Janet made Alec McKenzie a good wife. She supplied the ambition and
aggressiveness which her husband lacked. No one could say he lowered
himself by marrying Janet McKinnon, for she was quick to realize her
husband's assets in the way of family connections and genuine ability,
and she carried herself as if she were the accepted niece, by
marriage, of the Laird of Dunsany. Other mates' wives called on her,
more out of curiosity than kindness, but she would have none of them
and treated them coldly. Her demeanor impressed the visitors, as it
had already impressed the landlady, and the latter bruited the story
that her lodger was the daughter of a "Hielan' Chief--somewhat rejuced
in circumstances." Mrs. McKenzie did not deny the story; she rather
accepted it and even hinted at it in casual conversation with gossipy
callers.
Alec was a first-class chief officer, but that wasn't good enough for
Janet. She longed for the day when she could be referred to as "Mrs.
McKenzie--wife of Captain McKenzie of the S.S. _So-and-so_," and she
worked skilfully to that end. After much manoeuvering, she struck up
an acquaintanceship with Mrs. Duncan, wife of the marine
superintendent of the Sutton Line, and never missed an opportunity to
impress upon that simple lady the fact that Alec was a nephew of Sir
Alastair McKenzie, and brother to David McKenzie the ship-owner on
Bothwell street.
Though McKenzie longed for promotion, yet he was cursed with a
sailor's bashfulness in seeking office, and of his own volition he
would make no move which would cause his skipper to eye him askance as
a man to be watched. He had known over-ambitious mates who had been
"worked out" of the Line by superiors who felt that their positions
were imperilled by such aspiring underlings, and he abhorred the
thought of being classed as an "owner licker." But Janet had no such
scruples. She was out to speed the day, and before she had been a year
married, she had called on her late employer, Baillie Ross, and sought
his interest in Alec's favor. Ross was climbing in municipal politics
and had recently been elected a director of the Sutton Line, and he
appreciated Janet's efforts to "rise in the warl'." At the first
opportunity, he casually mentioned to the Managing Director of
Suttons' that they had "a maist promisin' young officer in Mr.
McKinzie, chief mate o' the _Ansonia_. He's a nephew o' Sir Alastair
McKinzie an' a brither tae David McKinzie--the risin' ship-broker. He
wad mak' a fine upstaundin' Captun fur wan o' yer boats some day, and
_I wad like tae see him get on_!"
The Managing Director was wise in his day and generation and made a
note of McKenzie's name, but he was too much of a Scotch business man
to promote officers unless they had ability. Captain Duncan was called
in one day and engaged in casual conversation by the manager. "What do
you know of McKenzie, chief officer of the _Ansonia_?" Duncan had been
primed by his wife. "A fine smert officer, sir," answered the marine
superintendent. "Keeps a nate shup and always attends to his wark."
"Drink?"
"No, sir! I've never heard tell o' him bein' a man that used liquor."
"How does he stand in seniority?"
"There's twa or three mates ahead o' him in length o' service, but
nane ahead in smertness. He's well connectit, sir. Nephew tae Sir
Alastair McKenzie and he's merrid on a Hielan' Chief's dochter--a fine
bonny leddy, sir!"
The Managing Director turned over a fyle of papers.
"McCallum, master of the _Trantonia_, has knocked the bows off his
ship in going out of Philadelphia and it has cost us a lot of money.
When the _Ansonia_ comes in this time, you can find a new chief
officer for her. We'll sack McCallum and give McKenzie command of the
_Trantonia_."
Duncan told his wife the news that evening over the tea table and that
worthy lady bustled over with the tidings to Janet. "Mrs. McKenzie,"
she gasped, blowing and puffing as she flopped down in Janet's
parlor-bedroom. "Jeck cam' hame th' nicht an' tells me yer husband's
tae be made captun o' th' _Trantonia_! Ye'll can ca' yersel' Mistress
Captun McKenzie efter this!"
Janet felt like embracing her visitor, but restrained her delight and
murmured. "So kind of you to come over and tell me, Mrs. Duncan. I
appreciate your thoughtfulness. I must write to-night and inform his
uncle, Sir Alastair, of the promotion"--the latter was a white fib for
Mrs. Duncan's benefit--"he'll be pleased, I'm sure."
When Alec arrived home, he was delighted with his good fortune even
though the _Trantonia_ was one of the smallest and oldest steamers in
the Line and had long been relegated to the cargo trade. But she was a
ship, and size made no difference in the status of ship-masters. The
pay--seventeen pounds per month--would enable them to take up house.
Everything was glorious and Alec marvelled at his good luck in being
promoted ahead of mates senior to him in service, and he was not above
voicing regrets for the unfortunate officers who suffered through his
advancement.
"Poor old Johnson," he said. "Been due for a command these ten years.
This will break his heart. Moore is ahead of me and should have got
the next vacancy, for he's a smart, able man. And old McCallum, whose
shoes I jump into. I'm awfully sorry for him, for he's got a large
family and nothing laid by. He'll have to go mate again in his old age
or take a job as watchman around the docks. It's cruel hard, but this
is the mill of the British Merchant Service these days. We jump ahead
over the bodies of the poor devils who slip on the ladder, and God
help those who slip!"
