern horizon was being flooded with
a marvellous series of colour-blends in mysterious and ever-changing
sequence, that I mounted the swell of the down opposite to the village
of Brixton Deverill, with every sense quickened to fullest appreciation
of the lovely scene. Hosts of rabbits, quaint wee bunches of grey fur,
each with a white blaze in the centre, scuttled from beneath my feet,
and every little while, their curiosity overpowering natural fear,
sat up with long ears erect and big black eyes devouring the uncouth
intruder on their happy feeding grounds. Great flocks of partridges,
almost as tame as domestic fowls (for it was July), ran merrily in
and out among the furze clumps, or rose with a noisy whir of many
wings when I came too close; aristocratic cock pheasants strolled by
superciliously with a sidelong glance to see that the erect biped
carried no gun, and an occasional lark gyrated to the swell of his
own heart-lifting song as he rose in successive leaps to his proper
sphere. I felt like singing myself, but Nature’s music was too sweet
to be disturbed by my quavering voice, so I climbed on, all eyes and
ears, and nerves a-tingle with receptivity of keenest enjoyment.
Reaching the summit, I paused and surveyed the peaceful scene. Far
to the left lay Longleat, its dense woods shimmering in a blue haze;
to the right, Heytesbury Wood, in sombre shadow; and behind, the
forest-like ridge of Chicklade. But near me, just peeping over the bare
crest of an adjoining down, were the tops of a clump of firs, and,
curious to know what that coppice might contain (I always have had a
desire to explore the recesses of a lonely clump of trees), I turned
my steps towards it, only stopping at short intervals to admire the
gracefulness of the purple, blue, and yellow wild flowers with which
the short, fine rabbit-grass was profusely besprent. Meanwhile the
sun appeared in cloudless splendour, his powerful rays dissipating
the spring-like freshness of the morning and promising a most sultry
day. Yet as I drew nearer the dark fastness of the coppice I felt a
chill, an actual physical sensation of cold. At the same time there
arose within me a positive repugnance to draw any closer to that deep
shade. This unaccountable change only made me angry with myself for
being capable of feeling such a nonsensical, unexplainable hindrance
to my purpose. So I took hold of it with both hands, and cast it from
me, striding onward with quickened step until I really seemed to be
breasting a strong tide. Panting with the intensity of my inward
struggle, I reached the shadow cast by that solemn clump of pines, and
saw the pale outlines of a wall in their midst. Now curiosity became
paramount, and, actually shivering with cold, I pressed on until I
stood in front of a fairly large house, surrounded by a flint wall on
all sides, but at some yards distance from it. Through large holes
in the encircling wall the wood-folk scampered or fluttered merrily
but noiselessly; rabbits, hares, squirrels, and birds, and as I drew
nearer there was a sudden whiff of strong animal scent, and a long red
body launched itself through one of the openings, flitting past me
like a flash of red-brown light. Although I had never seen an English
fox before on his native heath, I recognized him from his pictures,
and forgave him for startling me. Skirting the wall, I came to a huge
gap with crumbling sides, where once had been a gate, I suppose. It
commanded a view of the front of the house, which I now saw was a mere
shell, its walls perforated in many places by the busy rabbits, which
swarmed in and out like bees upon a hive. No windows remained, but the
front door was fast closed and barred by a thick trunk of ivy, which
had once overspread the whole building, but was now quite in keeping
with it, for it was dead. The space between the wall and the house was
thickly overgrown with nettles to nearly the height of a man, but there
was no sign of any useful plant, and even the roof of the building,
which was of red tiles and intact, had none of that kindly covering of
house-leek, stone-crop, and moss, which always decks such spaces with
beauty in the country. Upon a sudden impulse I turned, and behind me I
saw with a shudder that only a few feet from where I stood there was
a sheer descent of some thirty feet, a veritable pit some ten yards
wide, but with its farther margin only a few feet high. Tall trees
sprang from its bottom and sides, their roots surrounding a pool of
black-looking water that seemed a receptacle for all manner of hideous
mysteries. Involuntarily I shrank into myself, and looked up for a
glint of blue sunlit sky, but it was like being in a vault, dark and
dank and cold. Still, the idea never entered my head to get out until
I had seen all that might be there to be seen, although I confess to
comforting myself, as I have often done on a dull and gloomy day, with
the reminder that just outside the sun was shining steadily.

Turning away from that grim-looking pit, I thrust myself through the
savage nettle-bed, my hands held high so that I could guard my face
with my arms, until I reached the first opening in the house wall that
offered admission. With just one moment’s hesitation I stepped within,
and stood on the decayed floor of what had once been the best room.
And then I had need of all my disbelief in ghosts, for around me and
beneath me and above were a congeries of all the queer noises one could
conjure up. Soft pattering of feet, hollow murmurings as of voices, the
indefinite sound of brushing past that always makes one turn sharply
to see who is near. I found my mouth getting dry and my hands burning,
in spite of the chill that still clung to me; but still I went on and
explored every room in the eerie place, noting a colony of bats that
huddled together among the bare roof-beams, prying into the numerous
cavities in floors and walls made by the rabbits and the rats, but
seeing nothing worthy of note until I reached a sort of cellar which
looked as if it had been used as a bakehouse. Upon stepping down the
decrepit ladder which led to it, I startled a great colony of rats,
that fled in all directions with shrill notes of affright, hardly more
scared than myself. The place was so dark that I thankfully remembered
my box of wax matches, and, twisting two or three torches out of a
newspaper I found in my jacket pocket, I soon had a good light.

It revealed a cavity in the floor just in front of a huge baker’s oven,
into the dim recesses of which I peered, finding that it extended for
some distance on either side of the opening. Lighting another torch,
I jumped down and found--three oblong boxes of rude construction, and
across them the mouldering frame of what had once been a man. At last
I had seen enough, and with something tap-tapping inside my head, I
scrambled hastily out of the hole, my body shaking as if with ague, and
my lungs aching for air. I looked neither to the right nor the left
as I went, nor paused, regardless of the nettle grove, until I emerged
upon the bright hilltop, where I flung myself down and drank in great
gulps of sweet air until my tremors passed away and the tumult of my
mind became appeased.

Without casting another look back at that lonely place, or attempting
to speculate upon what I had seen, I departed for home, and, after a
hasty breakfast, sought out a friend in the next village, Longbridge
Deverill, who had already given me many pleasant hours by retailing
scraps of local history reaching back for hundreds of years. I found
him in his pretty garden enjoying the bright day, with a look of deep
content upon his worn old face--the afterglow of a well-spent life.
Staying his rising to greet me, I flung myself down on the springy turf
by his side, and almost without a word of preface, gave him a hurried
account of my morning’s adventure. He listened in grave silence until I
had finished, and then began as follows.


CHAPTER II

It is certainly a strange coincidence that you should stumble across
that sombre place, because, after what you told me the other day
about your family connection with this part of the country, I have
no doubt whatever that the unhappy tenants of Pertwood Farm (as it
is called even now) were nearly related to yourself. Their tragical
story is well known to me, although its principal events happened
more than sixty years ago, when I was a boy. The house had been built
and enclosed, and the trees planted, by a morose old man who wished
to shut himself off from the world, yet was by no means averse to a
good deal of creature comfort. He lived in it for some years, attended
only by one hard-featured man, who did apparently men and women’s
work equally well--lived there until local rumour had grown tired of
inventing fables about him, and left him to the oblivion he desired.
Then one day the news began to circulate that Pertwood had changed
hands, that old Cusack was gone, and that a middle-aged man with a
beautiful young wife had taken up his abode there, without any one in
the vicinity knowing aught of the change until it had been made. Then
the village tongues wagged loosely for awhile, especially when it was
found that the new-comers were almost as reserved as old Cusack had
been. But as time went on Mr. Delambre, whose Huguenot name stamped
him as most probably a native of these parts (you have noticed how
very frequent such names are hereabout), leased several good-sized
fields lower down the hill towards Chicklade, and began to do a little
farming. This, of course, necessitated his employing labour, and
consequently, by slow degrees, scraps of personalia about him filtered
through the sluggish tongues of the men who worked for him. Thus we
learned that his wife (your grandmother’s sister, my boy) was rarely
beautiful, though pale and silent as a ghost. That her husband loved
her tigerishly, could not bear that any other eyes should see her
but his, and it was believed that his fierce watchful jealousy of her
being even looked upon was fretting her to death. Quite a flutter of
excitement pervaded the village here not long after the above details
became public property, by one of the labourers from Pertwood coming
galloping in on a plough-horse for old Mary Hoddinot, who had nursed
at least two generations of neighbours in their earliest days. She was
whisked off in the baker’s cart, but the news remained behind that
twin boys had arrived at Pert’ood, as it was locally called, and that
Delambre was almost frantic with anxiety about his idol. The veil thus
hastily lifted dropped again, and only driblets of news came at long
intervals. We heard that old Mary was in permanent residence, that
the boys were thriving sturdily, and that the mother was fairer than
ever and certainly happier. So things jogged along for a couple of
years, until an occasional word came deviously from Pertwood to the
effect that the miserable Delambre was now jealous of his infant boys.
Self-tortured, he was making his wife a living martyr, and such was his
wild-beast temper that none dare interfere. At last the climax was put
upon our scanty scraps of intelligence by the appearance in our midst
of old Mary, pale, thin, and trembling. It was some time before we
could gather her dread story, she was so sadly shaken; but by degrees
we learned that after a day in which Delambre seemed to be perfectly
devil-possessed, alternately raging at and caressing his wife, venting
savage threats against the innocent babes “who were stealing all her
affection away from him,” he had gone down the hill to see after
enfolding some sheep. He was barely out of sight before his wife,
turning to old Mary, said, “Please put your arms round me, I feel _so_
tired.” Mary complied, drawing the fair, weary head down upon her
faithful old bosom, where it remained until a chill struck through her
bodice. Alarmed, she looked down and saw that her mistress was resting
indeed.

Although terrified almost beyond measure, the poor old creature
retained sufficient presence of mind to release herself from the dead
arms, rush to the door, and scream for her employer. He was returning,
when her cries hastened his steps, and, breaking into a run, he burst
into the room and saw! He stood stonily for a minute, then, turning to
the trembling old woman, shouted “go away.” Not daring to disobey, she
hurried off, and here she was. After much discussion, my father and
the village doctor decided to go to Pertwood and see if anything could
be done. But their errand was in vain. Delambre met them at the door,
telling them that he did not need, nor would he receive, any help or
sympathy. What he did require was to be left alone. And slamming the
door in his visitors’ faces, he disappeared. Even this grim happening
died out of men’s daily talk as the quiet days rolled by, and nothing
more occurred to arouse interest. We heard that the boys were well, and
were often seen tumbling about the grass-plot before the house door by
the farm labourers. Rumour said many things concerning the widower’s
disposal of his dead. But no one knew anything for certain, except
that her body had never been seen again by any eye outside the little
family. Delambre himself seemed changed for the better, less harsh and
morose, although as secretive as ever. He was apparently devoted to
his two boys, who throve amazingly. As they grew up he and they were
inseparable. He educated them, played with them, made their welfare
his one object in life. And they returned his care with the closest
affection, in fact the trio seemed never contented apart. Yet they
never came near the village, nor mixed with the neighbours in any way.

In this quiet neighbourhood the years slip swiftly by as does the
current past an anchored ship, and as unnoticeably. The youthful
Delambres grew and waxed strong enough to render unnecessary the
employment of any other labour on the farm than their own, and in
consequence it was only at rare intervals that any news of them reached
us in roundabout fashion through Warminster, where old Delambre was
wont to go once a week on business. So closely had they held aloof
from all of us that when one bitter winter night a tall swarthy young
man came furiously knocking at the doctor’s door, he was as completely
unknown to the worthy old man as any new arrival from a foreign land.
The visitor, however, lost no time in introducing himself as George
Delambre, and urgently requested the doctor to accompany him at once to
Pertwood on a matter of life and death. In a few minutes the pair set
off through the heavy snow-drifts, and, after a struggle that tried the
old doctor terribly, arrived at the house to find that the patient was
mending fast.

A young woman of about eighteen, only able to mutter a few words of
French, had been found huddled up under the wall of the house by George
as he was returning from a visit to the sheepfold. She was fairly well
dressed in foreign clothing, but at almost the last gasp from privation
and cold. How she came there she never knew. The last thing that she
remembered was coming to Hindon, by so many ways that her money was all
spent, in order to find a relative, she having been left an orphan.
Failing in her search, she had wandered out upon the downs, and the
rest was a blank.

In spite of convention she remained at Pertwood, making the dull
place brighter than it had ever been. But of course both brothers
fell in love with the first woman they had ever really known. And
she, being thus almost compelled to make her choice, with all a
woman’s inexplicable perversity, promised to marry dark saturnine
George, although her previous behaviour towards him had been timid and
shrinking, as if she feared him. To the rejected brother, fair Charles,
she had always been most affectionate, so much so, indeed, that he was
perfectly justified in looking upon her as his future wife, to be had
for the asking. This cruel blow to his almost certain hopes completely
stunned him for a time, until his brother with grave and sympathetic
words essayed to comfort him. This broke the spell that had bound him,
and in a perfect fury of anger he warned his brother that he looked
upon him as his deadliest enemy, that the world was hardly wide enough
for them both; but, for his part, he would not, if he could help it,
add another tragedy to their already gloomy home, and to that end he
would flee. Straightway he rushed and sought his father, and, without
any warning, demanded his portion. At first the grim old man stared
at him blankly, for his manner was new as his words were rough; then,
rising from his chair, the old man bade him be gone--not one penny
would he give him; he might go and starve for ought he cared.

“Very well,” said Charles, “then I go into the village and get advice
as to how I shall proceed against you for the wages I have earned since
I began to work. And you’ll cut a fine figure at the Warminster Court.”

The threat was efficient. With a face like ashes and trembling hands
the father opened his desk and gave him fifty guineas, telling him that
it was half of his total savings, and with an evidently severe struggle
to curb his furious temper, asked him to hurry his departure. Since he
had robbed him, the sooner he was gone the better. The young man turned
and went without another word.

That same night old Delambre died suddenly and alone. And Louise,
instead of clinging to her promised husband, came down to the village,
where the doctor gave her shelter. The unhappy George, thus cruelly
deserted, neglected everything, oscillating between the village and
his lonely home. The inquest showed that the old man had died of heart
disease; and George then, to every one’s amazement, announced his
intention of carrying out his father’s oft-repeated wish, and burying
him beneath the house by the side of his wife.


CHAPTER III

And now we must needs leave Pertwood Farm and its doubly bereaved
occupant for a while, in order to follow the fortunes of the
self-exiled Charles. His was indeed a curious start in life. Absolutely
ignorant of the world, his whole horizon at the age of twenty years
bounded by that little patch of lonely Wiltshire down, and his
knowledge of mankind confined to, at the most, half a dozen people. He
had great native talent, which, added to an ability to keep his own
counsel, was doubtless of good service to him in this breaking away
into the unknown. His total stock of money amounted to less than £50,
to him an enormous sum, the greater because he had never yet known the
value of money. His native shrewdness, however, led him to husband it
in miserly fashion, as being the one faithful friend upon which he
could always rely.

And now the salt strain in his mother’s blood must have asserted itself
unmistakably, if mysteriously, for straight as a homing bee he made
his way down to the sea, finding himself a week after his flight at
Poole. I shall never forget the look upon his face as he told me how
he first felt when the sea revealed itself to him. All his unsatisfied
longings, all the heart-wrench of his rejected love, were forgotten
in present unutterable delight. He was both hungry and weary, yet he
sat contentedly down upon the verge of the cliffs and gazed upon this
glorious vision until his eyes glazed with fatigue, and his body was
numbed with the immovable restraint of his attitude. At last he tore
himself away, and entered the town, seeking a humble lodging-place,
and finding one exactly suited to his needs in a little country
public-house on the outskirts of the town, kept by an apple-cheeked
dame, whose son was master of a brigantine then lying in the harbour.
She gave the handsome youth a motherly welcome, none the less warm
because he appeared to be well able to pay his way.

Against the impregnable fortress of his reserve she failed to make any
progress whatever, although in the attempt to gratify her curiosity she
exerted every simple art known to her. On the other hand he learned
many things, for one of her chief wiles was an open confidence in
him, an unreserved pouring out to him of all she knew. He was chiefly
interested in her stories of her son. Naturally she was proud of that
big swarthy seaman, who, when he arrived home that evening, loomed so
large in the doorway that he appeared to dwarf the whole building. As
Englishmen will, the two men eyed one another suspiciously at first,
until the ice having been broken by the fond mother, Charles in his
turn began to pump his new acquaintance. Captain Jacks, delighted
beyond measure to find a virgin mind upon which to sow his somewhat
threadbare stock of yarns, was gratified beyond measure, and
thenceforward until long after the usual hour for bed, the young man
was simply soaking up like a sponge in the rain such a store of wonders
as he had never before even dreamed of. At last the old dame, somewhat
huffed by the way in which Charles had turned from her garrulity to her
son’s, ordered them both to bed. But Charles could not sleep. How was
it possible? The quiet monotone of his life had been suddenly lifted
into a veritable Wagner concert of strange harmonies, wherein joy and
grief, pleasure and pain, love and hate, strove for predominance,
and refused to be hushed to rest even by the needs of his healthful
weariness.

Out of it all one resolve arose towering. He would, he must go to sea.
That alone could be the career for him. But he would write to Louise.
Knowing nothing of her flight from the old home or of his father’s
death, he felt that he must endeavour to assert a claim to her, more
just and defensible than his brother’s, even though she had rejected
him. And then, soothed by his definite settlement of future action, he
fell asleep, nor woke again until roused by his indignant landlady’s
inquiry as to whether “’ee wor gwain t’ lie abed arl daay.” Springing
out of bed, he made his simple toilet in haste, coming down so speedily
that the good old dame was quite mollified. A hasty breakfast ensued,
and a hurried departure for the harbour in search of Captain Jacks’
brigantine. Finding her after a short search, he was warmly welcomed
by the gallant skipper, and, to his unbounded delight, succeeded in
inducing that worthy man to take him as an extra hand without pay on
his forthcoming voyage to Newfoundland. Then returning to his lodging,
he made his small preparations, and after much anxious thought,
produced the following letter, which he addressed to Louise, care of
the old doctor at Longbridge.

  “MY DEAREST LOO,

    “Though you chose George instead of me I don’t mean to give you
    up. I mean to do something big, looking forward to you for a
    prize. I believe you love me better than you do George in spite
    of what you did. You will never marry him, never. You’ll marry
    me, because you love me, and I won’t let you go. I know you’ll
    get this letter, and send me an answer to Mrs. Jacks, Apple
    Row, Poole. And you’ll wait for my reply, which may be late a
    coming, but will be sure to come.

                                        “Yours till death,
                                              “CHARLES DELAMBRE.”

A few minutes afterwards he was on his way down to the Mary Jane,
Captain Jacks’ brigantine. He was received with the gravity befitting
a skipper on shipping a new hand, and after bestowing his few
purchases in a cubby-hole in the tiny cabin, returned on deck in
his shirt-sleeves, to take part in whatever work was going on, with
all the ardour of a new recruit. Next morning at daylight the Mary
Jane departed. Under the brilliant sky of June the dainty little
vessel glided out into the Channel, bounding forward before the fresh
north-easterly breeze, as if rejoicing to be at home once more, and
freed from the restraint of mooring chains and the stagnant environment
of a sheltered harbour.

Charles took to his new life wonderfully, feeling no qualms of
sea-sickness, and throwing himself into every detail of the work with
such ardour that by the time they had been out a week he was quite
a useful member of the ship’s company. And then there arrived that
phenomenon, a June gale from the north-west. Shorn of all her white
wings but one, the little brigantine lay snugly enough, fore-reaching
against the mighty Atlantic rollers that hurled themselves upon
her like mountain ranges endowed with swiftest motion. So she lay
throughout one long day and far into the night succeeding, until just
at that dread hour of midnight when watchfulness so often succumbs
to weariness at sea, a huge comber came tumbling aboard as she fell
off into the trough of the sea. For a while she seemed to be in doubt
whether to shake herself clear of the foaming mass, and then splendidly
lifting herself with her sudden burden of a deck filled with water,
she resumed her gallant struggle. Just then it was discovered that her
lights were gone. Before they could be replaced, out of the darkness
came flying an awful shape, vast, swift, and merciless. One of the
splendid Yankee fliers of those days, the Columbia, of over a thousand
tons register, was speeding eastward under every stitch of sail, at a
rate far surpassing that of any but the swiftest steamships. A good
look out was being kept on board of her, for those vessels were noted
for the excellence of their discipline and careful attention to duty.
But the night was pitchy dark, the Mary Jane had no light visible,
and before anything could be done her doomed crew saw the Columbia’s
bow towering over their vessel’s waist like some unthinkable demon
of destruction. Up, up, up, she soared above them, then descending,
her gleaming bow shone clean through the centre of the Mary Jane’s
hull, tearing with it the top-hamper of masts and rigging, and rushing
straight through the wreckage without a perceptible check. One wild cry
of despair and all was silent. Over the side of the Columbia peered
a row of white faces gazing fearfully into the gloom, but there was
nothing to be seen. The sea had claimed her toll.

As usual, after such a calamity, there was a hushed performance
of tasks, until suddenly one of the crew shouted, “Why, here’s a
stranger.” And there was. Charles had clutched instinctively at one
of the martingale guys as the Columbia swept over her victim, and had
succeeded in climbing from thence on board out of the vortex of death
in which all his late shipmates had been involved. Plied with eager
questions, his simple story was soon told, and he was enrolled among
the crew. The Columbia was bound to Genoa, a detail that troubled
him but little; so long as he was at sea he had no desire to select
his destination. But he found here a very different state of things
obtaining. The crew were a hard-bitten, motley lot, prime seamen
mostly, but “packet rats” to a man, wastrels without a thought in life
but how soon they might get from one drinking-bout to another, and at
sea only kept from mutiny, and, indeed, crime of all kinds, by the
iron discipline imposed upon them by the stern-faced, sinewy Americans
who formed the afterguard. There were no soft, sleepy-voiced orders
given here. Every command issued by an officer came like the bellowing
of an angry bull, and if the man or men addressed did not leap like
cats to execute it, a blow emphasized the fierce oath that followed.

Charles now learned what work was. No languid crawling through duties
with one ear ever cocked for the sound of the releasing bell, but a
rabid rush at all tasks, even the simplest, as if upon its immediate
performance hung issues of life or death. “Well fed, well driven,
well paid,” was the motto on board those ships, albeit there were not
wanting scoundrelly skippers and officers, who, in ports where fresh
hands were to be obtained cheaply, were not above using the men so
abominably that they would desert and leave all their cruelly-earned
wages behind. Strangely enough, however, Charles became a prime
favourite. This son of the soil, who might have been expected to move
in clod-hopper fashion, developed an amazing smartness which, allied
to a keenness of appreciation quite American in its rapidity, endeared
him specially to the officers. In the roaring fo’c’sle among his
half-savage shipmates he commanded respect, for in some mysterious
way he evolved masterly fighting qualities and dogged staying powers
that gave him victory in several bloody battles. So that it came to
pass, when Genoa was reached, that Charles was one day called aft and
informed that, if he cared to, he might shift his quarters aft and
go into training for an officer, holding a sort of brevet rank as
supernumerary third mate. He accepted, and was transferred, much to
the disgust of his shipmates forward, who looked upon his move aft as
a sort of desertion to the enemy. But they knew Charles too well to
proceed further with their enmity than cursing him among themselves, so
that as much peace as usual was kept.

From this port Charles wrote lengthily to Louise at Longbridge as
before, and to Poole to Mrs. Jacks, breaking her great misfortune to
her, and begging her to write to him and send him at New York any
letters that might have arrived for him. And then he turned contentedly
to his work again, allowing it to engross every thought. He was no
mere dreamer of dreams, this young man. In his mind there was a solid
settled conviction that, sooner or later (and it did not greatly matter
which), he would attain the object of his desires. This granitic
foundation of faith in his future saved him all mental trouble, and
enabled him to devote all his energies to the work in hand, to the
great satisfaction of his skipper. Captain Lothrop, indeed, looked
upon this young Englishman with no ordinary favour. A typical American
himself, of the best school, he concealed under a languid demeanour
energy as of an unloosed whirlwind. His face was long, oval, and
olive-brown, with black silky beard and moustache trimmed like one of
Velasquez’s cavaliers, and black eyes that, usually expressionless
as balls of black marble, would, upon occasion given, dart rays of
terrible fire. Contrasted with this saturnine stately personage, the
fair, ruddy Charles looked like some innocent schoolboy, the open,
confiding air he bore being most deceptive. He picked up seamanship,
too, in marvellous fashion, the sailorizing that counts, by virtue of
which a seaman handles a thousand-ton ship as if she were a toy and
every one of her crew but an incarnation of his will. But this very
ability of his before long aroused a spirit of envy in his two brother
officers that would have been paralyzing to a weaker man. Here, again,
the masterly discipline of the American merchantman came to his aid,
a discipline that does not know of such hideous folly as allowing
jealousy between officers being paraded before the crew, so that they
with native shrewdness may take advantage of the house divided against
itself. When in an American ship one sees a skipper openly deriding an
officer, be sure that officer’s days as an officer are numbered; he
is about to be reduced to the ranks. So, in spite of a growing hatred
to the ---- Britisher, the two senior mates allowed no sign of their
feelings to be manifested before the crew. Perhaps the old man was a
bit injudicious also. He would yarn with Charles by the hour about
the old farm and the sober, uneventful routine of English rural life,
the recital of these placid stories evidently giving him the purest
pleasure by sheer contrast with his own stormy career.

In due time the stay of the Columbia at Genoa came to an end, and
backward she sailed for New York. In masterly fashion she was manœuvred
out through the Gut of Gibraltar, and sped with increased rapidity
into the broad Atlantic. But it was now nearly winter, and soon the
demon of the west wind made his power felt. The gale settled down
steadily to blow for weeks apparently, and with dogged perseverance
the Columbia’s crew fought against it. Hail, snow, and ice scourged
them, canvas became like planks, ropes as bars of iron. Around the
bows arose masses of ice like a rampart, and from the break of the
forecastle hung icicles which grew like mushrooms in a few hours of
night. The miserable crew were worn to the bone with fatigue and cold,
and had they been fed as British crews of such ships are fed they would
doubtless have all died. But, in spite of their sufferings, they worked
on until one night, having to make all possible sail to a “slant” of
wind, they were all on deck together at eight bells--midnight. With the
usual celerity practised in these ships, the snowy breadths of canvas
were rising one above the other, and the Columbia was being flung
forward in lively fashion over the still heavy waves, when Charles,
who was standing right forward on the forecastle, shouted in a voice
that could be heard distinctly above the roar of the wind and sea
and the cries of the seamen, “Hard down!” Mechanically the helmsman
obeyed, hardly knowing whither the summons came, and the beautiful
vessel swung up into the wind, catching all her sails aback, and
grinding her way past some frightful obstruction to leeward that looked
as if an abyss of darkness had suddenly yawned in the middle of the
sea, along the rim of which the Columbia was cringing. The tremendous
voice of Captain Lothrop boomed out through the darkness, “What d’ye
see, Mister Delamber, forrard there?” “We’ve struck a derelict, sir,”
roared Charles, and his words sounded in the ears of the ship’s company
like the summons of doom. The ship faltered in her swing to windward,
refused to obey her helm, and swung off the wind again slowly but
surely, as if being dragged down into unknown depths by an invisible
hand whose grip was like that of death.


CHAPTER IV

In this hour of paralyzing uncertainty Charles rose to the full
height of his manhood. Passing the word for a lantern, and slinging
himself in a bowline, he ventured into the blackness alongside, and
presently reappeared with the cheering news that no damage was done. A
few strokes of an axe and they would be set free. And arming himself
with a broad axe, he again disappeared into the outer dark, this time
under the watchful eye of the skipper, and presently, with a movement
which was like a throb of returning life to every soul on board, the
Columbia regained her freedom. Charles was hauled on board through the
surf alongside like a sodden bundle of clothing, unhurt, but entirely
exhausted, having made good his claim to be regarded as one of the
world’s silent heroes, a man who to the call of duty returns no dubious
answer, but renders swift obedience.

This last adventure seemed to exhaust the Columbia’s budget of ill-luck
for the voyage. Although the wind was never quite fair, it allowed
them to work gradually over to the westward, and with its change a
little more genial weather was vouchsafed to them. They arrived in
New York without further incident worthy of notice, and Charles found
himself not only the guest of the skipper, but honoured by the owner,
who, as an old skipper himself, was fully alive to the glowing account
given him by Captain Lothrop of Charles’s services to the Columbia. The
other two officers left early, and Charles, now a full-blown second
mate, saw his prize almost within his grasp. The more so that a letter
(only one) awaited him; it was from Louise, and contained only these
words--

  “DEAR CHARLES,

    “It is that I am yours. Whenever it shall please you to come
    for me, I am ready. I leave the house to the day of your
    parting, for your father is dead immediately, and I go not
    there any more. I wait for you only.

                                        “LOUISE.”

He accepted this news with perfect calmness, as of one who knew that
it would come, and turned again to his work with a zest as unlike
that of a love-sick youth as any one ever saw. Not a word did he say
of his affairs even to his good friend the skipper, and when, their
stay in New York at an end, they sailed for China, that worthy man was
revolving all sorts of projects in his mind for an alliance between
Charles and his wife’s sister, who, during Charles’ stay in New York,
had manifested no small degree of interest in the stalwart, ruddy
young Englishman. He, however, took no advantage of the obviously
proffered opportunity, and in due course the Columbia sailed for Hong
Kong, petroleum laden. Captain Lothrop carried his wife with him this
voyage, and very homely indeed the ship appeared with the many trifles
added to her cabin by feminine taste. A new mate and third mate were
also shipped--the former a gigantic Kentuckian, with a fist like a
shoulder of mutton, a voice like a wounded buffalo bull, and a heart as
big and soft as ever dwelt in the breast of mortal man. Yet, strangely
enough, he was a terror to the crew. Long training in the duty of
running a ship “packet fashion” had made him so, made him regard the
men under his charge as if they were wild beasts, who needed keeping
tame by many stripes and constant, unremitting toil. The third mate
was a Salem man, tall enough, but without an ounce of superfluous
flesh on his gaunt frame. He seemed built of steel wire, so tireless
and insensible to pain was he. With these two worthies Charles was at
home at once. Good men themselves, they took to him on the spot as an
Englishman of the best sort, who is always beloved by Yankees--that is,
genuine Americans--and loves them in return in no half-hearted fashion.

It was well for them all that this solidarity obtained among them,
for they shipped a crowd in New York of all nationalities, except
Americans or English, a gang that looked as if they had stepped direct
from the deck of a pirate to take service on board the Columbia. The
skipper was as brave a man as ever trod a quarter-deck; but his wife
was aboard, and his great love made him nervous. He suggested at once
that each of his officers should never be without a loaded six-shooter
in their hip-pockets by night or day, and that they should watch that
crowd as the trainer watches his cage of performing tigers. Fortunately
the men were all prime seamen, and full of spring, while the perfect
discipline maintained on board from the outset did not permit of any
loafing about, which breeds insolence as well as laziness, that root
of mischief at sea. So, in spite of incessant labour and the absence
of any privileges whatever, the peace was kept until the ship, after
a splendid passage of one hundred days, was running up the China
Sea under as much canvas as she could drag to the heavy south-west
monsoon. All the watch were busy greasing down, it being Saturday,
and, unlike most English ships, where, for fear of the men grumbling,
this most filthy but necessary work is done by the boys or the quiet
men of the crew, here everybody took a hand, and the job was done in
about twenty minutes from the word “go.” A huge Greek was busy at the
mizzen-topmast, his grease-pot slung to his belt, when suddenly the
pot parted company with him and fell, plentifully bespattering sails
and rigging as it bounded and rebounded on its way down, until at last
it smashed upon the cabin skylight and deposited the balance of its
contents all around.

“Come down here, ye Dago beast!” bellowed the mate. Slowly, too slowly,
’Tonio obeyed. Hardly had he dropped from the rigging on to the top of
the house when Mr. Shelby seized him by the throat, and, in spite of
his bulk (he was almost as big as the mate himself), dragged him to
the skylight, and, forcing his head down, actually rubbed his face in
the foul mess. ’Tonio struggled in silence, but unavailingly, until
the mate released him; then, with a spring like a lion’s, he leaped
at his tormentor, a long knife, never seen till then, gleaming in his
left hand. Mr. Shelby met him halfway with a kick which caught his
left elbow, paralyzing his arm, the knife dropping point downwards
and sticking in the deck. But the fracas was the signal for a general
outbreak. The helmsman sprang from the wheel, the rest of the watch
slid down backstays, and came rushing aft, bent on murder, all their
long pent-up hatred of authority brought to a climax by the undoubted
outrage perpetrated upon one of their number. But they met with a man.
His back to the mizzen-mast, Mr. Shelby whipped out his revolver,
and, as coolly as if engaged in a day’s partridge-shooting ashore, he
fired barrel after barrel of his weapon at the rushing savages. Up
came the skipper and the other two officers, not a moment too soon. A
hairy Spaniard clutched at Charles as he appeared on deck, but that
sturdy son of the soil grappled with his enemy so felly, that in a few
heart-beats the body of the Latin went hurtling over the side. Then
the fight became general. The ship, neglected, swung up into the wind
and was caught aback, behaving herself in the fashion of a wounded
animal, while the higher race, outnumbered by four to one, set its
teeth and fought in primitive style. The groans of the wounded, the
hissing oaths of the combatants, and the crack of revolver shots made
up a lurid weft to the warp of sound provided by the moaning wind
and murmuring sea. Then gradually those of the men who could do so
crawled forrard, leaving the bright yellow of the painted deck aft all
besmeared with red, and the victory was won for authority.

But a new danger threatened. Attracted, perhaps, like vultures, by
the smell of blood, several evil-looking junks were closing in upon
the Columbia, and but for the tremendous exertions of the officers,
aided by the cook and steward and the captain’s wife, who, pale but
resolute, took the wheel, there is no doubt that the Columbia would
have been added to the list of missing ships. That peril was averted
by the ship being got before the wind again, when her speed soon told,
and she hopelessly out-distanced the sneaking, clumsy junks. And before
sunset a long smear of smoke astern resolved itself into one of the
smart little gun-boats which, under the splendid St. George’s Cross,
patrol those dangerous seas. In answer to signals, she came alongside
the Columbia, and soon a boat’s crew of lithe men-o’-war’s-men were
on board the American ship, making all secure for her safe passage
into Hong Kong. There she arrived two days later, and got rid of her
desperate crew, with the exception of two who had paid for their rash
attempt the only price they had--their lives.

From Hong Kong the Columbia sailed for London, arriving there after an
uneventful passage of one hundred and twenty days. Charles, turning a
deaf ear to the entreaties of the captain and his fellow-officers,
determined to take his discharge. A load-stone of which they knew not
anything was drawing him irresistibly into the heart of Wiltshire, and,
with all his earnings carefully secreted about him, he left the great
city behind, and set his face steadfastly for Longbridge Deverill.
There he suddenly arrived, as if he had dropped from the sky, just as
the short winter’s day was closing in. The few straggling villagers
peered curiously at the broad, alert figure that strode along the
white road with an easy grace and manly bearing quite foreign to the
heavy slouch of their own men-folk. There was, too, an indefinable
foreign odour about him which cut athwart even their dull perceptions
and aroused all their curiosity. But none recognized him. How should
they? They had hardly ever known him, except by rumour, which, during
his absence of nearly two years, had died a natural death for want of
something to feed upon. Straight to the old doctor’s house he went
as a homing pigeon would. To his confident knock there appeared at
the door Louise, the light of love in her eyes, her arms outstretched
in gladdest welcome. Neither showed any surprise, for both seemed to
have been in some unexplainable way in communion with the other. Yet,
now the first speechless greeting over, the first caresses bestowed,
instead of contentment most profound came unease, an indefinite fear
lest this wonderful thing that had befallen them should by the sheer
perversity of fate be swept away, leaving them in the outer dark.

The quavering voice of the old doctor removed them from each other’s
close embrace, and shyly, yet with a proud air of ownership, Louise led
the way into the cosy parlour, where the good old man sat enjoying the
rest and comfort he so fully deserved. He looked up inquiringly as with
dazzled eyes the big man entered the room, hesitatingly, and with a
rush of strange memories flooding his brain.

“Who is it, Loo?” said the doctor. “I don’t recognize the gentleman.”

And, rising stiffly from his armchair, he took a step forward.

“It’s Charles, doctor, Charles Delambre,” faltered Louise.

“Yes, doctor; and I’ve come to take away your treasure. Also to thank
you with my whole heart for your loving kindness in taking care of her.
Without you what would she have done, me being so far away?”

Almost inarticulate with joy, the old man caught Charles’s hands in
both his own, and pushed him into a chair. Then sinking back into his
own, he gasped breathlessly--

“Ah, my boy, my boy, how I have longed for your return! It has given
me more pain than you can think--the idea that I might die and leave
this poor child friendless and alone in the world. But she has had no
fear. She knew you would come, and she was right. But, Charley, my
boy, before we say another word--your brother. You mustn’t forget him,
and if, as I fear, your quarrel was fierce, you must forgive. His
sufferings have been great. Never once has his face been seen in the
village since you left, and, except that we hear an occasional word of
him brought by a tramp, he might be dead. Go to him, Charles, and make
it up, and perhaps the good Lord will lift the cloud of misery that has
so long hung heavily over your house.”

Charles heard the kindly doctor’s little speech in respectful silence,
then, speaking for the second time since entering the house, he said--

“You are right, doctor. I will be friends with George if he’ll let me.
But I must first secure my wife. After all that has passed, I dare not
waste an hour until we are married.”

Louise sat listening with the light of perfect approval on her fine
face; and the doctor also in vigorous fashion signified his entire
acquiescence. The rest of that happy evening was devoted to a recital
of Charles’s wanderings, his escapes, and his good fortune, until,
wearied out, those three happy people went to bed.

Next day Charles was busy. A special license had to be procured, and
Louise must procure her simple wadding array. The facilities of to-day
did not exist then, and the impatient young lover chafed considerably
at the delay involved. But in due time the wedding came off, with the
dear old doctor as guardian to give the bride away. The village was in
a state of seething excitement; the labourers left their work, their
wives left their household tasks, and all discussed with an eagerness
that was amazingly different to their usual stolidity of demeanour
the romantic happenings in their midst. Then, when the newly-married
pair had returned to the doctor’s roomy house, and the villagers had
drifted reluctantly homeward again, the ripples of unwonted disturbance
gradually smoothed out and subsided. Charles and his wife sat side
by side in the doctor’s parlour as the evening shadows fell, their
benefactor’s glowing face confronting them, and the knowledge that half
his home was theirs removing all anxiety for the immediate future from
their minds.

They sat thus, holding each other’s hands in silence, until Louise,
looking up in her husband’s face, said, “Charles, let us go and see
George. I feel I must before I sleep.” And Charles answered, “Yes,
dear; it was in my heart too to do so, but I’m glad you spoke first.”
So, gently disregarding the remonstrances of the doctor, who protested
that the morrow would be a more appropriate time, they departed, warmly
wrapped up against the piercing cold, and carrying a lantern. As they
passed from the village on to the shoulder of the swelling down a few
soft snow-flakes began to fall....

All through that night the large round flakes fell heavily incessantly,
until, when the pale cold dawn straggled through the leaden clouds, the
whole country was deep buried in a smooth garment of spotless white.
For three days the terrible, silent fall went on. The poor folk almost
starved in their homes, and all traffic throughout the country was
stopped. When at last communications could be opened, the old doctor,
his heart aching with worry and suspense, made his way, accompanied
by my father, to Pertwood Farm. There they found only a few hastily
scribbled sheets of paper on the kitchen table. They contained words
to the effect that George had been startled by a long wailing cry at a
late hour on the night of the first snow. He had gone to the door, and
there, on the very spot where she had lain years before, was his lost
love. But this time she was dead. He had buried her by the side of his
parents, and hoped to join the party soon.

A little search revealed the fact that after writing those lines he had
gone down into the cellar and died, for his body lay across the rude
box containing the remains of Louise. But of Charles nothing was ever
again seen or heard. _I_ have always felt that he might have been found
at the bottom of that dank tarn among the pines, into which he may have
fallen on that terrible night. But I don’t know, the mystery remains.




YOU SING


CHAPTER I

Regarded collectively, the Chinese may safely be classified under the
head of unpleasant races. Most people who have had personal dealings
with them will doubtless admit that, while there are to be discovered
among them a tiny sprinkling of really decent men and women, taken “by
and large” they are, to Westerns at any rate, anathema. And yet, when
due allowance is made for environment, and for hereditary peculiarities
of many strange kinds--for which, of course, the individual is in
no way responsible--it may not be too bold an assertion that the
Chinese are a people who only need a little real leadership on Western
lines to become a truly great nation. They possess all the necessary
qualifications for such a splendid future and few of the drawbacks.
Many virtues that are among us only inculcated by much laborious
tuition are with the Chinese _sui generis_. No one will deny that they
know how to die; were it possible to teach them how to live, such a
revolution would be felt in the progress of the world as it has never
yet witnessed. Of course, this does not touch the vast question as to
whether such a resurrection of China is to be welcomed or dreaded.

But my intention in these pages is far from that of discussing the
economic future of China. Such a task would be indefinitely beyond
my powers, besides being utterly unnecessary and out of place here.
Besides, I do not really feel sufficiently interested in the Chinese
collectively. My story is about a single Chinaman who played a very
important part in my own history, and who well deserved a far more
powerful testimony than any I am able to bear to his virtues.

But, first, in order to launch my story properly, I must premise
that in one of my vagrom voyages, while I was only a puny lad of
thirteen, I was flung ashore in Liverpool, penniless, and, of course,
friendless. For many days I lived--or, rather, I did not die--by
picking up, bird-like, such unvalued trifles of food as chance threw in
my way while I wandered about the docks; but as there were many more
experienced urchins with sharper eyes than mine on the same keen quest,
it may be well imagined that I did not wax overfat upon my findings.
Unfortunately my seafaring instincts kept me near the docks at all
times, where most of my associates were as hunger-bitten as myself; had
I gone up town I should probably have fared better.

However, I had put a very keen edge indeed upon my appetite one bitter
November afternoon, when, prowling along the Coburg Dock Quay, I was
suddenly brought up “all standing” by a most maddening smell of soup.
With dilated nostrils I drew in the fragrant breeze, and immediately
located its source as the galley of a barque that lay near, loading. I
must have looked hungry as I swiftly came alongside of her, for the
broad-faced cook, who was standing at his galley-door swabbing his
steaming face after his sultry sojourn within, presently caught sight
of me and lifted a beckoning finger. I was by his side in two bounds,
and before I had quite realized my good fortune I was loading up at a
great rate from a comfortably-sized dish of plum soup. My benefactor
said nothing as the eager spoonfuls passed, but lolled against the
door placidly regarding me with much the same expression as one would
a hungry dog with a just-discovered bone. When at last I was well
distended, he asked me a few questions in a queer broken English that
I immediately recognized as the German version. What was I? Where
did I come from? Would I like to go to sea? And so on. Eagerly and
hopefully I answered him, much to his amazement; for, like every other
seaman I fell in with in those days, he found it hard to believe that
I had already been nearly two years at sea, so small and weak did I
appear. But the upshot of our interview was that he introduced me to
the skipper, a burly North German, who, looking stolidly down upon me,
between the regular puffs of smoke from his big pipe, said--

“Vell, poy; ju dinks ju like du komm in a Cherman scheep--hein?”

I faltered out a few words, not very coherently, I am afraid, for the
prospect of getting any ship at all was just like a glimpse of heaven
to me. Fortunately for my hopes, Captain Strauss was a man of action,
so, cutting short my faltering reply, he resumed: “All righdt. Ve
yoost loosd a leedle Engelsch boy lige ju. He pin mit me more as ein
jeer, gabin-poy, und mein vife lige him fery vell. Ju do so goot as
him, ju vas all righdt. Vat ju call jorselluf--hein?”

“Tom, sir,” I answered promptly.

“Ya; den ve call ju Dahn. Dat oder poy ve calls Dahn, und so ju gomes
all der same for him--aind it?”

That seemed to settle the matter, for he turned away abruptly and was
gone. I hastened to my friend the cook, and told him what the skipper
had said, with the result that in another five minutes I was busy
laying the cloth for dinner in the cabin as if I had been the original
Dan just come back. A pretty, fair-haired little girl of about ten
years of age watched me curiously from a state-room door with the
frank, straightforward curiosity of a child; and I, boy-like, was on
my mettle to show her how well I could do my work. Presently she came
forward and spoke to me; but her remarks being in German, I could
only smile feebly and look foolish; whereupon she indignantly snapped
out, “_Schaafskopf_,” and ran away. She returned almost directly with
her mother, a buxom, placid-looking dame of about thirty-five, who
addressed me in a dignified tone. Again I was in a hole, for she spoke
only German also; and if ever a poor urchin felt nonplussed, I did.
This drawback made my berth an uncomfortable one at first; but, with
such opportunities as I had and such a powerful inducement to spur me
on, I soon picked up enough to understand what was said to me, and to
make some suitable reply.

The vessel was a smart-looking, well-found barque of about six hundred
tons, called the Blitzen, of Rostock, and carried a crew of fourteen
all told. Each of the other thirteen was a master of mine, and seldom
allowed an opportunity to slip of asserting his authority; while the
skipper’s wife and daughter evidently believed that I ought to be
perpetually in motion. Consequently my berth was no sinecure; and,
whatever my qualifications may have been, I have no doubt I earned my
food and the tiny triangular lair under the companion-ladder wherein I
crept--I was going to say when my work was done--but a rather better
term to use would be, in the short intervals between jobs.

Now, the story of the next nine months on board the Blitzen is by
no means devoid of interest; but I have an uneasy feeling that I
have already tried the reader’s patience enough with necessary
preliminaries to the story of You Sing. After calling at several
ports in South America, looking in at Algoa Bay, visiting Banjœwangie
and Cheribon, we finally appeared to have settled down as a Chinese
coaster, trading between all sorts of out-of-the-way ports for native
consignees, and carrying a queer assortment of merchandise. Finally
we found ourselves at Amoy, under charter for Ilo-Ilo with a full
cargo of Chinese “notions.” Owing, I suppose, to the docility of the
German crew, and the high state of discipline maintained on board,
we still carried the same crew that we left England with; but I
must say that, while I admired the good seamanship displayed by the
skipper and his officers, I was heartily weary of my lot on board.
I had never become a favourite, not even with the little girl, who
seemed to take a delight in imitating her father and mother by calling
me strange-sounding Teutonic names of opprobrium; and I was beaten
regularly, not apparently from any innate brutality, but from sheer
force of habit, as a London costermonger beats his faithful donkey. The
only thing that made life at all tolerable was that I was fairly well
fed and enjoyed robust health; while I never lost the hope that in some
of our wanderings we should happen into an English port, where I might
be able to run away. That blissful idea I kept steadily before me as a
beacon-light to cheer me on. Happily, dread of losing my wages in such
an event did not trouble me, because I had none to lose as far as I
knew; I did not stipulate for any when I joined.

It was on a lovely night that we swung clear of Amoy harbour and,
catching a light land-breeze, headed across the strait towards Formosa.
Many fishing _sampans_ were dotted about the sleeping sea, making
little sepia-splashes on the wide white wake of the moon. Little care
was taken to avoid running them down; nor did they seem to feel any
great anxiety as to whether we did so or not, and as a consequence
we occasionally grazed closely past one, and looked down curiously
upon the passive figures sitting in their frail craft like roosting
sea-birds upon a floating log. Without any actual damage to them, we
gradually drew clear of their cruising-ground, and, hauling to the
southward a little, stood gently onward for Cape South, the wind still
very light and the weather perfect. But suddenly we ran into a strange
heavy mist that obscured all the sea around us, and yet did not have
that wetness that usually characterizes the clinging vapour of the
sea-fog. Through this opaque veil we glided as if sailing in cloudland,
a silence enwrapping us as if we had been mysteriously changed into a
ghostly ship and crew. Then a quick, strong blast of wind burst out of
the brume right ahead, throwing all the sails aback and driving the
vessel stern foremost at a rate that seemed out of all proportion to
its force.

For a few moments the watch on deck appeared to be stupid with
surprise. Then the skipper, roused by the unusual motion, rushed on
deck, and his deep, guttural voice broke the spell as he issued abrupt
orders. All hands were soon busy getting the vessel under control,
shortening sail, and trimming yards. But, to everybody’s speechless
amazement, it was presently found that entangled alongside lay a
small junk, a craft of some twenty to thirty tons, upon whose deck
no sign of life was visible. All hands crowded to the rail, staring
and muttering almost incoherent comment upon this weird visitor
that had so suddenly arisen, as it were, out of the void. As usual,
the skipper first recovered his working wits, and ordered a couple
of the men to jump on board the junk and investigate. They obeyed
unquestionably, as was their wont, and presently reported that she
was unmanned, but apparently full to the hatches of assorted Chinese
cargo in mats and boxes. The skipper’s voice took an exultant ring as
he ordered the vessel to be well secured alongside, and her contents
to be transferred on board of us with all possible despatch. Meanwhile
the strange mist had vanished as suddenly as it had arisen, and the
full bright moon shone down upon the toiling men, who with wonderful
celerity were breaking out the junk’s cargo and hurling it on to our
decks. Such was their expedition that in half an hour our decks were
almost impassable for the queer-looking boxes and bales and bundles
of all shapes disgorged from the junk’s hold. Then they invaded the
evil-scented cabin, and ransacked its many hiding-places, finding
numerous neatly-bound parcels wrapped in fine silky matting. And, last
of all--they declared he must have suddenly been materialized, or words
to that effect--they lighted upon a lad of probably sixteen years
of age. He showed no surprise, after the fatalistic fashion of his
countrymen, but stood gravely before them like some quaint Mongolian
idol carved out of yellow jade, and ready for any fortune that might
await him. With scant ceremony, he too was man-handled on deck, for the
command was urgent to finish the work; the busy labourers followed him,
and the junk was cast adrift.

[Illustration: The toiling men were breaking out the junk’s cargo.]

Some sort of rough stowage was made of the treasure-trove thus
peculiarly shipped; and, the excitement that had sustained their
unusual exertions having subsided, the tired crew flung themselves
down anywhere and slept--slept like dead men, all except the officer
of the watch and the helmsman. They had at first little to do that
might keep them from slumber, for the wind had dropped to a stark calm,
which in those sheltered waters, remote from the disturbing influence
of any great ocean swell, left the ship almost perfectly motionless,
a huge silhouette against the glowing surface of a silver lake. But
presently it dawned upon the mate who was in charge of the deck that,
although the vessel had certainly not travelled more than a mile since
the junk was cast adrift, that strange craft was nowhere to be seen;
and, stern martinet though he was, the consciousness of something
uncanny about the recent business stole through him, shrinking his
skin and making his mouth dry, until for relief he sought the helmsman
and entered into conversation with him on the subject. That worthy,
a stolid, unemotional Dutchman named Pfeiffer, scanned the whole
of the palpitating brightness around before he would assent to the
mate’s theory of any sudden disappearance of our late companion; but,
having done so, and failed to discover the smallest speck against that
dazzling surface, he, too, was fain to admit that the thing was not
comforting. Right glad were those two men when the interminably long
watch was over, and the sharp, business-like notes of the bell seemed
to dissipate in some measure the chilling atmosphere of mystery that
hemmed them in. To the second mate the retiring officer said nothing
of his fears, but hastened below, hurriedly scratched a perfunctory
note or two on the log-slate, and bundled, “all standing”--that is,
dressed as he was--into his bunk, pulling the upper feather-bed
right over his head, as if to shut out the terror that was upon him.
Slowly the remainder of the night passed away; but when at last the
tiny suggestion of paleness along the eastern horizon gave the first
indication of the day’s approach, no change, not even the slightest,
had occurred to increase the mystery whose environment all felt more
or less keenly. As the advancing glory of the new day displaced the
deep purple of the night, the awakening crew recalled, as if it had
been a lifetime ago, the strange happening of the past few hours. But
it was not until the clear light was fully come that the significance
of the whole affair was manifest. For there, seated upon a mat-bound
case, stamped all over with red “chops,” was the Chinese youth, whose
existence had up till now been unnoticed from the time he was first
bundled on board. Impassive as a wooden image, he looked as if the
position he had held throughout the night had left him unwearied, and,
to all appearance, the strange and sudden change in his environment
possessed for him no significance whatever. But now, when the
surly-looking mate approached him and looked him over with evident
distaste, he slid off his perch, and, kneeling at the officer’s feet,
kissed the deck thrice in manifest token of his entire submission
to whatever fate might be dealt out to him. The mate stood silently
looking down upon him, as if hardly able to decide what to do with
him. While this curious little episode was being enacted the skipper
appeared, and, hastening to the mate’s side, addressed the grovelling
Celestial in what he supposed to be the only possible medium of
communication--“pidgin” English, which, coupled to a German accent, was
the queerest jargon conceivable.

“Vell,” he said, “vot pelong ju pidgin--hay? Ju savvy vork, vun dime?”

Lifting his yellow mask of a face, but still remaining on his knees,
the waif made answer--

“No shabbee. You Sing.”


CHAPTER II

“You Sing” conveyed no meaning to anybody; but, after various
extraordinary attempts to extend the conversation had entirely failed,
it was tacitly agreed that You Sing must be his name. Whether it was
or not, the taciturn pagan answered to it immediately it was uttered,
or rather he came instantly to whoever mentioned it. So, seeing that
it was hopeless to think of getting any information from him as to the
why and wherefore of the strange circumstances under which we had found
him, the skipper decided promptly to put him to work as a steward,
believing that he would make a good one. To that end he was handed over
to me for tuition, much to my delight, for now I felt that I should
have a companion who was certainly not more than my equal, and who
would not be likely to ill-treat me in any way, as most of the crew
did when opportunity arose. His coming was to me a perfect godsend. He
was so willing, so docile, and withal so eminently teachable, that it
was a pleasure to be with him. And the incongruity of being placed
under such an urchin as myself did not appear to strike him at all, for
he looked upon me from the first day of our acquaintance as the one
creature that stood between him and the outer dark--although it must be
said that, as far as could be judged by his attitude to all with whom
he came in contact, he regarded every member of the ship’s company as
in some sort his saviour. All could command him, and he would instantly
obey; and although he understood no word of what was said to him, he
watched so keenly, his desire to please was so intense, and his natural
ability so great, that his efforts to do what was required of him were
generally successful. Unfortunately, his willingness often got him
into serious trouble, since he always obeyed the last order, not being
able to discriminate between those who had the first claim upon him
and those who had no right to his services whatever. But when he was
beaten for neglecting tasks that he had been called away from, he never
murmured or showed sign of pain or resentment; all treatment was borne
with the same placid equanimity, as if he were a perfectly passionless
automaton. With one exception--myself. When with me his usually
expressionless eyes would shine, and his yellow face wear a peculiarly
sweet smile that had quite a fascination for me. I found myself growing
so much attached to him that my rage against his persecutors often
drove me nearly frantic--such wrath as it had never occurred to me to
feel on my own behalf.

Meanwhile the Blitzen, sorely hampered by calms and variable winds,
crept slowly and painfully towards her destination. I was so much
absorbed with the education and company of You Sing that I lost all
my usual interest in the progress of the vessel, and did not even
wonder when we were going to reach our next port--a speculation that
had hitherto always had great charms for me. But one morning before
breakfast I was dreadfully affrighted to hear a fierce altercation on
deck. It had always been my ill-fortune hitherto to find myself the
ultimate vicarious sacrifice in all cases of trouble, and even to this
day the old feeling of dread still exists--a feeling that whatever
row is going on I shall presently be made to suffer for it; and the
well-remembered sensation of sinking at the pit of the stomach comes
back, making me for the moment quite ill. So, trembling all over,
I peered out of the pantry window on to the main deck, and saw the
mate confronting three men of his watch, who, with inflamed faces and
fierce gestures, were evidently threatening his life. Now, there had
never before been the slightest sign of insubordination on board, the
discipline seeming as near perfection as possible, and therefore this
sudden outbreak was most alarming. A swift step passed the pantry
door, and instantly I saw the skipper rushing forward. Without a
word he plunged into the midst of the angry four, and seizing the
foremost seaman by the throat and waist hurled him crashing against
the bulwarks. At the same moment the mate sprang at another man, as if
to serve him in the same manner; but, missing his grasp, he stumbled
and fell on his knees. A stifled scream burst from my dry lips as I
saw the glint of steel; the seaman attacked had drawn his knife, and
as the mate fell the weapon descended with fearful force between his
shoulders. I heard the ugly sound right aft, and it remains with me
to-day. The skipper, however, with the agility of a porpoise, instantly
flung himself on the two men, and fought as if he had the sinews of ten.

Compared with the noise of the preliminary quarrel, this life-and-death
struggle was silence itself; but I could hear the laboured breathings
of the combatants coming in hoarse gasps, and the cracking of the
joints as the writhing bodies knotted and strained. There was a
scream behind me, a rustle of skirts, and out of the cabin rushed the
skipper’s wife, with flying hair and outstretched arms. But before she
was halfway to the spot there was a swoop as of some huge bird past
her, and the second mate, the youngest officer in the ship and the
biggest man, alighted in the fray like a hungry tiger. I did not see
the other watch of the crew arrive, but they were there, and fighting
as fiercely as the rest.

Now, the first flush of fear having gone from me, I became
interested--somewhat coldly critical, indeed, of the various points of
the battle, finding myself, to the wonder of some other corner of my
brain, siding with the officers, and hoping they would be victorious.
The surprise of this backwater of thought was probably owing to the
fact that all the officers had treated me with steady brutality, while
the men, though not kind, seldom touched me, although that was probably
only lack of opportunity. But with all my keen watching I could not
yet forecast the upshot of this awful encounter. The mass of bodies
seemed to me inextricably entangled, heaving and writhing like a basket
of wounded eels; while all around them, frantically clutching at the
labouring body of her husband, and shrieking pitifully, hovered the
unhappy wife and mother.

Suddenly it dawned upon me that the little Elsie was alone, and
probably frightened to death; and, though I was never a favourite
with even her, it seemed good to go and comfort her if possible. So I
turned away from the window, and there behind me was You Sing, calmly
cleaning the knives, as unmoved by any external occurrence as a piece
of machinery. As I unblocked the window he caught my eye, and the
peculiarly winsome smile he always wore for me lit up his solemn face.
His lips opened, and he murmured softly with an indescribable accent
the only two English words I had succeeded in teaching him, “’Ullo,
Tommy.” I could only smile back in return as I hurried off to the
skipper’s state-room aft, feeling as if, with the shutting out of that
savage sight, a load had been lifted off my brain. A quick revulsion of
sympathy thrilled me as I found the pretty child fast asleep in placid
unconsciousness of the terrible scene in progress outside. I stood
for a minute looking at her with a tenderness I had never before felt
towards her, all her childish dislike and funny little ways of showing
it, borrowed from her parents, utterly forgotten. Then, softly closing
the door, I hurried back to the pantry, finding You Sing still busily
employed.

Scrambling to the window, I peered forrard again, seeing, to my horror,
only a heap of bodies lying still. I stood there as if frozen, trying
hard to think, endeavouring to realize the position, but unable to
control my disorganized brain. How long I stood staring thus I have no
idea; but I was recalled to usefulness again by You Sing’s gentle touch
upon my back. Turning slowly round, I faced him, while he pointed out
his finished work and intimated to me in the sign language we always
employed that he awaited instructions what to go on with. Impatiently
I made a great effort to show him that all ordinary work was now at an
end, and, pulling him to the window, pointed out the awful heap on the
main hatch. He looked, and I believe understood the situation, for he
turned again to me and patted my face, pointed first to me and then to
himself, as if to intimate that upon us two, me as master and he as
servant, the conduct of affairs now rested.

Then, taking my courage in both hands, I softly stepped out on deck and
approached the scene of conflict, though trembling so violently that I
could scarcely go. But when I reached the entwined heap of bodies I did
not know what to do, standing helplessly staring at the grim spectacle.
A faint groan startled me, and I bent down over the nearest body, which
happened to be the skipper’s, hearing him murmur faintly, “_Wasser,
lieber Gott! Wasser_.” Hastily motioning to You Sing to fetch some
water, I tried to drag the skipper into a sitting position; but it was
too much for my strength. The effort, however, was apparently all that
was needed to shake the last faint breath from his body, for, with wide
dilated nostrils and open mouth, he gave his final gasp. Then all was
still, for all were dead.

The whole waist was like the veriest shambles, and the fearful savagery
of the fight was manifest in many hideous details that need not be
reproduced. Suddenly a hope dawned upon me that _one_ man might still
be left--the helmsman; and, rushing aft, I bounded up on to the poop,
only to find the wheel swinging idly to and fro: there was no one
there. Then I ran forward, unheeding You Sing’s dog-like wistful look
after me, and ransacked the forecastle and galley; but both were
deserted. We were quite alone.

This tremendous fact broke in upon me with good effect after the strain
to which I had recently been subjected, for it braced me up to action.
Calling upon You Sing to help me, I tackled the ghastly heap, tugging
and straining at the limp bodies, and getting all gory as they were.
The sweat ran down blindingly; I felt my sinews crack with my desperate
exertions; but at last all the bodies were separated and laid side by
side, the captain’s wife last of that sad row. Not a sign of life was
to be found in any one of them; and, having at last satisfied myself
of this, I dropped upon the crimsoned tarpaulin exhausted, to rack
my brains for some reason why this sudden tragedy should have been
enacted. Gradually the conviction forced itself upon me that the whole
horrible outbreak was due to some quarrel over the junk’s cargo; but
as that had all been overhauled and stowed away without my knowing
anything of its nature, it was only a blind guess. Something, however,
of tremendous importance must have occurred to make a body of men fight
with such fury among themselves that not one of them remained alive.

But urgent necessity was laid upon me to be up and doing, the first
duty that demanded attention being the disposal of the dead. So I
called upon You Sing--who, standing near, never seemed to take his
eyes off me--and the pair of us triced up one of the bulwark ports and
dragged the first of the corpses up to it. Then by a sudden impulse I
flung off my cap, and, kneeling down on the red deck, said the Lord’s
Prayer and the final Collect in the Church Service--all I could then
remember; while my heathen helper stood gravely by making no sign
but _looking_ a very well-spring of sympathy. Strangely cheered and
uplifted, I seized the poor piece of clay, and motioning my helpmate,
launched it through the yawning port, listening shudderingly to the
dull splash that followed. And so with the rest, until we two stood
alone, panting and distressed with our heavy task. A few minutes’ rest,
and then, with draw-bucket and broom, we laboured to cleanse away the
blood that besmeared so wide a space of the decks. At this work we
toiled for a long time, and when at last we gave over, because I was
tired out, we had only partially succeeded in removing the fearful
evidence of that great fight. By this time I was so far myself as to
feel hungry. The feeling of nausea, that had been coming and going like
waves over me ever since I first left the cabin, had left me, and I
ordered You Sing to get breakfast. He set about the job immediately,
leaving me seated on the damp hatch wondering what would become of us.
Then suddenly it occurred to me for the first time that the ship was
entirely left to herself. There was a faint breeze blowing steadily,
all sail being set, and the yards canted a couple of points, for what
wind existed was on the quarter. I rose and went aft to the wheel,
finding that she came up and fell off about three points, so that she
was practically steering herself, and making a fairly average course
S.S.E. This was satisfactory so far, because it relieved me of any
necessity for immediate action. I knew how to steer, and, as far as my
strength went, could handle sails, besides understanding fairly well
how a ship was worked; for I had been over two years at sea, and always
a deck-boy until this voyage, so that, unless I had been a very idiot,
I must know something about sailoring.

Everything being so quiet and favourable, I remembered little Elsie,
and with a sinking heart went down below to break the dreadful news
to her. How it was to be done I didn’t know, my stock of German being
pitifully scanty, and she, poor child! not knowing one word of English.
As I turned the handle of the state-room door I heard her calling,
“_Mutter, wie bist du?_” and in spite of my efforts some big tears
burst from my eyes. But I went in and stood by her cot, racking my
brains for some way of making her understand what had happened. As soon
as she saw me she began, as usual, to scold me for being there--where,
indeed, I was never allowed to enter--and ordered me with much dignity
to go and call her mother.

It would be useless for me to attempt any description of the scene that
followed. I could not, do what I would, make her understand what an
awful change had taken place since she went to sleep. She at last made
up her mind that I must be crazy, and, thoroughly frightened, sprang
out of her cot, and rushed into the cabin screaming frantically for
“_Mutter, Mutter! Vater, Vater!_” I followed her carefully, puzzled
beyond measure to know what to do; but she fled on deck, up the ladder
and on to the poop, still calling with all her voice for those who were
for ever deaf to her cries.

Of course, I dared not pursue her, for fear of adding to her terror;
so I waited anxiously until she had explored every vacant corner of
the ship, and at last, exhausted with her efforts, she returned slowly
to the cabin. Then I quietly brought her some food, and begged her
to eat a little; but, as I might have expected, that was impossible.
However, she was so far quieted that she plied me with questions, which
I answered as well as I was able, until I succeeded in making her
understand the grim truth. She burst into such a passion of weeping
when she comprehended the case that at first I feared for her life; but
presently I saw that this outbreak was the best thing that could have
happened, for it relieved her poor little brain; and soon, utterly worn
out, she went off into a heavy sleep.

Then I searched the cabin thoroughly, with the dim idea in my mind of
finding some cause for the mutiny in accordance with my suspicions.
Sure enough, I had been right, for in various hiding-places I came upon
such treasures as I had never even dreamed of before--coined gold in
boxes, in bags, in bundles: sovereigns, eagles, onzas, and napoleons;
jewellery of every variety of make, glittering with precious stones of
which I had never heard the name. At last I came upon a crucifix nearly
two feet in length, apparently of solid gold, and encrusted with large
gems, a marvel of costliness and beauty. I showed it to You Sing, who,
for the first time in my acquaintance with him, showed signs of horror,
and tried hard to induce me to throw the magnificent thing overboard.


CHAPTER III

This discovery marked a new departure in our relations towards each
other. Hitherto I had looked upon You Sing as I might have done upon
a big faithful dog, but never dreamed of crediting him with any
intelligent initiative. His behaviour so far had certainly justified me
in this opinion; but now he became completely transformed. In the most
energetic pantomime, and with strangely severe struggles to enunciate a
few words of my language, he endeavoured to explain to me the origin of
all these treasures. I did not find it hard to understand the general
drift of his attempt to enlighten me, because I had already suspected
something of what I was now gathering from him. Roughly, it was to the
effect that the cargo we had relieved the junk of was the accumulated
hoard of a nest of pirates who had long been preying upon such
seafarers as they dared attack without fear of reprisals, and who were
all deliberately slain after they had been plundered and their vessels
scuttled. Then the wretches had turned their bloody hands against each
other, and by so doing somewhat atoned for their innumerable crimes by
ridding the world of two-thirds of the gang. The survivors then loaded
up all the most valuable of the stored plunder into the most seaworthy
junk they possessed, and, divesting her of all suspicious appearance,
sailed for some port where they intended to dispose of their loot.
Again Nemesis overtook them; they had befouled the seas too long. They
stealthily murdered one another as opportunity served, until there were
hardly enough of them left to handle the junk. You Sing was a slave
who had done their cooking, having been spared for that purpose alone
out of the entire crew of a large barque they had surprised one night.
Doubtless his turn to perish had nearly arrived, when, going down
into their store-room under the cabin for some rice, he found himself
in a sort of trap from which he was unable to escape. There he would
certainly have perished of starvation, instead of sharing the unknown
fate of the remnant of his tyrants, but for our intervention. And in
various quaint ways he gave me to understand that he considered his
life to belong to this ship and her crew, of whom the child asleep and
my small self were now the sole representatives.

I could not bring myself to the point of heaving all those pretty
things overboard; but seeing what a dread he had of them, I stowed
them all in the late skipper’s berth under his bed-place, in two large
drawers, which I locked, and hung the key round my neck. Then, for the
first time, I began to think about working the ship. Unfortunately, I
had not the faintest idea of which was the best direction to steer in,
for I did not know, within at least a thousand miles, our position.
I imagined, of course, that we were somewhere south of Formosa, and
between that great island and the Philippines; but that was vague in
the extreme. And I was in hourly terror of being sighted by a wandering
junk of whatever character, feeling certain of a barbarous death at the
hands of any of You Sing’s countrymen who might happen to find such
a prize as the Blitzen. How I longed for the sight of a smoke-wreath
festooning the horizon! That vision would have nearly sent me crazy
with joy. But I suppose we were far out of the track of steamers, for
we saw no sign of one.

Aided most manfully and sensibly by You Sing, I clewed up the royals
and topgallant sails with a view of making the vessel easier to
handle, and with a great deal of labour managed to haul up the courses
(mainsail and foresail) as well, taking the gear to the capstan where
it was too heavy for our united efforts, until those great squares of
canvas hung snug as they could be without being actually furled. Then,
after long cogitation, I decided to make for the coast of China, which
I knew must be west of us, and trust to a merciful God to bring us in
sight of either some civilized port or ship before any of those calm,
merciless pagans came across us. Now we each took a regular trick
at the wheel (You Sing learned to do so in less than half an hour);
and little Elsie, all her high spirits gone, and docile as You Sing
himself, even took a spell at steering when we would let her. Heaven
alone knows what our track would have looked like on the chart, but
it’s my belief that we _were_ getting to the westward at the rate
of about twenty miles a day for the best part of a week (I lost all
count of time); and, though it seems hard to believe, I was actually
beginning to feel quite important as the commander of a big vessel on
the high seas. We fed well and we slept well--at least Elsie and I did;
as for You Sing, I don’t know whether he ever slept at all. He did all
the cooking, kept everything clean and tidy, and was ever ready when
called upon. Besides all this, he had won his way into the affections
of Elsie; and I almost felt a pang of jealousy when I heard her clear
laugh at some of the quaint antics he cut in order to amuse her. Had
it not been for the one haunting dread of being overhauled by a junk,
I believe we should have been quite happy; for the terror of the past
tragedy had faded from our minds, and the sea was kind and gentle, the
soft breeze blew sweetly, though it varied a great deal, making our
task of trimming the yards in order to keep the vessel somewhere near
her course--due west--an uncommonly heavy one.

Then it fell a flat calm. Now, I had, even at that early age, all a
sailor’s horror of a calm, and this one troubled me more than any I
had yet experienced. The silence was almost unbearable. I could not
rest day or night--it lasted three days--for more than an hour or so
at a time; and when I fell asleep from sheer weariness, I always woke
with my heart thumping furiously and in an icy sweat of fear. The
inaction got upon my nerves, so that I began to hear strange noises,
and to imagine that the dead crew were among us, grieving because we
were yet alive, and scheming to secure our company. This state of mind
grew upon me to such an extent that at last I dared not leave You Sing,
clinging to him as the one hope I had of ever again seeing the land of
the living. He--grave, careful, and kind as ever--accepted this entire
change in our relative positions with the same serene behaviour as
before; and in my worst mental trouble I had only to look into his eyes
to be completely comforted. Elsie, strange to say, seemed quite happy.
She was carelessly kind to me; but she loved our Chinese friend. A word
or two from him, in an unintelligible jargon, would set her dancing
with delight, and it was only during his unavoidable absence from
her for a short time that she ever seemed to feel the misery of our
position.

On the tenth evening (I think) of our loneliness, and the third of the
calm, I was lolling against the useless wheel watching, with eyes that
observed naught, the fantastic efforts of You Sing to amuse Elsie,
when an appalling feeling of dread suddenly came over me. It was as
if I was going to be violently sea-sick, and affected my limbs to such
an extent that I slid down from the wheel to the deck. This disabling
sensation was happily only momentary in its effect, so that I was
able to rise to my feet again almost immediately, though trembling
violently. Whatever mysterious cause had thus affected me I could not
tell, and it was evidently peculiar to myself, for my two shipmates
were still merry at their play. But I was desperately uneasy, fearing
that I was going to be very ill. I left the deck, and descended into
the cabin, seeing, to my astonishment, several rats prowling uneasily
about. They took scarcely any notice of me, and I was too upset to obey
the momentary impulse to chase them. I sank down on a settee and tried
to collect myself, but I was too uneasy to sit still, and soon wandered
out on the main-deck again.

Aimlessly I slouched forrard and climbed up on the forecastle head.
As soon as I reached it, on looking ahead, I saw a sight that
thickened my blood. Right before the vessel rose a dense mass of inky
cloud, extending over an arc of the horizon of about one-sixth of
its circumference. It was dome-shaped, and upon its apex rested the
descending sun, his glowing disc changed into a dull bronze-green ball
that shed no light around. It looked as if the glorious orb was sick
unto death. As I watched with growing anxiety, the painfully changed
luminary sank slowly into that black mountain of gloom and disappeared.
But above it the clear sky reflected its ghastliness, not by reason
of its rays ascending, for it appeared to have none, but as if some
unknown light from the bowels of the earth had broken through the sea,
and was thus disfiguring the beautiful face of the heavens.

Tearing myself away from the disabling fascination of the sight, I
returned to the poop, noticing with much satisfaction that my trembling
had almost ceased. I found You Sing and Elsie sitting on a hen-coop,
watching with solemn faces the rising gloom ahead in perfect silence,
all their pleasant play at an end. Meeting You Sing’s eye, I read
therein a reflection of my own concern, and in an instant we understood
each other. Doubtless, it being his native country, he understood the
ominous signs far better than I, although even the child could see and
feel that something terrible was impending; and as I went up to her
to coax her below he murmured in my ear two words of pure Chinese,
which, because they have passed into the English language, I understood
at once: “_Ty foong!_” They rang through my brain like a sentence of
death; but I actually felt some relief at knowing the worst. For if we
were about to encounter a typhoon in our utter helplessness either to
prepare for it by furling sail, or to handle the vessel in any way,
what hope could there be of our survival? But there _is_ a certain
satisfaction in knowing that, whatever happens, it is no fault of
yours; that you can do nothing of any service, but just endure and
hope. And that was exactly our position.

We got Elsie down below without alarming her, laid in a stock of
fresh water in the cabin, and barricaded the doors opening on to the
main-deck. Then we got some old sails up from the locker and covered
the cabin skylight, lashing it down as securely as we knew how. The
cabin being as secure as we could make it, we braced the yards sharp
up on the starboard tack (although I don’t know why I chose that side,
I’m sure), for I had a dim idea that we should stand a better chance
so than with the yards square as they were, since I knew very well
that in heavy gales of wind a vessel ought to be hove to, and that
that was always effected by bracing the yards forrard. Then I let go
the topsail-sheets and lowered the upper topsails down on the cap. We
also hauled all the jibs and stay-sails down, making them as snug as we
could. Last of all, I put the helm hard down, and lashed it there. My
hope was that in the first burst of the tempest the big sails that were
loose would blow away, and that the vessel would then heave herself to
naturally, although I knew well enough that if caught by the lee she
would probably capsize or drive under stern foremost.

While we had been thus busy the rising pall of clouds had imperceptibly
grown until exactly half of the concave above was perfectly
black--black as the adit of a coal-mine. The other half astern was of
an ugly green tint, as unlike the deep violet of the night sky in those
latitudes as could well be imagined. Its chief peculiarity, though, was
its light. That segment of the sky was full of glare, diffused light
that was even reflected on to the vessel, and yet could not be traced
to any definite source. The contrast between this uncanny radiance and
the crêpe-like darkness of the other half of the sky was tremendous,
and of itself enough to inspire fear in the breast of any creature
living.

Presently, as we watched in strained silence, came the beginning of
what we were to know; a twining golden webwork of electric fires all
over the swart roof of cloud, or whatever that gloom was built of, and
in a hot puff of wind the destroying genie of the tropics uplifted the
opening strains of his song. All cries of uttermost woe were blended
in it as it faintly fell upon our ears, indistinctly, as if echoed and
re-echoed from immeasurable distances, but growing louder and wilder
with every burning breath. Then, in one furious blast, accompanied
by a cracking blaze of lightning, the typhoon burst upon us. It was
just sufficiently on the starboard bow to avoid catching us aback,
and the vessel paid off, heeling over to its force until her lee rail
was awash, and the gleaming foam toppled inboard in a smother of pale
light. Lower and lower the sky descended, until it seemed as if we
might have reached upward and touched it; and, unable to bear the sight
any longer, I fled below, followed by You Sing, and securely fastened
the scuttle behind us.

Elsie was asleep when I peeped into her room, for which I felt
profoundly thankful; since how could we have comforted her? I sat down
by You Sing’s side and looked up wonderingly into his impassive face
which, as usual, was lighted by a tender smile as he met my troubled
gaze. He took hold of my hand and patted it, murmuring his shibboleth,
“’Ullo, Tommy;” and, in spite of my terrors, I smiled. Outside, the
uproar was beyond description; but except that we lay over at a most
dangerous angle we were fairly steady. The force of the wind did not
permit the sea to rise, and so between sleeping and waking that awful
night passed.


CHAPTER IV

Having no means of knowing the time--for the clock had never been
wound, owing to my not being able to find the key--I cannot tell
when the change came; but I think it must have been about eight next
morning. The vessel suddenly righted, and then began to tumble about in
so outrageous a fashion that I thought she must go all to pieces. Elsie
awoke screaming with fright; and with all You Sing’s catlike capacity
for holding on, it was some minutes before he could get to her to
comfort her. He had not left my side more than ten minutes, when, with
a tremendous lurch, the vessel was hurled over to starboard, and I knew
that my greatest fear was realized--she had been caught aback! Over,
over she went, until it was almost possible to stand upright upon the
lee bulk-heads of the cabin. In sea-phrase, she was on her beam-ends.

I now gave all up for lost, and waited, hardly breathing, for the crash
of the end. The water on deck burst in through every crevice, and rose
upon the lee-side until I was obliged to climb up to the fast-clamped
settees to windward to avoid being drowned. The uproar on deck was
louder than ever, and I fancied that I could hear every now and then
through the tumult the rending and crashing of spars, and feel the
shattering blow of their great masses against the hull alongside. But
still the vessel appeared staunch, although every inch of her framework
visible in the cabin was all awork.

After what seemed like a whole day, but could only have been two or
three hours, she began to right herself, and the din outside grew less
deafening. Rapidly the howl of the wind moderated, although the vessel
still tossed and tumbled about in frantic fashion, until my anxiety to
see daylight again got the better of my fears, and I painfully made
my way up the companion, opened it, and stepped on to the poop. The
sight I beheld took away my breath. The Blitzen was a complete wreck.
Not a stick was standing except the three jagged stumps of the lower
masts; the bulwarks were stripped from her sides for their entire
length, the house on deck had clean disappeared, and everything that
could be torn from its fastenings about the decks had gone also. It was
a clean sweep. A cold shiver went through me, such as one might feel
upon awakening to find his house roofless and all his household goods
exposed to the glare of day. But the sky was clear, the sea was going
down, and we were still afloat. A great wave of thankfulness came over
me, suddenly checked by the paralyzing thought that perhaps we had
sprung a leak. I stood still for a moment while this latest fear soaked
in; then, bracing myself up to learn the worst, I hurried forrard to
try and find the rod to sound the well. But it had gone, among the
rest of the carpenter’s gear, with the deck-house, and I was obliged
to give up the idea. Returning aft, I uncovered the cabin skylight and
went below, finding You Sing busy preparing some food. Then I suddenly
remembered that I was ravenously hungry, and we all three sat down and
ate our fill cheerfully and gladly. But while we were swallowing the
last morsels of our meal, You Sing gravely lifted his hand and sat
listening intently. There was a strange sound on deck, and it made me
almost helpless with fear; for it sounded like the singing chatter of
Chinese. We sat for a few moments as if suddenly frozen, listening with
every faculty, and hardly breathing. Then, ghost-like, You Sing rose,
and, taking the two of us by the arms, gently persuaded us into one
of the state-rooms at hand, and signed to us to keep close while he
went to investigate. Noiselessly he glided away from us and was gone,
leaving us a prey to the most harrowing sensations in the belief that
all our cruel forebodings were about to be proved true. For some time
not a sound could be heard in our hiding-place except the soothing
creak of the timbers or the wash of the caressing waves outside the
hull. Yet I remember curiously how even in that agony of suspense I
noticed that the motion of the ship was changed. She no longer seemed
to swing buoyantly from wave to wave, but solemnly, stolidly, she
rolled, as if the sea had taken possession of her, and bereft her of
her own grace of mastery.

A confused thudding sound reached us from above, as if caused by the
pattering of bare feet on deck; but there were no voices, nor, indeed,
any other noises to give us a clue as to what was going on. Very soon
even that slight sound ceased, and we were left again to the dumbness
of our surroundings. The child went to sleep; and I, after perhaps half
an hour of strained listening, felt that I could bear this condition
of things no longer, for it had seemed like a whole day to my excited
imaginings. So, as silently as had You Sing long ago, I stole from the
little state-room and across the saloon. With all my terrors weighing
me down, I crawled, worm-like, up the companion-ladder, and wriggled
on to the deck on all-fours. The sea, and the sky, and the barren
deck all lay in perfect silence, which pressed upon me like one of
those nightmares in which you feel that unless you can scream you must
die. After two or three attempts, I moistened my parched mouth and
called, “You Sing!” There was no voice of any one that answered. But
that I think the limit of my capacity for being terrified had been
reached some time before, I believe this irresponsiveness, with its
accompanying sensation of being utterly alone, would have made me an
idiot. As it was, I only felt numbed and tired. Slowly I stood up upon
my feet, and went forrard to the break of the poop, learning at once
the reason of You Sing’s silence; for by the side of the after-hatch
lay three Chinese, naked and dead, bearing on their bodies the grim
evidences of the method of their ending. Close to the cabin door, as if
he had dragged himself away from his late antagonists in the vain hope
of reaching his friends again, lay You Sing. As I looked down upon him
he moved slightly. In a moment, forgetting everything else, I was by
his side, and lifted his head upon my knee. He opened his glazing eyes
and looked up into my face with his old sweet smile, now with something
of highest satisfaction in it. His dry lips opened, and he murmured,
“’Ullo, Tommy; all litee.” Then the intelligence faded out of his eyes,
and he left me.

It must have been hours afterwards when I again realized my
surroundings. Elsie was sitting by the piece of yellow clay that had
been You Sing, perfectly still, but with an occasional tearing sob.
She must have been crying for a long time. Gradually the whole of the
past came back to me, and I saw how our dead friend had indeed paid
in full what he considered to be his debt to us; although how that
mild and gentle creature, in whom I never saw even so much as a shade
of vexation, much less anger, could have risen to such a height of
fighting valour as to slay three men in our defence was utterly beyond
my powers of comprehension. For, without attempting any eloquence of
panegyric, that was precisely what he had done, and with his opponent’s
own weapons, too. To say that I had not really felt lonely and helpless
until now only faintly conveys the appalling sense of loss that had
come upon me. As for the poor child, she crouched by the side of
the corpse, scarcely more alive than it was, manifesting no fear or
repugnance at the presence of death; indeed, she appeared unable to
realize the great fact in its full terror.

How long we both sat in this dazed condition it is impossible to say
with any definiteness. No doubt it was for several hours, for we both
seemed only partially alive; and, for my part, the only impression left
was that all besides ourselves were dead. That feeling carried with it
a dim anticipation that we too might expect to find our turn to depart
confronting us at any moment; but in this thought there was no fear,
rather relief.

How often, I wonder, has it been noted that in times of deep mental
distress, when the mind appears to have had a mortal blow, and all
those higher faculties which are our peculiar possession are so numbed
that they give no definite assistance to the organism, the animal needs
of the body have instinctively asserted themselves, and thus saved the
entire man or woman from madness or death? It must surely be one of the
commonest of experiences, although seldom formulated in so many words.
At any rate, this was now the case with me. Gradually the fact that I
was parched with thirst became the one conscious thing; and, without
thinking about it, without any definite idea even, I found myself on my
feet, swaying and staggering as I crossed the bare deck to where the
scuttle-butt used to be lashed. Finding it gone, I stood helplessly
staring at the ends of the lashings that had secured it, with a dull,
stupid anger of disappointment. _Then_ I began to think; I had to, for
my need was imperative. I remembered that You Sing had brought into the
cabin before the typhoon a store of water sufficient for days. This
mental effort was bracing, doing much to restore me again to some show
of usefulness. I soon found the water, and hurried on deck once more,
for the cabin was no place to stay in now. It was tenanted by shapes
of dread, full of inaudible signs of woe; and right glad was I to
regain the side of the little girl for living companionship. I offered
her some water. She looked at it dully, as if unable to attach any
idea to it; and it was only by repeatedly rousing her that I managed
to awaken any reason in her injured mind at all. In the absence of any
such compulsion, I think she would have just sat still and ceased to
live, painlessly and unconsciously.

Now that the needs of another were laid upon me, I began to move about
a little more briskly, and to notice our condition with returning
interest. For some time the strange steadiness of the ship had
puzzled me without arousing any definite inquiry in my mind as to the
cause of it. But in crossing the deck to re-enter the cabin the true
significance of that want of motion suddenly burst upon me, for I
saw the calm face of the water only a few inches from the deck-line.
The Blitzen was sinking. During the typhoon she must have received
tremendous injuries from the wreckage of her top-hamper, that, floating
alongside, entangled in the web of its rigging, was as dangerous as
so many rocks would have been. There was urgent need now for thought
and action also, for there was nothing of any kind on deck floatable.
Boats, spars, hen-coops, all had gone. A thousand futile thoughts
chased one another through my throbbing brain, but they ran in circles
that led nowhere. There seemed to be no possible means of escape. Yet
somehow I was not hopeless. I felt a curious reliance upon the fact
that we two small people had come through so much unhurt in any way,
and this baseless unreasoning faith in our good (?) fortune forbade
me to despair. So that I cannot say I felt greatly surprised when I
presently saw on the starboard side forrard a small _sampan_ floating
placidly, its grass painter made fast to the fore-chains. There was no
mystery about its appearance. It had brought those awful visitors whose
defeat caused You Sing his life, and was probably the only surviving
relic of some junk that had foundered in the storm. The sight of it
did me a world of good. Rushing to Elsie, I pointed out the fact of
our immediate danger, and of the hope left us, and after some little
difficulty succeeded in getting her into the _sampan_. The Blitzen
was now so low in the water that my remaining time was countable by
seconds. I flew into the cabin, snatched up a few biscuits and the
large can of water that stood in the bathroom, and rushed for the boat.
As I scrambled into her with my burden I noticed shudderingly that the
ship was beginning to move, but with such a motion! It was like the
death-throe of a man--a physical fact with which of late I had been
well acquainted. Every plank of her groaned as if in agony; she gave a
quivering sideway stagger. My fingers trembled so that I could hardly
cast adrift the painter, which I was compelled to do, having no knife.
I got the clumsy hitches adrift at last, and with one of the rough oars
gave our frail craft a vigorous shove off, Elsie staring all the while
at the huge hull with dilating eyes and drawn white face. Presently the
Blitzen seemed to stumble; a wave upreared itself out of the smooth
brightness of the placid sea and embraced her bows, drawing them gently
down. So gently, like a tired woman sinking to rest, did the Blitzen
leave the light, and only a few foam-flecked whorls and spirals on the
surface marked for a minute or two the spot where she had been.

Happily for us who were left, our troubles were nearly at an end.
One calm night of restless dozing under the warm sky, trying not to
think of what a tiny bubble we made on the wide sea, we passed not
uncomfortably. Just before dawn I felt rather than heard a throbbing,
its regular pulsations beating steadily as if inside my head. But they
had not lasted one minute before I knew them for the propeller-beat
of a steamer, and strained my eyes around through the departing
darkness for a sight of her. Straight for us she came, the watchful
officer on the bridge having seen us more than a mile off. In the
most matter-of-fact way we were taken on board, and Elsie was soon
mothered by the skipper’s wife, while I was being made much of by the
men. And that was all. Of all that mass of treasure that had caused
the sacrifice of so many lives not one atom remained where it could
ever again raise the demon of murder in human breasts. And although I
could not realize all this, I really did not feel sorry that I had not
succeeded in saving the slightest portion of it, my thankfulness at
being spared alive being so great.

There were no passengers on board to make a fuss, so none was made.
Three days afterwards we were at Hong Kong, and Elsie was handed over
to the German Consul, who gravely took down my story, but I could see
did not believe half of it. I bade good-bye to Elsie, having elected
to remain by the steamer, where I was being well treated, and in due
time reached England again, a step nearer to becoming a full-fledged
seaman.




THE DEBT OF THE WHALE


Elisha Cushing, skipper of the Beluga, South Seaman, of Martha’s
Vineyard, was a hard-bitten Yankee of the toughest of that tough race.
Even in the sternest of mankind there is usually to be found some soft
spot, some deeply-hidden well of feeling that at the touch of the right
hand will bubble up in a kindly stream, even though it be hermetically
sealed to all the world beside. But those who knew Captain Cushing best
were wont to say that he must have been cradled on an iceberg, spent
his childhood in a whaler’s fo’c’sle, hardened himself by the constant
contemplation and practice of cruelty, until, having arrived at the
supreme position of master of his own ship, he was less of a man than a
pitiless automaton who regarded neither God nor devil, and only looked
upon other men as an engineer might upon the cogs of a machine. Few,
indeed, are the men who, throughout a voyage lasting from three to four
years, shut up within the narrow bounds of a small ship, could entirely
do without human companionship, could abstain from some friendly
intercourse, however infrequent, with those around them. Yet Captain
Cushing was even such a man. No one knew how he passed his abundant
leisure. He was never seen reading, he did not smoke, no intoxicating
drink was ever allowed on board his ship; in fact at all times, except
when whale-fishing was being carried on, he was to all appearance a
body without a mind, a figure of a man who moved and ate and slept
mechanically, yet whom to offend was to court nothing less than
torture. Those unspeculating eyes missed nothing; not a member of the
crew but felt that in some not-to-be-explained fashion all his doings,
almost his very thoughts, were known to the grim commander, and hard,
indeed, was the lot of any unfortunate who in any way came athwart the
stern code of rules that appeared to govern Captain Cushing’s command.
Nevertheless he had one virtue--he did not interfere. So long as the
business of the ship went on as goes a good clock, there was peace. The
discipline was perfect; it reduced the human items that composed the
Beluga’s crew to something very nearly resembling a piece of carefully
constructed mechanism, for Captain Cushing’s genius lay that way.
Out of the many crews that he had commanded during his thirty years’
exercise of absolute power he was wont to winnow officers that were a
reflex of his own mind, and it mattered not how raw were the recruits
bundled on board his ship at the last moment before leaving home,
the Cushing system speedily reduced them to a condition of absolute
mindlessness as far as any wish of their own was concerned. They became
simply parts of the engine whereby Captain Cushing’s huge store of
dollars was augmented.

It was an article of religion among the afterguard of the Beluga,
handed on to each new-comer by some unspoken code of communication,
that the “old man’s” being and doing might never be discussed. The
subject was “tabu,” not to be approached upon any pretext, although
nothing could be more certain than that it lay uppermost in every
officer’s mind. Among the crew, in that stifling den forrard where
thirty men of almost as many differing nationalities lived and
sometimes died, the mystery of the grim skipper’s ways, coupled with
queer yarns about his antecedents, was occasionally commented upon
with bated breath in strange mixtures of language. But somehow it
always happened that, closely following upon any conversation of the
kind, the injudicious talkers ran butt up against serious trouble.
No charges were made, no definite punishments were awarded; but
loss of rest, dangerous and unnecessary tasks, kickings and stripes
exhibited casually, were their portion for a season. These things
had the effect of exciting an almost superstitious reverence for the
captain’s powers of knowing what was going on, coupled with a profound
distrust of each other among the foremast hands, that made for their
subjection perhaps more potently than even the physical embarrassments
which formed so liberal a part of their daily lot. And yet, such is
the perversity of human nature, whenever the Beluga gammed another
whaler, and the wretched crowd got a chance to talk to strangers, they
actually indulged in tall talk, “gas” about their skipper’s smartness
as a whaleman, his ability as a seaman, and, strangest of all, his
eminence as a hard citizen who would “jes’ soon killer man’s look at
’im.” Every fresh device of his for screwing extra work out of his
galley-slaves, every mean and low-down trick played upon them for the
lessening of their scanty food or robbing them of their hard-earned
pay, only seemed to increase their admiration for him, as if his
diabolical personality had actually inverted all their ideas of right
and wrong.

The man himself, the centre of this little cosmos of whose dreary round
pleasure formed not the minutest part, was apparently about 55 years of
age. He had been tall, above the average, but a persistent stoop had
modified that particular considerably. The great peculiarity about his
appearance was his head, which was shaped much like a fir-cone. From
the apex of it fell a few straggling wisps of hay-coloured hair that
did not look as if they belonged there, but had been blown against the
scalp and stuck there accidentally. Wide, outstanding ears, pointed at
the top like a bat’s, eyes that were just straight slits across the
parchment face, from between whose bare edges two inscrutable pupils
of different but unnameable colours looked out, a straight, perfectly
shaped nose, so finely finished that it looked artificial, and another
straight lipless slit for a mouth completes his facial portrait.
His arms were abnormally long, and his legs short, while his gait,
from long walking upon greasy decks, was a bear-like shuffle. It was
whispered in the fo’c’sle that his strength was gigantic, and there was
a tradition extant of his having wrung a recalcitrant harpooner’s neck
with his bare hands as one would a fowl’s; but none of his present crew
had seen him exert himself at all. What impressed them most, however,
was his voice. Ordinarily he spoke in almost a faint whisper, such as
a dying man might be supposed to utter, but it must have been very
distinct in articulation, as he was never known to speak twice. Yet,
if at any time it became necessary for him to hail a boat or a passing
ship, that strange opening in his head would unclose, and forth from it
would issue a strident sound that carried farther than the bellow of
any angry bull.

His “luck” was proverbial. None of his officers ever knew, any more
than did the meanest member of the ship’s company, whither he was
bound, nor in what unfrequented areas of ocean he sought the valuable
creatures from which he was amassing so much wealth. Of course, they
knew, as all sailors do from close observation of courses made, land
seen, weather, etc., within a few hundred miles or so, but their
knowledge was never ample enough to have enabled them afterwards to
take another ship along the same tracks that the Beluga had found
so richly frequented by payable whales. But Elisha Cushing added to
his so-called luck almost superhuman energy. If he did not spare his
unhappy slaves, he was no more merciful to himself. Never a boat was
lowered after whales, no matter what the weather or how few the prey,
but he was foremost; as if he loved (if it be admissible to mention
love in connection with this emotionless man) the chase for its own
sake, or, knowing that he carried a charmed life, dared to take risks
that no ordinary man would do except under compulsion. There was one
marked feature of his whaling, however, that was noticed by all his
crew, if, owing to the difficulties hinted at before, it was seldom
discussed. Whenever the boats approached either a single whale or a
whale school, Captain Cushing would surely be seen standing high on
the two quarter-cleats in the stern-sheets of his boat, searching
with sparkling, almost glaring eyes among them for _something_. It
was believed that the boats never “went on a whale” until the skipper
had first passed them (the whales) all in review, and fully satisfied
himself that the object of his search, whatever it might be, was not
there. His scrutiny over, the game commenced, and surely never, since
the bold Biscayan fishermen first attacked the questing rorquals that
visited their shores, with bone and flint pointed lances, was there
ever seen such whale-hunting as that carried on by Elisha Cushing.
Without changing colour, or raising his voice above its usual low
murmur, he would haul his boat up alongside of the mountainous mammal,
order her to be held there, and then, disregarding the writhings and
wallowing of the great creature, he would calmly feel for the ribs
or the shoulder-blades with the lance point. And having found an
interspace, the long arms would straighten out, and four feet of the
lance would glide like a slender bright snake into the mighty vitals,
only to be withdrawn on the instant and plunged home again and again
and again, each thrust taking a new turn within, and causing the black,
hot blood to burst from the wound as from the nozzle of a fire-hose.
Or, quietly seated on the gunwale, he would select his spot, and probe
with the lance as a surgeon might seek for a bullet in the body of an
insensible patient. Should the boat swerve away from the whale ever
so slightly until he gave the signal, he would look round, and on the
instant five men, albeit in the very shadow of death, would feel a
creeping at the pit of their stomachs, and a frantic desire to avert
his anger; for he had been known to reach across the boat and snatch a
man from his thwart with one hand, flinging him, a limp, ragged bundle,
far out of the boat, and not caring where. The only signs that he ever
showed of anything unusual being toward, was a faint blue patch that
appeared in the middle of his otherwise yellow cheek, and a reddish
glint in his eyes. In spite of his peculiarities, his men were proud to
be members of his boat’s crew, for his skill was of so high an order
that his apparent recklessness never got him a boat stove or lost him
a man; while his officers, though the pick and flower of whalemen, had
their usual share of casualties.

About two years of the cruise had gone by, and the Beluga’s hold was
already more than two-thirds full of oil, in spite of the fact that
several shipments home had been made during the voyage. After a season
on the Vasquez ground in the South Pacific, where she had averaged two
whales a week, she was now steering an easterly course with a little
south in it--not cruising, but making a passage apparently for the
“off-shore grounds,” on the coast of Chili. One morning at daybreak the
cry of “sail-ho” from the crow’s-nest reached Captain Cushing in his
cabin, and before the officer on deck had time to answer, his deep
breathed tones were heard welling up from below in reply, “Where away.”
The stranger was a whaling barque also, lying hove-to right ahead, as
if expecting and waiting for the Beluga. When the two vessels were
within three miles of each other, Captain Cushing ordered his boat
away, and with an order to the mate to “keep her jes ’s she is,” he
departed. No sooner had his crew put him alongside than he climbed on
board, and, contrary to the usual practice, ordered them away from the
stranger, telling them to lie on their oars at a little distance until
he should call them. The skipper of the stranger (still an unknown ship
to the Beluga’s crew, as she had no name visible) met Captain Cushing
at the gangway, presenting as complete a contrast to that inscrutable
man as could well be imagined. A dumpy, apple-faced little fellow, with
a lurking smile in every dimple, and a mat of bright red curls covering
his round head. Snatching the languidly offered paw of his visitor, he
burst forth, “Wall, ef this ent grate! I be tarnally ding-busted ef I
wa’nt a talkin’ ’bout ye las’ night, talkin’ t’ meself that is,” he
hastily interjected, upon seeing the look that Cushing turned upon him.
“But kem along daown b’low n’hev--wall I wonder wut y’ _will_ hev. Don’
seem sif y’ ever hev anythin’. Nev’ mine, less git b’low anyhaow.” And
together they descended.

For a long time the little man did all the talking--after the manner
of a trusted manager of a thriving business making his report to his
principal. He told of whales caught, of boats stove, of gear carried
away--quite the usual routine--while Cushing listened with his
impenetrable mask, through which it was impossible to see whether he
was interested or not. It was like talking to a graven image. But
still, as the tale went on, and it appeared that the little talker had
been fairly successful, there was a slight relaxing of the rigid pose,
which to the eye of the initiate spelt satisfaction. For all unknown
to any one except the ruddy skipper talking to him, Cushing was really
the owner of this unnamed ship--a vessel that he had stolen from an
anchorage in the Pelew Islands, while all her crew were ashore on a
furious debauch which had lasted for several weeks, and had ever since
been running her in this mysterious fashion by the aid of the one man
in the wide world in whom he could be said to repose any confidence.
That story is, however, too long to be told here.

The recital was apparently finished, when suddenly, as if he had just
remembered an important part of his report, the narrator resumed, his
jolly red face assuming an air of gravity that was strangely out of
harmony with it. “An’ cap’,” said he, “I’d eenamost fergot--I met up
with the spotted whale of the Bonins las’ cruise. I----”

But there was a sudden change, an unearthly brightening into copper
colour of Cushing’s face, as he sprang to his feet, and, with his
long fingers working convulsively, gurgled out, “’R ye sure? Don’t ye
mislead me, Silas, ’r ye’d be better dead every time. Naow yew jest
gi’ me th’ hull hang o’ this thing ’fore y’ say ’nother word ’bout
anythin’!”

There was no mask of indifference now. The man was transformed into a
living embodiment of eager desire, and bold indeed would any have been
that would have dared to thwart him. No such idea was in his hearer’s
thoughts, at any rate, for no sooner had he done speaking than Silas
leaned forward and said--

“Yes, cap’, I _am_ sure, not thet it’s hardly wuth while sayin’ so, fur
yew couldn’t imagine me bein’ mistook over a critter like thet. ’Twas
this way. Ev’ since _thet_ affair I’ve scurcely ever fergot yew’re
orders--t’ look eout fer Spotty an’ let ye’ know fust chance whar he
uz usin’ roun’, but at this perticler lowerin’ we jest had all eour
soup ladled eout fer us an’ no mistake. Ther’d ben a matter o’ a dozen
ships ov us in compny, ’n I wuz bizzy figgerin’ haow t’ git rid’r some
ov ’em befo’ we struck whale. I noo they wuz abaout; the air wuz jest
thick up with whale smell, ’n every one ov my boys wuz all alive. Wall,
we hove to thet night ’s ushal till midnight, ’n then I sez t’ myself,
sez I, ef I don’t up-stick ’n run south I’m a horse. Fur, ye see, ’twuz
born in ’pon me thet whales wuz comin’ up from the line away, ’n a big
school too. I doan’ know why, ov course not, but thar twuz--y’ know how
’tis yerself.

“Sure ’nough by dayspring they wa’nt a ship in sight of us, but at
seven bells we raised whale, ’n b’ gosh I reckon they was mos’ a
thousan’ of ’em spread all out to looard of us more like a school o’
porps than hunderd bar’l whales--which they wuz every last one ov ’em,
cep them thet wuz bigger. They wa’nt much wind, ’n we lowered five
boats ’n put f’r them whales all we knew. Tell y’ wut, cap’, I’ve seen
some tall spoutin’, but that mornin’s work jest laid raight over all
I ever heer tell ov, much less see. We all got fas’ on the jump, ’n
then we cut loose agen. Reason why, we couldn’t move fur ’em. They jest
crowded in on us, quite quiet; they wa’nt a bit er fight in one ov ’em,
and we handled the lances on the nearest. That patch o’ sea wuz jest
a saladero now I’m tellin’ ye. We never chipped a splinter ner used
ten fathom o’ tow line, ’n be _my_ recknin we killed twenty whales.
Gradjully the crowd drawed off, leavin’ us with all that plunder lyin’
roun’ loose, an I wuz beginnin’ t’ wish I hadn’t run so fur away from
the fleet. Fur I knew we couldn’ handle sech a haul’s thet--more’n haef
ov em’d be rotten ’fore we c’d cut in ef we’d worked f’r a week on eend
’thout a minnit’s rest.

“While we wuz jest drawin’ breth like after th’ war, and the
shipkeepers ’uz a workin’ her daown t’ us, my harponeer sings out ’sif
he’d a ben snake bit, ‘Blow-w-s ’n breaches! Ee’r sh’ white waterrs.
Madre di Gloria, Capena, lookee what come.’ ’N thar shore nuff he uz
comin’; Spotty fur true. I know, cap. I never see him afore. All I
knoo ’bout him uz wut ye told me, an’ I doan mine ownin’ up naow at I
thought y’ mout ha ben a bit loony on thet subjec, but I tek it all
back, ’n ’umbly axes yer pardin.