Janet did not share his sympathies and felt rather annoyed. "Why
should you fret about them? They wouldn't worry about you. Now, let's
go and look for a house, dear. There's a lovely three-room-and-kitchen
to let in Ibrox, which is a nice neighbourhood and many Captains live
there." She did not enlighten him as to how he got his promotion.
With Janet spurring him on, McKenzie rose from command to command. For
three years he ran the gamut of the Company's old crocks until, when
Donald Percival was born, he was master of a big five-thousand tonner
in the River Plate trade and drawing a salary of twenty pounds per
month.
McKenzie was happy then, and would have been quite content to remain
as master of a Sutton freighter doing the run from Glasgow to the
Plate. It was an easy fine-weather trade and he was drawing twenty a
month, and occasionally making a pound or two in commissions. There
was only his wife and Donald to support, and he had a comfortable home
in Ibrox--three rooms and kitchen on the second flat, with hot and
cold water, and a vestibule door off the stair landing--a real snug
spot. At sea, he was not over-worked, having a purser to write out
manifests and bills of lading, and he had plenty of time to read and
smoke and take it easy. But with the coming of Donald Percival,
Janet's ambition expanded. "Percival must have a nurse," she wrote to
her husband, "and there are several expenses to be met in connection
with our darling boy. You must get out of the cargo trade and into the
passenger ships, dear. Mrs. Davidson tells me her husband is getting
thirty pounds a month as captain of the _Zealandia_ in the Canadian
emigrant service. You must think of your connections. I shudder when I
imagine you coming up from Buenos Ayres with your ship full of smelly
cattle and sheep ... the passenger ships are more genteel ... the
doctor's bill is quite heavy, dear, and I have retained the services
of a good nurse, as I do not feel equal to housework yet and Percival
requires much care and attention...."
His wife's letter contained a memorandum of the expenses attendant
upon the ushering of Donald Percival into this mundane sphere, and it
caused McKenzie to break out into a cold sweat. "Raising kids is a
devilish expensive business," he confided to the mate, who had
"raised" six. "This youngster of mine stands me something like sixty
pounds!" "Saxty poonds?" gasped Mr. McLeish. "Losh, mon, but yer
mistress mun be awfu' delicate! Mistress McLeish brings them tae port
ivery year an' five quid covers the hale business.... Saxty poonds for
yin bairn? I c'd raise a dizzen for that amoont o' siller. Ye'll need
tae be lucky, Captun, an' fall across some disabled shups yince in a
while if ye're plannin' tae have a family. Saxty poonds? Ma
conscience!"
It was through a streak of God-given luck that the sixty pounds was
paid, and Donald could thank the Fates for sending an Italian emigrant
ship with a broken tail-end shaft across the path of his worried
Daddy. McKenzie picked her up in a gale of wind south of Madeira, and
he had his boats out and a hauling line aboard her ahead of a hungry
Cardiff tramp who had been standing-by for eight hours waiting for the
weather to moderate. "Sixty pounds has to be earned," muttered
McKenzie in his beard, "and there's no Welsh coal-scuttle going to
prevent me from getting it." After a strenuous time, and parting
hawser after hawser, McKenzie plucked the Italian into Madeira, and
the salvage money that came to him afterwards ensured his son's future
as a free-born citizen.
The incident was used by Janet as a stepping-stone to her ambitions.
After the salvage money had been awarded, she chased her husband "up
to the office" and made him interview the Managing Director and ask
for a command in the passenger trade. The official listened
courteously to McKenzie's plea (dictated by Janet) and as Suttons had
benefitted considerably by the Captain's picking up the helpless
Italian, the promotion was forthcoming. With a sigh of regret,
McKenzie carted his belongings from the comfortable River Plate
freighter to the master's quarters on the _Ansonia_--the old ship he
had served in as chief officer.
The _Ansonia_ was not the smart flyer of his younger days, but she
still carried passengers. Second cabin and continental steerage
thronged her decks outward from the Clyde to Boston, and four-footed
passengers occupied the same decks homeward. Those were the days of
the cheap emigrant fares--when the dissatisfied hordes of Central
Europe were transported to the Land of Liberty for three pounds
fifteen--and the _Ansonia_ would ferry them across in eleven days.
McKenzie drove her through sunshine and fog, calm or blow, and took
chances. There was no money in slow passages at the cut-rates
prevailing, and Alec often wished he were jogging to the south'ard in
his nine-knot freighter with but little to worry him. In the
_Ansonia_, the first grey streaks came in his blonde hair, and the
lines deepened around his mouth and eyes.
Janet was happy for a time, but Suttons had better and faster ships
than the one her husband was commanding. Their skippers were getting
more money and were able to maintain "self-contained villas" and keep
a servant. The return cargo of cattle which was the _Ansonia's_ paying
eastward freight offended Janet's sensibilities. She did not care to
have Mrs. Sandys--wife of the master of the Sutton "crack"
ship--asking her at a select "Conversazione" or "high tea"--"How many
head of cattle did your husband lose last voyage?" or "I don't suppose
you visit your husband's ship, Mrs. McKenzie. Those cattle boats are
simply impossible!"