“Yaas, sir, he come; like all hell let loose. He jes flung himself
along the top er th’ sea like a dolphin, ’n I reckin we all felt
kiender par’litic. Soon’s I got me breath I sings out t’ cut adrif’,
fur we’d all got tow-lines fast to flukes ready to pass abroad, and
handle bomb-guns quick. Then when he come within range t’ let him have
’em full butt’n put f’r th’ ship. Don’t say I felt very brash ’baout
it, but twuz the best I c’d think ov. He kem, oh yes, sir, he kem,
’n the sight of his charge brung a verse of th’ Bible (haint looked
inside one f’r twenty years) into my mind. Goes suthin like this ‘The
mountings skipped like rams, th’ little hills like young sheep.’ We
done all we knoo, we twisted and tarned an’ pulled an’ starned; but
you know, cap, better ’n any of us, thet the boat never was built thet
c’d git out of th’ way ov a spalmacitty whale when he’d made up his
mine fur mischief. ’N we wa’nt no excepshin. We weakened at las’, ’n
took th’ water, whar we knoo he wouldn’t tech us, ’n b’ gosh he didn’
leave a plank o’ one o’ them thar boats whole. I doan know why he didn’
foller it up or go fur th’ ship. Ef he hed thar’d a ben an eend of the
story, sure. But no, he just disappeared quiet ’s death, ’n we all gut
picked up in time. Yes, ’n we managed to rig up our spare boat ’n git
five of them whales cut in too, though I’m free t’ confess the last of
’em wuz middlin’ gamey by th’ time they got t’ th’ try pots. The rest
jest floated erroun ’n stunk up th’ North Persific Ocean till twuz like
a graveyard struck be ’n erthquake. But we got six hunderd barl out of
th’ catch, anyway.”

While the recital was proceeding, Cushing’s face was a study. He
listened without moving a muscle, but rage, hope, and joy chased one
another over that usually expressionless mask like waves raised by
sudden squalls over the calm surface of a sheltered lake. And when it
was over he rose wearily, saying--

“All right, Jacob; when ye’re through put fur the old rondyvoos an’
discharge. I’ll be long ’bout March an’ range fur next cruise. So long.
I’m off t’ th’ Bonins full pelt.”

“But, Cap’n Cushing, is ut worth huntin’ up that gauldern spotty beast
’n gettin’ ’tarnally smashed up fur an’ idee? Why caint y’ leave ’im
alone? Sure’s deeth he’ll do ye a hurt. Take a fool’s advice, cap’n, ’n
let him die ov ole age or accident.”

“Jacob, my man, y’ fergit yerself. When I want yew’re advice, I’ll
seek it. Till then don’t ye offer it. Tain’t t’ my likin’, fur I’m
accustomed to take no man as my counsellor. So long once more, ’n don’t
fergit y’r orders.”

In two strides he reached the top of the companion-ladder, and with
that wide-breathed cry of his that we knew so well had summoned his
boat. She sprang to the nameless barque’s side like a living thing,
Captain Cushing stepped into her, and the queer gam was over. Back
alongside he came, standing erect as a monolith in the stern-sheets,
and, hardly allowing time for the boat to be hooked on, issued rapid
orders for all sail to be made; the helm was put hard up, and away we
went N.W. No one ventured an opinion upon this sudden change, but every
one looked volumes of inquiry. And no one dared even hint to his fellow
the wonder, the painful curiosity, he felt as, day after day, before a
strong south-east trade, the Beluga did her steady seven knots an hour,
nor stayed for anything. Again and again the cry of “blow” came ringing
down from the crows’-nests, and as often as it was heard the old man
mounted aloft with his glasses, and stayed until he had apparently
satisfied himself of something. But never a halt did we make. No, and
as if the very whales themselves knew of our pre-occupation, a school
actually rose near and accompanied us for a whole watch, gambolling
along massively within gun-shot on either side. They might as well have
been a thousand miles away for all the notice the old man took of them.
He just leaned upon the weather-rail, gazing with expressionless face
at the unchanging ring of the horizon--a fathomless enigma to all of
us. The proximity of those whales, however, troubled the officers more
than anything else had done, and it took all their inbred terror of the
old man to keep them from breaking into open mutiny. Even among us, who
had little interest in the voyage from a monetary point of view, and to
whom the capture of whales only meant a furious outburst of the hardest
work, the feeling of indignation at the loss of so grand an opportunity
was exceedingly hard to bear.

Onward we sped until we got among the islands, but no slackening of
haste, except when the wind lulled, was indulged in. By day or by
night we threaded those mazy archipelagoes as if the whole intricate
navigation was as familiar to the skipper as the rooms of his cabin.
Such ship-handling surely never was seen. Perched upon the fore-yard,
the only light visible being the blazing foam spreading widely out on
either bow and ahead where the staunch old ship plunged through those
phosphorescent waters, the glowing patches cropping up hither and
thither all around as the indolent Pacific swell broke irritably over
some up-cropping coral patch, and the steely sparkles of the stars in
the blue-black sky above, Captain Cushing conned the ship as easily and
confidently as a pilot entering New York harbour on midsummer day, his
quiet voice sounding down from where he crouched invisible as if we
were being celestially directed. There was no feeling of apprehension
among us, for our confidence in his genius was perfect, making us sure
that whatever of skill in navigation was required he surely possessed
it.

Nevertheless, the mystery of our haste across the whole vast breadth
of the Pacific fretted every man, even the dullest. It was outside all
our previous experience. Perhaps the only thing that made it bearable
was the knowledge that not one of the officers was any better informed
than we were. Foremast hands are always jealous of the information
obtainable in the cuddy, and even though it may not be of the slightest
use to them, any scrap they may obtain gives to the lucky eavesdropper
a sort of brevet-rank for the time being. Here, however, all that was
to be known as to our movements, the reason for them, and the ultimate
object of our long passage, with its unprecedented haste, was locked up
in one man’s mind, and that man a graven image for secretiveness.

Such was the expeditiousness of our passage that seven weeks after
gamming the nameless whaler on the “off-shore” ground, we sighted
one of the Volcano group of islands which lie near the Bonins in the
great eddy of the Kuro Siwo or Japanese current, and form one of the
landmarks of what was once the busiest sperm whaling-ground on the
globe. The shape of the island, more like the comb of a cock than
anything else, was familiar to many of us, and gave us for the first
time for months a clear idea of our position. So we were on the Japan
ground. It was a relief to know that much, certainly; but why--why
had we, contrary to all whaling precedent, made a passage of several
thousand miles in such haste? No answer. But having arrived, our usual
whaling tactics were immediately resumed. With a difference. Instead
of being kept hard at work during all the hours of daylight scrubbing,
polishing, cleaning, until the old oil-barrel of a ship was as spick
and span as a man-o’-war, the word was passed that the watch on deck
were to keep a look-out for whale--every man of them except him at the
wheel. And the watchers in the crows’-nest were provided each with a
pair of binoculars--a thing unheard of before. So the ship became a
veritable argus. It is safe to say that nothing, not even a frond of
seaweed, or a wandering sea-bird, ever passed within range of sight
without being seen and noted. After a few days of this most keen
outlook came another surprise in the shape of a speech from the old man.

Calling all hands aft, he faced us for a minute in silence, while
every heart beat a trifle quicker as if we were on the threshold of
a mystery deeper than any that had yet worried us. He spoke quietly,
dispassionately, yet with that blue patch in the middle of each yellow
cheek that was to us the symbol of his most intense excitement. “I’ve
kem up hyar aefter _one_ whale, ’n ef I git him th’ v’yge is over. He’s
big, bigger’n enny man here’s ever seen, I guess, an’ he’s spotted
with white on brown like a pieball horse. Yew kaint mistake him. I’ll
give five hundred dollars t’ th’ man that raises him first, ’n I’ll
divide five thousand among ye ’cordin t’ grade ef I kill him. An’ when
we’ve cut him in we’ll up-stick f’r Noo Bedford. Naow, ef this is enny
indoocement t’ ye, keep y’r eyes skinned by day and night. Moreover, I
warn ye thet this ship doan’t see civilization agen until I git wut I’m
after, ’r I go under. Thet’ll do, all haends.”

In any other ship this harangue would have been succeeded by a buzz
of chat as soon as the fellows got forward, but here not a word was
spoken. Thenceforward, though it was evident that not a thought could
be spared, not a look wasted from scanning the wide circle of blue
around, by night and by day the watch never slackened, and men would
hardly sleep for eagerness to be the first to claim the prize. Yet,
as so often happens, it fell to one who had the least opportunity of
obtaining it, the mulatto steward whose duties kept him below most of
the time. About ten days after the skipper’s offer the steward crept
on deck one evening about eight bells, his long day’s work just over,
and slouching forward into the waist leaned over the side and began
to fill his pipe. It was a heavenly evening, hardly a breath of air
breaking the sleekiness of the sea-surface, the slightest perceptible
swell giving us a gentle undulatory motion, and overhead the full moon
hung in the cloudless dome like an immense globe glowing with electric
light. The steward had finished filling his pipe, and was just feeling
for a match when he stopped suddenly and said to his nearest neighbour,
“Oliver, what in thunder’s thet right in the moon-glade?” The whisper
ran round the ship as if on a telephone, and in less than a minute
all the night-glasses were on the spot. The skipper’s voice broke the
silence--hardly broke it--so quiet yet audible was it. “’Way boats. Th’
first man thet makes a noise, I’ll cripple him f’r life. Stoord, g’lang
b’low ’n git y’r money; ye’ll find it on my bunk-shelf.”

Like a crew of ghosts, we sped to our stations, hanging over side and
booming the boats off as they were lowered with the utmost caution lest
there should be a rattle of a patent block or a splash as they took
the water. In five minutes we were all away, five boats, the skipper
leading and every man, except the officers steering, wielding an Indian
paddle as if his life depended upon utter silence. As we sat facing
forrard every eye was strained for a glimpse of the enemy, but at
that low level and in the peculiar glare of a moonlit tropical night
we could see nothing. Moreover, we were paddling along the glittering
path cast upon the sea by the moon, and a few minutes’ steady gaze
upon that stretch of molten silver made the eyes burn and throb, so
that it was an intense relief to close them for a while. At every dip
of the paddles there was an additional flash in the water, behind each
boat and far beneath myriads of dancing gleams disported themselves,
while in ever-accumulating numbers wide bands of pale fire radiating
from opaque bodies keeping company with us told us of the shark hosts
mustering for the fight wherein they, at any rate, were likely to fall
heirs to goodly spoil.

Without a pause for rest, and in the same utter stillness, we toiled
on for at least two hours. It was backbreaking work, and but for
the splendid training we were in we could not possibly have held
out. Then suddenly from ahead came a yell of wild laughter, the most
blood-chilling sound surely ever heard. Immediately following it we
saw a veritable hill of light upraise itself out of the sea ahead,
and realized that at last our quarry was brought to bay. “In paddles,
out oars!” yelled the officers, and as we obeyed we were aware that a
terrific commotion was in progress ahead. The greenish-glaring spray
ascended in long jets, and the dull boom of mighty blows reverberated
over the hitherto quiet sea. Pulling till our sinews cracked, we
reached the storm-centre, and, by what seemed a miracle, actually
succeeded in getting fast to the whale--every boat did that, although
it seemed to many of us a suicidal policy under the circumstances.
Shouts and curses resounded until a voice was heard that enforced
silence, the far-reaching tones of Captain Cushing, who was nearest
to the foe, but for all his ability was unable to do more once he
had got fast. For now the whale had settled down into a steady
straightforward rush at the rate of about fourteen knots an hour, the
five boats sweeping along in his wake like meteors glancing across the
deep darkness of the night. The whale could not be seen. Only at long
intervals did he slant upwards and, with a roar like the lifting of an
overloaded safety-valve, disappear again.

So on we went through the warm quiet night without the slightest
sign of slackening until the gladsome light of dawn quickened on the
sea-rim, and showed us that we were alone--there was no sign of the
ship. A gaunt and haggard crew we looked, anxiety scoring deep furrows
in our wan faces. And as the sun sprang into the sky we suddenly came
to a dead stop. The strain on the line compelled us to pay out, and
thus we hovered in a circle, bows awash, and awaited the pleasure
of our foe. There was a sudden upspringing of all boats, a hasty
manœuvring to clear one another as far as might be, and, before any
of us could have imagined it possible, high into our midst leaped
the spotted whale, his awful jaws agape, and his whole body writhing
in its evolution. Straight for the skipper’s boat he came, taking it
diagonally, and, with a crash that set all our teeth on edge, she
disappeared. A mist arose before our sight, the spray of the conflict
filling the air, but, fired beyond fear by the wholesale tragedy we
believed had taken place, we bent to our oars till they cracked,
thirsting for that monster’s blood. As we came bounding to the spot he
disappeared, and, to our unspeakable amazement (though we had no time
to show it) all the destroyed boat’s crew reappeared. But if Captain
Cushing had looked dangerous before, his appearance now was that of a
demoniac. His cap was gone, so that the yellow dome of his head loomed
strangely in the early morning light, his clothing hung from him in
ribbons, and his right arm dangled as if only held by a few sinews. He
had come right out of the whale’s jaws. All the others were scathless.

To all offers of help he turned a savage scowl, and seizing a bomb-gun
in his uninjured hand he jammed himself in the boat’s bows, his voice,
unaltered save for being a little higher in pitch, being heard and
obeyed among the other boats on the instant. The whale returned. At the
captain’s orders all cut their lines, and the real fight began. Truly
Captain Cushing was fit to be a leader of men, for his eyes missed
nothing. At his orders all four boats advanced, retreated, backed,
circled, stopped dead. He seemed able to penetrate the misleading
medium of the water, where a whale at twenty fathoms’ depth looks like
a salmon, and whatever move the monster made, his counter-move baffled
the savage intent. Yet all the time we were strictly on the defensive.
Our long night’s tow, want of food and drink, and since daylight the
tremendous strain upon our nerves, was surely telling against us, and
our adversary was apparently tireless. Not only so, but his ingenuity
never flagged. Ruse after ruse was tried by him, but no two were alike.
And without a doubt our hopes of coming alive out of this battle were
growing fainter and fainter every moment.

Things were in this gloomy stage when, with a most appalling roar, the
whale suddenly broke water on his back, and launched himself at the
captain’s boat. The wide sea boiled like a pot as he came, but, to our
horror, the boat lay still, as if anchored to the spot. The crash came,
and amidst its uproar we heard the sharp report of a gun. Like a great
whirlpool the waters foamed and rose, nothing being distinguishable in
the midst of the vortex until it gradually subsided, and we saw the
fragments of the boat idly tossing upon the crimson foam. Hastening
to the rescue, we found six men still alive, but all sadly hurt. The
seventh was gone. At last Captain Cushing had paid in full the debt
that had been owing. We were now completely overborne with fatigue as
well as overloaded with helpless men--utterly unfit to compete any
further with so fearful a foe. While we lay thus helplessly awaiting
what all felt must be the end, the whale again broke water about twenty
yards away. Up, up, up into the air he rose, effortless, majestically;
and as he soared aloft every heart stood still to see the body of our
late commander hanging limply at the angle of that yawning mouth. The
yellow visage was towards us, the same savage grin frozen upon it, but
the will against which everything had shivered was now but the will of
the drift-weed round about; that clammy piece of clay was tenantless.

Down came the gigantic form, tearing up the sea into foam and
disappeared from our sight, to be seen no more. Long and wearily we
waited, hungry and thirsty, and some in agony from their injuries,
until twenty-four hours later the Beluga found us, and all were safely
taken on board. Strangely transformed the old ship appeared. At first
we went about as we had been wont, not daring to exchange thoughts
with one another. But gradually the blessed truth soaked in. We were
freed from a tyranny more dire than any of us had realized--a tyranny
over mind as well as body. Officers and men rejoiced together, for all
had suffered. And it was at once decided to return home in leisurely
fashion, calling at well-known ports on the way, and endeavouring to
make up by a little joy of life for past miseries.

What the true inwardness of Captain Cushing’s desire of revenge on the
spotted whale was we never rightly knew, but many rumours were current
among ships that we gammed that he had, with his own hand many years
before, killed the whale of a small pod, or company of whales, of which
the spotted whale was the leader, and that they had met on several
occasions afterwards, their meeting always being attended by some grave
disaster to Cushing’s ship and crew. This had wrought upon his mind
until it had become a mania, and he was willing to risk all for the
chance of slaying his redoubtable foe. But we had no doubt that the
whale was merely the instrument chosen by Providence for meting out to
him a death he richly deserved for his many crimes.




THE SKIPPER’S WIFE


Stories of the Sea have in my humble opinion been quite unfairly
dealt with by the majority of their narrators. Told for the benefit
of non-seafaring folk by writers, who, however great their literary
gifts, have had merely a nodding acquaintance with the everyday doings
on board ship, they generally lack proportion, and fail to convey to
shore folk an intimate sense of the sea-atmosphere. Especially has this
been so with books for young people, as was no doubt to be expected. So
much has this been the case that sailors generally despise sea-stories,
finding them utterly unlike anything they have ever experienced
themselves. Of late years there have been some notable exceptions among
sea story writers, most of them happily still living and doing splendid
service. One cunning hand is still, that of James Runciman, whose
yarns are salt as the ocean, and have most truly held the mirror up
to Nature in a manner unexcelled by any other marine writer living or
dead. Freedom from exaggeration, clarity of expression, and sympathetic
insight into sea-life were his main features, and no one hated more
than he the utterly impossible beings and doings common to the bulk of
sea-fiction.

Whether it be from lack of imaginative power or an unfertile
inventiveness I cannot say, but it has always appeared to me as if
one need never travel outside the actual facts of his experience,
however humdrum it may appear to the casual observer, to find matters
sufficiently interesting to hold any intelligent reader enthralled,
always providing that matter be well presented. And in that belief I
venture to tell a plain tale here, into which no fiction enters except
proper names.

Drifting about the world, as the great fucus wanders from shore to
shore, having once been dislodged from its parent rock, I one day
found myself ashore at Quilimane, desperately anxious to get a berth
in any capacity on board ship for the sole purpose of getting away. My
prospects were not very rosy, for the only vessels in the hateful place
were two or three crazy country craft with Arab crews, that looked
exceedingly like slavers to me. At last, to my intense relief, a smart
looking barquentine entered the port and anchored. I was, as usual,
lounging about the beach (it seemed the healthiest place I could find)
and my longing eyes followed every move of the crew as they busied
themselves in getting the boat out. When the captain stepped ashore I
was waiting to meet him, and the first words he heard were--

“_Do_ you want a hand, cap’n?”

Taking keen stock of me, he said, “What sort of a berth do you want?”

“Well, sir,” I replied, “I’ve got a second-mate’s ticket, but I’ll go
as boy for the chance of getting away from here, if necessary.”

“I want a cook-and-steward,” he murmured dubiously, “and as I’ve got my
wife aboard the cooking’s rather important.”

“I’m your man, sir,” I cried, “if I can’t cook you can dump me
overboard. I never shipped as cook yet, but I’ve had to teach a good
few cooks how to boil salt water without burning it.”

He smiled pleasantly at this, and said, “I must say I like your looks
and--well there, jump into the boat. I’ll be back directly.”

Sure enough, in a couple of hours I was busy in her cosy galley, while
the chaps were rattling the windlass round with a will, anxious enough
to get clear of that sweltering coast. From the first my relations with
all hands were of the pleasantest kind. They had suffered many things
at the hands of several so-called cooks during the eighteen months they
had been away from home, each dirty destroyer of provisions being worse
than his predecessor. But especially were my efforts appreciated in the
cabin. The skipper had with him his wife and two little girls, aged
four and five respectively, who made that little corner of the ship
seem to a homeless, friendless wanderer like myself a small heaven.
Mrs. Brunton was a sweet-faced grey-eyed woman of about thirty, with a
quiet tenderness of manner and speech that made a peaceful atmosphere
about her like that of a summer Sunday evening in some tiny English
village. Her husband was a grand specimen of a British seaman, stalwart
and fair-haired, with a great sweeping beard and bright blue eyes that
always had a lurking smile in their depths. The pair appeared to have
but one mind. Their chief joy seemed to be in the silent watching of
their children’s gambols, as, like two young lambs, they galloped round
the decks or wriggled about the cramped fittings of the small saloon.
The charm of that happy home-circle was over all hands. You might say
that the ship worked herself, there was so little sign of the usual
machinery of sea-life.

So the days slipped away as we crept down towards the Cape, bound
round to Barbadoes, of all places in the world. Then in the ordinary
course of events the weather got gradually worse, until one night it
culminated in a following gale of hurricane fierceness, thundering down
out of an ebony sky that almost rested on the mastheads. By-and-by the
swart dungeon about us became shot with glowing filaments that quivered
on the sight like pain-racked nerves, and the bass of the storm fell
two octaves. Sail had been reduced to the fore lower topsail and the
fore-topmast staysail, which had the sheet hauled flat aft in case
of her broaching-to. Even under those tiny rags she flew before the
hungering blast like a hare when the hounds are only her own length
behind. The black masses of water gradually rose higher alongside as
they bellowed past until their terrible heads peered inboard as if
seeking the weakest spot. They began to break over all, easily at
first, but presently with a sickening crash that made itself felt in
one’s very bowels. At last two menacing giants rose at once on either
side, curving their huge heads until they overhung the waist. Thus,
for an appreciable fraction of time, they stood, then fell--on
the main-hatch. It cracked--sagged downward--and every man on deck
knew that the foot-thick greenheart fore-and-after was broken, and
that another sea like that would sink us like a saucer. Hitherto the
skipper had been standing near the cuddy scuttle, in which his wife
crouched, her eyes dim with watching her husband. Now he stooped and
whispered three words in her ear. With one more glance up into his
face she crept down into their berth, and over to where the two little
ones were sleeping soundly. Gently, but with an untrembling hand,
she covered their ruddy faces with a folded mosquito net and turned
out the light. Then she swiftly returned to her self-chosen post in
the scuttle, just reaching up a hand to touch her husband’s arm, and
let him know that she was near. The quiver that responded was answer
enough. He was looking astern, and all his soul was in his eyes. For
there was a streak of kindly light, a line of hope on the murky heaven.
It broadened to a rift, the blue shone through, and stooping he lifted
his wife’s head above the hatch, turning her face so that she too might
see and rejoice. She lifted her face, with streaming eyes, to his for
a kiss, then fled below, turned up the light again, and uncovered the
children’s faces. Five minutes later she heard his step coming down,
and devoured him with her eyes as he walked to the barometer, peered
into it and muttered “thank God.”

[Illustration: Gently she covered their ruddy faces.]

A fortnight later I was prowling up and down the cabin outside their
closed state-room door, my fingers twitching with nervousness, and a
lump continually rising in my throat that threatened to choke me; for
within that tiny space, the captain, all unaided except by his great
love and quiet common sense, was elbowing a grim shadow that seemed
to envy him his treasure. Now and then a faint moan curdled round my
heart, making it ache as if with cold. Beyond that there was no sign
from within, and the suspense fretted me till I felt like a bundle of
bare nerves. Overhead I could hear the barefooted step of the mate,
as he wandered with uncertain gait about the lee side of the poop
under the full glow of the passionless moon. At last, when I felt as
worn as if I had been swimming for hours, there came a thin, gurgling
little wail--a new voice that sent a thrill through the curves of my
brain with a sharp pang. And then I felt the hot tears running down my
face--why, I did not know. A minute later the door swung open, and the
skipper said, in a thick, strange tone, “It’s all right, Peter; I’ve a
son. And she’s grand, my boy, she’s grand.” I mumbled out something;
I meant well, I’m sure, but no one could have understood me. He knew,
and shook hands with me heartily. And presently I was nursing the bonny
mite as if I had never done aught else--me that never had held a baby
before. It was good, too; it lay in my arms on a pillow, and looked up
at me with bright, unwinking eyes.

Then came three weeks of unalloyed delight. Overhead the skies were
serene--that deep, fathomless blue, that belongs of right to the
wide, shoreless seas of the tropics, where the constant winds blow
unfalteringly to a mellow harmony of love. On board, every thought
was drawn magnet-wise to the tiny babe who had come among us like
a messenger from another sphere, and the glances cast at the tender
mother as she sat under the little awning, like a queen holding her
court, were almost reverential. Never a man of us will forget that
peaceful time. Few words were spoken, but none of them were angry,
for every one felt an influence at work on him that, while it almost
bewildered him, made him feel gentle and kind. But into the midst of
this peaceful time came that envious shadow again. How it happened
no man could tell; what malign seed had suddenly germinated, after
so long lying dormant, was past all speculation of ours. The skipper
himself fell sick. For a few days he fought man-fashion against a
strange lassitude that sapped all his great strength and overcame even
his bright cheery temper until he became fretful as a sickly babe.
At last there came a day when he could not rise from his cot. With a
beseeching look in his eyes he lay, his fine voice sunk to a whisper
and his sunny smile gone. His wife hovered about him continually,
unsparing of herself, and almost forgetting the first claim of the
babe. The children, with the happy thoughtlessness of their age, could
not be kept quiet, so, for the most part, they played forward with the
crew, where they were as happy as the day was long. Every man did his
best to entertain them; and when sailors make pets of children, those
children are favoured by fortune. Meanwhile, in the cabin, we fought
inch by inch with death for our friend. But our hands were tied by
ignorance, for the rough directions of the book in the medicine chest
gave us no help in dealing with this strange disease. Gradually the
fine frame of the skipper dwindled and shrank, larger and more wistful
grew his eyes, but after the first appalling discovery of his weakness
he never uttered a complaining word. He lay motionless, unnoticing,
except that into the deep wells of his eyes there came an expression of
great content and peace whenever his wife bent over him. She scarcely
ever spoke, for he had apparently lost all power of comprehension as
well as speech, except that which entered his mind by sight. Thus he
sank, as lulls the sea-breeze on a tropical shore when twilight comes.
And one morning at four, as I lay coiled in a fantastic heap upon one
of the settees near his door, sleeping lightly as a watch-dog, a long,
low moan tugged at my heart-strings, and I sat up shivering like one in
an ague-fit, although we were on the Line. Swiftly I stepped into his
room, where I saw his wife with one arm across his breast and her face
beside his on the pillow. She had fainted, and so was mercifully spared
for a little while the agony of that parting--for he was dead.

Up till that time every device that seamanship could suggest had been
put into practice to hurry the ship on, so that she was a perfect
pyramid of canvas rigged wherever it would catch a wasting air. But all
was of little use, for the wind had fallen lighter and lighter each day
until, at the time of the skipper’s passing, it was a stark calm. Then,
as if some invisible restraint had been suddenly removed, up sprang the
wind, strong and steady, necessitating the instant removal of all those
fragile adjuncts to her speed that had been rigged everywhere possible
aloft. So that no one had at first any leisure to brood over our
great loss but myself, and I could only watch with almost breathless
anxiety for the return of that sorely-tried, heroic woman to a life
from which her chief joy had been taken away. She remained so long in
that death-like trance that again and again I was compelled to reassure
myself, by touching her arms and face, that she was still alive, and
yet I dreaded her re-awakening. At last, with a long-drawn sigh, she
lifted her head, looked steadfastly for a while at the calm face of her
dead husband, then stooped and kissed him once. Then she turned to me
as I stood at the door, with the silent tears streaming down my face,
and said, in a perfectly steady voice (I can hear it now), “Are my
children well?” “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, “they are all asleep.” “Thank
you,” she murmured; “I will go and lie down with them a little while.
I feel so tired. No” (seeing I was about to offer), “I want nothing
just now but rest.” So she turned into their little cabin and shut the
door. I went on deck and waited until the mate (now skipper) was free,
and then told him how she was. He immediately made preparations for the
burial, for we were still a week’s sail from port. In an hour all was
ready, and silently we awaited the re-appearance of the chief mourner.
She came out at breakfast-time, looking like a woman of marble. Quietly
thanking the new skipper for what he had done, she resumed her motherly
duties, saying no word and showing no sign of the ordeal she was
enduring.

All through the last solemn scene, except for a convulsive shudder
as the sullen plunge alongside closed the service, she preserved the
same tearless calm, and afterwards, while she remained on board--which
was only until we arrived at Barbadoes--she preserved the same
automaton-like demeanour. The mail steamer arrived the day after we
anchored, and we took her on board for the passage to England; her
bitter tragedy moving most of the passengers to tears as the history
of it spread like wildfire among them. And as the Medway steamed out
of the harbour, we all stood on the poop of our own vessel, with bared
heads, in respectful farewell to, and deepest sympathy for, our late
captain’s wife.




A SCIENTIFIC CRUISE


Five and twenty minutes, I believe, was the extreme limit of time it
took me to discover that my new ship was likely to provide me some of
the queerest experiences I had yet met with in all my fishing. But
after a month’s weary munching the bread of the outward-bounder, and
in Calcutta too, I was so hungry for a berth that I would have shipped
as mess-room steward in a Geordie weekly boat, and undertaken to live
on the yield of the dog-basket from the engineers’ table, if nothing
better had offered. So when Romin Dass, a sircar that I was very chummy
with, hailed me one morning at the corner of the Radha Bazaar, with a
quotation from Shakespeare to point his information that he had heard
of a second-mate’s berth for me on board the Ranee, a fine iron ship
moored off Prinseps Ghât, I was so glad that I promised him the first
five dibs I could lay hands on. Trembling with eagerness, I hurried
down to the ghât and wheedled a dinghy-wallah into putting me on board.
The mate, a weary looking man, about my own age, met me at the foot
of the gangway ladder with that suspicious air common to all mates
of ships abroad, especially when they see an eager looking stranger
with a nautical appearance come aboard uninvited. In a diffident
uncertain way, born of a futile attempt, to conceal my anxiety and
look dignified, I inquired for Captain Leverrier.

“He isn’t aboard,” snarled the mate, “an’ not likely to be to-night.
What might your business be?”

“Well, you see--the fact is--I thought--that is,” I blundered, getting
red in the face as I saw a sarcastic grin curdling the mate’s face.
“I--I thought you wanted a second mate, an’ I----”

“Oh, why the devil didn’t you say so,’thout gay-huppin’ about it like
that. I begun ter think you was some beach-comber tryin’ on a new
bluff. Come an’ have a drink.”

Greatly relieved I followed him into the saloon, which was almost as
gorgeous as a yacht’s, carpets, and mirrors, and velvet settees, piano
and silver-plated metal work till you couldn’t rest. A gliding Hindoo
came salaaming along with a bottle and glasses and some ice in a bowl
at a word from the mate, and solemnly, as if pouring a libation, we
partook of refreshment. Then, offering me a Trichie, the mate began to
cross-examine me. But by this time I had got back my self-possession,
and I soon satisfied him that I shouldn’t make half a bad shipmate. I
happened to have sailed with an old skipper of his, I knew two or three
fellows that he did, or at least I thought I knew them, and before half
an hour had passed we were on quite confidential terms. No, not quite;
for two or three times I noticed that he checked himself, just when he
was on the point of telling me something, although he let drop a few
hints that were totally unintelligible to me. At last he said--

“You might as well stay to supper an’ keep me company, unless you’ve
got to get back anywhere.”

“Anywhere’s just the right word, Mr. Martin,” I broke in; “anywhere
but ashore again in this God-forsaken place. If you’d been ashore here
for six weeks, looking for a pierhead jump as I have, you’d think it
was heaven to get aboard a ship again. It’d be a mighty important
engagement that ’ud take you up town again.”

“All right, my boy. Hullo, what do you want?” to the suppliant steward,
who stood in a devotional attitude awaiting permission to speak.

“Dinghy-wallah, sab, waitin’ for speaky gentyman, sab.”

I went cold all over. That infernal coolie was after me for his fare,
and I hadn’t a pice. I’d forgotten all about him. I did the only thing
possible, owned up to the mate that I had a southerly wind in my
pockets, and he came to the rescue at once, paying the dinghy-wallah
a quarter of what he asked (two rupees), and starting him off. Then
we sat down to a sumptuous supper, such as I had not tasted for many
months, for I came out before the mast, and the grub in the Sailors
Home (where I had been staying) was pretty bad. Over the pleasant
meal Mr. Martin thawed out completely, and at last, in a burst of
confidence, he said--

“Our ole man’s scientific, Mr. Roper.”

As he looked at me like a man who has just divulged some tremendous
secret, I was more than a little puzzled what to say in reply, so I
looked deeply interested, and murmured, “Indeed.”

“Indeed, yes,” growled the mate; “but I’ll bet you a month’s wages you
won’t say ‘indeed’ like that when we’ve ben to sea a few days. I’ll
tell you what it is, I’ve been with some rum pups of skippers in my
time, but this one scoops the pot. He’s a good enough sailor man, too.
But as fer his condemn science--well, he thinks he’s the whole Royle
Serciety an’ Trinity House biled down into one, an’ I’m damfee knows
enough to come in when it rains. He’s just worryin me bald-headed,
that’s what he is. Why, if it wasn’t fer the good hash and bein’ able
to do pretty much as I mind to with the ship, I’d a ben a jibbin
mainyac ’fore now, I’m dead shore o’ that. Looky here,” and he sprang
up and flung a state-room door wide open, “djever see anythin’ like
that outen a mewseeum?”

I stared in utter amazement at a most extraordinary collection of queer
looking instruments, models, retorts, crucibles, and specimen glasses,
turning round after completing my scrutiny, and gazing into the mate’s
face without speaking.

He was peering at me curiously, and presently said, interrogatively,
“Well?”

Seeing that I was expected to make some sort of a reply, I said, with a
cheerful air--

“’Looks as if the skipper was no end of a scientific pot, I must
confess; but, after all, Mr. Martin, it’s a harmless fad enough, isn’t
it?”

“Harmless! Well, of all the---- Good heavens, man, you hain’t the
least idea--but, there, what’s the use er talkin’. Better letcher wait
’n see fer yerself. Come on up onter the poop ’n git a whiff er fresh
Calcutta mixtcher, dreadful refreshin’, ain’t it?”

A long confab succeeded to the accompaniment of many cigars and sundry
pegs, but not another word about the skipper and his hobbies did the
mate let slip. No; we discussed, as housewives are said to do when they
meet, the shortcomings of those over whom we were put in authority,
compared notes as to the merits and demerits of skippers we had served
under, and generally sampled the gamut of seafaring causeries, until,
with my head buzzing like a mosquito in a bottle, I gave the mate
good-night, and retired to my bunk in an enviable state of satisfaction
at my good fortune. Next morning I was up at coffee-time, and while
sitting on the after-hatch coamings enjoying the enlivening drink and
chatting with the mate, a most unearthly howl fairly made my whiskers
bristle. I looked at Mr. Martin, whose face wore a sarcastic grin, but
never a word spake he. Another nerve-tearing yell resounded, starting
me to my feet, while I exclaimed--

“Whatever is it, Mr. Martin? I’ve never heard such a devilish noise in
my life.”

“Oh, it’s only some o’ the ole man’s harmless fads he’s a exercisin’.
You’ll git used ter them chunes presently.”

He _was_ going to say something else, but just then the steward emerged
from the saloon--that is to say, he shot out as if he had been fired
from a balista. When I saw him a few minutes before he was a suave
olive-complexioned Hindoo, cat-like in his neatness, and snowy in his
muslin rig. Now he was a ghastly apparition, with streaming scalp-lock
and glaring eyeballs, his face a cabbage-water green, and his lank body
as bare as a newly-scalded pig. Apparently incapable of flight, he
crouched where he fell, salaaming with trembling hands, and chattering
almost monkey-like. While the mate and I stood silently regarding him,
and indignation at the poor wretch’s plight was rapidly ousting my
alarm at the manner of his appearance, a mild and benevolent looking
man of middle-age dressed in pyjamas appeared at the saloon door.

“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” said the skipper, for it was himself, “did
you see where that heathen landed?”

“Oh yes, sir,” drawled the mate, “’eer ’e is, what’s left ov ’im.”

“Ah,” replied the skipper, with a placid smile, “he’s a bit startled I
see. He trod on the plate of my new battery, and got a slight shock, I
think. But where’s his close?”

“The Lord only knows,” piously ejaculated the mate. “Looks ter me ’sif
he’d ben shot clean out ov ’em, puggree an’ all.”

By this time the luckless steward, finding, I suppose, that he had not
reached Jehannum yet, began to pull himself together, and, doubtless
ashamed of his being all face in the presence of the all-powerful
sahibs, writhed his way worm-like towards the other door of the
saloon, and disappeared within, the skipper regarding him meanwhile
with gentle interest as if he were a crawling babe. Then turning his
attention to me, the old man courteously inquired my business, and
finding that I suited him, engaged me there and then as second mate.

During the short stay we made in port after my joining, nothing further
occurred to change the opinion I had already formed that I was in a
very comfortable ship. The fellows forward seemed fairly well contented
and willing. The food both fore and aft was wonderfully good, and so
was the cooking, for a marvel. But that was because we had a Madrassee
cook who had served an arduous apprenticeship in P. and O. boats, from
which excellent service he had been driven by some amiable inability to
comprehend the laws of meum and tuum. Here there was no chance for him
to steal, and every inducement for him to earn a good name by pleasing
his many masters. The result was singularly happy for all of us. The
foremast hands were fairly divided into Britons and Scandinavians,
all good seamen and quiet, well-behaved men. One thing, however, was
noticeable, they all seemed nervously anxious to avoid the after part
of the ship as much as possible. All seamen before the mast have an
inbred sense of reverence for the quarter-deck, walking delicately
thereon, and studiously keeping to the lee-side, unless compelled by
duty to go to windward. But in the Ranee, whenever a man came aft for
any purpose whatever, his movements were much like those of a man
visiting a menagerie for the first time alone, and morbidly suspicious
that some of the cage doors were unfastened. This behaviour was highly
amusing to me, for I had never seen anything like it before, and I
couldn’t help wondering how the helmsman would hang out a trick at the
wheel when we got to sea.

All preparations complete, we unmoored, and in tow of the Court Hey
proceeded majestically down the Hooghly, waking all the echoes and
scaring the numberless pigeons of the King of Oude’s palace with the
exultant strains of “Sally Brown.” One of those majestic creatures,
the Calcutta pilots, paced the poop in awful state, alone, the skipper
being nowhere visible. Presently, my lord the pilot, feeling slightly
fatigued, I suppose, threw himself into the old man’s favourite
chair, an elaborately cushioned affair of peculiar shape and almost
as long as a sofa. No sooner had he done so than, with a most amazing
movement, the whole fabric changed its shape, and became one of the
most bewildering entanglements conceivable, gripping the astounded
pilot in so many places at once that he was in imminent danger of being
throttled. I rushed to his assistance, and exerted all my strength to
set him free, but my energetic efforts only seemed to hamper him more,
and fearing lest I should break him all to pieces, I rushed below
for the skipper. That gentleman was busy in his laboratory, making
carburetted hydrogen, I should judge, from the “feel of the smell,” as
the Scotch say, but in answer to my agitated call he emerged, serene
and bland, to inquire my business. Faith, I could hardly tell him, what
with the reek, my haste, and the anxiety I felt. Somehow I managed to
convey to him that the pilot was being done to death in his chair,
and as I did so I noticed (or thought I did) a momentary gleam of
satisfaction in his starboard eye. But he mounted the companion, and
gliding to the spot where the unhappy man, voiceless and black in the
face, was struggling, he stooped, touched a spring, and that infernal
chair fell out flat like a board. I stooped to assist the victim,
but, unluckily for me, he sprang to his feet at the same moment, and
his head catching me under the chin, I had urgent business of my own
to attend to for some little time. When I got quite well again, I
heard conversation. In fact I might almost say the coolies in the
jungle heard it. The pilot was expressing his opinion upon his recent
experience, and from his manner I concluded that he was annoyed. When
at last he had finished, and the lingering echoes had died away, the
old man, looking as happy as a lamb, offered to show him the beauty
and ingenuity of the mechanism. But the pilot merely suggested that
the only sight that could interest him just then would be the old man
dangling by the neck at the cro’jack yard-arm, with that something (I
didn’t quite catch the adjective) chair jammed on to his legs. And then
the unreasonable man walked forward, leaving the skipper looking after
him with a puzzled, yearning expression upon his pleasant face. Perhaps
it is hardly necessary to say that thenceforward relations between the
pilot and the captain were somewhat strained. At any rate, the former
potentate refused to come below, taking his meals on deck with an air
as of a man whose life was at the mercy of irresponsible beings, and
when at last we hauled up at the mouth of the river for the pilot
brig to send a boat for our pilot, he left the ship looking supremely
relieved. To the skipper’s outstretched hand he was blind, and to that
gentleman’s kindly good-bye he said naught but “thank God, I’m safe out
of your ship.” Away he went, never once looking back to where we were
busily setting sail for the long homeward passage.

For some days everything went on greased wheels. Except for an air of
mystery that overhung the ship, and which puzzled me not a little, she
was the most comfortable craft I ever sailed in. The skipper scarcely
ever appeared, although sundry strange noises and unpleasant odours
proceeding from his laboratory were evidence all-sufficient that
he was on the alert. I was somewhat aggrieved though by the mate’s
sardonic grin every time he relieved me, and made the usual remark,
“still alive, eh?” Still, as each quiet day succeeded a quieter night
my wonderment became dulled, and I thought that either the mate was
mistaken or that he had been trying to fool me.

One evening, however, when we were drawing near the line, I came on
deck at four bells to find the mate’s watch busy rigging up a sort of
theatre aft. An awning had been stretched over the front of the poop,
weather cloths were hung along each side, and seats arranged. As soon
as I appeared, looking round me in astonishment, the mate approached
me and said, “th’ entertainment’s goin’ ter begin.” Before I had time
to question him as to his meaning, the old man emerged from the cabin
loaded with sundry strange-looking machines, and followed by the
steward bearing more. For a few minutes he was mighty busy placing his
menagerie in order, and then he turned to me and said briskly, “Now,
Mr. Roper, I’m all ready, go forrard and invite the hands aft to the
lecture.” “Aye, aye, sir,” I answered mechanically, and departed. I
found all hands outside the forecastle, evidently waiting for the
summons, but looking as unlike men expecting a treat as one could
possibly picture. But they all shambled aft in silence, and took their
seats with eyes fixed upon the strange-looking assemblage of machinery
in the centre.

It was a lovely evening, the sails just drawing to a steady air, while
the sea was so smooth that the vessel was almost as motionless as
if in dock. As it was my watch on deck, I mounted the poop, glanced
at the standard compass, cast my eye aloft to see that all was as
it should be, and then turned my gaze with intense interest upon
the scene below. And what a scene it was to be sure. All hands were
glaring upon the high priest of the mysteries as if mesmerised, every
expression gone from their faces but that of painful anxiety to know
what was going to happen. The skipper was as busy as two people about
his wheels and things, and the unhappy steward like an image of fear
obeyed mechanically the various commands of his dread master. At last a
whirring sound was heard like the humming of some huge imprisoned bee,
and to this accompaniment the skipper took up his parable and proceeded
to talk. I frankly confess that I know no more what he said than I
should have done had he been speaking in Sanskrit, and I am perfectly
sure that none of his audience were in any better case. Indeed, from
what I could see of their faces, I believe every other sense was merged
in the full expectation of an explosion, and they couldn’t have taken
their strained eyes off the buzzing gadget in their midst for any
consideration whatever. Suddenly a dark shadow glided across the patch
of deck behind the skipper, which I recognized as a monkey belonging
to one of the crew. It reached the machine, and then----What really
happened nobody is ever likely to know, for in a moment there was a
shriek, a perfect shower of blue sparks and a writhing, kicking, biting
heap of skipper, monkey, and steward. Some of the fellows, acting
upon impulse, forgot their fears and rushed to the rescue, but only
succeeded in adding to the infernal riot, as they too became involved
in the mysterious calamity. Others, wiser in their generation, fled
forward to the fo’c’sle, from whence they gradually crept aft again
near enough to watch in safety the devil’s dance that was going on.
I looked on in a sort of coma of all the faculties, until the mate
touched me on the shoulder, and said in a sepulchral voice--

“Now, Mr. Roper, djever strike anythin’ o’ this kind before. _Ain’t_ it
scientific? Ain’t he a holy terror at science? What I’d like ter know
is, where do I come on in this Gypshun Hall business? Damfime goin’
ter be blame well paralyzed, or whatever it is, for all the skippers
erflote, n’ yet--n’ yet; I _don’t_ like ter see sech ungodly carryins
on aboard of any ship I’m mate of.”

I hadn’t time to answer him--besides I couldn’t, I was all shook up
like; but while I was trying to get my thinking-gear in order, there
was a bang, all the sufferers yelled at once, and then all was quiet.
Both the mate and myself sprang into the arena, fully expecting to
find all the actors dead, but, bless you, they were all laying round
looking as if they’d been having no end of a spree. All except the
monkey, that is. He was a very unhandsome little corpse, and I picked
him up by the tail to throw him overboard, getting a shock through my
right arm that took all the use out of it for quite a while. Presently
the fellows began to get up one by one and slink away forrard, still
with that half-drunk smile on their heads, but when we came to the
skipper, although he wore a wide smile too, he hadn’t any get up about
him. Not he. He lay there as comfy as you please, taking no notice of
anything we said, or any heed of the deliberate way in which the mate
was pushing the remains of his machinery out through the gaping port
with a broom. We couldn’t move him. He was just charged jam full of
electricity, and one of the men who _did_ touch him let a yell out of
him fit to call D. Jones, Esq., up from below, but it didn’t change
the skipper’s happy look one fragment. Well, he laid there all night
alongside of the steward, and in the morning he gets up just before
wash-deck time, and, says he, “Mr. Roper, I shan’t give any more
scientific exhibitions this trip; I think they’re immoral.” With that
he hobbled into his cabin, and we saw no more of him for a week. When
we did, you couldn’t have got a grain of science out of him with a
small-tooth comb, and the mate looked as glad as if he’d been appointed
Lord High Admiral. And from thenceforward she was, as I had at first
imagined she would be, the most comfortable vessel I ever sailed in.




A GENIAL SKIPPER


Captain Scott was as commonplace a little man as ever commanded an
old wooden tub of a barque lumbering her way forlornly from port to
port seeking freight as a beggar seeks pence. His command, the Sarah
Jane, belonged to a decayed firm of shipowners that, like many other
old-fashioned tradesmen, had not kept pace with the times, and were
now reduced to the possession of this ancient pauper and a still older
brig, all the rest of their once stately fleet having been sold or lost
or seized to satisfy mortgages. Yet they still retained a keen sense
of respectability, and when Captain Scott applied for the command of
the Sarah Jane they were exceedingly careful to ascertain that he was
strictly sober and trustworthy. He not only succeeded in satisfying
them on these points, but in some mysterious manner persuaded them also
that he was exceedingly pious, and would certainly hold service on
board every Sunday, weather permitting. That settled his appointment,
for the senior member of the firm was a good, honest Dissenter, who,
if a trifle narrow and bigoted in his religious views, was sincerely
anxious to live up to the light he had. Beyond all question the Sarah
Jane was the best-found vessel of her class in the food line that we
chaps forrard had ever sailed in. It would have been hard to find
a more agreeably surprised little crowd than we were when the first
meal appeared in the fo’c’sle, for our preliminary view of the ship
certainly gave us the idea that we were in for “plenty pump and velly
flat belly,” as a quaint little Italian A. B. said while we were
selecting bunks.

But no, she was a comfortable ship. There was certainly “plenty pump,”
but the grub was so good that there was never a growl heard among us,
and a pleasanter passage out to Algoa Bay than we enjoyed could hardly
be imagined. The Sunday services were held, too--that is to say, twice;
after that they were quietly dropped without any reason assigned. No
one felt sorry, for there was an air of unreality and constraint about
the whole thing that was puzzling and unsatisfactory; and on several
occasions there was wafted across the poop, as the skipper emerged from
the companion, a tantalizing odour which none of us could mistake--the
rich bouquet of old Jamaica rum. This gave rise to many discussions
in the fo’c’sle. The port watch took sides against the starboard,
insisting that the old man had fallen from grace, if, which was
problematical, he had ever possessed any of that mysterious quality.
We of the starboard, or skipper’s watch, as in duty bound, stood up
for him, accounting for the thirst-provoking smell that came wafting
upwards from the cabin periodically by the theory of the Sarah Jane
having been an old sugar drogher for many years, until her timbers were
saturated with the flavour of rum, and, according as the wind tended
to diffuse it, we were favoured with it on deck.

Never was a skipper watched more closely by his crew than Captain
Scott was by us, for the steward and the officers were unapproachable
upon the subject, and it was only by catching him really drunk that
our continual dispute could be settled. After we had crossed the Line,
and were getting rapidly to the suth’ard, I began to lose faith, for,
although I could not determine whether the skipper’s peculiar gait
was or was not the regular nautical roll accentuated by some physical
peculiarity, there was no mistaking the ever-deepening hue of his face.
When we left home it was fresh-coloured, but as the weeks went by it
took on the glow of burnished copper--especially after dinner--and
sometimes his nose looked warm enough to light one’s pipe at it.
However, we reached Algoa Bay without settling our argument--openly,
that is. In truth, we of the starboard watch were looking eagerly
for some way of retreat from what we all felt was getting to be an
untenable position. Still, no agreement was arrived at until we had
been at anchor off Port Elizabeth for a week, during which time we had
never seen our respected skipper once.

Then there arrived alongside, on a Saturday afternoon, after we had
washed decks and were dabbing out our own few bits of duds for Sunday,
a surf-boat, in the stern of which sat precariously a very drunken
man. He was truculently drunk, and the big cigar, which was stuck
in one angle of his protruding lips, pointed upwards like an old
collier’s jibboom. Both his hands were thrust deep into his pockets,
and his top-hat was jammed hard down on the back of his head. As the
boat bumped alongside, his insecure seat failed him, and he lurched
massively forward upon the crown of his hat, which caved in after its
brim had passed his ears, adding to the picturesqueness of his outfit.
The boatmen seized and reinstated him upon a thwart, receiving for
their pains an address that reeked of the pit. For variety of profanity
we all admitted it to be far beyond anything of the kind that we had
ever heard, and one of our number suggested that he had been founding
a new church during his absence, his outbreak of peculiar language
being part of the liturgy thereof. We only had an ordinary side ladder
of the usual type carried in those ships--two ropes with wooden rungs
seized between them--which was suspended perpendicularly from the rail.
This kind of approach is not easy of negotiation by anybody but a
sober sailor; it was impossible now to Captain Scott. He gazed upwards
fiercely at the anxious face of the mate, and, with many flowers of
speech, insisted that a whip should be rigged on the mainyard for
him--blasphemously sharp, too, or he would, yes, he would, when he
_did_ get aboard.

So we rigged a single whip at the mate’s order, not without many
audible comments upon this new development and recriminations between
the members of the two disputing watches. With many a bump, as the
vessel rolled to the incoming swell, we hoisted our commander on board,
letting him come down on deck with a jolt that must have well-nigh
started all his teeth. Released from his bonds, he rose swaying to his
feet, and, glaring round upon the assembled crew, roared thickly, “All
han’s short’n sail!” There was a shout of laughter at this maniacal
command, which infuriated him so much that he seemed transformed into
a veritable demon. His face went purple, he ground his teeth like a
fighting boar, and would no doubt have had some sort of fit but for
a diversion made by the boatmen who had brought him off. One of them
approached him, saying abruptly but quite civilly--

“If you don’t want us any more, sir, we sh’d like our fare, so’s we can
get ashore again.”

Peculiarly, this interruption changed his mood into the coldly
sarcastic. With an air of exquisite politeness he turned to the
boatman, and, with a bear-like bow, said--

“Ho, indeed; Hi ’ave much pleasure in ’earin’ ov it. An’ may we take
th’ hopportunity hof harskin’ oo th’ ’ells a-preventin’ hof yer frum
goin’ t’ the devil hif ye likes.” (Be it noted that when sober he
spoke fairly correct English.) “Has ter a-wantin’ hof ye hany more,
Hi wouldn’t ’ave a barge-load hof yer fur a gift; Hi wouldn’t carry
yer fur ballast, there! Might come in ’andy for dunnagin’ carsks--but
there, I don’ know. Anyway, get t’ ’ell houter this.”

Of course, it could hardly be expected that such sturdy independent
souls as Algoa Bay boatmen would be likely to take contumely of this
sort meekly in exchange for their hard labours. At any rate, if such a
thing had ever been expected, the expectation was doomed to instant
disappointment. Turning to the rail, the boatman who had spoken to the
skipper gave a shout which brought the six of his mates on deck. Just
a word or two of explanation, and they advanced threateningly towards
their debtor. We stood in passive enjoyment of what we felt was soon
to be a due meting out of reward to a man who deserved such recompense
richly. The two mates made a feeble attempt to interfere, but were
roughly thrust aside, while the enraged boatmen seized the burly form
of our skipper, and were about to manhandle him over the side when he
roared for mercy, saying that he would pay all their demand. He did so,
and they departed, not without a full and complete exposition of what
they considered to be all his characteristics, mental and physical.
They had hardly left the side when the skipper ordered the windlass to
be manned, and, in spite of his drunken condition, no long time elapsed
before we were under way and standing rapidly out to sea.

But that night a black south-easter sprang up, to which we set all the
sail we could stagger under for our northward passage to Pondicherry,
but towards morning the wind backed to the northward, and blew so hard
as to necessitate the sudden taking in of all the sail we had set
except a tiny storm-staysail. But, while we were, all hands of us,
in the throes of our conflict with the slatting topsails, a curious
thing happened. Sharp snapping noises were heard, and flashes of light
totally unlike lightning were seen on deck. Cries were heard, too,
that were disconcerting, for it seemed as if a row was going on for
which we could imagine no cause. Suddenly the little Italian, who was
manfully struggling by my side to get the topsail furled, yelled at
the pitch of his voice something in his own language, at the same time
disappearing to a dangling position on the foot-rope. This was strange,
but almost immediately after something with a sharp “ping” struck the
yard by my side, and the horrible truth flashed into my mind that
somebody on deck was shooting at us poor wretches struggling aloft.
It is difficult, indeed, to express what the conditions of our minds
were upon making this discovery. The handling of sails by a weak crew
in a gale of wind at night is no child’s play at any time, but when to
that great fight is added the peculiar complication of a drunken madman
amusing himself by taking potshots at the men aloft, the condition of
things is, to say the least, disconcerting. The sails were let go.
Incontinently we slid down on deck, taking refuge behind whatsoever
shelter we could find. Happily, Natalie, the poor little Italian,
managed to get down too, having, as we presently discovered, a bullet
through the fleshy part of his arm. The sails blew to pieces, the ship
tumbled about helplessly, the helmsman having run from his post, and
it appeared as if a terrible calamity was about to overtake us, but
presently the two mates came forrard, saying, “It’s all right, men.
We’ve knocked him down, and, although we couldn’t find his revolver, we
have locked him up in his cabin. For God’s sake, turn to and get the
ship in hand.”

With many muttered curses and desires of taking the skipper’s life we
resumed our duties, and soon had got the rags of sail still left on
the yards snugly secured. Then the watch entitled to go below retired.
Natalie had his wound dressed, and peace reigned for a time. In the
morning the skipper, being sober, begged piteously to be released.
All of us protested strongly against any such piece of folly being
perpetrated. However, after he had been confined a week our hearts
relented towards him, and, upon his making a solemn assurance that he
had no more ammunition or grog, which latter disturbing element the
mates assured us they had searched for and were unable to find, it was
agreed that he should resume command.

During the rest of our passage to Pondicherry there was certainly
nothing to complain of. More, she was as comfortable a ship as one
could wish to be on board of. Evidently, with a view to mollifying
our feelings towards him, Captain Scott allowed us to fare as well
as he and his officers did, so that by the time we anchored in
Pondicherry we had, with the short memory for previous sufferings
peculiarly characteristic of sailors, apparently entirely forgotten
his amiable little outbreak. Nor during her stay at Pondicherry did we
have anything to complain of. Then came the welcome news that we were
homeward bound. On a glorious morning, just at daybreak, the order was
given to man the windlass, and, with the singing that old-time shanty
of “Hurrah, my boys, we’re homeward bound,” we were all lustily engaged
in tearing out the big mud-hook, when suddenly, to our unspeakable
horror, Captain Scott emerged from the cabin, his outstretched hands
each grasping a huge navy revolver, and almost immediately after
bullets were flying like hail. Like frightened rabbits, we bolted for
even the most impracticable holes and corners--anywhere, indeed, out of
that withering fire. The situation was desperate, but, happily for us,
a British gunboat was lying near. The officer in charge of her deck,
hearing the fusillade, with naval promptitude sent a boat’s crew on
board to inquire into the cause of this strange occurrence.

It so happened that the inquirers arrived just as Captain Scott was
recharging his revolver, and they lost no time in taking him prisoner.
We, the luckless crew, emerging from our various hiding-places, laid
the matter before them with much wealth of detail, and the result that
we presently had the satisfaction of seeing our vivacious commander,
bound hand and foot, being lowered into the boat for conveyance on
board the man-o’-war. Her commander held an inquiry immediately into
Captain Scott’s conduct, examining us closely as to the reasons for
this outbreak, if we could give any. Strange to say, our recollection
of his good treatment outweighed our immediate resentment against him,
and we agreed that if only he could be rendered incapable of either
getting drunk or shooting, we should be glad to finish the voyage with
him. So, after a thorough search for fire-arms and rum, resulting in
the discovery of no less than four more revolvers, quite a large box
of ammunition, and an extraordinarily large quantity of the potent
liquor, all of which was duly confiscated by the naval authorities, we
returned to our duties, got under way, and sailed for home.

The Sarah Jane was a most fortunate ship, as far as weather was
concerned, at any rate. Catching the first breath of the north-eastern
monsoon immediately outside the harbour, under all canvas we bowled
briskly down to the line, crossed it with a steady, if light breeze
from the northward, and, without experiencing any calm worth
mentioning, presently found ourselves in the tender embrace of the
south-east trade-winds, and being wafted steadily at the rate of about
five knots an hour across the vast placid bosom of the Indian Ocean.

Life at sea under such conditions is very pleasant. For the
vicissitudes of a sailor’s life only become hard to bear when weather
is bad, food scanty, and officers brutal. When the opposites of these
three conditions obtain, the sailor can gladly put up with many evil
qualities in the ship itself. The leakiness of our old vessel troubled
us not at all as long as the pleasant conditions of which I have spoken
continued. Even when we reached the stormy latitudes adjacent to the
Cape of Good Hope we were favoured by fair winds until we arrived off
Simons Bay, when the wind fell away, and a perfect calm ensued with
lowering, ugly-looking weather. But our good fortune still remained.
The great sweep of the Agulhas current carried us round the Cape of
Storms homeward without any wind worth taking notice of coming upon us
out of the leaden-looking sky, and so we rounded the Cape, and with a
fine southerly breeze pointed the Sarah Jane jibboom homeward.

The usual routine work of cleaning ship was indulged in. Nothing worthy
of notice occurred until losing the trades. In about 7° N. lat. a calm
of a week’s duration ensued. Here we fell in with several other ships,
and our captain, apparently with a view of getting a little amusement,
had a boat out, and went ship-visiting. This suited us admirably.
Sailors always enjoy it, perhaps because they get so little of it on
board merchant ships. The first two ships we visited were evidently
strongly teetotal, for we noticed that while our captain returned
on board perfectly sober, he always looked exceedingly glum and
disappointed. But at last we spoke a vessel whose captain was in dire
want of a little fresh water. We had plenty to spare, and in no long
time had filled a couple of puncheons, lowered them over the side into
the water, and towed them to the other ship. Her captain’s gratitude
was great; in fact, he seemed hardly able to reward us sufficiently.
Among other gifts we received a huge hog, two cases of preserved beef,
a barrel of cabin biscuits, and two large cases of what appeared to us
to be lime-juice. We returned on board, and hoisted in our spoils.

That night a breeze sprang up, and the little company of vessels that
had clustered together in the vortex made by the “trades” separated,
and pursued their various ways. Next morning we were alone, our ship
was by herself on the face of the deep. The steward went to call
the captain as usual, but could get no response. Alarmed, he came
and reported the matter to the mate, whose watch on deck it was at
the time. The mate went down, and, after repeated knockings at the
captain’s door which failed to obtain any response, took violent
measures, and burst the door open.

The captain was not there. A search was immediately made without
result, but presently, to the horror of every one on board, the
steward, a rather feeble-minded mulatto, rushed on deck shouting
“Fire!” It need not be said how terrible this cry at sea always is,
but it is never more so than when on board a badly-found wooden ship.
However, all hands rushed aft at the call of the mate, and prepared to
do everything that was possible for the subdual of the fire when it
should be located. The smoke appeared to be rising from the lazarette,
a store-room in the after part of the ship beneath the cabin. The mate
and a couple of men tore off the hatch, and, half choked with the smoke
that burst up in a great volume, made their way below, only to scramble
out again in double quick time and fall fainting on the deck.

Meanwhile everybody was wondering what had become of the captain, until
suddenly an awful-looking figure was seen emerging from a ventilator on
deck at the fore part of the cabin. It was the captain, who announced
his presence with a series of horrible yells. His clothes were in
ribands, his face was black, his eyeballs glared. Several of us made a
rush at him, conceiving him to have suddenly gone mad, but he eluded
our grasp, and, nimble as a monkey, rushed up aloft, and sat mowing on
the mainyard. A couple of us started after him, but were recalled by
the second mate, who said--

“Let the old ---- alone. We have got something else to do if we want to
save our lives.”

And indeed we had. The feeble pump in the bows of the ship, which
we used for washing decks, was not of the slightest service as a
fire-engine, and drawing water overside by buckets is a tedious
process. We could hear the roaring of the flames underneath our feet,
we could feel the decks getting hot, and as it appeared that our labour
was utterly in vain, and that if we wished to save our lives we must
waste no time in getting the boats provisioned and lowered, we turned
all our energies in that direction. By the most tremendous exertions
we succeeded in getting a fairly satisfactory amount of food and water
into the two boats, along with some clothing, a compass, and a sextant.
Hardly had we done so before a sudden outburst of flame from the cabin
of furious violence warned us that it was time to be gone.

Meanwhile the skipper had been raging, a howling madman, on the
mainyard. What was to be done about him? Truth compels me to state that
the majority of us were for leaving him to his fate, realizing that
to him we owed all our misfortunes. But still, _that_ we could hardly
bring ourselves to do when the time came. The ship herself solved the
question for us. She seemed to suddenly burst into flame fore and aft,
the inflammable cargo, most of which was of cotton and various grasses,
burning almost like turpentine. Indeed, some of us were compelled to
spring into the sea and clamber on board the boats as best we could.
Having done so, it became necessary to put a goodly distance between us
and the ship with little delay, for the heat was terrible. And there
sat the skipper on the mainyard, while the long tongues of flame went
writhing up the well-tarred rigging. Suddenly we saw him spring to his
feet, balancing himself for a moment on the yard, and then, with a
most graceful curve, he sprang into the sea. He reappeared, swimming
strongly, and the mate’s boat picked him up. And here occurred the
strangest part of the whole matter, for no sooner was he in the boat
than all the previous occurrences seemed to be wiped clean out of his
mind, and he was as sane as any man among us. We stared at him in
amazement, but he took no notice, saying a word or two on the handling
of the boat or the direction in which she was to be steered, but making
no comment upon the sudden catastrophe that had overtaken us.

Fortunately for us all, the weather remained perfectly fine, and as
we knew we were directly in the track of ships, we were under no
apprehensions as to our safety, but we certainly looked upon the
skipper as, to say the least of it, uncanny. We watched him closely by
day and by night, lest in some new maniacal outbreak he should endanger
the lives of us all once more, and this time without hope of recovery.
But he remained perfectly quiet and sensible, nor did he betray by any
sign whatever any knowledge of what had happened. On the third day we
sighted a barque right astern. She came up grandly, and very soon we
were all safely on board of the same vessel from which we had received
the provisions. Then we found that the two cases we had supposed to
contain lime-juice had really been full of lime-juice bottles of
rum--which explained matters somewhat.

And now another astonishing thing happened. Captain Scott suddenly
conceived the notion that the Jocunda was his own ship, nor could any
arguments convince him that he was wrong. The captain humoured him for
a while, but at last his mania reached such a height that it became
necessary to confine him in irons, and thus he was kept under restraint
until our arrival in Plymouth, where no time was lost in placing him in
a lunatic asylum.

What became of him I do not know, but at the Board of Trade inquiry all
hands had the greatest difficulty in persuading the officials that we
were not joined in a conspiracy of lying, and I for one felt that we
could hardly blame them.




MAC’S EXPERIMENT


“Mahn, A’am nae carin’ a snap wut ye think aboot ma. A’am a Scoetchman,
ye ken, fra Fogieloan; an’ them ’at disna laik ma th’ wye Ah aam, c’n
juist dicht ther nebs an’ ma bachle-vamps. Tha rampin’, roarin’ lion
uv Auld Scoetland aye gaed his ain wye, an’ A’am thinkin’ ’at maist
o’ his weans ’ll dae the same thing. An’ if tha canna dae’t yin day,
they’ll dae’t the neist, an’ muckle Auld Hornie himsel’ winna stap them
a’thegither.”

It was a long speech for Jock MacTavish, our taciturn shipmate aboard
the Yankee whaling-barque Ursus. Like several other luckless deep-water
sailors, he had been “shanghaied” in San Francisco, awaking from the
combined effects of a drug that would have killed anybody but a sailor,
and sundry ugly blows on the head, to find himself booked for a cruise
in a “spouter” for an indefinite length of time, and at a remuneration
that none of us were ever able to understand. This was bad enough, in
all conscience, but it might easily have been much worse, for the Ursus
was a really good ship, as whalers go.

At the time when this yarn begins, we had been employing a slackness
in the fishing by having a thorough clean up. It was very nearly time,
for she was beginning to stink so badly that every morsel of food we
ate seemed saturated with rancid whale-oil. So we worked, if possible,
harder than usual, with sand and ley, to remove the clotted fat from
decks, bulwarks, and boats, until on Christmas Eve she was almost her
old clean self again. There remained only the tryworks, but they were
certainly in a vile condition of black grease.

At knock-off time (all hands had been working all day) we began
discussing our chances of having a merry Christmas on the morrow, and,
with the usual argumentativeness of sailors, had got a dozen different
theories started. But running through them all there seemed to be a
fixed idea that no notice whatever would be taken of a day that we all
regarded as the one festival of the year which could, by no possible
means, be allowed to pass unhonoured.

No, not all, for when the discussion was at its height, Conkey, a
lithe Londoner, whose epithet of Cockney had somehow taken this form,
suddenly looked straight to where Mac was sitting stolidly munching a
gigantic fragment of prime East India mess beef (it hadn’t been round
Cape Horn more than four times), and said, “Wot d’yer sye, Mac? Ain’t
’erd from yer. ’Ow d’yer feel abart workin’ a Crissmuss dye?”

There was an instant silence, while every one fastened his eyes on Mac
and awaited his answer. Slowly, as if the words were being squeezed out
of him, he replied, “It disna matter a snuff tae me what wye ’tis. Ah
belong tae the Free Kirk o’ Scoetland, an’ she disna gie ony suppoert
tae siccan heathen practusses as th’ obsairvin’ o’ days, an’ months,
an’ yeers.”

Conkey sprang to his feet full of fury, and, in choicest Mile End,
informed Mac that, “hif ’e thawt ’e wuz blanky well goin’ ter call
’im a bloomin’ ’eathen an’ not goin’ ter git bashed over it, ’e wuz a
bigger blank fool then ’e’d ever seen a-smokin’ tea-leaves ter sive
terbacker.” To this outburst Mac only said what begins this yarn,
and, in so saying, brought all hands down on him at once. Conkey was
restrained from his meditated attack while one after another tried to
argue the point with Mac, and to convince him that no man who neglected
to keep Christmas Day as a feast of jollity and respite from all work,
except under the direst pressure of necessity, could possibly be a
Christian.

The contract we had on hand, though, was much too large for us.
Metaphorically speaking, Mac wiped the fo’c’sle deck with each of us in
succession. His arguments, in the first place, were far too deep for
our capacity, had they been intelligible; but couched in the richest
Aberdeenshire dialect, and bristling with theological terminology
utterly foreign to us, we stood no chance. One by one we were reduced
to silence. It was broken by Conkey, who said finally, “Hi don’t know
wot ’e bloomin’ well sez, but Hi c’n punch ’is hugly carrotty mug for
’im, an’ ’ere goes.”

Again we restrained our shipmate’s primitive instincts, while Mac
slowly rose from his donkey, wiped his sheath-knife deliberately on
his pants, put it away, and then, quietly as if it had just occurred
to him, turned to the raging Conkey, saying, “See heer, ma laddie,
A’al mak’ y’ an oafer. A’al fecht ye. If ye gie ma a lickin’ A’al
hae naethin’ mair tae dae wi’ the business; bud if Ah lick you, A’al
dae aal Ah can tae get, no juist the day aff, but a guid blow-out o’
vittles in the bairgin, altho’ Ah misdoot ma muckle ther’s naethin’ aft
that ye cud mak’ a decent meal o’. Hoo diz that shoot ye?”

For all answer Conkey, breaking away from those who had held him,
sprang at Mac, dealing, as he came, two blows, right and left, like
flashes. Mac did not attempt to parry them, but seemed to stoop
quietly; and suddenly Conkey’s heels banged against the beam overhead.
Immediately afterwards there came the dull thump of his head upon the
floor. Mac just disengaged himself, and stood waiting till his opponent
should feel able or willing to resume.

Truly the latter’s head must have been as thick as his courage was
high, for, before any of us had begun to offer assistance, he had
struggled to his feet, looking a bit dazed, it is true, but evidently
as full of fight as ever. He had learned a lesson, however--that
caution in dealing with his sturdy adversary was necessary, and that he
must accommodate his undoubted boxing powers to new conditions.

In a crouching attitude, and with two arms held bow-wise in front,
he moved nearer the rugged, square-set figure of the Scotchman, who,
as before, stood strictly on the defensive. There was a feint by
Conkey--we saw Mac’s head go down again--but then came a sharp thud
and a swinging, sidelong blow from Conkey, and Mac seemed to crumble
into a heap, for, as he stooped to repeat his former successful grip,
Conkey had shot upward his right knee with such force that Mac’s nose
was a red ruin, and the blow on the ear from Conkey’s left could have
done Mac very little good. So far, the advantage undoubtedly lay with
the Londoner, but, after a brief spell, Mac pulled himself together,
and the two clinched again. Locked together like a pair of cats, except
that they neither bit, scratched, nor made a sound, they writhed all
over the fo’c’sle unable to strike, but so equally matched that neither
could loose himself. Had they been alone, I believe only death would
have parted them; but at last, in sheer admiration for the doggedness
of their pluck, we laid hold on them and tore them apart, declaring
that two such champions ought to be firm friends. As soon as they got
their breath, Conkey held out his hand, saying, “Scotty, me cock,
ye’re as good a man as me, but Hi’m----hif ye’re a better. If yer
think y’are, wy, we’ll just ply the bloomin’ ’and art, but if ye’re
satisfied, Hi am.” Taking the proffered hand, Scotty replied, “Mahn,
A’am no thet petickler. Ah haena a pickle o’ ambeeshun tae be thocht a
better mahn than ma neebours, neither am Ah a godless fule that henkers
aefther fechtin’ for fechtin’s sake; but as ye say, we’re baith’s
guid’s yin anither, an’ there’s ma han’ upo’ th’ maetter. Ah dinna see
’at we’re ony forrader wi’ oor bairgin tho’.”

Then a regular clamour of voices arose, all saying the same thing, viz.
that the heroes should “pull sticks”--that is, one should hold two
splinters of wood concealed in his hand with the ends just protruding
for the other to choose from, and whichever got the shortest piece
should be the loser. It is a time-honoured fo’c’sle way of settling
disputes or arranging watches.

They drew, and Scotty won. All faces fell at this, for if we were
going to make a bold bid for our Christmas privileges we needed unity,
and especially we wanted such a tough nut as Jock MacTavish actively
enlisted on our side. The winner lifted our gloom by saying quietly,
“Sae A’m with ye, aefther aal, ut seems.” Then, noting the surprise on
our faces, he went on, “What’s the differ, think ye, whether Ah win at
fechtin’ or drawin’. Ah said Ah’d be with ye if Ah won, sae that’s a’
richt.” And, easy in our minds, we separated, the watch below to their
bunks, and the rest to their stations.

       *       *       *       *       *

Morning broke in glory, such a day as we see, perhaps, two of during a
year in our hard, grey climate at home. After wetting down the decks as
usual, the mate gave the order to turn-to at cleaning the tryworks--a
step which brought us all up “with a round turn,” as we say. Closing
together we faced the amazed officer, and Mac, stepping a little in
advance, said, “Div ye no ken, Maister Winsloe, ’at this is the day o’
days tae all true Chreestyin’ men. Suner than Ah’d dae ae han’s turrn
on Chrissmus Day--except, af coorse, in the wye o’ neceesary seamen’s
duties, sic as a trick at the wheel, furrlin’ sail, or the like--Ah’d
gae ashore this meenut!”

At this we couldn’t help chuckling, for the nearest land was about
three miles beneath our keel, vertically, and at least a thousand
horizontally. But the mate was like Lot’s wife after she looked back.
The thing was outside his mental dimension altogether. As the real
significance of it filtered through, his eyes gleamed, and, with a yell
like a Pawnee, he leaped for Scotty--and missed him; for Scotty was a
born dodger, and had an eye like a gull’s. The officer’s spring carried
him right into our midst, however; and, with a perfect hurricane of
bad words, he struck out right and left as if we were the usual mixed
gang of Dagoes, Dutchmen, and Kanakas he had been used to. Pluck he
certainly did not lack, but his judgment had turned sour.

[Illustration: The skipper produced from his hip-pocket a revolver.]

In a minute he was flat on deck on his face, with Conkey sitting on his
head, and the rest of us were marching aft to make an end of the matter
with the old man. He reached the deck from below just as we arrived;
and, although the most unusual sight might well have given him pause,
he showed no sign of surprise.

Advancing to meet us, he said quietly, “Well?” Again Mac was to the
fore, and, facing the stately, impassive figure of the skipper, he
said, “We’ve juist daundert aeft, sir, tae wuss ye a Murry Chrismuss,
an’ tae thenk ye in advance-like for the bit extry vittles, an’ maybe
a drap o’ somethin’ cheerin’ tae drink ye’re health in an sic an
ahspeeshus occashin.”

For an answer the skipper produced from his hip-pocket a revolver,
which he pointed straight at Scotty’s head, while with the other hand
he made a comprehensive gesture, which we obeyed by falling back from
that dangerous vicinity. As we did so, there was a rioting behind us,
and into our midst burst the mate and Conkey, fiercely struggling.

In a moment there was as pretty a rough-and-tumble among us as any
fighting-man would wish to see, for the harpooners and the other three
mates had sprung in from somewhere, and were making up for lost time
with vigour.

Apart from the struggling crowd the skipper stood fingering his
shooting-iron, apparently irresolute--indeed, it was hard to decide
for a moment what to do. Bloodshed was evidently most distasteful to
him, yet there could be no doubt that he would not shrink from it if
necessary. But the whole affair was so grotesque, so causeless, that he
was undecided how to deal with it, the more especially as his officers
were every one mixed inextricably with the crew in a writhing mass.

The problem was solved for him and for us in a most unexpected way. In
the midst of the riot there was a tremendous shock, as if the Ursus
had suddenly struck a rock while going at full speed; but, as she
had barely been going through the water at the rate of two knots an
hour, that was an impossible explanation. The concussion, whatever it
was, flung every man to the deck, and in one moment all thoughts were
switched off the conflict with one another and on to this mysterious
danger. All hands rushed to the side and looked overboard, to see
the blue of the sea streaked with bands of blood, while not twenty
feet away, on the starboard beam, a huge sperm whale lay feebly
exhaling breath that showed redly against the blue of the water. Like
a trumpet-blast the old man’s voice rang out, “Lower ’way boats!” and
with catlike celerity every man flew to his station, the falls rattled,
and with an almost simultaneous splash three boats took the water.

“Hold on, starboard bow boat!” roared the old man again, seeing that
there was no need of it, and taking that advantage of keeping it in its
place given him by the third mate being a few seconds slower than the
others in getting away.

Before we had time to realize what a change had come over us all, we
were furiously assaulting the monster, but he was in no condition to
retaliate. Had we left him alone, he must have died in a few minutes,
for protruding from the side of his massive head was a jagged piece of
timber, showing white and splintered where it had been freshly broken
away.

We had little time to speculate upon the strangeness of the occurrence,
for suddenly we were aware that urgent signals were being made from the
ship; and, leaving one boat to pass the fluke-line ready for hauling
our prize alongside, the other two sped back to the ship. Arriving
alongside, we clambered swiftly on board, to hear the skipper’s deep
voice calling, “Leave the boats and man the pumps!” A cold shudder
ran through us at the words, for in a moment all knew that our ship
had received a deadly blow from the wounded whale, and that it was
a portion of her that we had seen protruding from his head. And we
remembered the awful loneliness of that part of the Pacific, far away
from the track of all ships except an occasional whaler, so occasional
that our chances of falling in with one was infinitesimal.

The wind fell to a dead calm. There was not a cloud in the heavens, and
the sea in our immediate vicinity was not only smooth, but silky, from
the slight oiliness we exuded, so that looking down into it was almost
like looking up at the sky. After the first alarm had subsided it was
evident that we could have several relays at the pumps, their structure
not admitting of more than eight men working conveniently at one time.
The skipper stood by with the sounding-rod, waiting, in grim silence,
to see whether we or the leak were gaining, when Mac, sidling up to
him, made some remark that we could not hear. The skipper turned to him
and nodded; and immediately we saw our pawky shipmate shedding his two
garments. Next thing we knew he was climbing over the side, and those
of us who were resting mounted the rail and watched him. I have seen
Kanakas diving for pearl-shell, and Malays diving for pearls, but never
an olive-skinned amphibian of them all could have held a candle to Jock
MacTavish. He swam about under the ship’s bottom, examining her just
as coolly as if in Lambeth Baths, his wide, open eyes glaring upward
through the water with a most uncanny look in them--like the eyes of a
man long dead. Suddenly he popped up alongside, not at all distressed,
and, wringing the water from his nose, mounted the side and approached
the skipper.

With one accord the clang of the pumps ceased to hear his words, for we
felt that they were a verdict of life or death for all of us. “She’ll
be a’ recht, sir,” said he. “Ther’s a muckle hole in th’ garburd
straake, an’ aboot twenty fit o’ the fause keel awa’; bit a poke fu’
o’ shakins ’ll bung it up brawly wi’ a len’th o’ chain roond her tae
keep it in’s plaace.” The pumping was resumed with all the energy of
hope renewed, while busy hands made ready a bagful of soft rope-yarns
and got up a spare fluke-chain. The bag was made fast in the bight of a
rope, which, weighted with a lump of sandstone attached by a slipping
lashing of spunyarn, was passed under her bottom. Again Mac went
overboard and guided the plug into its place.

Then the chain was passed round her, and placed over the plug by
Scotty. On deck we hove it taut, and in four hours we had sucked her
out.

Then the skipper called all hands aft, and said, “Boys, ye’re the
whitest crowd I’ve ever struck. The best dinner I k’n scare up ’s
waitin’ for ye,’n I’ve raided the medsun chest for the only drop of
licker thar is aboard. I don’t tech fire-water meself, but I’ll wish
ye a Merry Christmas with all me heart. Ther’s only one thing I’d like
t’ know; an’ that is, haow a Scotchman comes to risk his life for a
Christmas dinner?” “We’el, cap’n,” drawled Mac, “’twus juist a wee bit
seekoeloegical expeerimunt.”

Time’s up; but I must add that we humoured the old barky back to
’Frisco--and we didn’t lose that whale either.




ON THE VERTEX


Not the least curious to the uninitiated of the ways by which
shipmasters navigate their vessels over the trackless wastes of
ocean is that known to the navigator by the name of Great Circle
Sailing. Lest the timid reader take alarm at the introduction of so
high-sounding a technical term, let me hasten to assure him or her
that I have no deep-laid designs upon innocent happiness by imposing
a trigonometrical treatise upon them in the guise of an amusing or
interesting story. To such baseness I cannot stoop, for one very
good reason at any rate, because I have such a plentiful lack of
trigonometry myself. Nevertheless, I do think that much more interest
might be taken in the ways of our ships and their crews by the people
of this essentially maritime nation than is at present the case if,
in the course of sea-story telling, the narrators were not averse
to giving a few accurate details as to the why and how of nautical
proceedings.

Having, I trust, allayed all tremors by these preliminary remarks, let
me go on to say that while all sane civilized persons believe this
earth of ours to be more or less globular in shape, it probably occurs
to but few that the shortest distance from point to point on a globe
is along a curve. But in order to get any substantial gain out of
this knowledge in the direction of shortening a ship’s passage, it is
necessary first of all to have a considerable stretch of sea whereon to
draw your curve, which is after all a straight line, since it is the
shortest distance between two points. Even the fine open ocean between
England and America is hardly sufficient to induce navigators to make
use of Great Circle Sailing on outward or homeward passages, the gain
being so small. When, however, the captain of an outward bound ship
has wriggled through the baffling belt of hesitating winds that have
hindered his progress southward from the equator to Cape, and begins
to look for the coming of the brave westerly gales that shall send him
flying before them to Australia or New Zealand, an opportunity occurs
as in no other part of the world for putting the pretty Great Circle
theory into practice.

It may be necessary to remind the reader that Great Circles are those
which divide a globe into two equal parts, such as the equator and the
meridians. If, then, the navigator at Cape in South America draws a
thread tightly on a terrestrial globe between that point and, say, the
south-east cape of Tasmania, the line it describes will be the arc of
a Great Circle, and consequently the shortest distance between the two
places. But when he comes to lay down the track which that thread has
described upon his Mercator chart he finds that, instead of steering
almost a straight course between the two places, he must describe a
huge curve, with its vertex or highest southerly point well within the
Antarctic circle. Now, no sane seaman would dream of seeking such a
latitude upon any voyage but one of exploration, since it is well known
what kind of weather awaits the unfortunate mariner there. But, without
saying that Captain Jellico was a lunatic, it is necessary to remark
that he was no ordinary shipmaster, and those who knew him best often
prophesied that one day his persistent pursuit of hobbies and fads
would involve him and all his unfortunate crew in some extraordinary
disaster.

On the present voyage he commanded an ancient teak built barque that
had long ago seen her best days, and was, besides, so slow that any of
the ordinary methods of economizing time were a ridiculous waste of
energy when applied to her. Of course, she carried stunsails, those
infernal auxiliaries that are or were responsible for more sin on board
ship than any other invention of man. She was bound to Auckland, and
by the time she had waddled as far south as Cape had already consumed
as many days as a smart clipper ship would have needed to do the whole
passage. Yet Captain Jellico was so proud of the ugly old tub (bathing
machine, the men called her), principally because he was half-owner
of her, that he was perfectly blind to her slothful and unhandy
qualities. Day by day he held forth to his disgusted mate upon the
beauty of the Great Circle problem, and the desirability of putting
it into practice, announcing his firm intention of carrying it out in
its entirety this trip. He wasn’t going to piffle with any “composite”
Great Circle track, not he. Half-hearted seamen might choose to follow
the great curve down as far as 50° S. or so, and then shirk the whole
business by steering due east for a couple of thousand miles, but he
would do the trick properly, and touch the vertex, unless, indeed, it
happened to be on the mainland of Antarctica. After an hour or two
of this sort of talk the mate would go on deck feeling mighty sick,
and muttering fervent prayers that his commander would meet with some
entirely disabling accident soon, one that would effectually hinder him
from carrying out his oft-reiterated intention. But no such answer was
afforded to Mr. Marline’s impious aspirations. The steadfast westerly
wind began as usual, and the clumsy old Chanticleer, under every rag of
canvas, stunsails and all, began to plunder along that hateful curve,
steering about south-east by south. Gradually the wind strengthened,
until, much to the delight of the scanty crew, the fluttering rags
that hung precariously at the yard-arms were taken in and stowed
snugly away, the booms and irons were sent down from aloft, and lashed
along the scuppers with the spare spars and stunsail carrying, for
that passage, at any rate, became only a wretched memory. Sterner and
stronger blew the wind as day succeeded day and higher latitudes were
successively reached, until, although it was the Antarctic summer, all
hands were wearing nearly every garment they possessed in the vain
endeavour to keep a little warmth in their thin blood.

One topic now overlaid every other in the endless causeries that were
held in the gloomy den where the sailors lived. It was the course
steered. The position of the ship is always more or less a matter of
conjecture to the men forward, except when some well-known island or
headland is sighted, but all sailors are able to judge fairly well
from the courses steered what track is being made, and the present
persistence in a southerly direction was disquieting in the extreme
to them all. The weather worsened every day, and occasional icebergs
showed their awful slopes through the surrounding greyness, making
every man strain his eyes when on the look-out or at the wheel in
painful anxiety lest the ship should suddenly come full tilt upon one
of them. A deep discontent was heavy upon the heart of every member of
the crew, with the sole exception of the skipper. Snugly wrapped in a
huge fur-lined jacket, and with an eared sealskin cap drawn down over
his ears, he paced the poop jauntily, as merry as Father Christmas,
and utterly oblivious of everything and everybody but the grand way
in which he was following up his Great Circle. At last, when a dull
settled misery seemed to have loaded all hands so that they appeared
to have lost the heart even to growl, a dense mist settled fatefully
down upon the ship, a white pall that was not dispelled again by
the strong, bitter wind. The skipper hardly ever left the deck, but
his almost sleepless vigilance had no effect upon his high spirits.
Suddenly at mid-day, when by dead reckoning he was within a day’s sail
of the vertex, the sea, which had been running in mountainous masses
for weeks past, occasionally breaking over all and seething about the
sodden decks, became strangely smooth and quiet, although the wind
still howled behind them. Such a change sent a thrill of terrible
dread through every heart. Even the skipper, with all his stubborn
fortitude, looked troubled, and faltered in his unresting tramp fore
and aft the poop. Then gradually the wind failed until it was almost
calm, and the enshrouding mist closed down upon the ship so densely
that it was hardly possible to see a fathom’s length away. The silence
became oppressive, all the more so because underlying it there was the
merest suggestion of a sound that always has a fateful significance for
the mariner, the hoarse, unsatisfied murmur of the sea sullenly beating
against an immovable barrier. And thus they waited and endured all the
agony and suspense born of ignorance of the dangers that they knew
must surround them, and utter incapability to do anything whatever.
Full thirty-six hours crept leaden-footed away before there came any
lightening of their darkness. Then gradually the rolling wreaths of
mist melted away and revealed to them their position. At first they
could hardly credit the evidence of their senses, believing that what
they saw hemming them in on every side was but the reluctant fog taking
on fantastic shapes of mountain, valley, and plateau. But when at last
the wintry sun gleamed palely, and they could discern the little surf
glittering against the bases of the ice-cliffs, all elusive hopes fled,
and they became fully aware of their horrible position. The vessel
lay motionless in a blue lake bounded on every side by white walls of
ice, the snowy glare of their cliffs contrasting curiously with the
deep blue of the sea. Some of the peaks soared to a height of over one
thousand feet, others again rose sheer from the water for several
hundreds of feet, and then terminated in flat table-like summits of
vast area. But all were alike in their grim lifelessness. They looked
as if they had thus existed for ages; it was impossible to imagine any
change in their terrible solidity.

After the first shock of the discovery had passed, the relief that
always comes from knowing the worst came to them, and they began
to speculate upon the manner in which they could have entered this
apparently ice-locked lake. Presently the skipper, in a strangely
altered voice, ordered the long boat to be got out, a task of great
difficulty, since, as in most vessels of the Chanticleer’s class, the
long boat was, besides being hampered up by a miscellaneous collection
of all the rubbish in the ship, secured as if she was never intended
to be used under any circumstances. But the tough job gave the hands
something to take their minds off their unhappy position, while the
exertion kept off the icy chill of their surroundings. When at last the
boat was in the water, although she was so leaky that one man was kept
constantly baling, the skipper entered her, and, with four oarsmen,
started to explore their prison. With the utmost caution, they surveyed
every fathom of the sea line, no detail of the ice-barrier escaping
their anguished scrutiny; but when at last, after six hours’ absence,
they returned on board, they had been unable to discover the slightest
vestige of a passage, no, not so much as would admit their boat. The
only conclusion that could be arrived at was that they had passed in
through the opening of a horseshoe-shaped berg of enormous area, and
that another smaller berg had drifted in after them and turned over in
the channel, effectually closing it against their return. Slowly and
sadly they had returned to the ship, the skipper looking heartbroken at
this tragic termination to his enthusiastic scheme of navigation. After
ascertaining his position by means of an artificial horizon, he called
all hands aft, and thus addressed them, “Men, we’m all fellow-sufferers
now, I reckon, and the only thing to do ’es to wait God’s good time for
lettin’ us get out. I find we’m in 61° S., 50° E., and I reckon our
only hope lies in the fact that this can’t be no shore ice; it must be
a floatin’ berg, ef ’tes a most amazin’ big un. Consequently it must be
a driftin’ to the norrard a little; they all do, and sooner or later
the sun ’ll melt us out. One good job, we got ’nough pervisions in the
cargo ter las’ us six years, an’ as for water, well, I reckon there’s
more fresh water froze around us than all the ships in the world ’ud
ever want. So we’ll just take care of ourselves, try an’ keep alive,’n
look after the old barky, for we shall certinly sail away in her yet.”
His speech was received in silence, but all hands looked brighter and
happier than they had done for a long time. They towed the vessel
into a sort of cove, and moored her firmly with kedges and hawsers to
the ice, then turned their attention to the invention of all sorts of
expedients for preventing the time hanging too heavily. Better feeding
became the order of the day, for the old man at once drew upon the
cargo, which included an immense assortment of preserved food of the
best brands, as well as many luxuries. And every day there was a slight
change in the position, showing that, as the skipper had said, the
whole body of ice was drifting north as well as east. So uneventfully
and tediously two months passed away, leaving everything pretty much
the same, except that the skipper seemed to have aged ten years.

Then one afternoon, when the enwrapped mist was so thick that even the
deck beneath their feet was scarcely visible, there came a tremendous
crash that made the old vessel quiver from keel to truck. It was
followed by loud splashes as of falling blocks of ice, and strange
sounds that resembled human voices. Presently the fog lifted, and
revealed a great gap in the ice-wall just ahead of the vessel, and on
one side of its cliffs the wreck of a splendid ship, whose crew were
huddled upon the precipitous crags of the berg. The sight sent all
hands into frantic activity on the instant. Toiling like giants, they
rescued all the nearly frozen men, who were in such evil case that
they could hardly ask whence their rescuers had come, and then, as
if incapable of fatigue, they strained every ounce of strength they
possessed to warp their long-imprisoned ship out of that terrible dock.
Once escaped, it is hardly necessary to say that Captain Jellico lost
no time in getting north and running his easting down upon a parallel
of 42° S. Great Circle Sailing had lost all its charms for him. And in
due time the Chanticleer arrived at Auckland, two hundred and forty-six
days out from home, with all her passengers and crew in the best of
health and mutually pleased with each other.




A MONARCH’S FALL


Glorious in all his splendid majesty, the great sun issued forth of
his chamber, and all the wide sea basked in his beams with a million
million smiles. Save the sea and the sun and the sky, there was nought
apparently existing--it might well have been the birthday of Light.
Also the one prevailing characteristic of the scene to a human eye, had
one been there to see, was peace--perfect stainless peace. But we are,
by the very fact of our organization, true impressionists, and only
by a severe course of training, voluntary or otherwise, do we realize
aught but the present fact, the past is all forgotten, the future all
unknown. So it was here, beneath that sea of smiling placid beauty
a war of unending ferocity was being waged, truceless, merciless;
for unto the victors belong the spoils, and without them they must
perish--there was none other food to be gotten.

But besides all this ruthless warfare carried on inevitably because
without it all must die of hunger, there were other causes of conflict,
matters of high policy and more intricate motive than just the blind
all-compelling pressure of hunger. The glowing surface of that morning
sea was suddenly disturbed simultaneously at many points, and like
ascending incense the bushy breathings of some scores of whales became
visible. Perfectly at their ease since their instincts assured them
that from this silent sea their only enemy was absent, they lay in
unstudied grace about the sparkling waters, the cows and youngsters
gambolling happily together in perfect freedom from care. Hither they
had come from one of their richest feeding-grounds, where all had laid
in a stock of energy sufficient to carry them half round the globe
without weariness. So they were fat with a great richness, strong
with incalculable strength, and because of these things they were
now about to settle a most momentous question. Apart from the main
gathering of females and calves by the space of about a mile lay five
individuals, who, from their enormous superiority in size, no less than
the staid gravity of their demeanour, were evidently the adult males
of the school. They lay almost motionless in the figure of a baseless
triangle whereof the apex was a magnificent bull over seventy feet in
length, with a back like some keelless ship bottom up, and a head huge
and square as a railway car. He it was who first broke the stillness
that reigned. Slowly raising his awful front with its down-hanging,
twenty-foot lower jaw exposing two gleaming rows of curved teeth,
he said, “Children, ye have chosen the time and the place for your
impeachment of my overlordship, and I am ready. Well, I wot that ye
do but as our changeless laws decree, that the choice of your actions
rests not with yourselves, that although ye feel lords of yourselves
and desirous of ruling all your fellows, it is but under the compelling
pressure of our hereditary instincts. Yet remember, I pray you,
before ye combine to drive me from among ye, for how many generations
I have led the school, how wisely I have chosen our paths, so that we
are still an unbroken family as we have been for more than a hundred
seasons. And if ye must bring your powers to test now, remember, too,
that I am no weakling, no dotard weary of rule, but mightiest among all
our people, conqueror in more than a thousand battles, wise with the
accumulated knowledge of a hundred generations of monarchy. Certainly
the day of my displacement must come; who should know that better
than I? but methinks it has not yet dawned, and I would not have ye
lightly pit your immature strength against mine, courting inevitable
destruction. Ponder well my words, for I have spoken.”

A solemn hush ensued, just emphasized by the slumbrous sound of
the sparkling wavelets lapping those mighty forms as they lay all
motionless and apparently inert. Yet it had been easy to see how along
each bastion like flank the rolling tendons, each one a cable in
itself, were tense and ready for instantaneous action, how the great
muscle mounds were hardened around the gigantic masses of bone, and the
flukes, each some hundred feet in area, did not yield to the heaving
bosom of the swell, but showed an almost imperceptible vibration as of
a fucus frond in a tide rip. After a perfect silence of some fifteen
minutes an answer came--from the youngest of the group, who lay remote
from the chief. “We have heard, O king, the words of wisdom, and our
hearts rejoice. Truly we have been of the fortunate in this goodly
realm, and ingrates indeed should we be had our training under so
terrible a champion been wasted upon us. But therefore it is that we
would forestall the shame that should overtake us did we wait until thy
forces had waned and that all-conquering might had dwindled into dotage
ere we essayed to put thy teaching into practice. Since thy deposition
from this proud place must be, to whose forces could’st thou more
honourably yield than to ours, the young warriors who have learned of
thee all we know, and who will carry on the magnificent traditions thou
hast handed down to us in a manner worthy of our splendid sire! And if
we be slain, as well may be, remembering with whom we do battle, the
greater our glory, the greater thine also.”

A deep murmur like the bursting of a tidal wave against the sea-worn
lava rocks of Ascension marked the satisfaction of the group at this
exposition of their views, and as if actuated by one set of nerves the
colossal four swung round shoulder to shoulder, and faced the ocean
monarch. Moving not by a barnacle’s breadth, he answered, “It is well
spoken, oh my children, ye are wiser than I. And be the issue what
it will, all shall know that the royal race still holds. As in the
days when our fathers met and slew the slimy dragons of the pit, and,
unscared by fathom-long claws or ten-ply coats of mail, dashed them in
pieces and chased them from the blue deep they befouled, so to-day when
the world has grown old, and our ancient heritage has sorely shrunken,
our warfare shall still be the mightiest among created things.”

Hardly had the leviathan uttered the last word when, with a roar like
Niagara bursting its bonds in spring, he hurled his vast bulk headlong
upon the close gathered band of his huge offspring. His body was like
a bent bow, and its recoil tore the amazed sea into deep whirls and
eddies as if an island had foundered. Full upon the foremost one he
fell, and deep answered unto deep with the impact. That awful blow
dashed its recipient far into the soundless depths while the champion
sped swiftly forward on his course, unable to turn until his impetus
was somewhat spent. Before he could again face his foes, the three were
upon him, smiting with Titanic fluke strokes, circling beneath him with
intent to catch the down-hanging shaft of his lower jaw, rising swiftly
end on beneath the broad spread of his belly, leaping high into the
bright air and falling flatlings upon his wide back. The tormented sea
foamed and hissed in angry protest, screaming sea-birds circled low
around the conflict, ravening sharks gathered from unknown distances,
scenting blood, and all the countless tribes of ocean waited aghast.
But after the first red fury had passed came the wariness, came the
fruitage of all those years of training, all the accumulated instincts
of ages to supplement blind brutal force with deep laid schemes of
attack and defence. As yet the three survivors were but slightly
injured, for they had so divided their attack even in that first
great onset, that the old warrior could not safely single out one for
destruction. Now the youngest, the spokesman, glided to the front of
his brethren, and faced his waiting sire--

“What! so soon weary. Thou art older than we thought. Truly this
battle hath been delayed too long. We looked for a fight that should
be remembered for many generations, and behold----” Out of the corner
of his eye he saw the foam circles rise as the vast tail of the chief
curved inward for the spring, and he, the scorner, launched himself
backwards a hundred fathoms at a bound. After him, leaping like any
salmon in a spate, came the terrible old warrior, the smitten waves
boiling around him as he dashed them aside in his tremendous pursuit.
But herein the pursued had the advantage, for it is a peculiarity of
the sperm whale that while he cannot see before him, his best arc of
vision is right astern. So that the pursuer must needs be guided by
sound and the feel of the water, and the very vigour of his chase
was telling far more upon his vast bulk than upon the lither form
of his flying enemy. In this matter the monarch’s wisdom was of no
avail, for experience could not tell him how advancing age handicaps
the strongest, and he wondered to find a numbness creeping along
his spine--to feel that he was growing weary. And suddenly, with an
eel-like movement the pursued one described a circle beneath the water,
rising swift as a dolphin springs towards his pursuer, and dashing
at the dangling, gleaming jaw. These two great balks of jaw met in
clashing contact, breaking off a dozen or so of the huge teeth, and
ripping eight or ten feet of the gristly muscle from the throat of
the aggressor. But hardly had they swung clear of each other than
the other two were fresh upon the scene, and while the youngest one
rested, they effectually combined to prevent their fast-weakening foe
from rising to breathe. No need now for them to do more, for the late
enormous expenditure of force had so drained his vast body of its prime
necessity that the issue of the fight was but a question of minutes.
Yet still he fought gallantly, though with lungs utterly empty--all the
rushing torrent of his blood growing fetid for lack of vitalising air.
At last, with a roar as of a cyclone through his head, he turned on his
side and yielded to his triumphant conquerors, who drew off and allowed
him to rise limply to the now quiet sea-surface. For more than an hour
he lay there prone, enduring all the agony of his overthrow, and seeing
far before him the long, lonely vista of his solitary wanderings, a
lone whale driven from his own, and nevermore to rule again.

Meanwhile the three had departed in search of their brother, smitten so
felly early in the fight that he had not since joined them. When they
found that which had been him it was the centre of an innumerable host
of hungry things that fled to air or sea-depths at their approach. A
glance revealed the manner of his end--a broken back, while already,
such had been the energy of the smaller sea people, the great framework
of his ribs was partly laid bare. They made no regrets, for the doing
of useless things finds no place in their scheme of things. Then the
younger said--

“So the question of overlordship lies between us three, and I am
unwilling that it should await settlement. I claim the leadership, and
am prepared here and now to maintain my right.”

This bold assertion had its effect upon the two hearers, who, after a
long pause, replied--

“We accept, O king, fully and freely, until the next battle-day
arrives, when the succession must be maintained by thee in ancient
form.”

So the matter was settled, and proudly the young monarch set off to
rejoin the waiting school. Into their midst he glided with an air of
conscious majesty, pausing in the centre to receive the homage and
affectionate caresses of the harem. No questions were asked as to the
whereabouts of the deposed sovereign, nor as to what had become of the
missing member of the brotherhood. These are things that do not disturb
the whale-people, who in truth have a sufficiency of other matters to
occupy their thoughts besides those inevitable changes that belong to
the settled order of things. The recognition complete, the new leader
glided out from the midst of his people, and pointing his massive front
to the westward moved off at a stately pace, on a straight course for
the coast of Japan.

Long, long lay the defeated one, motionless and alone. His exertions
had been so tremendous that every vast muscle band seemed strained
beyond recovery, while the torrent of his blood, befouled by his long
enforced stay beneath the sea, did not readily regain its normally
healthful flow. But on the second day he roused himself, and raising
his mighty head swept the unbroken circle of the horizon to satisfy
himself that he was indeed at last a lone whale. Ending his earnest
scrutiny he milled round to the southward and with set purpose and
steady fluke-beat started for the Aucklands. On his journey he passed
many a school or smaller “pod” of his kind, but in some mysterious
manner the seal of his loneliness was set upon him, so that he was
shunned by all. In ten days he reached his objective, ten days of
fasting, and impelled by fierce hunger ventured in closely to the
cliffs, where great shoals of fish, many seals, with an occasional
porpoise, came gaily careering down the wide-gaping white tunnel of
his throat into the inner darkness of dissolution. It was good to
be here, pleasant to feel once more that unquestioned superiority
over all things, and swiftly the remembrance of his fall faded from
the monster’s mind. By day he wandered lazily, enjoying the constant
easy procession of living food down his ever-open gullet; by night he
wallowed sleepily in the surf-torn margin of those jagged reefs. And
thus he came to enjoy the new phase of existence, until one day he rose
slowly from a favourite reef-patch to feel a sharp pang shoot through
his wide flank. Startled into sudden, violent activity, he plunged
madly around in the confined area of the cove wherein he lay in the
vain endeavour to rid himself of the smart. But he had been taken at a
disadvantage, for in such shallow waters there was no room to manœuvre
his vast bulk, and his wary assailants felt that in spite of his
undoubted vigour and ferocity he would be an easy prey. But suddenly he
headed instinctively for the open sea at such tremendous speed that the
two boats attached to him were but as chips behind him. He reached the
harbour’s mouth, and bending, swiftly sought the depths. Unfortunately
for him a huge pinnacle of rock rose sheer from the sea bed some
hundred fathoms below, and upon this he hurled himself headlong with
such fearful force that his massive neck was broken. And next day a
weary company of men were toiling painfully to strip from his body its
great accumulation of valuable oil, and his long career was ended.




THE CHUMS


What a depth of mystery is concealed in the phenomena of likes and
dislikes! Why, at first sight, we are attracted by one person and
repelled by another, independently, to all outward seeming, of personal
appearance or habits of observation. This is, of course, a common
experience of most people, but one of the strangest instances I have
ever known was in my own affection for Jack Stadey and all that grew
out of it.