Janet, in her younger days, was not above laboring in odoriferous
cattle byres, but, with her exalted station in life, the mere thought
of the _Ansonia's_ cluttered decks and the honest farm-yard aroma
which pervaded her and could be smelt a mile to loo'ard on a breezy
day, gave her a sinking feeling and dampened her social ambitions.
She felt that she had exhausted all her "string pulling" resources, so
she applied herself to imbuing her husband with more aggressiveness.
Though passionately fond of his wife, yet there were times when
McKenzie felt that he was being _hounded_ ahead. Every cent he earned
was spent in what his wife called "style," and what Alec called "dog."
Janet dressed expensively and did much entertaining, and young Donald
Percival was petted, spoiled, and cared for in a manner far beyond the
rightful limits of a master mariner's pay.
"Make yourself popular with the passengers, dear," counselled his
wifely mentor, "and drive your ship. Suttons like fast passages--"
"Aye," interrupted Alec somewhat bitterly, "but they don't like
accidents. You know what happened to poor Thompson of the _Syrania_?
Driving his ship in a fog to make fast time he cut a schooner in half
and stove his bows in. Suttons lost a pile of money over that, and
Thompson got the sack and is black-listed. His ticket was taken from
him and he barely escaped being tried by an American court for
manslaughter. I saw the poor chap in Boston this time, and what d'ye
think he was doing? Timekeeping for a stevedore firm and getting ten
dollars a week! A man who had commanded an Atlantic greyhound!"
Janet listened impatiently. "Oh, that was just his ill-fortune. I
heard that he was in his bunk when the accident happened--"
Her husband made a gesture of mild irritation. "Good heavens, Janet! A
man must sleep sometime," he said. "Thompson had been on the bridge
for sixty hours and was utterly played out. But that made no
difference. It was his fault. He was driving her full speed in a fog
and that's where they got him--even though Suttons were driving him
with their unwritten instructions--'Be careful with your ship,
Captain, but we expect you to make good passages!' Drive your ship,
but look-out if anything happens to her! That's the English of that!"
By persistent urging, Janet's exhortations had effect. McKenzie
hounded the old _Ansonia_ back and forth along the western ocean lanes
and grew more grey hairs and deeper lines on his face with the worry
and anxiety of long vigils on her bridge staring into the clammy
mists through which his ship was storming. With a chief engineer who
loved her wonderful old compound engines and who was willing to drive
them, McKenzie commenced clipping down the _Ansonia's_ runs until one
day she raced into Boston harbor an hour ahead of her best record
twelve years before, and two days ahead of a rival company's crack
ship, which had left Glasgow at the same time.
The Boston newspapers, heralding the feat and containing a cut of
Captain McKenzie and the ship, were forwarded to head office by the
Boston agents. The Managing Director was delighted over the defeat of
the rival company's crack ship, for the American papers played it up
strong, with two-column, heavy type head-lines and exaggerated
description. After perusal, the canny Scotch manager gave some thought
to McKenzie--the Yankee reporter dilated on the sub-head, 'Scotch
baronet's nephew commands Sutton record breaker,' (Alec had never
opened his mouth about the relationship)--and he began to consider him
seriously as master for the Sutton New York-Glasgow express steamship
_Cardonia_.
A wealthy American, returning to the States after a lease of Dunsany
Castle, unconsciously gave Alec the promotion which the manager had
considered and postponed. The American was rich and fussy, and when
booking his passage, had demanded to do so through the manager. "I
want a suite amidships, sir, 'n I want tew travel in a ship that kin
travel along, as I ain't none too good a sailor. I want to sail with a
skipper that'll make her travel some. 'N bye-the-bye, I saw by a
Boston paper that one of yewr skippers is related to Sir Alastair
McKenzie. I leased the old boy's castle for a while 'n a fine old bird
he is. I'd like mighty fine tew cross the pond with this here McKenzie
if he's on a fast packet, but ain't he on one of those twelve-day
hookers to Boston?"
The manager had made up his mind. A man with McKenzie's connections
would bring lucrative business and be popular in the New York trade.
The other masters in line for promotion would have to wait. "Captain
McKenzie _was_ in the _Ansonia_--one of our intermediate ships--but
we have now placed him in command of our New York Express steamship
_Cardonia_ and we can fix you up splendidly in her." The American
booked passage, and McKenzie commanded the _Cardonia_.
With the promotion came a substantial increase in salary and Janet
felt that her ambitions were realized--for a time at least. New worlds
to conquer would suggest themselves bye-and-bye. The flat in the
Terrace was given up, and a somewhat pretentious eight-roomed red
sandstone villa in a suburban locality was rented, expensively
decorated and furnished, and Mrs. McKenzie, with Donald Percival and a
capable Highland "general," moved in and laid plans for attaining the
rank of first magnitude in the firmament of the local social stars.