Stadey was a Russian Finn, one of a race that on board ship has always
had the reputation of being a bit wizard-like, credited with the
possession of dread powers, such as the ability to raise or still a
storm, become invisible, and so on. The bare truth about the seafaring
Finns, however, is that they make probably the finest all-round
mariners in the world. No other sea-folk combine so completely all the
qualities that go to make up the perfect seaman. Many of them may be
met with who can build a vessel, make her spars, her sails, and her
rigging, do the blacksmith work and all the manifold varieties of odd
workmanship that go to complete a ship’s equipment, take her to sea,
and navigate her on soundest mathematical principles, and do all these
strange acts and deeds with the poorest, most primitive tools, and
under the most miserable, poverty-stricken conditions. But, as a rule,
they are not smart; they must be allowed to do their work in their
own way, at their own pace, and with no close scrutiny into anything
except results. Now, Jack Stadey was a typical Finn, as far as his slow
ungainly movements went, but none of that ability and adaptiveness
which is characteristic of his countrymen was manifest in him. To the
ordinary observer he was just a heavy, awkward “Dutchman,” who couldn’t
jump to save his life, and who would necessarily be put upon all the
heaviest, dirtiest jobs, while the sailorizing was being done by
smarter men. With a long, square head, faded blue eyes, and straggling
flaxen moustache, round shoulders, and dangling, crooked arms, he
seemed born to be the butt of his more favoured shipmates. Yet when I
first became acquainted with him in the fo’c’sle of the old Dartmouth,
outward bound to Hong Kong, something about him appealed to me, and we
became chums. The rest of the crew, with one notable exception, were
not bad fellows, and Jack shuffled along serenely through the voyage,
quite undisturbed by the fact that no work of any seamanlike nature
ever came to his share. I came in for a good deal of not ill-natured
chaff from the rest for my close intimacy with him, but it only had the
effect of knitting us closer together, for there is just that strain of
obstinacy about me that opposition only stiffens. And as I studied that
simple, childlike man, I found that he had a heart of gold, a nature
that had no taint of selfishness, and was sublimely unconscious of its
own worth.

We made the round voyage together, and on our return to London I
persuaded him to quit the gloomy environment of sailor-town to come
and take lodgings with me in a turning out of Oxford Street, whence we
could sally forth and find ourselves at once in the midst of clean,
interesting life, free from the filthy importunities of the denizens of
Shadwell that prey upon the sailor. My experiences of London life were
turned to good account in those pleasant days, all too short. Together
we did all the sights, and it would be hard to say which of us enjoyed
ourselves most. At last, our funds having dwindled to the last five
pounds, we must needs go and look for a ship. I had “passed” for second
mate, but did not try very hard to get the berth that my certificate
entitled me to take, and finally we both succeeded in getting berths
before the mast in a barque called the Magellan, bound for New Zealand.
To crown the common-sense programme we had been following out, we did a
thing I have never seen deep-water sailors do before or since--we took
a goodly supply of such delicacies on board with us as would, had we
husbanded them, have kept us from hunger until we crossed the line. But
sailor Jack, with all his faults, is not mean, and so all hands shared
in the good things until they were gone, which was in about three days.
To our great disgust, Jack and I were picked for separate watches, so
that our chats were limited to the second dog-watch, that pleasant time
between six and eight p.m. when both watches can fraternize at their
ease, and discuss all the queer questions that appeal to the sailor
mind.

Jack never complained, it wasn’t his habit, but, unknown to me, he
was having a pretty bad time of it in the starboard watch. Of course,
the vessel was short-handed--four hands in a watch to handle an
over-sparred brute of nearly a thousand tons--and as a consequence
Jack’s ungainly want of smartness was trying to his over-worked
watchmates, who were, besides, unable to understand his inability
or unwillingness to growl at the hardness of the common lot. The
chief man in that watch was a huge Shetlandman, Sandy Rorison, who,
broadly speaking, was everything that Jack was not. Six feet two in
his stocking vamps, upright as a lower mast, and agile as a leading
seaman on board a man-o’-war, there was small wonder that Sandy was
sorely irritated by the wooden movements of my deliberate chum. But
one day, when, relieved from the wheel, I came into the forecastle
for a “verse o’ the pipe,” I found Sandy bullying him in a piratical
manner. All prudential considerations were forgotten, and I interfered,
although it was like coming between a lion and his kill. Black with
fury, Sandy turned upon me, tearing off his jumper the while, and in
choking monosyllables invited me to come outside and die. I refused,
giving as my reason that I did not feel tired of life, and admitting
that I was fully aware of his ability to make cracker-hash of me. But
while he stood gasping, I put it to him whether, if he had a chum, any
consideration for his own safety would stop him from risking it in
the endeavour to save that chum from such a dog’s life as he was now
leading Jack Stadey. Well, the struggle between rage and righteousness
in that big rough man was painful to see. It lasted for nearly five
minutes, while I stood calmly puffing at my pipe with a numb sense of
“what must be will be” about me. Then suddenly the big fellow went and
sat down, buried his face in his hands, and was silent. I went about my
work unmolested, but for nearly a week there was an air of expectation
about the whole of us--a sense that an explosion might occur at any
moment. Then the tension relaxed, and I saw with quiet delight that
Rorison had entirely abandoned his hazing of Jack.

After a most miserable passage of a hundred and ten days we arrived at
our port, and almost immediately after came an opening for me to join
a fine ship as second mate. It could not be disregarded, although I
had to forfeit to the knavish skipper the whole of my outward passage
earnings for the privilege of being discharged. So Jack and I parted,
making no sign, as is the custom of men, of the rending pain of our
separation. When next I saw Jack, several years after, I had left the
sea, but on a periodical visit to the docks--a habit I was long curing
myself of--I met him, looking for a ship. How triumphantly I bore him
westward to my little home I need not say, but when in the course of
conversation I found that he and Rorison had been chums ever since I
left the Magellan, I was dumbfounded. The more because, in spite of
the change in Rorison after my risky interference on that memorable
afternoon, I had passed many unhappy hours, thinking, in my conceit and
ignorance of the nobleness of which the majority of human kind are
capable, given the proper opportunity for showing it, that Jack would
have but a sorry time of it after _I_ had left him. Malvolio thought
nobly of the soul, and I have had reason, God knows, to think nobly
of my fellow-men, even of those who upon a casual acquaintance seemed
only capable of exciting disgust. I believe that few indeed are the
men and women who have not within them the germ of as heroic deeds as
ever thrilled the hearts and moistened the eyes of mankind, although,
alas! myriads live and die wanting the occasion that could fructify the
germ. Made in His own image, although sorely battered out of the Divine
likeness, the Father does delight in showing how, in spite of the
distance men generally have placed between themselves and Him, the type
still persists, and self-sacrifice, soaring above the devilish cynicism
that affects to know no God but self-interest, blazes forth to show to
all who will but open their eyes that “God’s in His Heaven, all’s right
with the world.”

Two more strangely assorted chums surely seldom foregathered than
Sandy and Jack. I remember none in real life, though the big trooper
George Rouncewell and Phil have been immortalized by Dickens in “Bleak
House,” and the probability is that such a friendship had been known to
that marvellous man. How the bond between the Shetlandman and the Finn
gradually grew and toughened I had no means of knowing, for Jack was
a man of so few words, that even my eager questioning never succeeded
in drawing from him the information that I thirsted for. However, to
resume my story, the pair succeeded in obtaining berths in the same
ship again, a big iron clipper, the Theodosia, bound to Melbourne. I
did not succeed in meeting Sandy before they sailed, though I tried
hard in my scanty leisure to do so. But I determined that when they
returned I would have them both home to my little place, and devote
some of my holidays to entertaining them. I watched carefully the
columns of the Shipping Gazette for news of the ship, and succeeded in
tracing her home to Falmouth for orders from Port Pirie. Thence in due
time she departed, to my great disappointment, for Sunderland. And the
rest of the story must be told as I learned it long afterwards.

It was in the late autumn that they sailed from Falmouth, leaving
port on a glorious afternoon with that peerless weather known to
west-country fishermen as a “fine southerly.” Up the sparkling Channel
they sped with every stitch of canvas set, and a great contentment
reigning on board at the prospect of the approaching completion of the
voyage under such favourable conditions. Being foul, the Theodosia made
slow progress, but so steady was the favouring wind that in two days
she picked up her Channel pilot off Dungeness. He was hardly on board
before a change came. One of those sudden gales came howling down the
stern North Sea, and gradually the labouring ship was stripped of her
wings, until in a perfect whirl of freezing spindrift she was groping
through the gloom across the Thames estuary. But no uneasiness was
felt, because the pilot was on board, and the confidence felt in the
well-known skill and seamanship of those splendid mariners makes even
the most timid of deep-water sailors feel secure under their charge.
No man is infallible, however, and just before midnight a shock,
which threw all hands, then standing by to wear ship, off their feet,
brought the huge vessel up all standing. Not many minutes were needed
to show every man on board that she was doomed. Lying as she was on
the weather edge of the Galloper Sand (though her position was unknown
even to the pilot), she was exposed to the full fury of the gale, and
the blue lights and rockets made but the faintest impression upon the
appalling blackness. All hands worked with feverish energy to free the
long-disused boats from their gripes, although they were often hurled
headlong from this task by the crushing impact of those inky masses
of water that rose in terrible might all around. And as the boats
were cleared, so they were destroyed until but one remained seaworthy
and afloat upon the lee-side, fast by the end of the forebrace. One
by one the beaten, bruised, and almost despairing men succeeded in
boarding that tiny ark of refuge as it strained and plunged like
a terrified creature striving to escape from the proximity of the
perishing leviathan. When it appeared that all hands were crowded into
the overburdened boat, the watchful skipper mounted the lee rail, and,
waiting his opportunity, leapt for his life.

“Cast off, cast off,” shouted a dozen voices as the captain struggled
aft to the place of command, but one cry overtopped them all, the
frenzied question of Rorison, “Where’s Jack Stadey?” A babel of
replies arose, but out of that tumult one fact emerged, he was not
among them. The next moment, as a mountainous swell lifted the boat
high above the ship’s rail, Rorison had leapt to his feet, and,
catching hold of the drooping mainbrace above his head, was hauling
himself back on board again. And the boat had gone. Doubtless in the
confusion, some man had succeeded in casting the end of the rope adrift
that held her, not knowing what had happened, so that the next vast
roller swept her away on its crest a hundred fathoms in an instant. The
wide mouth of the dark engulfed her. All unheeding the disappearance of
the boat, Rorison fought his way about the submerged and roaring decks,
peering with a seaman’s bat-like power of vision through the dark
for any sign of his chum. Buffeted by the scourging seas, conscious
that he was fast losing what little strength remained to him, he yet
persisted in his search until, with a cry of joy, he found poor Stadey
jammed between the fife-rail and the pumps, just alive, but with a
broken leg and arm. Not a word passed between them, but with a sudden
accession of vigour, Sandy managed to drag his chum aft and lash his
limp body to one of the poop hen-coops. He then cast another coop
adrift, and secured it to the side of the first. Having done this, he
lashed himself by Stadey’s side, and with one hand feeling the languid
pulsation of his chum’s heart, awaited the next comber that should
sweep their frail raft away into the hissing sea.

Next morning, under a sky of heavenly glory, two Harwich fishermen
found the tiny raft, still supporting the empty husks of those two
faithful souls, undivided even unto the end of their hard life, and
together entered into rest.

With these two exceptions all hands were saved.




ALPHONSO M’GINTY


Who is there among British seafarers that does not know the
“chain-locker”--that den just opposite the Mint like an exaggerated
bear-pit? The homeward-bounder, his heart light as thistle-down with
the first taste of liberty after his voyage’s long imprisonment,
takes no heed of its squalor; no, not even in the drear December
slushiness, following upon a Shadwell snowstorm. If he does glance
around shudderingly at the haggard faces of the unshipped for a moment,
the feel of the beloved half-sheet of blue foolscap ostentatiously
displayed in his club-fingered right hand brings the departing look of
satisfaction back swiftly enough. It is his “account of wages,” his
passport within the swing doors of the office, which he will presently
exchange for the few pieces of gold for which he has given such a
precious slice of his life.

But the outward-bounder, his hands thrust deep into empty pockets, the
bitter taste of begrudged bread parching his mouth, and the scowling
face of his boarding master refusing to pass from his mind’s eye; he it
is who feels the utter desolation of the crowded “chain-locker” corrode
his very soul. After a long day’s tramp around the docks, sneaking on
board vessels like a thief, and asking the mate for a “chance” with
bated breath, as if begging for pence, unsuccessful and weary, he
returns to this walled-in pit of gloom, and jealously eyes the company
of miserables like himself, as if in each one he saw a potential
snatcher of his last hope of a berth.

Outward-bounders have little to say to each other in the
“chain-locker.” They wait, not like honest labourers seeking legitimate
employment, but like half-tried prisoners awaiting sentence. This
characteristic is so universal that, although we who bided the coming
of the Gareth’s skipper had all got our discharges in, and so felt
reasonably sure of her, we had not exchanged half a dozen words among
the fourteen of us.

But there suddenly appeared in our midst a square-built, rugged-faced
man of middle height, whose grey eyes twinkled across his ruined
nose, and whose mouth had that droll droop of the lower lip that
shows a readiness, not only to laugh in and out of season, but almost
pathetically invites the beholder to laugh too. He it was who broke the
stony silence by saying in the richest brogue, “Is it all av us bhoys
that does be goin’ in the wan ship, I wondher?” Even the most morose
among us felt an inclination to smile, we hardly knew why, but just
then the swing door of the engaging office burst open, and a hoarse
voice shouted, “Crew o’ the Gareth here.”

The words, like some irresistible centripetal force, sucked in from the
remotest corner of the large area every man, and in a moment all of us,
who had, as we thought, secured our chances by lodging our discharges
beforehand, were seized with something of a panic lest we should lose
the ship after all. Heavens! how we thrust and tore our way into the
office, past the burly policeman who held every one of us at the pinch
of the door until he was satisfied of our right to enter. Once within,
we felt safe, and stood nervously fingering our caps while the clerk
gabbled over the usual formula, to which none of us gave the slightest
heed. “Signing on” began and proceeded apace, to the accompaniment of a
running fire of questions as to age, nationality, last ship, etc., to
which answers, if not promptly forthcoming, were, I am afraid, supplied
by the questioner. There was a subdued chuckle, and the man who had
spoken outside stood at the counter.

“What name?” snapped the clerk.

“Alphonso M’Ginty, yer anner,” was the answer. No exquisite witticism
ever raised a more wholesome burst of laughter. It positively
brightened that dull hole like a ray of sea-sunshine.

“How old?” said the clerk, in a voice still tremulous.

“God befrind me, I forgot! Say tirty-five, sor.”

“Your discharge says twenty-five?” returned the clerk.

“Ah yes, yer anner, but it’s said that for the last tirty years!”

“Isn’t it time it was altered then?” retorted the clerk, magisterial
again, as he entered fifty-five on the articles. The old fellow’s
quaint speech, added to an indefinable aureole of good humour about
him, had completely changed the sullen aspect of our crowd, so that
for the moment we quite forget that but fourteen of us were engaged to
take the 4000-ton ship Gareth to New Zealand first, and then to any
other part of the world, voyage not to exceed three years.

So, with even the Dutchmen laughing and chuckling in sympathy with
the fun they felt, but didn’t understand, we all dispersed with our
advance notes to get such discount as fate and the sharks would allow.
In good time we were all aboard, for ships were scarce, and all of us
anxious to get away. But when we saw the vast, gaunt hull well down
to Plimsoll’s Mark, and the four towering steel giants of masts with
their immense spreading branches, and thought of the handful we were to
manage them, we felt a colder chill than even the biting edge of the
bitter east wind had given us.

We mustered in the dark, iron barn of the fo’c’sle, and began selecting
bunks temporarily, until we were picked for watches, when our attention
was arrested by the voice of M’Ginty, saying--

“Bhoys!”

All turned towards him where he stood, with a bottle of rum and a
tea-cup, and no one needed a second call. When the bottle was empty,
and our hearts had gone out to the donor, he said, clearing his throat
once or twice--

“Bhoys, fergive me, I’m a ---- imposhtor. I broke me right knee-cap
an’ five ribs comin’ home from ’Frisco in the Lamech--fell from the
fore-t’galant yard--an’ I bin three months in Poplar Hospital. I can’t
go aloft, but I didn’t think what a crime it wuz goin’ to be agin ye
all until I see this awful over-sparred brute here. Don’t be harrd on
me, bhoys; ye wouldn’t have me starrve ashore, wud yez now, or fret me
poor owld hearrt out in the wurrkhouse afther forty-five year on the
open sea?”

He stopped and looked around distressfully, and in that moment all our
hearts warmed to him. We were a mixed crowd, of course, but nearly
half of us were British, and there would have been a stormy scene if
any of the aliens had ventured to raise a protest against M’Ginty’s
incapacity. We didn’t express our sympathy, but we felt it, and he with
native quickness knew that we did. And never from that day forward did
the brave old chap hear a word of complaint from any of us about having
to do his work.

Just then the voice of the bos’un sounded outside, “Turn to!” and as we
departed to commence work, although not a word was said, there was a
fierce determination among us to protect M’Ginty against any harshness
from the officers on account of his disablement. There was too much of
a bustle getting out of dock for any notice to be taken of his stiff
leg, which he had so cleverly concealed while shipping, but the mate
happening to call him up on to the forecastle head for something, his
lameness was glaringly apparent at once to the bos’un, who stood behind
him. For just a minute it looked like trouble as the bos’un began to
bluster about his being a ---- cripple, but we all gathered round, and
the matter was effectually settled at once.

We never regretted our consideration. For, while it was true that he
couldn’t get aloft, and those mighty sails would have been a handful
for double our number in a breeze of wind, there never was a more
willing, tireless worker on deck, and below he was a perfect godsend.
His sunny temper, bubbling fun, and inexhaustible stock of yarns, made
our grey lives happier than they had ever been at sea before. If we
would have allowed it, he would have been a slave to all of us, for
we carried no boys, and all the odd domestic jobs of the fo’c’sle had
to be done by ourselves. As it was, he was always doing something for
somebody, and as he was a thorough sailor in his general handiness and
ability, his services were highly appreciated. He made the Gareth a
comfortable ship, in spite of her manifold drawbacks.

In due time we reached the “roaring forties” and began to run the
easting down. The long, tempestuous stretch of the Southern Ocean lay
before us, and the prospect was by no means cheering. The Gareth,
in spite of her huge bulk, had given us a taste of her quality when
running before a heavy breeze of wind shortly after getting clear
of the Channel, and we knew that she was one of the wettest of her
class, a vessel that welcomed every howling sea as an old friend, and
freely invited it to range the whole expanse of her decks from poop
to forecastle. And, in accordance with precedent, we knew that she
would be driven to the last extremity of canvas endurance, not only in
the hope of making a quick passage, but because shortening sail after
really hard running was such an awful strain upon the handful of men
composing the crew. So that when once the light sails were secure, an
attempt would always be made to “hang on” to the still enormous spread
of sail remaining, until the gale blew itself out, or we had run out of
its vast area. But for some days the brave west wind lingered in its
lair, and we slowly crept to the s’uthard and east’ard with trumpery
little spurts of northerly and nor’-westerly breeze. We had reached 47°
S. and about 10° E. when, one afternoon, it fell calm.

One of the most magnificent sunsets imaginable spread its glories over
the western sky. Great splashes of gorgeous colouring stained the pale
blue of the heavens, and illuminated the fantastic crags and ranges
of cloud that lay motionless around the horizon, like fragments of a
disintegrated world. A long, listless swell came solemnly from the west
at regular intervals, giving the waiting ship a stately rhythmical
motion in the glassy waters, and making the immense squares of canvas
that hung straight as boards from the yards slam against the steel
masts with a sullen boom. Except for that occasionally recurring sound,
a solemn stillness reigned supreme, while the wide mirror of the ocean
reflected faithfully all the flaming tints of the sky. Quietly all of
us gathered on the fo’c’sle head for the second dog-watch smoke, but
for some time all seemed strangely disinclined for the desultory chat
that usually takes place at that pleasant hour. Pipes were puffed in
silence for half an hour, until suddenly M’Ginty broke the spell (his
voice sounding strangely clear and vibrant), by saying--

“I had a quare dhrame lasht night.”

No one stirred or spoke, and after a few meditative pulls at his pipe,
he went on--

“I dhreamt that I was a tiny gorsoon again, at home in owld Baltimore.
I’d been wandherin’ and sthrayin’, God alone knows where, fur a
dhreadful long while, it seemed, until at lasht, whin I wuz ready t’
die from sheer weariness an’ fright, I hearrd me dear mother’s sweet
voice cryin’, ‘Where’s Fonnie avic iver got to this long while?’
Oh!’twas as if an angel from hiven shpoke to me, an’ I cried wid all me
hearrt an’ me tongue, ‘Here, mother, here I am!’ An’ she gathered me
up in her arrums that wuz so soft an’ cosy, till I felt as if I was a
little tired chick neshtlin’ into its mother’s feathers in the snuggest
of nests. I didn’t go to sleep, I just let meself sink down, down
into rest, happy as any saint in glory. An’ thin I woke up wid a big,
tearin’ ache all over me poor owld broken-up body. But bad as that wuz,
’twuz just nothin’ at all to the gnawin’ ache at me hearrt.”

Silence wrapped us round again, for who among us could find any words
to apply to such a story as that? And it affected us all the more
because of its complete contrast to M’Ginty’s usual bright, cheery,
and uncomplaining humour. Not another word was spoken by any one until
the sharp strokes on the little bell aft cleft the still air, and, in
immediate response, one rose and smote the big bell hanging at the
break of the forecastle four double blows, ushering in the first watch
of the night. The watch on deck relieved wheel and look-out, and we
who were fortunate enough to have the “eight hours in,” lost no time
in seeking our respective bunks, since in those stern latitudes we
might expect a sudden call at any moment. We had hardly been asleep
five minutes, it seemed, when a hoarse cry came pealing in through
the fo’c’sle door of “All hands on deck! Shorten sail!” And as we all
started wide awake, we heard the furious voice of the southern tempest
tearing up the face of the deep, and felt the massive fabric beneath
our feet leaping and straining under the tremendous strain of her great
breadths of canvas, that we had left hanging so idly at eight bells.

Out into the black night we hurried, meeting the waiting mate at the
foremast, and answering his first order of “man the fore tops’ls
downhaul” with the usual repetition of his words. Weird cries arose as
we hauled with all our strength on the downhauls and spilling lines,
while overhead we could hear, even above the roar of the storm, the
deep boom of the topsails fiercely fighting against the restraining
gear. Then, with a hissing, spiteful snarl, came snow and sleet,
lashing us like shotted whips, and making the darkness more profound
because of the impossibility of opening the eyes against the stinging
fragments of ice. But, after much stumbling and struggling, we got the
four huge tops’ls down, and, without waiting for the order, started
aloft to furl, the pitiful incapacity of our numbers most glaringly
apparent. The pressure of the wind was so great that it was no easy
matter to get aloft, but clinging like cats, we presently found
ourselves (six of the port watch) on the fore topsailyard.

The first thing evident was that the great sail was very slightly
subdued by the gear; it hovered above the yard like a white balloon,
making it both difficult and dangerous to get out along the spar. The
storm scourged us pitilessly, the great round of the sail resisted all
our attempts to “fist” it, and we seemed as helpless as children. Some
bold spirits clutched the lifts, and, swinging above the sail, tried
to stamp a hollow into it with their feet; but against the increasing
fury of the tempest we seemed to be utterly impotent. We were so widely
separated, too, that each man appeared to be essaying a giant’s task
single-handed, and that horrible sense of fast-oozing strength was
paralyzing us. Feeling left our hands; we smote them savagely against
that unbending sail without sensation, and still we seemed no nearer
the conclusion of our task. But suddenly the ship gave a great lurch to
windward, and just for one moment the hitherto unyielding curve of the
sail quivered. In that instant every fist had clutched a fold, and with
a flash of energy we strained every sinew to conquer our enemy.

       *       *       *       *       *

Tugging like a madman to get the sail spilled, I glanced sideways, and
saw to my horror, by a jagged flash of lightning, the rugged face of
M’Ginty.

[Illustration: He gasped “In manus tuas, Domine,” and fell.]

I had hardly recognized him when, with a roar like the combined voices
of a troop of lions, the sail tore itself away from us, and with
bleeding hands I clutched at the foot-rope stirrup as I fell back. But
at the same moment M’Ginty’s arms flew up. He caught at the empty gloom
above him, gasping, “_In manus tuas, Domine_----” and fell. Far beneath
us the hungry sea seethed and whirled, its white glare showing
ghastly against the thick darkness above. For two or three seconds I
hung as if irresolute whether to follow my poor old shipmate or not;
then the heavy flapping of the sail aroused me, and springing up again,
I renewed my efforts. The ship had evidently got a “wipe up” into the
wind, for the sail was now powerless against us, and in less than five
minutes it was fast, and we were descending with all speed to renew our
desperate fight with the mizen and jigger topsails. The decks were like
the sea overside, for wave after wave toppled inboard, and it was at
the most imminent risk to life and limb that we scrambled aft, quite a
sense of relief coming as we swung out of that turbulent flood into the
rigging again.

But I was almost past feeling now. A dull aching sense of loss clung
around my heart, and the patient, kindly face of my shipmate seemed
branded upon my eyes, as he had lifted it to the stormy skies in his
last supplicatory moan. I went about my work doggedly, mechanically;
indifferent to cold, fatigue, or pain, until, when at last she was
snugged down, and, under the fore lower topsails and reefed foresail,
was flying through the darkness like some hunted thing, I staggered
wearily into the cheerless fo’c’sle, dropped upon a chest, and stared
moodily at vacancy.

Somebody said, “Where’s M’Ginty?” That roused me. It seemed to put new
life and hope into me, for I replied quite brightly, “He’s gone to the
rest he was talking about in the dog-watch. He’ll never eat workhouse
bread, thank God!”

Eager questioning followed, mingled with utter amazement at his getting
aloft at all. But when all had said their say one feeling had been
plainly manifested--a feeling of deep thankfulness that such a grand
old sailor as our shipmate M’Ginty was where he fain would be, taking
his long and well-earned rest.




THE LAST STAND OF THE DECAPODS


Probably few of the thinking inhabitants of dry land, with all their
craving for tales of the marvellous, the gloomy, and the gigantic,
have in these later centuries of the world’s history given much
thought to the conditions of constant warfare existing beneath the
surface of the ocean. As readers of ancient classics well know, the
fathers of literature gave much attention to the vast, awe-inspiring
inhabitants of the sea, investing and embellishing the few fragments
of fact concerning them which were available with a thousand fantastic
inventions of their own naïve imaginations, until there emerged, chief
and ruler of them all, the Kraken, Leviathan, or whatever other local
name was considered to best convey in one word their accumulated
ideas of terror. In lesser degree, but still worthy compeers of the
fire-breathing dragon and sky-darkening “Rukh” of earth and sky, a
worthy host of attendant sea-monsters were conjured up, until, apart
from the terror of loneliness, of irresistible fury and instability
that the sea presented to primitive peoples, the awful nature of
its supposed inhabitants made the contemplation of an ocean journey
sufficient to appal the stoutest heart. A better understanding of
this aspect of the sea to early voyagers may be obtained from some
of the artistic efforts of those days than anything else. There you
shall see gigantic creatures with human faces, teeth like foot-long
wedges, armour-plated bodies, and massive feet fitted with claws like
scythe-blades, calmly issuing from the waves to prey upon the dwellers
on the margin, or devouring with much apparent enjoyment ships with
their crews, as a child crunches a stick of barley-sugar. Even such
innocent-looking animals as the seals were distorted and decorated
until the contemplation of their counterfeit presentment is sufficient
to give a healthy man the nightmare, while such monsters as really were
so terrible of aspect that they could hardly be “improved” upon were
increased in size until they resembled islands whereon whole tribes
might live. To these chimæras were credited all natural phenomena such
as waterspouts, whirlpools, and the upheaval of submarine volcanoes.
Some imaginative people went even farther than that by attributing the
support of the whole earth to a vast sea-monster; while others, like
the ancient Jews, fondly pictured Leviathan awaiting in the solitude
and gloom of ocean’s depths the glad day of Israel’s reunion, when the
mountain ranges of his flesh would be ready to furnish forth the family
feast for all the myriads of Abraham’s children.

Surely we may pause awhile to contemplate the overmastering courage of
the earliest seafarers, who, in spite of all these terrors, unappalled
by the comparison between their tiny shallops and the mighty waves
that towered above them, set boldly out from shore into the unknown,
obeying that deeply rooted instinct of migration which has peopled
every habitable part of the earth’s surface. Those who remember their
childhood’s dread of the dark, with its possible population of bogeys,
who have ever been lost in early youth in some lonely place, can have
some dim conception, though only a dim one, after all, of the inward
battle these ancients fought and won, until it became possible for the
epigram to be written in utmost truth--

             “The seas but join the nations they divide.”

But, after all, we are not now concerned with the warlike doings
of men. It is with the actualities of submarine struggle we wish
to deal--those wars without an armistice, where to be defeated is
to be devoured, and from the sea-shouldering whale down to the
smallest sea-insect every living thing is carnivorous, dependent
directly upon the flesh of its neighbours for its own life, and
incapable of altruism in any form whatever, except among certain of
the mammalia and the sharks. In dealing with the more heroic phases
of this unending warfare, then, it must be said, once for all, that
the ancient writers had a great deal of reason on their side. They
distorted and exaggerated, of course, as all children do, but they did
not disbelieve. But moderns, rushing to the opposite extreme, have
neglected the marvels of the sea by the simple process of disbelieving
in them, except in the case of the sea-serpent, that myth which seems
bound to persist for ever and ever. Only of late years have the savants
of the world allowed themselves to be convinced of the existence of
a far more wondrous monster than the sea-serpent (if that “loathly
worm” were a reality), the original Kraken of old-world legends. Hugest
of all the mollusca, whose prevailing characteristics are ugliness,
ferocity, and unappeasable hunger, he has lately asserted himself so
firmly that current imaginative literature bristles with allusions to
him, albeit oftentimes in situations where he could by no possibility
be found. No matter, he has supplied a long-felt want; but the curious
fact remains that he is not a discovery, but a re-appearance. The
gigantic cuttle-fish of actual, indisputable fact is, in all respects
except size, the Kraken; and any faithful representation of him will
justify the assertion that no imagination could add anything to the
terror-breeding potentialities of his aspect. That is so, even when
he is viewed by the light of day in the helplessness of death or
disabling sickness, or in the invincible grip of his only conqueror.
In his proper realm, crouching far below the surface of the sea in
some coral cave or labyrinth of rocks, he must present a sight so
awful that the imagination recoils before it. For consider him but
a little. He possesses a cylindrical body reaching in the largest
specimens yet recorded as having been seen, a length of between
sixty and seventy feet, with an average girth of half that amount.
That is to say, considerably larger than a Pullman railway-car. Now,
this immense mass is of boneless gelatinous matter capable of much
greater distension than a snake; so that in the improbable event of
his obtaining an extra-abundant supply of food, it is competent to
swell to the occasion and still give the flood of digestive juices
that it secretes full opportunity to dispose of the burden with
almost incredible rapidity. Now, the apex of this mighty cylinder--I
had almost said “tail,” but remembered that it would give a wrong
impression, since it is the part of the monster that always comes first
when he is moving from place to place, is conical, that is to say, it
tapers off to a blunt point something like a whitehead torpedo. Near
this apex there is a broad fin-like arrangement looking much like the
body of a skate without its tail, which, however, is used strictly
for steering purposes only. So far there is nothing particularly
striking about the appearance of this mighty cylinder except in colour.
This characteristic varies in different individuals, but is always
reminiscent of the hues of a very light-coloured leopard; that is to
say, the ground is of a livid greenish white, while the detail is in
splashes and spots of lurid red and yellow, with an occasional nimbus
of pale blue around these deeper markings. But it is the head of the
monster that appals. Nature would seem in the construction of this
greatest of all molluscs to have combined every weapon of offence
possessed by the rest of the animal kingdom in one amazing arsenal,
disposing them in such a manner that not only are they capable of
terrific destruction, but their appearance defies adequate description.

The trunk at the head end is sheath-like, its terminating edges forming
a sort of collar around the vast cable of muscles without a fragment
of bone which connects it with the head. Through a large opening
within this collar is pumped a jet of water, the pressure of which
upon the surrounding sea is sufficiently great to drive the whole bulk
of the creature, weighing perhaps sixty or seventy tons, _backwards_
through the water, at the rate of sixteen to twenty miles per hour,
not in steady progression, of course, but by successive leaps. At
will, this propelling jet is deeply stained with sepia, a dark-brown
inky fluid, which, mingling with the encompassing sea, fills all the
neighbourhood of the monster with a gloom so deep that nothing, save
one of its own species, can see either to fight or whither to fly. The
head itself is of proportionate size. It is rounded underneath, and of
much lighter hue than the trunk. On either side of it is set an eye, of
such dimensions that the mere statement of them sounds like the efforts
of one of those grand old mediæval romancers, whose sole object was
to make their reader’s flesh creep. It is perfectly safe to say that
even in proportion to size, no other known creature has such organs of
vision as the cuttle-fish, for the pupils of such an one as I am now
describing are fully two feet in diameter. They are perfectly black,
with a dead white rim, and cannot be closed. No doubt their enormous
size is for the purpose of enabling their possessor to discern what is
going on amidst the thick darkness that he himself has raised, so that
while all other organisms are groping blindly in the gloom, he may work
his will among them. Then come the weapons which give the cuttle-fish
its power of destruction, the arms or tentacles. These are not eight
in number, as in the octopus, an ugly beast enough and spiteful
withal, but a babe of innocence compared with our present subject.
Every schoolboy should know that _octopus_ signifies an eight-armed or
eight-footed creature, and yet in nine cases out of ten where writers
of fiction and would-be teachers of fact are describing the deadly
doings of the gigantic cuttle-fish they call _him_ an octopus; whereas
he is nothing of the kind, for, in addition to the eight arms which
the octopus possesses, the cuttle-fish flaunts two, each of which is
double the length of the eight, making him a _decapod_. This confusion
is the more unpardonable, because even the most ancient of scribes
always spoke of this mollusc as the “ten-armed one,” while a reference
to any standard work on Natural History will show even the humbler
cuttle-fish with their full complement of arms--that is, ten. But this
is digression.

Our friend has, then, ten arms springing from the crown of his head, of
which eight are forty feet in length, and two are seventy to eighty.
The eight each taper outward from the head, from the thickness of a
stout man’s body at the base to the slenderness of a whip-lash at the
end. On their inner sides they are studded with saucer-like hollows,
each of which has a fringe of curving claws set just within its rim. So
that in addition to their power of holding on to anything they touch
by a suction so severe that it would strip flesh from bone, these
cruel claws, large as those of a full-grown tiger’s, get to work upon
the subject being held, lacerating and tearing until the quivering
body yields up its innermost secrets. Each of these destroying,
serpent-like arms is also gifted with an almost independent power of
volition. Whatever it touches it holds with an unreleasable grip, but
with wonderful celerity it brings its prey inwards to where, in the
centre of all those infernal purveyors lies a black chasm, whose edges
are shaped like the upper and lower mandibles of a parrot, and these
complete the work so well begun. The outliers, those two far-reaching
tentacles, unlike the busy eight, are comparatively slender from their
bases to near (within two feet or so of) their ends. There they expand
into broad paddle-like masses, thickly studded with _acetabulæ_, those
holding sucking-discs that garnish the inner arms for their entire
length. So, thus armed, this nightmare monstrosity crouches in the
darkling depths of ocean, like some unimaginable web, whereof every
line is alive to hold and tear. Its digestion is like a furnace of
dissolution, needing a continual inflow of flesh, and nothing living
that inhabits the sea comes amiss to its never-satisfied cravings. It
is very near the apex of the pyramid of interdependence into which
sea-life is built, but not quite. For at the summit is the sperm whale,
the monarch of all seas, whom man alone is capable of meeting in fair
fight and overcoming.

The head of the sperm whale is of heroic size, being in bulk quite
one-third of the entire body, but in addition to its size it has
characteristics that fit it peculiarly to compete with such a dangerous
monster as the gigantic decapod. Imagine a solid block of crude
indiarubber, between twenty and thirty feet in length, and eight feet
through, in shape not at all unlike a railway-carriage, but perfectly
smooth in surface. Fit this mass beneath with a movable shaft of solid
bone, twenty feet in length, studded with teeth, each protruding nine
inches, and resembling the points of an elephant’s tusks. You will then
have a fairly complete notion of the equipment with which the ocean
monarch goes into battle against the Kraken. And behind it lies the
warm blood of the mammal, the massive framework of bone belonging to
the highly developed vertebrate animal, governed by a brain impelled
by irresistible instinct to seek its sustenance where alone it can
be found in sufficiently satisfying bulk. And there for you are the
outlines of the highest form of animal warfare existing within our ken,
a conflict of Titans, to which a combat between elephants and rhinoceri
in the jungle is but as the play of schoolboys compared with the
gladiatorial combats of Ancient Rome.

This somewhat lengthy preamble is necessary in order to clear the
way for an account of the proceedings leading up to the final
subjugation of the huge molluscs of the elder slime to the needs of
the great vertebrates like the whales, who were gradually emerging
into a higher development, and, finding new wants oppressing them,
had to obey the universal law, and fight for the satisfaction of
their urgent needs. Fortunately, the period with which we have to
deal was before chronology, so that we are not hampered by dates;
and, as the disposition of sea and land, except in its main features,
was altogether different to what we have long been accustomed to
regard as the always-existing geographical order of things, we need
not be greatly troubled by place considerations either. What must be
considered as the first beginning of the long struggle occurred when
some predecessors of the present sperm whales, wandering through the
vast morasses and among the sombre forests of that earlier world,
were compelled to recognize that the conditions of shore life were
rapidly becoming too onerous for them. Their immensely weighty bodies,
lumbering slowly as a seal over the rugged land surface, handicapped
them more and more in the universal business of life, the procuring
of food. Not only so, but as by reason of their slowness they were
confined for hunting-grounds to a very limited area, the slower
organism upon which their vast appetites were fed grew scarcer and
scarcer, in spite of the fecundity of that prolific time. And in
proportion as they found it more and more difficult to get a living,
so did their enemies grow more numerous and bolder. Vast dragon-like
shapes, clad in complete armour that clanged as the wide-spreading
bat-wings bore them swiftly through the air, descended upon the
sluggish whales, and with horrid rending by awful shear-shaped jaws,
plentifully furnished with foot-long teeth, speedily stripped from
their gigantic bodies the masses of succulent flesh. Other enemies,
weird of shape and swift of motion although confined to the earth,
fastened also upon the easily attainable prey that provided flesh in
such bountiful abundance, and was unable to fight or flee.

Well was it, then, for the whales that, living always near the sea,
they had formed aquatic habits, finding in the limpid element a medium
wherein their huge bulk was rather a help than a hindrance to them.
Gradually they grew to use the land less and less as they became more
and more accustomed to the food provided in plenty by the inexhaustible
ocean. Continual practice enabled them to husband the supplies of air
which they took in on the surface for use beneath the waves; and,
better still, they found that whereas they had been victims to many
a monster on land whose proportions and potentialities seemed far
inferior to their own, here in their new element they were supreme,
nothing living but fled from before them. But presently a strange
thing befell them. As they grew less and less inclined to use the dry
land, they found that their powers of locomotion thereon gradually
became less and less also, until at last their hind legs dwindled
away and disappeared. Their vast and far-reaching tails lost their
length, and their bones spread out laterally into flexible fans of
toughest gristle, with which they could propel themselves through the
waves at speeds to which their swiftest progress upon land had been
but a snail’s crawl. Also their fore legs grew shorter and wider,
and the separation of the toes disappeared, until all that was left
of these once ponderous supports were elegant fan-like flippers of
gristle, of not the slightest use for propulsion, but merely acting
as steadying-vanes to keep the whole great structure in its proper
position according to the will of the owner. All these radical physical
changes, however, had not affected the real classification of the
whales. They were still mammals, still retained in the element which
was now entirely their habitat the high organization belonging to the
great carnivora of the land. Therefore it took them no long period of
time to realize that in the ocean they would be paramount, that with
the tremendous facilities for rapid movement afforded them by their
new habitat they were able to maintain that supremacy against all
comers, unless their formidable armed jaws should also become modified
by degeneration into some such harmless cavities for absorbing food as
are possessed by their distant relatives, the mysticetæ, or toothless
whales.

With a view to avoiding any such disaster, they made good use of their
jaws, having been taught by experience that the simple but effectual
penalty for the neglect of any function, whether physical or mental,
was the disappearance of the organs where such functions had been
performed. But their energetic use of teeth and jaws had a result
entirely unforeseen by them. Gradually the prey they sought, the
larger fish and smaller sea-mammals, disappeared from the shallow seas
adjacent to the land, from whence the whales had been driven; and in
order to satisfy the demands of their huge stomachs, they were fain to
follow their prey into deeper and deeper waters, meeting as they went
with other and stranger denizens of those mysterious depths, until
at last the sperm whale met the Kraken. There in his native gloom,
vast, formless, and insatiable, brooded the awful Thing. Spread like
a living net whereof every mesh was armed, sensitive and lethal,
this fantastic complication of horrors took toll of all the sea-folk,
needing not to pursue its prey, needing only to lie still, devour, and
grow. Sometimes, moved by mysterious impulses, one of these chimæras
would rise to the sea-surface and bask in the beams of the offended
sun, poisoning the surrounding air with its charnel-house odours, and
occasionally finding within the never-resting nervous clutching of its
tentacles some specimens of the highest, latest product of creation,
man himself. Ages of such experiences as these had left the Kraken
defenceless as to his body. The absence of any necessity for exertion
had arrested the development of a backbone; the inability of any of
the sea-people to retaliate upon their sateless foe had made him
neglect any of those precautions that weaker organisms had provided
themselves with, and even the cloud of sepia with which all the race
were provided, and which often assisted the innocent and weaker members
of the same great family to escape, was only used by these masters of
the sea to hide their monstrous lures from their prey.

Thus on a momentous day a ravenous sperm whale, hunting eagerly for
wherewithal to satisfy his craving, suddenly found himself encircled
by many long, cable-like arms. They clung, they tore, they sucked.
But whenever a stray end of them flung itself across the bristling
parapet of the whale’s lower jaw it was promptly bitten off, and a
portion having found its way down into the craving stomach of the big
mammal, it was welcomed as good beyond all other food yet encountered.
Once this had been realized, what had originally been an accidental
entrapping changed itself into a vigorous onslaught and banquet. True,
the darkness fought for the mollusc, but that advantage was small
compared with the feeling of incompetence, of inability to make any
impression upon this mighty impervious mass that was moving as freely
amid the clinging embarrassments of those hitherto invincible arms
as if they were only fronds of seaweed. And then the foul mass of
the Kraken found itself, contrary to all previous experience, rising
involuntarily, being compelled to leave its infernal shades, and,
without any previous preparation for such a change of pressure, to
visit the upper air. The fact was that the whale, finding its stock
of air exhausted, had put forth a supreme effort to rise, and found
that, although unable to free himself from those enormous cables, he
was actually competent to raise the whole mass. What an upheaval! Even
the birds that, allured by the strong carrion scent, were assembling
in their thousands, fled away from that appalling vision, their wild
screams of affright filling the air with lamentation. The tormented
sea foamed and boiled in wide-spreading whirls, its deep sweet blue
changed into an unhealthy nondescript tint of muddy yellow as the wide
expanse of the Kraken’s body yielded up its corrupt fluids, and the
healthful breeze did its best to disperse the bad smells that rose from
the ugly mass. Then the whale, having renewed his store of air, settled
down seriously to the demolition of his prize. Length after length of
tentacle was torn away from the central crown and swallowed, gliding
down the abysmal throat of the gratified mammal in snaky convolutions
until even that great store-room would contain no more. The vanquished
Kraken lay helplessly rolling upon the wave while its conqueror in
satisfied ease lolled near, watching with good-humoured complacency the
puny assault made upon that island of gelatinous flesh by the multitude
of smaller hungry things. The birds returned, reassured, and added by
their clamour to the strangeness of the scene, where the tribes of air
and sea, self-bidden to the enormous banquet, were making full use of
their exceptional privilege. So the great feast continued while the
red sun went down and the white moon rose in placid beauty. Yet for
all the combined assaults of those hungry multitudes the tenacious
life of that largest of living things lay so deeply seated that when
the rested whale resumed his attentions he found the body of his late
antagonist still quivering under the attack of his tremendous jaws.
But its proportions were so immense that his utmost efforts left store
sufficient for at least a dozen of his companions, had they been
there, to have satisfied their hunger upon. And, satisfied at last,
he turned away, allowing the smaller fry, who had waited his pleasure
most respectfully, to close in again and finish the work he had so well
begun.

Now, this was a momentous discovery indeed, for the sperm whales
had experienced, even when fish and seals were plentiful, great
difficulty in procuring sufficient food at one time for a full meal,
and the problem of how to provide for themselves as they grew and
multiplied had become increasingly hard to solve. Therefore this
discovery filled the fortunate pioneer with triumph, for his high
instincts told him that he had struck a new source of supply that
promised to be inexhaustible. So, in the manner common to his people,
he wasted no time in convening a gathering of them as large as could
be collected. Far over the placid surface of that quiet sea lay gently
rocking a multitude of vast black bodies, all expectant, all awaiting
the momentous declaration presently to be made. The epoch-making
news circulated among them in perfect silence, for to them has from
the earliest times been known the secret that is only just beginning
to glimmer upon the verge of human intelligence, the ability to
communicate with one another without the aid of speech, sight, or
touch--a kind of thought transference, if such an idea as animal
thought may be held allowable. And having thus learned of the treasures
held in trust for them by the deep waters, they separated and went,
some alone and some in compact parties of a dozen or so, upon their
rejoicing way.

But among the slimy hosts of the gigantic Mollusca there was raging
a sensation unknown before--a feeling of terror, of insecurity born
of the knowledge that at last there had appeared among them a being
proof against the utmost pressure of their awful arms, who was too
great to be devoured, who, on the other hand, had evinced a greedy
partiality for devouring them. How this information became common
property among them it is impossible to say, since they dwelt alone,
each in his own particular lair, rigidly respected by one another,
because any intrusion upon another’s domains was invariably followed
by the absorption of either the intruder or the intruded upon by the
stronger of the two. This, although not intended by them, had the
effect of vastly heightening the fear with which they were regarded by
the smaller sea-folk, for they took to a restless prowling along the
sea-bed, enwreathing themselves about the mighty bases of the islands,
and invading cool coral caverns where their baleful presence had been
till then unknown. Never before had there been such a panic among the
multitudinous sea-populations. What could this new portent signify?
Were the foundations of the great deep again about to be broken up, and
the sea-bed heaved upward to replace the tops of the towering mountains
on dry land? There was no reply, for there were none that could answer
questions like these.

Still the fear-smitten decapods wandered, seeking seclusion from the
coming enemy, and finding none to their mind. Still the crowds of
their victims rushed blindly from shoal to shoal, plunging into depths
unfitted for them, or rising into shallows where their natural food was
not. And the whole sea was troubled, until at last there appeared, grim
and vast, the advance-guard of the sperm whales, and hurled itself with
joyful anticipation upon the shrinking convolutions of those hideous
monsters that had so long dominated the dark places of the sea. For the
whales it was a time of feasting hitherto without parallel. Without any
fear, uncaring to take even the most elementary precautions against a
defeat which they felt to be an impossible contingency, they sought
out and devoured one after another of these vast uglinesses, already
looked upon by them as their natural provision, their store of food
accumulated of purpose against their coming. Occasionally, it is true,
some rash youngster, full of pride, and rejoicing in his pre-eminence
over all life in the depths, would hurl himself into a smoky network of
far-spreading tentacles which would wrap him round so completely that
his jaws were fast bound together, his flukes would vainly essay to
propel him any whither, and he would presently perish miserably, his
cable-like sinews falling slackly and his lungs suffused with crimson
brine. Even then, the advantage gained by the triumphant Kraken was a
barren one, for in every case the bulk of the victim was too great, his
body too firm in its build, for the victor, despite his utmost efforts,
to succeed in devouring his prize. So that the disappointed Kraken
had perforce to witness the gradual disappearance of his lawful prize
beneath the united efforts of myriads of tiny sea-scavengers, secure in
their insignificance against any attack from him, and await with tremor
extending to the remotest extremity of every tentacle, the retribution
that he felt sure would speedily follow.

This desultory warfare was waged for long, until, driven by despair
to a community of interest unknown before, the Krakens gradually
sought one another out with but a single idea--that of combining
against the new enemy; for, knowing to what an immense size their
kind could attain in the remoter fastnesses of ocean, they could
not yet bring themselves to believe that they were to become the
helpless prey of these new-comers, visitors of yesterday, coming from
the cramped acreage of the land into the limitless fields of ocean,
and invading the immemorial freeholds of its hitherto unassailable
sovereigns. From the remotest recesses of the ocean they came, that
grisly gathering--came in ever-increasing hosts, their silent progress
spreading unprecedented dismay among the fairer inhabitants of the sea.
Figure to yourselves, if you can, the advance of this terrible host.
But the effort is vain. Not even Martin, that frenzied delineator of
the frightful halls of hell, the scenes of the Apocalypse, and the
agonies of the Deluge, could have done justice to the terrors of such
a scene. Only dimly can we imagine what must have been the appearance
of those vast masses of writhing flesh, as through the palely gleaming
phosphorescence of the depths they sped backwards in leaps of a hundred
fathoms each, their terrible arms, close-clustered together, streaming
behind like Medusa’s hair magnified ten thousand times in size, and
with each snaky tress bearing a thousand mouths instead of one.

So they converged upon the place of meeting, an area of the sea-bed
nowhere more than 500 fathoms in depth, from whose rugged floor rose
irregularly stupendous columnar masses of lava hurled upwards by the
cosmic forces below in a state of incandescence and solidified as they
rose, assuming many fantastic shapes, and affording perfect harbourage
to such dire scourges of the sea as were now making the place their
rendezvous. For, strangely enough, this marvellous portion of the
submarine world was more densely peopled with an infinite variety
of sea-folk than any other; its tepid waters seemed to bring forth
abundantly of all kinds of fish, crustacea, and creeping things. Sharks
in all their fearsome varieties prowled greasily about, scenting
for dead things whereon to gorge, shell-fish from the infinitesimal
globigerina up to the gigantic clam whose shells were a yard each in
diameter; crabs, lobsters, and other freakish varieties of crustacea
of a size and ugliness unknown to day lurked in every crevice, while
about and among all these scavengers flitted the happy, lovely fish
in myriads of glorious hues matching the tender shades of the coral
groves that sprang from the summits of those sombre lava columns
beneath. Hitherto this happy hunting-ground had not been invaded by
the sea-mammals. None of the air-breathing inhabitants of the ocean
had ventured into its gloomy depths, or sought their prey among the
blazing shallows of the surface-reefs, although no more favourable
place for their exertions could possibly have been selected over all
the wide sea. It had long been a favourite haunt of the Kraken, for
whom it was, as aforesaid, an ideal spot, but now it was to witness a
sight unparalleled in ocean history. Heralded by an amazing series of
under-waves, the gathering of monsters drew near. They numbered many
thousands, and no one in all their hosts was of lesser magnitude than
sixty feet long by thirty in girth of body alone. From that size they
increased until some--the acknowledged leaders--discovered themselves
like islands, their cylindrical carcases huge as that of an ocean
liner, and their tentacles capable of overspreading an entire village.

In concentric rings they assembled, all heads pointing outward, the
mightiest within, and four clear avenues through the circles left for
coming and going. Contrary to custom, but by mutual consent, all the
tentacles lay closely arranged in parallel lines, not outspread to
every quarter of the compass, and all a-work. They looked, indeed, in
their inertia and silence, like nothing so much as an incalculable
number of dead squid of enormous size neatly laid out at the whim of
some giant’s fancy. Yet communication between them was active; a subtle
interchange of experiences and plans went briskly on through the medium
of the mobile element around them. The elder and mightier were full of
disdain at the reports they were furnished with, utterly incredulous as
to the ability of any created thing to injure them, and, as the time
wore on, an occasional tremor was distinctly noticeable through the
whole length of their tentacles, which boded no good to their smaller
brethren. Doubtless but little longer was needed for the development
of a great absorption of the weaker by the stronger, only that,
darting into their midst like a lightning streak, came a messenger
squid, bearing the news that a school of sperm whales, numbering at
least ten thousand, were coming at top-speed direct for their place of
meeting. Instantly to the farthest confines of that mighty gathering
the message radiated, and as if by one movement there uprose from the
sea-bed so dense a cloud of sepia that for many miles around the clear
blue of the ocean became turbid, stagnant, and foul. Even the birds
that hovered over those dark-brown waves took fright at this terrible
phenomenon, to them utterly incomprehensible, and with discordant
shrieks they fled in search of sweeter air and cleaner sea. But below
the surface under cover of this thickest darkness there was the silence
of death.

Twenty miles away, under the bright sunshine, an advance-guard of about
a hundred sperm whales came rushing on. Line abreast, their bushy
breath rising like the regular steam-jets from a row of engines, they
dashed aside the welcoming wavelets, every sense alert, and full of
eagerness for the consummation of their desires. Such had been their
despatch that throughout the long journey of 500 leagues they had not
once stayed for food, so that they were ravenous with hunger as well
as full of fight. They passed, and before the foaming of their swift
passage had ceased, the main body, spread over a space of thirty miles,
came following on, the roar of their multitudinous march sounding like
the voice of many waters. Suddenly the advance-guard, with stately
elevation of the broad fans of their flukes, disappeared, and by one
impulse the main body followed them. Down into the depths they bore,
noting with dignified wonder the absence of all the usual inhabitants
of the deep, until, with a thrill of joyful anticipation which set all
their masses of muscle a-quiver, they recognized the scent of the prey.
No thought of organized resistance presented itself; without a halt,
or even the faintest slackening of their great rush, they plunged
forward into the abysmal gloom; down, down withal into that wilderness
of waiting devils. And so, in darkness and silence like that of the
beginning of things, this great battle was joined. Whale after whale
succumbed, anchored to the bottom by such bewildering entanglements,
such enlacement of tentacles, that their vast strength was helpless
to free them; their jaws were bound hard together, and even the wide
sweep of their flukes gat no hold upon the slimy water. But the
Decapods were in evil case. Assailed from above while their groping
arms writhed about below, they found themselves more often locked in
unreleasable hold of their fellows than they did of their enemies. And
the quick-shearing jaws of those enemies shredded them into fragments,
made nought of their bulk, revelled and frolicked among them, slaying,
devouring, exulting. Again and again the triumphant mammals drew off
for air and from satiety, went and lolled upon the sleek oily surface,
in water now so thick that the fiercest hurricane that ever blew would
have failed to raise a wave thereon.

So through a day and a night the slaying ceased not, except for
these brief interludes, until those of the Decapods left alive had
disentangled themselves from the débris of their late associates and
returned with what speed they might to depths and crannies, where they
fondly hoped their ravenous enemies could never come. They bore with
them the certain knowledge that from henceforth they were no longer
lords of the sea, that instead of being, as hitherto, devourers of all
things living that crossed the radius of their outspread toils, they
were now and for all time to be the prey of a nobler race of creatures,
a higher order of being, and that at last they had taken their rightful
position as creatures of usefulness in the vast economy of Creation.




THE SIAMESE LOCK


Even in these prosaic days of palatial passenger steamers, running
upon lines from port to port almost as definite as railway metals, and
keeping time with far more regularity than some railway trains that it
would be easy to name, there are many eddies and backwaters of commerce
still remaining where the romance of sea-traffic retains all the old
pre-eminence, and events occur daily that are stranger than any fiction.

Notably is this the case on the Chinese coast, in whose innumerable
creeks and bays there is a never-ceasing ebb and flow of queer craft,
manned by a still queerer assortment of Eastern seafarers. And if it
were not for that strange Lingua Franca of the Far East, to which our
marvellous language lends itself with that ready adaptability which
makes it one of the most widely-spoken in the world, the difficulties
awaiting the white man who is called upon to rule over one of those
motley crews would be well-nigh insuperable. As it is, men of our race
who spend any length of time “knocking about” in Eastern seas always
acquire an amazing _mélange_ of tongues, which they themselves are
totally unable to assign to their several sources of origin, even if
they ever were to seriously undertake such a task. Needless, perhaps,
to say that they have always something more important on hand than
that. At least I had when, after a much longer spell ashore in Bangkok
than I cared for, I one day prevailed upon a sturdy German skipper
to ship me as mate of the little barque he commanded. She flew the
Siamese flag, and belonged, as far as I was ever able to ascertain, to
a Chinese firm in the humid Siamese capital, a sedate, taciturn trio
of Celestials, who found it well worth their while to have Europeans
in charge of her, even though they had to pay a long price for their
services. My predecessor had been a “towny” of the skipper’s, a
Norddeutscher from Rostock, who, with the second mate, a huge Dane, had
been with the skipper in the same vessel for over two years. On the
last voyage, however, during his watch on deck, while off the Paracels,
he had silently disappeared, nor was the faintest inkling of his fate
obtainable. When the skipper told me this in guttural German-English, I
fancied he looked as if his air of indifference was slightly overdone,
but the fancy did not linger--I was too busy surmising by what one
of the many possible avenues that hapless mate had strolled out of
existence. I was glad, if the suggestion of gladness over such a grim
business be admissible, to have even this scanty information, since
any temptation to taking my position at all carelessly was thereby
effectually removed. Before coming on board I invested a large portion
of my advance in two beautiful six-shooters and a good supply of
ammunition, asking no questions of the joss-like Chinaman I bought
them from as to how he became possessed of two U. S. Navy weapons and
cartridges to match. I had, besides, a frightfully dangerous looking
little kris, only about nine inches long altogether, but inlaid with
gold, and tempered so that it would almost stab into iron. I picked it
up on the beach at Hai-phong six months before, but had only thought of
it as a handsome curio until now.

Thus armed, but with all my weapons well out of sight, I got aboard,
determined to take no more chances than I could help, and to grow
eyes in the back of my head if possible. The old man received me as
cordially as he was able--which isn’t saying very much--introduced me
to Mr. Boyesen, the second mate, and proposed a glass of schnapps and
a cheroot while we talked over business. I was by no means averse to
this, for I wanted to be on good terms with my skipper, and I also had
a strong desire upon me to know more about the kind of trade we were
likely to be engaged in, for I didn’t even know what the cargo was,
or what port she was bound to--the only information the skipper gave
me when I shipped being that she was going “up the coast,” and this
state of complete ignorance was not at all comfortable. I hate mystery,
especially aboard ship--it takes away my appetite; and when a sailor’s
off his feed he isn’t much good at his work. But my expectations
were cruelly dashed, for, instead of becoming confidential, Captain
Klenck gave me very clearly to understand that no one on board the
Phrabayat--“der Frau” _he_ called her--but himself ever knew what
was the nature of the trade she was engaged in or what port she was
bound to. More than that, he told me very plainly that he alone kept
the reckoning; the second mate and myself had only to carry out his
instructions as to courses, etc., and that so long as we kept her
going through our respective watches as he desired, he was prepared to
take all the risk. And all the time he was unloading this stupefying
intelligence upon me, he kept his beady eyes on mine as if he would
read through my skull the nature of my thoughts. Had he been able so
to do, they would have afforded him little satisfaction, for they were
in such a ferment that I “wanted out,” as the Scotch say, to cool down
a bit. I wanted badly to get away from Bangkok, but I would have given
all I had to be ashore there again and well clear of the berth I had
thought myself so lucky to get a day or two ago. But that was out of
the question. The old man helped himself to another bosun’s nip of
square-face, and, rising as he shipped it, said--

“Ve ked her onder vay mit vonce, Meesder Fawn, und mindt ju keeb dose
verdammt schwein coin shtrong. Dey vants so mooch boot as dey can get,
der schelm.”

Glad of any chance of action to divert my mind, I answered cheerily,
“Ay, ay, sir!” and, striding out of the cabin, I shouted, “Man the
windlass!” forgetting for the moment that I was not on board one of
my own country’s ships, free from mysteries of any kind. My mistake
was soon rectified, and for the next hour or so I kept as busy as I
knew how, getting the anchor and making sail. The black, olive, and
yellow sailors worked splendidly, being bossed by a “serang” or “bosun”
of herculean build and undiscoverable nationality. I think he must
have been a Dyak. Now, it has always been my practice in dealing with
natives of any tropical country to treat them as men, and not, as too
many Europeans do to their loss, behave towards them as if they were
unreasoning animals. I have always found a cheery word and a smile go
a long way, especially with negroes, wherever they hail from--and,
goodness knows, unless you are liverish, it is just as easy to look
pleasant as glum. At any rate, whether that was the cause or not, the
work went on greased wheels that forenoon, and I felt that if they were
all the colours the human race can show, I couldn’t wish for a smarter
or more willing crowd. When she was fairly under way and slipping down
to the bar at a good rate, I went aft for instructions, finding the old
man looking but sourly as he conned her down stream. Before I had time
to say anything he opened up with--

“Bei Gott, Meesder Fawn, ju haf to do diffrunt mit dese crout ef ju
vaunts to keep my schip coin. I tondt vant ter begin ter find fault,
but I ain’t coin to haf no nicker-cottlin abordt de Frau. Ju dake id
from me.”

This riled me badly, for I knew no men could have worked smarter or
more willingly than ours had, so I replied quietly, “Every man knows
his work and does it, Cap’n Klenck. I know mine, and I’ll do it, but I
must do it my own way, or not at all. If you’ve got any fault to find,
find it, but don’t expect me to spoil a decent crew and chance getting
a kris between my brisket bones in the bargain.”

He gave me one look, and his eyes were like those of a dead fish.
Then he walked away, leaving me standing simmering with rage. But no
more was said, and at dinner he seemed as if he had forgotten the
circumstance. And I, like a fool, thought he had, for the wish was ever
father to the thought with me, especially in a case of this kind, where
what little comfort I hoped to enjoy was entirely dependent upon the
skipper. He, astuteness itself, gave no sign of his feelings towards
me, being as civil as he was able in all our business relations; but
beyond those he erected a barrier between us, all the more impassable
because indefinite. Thrown thus upon my own resources, I tried to
cultivate an acquaintance with Mr. Boyesen; but here again I was
baffled, for he was the greatest enigma of all. I never knew a man
possessing the power of speech who was able to get along with less use
of that essentially human faculty. He was more like a machine than
a man, seeming to be incapable of exhibiting any of the passions or
affections of humanity. I have seen him grasp a Siamese sailor by the
belt and hurl him along the deck as if he were a mere bundle of rags;
but for any expression of anger in his pale blue eyes or flush upon his
broad face, he might as well have been a figure-head. So that after
a brief struggle with his immobility I gave up the attempt to make a
companion of him, coming to the conclusion that he was in some way
mentally deficient.

Thus I was perforce driven to study my crew more than I perhaps should
have done, particularly the neat-handed, velvet-footed Chinese steward,
Ah Toy, who, although at ordinary times quite as expressionless as the
majority of his countrymen, generally developed a quaint contortion
of his yellow visage for me, which, if not a smile, was undoubtedly
meant for one. We were the best of friends; so great, indeed, that
whenever I heard the old man beating him--that is, about once a day--I
felt the greatest difficulty in restraining myself from interference.
I was comforted, however, by noticing that Ah Toy seemed to heed these
whackings no more than as if he had been made of rubber; he never
uttered a cry or did anything but go on with his work as if nothing had
happened. I had eight men in my watch: two Chinese, four Siamese, one
Tagal, and a Malay; a queer medley enough, but all very willing and
apparently contented. For some little time I was hard put to it to gain
their confidence, their attitude being that of men prepared to meet
with ill-treatment and to take the earliest opportunity of resenting it
(although they accepted hearty blows from the Serang’s colt with the
greatest good nature). But gradually this sullen, watchful demeanour
wore off, and they became as cheerful a lot of fellows as I could
wish, ready to anticipate my wishes if they could, and as anxious to
understand me as I certainly was them. This state of things was so far
satisfactory that the time, which had at first hung very heavily, now
began to pass pleasantly and quickly, although I slept, as the saying
is, with one eye open, for fear of some development of hostility on
the skipper’s part. Because, in spite of my belief that he meant me
no ill, having, indeed, no reason to do so as far as I knew, I could
not rid myself of an uneasy feeling in my mind that all was not as it
should be with him.

We had wonderfully fine weather, it being the N.E. monsoon, but made
very slow progress, the vessel being not only a dull sailer at the best
of times, but much hindered by the head wind. This tried my patience
on account of my anxiety to get some inkling of our position, which
the old man kept as profound a secret as if millions depended upon no
one knowing it but himself. And although we sighted land occasionally,
I was not sufficiently well up in China coast navigation to do more
than guess at the position of the ship. At last, when we had been a
fortnight out, I was awakened suddenly in my watch below one night by
the sound of strange voices alongside. I sprang out of my bunk in the
dark, striking my head against the door, which I always left open, but
which was now closed and locked. I felt as I should imagine a rat feels
in a trap. But the first thrill of fear soon gave place to indignation
at my treatment, and, after striking a light, I set my back against
the door and strove with all my might to burst it open. Failing in the
attempt, I remembered my little bag of tools, and in a few seconds
had a screw-driver at work, which not only released me, but spoiled
the lock for any future use. Of course, my revolvers were about me; I
always carried _them_. Still hot with anger, I marched on deck to find
the ship hove-to, a couple of junks alongside, the hatches off, and
a rapid exchange of cargo going on. Silence and haste were evidently
the _mots d’ordre_, but, besides, the workers were the smartest I had
ever seen; they handled the stuff, cases, bags, and bales of all sorts
and sizes, with a celerity that was almost magical. I stood looking on
like a fool for quite two or three minutes, in which every detail of
the strange scene became indelibly stamped upon my brain. The brilliant
flood of moonlight paling all the adjacent stars, the wide silvern path
of the moon on the dark water broken by a glistening sand-bank over
which the sullen swell broke with an occasional hollow moan, every
item in the arrangement of the sails, and the gliding figures on deck;
all helped to make a marvellous picture. The brief spell was broken by
a hand upon my shoulder that made me leap three feet forward. It was
the skipper, and in that moment I felt how helpless I was if this man
desired to do me hurt. We stood facing each other silently for a breath
or two, when he said quietly--

“Meesder Fawn, I tondt vant my offcers to keeb only dere own vatch. I
nefer make dem vork oferdime. Ven ids your vatch an deg yu vill be gall
as ushal. Goot nacht,” and he stood aside to let me pass.

“But, Captain Klenck,” I blurted out, “why did you lock me in my berth?”

“Ey good man, du bist nod vell, or ellas you bin hafin a--vat you call
im--night-pig, ain’d it?” Then, suddenly changing his tone, he made a
step towards me, and said, “Go below mid vonce, er I’m tamt ef ju see
daylight any more dis foyge!”

To tell the truth, I didn’t quite see my way to defying him. I felt
like a beastly cur, and I knew there was some devilish business going
on, but the whole thing had come on me so suddenly that I was undecided
how to act, and indecision in such a predicament spells defeat. So
I just inclined my head and sauntered off to my cabin in a pretty
fine state of mind. Needless to say, I got no more sleep. A thousand
theories ran riot in my brain as to the nature of the business we were
doing, and I worried myself almost into a fever wondering whether
Boyesen was in it. By the time eight bells (four a.m.) was struck I
was almost crazy, a vile taste in my mouth, and my head throbbing like
a piston. The quiet appearance of Ah Toy at my door murmuring “eight
bell” gave me relief, for I took it as a sign that I might reappear,
and I wasted no time getting on deck. I found the watch trimming the
yards under the skipper’s direction, but no sign of the second mate.
All trace of the junks had vanished. I went for’ard to trim the yards
on the fore by way of slipping into my groove, and being in that
curious mental state when in the presence of overwhelmingly serious
problems the most trivial details demand attention, some small object
that I kicked away in the darkness insisted upon being found before
I did anything else. It only lay a yard or two in front of me, a key
of barbarous make with intricate wards on either side. Mechanically I
picked it up and dropped it in my pocket, imagining for the moment that
it must belong to one of the seamen, who each had some sort of a box
which they kept carefully locked. Then I went on with my work, getting
everything shipshape and returning to the poop. The skipper greeted me
as if nothing had happened, giving me a N.N.E. course if she would lay
it, and, bidding me call him at once in the event of any change taking
place, went below.

Left alone upon the small poop with the vessel calmly gliding through
the placid sea, and the steadfast stars eyeing me solemnly, I felt
soothed and uplifted. I reviewed the situation from every possible
point of view I could take of it, until, sick and weary of the vain
occupation, I unslung a bucket and went to the lee-side with the
intention of drawing some water to cool my aching head. As I leaned
over the side I saw a sampan hanging alongside, and a figure just in
the act of coming aboard. By this time I was almost proof against
surprises of any kind, so I quietly waited until the visitor stepped
over the rail, and saluted me as if boarding a vessel in the dark
while she was working her way up the China Sea was the most ordinary
occurrence in the world. He was a gigantic Chinaman, standing, I
should think, fully 6ft. 6in. or 6ft. 7in., and built in proportion.
In excellent English he informed me that he had business with Captain
Klenck, who was expecting him, and without further preliminary walked
aft and disappeared down the cabin-companion quietly as if he had been
an apparition. In fact, some such idea flitted across my mind, and I
stepped back to the rail and peered down into the darkness alongside to
see if the sampan was a reality. It was no longer there. Like one in a
dream I walked aft to where one of the Siamese stood at the wheel, and
after a casual glance into the compass, from sheer force of habit, I
asked the man if he had seen the visitor. He answered, “Yes,” in a tone
of surprise, as if wondering at the question. Satisfied that at least I
was not the victim of some disorder of the brain, I went for’ard again,
noting with a sense of utmost relief the paling of the eastern horizon
foretelling the coming of the day.

No one realizes more than a sailor what a blessing daylight is. In a
gale of wind the rising sun seems to lighten anxiety, and the prayer
of Ajax trembles more frequently upon the lips of seafarers than
any other. I watched the miracle of dawn with fervent thanksgiving,
feeling that the hateful web of mystery that was hourly increasing in
complexity around me would be less stifling with the sun upon it. And
in the homely duties of washing decks, “sweating-up,” etc., I almost
forgot that I was not in an orderly, commonplace English ship, engaged
in honest traffic. The time passed swiftly until eight bells, when a
double portion of horror came upon me at the sight of Captain Klenck
coming on deck to relieve me. Before I knew what I was saying I had
blurted out, “Where’s Mr. Boyesen?” The cold, expressionless eyes of
the skipper rested full upon me as he replied slowly--

“Ju tondt seem to learn mooch, Meesder Fawn. I dells ju one dime more,
undt only one dime, dat ju nodings to do mit der peezness auf dis
scheep. Verdammt Englescher schweinhund, de nexd dime ju inderferes
mit mein affaires will pe der lasd dime ju efer do anythings in dees
vorl’. Co pelow!”

Again I had to own myself beaten, and the thought was just maddening.
To be trampled on like a coolie, abused like a dog. Great heavens! how
low had I fallen. I never seemed to be ready or able to keep end up
when that man chose to put forth his will against mine. But, unknown
even to myself, I was being educated up to the work that was before
me, and the training was just what was necessary for me. I ate my
breakfast alone, Ah Toy waiting on me with almost affectionate care.
Several times I caught his eye, and fancied that there was a new light
therein. Once I opened my mouth to speak to him, but his finger flew
to his lips, and his look turned swiftly towards the skipper’s berth,
that closely-shut room of which I had never seen the inside. As soon
as my meal was over I retreated to my cabin, closed the door, and
busied myself devising some means of fastening it on the inside. For
now I felt sure that for some reason or other Boyesen had been made
away with, and in all probability my turn was fast approaching. Is it
necessary to say that I felt no want of sleep? Perhaps not; at any
rate, I spent the greater part of my watch below in such preparations
as I could make for self-defence. My two revolvers now seemed precious
beyond all computation as I carefully examined them in every detail,
and made sure they were ready for immediate use.

While thus employed a sudden appalling uproar on deck sent my blood
surging back to my heart, and, after about a second’s doubt, I flung
wide the door and rushed on deck, flinging off Ah Toy, who caught at
me as I passed his pantry door. Springing out of the cabin, I saw the
colossal Chinaman who had boarded us on the previous night standing
calmly looking on, while the crew fought among themselves with a
savagery awful to witness. I did not see the skipper at first, but,
glancing down, I caught sight of his face distorted beyond recognition
by the foot of the huge Celestial, which was planted on his throat.
In that moment all my detestation of him vanished. He was a white man
at the mercy of Mongols, and drawing my revolvers, I sprang towards
his foe. Click went the trigger, but there was no flash or report.
Both were alike useless, and my brain working quietly enough now,
I realized that the man I would have saved had rendered my weapons
useless while I slept, to his own bitter cost. Flinging them from me, I
snatched at a hand-spike that lay at my feet; but before I could grasp
it the combatants divided, half a dozen of my watch flung themselves
upon me, and in a minute I was overpowered. Of course I was somewhat
roughly handled, but there was no anger against me in the faces of my
assailants. As for the giant, he might as well have been carved in
stone for all the notice he appeared to take of what was going on.

Two Siamese carefully lashed me so that I could not move, then carried
me, not at all roughly, aft to the cabin door, and sat me on the
grating, where they left me and returned to the fight, which seemed to
be a life and death struggle between two parties into which the crew
were divided. I have no taste for horrors, and do not propose serving
up a dish of them here, although the temptation to describe the wild
beast fury of those yellow and black men is very great. But it must
suffice to say that those who were apparently friendly to me were the
victors, and having disposed of the dead by summarily flinging them
overboard, they busied themselves of their own accord in trimming sail
so as to run the vessel in towards the coast.

Meanwhile, the gigantic Chinaman, whose advent had so strangely
disturbed the business of our skipper, quietly lifted that unhappy
German as if he had been a child, and carried him into the cabin. Ah
Toy, doubtless ordered by some one in authority, came and set me free,
his face fairly beaming upon me as he told me that it was entirely
owing to my humane treatment of the fellows that my life had been
spared. To my eager questionings as to what was going to be done with
the skipper and the ship, he returned me but the Shibboleth of the
East, “No shabee him; no b’long my pidgin.”

I went on with the work of the ship as usual, finding the survivors
quite as amenable to my orders as they had ever been, and contenting
myself with keeping her on the course she was then making until some
way of taking the initiative should present itself. I had given up
studying the various problems that had so recently made me feel as if I
had gone suddenly mad, and went about in a dull, animalized state, too
bewildered to think, and prepared for any further freak of Fate. While
thus moodily slouching about, Ah Toy came on deck and informed me that
the huge Chinaman was anxious to see me in the cabin. Instinctively
I felt that whatever, whoever he was, I could not afford to offend
him, so I went on the instant, finding him sitting in the main cabin
contemplating the lifeless body of Captain Klenck, which lay on the
deck by his side. Although prepared for anything, as I thought, I could
not repress a shudder of horror at this spectacle, which did not pass
unnoticed by the giant. Turning a grave look upon me, he said, in easy,
polished diction--

“This piece of carrion at my feet had been my paid servant for the last
two years. He was necessary to me, but not indispensable, and he fell
into the fatal error of supposing that not only could I not do without
him, but that, in spite of the enormous salary I paid him, he could rob
me with impunity. I am the senior partner in the Bangkok firm owning
this vessel, and also a fleet of piratical junks that range these seas
from Singapore to Hong Kong, and prey upon other junks mostly, although
wherever it is possible they have no scruples in attacking European
vessels. It is a lucrative business, but a good deal of business acumen
is needed in order to dispose of the plunder realized. In this the late
Captain Klenck was a very useful man, and, knowing this, we paid him so
well that he might very soon have realized a fortune from his salary
alone. Now my men, who, as you have seen, without any assistance from
me, have easily disposed of the gang Klenck had engaged to further
his ends, tell me that they are very fond of you. They say that you
have treated them like men, of your own free will, and I am prepared
to offer you the command of the Phrabayat at the same salary as Klenck
enjoyed. What do you say?”

For a moment I was stunned at the story told me, and, besides, very
much annoyed because I hadn’t seen it all before. It looked so simple
now. But one thing dominated all the rest--who or what was this suave,
English educated Celestial, who trafficked in piracy and yet spoke as
if imbued with all the culture of the West? He actually seemed as if he
read my thoughts, for with something approaching a smile he said--

“I see you are wondering at my English. I am a graduate of Cambridge
University, and was at one time rather lionized in certain fashionable
circles in London. But circumstances made it necessary for me to go
into this business, which pleases me very well. You have not yet
answered my question, though.”

“I am aware that I run considerable risk at present by so doing,”
I replied; “but, in spite of that, I must give you an unqualified
refusal. I am rather surprised at your offer!”

A look of genuine astonishment came over his face as he said, “Why?
Surely you are not so well off that you can afford to play fast and
loose with such a prospect as I hold out to you?”

Then, as if it had suddenly dawned upon him, he shrugged his shoulders
and murmured, “I suppose you have some more scruples. Well, I do not
understand them, but for the sake of my foolish men I suppose I must
respect them. There is one other point, however, upon which I think
you can enlighten me or help me. This carrion here,” and he kicked
contemptuously at the skipper’s dead body, “has secreted quite a
treasure in pearls and gold, and I cannot now compel him to tell me
where. Did you enjoy his confidence at all?”

I hastened to assure my questioner that nothing could well be farther
from the late skipper’s thoughts than to place any confidence in me;
but, as I was speaking, I suddenly remembered the odd-looking key I had
picked up, and diving into my pocket I produced it, saying, “This may
open some secret locker of his. I found it on deck last night, just
after the transhipment of cargo in the middle watch.”

His eyes gave one flash of recognition, and he said quietly, “I know
that key. Come, let us see what we can find by its aid.”

Then, for the first time, I saw the inside of the skipper’s state-room.
No wonder he kept it fast closed. It was honeycombed with lockers of
every shape and size; but, strangest of all, there were three rings
in the deck as if to lift up level-fitting hatches. These took my eye
at once, and, upon my pointing them out, the Chinaman stooped and
essayed to lift one. He had hardly taken hold of the ring, though,
when he saw a keyhole at one edge, and muttering, “I didn’t know of
this, though,” he tried my key in it. It fitted, unlocking the hatch at
once. But neither he nor I was prepared for what we found. There, in a
space not more than four feet square and five feet deep, was a white
man, a stranger to me. The giant at my side reached down and lifted
the prisoner out of his hole as if he had been a child, and, placing
him gently on a settee, regarded him with incurious eyes. He was just
alive, and moaning softly. I called Ah Toy, who evinced no surprise at
seeing the stranger; but, after he had brought some water at my order,
and given the sufferer some drink, he told me that this was the missing
mate. Ah Toy assisted me to get the unfortunate man into my berth,
where I left him to the ministrations of the steward, while I hurried
back to the skipper’s state-room. When I reached it the calm searcher
had laid bare almost all its secrets.

Boyesen, the second mate, was there, looking like a man just awaking
from a furious debauch, and blinking at the light like a bat. And
around him on the deck were heaped treasures beyond all my powers of
assessment. But their glitter had no effect upon me; I suppose I must
have been saturated with surprises, so that my clogged brain would
absorb no more. I turned to Boyesen and offered him my hand, which he
took, and, by assistance, crawled out of that infernal den, leaving the
Chinaman to sort out his wealth.

I tried hard to get some explanation of the second mate’s strange
disappearance from him, but, in addition to his habitual taciturnity,
he was in no condition to talk; so, after a few minutes’ ineffectual
effort, I left him and returned on deck. Ah, how delightful was the
pure air. I drew in great draughts of it, as if to dispel the foulness
of that place below; I looked up at the bright sky and down at the
glittering sea, over which the Phrabayat was bounding at the rate of
six or seven knots an hour, and blessed God that I was still alive, and
for the moment forgot how great was the danger still remaining.

Far ahead I could see the loom of the China coast. By my reckoning she
would be in touch with the land before nightfall if the present fresh
breeze held--and what then? A sudden resolve came upon me to ask the
evident master of my destinies; for, although I felt quite sure that
any compunction for whatever sufferings we white men might endure would
be impossible to him, there would be a certain amount of satisfaction
in knowing his intentions. I turned to go and seek him, but he was
standing by my side. Without waiting for me to speak to him, he said
gravely--

“In a few hours I hope to reach the creek where my agents are waiting
to tranship the cargo. What then will happen depends largely upon
yourself. Should you persist in refusing to take command of this vessel
it may be the easiest plan to cut your throat, as you would be greatly
in the way. Of course, your two companions would be disposed of in the
same manner. But for the present, if you will have the goodness to call
the hands aft, there are some precautions to be taken with reference
to the valuables you have seen, which represent the loot that Captain
Klenck anticipated making off with presently. That reminds me----” And,
disappearing from my side, he slid rather than walked below. I called
the hands aft, walking to the break of the poop as I did so. As I stood
looking down on to the main deck, my late companion appeared with the
skipper’s body in his arms, which he cast over the lee-rail as if it
had been a bundle of rags.

Then, turning to the waiting crew, he gave a few quiet orders, and at
once they began preparing the two boats for lowering. Some of them
dived below and brought up armfuls of small boxes, bags, and mats,
within which coarse coverings I knew were concealed that mass of wealth
lately exposed upon the deck of the state-room below.

Quite at a loss what to do, I stood listlessly watching the busy scene,
until I suddenly remembered the two white men below, who had been so
strangely rescued from an awful death. And as I was clearly not wanted
on deck I went into the cabin, finding, with the first thrall of
satisfaction I had felt for a long time, that they were both rapidly
mending. It is hardly necessary to say that I soon found the stranger
to be my predecessor, whose mysterious disappearance had worried me
not a little. Neither he nor Boyesen were able to talk much, had they
been willing; but I learned that they had both incurred the wrath of
the skipper from having obtained too much knowledge of his proceedings,
that they had both been drugged (at least, only in that way could they
account for his being able to deal with them as he had done), and
they had suffered all the torments of the lost until the yellow giant
had let in the blessed daylight upon them again. But neither they
nor I could understand why the skipper had not killed them offhand.
That was a puzzle never likely to be unravelled now. Neither of them
appeared to take a great deal of interest in the present state of
affairs, certainly not enough to assist me in concerting my plans for
our safety. I was quite satisfied that we were in no immediate danger,
so that I was content, having established a bond of good-fellowship
between us, to wait until they were more fit for active service.

We sat quietly smoking and dropping an occasional word, when a sudden
hurried pattering of bare feet overhead startled me. I rushed on deck,
roused at last into something like vigorous interest, to find that all
hands were quitting the ship. We were now some twenty miles (by my
estimate) from the land, and what this sudden manœuvre could mean was
beyond me until, looking astern, I saw a long smoke-wreath lying like
a soft pencil smudge along a low mass of cumulous cloud. Not one of
the departing heathen took the slightest notice of me as they shoved
off, so I darted out, snatched up the glasses, and focused them on
the approaching steamer. I could not make her out, but I felt sure it
was her advent that had rid us of our parti-coloured masters. Down I
went and told the invalids what had happened, begging them, if they
could, to come on deck and lend a hand to get her hove-to, so that the
steamer might the more rapidly overhaul us. Boyesen managed to make a
start, but the late mate was too feeble. And Ah Toy, to my surprise,
also showed up. I had no time to ask him why he had not gone with the
rest, but together we hurried on deck, finding that a thick column of
smoke was rising from the main hatch--those animals had set her on
fire! There were, of course, no boats, and unless that vessel astern
got in some pretty good speed we stood no bad chance of being roasted
alive. However, we rigged up an impromptu raft, after letting go all
the halyards so that her way might be deadened--we knew better than to
waste time trying to put out such a fire as was raging below.

Why enlarge upon the alternations of hope and fear until the
Ly-ee-moon, Chinese gunboat, overhauled us? She did do so, but not
until we were cowering on the taffrail watching the hungry flames
licking up the mizen-rigging. And when rescued I would not have given a
dozen “cash” for our lives, but that the gunboat had an Englishman in
command, to whom I was able to tell my story. He put the coping-stone
upon my experiences when he told me that he had been watching for the
Phrabayat for the past six months, having received much information as
to her doings. And he used language that made the air smell brimstone
when he realized that, after all, his prize had escaped him. I told him
all I could--it was not much--of the disappearance of the crew, but he
was indifferent. He “didn’t expect to clap eyes on ’em any more,” he
said. Nor did he. Where they landed, or whether they sank, no one but
themselves knew. And we three unfortunate wretches were landed in Hong
Kong three weeks afterwards almost as bare of belongings as when we
began the world. Ah Toy fell on his feet, for he shipped in the gunboat
as the commander’s servant upon my recommendation.

I had all the experience of the China coast I wanted, and shipped
before the mast in a “blue-funnelled” boat for home two days after,
glad to get away on any terms. The two Danes went their way, and I saw
them no more.




THE COOK OF THE CORNUCOPIA


A square-set little Norwegian with a large head, puffy face, faded
blue eyes, and a beard that, commencing just below them, flowed in
wavy masses nearly to his waist; the “Doctor” had already achieved a
reputation among us for taciturnity and gruffness quite out of keeping
with his appearance.

As a cook he was no better or worse than the average, except in one
particular, his cleanliness; and as the majority of sailors in British
ships do not expect such a miracle as would be necessary in order to
change the bad, scanty provisions supplied into tasty food by cooking,
a clean cook is pretty certain of becoming a prime favourite for’ard.

But Olaf Olsen courted no man’s company or favour. To all such sociable
advances as were made him by various members of the crew he returned
the barest answer possible, letting it plainly be seen that he
considered his own society amply sufficient for all his desires. One
of the most difficult positions to maintain, however, on board ship is
that of a misanthrope. Sooner or later the need of human fellowship
always asserts itself, and the most sullen or reserved of men let fall
their self-contained garment. Olsen was no exception to this rule.

Before we had been a month at sea, I was sitting on the spare spars
opposite the galley door silently smoking during the last half-hour
of the second dog-watch, in full enjoyment of the delicious evening
freshness, when the cook suddenly leaned out over the half-door of his
den and said--

“You looks fery quiet dis efening, ain’t id?”

I was so taken aback by his offering any remark that I let my pipe fall
out of my mouth, but stooping to pick it up gave me time to collect
myself and reply in a cheery word or two, feeling curiously anxious to
draw him out. One word brought on another, as the common phrase has
it, and five minutes after his first remark he was sitting by my side
yarning away as if trying to make up for lost time. I let him talk,
only just dropping a word or two at intervals so as to keep him going
by showing him that I was paying attention. Presently he broke off some
rambling remarks by saying abruptly--

“You efer bin t’ Callyo?”

“No, but I’ve heard a lot about it,” I replied. “Pretty hard citizens
around there, ain’t they?”

“Id’s de las’ place Gott Allamitey efer made, my boy, an’ de
deffel’s ben a dumpin’ all de leff-overs in de vorl’ down dere efer
since,” grunted he. “I vas dere las’ voy’ge. You know a ship call de
Panama--big wooden ship’bout fourteen hundred ton? Yell, I vas cook
apoard her, ben out in her over two yere ven ve come ofer frum Melbun
in ballas’. Ve schip a pooty hard crout in de Colonies, leas, dey fancy
demsellufs a tough lot, but mie Gott! dey tidn’ know’ Capn Tunn. No,
dey tidn’, ner yet de tree mates,’n’ leas’ of all dey tidn’ know _me_.
I like de afterguard fus’-class, me an’ dem allvus ked along bully, an’
ve vas all lef’ of de fus’ crew ship’ in London.

“De Bosun, Chips, an’ Sails wa’nt any count; square-heads all tree ov’
em. P’raps you’se tinkin’ I’m a square-head, too? Yus, but I’m f’m
Hammerfes’, an’ dey don’ breed no better men in de vorl, dan dere.
Veil, I see how tings vas coin’ t’be, ’fore ve ked out of Bass’s
Straits,’n I dells you, my poy, dere vas dimes pooty soon. De ole
man vas a Kokney, but he looks so much like me as if he been my dvin
broder. He speak fery low an’ soft--de mate alvus done de hollerin’;
but de fus’ time one of de fellers gif him some slack, he pick him from
de veel like he bin a crab, unt schling him forrut along de poop so he
fall ofer de break onto de main-deck vere de mate vus standin’ ready
ter kig him fur fallin’. De noise bring de vatch below out, an’ dey all
rush af’, fur a plug mush. I come too, but I sail in an he’p de ole
man, un’ I dell you id vas a crate fight, dere vas blut unt hair flyin’.

“In den minnits ve hat it all ofer, de olt man vas de boss, unt
eferybody know it. All de fellers get forrut like sheeps, un’ ven
de ole man sing out, ‘Grog oh!’ presently, dey come aft so goot as
a Suntay-school. Ve haf no more trouble mit dem, but ven ve ket ter
Callyo de ole man say, ‘Py Gott! I ain’t coin ter keep dis crout
loafin’ rount here fur two tree mont’ vile ve vaitin’ fur our turn at
de Chinchees. Run’em out, Misder Short; ve ket plenty men here ven
ve vant ’em quite so goot as dese, un some blut money too!’ So de
mate, he vork ’em up, make ’em rouse de cable all ofer de ballas’,
schling ’em alof’, tarrin’ un schrapin’ an’ slushin’ all day long frum
coffee-time till eight bells at night, unt I feet ’em yoost de same as
at sea.

“In tree day efery galoot ov ’em vas gone, unt den ve haf goot times, I
dell you, de Bosun unt Chips unt Sails vashin’ decks unt keepin’ tings
shipshape. Ve lay dere tree mont’, an’ den de olt man ket his per-mit
fur de islan’s. He vent to Bucko Yoe, de Amerigan boarding-master
dat kill so many men--you hear of him before, ain’t it?--unt he say,
‘Yoe, I vant fifteen men to-morrow. I ton’d care a tarn who dey vas
s’long’s dey’s life sailormen, put py Gott, ef you schanghai me enny
’longshoremen, alla det men, I fills you so full of holes dat you mage
a No. 1 flour tretger. Dat’s all I’m coin t’ say t’ you.’ Bucko Yoe he
larf, but he know de olt man pefore, unt he pring us fifteen vite men,
all blind, paralytic tronk, but anybody see dey vas sailormen mit von
eye.”

Just at this juncture, Sandy McFee, my especial chum, came strolling
out of the fo’c’sle, his freshly-loaded pipe glowing and casting a
grateful odour upon the quiet evening air. He was, like the cook,
a square-set, chunky man, but he was also, in addition, one of the
smartest men I ever knew. He brought up all standing at the unusual
sight of the Doctor and myself enjoying a friendly cuffer, so surprised
that he allowed his pipe to go out. The cook froze up promptly, and
stared at the intruder stonily. It was an uncomfortable silence that
ensued, broken at last by the rasping voice of the Aberdonian,
saying, “Man Tammas, hoo d’ye manach t’ open th’ lips o’ yon Dutch
immuj? Ah’d a noshin’ ut he couldna speyk ony ceevil language. Ye micht
tell ma hoo ye manached it.”

[Illustration: He clutched his insulter by the beard and belt.]

A certain quivering about the cook’s broad shoulders was the only
visible sign that he had heard and understood the mocking little speech
made by Scotty, but the latter had hardly finished when the Doctor rose
to his feet, remarking with a yawn, as of a man who took no interest in
the subject--

“I allvus t’ought Scossmen vas dam’ pigs, und now I knows it. But I
nefer hear von crunt before. Vy tondt you co unt scradge yorselluf? You
findt un olt proom forrut.”

Down went Sandy’s pipe, an articulate growl burst from his chest, and,
with a spring like a grasshopper, he had clutched his insulter by the
beard and belt. There was a confused whirl of legs and arms, a panting
snarl deep down in the men’s throats, and suddenly, to my horror, I
saw the cook go flying over the rail into space, striking the sea
almost immediately afterwards with a tremendous splash. It was all so
sudden that for the instant I was helpless. But the splash alongside
started me into life, and, grabbing the coil of the fore-sheet behind
me, I hurled it overside without looking. At the same moment Sandy,
horror-struck at his mad action, sprang on to the pin-rail and dived
after his victim.

The ship was just forging ahead through an oily smoothness of sea to a
faint upper current of air, so that there was no great danger except
from a prowling shark, but the short twilight was fading fast. As
if intuitively, all hands had rushed on deck and aft to the quarter,
while the helmsman jammed the wheel hard down. The vessel turned
slowly to meet the wind, while we watched the man who had just hurled
a fellow-creature to what might easily be his death, fighting like a
lion to rescue him. The cook could not swim, that was evident, but it
was still more evident that he had no thought of his own danger if only
he might take his enemy along with him to death. He had, however, to
deal with one who was equally at home in the water as on deck, and it
was wonderful to see how warily, yet with what determination the little
Scotchman manœuvred until he had the furious Norwegian firmly pinned
by the arms at his back, and how coolly he dipped him again and again
beneath the surface, until he had reduced him to quiescence.

Getting the boat out is usually in those ships a formidable task, and
it was nearly half an hour before we had the two men safely on board
again. The skipper was a quiet, amiable man, and this strange outbreak
puzzled him greatly. Sandy, however, expressed his contrition, and
promised to avoid the Doctor and his bitter tongue in future. So with
that the skipper had to be content, especially as the cook recovered so
rapidly from his ducking that we heard him in another half-hour’s time
grinding coffee for the morning as if nothing had happened. But the
strangest part of the affair to me was its outcome. Next morning, in
our watch below, the Doctor came into the fo’c’sle, and, walking up to
Sandy, put out his hand, saying--

“Santy, you vas a coot man, pedder as me, unt I tond vant any more row
longer you. I ben coot man, too, bud I ain’t any longer, only I forkedd
it somedimes. I cot my soup unter vay for dinner, unt if you likes I
finish dot yarn I vas tellin’ Tom here lasd night.”

Now Sandy was all over man, and jumping up from his chest he gripped
the Doctor’s paw, saying--

“Weel, Doctor, A’am as sorry as a maan can be ’at I lost ma temper wi’
ye. W’en Ah see ye i’ th’ watter Ah feelt like a cooard, and Ah’d a
loupit owerboord afther ye, even ef Ah couldna ha soomt a stroak. Ah
wisht we’d a bottle o’ fhuskey t’ drink t’ yin anither in; but never
mind, we’ll hae two holl evenin’s thegither in Melburrun when we got
thonder. But you an’ me’s chums fra this oot.”

This happy conclusion pleased us all, and, in order to profit by this
loosening of the Doctor’s tongue, I said, passing over my plug of
tobacco--

“Now then, Doctor, we’re all anxious to hear the rest of that cuffer
you was tellin’ me last night. I’ve told the chaps all you told me, and
they are just hungry for the rest, so fill up and go ahead.”

“Vell, poys, you nefer see a hantier crout dan dat lot Amerigan Yoe cot
schanghaied abord of us in Callyo. How he ked ’em all so qviet I ton’t
know. But dey vas all ofer blut, unt dere close vas tore to shakin’s,
so I kess dey vas some pooty hart fightin’ pefore he put ’em to sleep
so he could pring dem alonkside. De olt man unt his bucko crout of
off’cers ton’t let ’em haf time to ked spry pefore dey pegin roustin’
’em erroun’--dey know de ropes too vell fer dot. So as soon as de
boardin’ marsder vas gone, oudt dey comes, unt aldough it vas keddin’
tark, I be tamt ef dey vasn’t sdarted holystonin’ de deck fore ’n aft.
Dey vas haluf tedt mit knoggin’ about, dey hadn’t been fed, unt dey vas
more as haluf poison mit bad yin, unt den to vork ’em oop like dat, I
dells you vat, poys, id vas tough.

“Dey let oop on ’em ’bout twelluf o’clock unt told ’em to co below, but
de poor dyfuls yoost ked into de fo’c’sle unt fall down--anyveres--unt
dere dey schleep till coffee-dime. Perhaps you ton’d pelief me, but
I dells you de trut, dem fellers come out ven de mate sinks oudt,
‘Turn-to’ like anoder crout altogeder. Efen de mate look mit all his
eyes cos he don’t aspect to see ’em like dat. Dey ton’t do mooch till
prekfuss-dime, unt den dey keds a coot feet; mags dem quite sassy.

“Unt so off ve goes to de Chinchees, unt from dat day out ve nefer done
fightin’. You talk apout Yankee blood-poats unt plue-nose hell-afloats,
dey wan’t in it ’longside de Panama. Dem fellers vas all kinds; but dey
vas all on de fight, unt, if de could only haf hang togedder, dey’d
haf murder de whole lot of us aft. But dey couldn’t; leas’, dey didn’t
until long after ve lef de island, an slidin’ up troo de soud-east
trades tords de line. Den one afternoon I ketch one of ’em diggin’ a
lot er slush[A] outer one er my full casks. ’Course I vas mat, unt I
dells him to get t’ hell out er dat, unt leave my slush alone. He don’t
say nuthin’, but he schlings de pot at me. Den it vas me un him for it,
un ve fight like two rhinosros.

    [A] “Slush” in the merchant service is the name given to the
        coarse dripping, lumps of waste fat, etc., which the
        ship’s cook has over after preparing the men’s food. He
        is entitled to this as his perquisite, and is naturally
        careful to cask it down during the voyage for sale ashore,
        after the voyage, to wholesale chandlers and soap-boilers,
        or their middlemen.

“Ve fight so hardt ve don’t know dat all hants haf choin in, efen de
man run from de veel un chip in. I bin dat mat ’bout my slush I fight
like six men, unt ven de fight vas ofer I fall down on teck right vere
I am, unt go to sleep. Ven I vake up aken de olt man haf got de hole
crout in ierns. He say he be tam ef he coin’t t’ haf any mo’ fightin’
dis voy’ge; liddle’s all fery vell, but ’nough’s a plenty. So ve vork
de ship home oursellufs--qvite ’nough t’ do, I tell you, t’ keep her
coin ’n look after dat crout so vell.

“De olt man dell me he bin fery font of me,’n he coin’ t’ gif me dupple
pay; but ven ve ket to Grafesent ’n sent all de crout ashore in ierns,
I vant t’ sell my slush to a poatman--I haf fifteen parrels--unt de
poatman offer me £25 for it. But de olt man he say he want haluf--haluf
_my_ slush vat I ben safin fery near tree years! I say to him, ‘Look
here, Cap’n Tunn, I luf you petter as mineselluf; but pefore I led you
take away haluf my slush, I coin to see vich is de pest man, you alla
me.’ He don’t say no more, but he valk up to me unt make a crab at
my peard, unt den it vas us two for it. But he vasn’t a man, he vas
ten deffels stuff into von liddle man’s body. I tondt know how long
ve fight, I tondt know how ve fight; but ven I vake oop I ain’t any
fightin’ man no more. My het is crack unt haluf my teet gone, unt I
haf some arms unt legs break pesides. But he gomes to see me in de
’ospital, unt he ses, ‘Olsen, my poy, you bin a tam goot man, ’n I haf
sell your slush for tirty poun’ unt pring you de money. You haf £120
to take, unt ven you come out, tondt you go to sea no more; you puy a
cook-shop in de Highvay; you make your fortune.’ Den he go avay, unt I
never see him any more.

“Ven I come out I traw my 150 soffrins unt puy a pelt to carry dem
rount me. Unt I pig up mit a nice liddle gal from de country, unt ve
haf a yolly time. Ve make it oop to ked marrit righd off, unt dake dat
cook-shop so soon as I haf yoost a liddle run rount. Den I sdart on
de spree unt I keep it oop for tree veeks, until I ked bad in my het,
allvus dirsty unt nefer can’t get any trinks dat seems vet. Afterwards
I co vat you call oudt--off my het, unt I tond’t know vedder I isn’t
back in de Panama agen, fightin’, fightin’ all day unt all night. Ven
I ked vell agen, I got nuthin’, no money, no close, no vife. So I tink
I petter go unt look for a ship, unt ven I ked dis von I ain’t eat
anyting for tree days.”

Then, as abruptly as he had opened the conversation, he closed
it by getting up and leaving us, having, I supposed, obeyed the
uncontrollable impulse to tell his story that comes now and then upon
every man.




A LESSON IN CHRISTMAS-KEEPING


Morning broke bleakly forbidding on the iron-bound coast of Kerguelen
Island. Over the fantastic peaks, flung broadcast as if from the
primeval cauldron of the world, hung a grim pall of low, grey-black
cloud, so low, indeed, that the sea-birds drifting disconsolately to
and fro between barren shore and gale-tossed sea were often hidden
from view as if behind a fog-bank, and only their melancholy screams
denoted their presence, until they glinted into sight again like huge
snow-flakes hesitating to fall. Yet it was the Antarctic mid-summer, it
was the breaking of Christmas Day.

As the pale dawn grew less weak, it revealed a tiny encampment, just
a few odds and ends of drifting wreckage piled forlornly together,
and yielding a dubious shelter to a huddled-up group of fourteen
men, sleeping in spite of their surroundings. Presently, there were
exposed, perched upon the snarling teeth of an outlying rock-cluster,
the “ribs and trucks” of a small wooden ship, a barque-rigged craft of
about four hundred tons. Her rigging hung in slovenly festoons from
the drunkenly standing masts, the yards made more angles with their
unstable supports than are known to Euclid, while through many a jagged
gap in her topsides the mad sea rushed wantonly, as if elated with its
opportunities of marring the handiwork of the daring sea-masters.

The outlook was certainly sufficiently discomforting; yet, as one by
one the sleepers awakened, and with many a grunt and shiver crept
forth from their lair, it would have been difficult to judge from the
expressions upon their weather-beaten countenances how hopeless was the
situation that they were in.

For they came of a breed that is strong to endure hardness, that takes
its much bitter with little sweet as a matter of course, and, by dint
of steady refusal to be dismayed at Fate’s fiercest frowns, has built
up for itself a most gallantly earned reputation for pluck, endurance,
and success throughout the civilized world. They were Scotch to a man,
rugged and stern as the granite of their native Aberdeenshire.

They were the crew of the barque Jeanie Deans, of Peterhead, which,
while outward bound from Aberdeen to Otago, New Zealand, had, after
long striving against weather extraordinarily severe for the time of
year, been hurled against that terrific coast during the previous
afternoon. Their escape shoreward had been as miraculous as fifty per
cent. of such escapes are, and, beyond their lives, they had saved
nothing. So the prospect was unpromising. Nothing could be expected
from the break-up of the ship. She was loaded with ironwork of various
sorts, and her stores were not in any water-tight cases which might
bring them ashore in an eatable condition. But the large-limbed,
red-bearded skipper, after a keen look round, said--

“Ou, ay, ther isna ower muckle tae back an’ fill on, but A’am thenkin’
we’ll juist hae to bestir wersells an’ see if we canna get some
breakfas’. Has ony ane got ony matches?”

It presently appeared that of these simple yet invaluable little
adjuncts to civilization there was not one among the crowd. But even
this grim discovery appeared to make no great impression, and presently
the mate, a tall man from Auchtermuchty, with an expressionless face
and a voice like “a coo’s,” as he was wont to say, remarked casually--

“If ye’ll scatther aboot an’ see fat ye can fine tae cuik, I’se warrant
ye Aa’ll get ye some fire tae cuik it wi’.”

No one spoke another word, but silently they separated for their quest,
leaving Mr. Lowrie, with his blank face, methodically rummaging among
the _débris_. Presently he sat down quietly with a piece of flat board
before him about two feet long by six inches wide. In his hand he held
a piece of broomstick, which in some mysterious way had got included in
the flotsam. This he whittled at one end into a blunt point, carefully
saving the cuttings in his trousers pocket. Then with a steady movement
of his stick he commenced to chafe a groove lengthways in the board,
adding occasionally a pinch of grit from the ground to assist friction.

By-and-by there was quite a little heap of brown wood-dust collected
at one end of the groove. Then getting on his knees and grasping his
broom-stick-piece energetically in both hands, he pushed it to and fro
in the groove with all his force and speed, until suddenly he flung
away the stick, and stooping over the little pile of dust, he covered
it tenderly with both hands hollowed, and bending his head over it
breathed upon it most gently. And by imperceptible degrees there arose
from it a slender spiral of smoke.

His right hand stole to his pocket, and fetched therefrom a few slivers
of wood, which he coyly introduced under the shelter of his other hand,
until suddenly the Red Flower blossomed--there was fire. Now it only
needed feeding to rise gloriously into that gloomy air. To this end Mr.
Lowrie worked like a Chinaman, until within an hour he had a pile of
burning driftwood, four feet high and fully six feet round, sending up
ruddy tongues of flame and a column of smoke like a palm tree.

One by one the adventurers returned with dour faces, empty-handed save
for a sea-bird’s egg or two, a few fronds of seaweed which the bearers
insisted was “dulse” (the edible fucus), and a brace of birds that
looked scarcely enough to furnish an appetizer for one. But just as a
stray sunbeam darted down upon the little gathering, while they huddled
round the grateful warmth, there was a hoarse shout. All started, for
it was the skipper’s voice roaring--

“C’way here an’ lend a han’, ye louns. Fat’r ye aal shtannin there
toasting yer taes fur like a pickle o’ weans juist waitin’ on yer
mithers tae cry on ye tae come ben fur yer breakfas’?”

The men at once obeyed the familiar command, finding the skipper and
the cook wrestling with a huge case, that was so stoutly built that not
a plank of it had come adrift. When they had man-handled it over the
rugged ground to within reach of the warmth the skipper said--

“Ah divna ken fats intilt, bit Ah min fine that Mester Broon, fan he
shipped it, said it wis somethin’ Ah wis tae tak unco care o’. And so
’twis lasht under th’ s’loon table. C’wa, le’s open’t; please God ther
may be somethin’ useful inside o’t.”

Willing hands, regardless of the loss of skin from knuckles and arms,
wrought at the task; but so stoutly did the case resist their efforts
that it was long before they had stripped off the stout planking and
revealed an air-tight lining of thick tin. This was attacked with
sheath-knives, and, after much hacking and breaking of cutlery, yielded
and exposed a number of queer-looking parcels most carefully packed. On
the top was a letter. It ran as follows:--

  “DEAR JACK,

    “In full recollection of your curious Scottish prejudice
    against any celebration of Christmas, and also of that awful
    time when you and I were stranded on the Campbells, and
    compelled to suck raw sea-birds’ eggs for our Christmas fare, I
    have sent you the materials for a good old-fashioned Christmas
    dinner, as I understand it, being a Cockney of the Cockniest. I
    also send you Dickens’s ‘Christmas Carol’ to read after dinner,
    and if you don’t do justice to my loving Christmas Box, I
    solemnly swear that I will never regard you as a chum again.
    Here’s wishing you a Merry Christmas, and as jolly a Hogmanay
    as ever you can get after.

                                        “Most affectionately yours,
                                                        “JOHN BROWN.”

“Em, ehmm” (no written words can adequately represent the peculiar
Scottish exclamation that stands for anything you like, being strictly
non-committal), “that reads no sae bad. We’ll juist investigate. Fat
hae we here? Et’s a duff, mahn, ou ay, bit et’s a boeny wan.”

And as he spoke he pulled out of its nest a gorgeous Christmas pudding
weighing some twenty-five pounds. Next came an enormous oblong tin
case, labelled, “Fortnum and Mason. Special Christmas turkey, stuffed
with capon, tongue, and forcemeat,” upon reading which the skipper
murmured again, “Ou ay, that’s no sae dusty, ye ken.” Next came a layer
of bottles of green peas, alternated with bottles labelled “Turtle
soup.” Other queer tin cases followed, bearing inscriptions such as
“Special mince-pies,” “Scotch shortbread,” “American biscuits”--like
foam-flakes--“Dessert fruits,” “York ham, best quality, ready cooked,”
and “Boar’s head.” Finally, on the ground floor, as it were, was
displayed a compact array of bottles, of which six were labelled,
“Extra special Scotch whisky,” six “Special port, bin 50,” two
corpulent ones bore the signature “D.O.M.,” and twelve had big-headed
corks with gold foil adorning them. Followed at last two boxes of
fat-looking cigars, and the book.

That grim assembly looked down upon this tempting array with their hard
features perceptibly softening, while the skipper said--

“Weel a’weel. A’am no’ an advocate for specializin’ Chrismuss masel,
altho’ Ah laik fine tae keep up Hogmanay. But A’am no a bigot, ye
ken, an’ A’am thenkin’ that unner th’ circumstances ’twad juist be
flytin’ Proeveedence no tae accept in a speerut o’ moderashun sichn
a Chrismuss Boex as thon. Bit I’ll not coairce ony man. Them ’at
disna approve o’ keepin’ Chrismuss ava can juist daunder awa’. ’S far
as A’am consairned”--here he deftly knocked the top off one of the
special Scotch bottles, and, looking round benignantly, said--“Here’s
tae wersels, boys, a blessin’ on the giver o’ th’ feast, an’ a Merry
Chrismuss tae us a’.”

Why particularize the proceedings that ensued? Should it not be
sufficient to say that no conscientious scruples were entertained by
any of those hard-grained men at this almost compulsory wrecking of
their principles? Scarcely; yet passing notice may be given to the
difficulties attendant upon drinking champagne out of bottle-necks,
of eating concentrated turtle-soup warmed in the bottle like Pommard,
of the total want of order and routine evidenced in dealing with the
assorted provisions so providentially to hand--and mouth. Especially
was this the case with the rotund bottles of Benedictine. One and
all agreed that while the contents were “gey an’ oily-like,” they
were “vara seductiv’,” and had the effect of making the partakers
thereof curiously unreserved and open to conviction as to the general
satisfactoriness of things in general.

When at last, with long-drawn sighs, the unwonted Christmas-keepers
sank down upon their stony seats and lit up their aromatic smokes with
brands passed from hand to hand, it evidently needed no keen judge of
human nature to prophesy that a unanimous vote would be given if asked
for as to the desirability of keeping up Christmas English fashion.

When all had quietly settled down to the soothing influence of nicotine
in its best form, the skipper lifted up his voice and said--

“Weel, ma lads, A’am thenkin’ that we k’n dae nae less than gae through
the haill reetual. This buik, ‘A Christmas Carol,’ is eevidently pairt
o’ th’ programme, an’ as A’am nae that ongratefu’ I’ll juist read it,
fativer it coasts ma.”

So he opened the volume, and read while the hard lines of the faces
softened under the magic of the Master’s words, and in spite of the
well-worn masks of indifference an occasional dewdrop of sympathy
glittered like a diamond in the furrow of a bronzed visage.

       *       *       *       *       *

“Ah wudna wuss tae interrup ye, sir,” suddenly interjected an ordinary
seaman, “bit Ah thocht ye micht laik tae ken that thers a vessel juist
lookin’ roun’ the point.”

“Man, ye’re richt, there is that. Weel, A’am neerly throu’, an’ as thon
auld deevil Scrooge has been conveencit o’ th’ errour of’s ways (as we
have), A’am of opingon we ma tak’ th’ lave o’ th’ storey as read. But
’twas a gey guid yarn, was’t no?”

By this time the ship of deliverance, having hove to, was getting a
boat out. That laborious business over, the boat came at fair speed
towards the only practicable landing-place, until the commiserating
face of the officer in charge took on an expression of bewilderment as
he noted the smug complacency on the countenances of the castaways.

It did not diminish when the skipper, gravely welcoming him with one
hand, held out invitingly a decapitated bottle of extra special Scotch
with the other, saying, with lingering sweetness in his voice--

“Mahn dear, here’s wussin’ ye a Merry Chrismuss.”




THE TERROR OF DARKNESS


“South 70° E., sir, weather’s a bit sulky and inclined to dirt before
daylight, I should think. Lot of ships about. Bishop bore N. 20° W.
fifteen miles off at eight bells (4 a.m.). Good morning.” And as he
uttered the last words the second officer of the Kafirstan, 10,000-ton
cargo steamer, London to Boston, U.S., swung his burly form down the
lee-bridge ladder, and the darkness swallowed him up. The chief, who
had just relieved him, mumbled out “G’mornin’” in the midst of a
cavernous yawn, not because he was churlish or out of humour, but for
the reason that be a man never so seasoned, the sudden transition from
the cosy recesses of a warm bunk and sweet sleep to a narrow platform
some forty feet above the sea, fully exposed to the wrathful edge of a
winter gale at four o’clock in the morning, does not predispose him to
cheerful conversation, or indeed any other of the amenities of life,
until the wonderful adaptability of the human body has had time to
adjust itself to the altered conditions.

No; John Furness, chief mate, was anything but a sulky man. Buffeted
by the storms of Fate from his earliest youth in far fiercer fashion
than ever the gales of winter had smitten him, he was now by way of
esteeming himself one of the most fortunate of mankind, for, after
serving as second mate for several years with a chief and master’s
ticket, and never getting a better berth than some thousand-ton tramp
could afford him, he had suddenly taken unto himself a wife--a dear
girl, as poor and as friendless as himself--with the quaint remark
that the best thing to do with two lonely people was to make ’em one,
on the principle that like cures like. And with his marriage his luck
seemed to have turned. On the second day of his honeymoon he was taking
his young wife round the docks, and pointing out to her the various
ships--like introducing her to old acquaintances--when suddenly, with
a bound, he left her side and disappeared over the edge of a jetty. He
had caught sight of an old gentleman who had tripped his foot in a coil
of rope and tumbled over it and the edge of the pier at the same time.
John’s promptitude cost him a wetting, but got him his present berth,
the best he had ever held in his life, and his heart beat high with
hope that at last he was on the high road to fortune.

Still, all these pleasant recollections didn’t prevent him feeling
sleepy and chilly upon relieving his shipmate. Vigorously he called up
his resources of energy, peering through the thick gloom ahead at the
twinkling gleams showing here and there, betokening the presence of
other ships. Far beneath him the untiring engines, with their Titanic
thrust and recover, kept his lofty station a-quiver as they drove the
huge mass of the Kafirstan steadily onward against the fierce and
increasing storm. Again and again he answered cheerily to the look-out
man’s taps on the bells announcing lights “All right,” and as often by
a word to the helmsman behind him, altered his great vessel’s course
a little to port or starboard in order to avoid collision with the
passing ships. All this in the usual course of routine--it is what
hundreds of men like him are doing this morning, thinking no more of
the magnitude of the forces they control than a cabman who navigates
the crowded London streets dwells upon what would happen if he should
spill his fare under a passing waggon. It is, above all things,
necessary at sea to refrain from dwelling upon what _may_ happen. The
one thing needful is to be equal to each duty as it arises. And John
Furness was undoubtedly that. But suddenly an awful crash flung him
backwards; his head struck against a stanchion of the bridge, a myriad
lights gleamed before his glazing eyes, and he knew no more--knew
nothing, that is, of the short, stern agony through which his shipmates
passed as the huge fabric beneath them admitted the supremacy of the
ever-watchful sea. She had met--her mass of 10,000 tons or so being
hurled along at the rate of twelve miles an hour--with the Terror of
the Darkness, a derelict just awash, one of those ancient Norwegian
timber-scows, the refuse of the sea, that crawl to and fro across the
Atlantic on sufferance, until there comes a day when the half-frozen
crew are swept from the top of the slippery deck-load, the sea pours
in through a hundred openings, and she becomes one of the most awful
dangers known to mariners--a water-logged derelict. Floating just awash
at the will of ocean currents, she cannot be located with any degree
of certainty, but solid almost as a rock she drifts silently across the
great ocean highway invisible, unheard, a lier-in-wait for the lives of
men.

When John Furness returned to consciousness again, he became aware of
acute pains all over his body. Also that he was not drowning, although
at intervals waves washed over him. Gradually he realized that he was
clinging desperately, mechanically, but with such force that he could
hardly unbend the grip of his hands, to a slimy rope. But where? As
his mind cleared, and the certainty of the awful tragedy that had just
passed over him and left him still alive became borne in upon him, he
felt his heart swell. He thought of the handful of brave men, of whom
he had already got to know every one, suddenly hurled into oblivion
with all the hopes and love of which each was the centre. And a few
heavy drops rolled out from his brine-encrusted eyes. Then he thought
of Mary--his Mary--and at the same moment realized his duty: to strive
after life for her sake. The impulse was needed, because that lethargy
that means a loss of the desire to live was fast stealing over him.
With a great effort that sent racking pains through his stiffened body
he turned his face upwards, passed one hand across his face, and saw
where he was. Lying upon the slope of a bank thickly overgrown with
dank green weed like fine hair, and with a strong fishy smell. With
awakening interest he peered at the rope he held--it, too, was thickly
draped with the same growth, but in addition, beneath the weed, it was
encrusted with jagged little shells. More than this he could hardly
discern for the present, because it was still dark; but as his senses
resumed their normal keenness of apprehension, he knew that he was
afloat, and guessed the truth--that by some mysterious means he had
been preserved from drowning by laying hold of the same cause that had
sent all his late shipmates to their sudden end. A low, sullen murmur
smote upon his ears, for the wind had gone down, and the resentful sea
still rolled its broken surface violently in the direction in which it
had been so fiercely driven, making John’s holding-on place roll and
heave in a heavy, lifeless manner. The grey, cheerless dawn struggled
through the thick pall of clouds still draping the sky, and by the cold
light the shivering man saw the full horror of his surroundings. He was
clinging to the last rag of running-gear trailing from the short stump
of the mainmast of a large ship--a ship that must, at least, have been
of seventeen or eighteen hundred tons burden. She lay with one side of
the deck well below the water, and the other some ten feet above it.
Not a vestige of bulwarks, cabin, or fo’c’sle appeared on deck, all was
flush as if mowed off by some gigantic scythe. Only a little forrard of
where John lay was a gash cut into her side at right angles, revealing
within sodden masses of timber also crushed and broken by the terrible
impact of that blow. And as he looked at the wedge-shaped wound there
came back to him, as if in a dream of some former life, the shock,
the few seconds’ realization of that fatal blow dealt herself by the
Kafirstan, before he had lost consciousness to resume it here. And
knowing the build of the steamer as he did, he had not the faintest
hope of her having survived for even an hour. His chief longing was
that sufficient time had been allowed his shipmates to get into the
boats and pull away from the frightful vortex of the sinking Kafirstan.

The light having become sufficiently strong for him to see thoroughly
well, he made another heroic effort, and commenced to explore his
prison. And as soon as he did so, he realized how long this dangerous
obstruction had been drifting about the ocean. For she was literally
undistinguishable, except to a seaman’s eye, from a worn and sea-beaten
rock. Through the crevices in her deck and the gap made by the
Kafirstan, he could see hosts of fish, legions of crabs of various
kinds, and nowhere, except at the point where she had been run into,
was there a square inch that was not thickly hidden by the sea-growth
of weed and shells. He dragged himself up to the stump of the mainmast,
and, bracing himself erect against it, looked long and earnestly around
the lowering horizon; but he was quite alone. Not a gleam of sail or a
wreath of smoke was to be seen. But he was a man who, while never very
sanguine about his “luck,” had a wonderful fund of hope, and in spite
of the dismal outlook, he felt no despair. Nevertheless, that he might
not brood, he determined to be busy, and dragging himself aft with the
utmost caution that he might not slide off that slimy slope into the
cold sea to leeward, he reached the yawning cavity, where once the
companion or entrance to the lower cabin had been. Peering down, the
sight was not encouraging, although the dark water did not here come so
close up to the deck as forward. But he was bound to explore, even if
he had to swim, if only for the sake of employment; so crawling over
the edge, he dropped below into water up to his waist, and immediately
struggled to windward, where to his content he found he could move
about above water. He entered what he took to be the skipper’s cabin,
noticing with a queer feeling of sympathy the few remnants of clothing
hanging from hooks like silent witnesses of the tragedy of long ago.
To his surprise, he found that everything was left as if in the midst
of ordinary life; the owner had been carried off without a moment in
which to return for anything he might value. Even the bed-clothes,
dank and sodden, lay as they had been jumped out of, well tucked in at
the foot of the bunk by a careful steward. With a sense of sacrilege
that he found it hard to shake off, John tried the drawers, and the
woodwork fell away at his touch. Clothes, papers, photographs within
lay in pulpy masses where the invading sea had so long drained through
on to them. But the searcher turned all over, listlessly, mechanically,
until the hot blood suddenly surged to his head as he heard a musical
jingle. With feverish haste he pulled out the lumps of dank stuff until
at the bottom of the drawer he found a heap of gold coins which he had
evidently disturbed by twitching at the rotted bag which had contained
them. Gathering them all together without counting, he shovelled them
into the two inner pockets of his pea-coat, afterwards tearing open
the lining and securing the necks of the pockets by a piece of roping
twine, of which he was never without a small ball.

Then with almost frantic haste he scrambled on deck, feeling as if
by being down there another minute he might be risking his chance of
rescue. But when he again reached the mainmast and looked around only
the same blank circle greeted him. And his mind, until then fairly
calm, fiercely rebelled at the idea of being lost now, when the weight
burdening him told him that should he reach home again, he would be
able to secure a position for himself as captain of a ship by the
hitherto impossible means of buying an interest in her. Had he waited
to analyze his feelings, he would no doubt have wondered why the
possession of a little gold should have the power to change his usually
calm and philosophic behaviour into the fretful eager frame in which
he now found himself; but at the time all his hopes, all his energies,
were concentrated upon the one idea, how to save, not merely his life,
but his newly gotten gold for the enjoyment of that dear one bravely
waiting at home.

The long bitter day passed without other sign of life around, than the
occasional deep breathing of a whale close at hand, or the frolicsome
splash of a passing porpoise. His vitality, great though it was, began
to fail under the combined influences of cold and hunger and thirst.
So that he passed uneasily to and fro between sleeping and waking,
only dimly conscious all the time of decreasing ability to resist the
combined influences of these foes to life. Day faded into night, and
still the wind did not rise, although the sky continually threatened,
being so lowering that the night shade was almost opaque. As he lay
semi-conscious some mysterious premonition smote him to his very
vitals, and raised him erect with such nervous energy that he felt
transformed. There, almost upon him, glared the two red and green eyes
of a great ship, while, high above, the far-reaching electric beams
from her fore masthead made a wide white track through the darkness. He
shouted with, as it seemed to him, ten voices, “Ship ahoy.” And back
like an echo came the reply, “Hullo.” The alarm was taken, and close
aboard of the derelict the huge mail steamer came to a standstill,
saved from destruction. In ten minutes John Furness was in safety, and
three days after he landed in London, bringing the first news of the
loss of the Kafirstan. And in three days more his treasure trove had
secured for him the position he had so long fruitlessly striven to
obtain by merit and hard work.




THE WATCHMEN OF THE WORLD


There is surely high inspiration in the thought that of all the mighty
civilizations that have emerged in these latter days, there is none
that dare claim the comprehensive title given to this paper without
fear of contradiction, save ourselves. For the function of the Watchman
is to keep the peace, to restrain lawlessness, to bring evil-doers to
justice, and to hold himself unspotted from even the tiniest speck
of injustice. At least these should be his functions, and if they
seem to be counsels of perfection, the aiming thereat with persistent
courage is continually bringing them nearer a perfect realization.
And if this be so with individual watchmen, it is infinitely more so
with those typical Watchers of the Empire, of whom I would now speak,
the splendid, ubiquitous, and ever-ready British Navy. It would be an
uplifting exercise for some of us, widening our outlook upon life, and
enlightening us as to the majestic part our country has been called
upon to play at this wonderful period of the world’s history, if we
were to get a terrestrial globe, a number of tiny white flags, and a
list of positions of all our men-o’-war. Then by sticking in a flag
for every ship wherever she was stationed, or on passage at the time,
we should have a bird’s-eye view as it were of the “beats” which our
Empire Watchmen patrol unceasingly.

From end to end of the great Middle Sea wherein we hold but those dots
upon the map, Gibraltar and Malta and Cyprus, whose shores bristle with
hostile populations, our stately squadrons parade, not on sufferance,
but as a right, none daring to say them nay. Their business is
peaceful, although they have enormous force ready to use if need be,
the duty of keeping Britain’s trade routes clear, that the shuttles
weaving the vast web of world-wide trade that we have built up may
glide to and fro in security even though envious nations gnash upon us
with their teeth, and vainly endeavour by every species of chicane and
underhand meanness to rob us of the fruits of centuries of industry.
In two Mediterranean countries alone are our ships of war heartily
welcome. Italy and Greece remember gratefully our constant friendship.
Italians of all classes are acquainted with the practical good-will
of Great Britain, and so man-o’-war Jack is sure of warm reception
throughout that lovely country. Not that the manner of his reception
troubles the worthy tar at all. Oh no. The keynote of the chorus that
is perpetually being chanted in the British Navy is _duty_. The word
is seldom mentioned, but better than that, it is lived. It enables the
sailor to spend unmurmuringly long periods of absolute torture under
the blazing furnace of the Persian Gulf, an oven that while it burns
does not dry; where the soaking dews of the night lie thickly upon
the decks throughout the scorching day, and are not dispersed because
the molten air is overloaded with moisture, and life is lived in a
vapour-bath. Here you will find the young men of gentle birth who
govern in our fighting ships, forgetting their own physical miseries,
in the brave effort to make the severe conditions more tolerable to the
crews they command. Do their dimmed eyes often in the steaming night
turn wistfully westward to the cool green English country-side, where
the old home lies embowered amid the ancestral oaks? Why, certainly,
but that does not make the young officer’s zeal any weaker, does not
damp his ardour to sustain the great traditions which are the pride and
glory of the service to which it is his greatest delight to belong.

Or creep down the coast of East Africa, throbbing, palpitating under
that fervent heat glare, and see the St. George’s Cross proudly
waving over the sterns of the gun-boats set by Britain to quell the
bloodthirsty Arab’s lust for slavery. Here is manifest such devotion
to an ideal, albeit that ideal is never formulated in so many words,
as should stir the most prosaic, matter-of-fact minds among us. I
well remember--could I ever forget?--a visit I once paid to H.M.S.
London, sometime depôt ship at Zanzibar. It was a privilege that I
valued highly, not knowing then that with a high courtesy our country’s
men-o’-war are always accessible at reasonable times to any citizen who
would see with his own eyes how his home is defended and by whom. I was
then mate of a trading vessel that had brought supplies from home for
the use of the East Indian fleet, and consequently my business took me
on board the depôt ship often. First of all I was shown the hospital,
a long airy apartment on the upper deck, kept as cool as science could
devise in that burning climate, and fitted with all the alleviations
for sickness that wise skill and forethought could compass. Here they
lay, the heroes of the long, long fight, the never-ending battle of
freedom against slavery, the men who had left their pleasant land for
service under the flag of England against a foreign foe; yes, and
far more than that. For we know that they who fight in the deadliest
combat with lethal weapons are upheld and swept onward by the fierce
joy of strife; so that death when it comes is no terror, and fear
vanishes under the pressure of primitive instincts. But here there is
no glitter, no glamour of battle. Forgotten by the world, unknown to
the immense majority of their countrymen, these Britons suffer and die
that the fair fame of their country may live. There, in that miniature
hospital, on board H.M.S. London, I saw rows of pale, patient figures,
their faces drawn and parchment-like with fever, the deadly malaria
of that poisonous coast, while amongst them passed silently doctors
and sick-bay attendants, each doing his part in the universal warfare.
Passing thence on to the main deck, I came across a bronzed, busy group
hoisting up a steam pinnace that had just returned from a cruise among
the slimy creeks and backwaters of the mainland and adjacent islands,
busily seeking for hunters of human flesh. A dozen men formed her crew,
men who had once been white Anglo-Saxons, but were now, after a week’s
cruise under such conditions as that, so disguised by ingrained dirt,
so scorched and dried by exposure to that terrible sun, that they
were indistinguishable save by their clothing from the Arabs they had
been set to watch. They were not happy, because having chased a dhow,
which they were sure was packed with slaves, throughout a day and a
night, they had been baffled upon coming up with her, by her hoisting
the tricolour of France, the Flag of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity,
sold for a few paltry dollars, to cover a traffic which the French
nation had covenanted to assist in putting down. More than that, a
deep gloom pervaded the whole ship on account of their recent loss; a
loss which to them seemed irreparable. Their captain, idolized by them
all, had been killed while engaged in an act of gallantry, typical
of the service. He had gone off like any sub-lieutenant with all his
honours to win, in a chase after a dhow, with only a weak boat’s crew.
The villainous Arabs in the dhow, seeing their advantage, turned and
fought desperately. Outnumbered by five to one, and being moreover the
attacking party, the Britons were beaten off, while a shot from one of
the antiquated guns carried by an Arab slaver slew Captain Brownlow on
the spot. And all his men mourned him most deeply and sincerely.

But cross over the Indian Ocean, and thread the tortuous ways of the
East Indian Archipelago, and you shall find the beautiful white flag
with its red cross flying in the most out-of-the-way nooks among
that tremendous maze. Here with never-ceasing labours the highly
trained officers of our navy work with loving care to make perfect our
geographical knowledge of those intricate current-scoured channels. By
reason of this long-drawn-out toil our merchant ships are enabled to
pursue their peaceful way with perfectly trustworthy charts to guide
them. Not only so, but, owing to the dauntless courage, energy, and
perseverance of these nameless seafarers, those tortuous waters have
been cleansed of the human tigers that had for so long infested them,
swooping down upon hapless merchantmen of all nations, pitiless and
insatiable as death itself. Within the lifetime of men of middle age
those seas were like a hornet’s nest. In every creek, estuary, and
channel lurked Portuguese, Malay, and Chinese pirates, the terror of
the Eastern seas. Now, solely through the exertions of our countrymen,
or by their good example putting heart into the Chinese sailors, those
waters are as safe as the English Channel. So, too, have the coasts
of China itself been purged of pirates, although there, since every
Chinese, of whatever grade, is a potential pirate or brigand given
the opportunity, immunity from piratical raids is only purchased at
the price of incessant vigilance. In the far Eastern seas, however,
our stalwart fighting sailors are more than mere keepers of the peace
of Britain, they stand between the crumbling Celestial Empire and the
greed of the world.[B] Ever ready in diplomacy as in war, and with a
force always sufficient to command respect as well as breed envy, they
make the might of our island nation felt in all the affairs of the Far
East.

    [B] This sentence was written before the recent outbreak of
        hostilities in China.

Cross the Pacific, and on the western sea-board of our vast American
possessions find a naval station fully equipped for the maintenance of
a fleet so far from home. From thence the peace-keepers sally forth
all over the length and breadth of Northern Oceania and all down the
western littoral of the great American continent, a mobile body of
peace-keepers, whose business it is to keep widely opened eyes upon all
the doings of other people, no matter how great or how small they may
be. Hailed with delight by dusky populations, who hate impartially the
Germans and the French, and look upon the war-canoes of the great white
Queen of Belitani as the adjusters of disputes and the even-handed
dispensers of justice between them, dreaded by the rascaldom of the
Pacific; the robbers of men’s bodies as well as the robbers of their
produce, truly the lads under the White Ensign have a wide field in the
“peaceful” ocean for their beneficent labours. Guarding that Greater
England in the Southern seas, where men of every nation under heaven
find the same security, the same opportunities to grow rich that men
of our own race enjoy, clustering closely around that storm-centre (in
a double sense), the Cape Colony, patrolling Western Africa, as well
as Eastern, and ready at a word to send off a compact little army into
the interior, mobile and manageable as no shore troops can ever be;
among West Indian islands, as warm and fruitful as the most northerly
American station is cold and arid, the great patrol goes on.

One does not need to be a rabid Imperialist or a raving Jingo to
feel in every fibre of his frame the debt that we Britons owe to
our navy. These brave, stalwart men, the very pick and flower of the
British race, stand continually on sentry on all the shores of all the
world--stand to guard our freedom, and, so far as one nation may do,
strive to secure freedom for all other peoples. We see but little of
them, for their parades are not held amid shouting crowds, but on the
lonely waters, under an Admiral’s eye, keen to discover defects where
all seems to an untrained observer perfection of power and movement;
their greatest deeds, done by steady presentation of an unmistakable
object-lesson to our enemies--that is to say, to a full half of the
world, bursting with envy at our comfort and prosperity--are hidden
from most of us.

In God’s name, then, let us see that we do not forget, amid the
security and plenty that we enjoy, the labours of those who are
watching, far out of our sight, to see that these blessings are not
filched from us. Let the officers and men of the Royal Navy see that
they are ever in our thoughts, that out of sight out of mind is not
true in their case, but that stay-at-home Britons are fully conscious
that the outposts of our Empire, the piquets of our power, are in very
truth to be found on board the ships of the Royal Navy, the Watchmen of
the World.




THE COOK OF THE WANDERER


One of the oldest, truest, and most often quoted of all sea-sayings
is that “God sends meat, but the devil sends cooks.” The first part
of this saw is really a concession on the sailor’s part, for few of
them truly believe that the Deity has much to do with the strange
stuff usually served out as meat on board ship. The latter half of
the proverb is taken for granted, and while admitting to the full the
thanklessness of the task of endeavouring to dish up tasteful meals
with such unpromising materials as are usually given to sea-cooks to
work upon, it certainly does seem truer than the majority of such
sayings are apt to be.

But in justice even to sea-cooks let it be said that they have but a
hard life of it. Cooking is a hobby of my own, and I feel a positive
delight in the preparation of an appetizing dinner, which culminates
when those for whom it is dressed partake of it with manifest
enjoyment. Between the calm, unhindered task of shore-cooking and the
series of hair-breadth escapes from scalding, burning, or spoiling
one’s produce that characterizes sea-cooking there is, however, a great
gulf fixed, and with a full consciousness of the unromantic character
of his trials, I must confess a deep sympathy with the sea-cook in
his painful profession. Even in the well-ordered kitchens of a great
liner, where every modern appliance known to the art is at hand, and
where the chief cook is a highly paid professional, each recurring meal
brings with it much anxiety, and, when the weather is bad, much painful
work also. There is no allowance made. Whatever happens, passengers and
crew must be fed, although the roasting joints may be playing “soccer”
in the ovens, the stew-pans toboganning over the stove-tops, and the
huge coppers leaping out of their glowing sockets. Let all who have
ever gone down to the sea as passengers remember how faithfully the
cooks have justified the confidence reposed in them, and how punctually
the varied courses have appeared on the fiddle-hampered tables without
even a hint as to the series of miracles that have produced them.
Still, in large passenger steamers there is a fairly large staff of
cooks, unto each of whom is given his allotted task, so that the
labour, though severe, is not so complicated as it must necessarily be
in vessels where one unfortunate man must needs be a host in himself.
In sailing-ships on long voyages the cook’s berth is perhaps the worst
on board, for he has to hear the continual growling of the men at the
brutal monotony of the food (which he cannot help), and he must, if he
would not be badgered to death, perform the difficult task of keeping
on good terms with both ends and the middle of the ship. Under the
blistering sun of the tropics, or amid the fearful buffeting of the
Southern seas, he must perform his duties within a space about six
feet square, of which his red-hot stove occupies nearly half. And,
as a pleasant change, he is liable to have the weather door of his
galley burst in by a tremendous sea, and himself in a devil’s dance of
seething pots, and all the impedimenta of his business hurled out to
leeward.

Necessarily such a service does not appeal strongly to many, and often
in English vessels of small size prowling about the world begging for
freight, some very queer fellows are met with filling the unenviable
post of cook. In the course of a good many years of sea-service I have
met with several cooks, each of whom deserves a whole chapter to deal
comprehensively with his peculiarities, but chief among them all must
be placed the exceedingly funny fellow designated at the beginning of
this sketch. The Wanderer was a pretty brigantine of about 200 tons
register, built and owned in Nova Scotia, and at the time of my joining
her as an A.B. was lying in the Millwall Docks outward bound to Sydney,
Cape Breton, in ballast. She had quite a happy family of a crew, while
the skipper was as jolly a Canadian as it was ever my good fortune to
meet with. We left the docks in tow of one of the little “jackal” tugs
that scoot up and down the Thames like terriers after rats, but, owing
to the vessel’s small size and wonderful handiness, we dispensed with
our auxiliary just below Gravesend, and worked down the river with our
own sails. As soon as the watches were set all hands went to supper, or
tea, as it would be called ashore, and going to the snug little galley
with my hook-pot for my modicum of hot tea, I made the acquaintance of
the cook. He was a young fellow of about two and twenty, able-looking
enough, but now evidently ill at ease. And when, with trembling hand,
he baled my tea out of a grimy saucepan with another saucepan lid,
I regarded him with some curiosity, fancying that he had the air of
a man to whom his surroundings were the most unfamiliar possible.
Supper consisted of some cold fresh meat and “hard tack,” so that any
deficiency in the cookery was not manifest beyond a decidedly foreign
flavour in the tea, making it unlike any beverage ever sampled by
any of us before. But we were a good-natured crowd, willing to make
every allowance for a first performance, and aware that the “Doctor,”
as the cook is always called at sea, had only joined on the previous
day. Nevertheless, we discussed him in some detail, arriving at the
conclusion that by all appearances he would be found unable to boil
salt water without burning it, which, according to the sea phrase,
marks the nadir of culinary incompetence.

Next morning it was my “gravy-eye” wheel, the “trick” that is, from
four to six a.m. The cook is always called at four a.m. in order
to prepare some hot coffee by two bells, five a.m., and, as may be
expected, the comforting, awakening drink is eagerly looked forward
to, although it usually bears but a faint resemblance to the fragrant
infusion known by the same name ashore. Two bells struck, and
presently, to my astonishment, sounds of woe arose forward, mingled
with many angry words. I listened eagerly for some explanation of this
sudden breach of the peace, but could catch no connected sentence.
Presently one of my watchmates came aft to relieve me, as the custom
is, to get my coffee, and I eagerly questioned him as to the nature
of the disturbance. With a sphinx-like air he took the spokes and
muttered, “You’ll soon see.” I hastened forward, got my pannikin, and
going to the galley held it out for my coffee. The cook had no light,
but he silently poured me out my portion, and wondering at his strange
air I returned to the fo’c’sle. I sugared my coffee, and put it to my
lips, but with a feeling of nausea spat out the mouthful I had taken,
saying, “What in thunder is this awful stuff?” Then the other fellows
laughed mirthlessly and loud, saying, “You’d best go’n see ef you kin
fine out. Be dam’ ’fenny ov us can tell.” I hastened back to the galley
and said coaxingly, “Doctor, you ain’t tryin’ to poison me, are ye?”
He looked at me appealingly, and I saw traces of recent tear-tracks
adown his smoke-stained cheeks. “Mahn,” he said, “Ah’ve niver dune ony
cookin’ afore, an’ ah must hev made some awfu’ mistake, but ah’ll sweer
ony oo-ath ah dinna ken wut’s wrang wi’ the coaphy.” And he wept anew.
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t cry, man,” I put in hastily; “you’ll make me
sea-sick if you do. Let me have a look at it.” I stepped into his den,
and striking a match explored the pot with a ladle. And I found that he
had been stewing green unroasted coffee beans. The colour was brought
somewhat near that of the usual product by reason of the remains of
some burnt porridge at the bottom of the saucepan, but the taste was
beyond description evil.

This was but a sorry beginning to our voyage, since so much of our
comfort depended upon the cooking of our victuals, and it was well for
the unfortunate cook that all hands, with the sole exception of the
mate, were of that easy-going temper that submits to any discomfort
rather than ill-use a fellow-creature. For Jemmie (the quondam cook)
was not only ignorant of the most elementary acquaintance with
cookery--he was also unclean and unhandy to the uttermost imaginable
possibility of those bad qualities. Yet he did not suffer any grievous
bodily harm until an excess of new-found zeal brought him one day into
contact with the mate. As the only way in which we could hope to get
anything beyond hard tack to eat, we had all taken turns to cook our
own meals. Even the skipper, with many uncouth, unmeant threats, used
to visit the galley and try his hand, while the trembling Jemmie stood
behind him watching with eager eyes the mysterious operations going on.
One morning the skipper fancied some flap-jacks, a sort of primitive
pancake of plain flour and water fried in grease, and eaten with
molasses. He had hardly finished a platter full and borne it aft, when
Jemmie seized the bowl, and mixing some more flour, proceeded to try
his hand. He managed after several failures to turn out half a dozen
quite creditable-looking patches of fried batter, and intoxicated with
his success rushed aft with them to where the mate and his watch were
busy scrubbing the poop. Timidly approaching the energetic officer,
Jemmy said, “Wou’d ye like a flap-jack, sir? they’re nice an’ hot.”
For one fearful moment the mate glared at the offender, then as the
full area of the enormity enveloped him he uttered a hyena-like howl
and fell upon him. Snatching the flap-jacks from his nerveless grasp,
the mate overthrew him, and frantically burnished his face with the
smoking dough, holding him down on the deck by his hair the while. Then
when the last fragments had been duly spread over Jemmie’s shining
visage, the mate dragged him to the break of the poop, and with many
kicks hurled him forward to make more flap-jacks should he feel moved
so to do.

So his education proceeded, until one day he felt competent to essay
the making of some soup for us forward. By the time his preparations
were complete he was a gruesome object, and withal so weary that he
sat down on the coal-locker and went fast asleep. He awoke just before
the time the soup was due to be eaten to find it as he left it, the
fire having gone out. In a terrible fright he rushed aft and smuggled
a tin of preserved meat forward--a high crime and misdemeanour--since
that was only kept in case of bad weather rendering cooking impossible.
However, he succeeded in stealing it, but when he had got it he was
little better off. For he didn’t know how to shell it, as it were,
how to get the meat out of the tin. I happened to be passing by the
galley-door at the time, and saw him with the tin lying on its side
before him, while he was insanely chopping at it with a broad axe, all
unheeding the spray of fat and gravy which flew around at each swashing
blow. I gave him such assistance as I could, and took the opportunity
thus afforded of asking him however he came to offer himself as a
ship’s cook. I learned then that his previous sea experience had
been limited to one trip to Iceland as a bedroom steward on board a
passenger steamer from Leith--that having come to London to seek his
fortune, he had foregathered with an old friend of his father’s, who
had obtained for him this berth, and who, in answer to his timid demur
as to his being able to do what should be required of him, stormed at
him so vigorously for what he called his “dam’ cowardice” that he took
the berth, and resigned himself to his fate, and ours. His fates were
kind to him in that he fell among easy-going fellows, for I shudder
to think what would have befallen him in the average “Blue-nose” or
Yankee. A description of it would certainly have been unprintable.

Yet, like so many other people ashore and afloat, he was ungrateful for
the many ways in which we, the sailors, helped and shielded him, and
one day when I found him laboriously drawing water from our only wooden
tank by the quarter pint for the purpose of _washing_ potatoes, in
answer to my remonstrance he was exceeding jocose and saucy, even going
so far as to suggest that while my advice was doubtless well meant, it
irked him to hear, and I had better attend to my own business. Now,
to use fresh water where salt water will serve the same purpose is
at sea the unpardonable sin; and where (as in our case) a few days’
difference in the length of the passage might see us all gasping for a
drink, it merits a severe punishment. So I was indignant, but swallowed
my resentment as I saw the mate coming down from aloft with his eyes
fixed upon the criminal.

I must draw a veil over what followed, only adding that by the time the
cook had recovered from his injuries we were in port, and, with the
luck of the incompetent, no sooner had he been bundled ashore than he
obtained a good berth in an hotel at about treble the salary he would
ever earn. But we held a praise-meeting over our happy release.




THE GREAT CHRISTMAS OF GOZO


On the eve of the nativity of our Blessed Lord A.D. 1551 there was
profound peace in Gozo.

The assaults of the infidel had for so long a time been intermitted,
that the simple hardy islanders had almost come to believe that they
would always be left in peace to cultivate their tiny fields, to
worship God after their own sweet manner, and to rest quietly in their
little square stone dwellings, secure from the attacks of the swarthy,
merciless monsters that, not content with the possession of their own
sunny lands, had so often swarmed across the bright blue stretches of
sea separating the Maltese Islands from Africa.

Over the main thoroughfare of Rabato, the principal town of the tiny
island that hung like a jewel in the ear of Malta the Beautiful, the
great square citadel of the knights kept grim watch and ward. It
rose sheer from the street for one hundred feet of height, a mass of
quarried stone cemented into a solidity scarcely less than that of the
original rock from whence its ashlar had been hewn with such heavy
toil, a mountainous fortress, to all outward seeming impregnable. Upon
its highest plateau towered the mighty cathedral, fair to view without
in its stately apparel of pure white stone, and all glorious within by
reason of the numberless gifts showered upon it by the loving hands of
those who desired thus to show their gratitude to God.

In truth it was a goodly fane. Not merely because of the blazing
enrichments of gold and silver and precious stones with which it glowed
and sparkled, but because of the many signs of loyalty and truth
evidenced in the sculptured tombs of the illustrious dead. The knights
who kept vigilant watch around its sacred walls and came daily to
worship within its cool aisles were never left without a solemn witness
to the fealty of those who had gone before them. The most careless
among them could not help being impressed by the fact that here in
the midst of the Great Sea had been planted an outpost of Christendom
of which they were the custodians--a fortress of the utmost value for
the keeping back of the Paynim hordes who bade fair to overwhelm all
Christian countries, and bring them under the abhorrent rule of Mahomed
the Accursed One.

In this there is no exaggeration. If there be one fact more clearly
established than any other, amid the welter of misleading rubbish that
floods the world to-day, it is this, that the fearless self-sacrifice
of the knights of Malta, buttressed by the devotion of those over
whom they held no gentle sway, saved Europe from being overrun by the
pitiless Mussulman, saved Europe from being to-day a depraved, debased,
and miserable land, wherein all the horrors of Eastern Africa would
have their full and awful outcome.

Raimondo de Homedes, only son of the Grand Master of that name, Juan
de Homedes, was on this most momentous Christmas Eve in command of the
Gozo garrison. The general feeling was one of security. The last attack
of the infidel in 1546 had been repulsed with such terrible loss to
the invader that the high-spirited garrison could not help coming to
the conclusion that it would be at least a generation before any such
attempt would again be made.

[Illustration: She was to him brightest and best of all damsels.]

Raimondo de Homedes, then, went the rounds of his great command in
the citadel of Gozo with a carefree heart. His thoughts were mainly
occupied with the question of how soon he should be free to meet his
lady-love, the stately daughter of Alfonso de Azzopardi, chief of all
the notables in Gozo. She was, to him at least, brightest, best of
all the damosels whose charms fired the palpitating hearts of those
warriors of the Cross who were holding these islands for the commonweal
of Christian Europe.

While he thus meditated, receiving the replies to his perfunctory
challenges of the sentries on guard with an ear that hardly conveyed
to his brain the meaning of the words, there came running to him a
page, a lad of parts who was an especial favourite. Breathless, panting
with excitement, the child (he was scarcely more) gasped out, “Messer
Raimondo, the sentinel on the eastern tower says that since you passed
his guard-house he has been mightily exercised by the appearance of
some black masses on the sea. He knows not what they can be, but he
fears they are galleys and that they can be coming for no good purpose.
He prays you to return and look for yourself, in case there should be
any mischief intended of which we have had no warning by our spies.”

Raimondo listened, with a concentration of all his mental faculties,
but as he did so he could not help a contemptuous smile crinkling his
features. “Just another bad dream of old Gianelli’s. But never mind; I
will go and set his troubled soul at rest.”

It wanted but two hours of midnight. The moon was full and almost in
the meridian, pouring down through the cloudless serene a flood of
light like molten silver. So dazzling was the radiance that when the
commandant and his companion stepped forth upon the highest plateau
of all into its full glare, their shadows glided by their sides as if
carved in solid ebony, and every object around them was as clearly
visible as if it had been noonday. With a quick springing step,
Raimondo mounted the half-dozen steps of stone leading into the eastern
tower, meeting Gianelli’s challenge with the countersign of the night,
“Mary.” Then Raimondo burst impetuously into speech, saying--

“What ails thee, Gianelli? Surely dreams trouble thee; and in thy
nervous anxiety to be counted most faithful of all our faithful guards,
thou hast conjured up a band of spectres to torment thyself withal.
What hast thou seen and where?”

For all answer Gianelli bowed low, and, straightening himself
immediately, stretched out his long left arm towards the west in the
direction of Tunis. And there, in that blazing tract of silvern light
shed upon the darkling sea by the moon, was distinctly to be seen a
row of objects that could be nothing else but galleys, although it was
evident that they were of the smallest size.

An instantaneous change took place in the attitude of the young
commandant. “By the Holy Sepulchre,” he muttered, “thou art right,
Gianelli, and I did thee grievous wrong to ridicule thy well-known
fidelity and watchfulness.”

“Say no more about it, my lord; I love thee far too well to be
over-pained by what I know is but the natural free speech of a
high-spirited youth. But what thinkest thou, my lord? Is it possible
that some of our own galleys may be returning from a secret raid upon
the infidel strongholds?”

“No, Gianelli, it is not; for my latest information, coming yesterday
morning, was to the effect that all the smaller galleys had been
recalled, and were safely housed in the Grand Harbour. Their crews have
been given leave for the great festival, only the slaves remaining by
them under guard. No; this must be a matter of far more serious import.
Sound the summons to arms and light the beacon while I haste to the
Council Chamber. Luigi, my lad, run thou to the church and pass the
word for all my officers to leave their vigil around the altars at
once.”

Thus saying, Raimondo hastened away, noting as he did so, with grim
satisfaction, the leaping flames from the summit of the tower being
answered by twinkling points of light all over the black masses of rock
that lay to the eastward, showing that already the alarm had been
sounded in every fortress from Rabato to St. Elmo.

Within the great church were gathered most of the garrison not on
guard. All the gorgeous details with which the church loves to welcome
in the Day of days had been lovingly attended to. There was the stable,
the manger, the waiting cattle, the worshipping Eastern kings. Mary, in
her mighty meekness, cradled her Divine infant upon her virgin bosom;
Joseph, careworn and travel-stained, looked upon her with a solemn
wonder in his honest eyes; while around and above jewels and gold and
silver flashed in all their splendour by the light of a thousand tall
candles. A thin blue haze of incense gave all things an air of mystery,
and the perfume laid upon the senses a strange exaltation.

Suddenly there was a hush, a bated breathing by all, as the archbishop,
in his marvellous vesture, arose from his knees and spoke.

“My brethren, from the preparation for the advent of the day whereon
we celebrate the human birth of our Divine Redeemer, ye are called to
do battle with His most terrible foes. My lord the Commandant of Gozo
informs me that the galleys of the infidel are approaching us, in the
hope, he supposes, of finding us all so enwrapped in our devotions that
he will have of us an easy prey. My children, let him learn that we
watch as well as pray. Show him once again that we count it our most
precious privilege to pour out our blood in defence of our most Holy
Faith, that we look upon our dying in this high endeavour to protect
Christendom from the infidel as the most glorious fate that could
befall us. Receive at my hands the blessing of the Most High. Go forth,
each of you, fully equipped, not merely with material armour, but with
the knowledge that upon you rests the special benevolence of God the
Son, under whose banner you fight.”

All heads bowed for an instant as the solemn benediction was spoken,
then with a clanging of armour and a clashing of swords the great
assembly sprang to their feet and departed each to his post of honour
and utmost danger.

It was high time. Already those snaky galleys laden with men of the
most bloodthirsty type, fired with fanaticism and lured by the promises
of an endless paradise of sensual delight, had crept into the many
little sheltered bays of the island, and were vomiting forth their
terrible crews.

Already a quick ear might catch the varied cries in strange tongues
floating upward through the silken smoothness of the night air,
predominant over them all the oft-reiterated shout of “Allah!” Already
the keen-sighted watchers could discern dark-moving masses of men, from
the midst of which came an occasional silvery gleam as the molten flood
of moonlight touched a spear-tip or sword-blade.

Onward they came, marvelling doubtless at the ease with which they had
been permitted thus to assemble upon the enemy’s territory, and for
the most part utterly unconscious of the reception that awaited them
at the goal of their hot desire. Suddenly there arose from the town
beneath the citadel walls a long-drawn cry of anguish. The careless
ones who had not fled for shelter to the common refuge had been found
by the invader, and were being ruthlessly slaughtered. Their cries made
bearded lips tighten, nervous hands grasp more firmly their weapons,
and all hearts above to beat higher and more resolute to repay these
murderers in full tale when the opportunity so to do should arrive.

Out from the highest belfry of the cathedral pealed the twelve strokes
of the midnight hour, and before their sound had died away there uprose
from the citadel a mighty chorus of welcome to Christmas Day--Gloria in
excelsis Deo.

Before it had ended the first of the invaders had reached the walls,
and, mad with fanatic fury and lust of blood, were swarming like ants
up its steep sides, clinging with desperate tenacity to every plant and
projection that afforded the slightest foot or hand hold. Regardless
of the avalanche of stones hurtling down upon them, unheeding the
dreadful rain of boiling lead and scalding water, they came indomitably
on. Their numbers seemed incalculable, their courage, buttressed by
unreasoning faith, invincible. But they were met at every point by men
whose hearts were as well fortified as their own, and who possessed,
besides the inestimable advantage of discipline and long training in
warlike matters, the invaluable position of being defenders.

Downwards by hundreds the invaders were hurled, their spurting blood
staining the pure whiteness of the walls with long black-red smears,
which the shuddering moonlight revealed in all their ghastliness.
Already the reinforcements were compelled to mount upon mounds of dead
to get their first hold; the street of the little town, but lately
so peaceful, was defiled by heaps upon heaps of frightfully mangled
corpses, representatives of all the savage tribes of Northern Africa.
“For Mary and her Son”--the war-cry of the night--rang out clearly and
defiantly, soaring high above the shrill yells of the savages and the
monotonous howl of “Allahhu!”

So far all seemed to have gone well, until suddenly a shudder ran
through the whole garrison as the news spread that by the treachery of
a vile renegade the secret subterranean passage into the citadel from a
point near the shore had been laid open, and that already a torrent of
the infidels were pouring through it.

The commandant, who had approved himself on this occasion a man of
the very highest ability and courage, no sooner heard this awful news
than, summoning around him his most trusted knights, he placed himself
at their head and hurried to the spot. And the first sight that met
his eyes was the beautiful form of her he loved borne high upon the
shoulders of a gigantic heathen in black armour who, apparently feeling
her weight not at all, was brandishing a huge scimitar in his right
hand, and yelling words of encouragement in some guttural Eastern
tongue to his followers.

Forgetful of all else, his brain on fire at the sight, Raimondo sprang
ahead of his men, his keen blade whirling round his head. By the sheer
fury of his onslaught he burst through the grim ranks of the heathen,
and smiting with all his vigour at the head of the captor of his
beloved one, slew, not his foe, alas! but her for whom he would gladly
have given his life. The terrible blow cleft her fair body almost in
twain, as the heathen giant held her before himself shieldwise to meet
it. The distracted commandant’s first impulse was to fling himself
upon that beloved corpse and accompany her spirit to heaven, but that
thought was conquered by the knowledge of his high responsibilities.
And with a shout of “Mary” he recovered his blade, sprang at the foul
Paynim’s throat, and cleft him in sunder through gorget and vant brace.

All the followers of the young knight were fired in like manner, and
like avenging angels before whom no mere flesh and blood could possibly
stand for a moment, they hewed their gory way through the masses of the
heathen, halting not until the last of their foes had gasped out into
the darkness of eternal night his guilty soul.

And as it was in the heart of the citadel, so it had been on the
battlements, not one heathen had survived his footing upon those sacred
walls. And as it appeared that the whole force had devoted themselves
to death in default of victory there was not one left alive.

So that the great fight ceased with the death of the last invader,
and the blessed sun rose upon a scene of carnage such as even these
blood-stained islands had never before witnessed. But in the hour of
victory there arose a great cry. Raimondo the gallant commandant was
missing. His devoted friends rushed hither and thither in the pearly
light of the new day, seeking him where the heaps of dead lay thickest,
but for a long time their search was in vain. At last he was found
before the manger in the church, lying with face hidden on the bosom of
his beloved, whose cold mangled body was clutched in an unreleasable
embrace. He was to all human sight unwounded, but even the most
ignorant and callous of his command knew that he had died of a broken
heart.

Yet it must be believed that he went gladly to join his beloved one,
knowing full well that as a gallant soldier of the Cross he had nobly
sustained his high part, and only when his duty was done had he
permitted himself to sink into eternal rest in the arms of her whom he
had so fondly loved.




DEEP-SEA FISH


Among shore-dwellers generally there obtains an idea that the ocean,
except in the immediate vicinity of land, is an awful solitude, its
vast emptiness closely akin to the spaces above. But while admitting
fully that there is little room for wonder at such a speculative
opinion, it must be said that nothing could well be farther from the
truth. Indeed, we may even go beyond that statement, and declare that
the fruitful earth, with its unimaginable variety and innumerable hosts
of living things, is, when compared to the densely populated world
of waters, but a sparsely peopled desert. A little knowledge of the
conditions existing at great depths, may well make us doubt whether any
forms of life exist able to endure the incalculable pressure of the
superincumbent sea; but leaving all the tremendous area of the ocean
bed below 200 fathoms out of the question, there still remains ample
room and verge enough for the justification of the statement just made.

Nothing has ever excited the wonder and admiration of naturalists
more than this prodigious population of the sea--these unthinkable
myriads of hungry things which are shut up to the necessity of preying
upon each other since other forms of food do not exist. The mind
recoils dismayed from a contemplation of their countlessness, as it
does from the thought of timelessness or the extent of the stellar
spaces, shrinkingly admitting its limitations and seeking relief in
some subject that is within its grasp. But without touching upon the
lower forms of life peopling the sea, and so escaping the burden of
thought which the slightest consideration of their myriads entail,
it is possible to note, without weariness, how, all over the waste
spaces of a remote and unhearing ocean, fish of noble proportions and
varying degrees of edibility disport themselves, breeding none know
where, and revealing their beauties to the passing seafarer as they
gather companionably around his solitary keel. Excluding all the varied
species of mammals that form such an immense portion of the sea-folk,
it may roughly be said that the majority of deep-sea fish belong to
the mackerel family, or _Scombridæ_. They possess, in an exaggerated
form, all the characteristics of that well-known edible fish that
occasionally gluts our markets and gladdens the hearts of our fishermen.

One of the least numerous, but from his size and prowess probably
the monarch of all sea _fish_, is the sword-fish, _Xiphias_. This
elegant fish attains an enormous size, specimens having been caught
weighing over a quarter of a ton; but owing to the incomparable grace
of its form, its speed and agility are beyond belief. It is often--in
fact, generally--confounded with the “saw-fish,” a species of shark;
the principal reason of this confusion being the great number of
“saws” or beaks of the latter, which are to be found in homes about
the country. Yet between the sword of the Xiphias and the “saw” of
the _Pristiophoridæ_ there is about as much similarity as there is
between the assegai of a Zulu and the waddy of a black-fellow. The
one weapon is a slender, finely pointed shaft of the hardest bone, an
extended process of the skull, about two feet long in a large specimen.
Impelled by the astounding vigour of the lithe monster behind it, this
tremendous weapon has been proved capable of penetrating the massive
oaken timbers of a ship, and a specimen may be seen in the Museum of
Natural History at South Kensington, at this present time, transfixing
a section of ship’s timber several inches in thickness. The “saw,” on
the other hand, is, like all the rest of a shark’s skeleton, composed
of cartilage, besides being terminated at the tip by a broad, almost
snout-like end. Unlike the round lance of the sword-fish, the “saw” has
a flat blade set on both sides with sharp teeth with considerable gaps
between them. As its name and shape would imply, it is used saw-wise,
principally for disembowelling fish, for upon such soft food the
saw-fish is compelled to feed owing to the shape of his mouth and the
insignificance of his teeth. Thus it will be seen that apart from the
radical differences between the two creatures, nothing being really in
common between them, except that they are both fish, there is really no
comparison possible between “saw” and “sword.” Fortunately for the less
warlike inhabitants of the deep sea, sword-fish are not numerous, there
are none to cope with them or keep their numbers down if they were
prolific. Sometimes--strange companionship--they join forces with the
killer whale and the thresher shark in an attack upon one of the larger
whales, only avoiding instinctively that monarch of the boundless main,
the cachalot.

Next in size and importance among deep-sea fish, excluding sharks,
about which I have said so much elsewhere that I do not propose
dealing with them here, is the albacore, tunny or tuña, all of which
are sub-varieties of, or local names for the same huge mackerel. They
abound in every tropical sea, and are also found in certain favourable
waters, such as the Mediterranean and Pacific coast of America. Like
the sword-fish their habits of breeding are unknown, since they have
their home in the solitudes of the ocean. But they are one of the fish
most frequently met with by seafarers, as, like several others of the
same great family, they are fond of following a ship. A sailing ship
that is, for the throb of the propeller, apart from the speed of the
vessel, is effectual in preventing their attendance upon steamers,
so that passengers by steamships have few opportunities of observing
them. But in sailing vessels, gliding placidly along under the easy
pressure of gentle breezes, or lying quietly waiting for the friendly
wind, ample scope is given for study of their every-day life. Very
occasionally too, some seaman, more skilful or enterprising than his
fellows, will succeed in catching one by trolling a piece of white rag
or a polished spoon with a powerful hook attached. Yet such is the
vigour and so great is the size of these huge mackerel, some attaining
a length of six feet and a weight of five hundred pounds, that their
capture from a ship is infrequent.

In size, beauty, and importance, the “dolphin” easily claims the next
place to the albacore. But an unaccountable confusion has gathered
around this splendid fish on account of his popular name. The dolphin
of mythological sculpture bears no resemblance either to the popularly
named dolphin of the seaman and the poets, or the scientifically named
dolphin of the natural histories, which is a mammal, and identical with
the porpoise. One thing is certain, that no sailor will ever speak
of the porpoise as a dolphin, or call _Coryphena hippuris_ anything
else. Of this lovely denizen of the deep sea, it is difficult to speak
soberly. Even the dullest of men wax enthusiastic over its glories,
feeling sure that none of all beautiful created things can approach
it for splendour of array. I have often tried to distinguish its
different hues, watching it long and earnestly as it basked alongside
in the limpid blue environment of its home. But my efforts have always
been in vain, since every turn of its elegant form revealed some new
combination of dazzling tints blending and brightening in such radiant
loveliness that any classification of their shades was impossible.
Then a swift wave of the wide forked tail-fin would send the lithe
body all a-quiver in a new direction, where, catching a stray sunbeam
it would blaze like burnished silver reflecting the golden gleam, and
the overtaxed eye must needs turn away for relief. Then suddenly the
marvellous creature would spring into activity, launching itself in
long vibrant leaps through the air after its prey, a fleeting school
of flying fish, that with all their winged speed could not escape the
lethal jaws of their splendid pursuer. Having read of the wondrously
changing colours of a dying dolphin I watched with great eagerness
the first one that ever I saw caught. Great was my disappointment and
resentment against those who had perpetrated and perpetuated such a
fable. Compared with the glory of the living creature, the fading hues
of its vesture when dying were as lead is to gold. Only by most careful
watching was it possible to distinguish the changing colour schemes,
faint and dim, as if with departing vitality they too were compelled
to fade and die away into darkness. On the utilitarian side too the
dolphin is beloved by the sailor, for its flesh is whiter and more
sapid than that of any other deep-sea fish except the flying fish,
which are too small and too infrequently got hold of on board ship to
be taken much account of for food. Yet, in spite of its wondrous speed,
the dolphin, when congregated in considerable numbers, often falls
a prey to the giant albacore, which hurls itself into their midst,
clashing its great jaws and destroying many more than it devours.

Commonest of all deep-water fish, but only found in the warm waters
of the tropical seas or fairly close to their northern or southern
limits is the bonito, another member of the mackerel family, but much
inferior in size to the albacore. “Bonito” is a Spanish diminutive
equivalent to beautiful, and beautiful the bonito certainly is,
although compared with the dazzling glory of the dolphin it looks quite
homely. It is a most sociable fish, keeping company with a slow-moving
sailing ship for days together, and quite easily caught with a hook
to which a morsel of white rag is fastened to simulate a flying fish.
For its size--the largest I have ever seen being less than thirty
pounds weight--its strength is incredible, as is also the quantity of
warm blood it contains. On account of these two characteristics, it
is usual when fishing for bonito off the end of the jibboom to take
out a sack and secure it to the jib-guys with its mouth gaping wide
so that the newly caught fish may be promptly dropped therein to kick
and bleed in safety and cleanliness. My first bonito entailed upon me
considerable discomfort. I was a lad of fourteen, and had stolen out
unobserved to fish with the mate’s line, which he had left coiled on
the boom. I hooked a large fish which, after a struggle, I succeeded in
hauling up until I embraced him tightly with both arms. His vibrations
actually shook the ship, and they continued until my whole body was
quite benumbed, and I could not feel that a large patch of skin was
chafed off my breast where I hugged my prize to me. And not only was
I literally drenched with the fish’s blood, but the flying jib, which
happened to be furled on the boom, was in a truly shocking condition
likewise. Nevertheless I rejoice to think that I held on to my fish
and successfully bore him inboard to the cook, although I shook so
with excitement and fatigue that I could scarcely keep my feet. Nor
was my triumph much discounted by the complete rope’s-ending I got
the same evening, when upon hoisting the jib, its filthy condition was
made manifest, and at once rightly attributed to me. The flesh of the
bonito is coarse and dark, tough, and with little flavour. But still it
comes as a welcome change to the worse than pauper dietary served out
to crews of sailing ships generally, while the ease with which the fish
may be caught, and the frequency of its companionship make it one of
the most appreciated by seamen of all the denizens of the deep sea. One
other virtue it possesses which makes it even more of a favourite than
the dolphin, in spite of all the latter’s superior palatability--it is
never poisonous, unless after exposure to the rays of the moon. Dolphin
have often been known to inflict severe suffering upon those eating
their flesh, and no one who has ever experienced the enormously swollen
head and agonizing pain consequent upon a meal off a poisonous dolphin
is ever likely to think even of such a meal again without a shudder.

Another exceedingly pretty fish found in all deep tropical waters is
the skip-jack. Smaller than the average bonito, yet in the details
of its form closely resembling the great albacore, this elegant fish
is less sociable than any of those mentioned in the preceding lines.
Therefore, it is seldom caught, although in calm weather in the
doldrums thousands may often be seen making the short vertical leaps
into the air from which peculiar evolution they derive their trivial
name. Both the bonito and the skip-jack are subject to being devoured
by the albacore, whose voracity, swiftness, and size make him the
terror of all his smaller congeners.

Occasionally after a few days’ calm some delicate little fish, also
belonging to the mackerel tribe--a species of caranx--will be seen
huddling timorously around the rudder of a ship, as if in momentary
dread of being devoured, a dread which is exceedingly well founded.
The wonder is how any of them escape the ravenous jaws of the larger
fish since they must find it well-nigh impossible to get away from
such pursuers. They may be easily caught by a fine line and hook,
and are very dainty eating. So, too, with the lovely little caranx
familiar to all readers as the pilot fish. What peculiar instinct
impels this beautiful tiny wanderer to attach himself to a shark is one
of the mysteries of natural history, and the subject of much ignorant
incredulity on the part of those who are often found ready to believe
some of the most absurd travellers’ yarns. But the pilot fish and its
habits deserves a whole paper to itself--it is far too interesting a
subject to be dealt with in the brief space now remaining. This, too,
must be said of the flying-fish, one of the most wonderful of all the
inhabitants of the deep seas, yet not so important to the seaman from a
utilitarian point of view, since the occasional stragglers that do fly
on board ship in their blind haste to escape from their countless foes
beneath, usually fall to the lot of the ship’s cat. Pussy is swift to
learn that the sharp “smack” against the bulwarks at night, followed by
a rapid rattling flutter means a most delicious meal for her, and smart
indeed must be the sailor who finds the hapless fish before pussy has
commenced her banquet.

One more important member of the true ocean fish must be mentioned,
although it also frequents many shores, and is regularly caught for
market on widely separated coasts. It is the barracouta or sea-pike, a
large fish of delicious flavour, much resembling the hake of our own
southern coasts. As I have caught this voracious fish all over the
Indian Ocean, I have no hesitation at including it among deep-sea fish,
although perhaps many well-informed seafarers would disagree with me.
But if any seaman, still pursuing his vocation, doubts my statement,
let him on his next East Indian voyage keep a line towing astern with a
shred of crimson bunting hiding a stout hook at its end, as soon as the
ship hauls to the nor’ard after rounding the Cape. And I can assure him
that he will have several tasty messes of fish before she crosses the
Line.




A MEDITERRANEAN MORNING


From my lofty roof-top here, in the highest part of Valetta, it is
possible to take in at one sweeping glance a panorama that can hardly
be surpassed for beauty and interest.

Intensely blue, the placid sea curdles around the rock bases of
this wonderful little island as if it loved them. There are no rude
breakers, no thundering, earth-shaking on-rushings of snowy-crested
waves, leaping at the point of impact into filmy columns of spray.

Overhead the violet, star-sprinkled splendours of the night are just
beginning to throb with returning light. One cannot say that the beams
are definite, rather it is a palpitating glow that is just commencing
to permeate the whole solemnity of the dome above, as does the first
impulse of returning joy relax the lines of a saddened face. Far to the
north may be seen a tiny cluster of fleecy cloudlets nestling together
as if timid and lonely in that vast expanse of clear sky. But as the
coming day touches them they put on garments of glory and beauty.
Infinite gradations of colour, all tender, melt into one another upon
their billowy surfaces until they spread and brighten, investing all
their quadrant of the heavens with the likeness of the Gardens of
Paradise.

At my feet lie the mighty edifices of stone that have, by the patient
unending labour of this busy people, grown up through past ages, until
now the mind reels in the attempt to sum up the account of that labour.
A sea of white roofs, punctuated here and there with the dome and twin
steeples of a church, the only breaks in the universal fashion of roof
architecture. Away beneath, the white, clean streets--so strangely
silent that the far-off tinkle of a goat-bell on the neck of some
incoming band of milk-bearers strikes sharply athwart the pellucid
atmosphere, like the fall of a piece of broken glass on to the pavement
below. A few dim figures, recumbent upon the wide piazza of the Opera
House, stir uneasily as the new light reaches them, and gape, and
stretch, and fumble for cigarettes. A hurried, furtive-looking labourer
glides past, his bare feet arousing no echo, but making him pass like a
ghost. And then, from the direction of the Auberge de Castile, comes a
solemn sound of music.

Its first faint strains rise upon the sweet morning calm like some
lovely suggestion of prayer, but they are accompanied by an indefinite
pulsation as of a beating at the walls of one’s heart. More and more
distinct the strains arise until recognizable as Chopin’s “Marche
Funèbre,” and suddenly in the distance may be discerned, turning into
the Strada Mezzodi, row after row of khaki-clad figures moving, oh, so
slowly. Deadened and dull the drum-beats fall, more and more insistent
wails that heart-rending music, and close in its rear appears the only
spot of colour in the sad ranks, the brilliant folds of the Union
Jack, hiding that small oblong coffer which holds all that was mortal
of Private No. ----. Perhaps in life he was rather an insignificant
unit of his regiment, at times a troublesome one, familiar with
“pack-drill,” “C.B.,” and “clink,” but now he has been brevetted, for a
fleeting hour his fast-decaying remains are greeted with almost Royal
honours.

Nearer and nearer creeps the solemn and stately procession, so slowly
that the strain becomes intolerable. How do his comrades bear it? We
who knew him not at all find ourselves choking, gasping in sympathy.
While that silent escort is filing past we have traced his history, as
it might be, his babyhood in some fair British village far away, his
school-days, his pranks, his mother’s pride. Then his aspirations, what
he would do when he was a man. Or perhaps he came from the slums of a
great town, where, neglected, unwanted, he wallowed in the gutters,
living like the sparrows, but less easily, and only surviving the
rough treatment by dint of a harder grip of life than so many of his
fellows. He knew no love, was coarse of speech, given to much drink and
little repentance. But who thinks of that now? He is our dear brother
departed, and his comrades follow him home, for the time at least
solemnized at the presence among them of that awful power before whom
all heads must bow.

Now, the so lately slumbering street has filled. Swarthy Maltese,
Sicilians, Indians, men of all occupations, and of none, stand with
bared heads and downcast faces as the King goes by. Oh that they would
hasten on! But no. As if the procession would never end, it files
through the Porta Reale, and at last is lost to view, although for long
afterwards those muffled drums still beat upon the heart.

As if rejoicing at the passing of death, the street suddenly awakens.
A very hubbub of conversation arises. Incoming crowds of workmen,
striding along with that peculiarly easy gait common to the barefooted,
jostle each other, and fling jest and repartee in guttural Maltese.
Country vehicles, laden with all manner of queer produce, their bitless
stallions swaying tinkling bells, encumber the way. Presently all make
clear the crown of the road for the passage of a company of mounted
infantry, which, in the almost blatant pride of fitness and workmanlike
appearance, sallies forth into the country for exercise beyond the
walls. But hark! martial strains are heard, a joyous blare of brass,
a gleeful clatter of cymbal and drum. Hearts beat quicker, the foot
taps, involuntarily acknowledging the power of music to elevate
or depress the mind. Swinging into view strides a jaunty company,
with heads erect and splendid swagger, and in their midst the plain
imitation gun-carriage, which so short a time ago was burdened with the
flag-enwrapped dead, is gaily trundled along. The moments of mourning
are ended. We have hidden our dead out of our sight, and, with a spring
of relief, are back again with the duties and pleasures of the living.

The great sun is soaring high, and already his beams are heating the
stones so that we can hardly bear to touch them. The sea is rejoicing,
for with the sun a little breeze has risen and covered that gorgeous
expanse of sapphire with an infinity of wavelets, each crested with
a spray of diamonds. A few barbaric-looking feluccas, their great
pointed sails gleaming like snow against the blue sea, are creeping in
from Gozo or Sicily, laden with fruit and fish for hungry Valetta. Far
out, a long black stain against the clear sky betokens the presence
of a huge steamship, homeward bound from the East, and avoiding these
bright shores carefully because of stringent quarantine regulations.
The very mention of the dread word “plague” is enough to cause a panic
here, and if the most rigorous exclusion, at whatever cost, of vessels
from infected ports, will keep us free, we will see to it that such
exclusion is practised.

But what is this long, phantom-like vessel, her colour so blending
with the blue of the sea, that she is difficult to distinguish?
Occasionally from one of her three irregularly placed funnels there is
a burst of black smoke, but otherwise she is as nearly invisible as
careful painting can make her. Up there at the lofty look-out station
the signalmen are discussing her with many epithets of dislike. They
know her well, and all her kindred; know well, too, with what jealous,
longing eyes those on board peer at the prosperous island, and with
what accents of hatred they speak of the insolent, perfidious Briton,
who dare to thus maintain a station of such strength, a naval base of
such inestimable value, in the midst of what should be a Latin-governed
sea.

But the treasure so coveted is not only guarded by all the deadly
devices known to modern warfare, it is made doubly secure in that these
swarthy speakers of a strange tongue know and love their rulers too
well to exchange them, save at the cost of almost utter annihilation,
for masters whom they equally well know and hate.

The morning freshness has gone. Valetta, never quite asleep at any
time, only drowsing occasionally, is wide awake now. The bright waters
of the harbour are alive with “disós,” gondola-like boats, and small
steamers. The hurrying thousands have swarmed into their appointed
places in the dockyard, the never-finished stone-hewing is going
briskly forward, the market is a howling vortex of clamour and heat
and excitement; and in its niche of living rock the tabernacle of him
who yesterday was Private ----, of her Majesty’s army, lies quietly
oblivious of it all.




ABNER’S TRAGEDY


Our quaint little Guamese was vociferously cheered at the close of his
yarn, although in some parts it had been most difficult to follow,
from the bewildering compound of dialects it was delivered in. Usually
that does not trouble whalers’ crews, much accustomed as they are to
the very strangest distortions of the adaptable English language. “The
next gentleman to oblige” was, to my utter amazement, Abner Cushing,
the child of calamity from Vermont, who had been hung up by the thumbs
and flogged on the outward passage. Up till then we had all looked upon
him as being at least “half a shingle short,” not to say downright
loony, but that impression now received a severe shock. In a cultivated
diction, totally unlike the half-intelligible drawl hitherto affected
by him, he related the following story.

“Well, boys, I dare say you have often wondered what could have brought
me here. Perhaps (which, come to think of it, is more likely) you
haven’t troubled your heads about me at all, although even the meanest
of us like to think that we fill some corner in our fellow’s mind. But
if you have wondered, it could not be considered surprising. For I’m
a landsman if ever there was one, a farmer, who, after even such a
drilling as I’ve gone through this voyage, still feels, and doubtless
looks, as awkward on board as any cow. My story is not a very long one,
perhaps hardly worth the telling to anybody but myself, but it will be
a change from whaling ‘shop’ anyhow, so here goes.

“My father owned a big farm in the old Green Mountain state, on which I
grew up, an only son, but never unduly pampered or spoiled by the good
old man. No; both he and mother, though fond of me as it was possible
to be, strove to do me justice by training me up and not allowing me
to sprout anyhow like a jimpson weed to do as I darn pleased with
myself when and how I liked. They were careful to keep me out of
temptation too, as far as they were able, which wasn’t so difficult,
seeing our nearest neighbour was five miles away, and never a drop of
liquor stronger than cider ever came within a day’s journey of home.
So I suppose I passed as a pretty good boy; at least there were no
complaints.

“One day, when I was about fifteen years old, father drove into the
village some ten miles off on business, and when he came back he
had a little golden-haired girl with him about twelve years old. A
pale, old-fashioned little slip she was, as staid as a grandmother,
and dressed in deep black. When I opened the gate for the waggon,
father said, ‘This is your cousin Cicely, Abner, she’s an orphan,
an’ I cal’late to raise her.’ That was all our introduction, and I,
like the unlicked cub I must have been, only said, ‘that so, father,’
staring at the timid little creature so critically, that her pale
face flushed rosy red under my raw gaze. I helped her out (light as a
bird she was), and showed her into the house, where mother took her
right to her heart on the spot. From that on she melted into the home
life as if she had always been part of it, a quiet patient helper
that made mother’s life a very easy one. God knows it had been hard
enough. Many little attentions and comforts unknown before, grew to
be a part of our daily routine, but if I noticed them at all (and I
hardly think I did then), I took them as a matter of course, nor ever
gave sign that I appreciated the thoughtful care that provided them.
So the years slithered past uneventfully till I was twenty-one, when
dad fell sick. Within a week he was dead. It was a terrible stroke
to mother and Cicely, but neither of them were given to much show of
feeling (I reckon there was scant encouragement), and things went on
much as usual. I didn’t seem to feel it very much--didn’t seem to feel
anything much in those days, except mad with my folks when everything
wasn’t just as I wanted it. Dad’s affairs were all shipshape. He left
mother fairly well off, and Cicely just enough to live on in case
of necessity, while I came in for everything else, which meant an
income of 1500 dollars a year if I chose to realize and not work any
more. Being now, however, fairly wound up like any other machine, and
warranted to go right on in the same jog, I had no thought of change.
Don’t suppose I ever should have had; but--Excuse me, boys, I’m a bit
husky, and there’s something in my eye. All right now.

“That summer we had boarders from Boston, well-to-do city folks pining
for a change of air and scene, who offered a big price for such
accommodation as we could give them for a couple of months.

“I drove down to the village to meet them with the best waggon, and
found them waiting for me at Squire Pickering’s house--two elderly
ladies and a young one. Boys, I can’t begin to describe that young lady
to you; all I know is, that the first time our eyes met, I felt kinder
as I guess Eve must have done when she eat the apple, only more so.
All my old life that I had been well contented with came up before me
and looked just unbearable. I felt awkward, and rough, and ugly; my
new store clothes felt as if they’d been hewn out of deals, my head
burned like a furnace, and my hands and feet were numb cold. When, in
answer to some trifling question put to me by one of the old ladies, I
said a few words, they sounded ’way off down a long tunnel, and as if I
had nothing to do with them. Worst of all, I couldn’t keep my foolish
eyes off that young lady, do what I would. How I drove the waggon home
I don’t know. I suppose the machine was geared up so well, it ran of
its own accord--didn’t want any thinking done. For I was thinking of
anything in the wide world but my duty. I was a soldier, a statesman,
a millionaire by turns, but only that I might win for my own that
wonderful creature that had come like an unpredicted comet into my
quiet sky.

“Now, don’t you think I’m going to trouble you with my love-making. I’d
had no experience, so I dare say it was pretty original, but the only
thing I can remember about it is that I had neither eyes nor ears for
anything or anybody else but Agatha Deerham (that was her name), and
that I neglected everything for her. She took my worship as a matter of
course, calmly, royally, unconsciously; but if she smiled on me, I was
crazy with gladness.

“Meanwhile my behaviour put mother and Cicely about no end. But for
their industry and forethought, things would have been in a pretty
muddle, for I was worse than useless to them; spent most of my time
mooning about like the brainsick fool I was, building castles in
Spain, or trying to invent something that would please the woman I
worshipped. Oh, but I was blind; a poor blind fool. Looking back now,
I know I must have been mad as well as blind. Agatha saw immediately
upon coming into my home what I had never seen in all those long
years--that Cicely--quiet, patient little Cicely--loved me with her
whole heart, and would have died to serve me. So, with that refinement
of cruelty that some women can show, she deliberately set herself, not
to infatuate me more--that was impossible--but to show Cicely that she,
the new-comer, while not valuing my love at a pin, could play with it,
prove it, trifle with it as she listed.

“Sometimes her treatment nearly drove me frantic with rage, but a
tender glance from her wonderful eyes brought me fawning to her feet
again directly. Great heaven, how she made me suffer! I wonder I
didn’t go really mad, I was in such a tumult of conflicting passions
continually.

“The time drew near for them to return to their city home. Now,
although Agatha had tacitly accepted all my attentions, nothing
definite had yet passed between us, but the announcement of her
imminent departure brought matters to a climax. Seizing the first
opportunity of being alone with her, I declared my passion in a frenzy
of wild words, offered her my hand, and swore that if she refused me I
would do--I hardly remember what; but, among other things, certainly
kill her, and then myself. She smiled pityingly upon me, and quietly
said, ‘What about Cicely?’ Bewildered at her question, so little had
any thought of Cicely in connection with love entered my head, I stared
for a few moments blankly at the beautiful and maliciously smiling face
before me, muttering at last, ‘Whatever do you mean?’

“With a ringing laugh, she said, ‘Can it be possible that you are
unaware how your cousin worships you?’ Black shame upon me, I was not
content with scornfully repudiating the possibility of such a thing,
but poured all the bitter contempt I could give utterance to upon
the poor girl, whose only fault was love of me. While thus basely
engaged, I saw Agatha change colour, and turning, found Cicely behind
me, trembling and livid as one who had received a mortal wound. Shame,
anger, and passion for Agatha kept me speechless as she recovered
herself and silently glided away.

“But I must hurry up if I’m not going to be tedious. Encouraged by
Agatha, I sold the farm, sending mother and Cicely adrift to live upon
their little means, and, gathering all together, took my departure for
Boston. Arrangements for our marriage were hurried on at my request,
not so swiftly, however, but that news reached me on my wedding morning
of mother’s death. For a moment I was staggered, even the peculiar
thing which served me for a heart felt a pang, but only in passing.
What had become of Cicely I never troubled enough to think, much less
to inquire.

“Some weeks of delirious gaiety followed, during which I drank to the
full from the cup of my desires. Our lives were a whirl of what, for
want of a better word, I suppose I must call enjoyment; at any rate,
we did and had whatever we had a mind to, nor ever stopped to think of
the sequel. We had no home, never waited to provide one, but lived at a
smart hotel at a rate that would have killed my father to think of.

“One night at the theatre I slipped on the marble staircase, fell to
the bottom a tangle of limbs, and was taken up with a broken leg,
right arm, and collar bone. At some one’s suggestion I was removed to
hospital. There, but for the ministrations of the nurses and surgeons,
I was left alone, not a single one of my acquaintances coming near
me. But what worried me was my wife’s neglect. What could have become
of her? Where was she? These ceaselessly repeated and unanswered
questions, coupled with my utter helplessness, drove me into a brain
fever, in which I lost touch with the world for six weeks.

“I awoke one morning, a wan shade of my old self, but able to think
again (would to God I never had). I was informed that no one had been
to inquire after me during my long delirium, and this sombre fact
stood up before me like a barrier never to be passed, reared between
me and any hope in life. But, in spite of the drawbacks, I got better,
got well, came out into the world again. I was homeless, friendless,
penniless. The proprietor of the hotel where I had stayed with my wife
informed me that she had left in company with a gentleman, with whom
she seemed so intimate that he thought it must be some relative, but
as he spoke, I read the truth in his eyes. He took pity on my forlorn
condition and gave me a little money, enough to keep me alive for a
week or two, but strongly advised me to go back to my native village
and stay there. I was too broken to resent the idea, but in my own mind
there was a formless plan of operations insisting upon being carried
out.

“Husbanding my little stock of money with the utmost care, and barely
spending sufficient to support life, I began a search for my wife.
Little by little I learnt the ghastly sordid truth. Virtue, honour, or
probity, had never been known to her, and my accident only gave her an
opportunity that she had been longing for. Why she had married me was a
mystery. Perhaps she sought a new sensation, and didn’t find it.

“Well, I tracked her and her various companions, until after about
three months I lost all traces in New York. Do what I would, no more
news of her could be obtained. But I had grown very patient in my
search, though hardly knowing why I sought. My purpose was as hazy as
my plan had been. So, from day to day I plodded through such small jobs
as I could find, never losing sight for an hour of my one object in
life.

“I must have been in New York quite six months, when I was one day
trudging along Bleecker Street on an errand for somebody, and there
met me face to face my cousin Cicely. I did not know her, but she
recognized me instantly, and I saw in her sweet face such a look of
sympathy and loving compassion that, broken-hearted, I covered my face
and cried like a child. ‘Hush,’ she said, ‘you will be molested,’ and,
putting her arm through mine, she led me some distance to a dilapidated
house, the door of which she opened with a key. Showing me into a tidy
little room, she bade me sit down while she got me a cup of coffee,
refusing to enter into conversation until I was a bit refreshed. Then,
bit by bit, I learned that she had heard of my desertion by Agatha,
and had formed a resolution to find her and bring her back to me if
possible. She did find her, but was repulsed by her with a perfect
fury of scorn, and told to go and find me and keep me, since such a
worthless article as I was not likely to be useful to any other person
on earth. Such a reception would have daunted most women; but I think
Cicely was more than woman, or else how could she do as she did.

“Driven from my wife’s presence, she never lost sight of her, feeling
sure that her opportunity would soon come. It came very suddenly.
In the midst of her flaunting, vicious round of gaiety small-pox
seized her, and as she had left me, so she was left, but not even in
an hospital. Cicely found her alone, raving, tearing at her flesh in
agony, with no one to help or pity. It was the opportunity she had
sought, and hour by hour she wrestled with death and hell for that
miserable woman. It was a long fight, but she was victorious, and
although a sorrowful gap was made in her small stock of money, she was
grateful and content.

“Agatha was a wreck. Utterly hideous to look upon, with memory like
a tiger tearing at her heart, she yet had not the courage to die,
or, doubtless, she would quickly have ended all her woes. Quietly,
unobtrusively, constantly, Cicely waited on her, worked for her, and at
last had succeeded in bringing us together. The knowledge that she whom
I had sought so long was in the same house took away my breath. As soon
as I recovered myself a bit, Cicely went to prepare her for meeting me.
Unknown to Cicely, I followed, and almost immediately after she entered
the room where my wife lay, I presented myself at the door. Looking
past the woman who had preserved her miserable life, she saw my face.
Then, with a horrible cry, unlike anything human, she sprang at my poor
cousin like a jaguar, tearing, shrieking. If I dwell any longer on that
nightmare I shall go mad myself. I did what I could, and bear the marks
of that encounter for life, but I could not save Cicely’s life.

“The room filled with people, and the maniac was secured. After I had
given my evidence on the inquiry, I slunk away, too mean to live,
afraid to die. A recruiter secured me for this ship, and here I am, but
I know that my useless life is nearly over. The world will be well rid
of me.”

When he stopped talking, there was a dead silence for a few minutes.
Such a yarn was unusual among whalemen, and they hardly knew how to
take it. But the oldest veteran of the party dispelled the uneasy
feeling by calling for a song, and volunteering one himself, just to
keep things going. In the queerest nasal twang imaginable he thundered
out some twenty verses of doggerel concerning the deeds of Admiral
Semmes of the Alabama, with a different tune to each verse. It was
uproariously received, but story-telling held the field, and another
yarn was demanded.




LOST AND FOUND

A SEA AMENDMENT


He stood alone on the little pier, a pathetic figure in his
loneliness--a boy without a home or a friend in the world. There was
only one thought dominating his mind, the purely animal desire for
sustenance, for his bodily needs lay heavily upon him. Yet it never
occurred to him to ask for food--employment for which he should be
paid such scanty wages as would supply his bare needs was all he
thought of; for, in spite of years of semi-starvation, he had never
yet eaten bread that he had not worked for--the thought of doing so
had never shaped itself in his mind. But he was now very hungry, and
as he watched the vigorous preparation for departure in full swing on
board the smart rakish-looking fishing schooner near him, he felt an
intense longing to be one of the toilers on her decks, with a right to
obey the call presently to a well-earned meal. Whether by any strange
thought-transference his craving became known to the bronzed skipper
of the Rufus B. or not, who shall say? Sufficient to record that on
a sudden that stalwart man lifted his head, and looking steadily at
the lonely lad, he said, “Wantin’ a berth, sonny?” Although, if his
thoughts could have been formulated, such a question was the one of
all others he would have desired to hear, the lad was so taken aback by
the realization of his most fervent hopes that for several seconds he
could return no answer, but sat endeavouring to moisten his lips and
vainly seeking in his bewildered mind for words with which to reply.
Another sharp query, “Air ye deef?” brought his wits to a focus, and he
replied humbly--

“Yes, sir!”

“Well, whar’s yer traps, then?” queried the skipper; “‘kaze we’re boun’
ter git away this tide, so it’s naow er never, ef you’re comin’.”

Before answering, the boy suddenly gathered himself up, and sprang in
two bounds from his position on the quay to the side of the skipper. As
soon as he reached him, he said, in rapid disjointed sentences--

“I’ve got no close. Ner no boardin’ house. Ner yet a cent in the world.
But I ben to sea for nearly three year, an’ ther ain’t much to a ship
thet I don’ know. I never ben in a schooner afore, but ef you’ll take
me, Cap’n, I’ll show you I’m wuth a boy’s wages, anyhow.”

As he spoke the skipper looked down indulgently at him, chewing
meditatively the while, but as soon as he had finished, the “old man”
jerked out--

“All right. Hook on ter onct, then;” and almost in the same breath,
but with an astonishing increase of sound, “Naow, then, caest off
thet guess warp forrard there,’n run the jib up. Come, git a move on
ye--anybody’d think you didn’t calk’late on leavin’ Gloster never no
more.”

Cheery “Ay, ay, cap’s,” resounded from the willing crowd as they
obeyed, and in ten minutes the Rufus B. was gliding away seawards to
the musical rattle of the patent blocks and the harmonious cries of the
men as they hoisted the sails to the small breeze that was stealing off
the land.

The grey mist of early morning was slowly melting off the picturesque
outline of the Massachusetts shore as they departed, and over the
smooth sea before them fantastic wreaths and curls of fog hung about
like the reek of some vast invisible fire far away. It was cold, too,
with a clammy chill that struck through the threadbare suit of jeans
worn by the new lad, and made him exert himself vigorously to keep
his blood in circulation. So hearty were his efforts that the mixed
company of men by whom he was surrounded noted them approvingly; and
although to a novice their occasional remarks would have sounded harsh
and brutal, he felt mightily cheered by them, for his experienced ear
immediately recognized the welcome fact that his abilities were being
appreciated at their full value. And when, in answer to the skipper’s
order of “Loose thet gaff taupsle,” addressed to no one in particular,
he sprang up the main rigging like a monkey and cast off the gaskets,
sending down the tack on the right side, and shaking out the sail in
a seamanlike fashion, he distinctly heard the skipper remark to the
chap at the wheel, “Looks ’sif we’d struck a useful nipper at last,
Jake,” the words were heady as a drink of whisky. Disdaining the
ratlines, he slid down the weather backstays like a flash and dropped
lightly on deck, his cheek flushed and his eye sparkling, all his
woeful loneliness forgotten in his present joy of finding his services
appreciated. But the grinning darky cook just then put his head outside
his caboose door and shouted “Brekfuss.” With old habit strong upon
him, the boy bounded forrard to fetch the food into the fo’c’sle, but
to his bewilderment, and the darky’s boisterous delight, he found that
in his new craft quite a different order of things prevailed. Here all
hands messed like Christians at one common table in the cabin, waited
upon by the cook, and eating the same food; and though they looked
rough and piratical enough, all behaved themselves decently--in strong
contrast to the foul behaviour our hero had so often witnessed in the
grimy fo’c’sles of merchant ships. All this touched him, even though he
was so ravenously hungry that his senses seemed merged in the purely
physical satisfaction of getting filled with good food. At last, during
a lull in the conversation, which, as might be expected, was mostly
upon their prospects of striking a good run of cod at an early date,
the skipper suddenly looked straight at the boy, and said--

“Wut djer say yer name wuz, young feller?”

“Tom Burt, sir,” he answered promptly, although he was tempted to say
that he hadn’t yet been asked his name at all.

“Wall, then, Tom Burt,” replied the skipper, “yew shape ’s well ’s
yew’ve begun, and I’m doggoned ef yew won’t have no eend of a blame
good time. Th’ only kind er critter we kain’t find no sort er use fer
in a Banker ’s a loafer. We do all our bummin’ w’en we git ashore, ’n
in bad weather; other times everybody’s got ter git up an’ hustle fer
all they’re wuth.”

Tom looked up with a pleasant smile, feeling quite at his ease among
men who could talk to him as if he, too, were a human being and not
a homeless cur. He didn’t make any resolves to do his level best--he
would do that anyhow--but his heart beat high with satisfaction at his
treatment, and he would have kept his end up with any man on board to
the utmost ounce of his strength. But meanwhile they had drawn clear of
the land, and behind them dropped a curtain of fog hiding it completely
from view. To a fresh easterly breeze which had sprung up, the graceful
vessel was heading north-east for the Grand Banks, gliding through the
long, sullen swell like some great, lithe greyhound, and yet looking
up almost in the wind’s eye. In spite of the breeze, the towering
banks of fog gradually drew closer and closer around them until they
were entirely enveloped therein, as if wrapped in an impenetrable veil
which shut out all the world beside. The ancient tin horn emitted its
harsh discords, which seemed to rebound from the white wall round about
them, and in very deed could only have been heard a ship’s length or so
away. And presently, out of the encircling mantle of vapour, there came
a roar as of some unimaginable monster wrathfully seeking its prey,
the strident sounds tearing their way through the dense whiteness
with a truly terrific clamour. All hands stood peering anxiously out
over the waste for the first sight of the oncoming terror, until, with
a rush that made the schooner leap and stagger, a huge, indefinite
blackness sped past, its grim mass towering high above the tiny craft.
The danger over, muttered comments passed from mouth to mouth as to
the careless, reckless fashion in which these leviathans were driven
through the thick gloom of those crowded waters in utter disregard of
the helpless toilers of the sea. Then, to the intense relief of all
hands, the fog began to melt away, and by nightfall all trace of it was
gone. In its stead the great blue dome of the heavens, besprinkled with
a myriad glittering stars, shut them in; while the keen, eager breeze
sent the dancing schooner northward at a great rate to her destined
fishing-ground, the huge plateau in the Atlantic, off Newfoundland,
that the codfish loves.

But it was written that they should never reach the Virgin. The bright,
clear weather gave way to a greasy, filmy sky, accompanied by a
mournful, sighing wail in the wind that sent a feeling of despondency
through the least experienced of the fishermen, and told the more
seasoned hands that a day of wrath was fast approaching, better than
the most delicately adjusted barometer would have done. When about
sixty miles from the Banks the gale burst upon the staunch little
craft in all its fury, testing her powers to the utmost as, under a
tiny square of canvas in the main rigging, she met and coquetted with
the gathering immensities of the Atlantic waves. No doubt she would
have easily weathered that gale, as she had done so many others, but
that at midnight, during its fiercest fury, there came blundering along
a huge four-masted sailing-ship running under topsails and foresail
that, like some blind and drunken giant staggered out of the gloom and
fell upon the gallant little schooner, crushing her into matchwood
beneath that ruthless iron stem, and passing on unheeding the awful
destruction she had dealt out to the brave little company of men. It
was all so sudden that the agony of suspense was mercifully spared
them, but out of the weltering vortex which swallowed up the Rufus B.
only two persons emerged alive--Tom Burt and Jem the cook. By a miracle
they both clung to the same piece of flotsam--one of the “dorys” or
flat little boats used by the Bankers to lay out their long lines when
on the Banks. Of course she was bottom up, and, but for the lifeline
which the forethought of the poor skipper had caused to be secured to
the gunwale of every one of his dorys, they could not have kept hold of
her for an hour. As it was, before they were able to get her righted in
that tumultuous sea, they were almost at their last gasp. But they did
succeed in getting her right way up at last, and, crouching low in her
flat bottom, they dumbly awaited whatever Fate had in store for them.

[Illustration: A huge sailing-ship crushed her into matchwood.]

A mere fragment in the wide waste, they clung desperately to life
through the slowly creeping hours while the storm passed away, the
sky cleared, and the sea went down. The friendly sun came out in his
strength and warmed their thin blood. But his beams did more: they
revealed at no great distance the shape of a ship that to the benumbed
fancies of the two waifs seemed to behave in most erratic fashion. For
now she would head toward them, again she would slowly turn as if upon
an axis until she presented her stern in their direction, but never
for five minutes did she keep the same course. Dimly they wondered
what manner of ship she might be, with a sort of impartial curiosity,
since they were past the period of struggle. Well for them that it was
so, for otherwise their agonies must have been trebled by the sight of
rescue apparently so near and yet impossible of attainment. So they
just sat listlessly in their empty shell gazing with incurious eyes
upon the strange evolutions of the ship. Yet, by that peculiar affinity
which freely floating bodies have at sea, the ship and boat were surely
drawing nearer each other, until Tom suddenly awoke as if from a trance
to find that they were so close to the ship that a strong swimmer might
easily gain her side. The discovery gave him the needed shock to arouse
his small store of vital energy, and, turning to his companion, he
said--his voice sounding strange and far away--“Doc, rouse up! Here’s
the ship! Right on top of us, man!” But for some minutes the negro
seemed past all effort, beyond hearing, only known to be living by his
position. Desperate now, Tom scrambled towards him, and in a sudden
fever of excitement shook, beat, and pinched him. No response. Then,
as if maddened by the failure of his efforts, the boy seized one of
the big black hands that lay so nervelessly, and, snatching it to his
mouth, bit a finger to the bone. A long dry groan came from the cook
as he feebly pulled his hand away, and mechanically thrust the injured
finger into his mouth. The trickling blood revived him, his dull eyes
brightened, and looking up he saw the ship close alongside. Without a
word he stooped and plunged his hands into the water on either side
the dory, paddling fiercely in the direction of the ship, while Tom
immediately followed his example. Soon they bumped her side, and as
she rolled slowly towards them, Tom seized the chain-plates and clung
limpet-like for an instant, then, with one supreme effort, hauled
himself on board and fell, fainting but safe, on her deck.

When he returned to life again, his first thought was of his chum,
and great was his peace to find that the cook had also gained
safety. He lay near, stretched out listlessly upon the timber, with
which the vessel’s deck was completely filled, rail-high, fore and
aft. Feebly, like some decrepit old man, Tom rose to his knees and
shuffled towards the cook, finding that he was indeed still alive,
but sleeping so soundly that it seemed doubtful whether waking would
be possible. Reassured by finding the cook living, the boy dragged
himself aft, wondering feebly how it was that he saw no member of this
large vessel’s crew. He gained the cabin and crawled below, finding
everything in disorder, as if she had been boarded by pirates and
ravaged for anything of value that might be concealed. She seemed a
staunch, stout, frigate-built ship, of some eleven or twelve hundred
tons register, English built, but Norwegian owned; and to a seaman’s
eye there was absolutely no reason why she should thus be tumbling
unguided about the Atlantic--there was no visible cause to account
for her abandonment. Aloft she was in a parlous condition. The braces
having been left unbelayed, her great yards had long been swinging to
and fro with every thrust of the wind and roll of the ship, until it
was a marvel how they still hung in their places at all. Most of the
sails were in rags, the unceasing grind and wrench of the swinging
masses of timber to which they were secured having been too much for
their endurance, and their destruction once commenced, the wind had
speedily completed it.

All this, requiring so long to tell, was taken in by the lad in a few
seconds, but his first thought was for food and drink wherewith to
revive his comrade. He was much disappointed, however, to find that
not only was the supply of eatables very scanty, but the quality was
vile beyond comment--worse than even that of some poverty-stricken old
British tub provisioned at an auction sale of condemned naval stores.
The best he could do for Jem was to soak some of the almost black
biscuit in water until soft, and then, hastening to his side, he roused
the almost moribund man, and gently coaxed him to eat, a morsel at a
time, until, to his joy, he found the poor darky beginning to take a
returning interest in life. Fortunately for them, the weather held fine
all that day and night, relieving them from anxiety about handling the
big vessel, and by morning they were both sufficiently themselves
again to set about the task of getting her under control. A little at
a time they reduced the chaotic web of gear aloft to something like
its original systematic arrangement, and under such sail as was still
capable of being set they began to steer to the south-westward. In
this, as in everything else now, the boy took the lead, for Jem had
never set foot upon a square-rigged ship before, and even his schooner
experience had been confined to the galley. But Tom had spent his three
years at sea entirely in large square-rigged ships, and, being a bright
observant lad, already knew more about them and their manipulation
than many sailormen learn all their lives. He it was who set the
course, having carefully watched the direction steered from Gloster by
the hapless Rufus B., and now he judged that a reversal of it would
certainly bring them within hail of the American seaboard again, if
they could hold on it long enough. So all day long the two toiled like
beavers to make things aloft more shipshape, letting the vessel steer
herself as much as possible, content if she would only keep within four
points of her course. With all their labours they could not prevent her
looking like some huge floating scarecrow that had somehow got adrift
from its native garden and wandered out to sea. Her appearance simply
clamoured for interference by any passing ship in trumpet tones had
one entered the same horizon, but much to the youngster’s wonder, and
presently to his secret delight, not a sail hove in sight day after
day.

Thus a fortnight passed away satisfactorily enough but for the wretched
food and the baffling winds, that would not permit them to make more
than a meagre handful of miles per day towards the land, and worried
Tom not a little with the idea that perhaps the Gulf Stream might be
sweeping them steadily eastward at a much greater rate than they were
able to sail west. But he did not whisper a syllable of his fears to
his shipmate in case of disheartening that docile darky, whom even now
he often caught wistfully looking towards him, as if for some further
comfort. He himself was full of high hopes, building a fantastic mental
edifice upon the prospect of being able to make the land unaided, and
therefore becoming entitled not only to the glory of a great exploit
in ship-handling but also to the possession of a fortune, as he knew
full well his share of the salvage of this ship would be. For although
she contained but a cheap cargo of lumber, yet from her size and
sea-worthiness she was worth a very large sum could she be brought
into port without further injury, her hull being, as sailors say,
“as tight as a bottle”--that is, she leaked not at all. But both the
shipmates were puzzled almost to distraction to account for a vessel
in her condition being abandoned. Nearly every spare moment in which
they could be together was devoted to the discussion of this mystery,
and dark Jem showed a most fertile inventiveness in bringing out new
theories, none of which, however, could throw the slightest glimmer
of explanation upon the subject. Except that from the disorder of the
cabin and fo’c’sle, and the absence of the boats, with their lashings
left just as they had been hacked adrift, there was no other clue to
the going of her crew; and, if, as was probable, the deserters had
afterwards been lost by the swamping of their frail craft, this mystery
was but another item in the long list of unravelled sea-puzzles.

But one evening the sun set in a lowering red haze, which, though
dull like a dying fire, stained the oily-looking sea as if with stale
blood. The feeble uncertain wind sank into fitful breaths, and at
last died completely away. Gigantic masses of gloomy cloud came into
being, apparently without motion of any kind, marshalling their vast
formlessness around the shrinking horizon. As the last lurid streaks
faded out of the sky, and utter darkness enfolded them, the two lonely
wanderers clung together, as if by the touch of each other’s living
bodies to counteract the benumbing effect of the terrible quiet.
Deeper, denser grew the darkness, heavier grew the burden of silence,
until at the thin cry of a petrel out of the black depths their hearts
felt most grateful. It was like a tiny message telling them that
the world was not yet dead. A sudden, hissing spiral of blue flame
rent the clouds asunder, and immediately, as if it leaped upon them
through the jagged cleft in that grim barrier, the gale burst. Wind,
lightning, thunder, rain; all joined in that elemental orchestra, with
ever-increasing fury of sound as they smote upon the amazed sea, as
if in angry scorn of its smoothness. In the midst of that tremendous
tumult the two chums were powerless--they dared not move from the
helm, even though, with yards untrimmed, their presence there was
useless. But, in some curious freak of the neglected vessel, she flung
her head off the wind farther and farther until the boy suddenly
snatched at hope again, and spun the wheel round to assist her. Off
she went before the wind like a hunted thing, and knowing it was their
only chance for life, the two friends laboured to keep her so. It was
so dark that they could not see anything aloft, so that they did not
know how far the small amount of sail on her when the gale burst still
remained; but that mattered little, since they were powerless in any
case. But they stuck to their steering, caring nothing for the course
made as long as she could be kept before the gale. And in the bitter
grey of the morning they saw a graceful shape, dim and indefinite,
yet near, that reminded them painfully of their late vessel and her
hapless crew. The shadowy stranger drew nearer, until, with thumping
hearts, they recognized one of the schooners belonging to that daring,
hardy service, the New York Pilots. Rushing to the side, Tom waved his
arms, for they were now so close together that he could see the figures
grouped aft. With consummate seamanship, the schooner was manœuvred
towards the ship until so close that three men sprang from her rail
into the ship’s mizzen rigging. Few words passed, but leaving one of
their number at the wheel, the other two worked like giants to get a
little sail set, while the schooner, shaking out a reef, bounded ahead
to bespeak steam aid.

With such assistance, the troubles of the two wanderers were now at an
end, and in less than thirty hours they were snugly anchored in New
York harbour, with a blazing fire in the galley and a Christian meal
before them. At the Salvage Court, held soon after, their share came
to $7,000, equally divided between the two of them, the pilot crew
receiving $3,000 for their two days’ work. Feeling like millionaires,
they hurried back to Gloster, fully agreed to do what they could for
the benefit of their late shipmates’ bereaved ones, and handing over
to the authorities for that purpose on their arrival half of their
gains. Then Jem, declaring that he had seen all he wanted of fishing,
opened a small oyster saloon in Gloster, while Tom, aided by the advice
of a gentleman who was greatly interested in the whole story, entered
himself at Columbia College. He will be heard of again.


THE END




A PICTURESQUE BOOK OF THE SEA.


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Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.

Dialect spacing and variations were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.

Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.

Page 96: “hard-earned pay” was printed as “hard-earned lay”. Changed
here.





End of Project Gutenberg's Deep-Sea Plunderings, by Frank Thomas Bullen