The _Kelvinhaugh_ lay alongside a wharf and her steam donkey was
working, as it never worked at sea, slinging the long bars of railway
iron out of the holds by yard-arm tackles. It was a noisy discharge,
as the rails clanged sonorously on impact with each, and the whole
harbor rang with the sound.
All the ship's company had departed, with the exception of Captain
Muirhead, the steward, and the four apprentices. Though chartered to
load lumber at Hastings Mills for Australia, Muirhead had paid the
crew off--a rash and unwise act, as he would find when he came to ship
another--but he was probably willing to take a chance and get rid of
all witnesses to his disgrace and deposition from command. Judson
Nickerson had gone, too, but before he took his dunnage ashore, he
called Donald and said, "I'm going ashore for a spell, but I'll give
you a hail later. Don't run away or do anything foolish until I
communicate with you. Let on that you intend to stand by the ship!"
Thompson was now "out of his time" and the skipper had given him
permission to leave and go home to take the examination for second
mate, but he had asked him to stand by the ship for a while until a
mate was signed on. Moore had cabled his "Pa" for a remittance to take
him home and away from sea-faring. He was seldom aboard the ship, and
spent most of his time ashore "sun-fishing" around bowling alleys and
billiard parlors with young loafers of a similar cut of jib to
himself.
Hinkel vanished after being paid off, and he was never seen again
around Vancouver. It was thought that he had shipped to the north in a
coasting packet running supplies up to St. Michaels or Nome for the
thousands of gold-seekers who were swarming into the Yukon with every
north-bound ship. McLean and Martin had succumbed to the gold-fever
and had shipped as hands on Alaska steamers, and the others had
scattered to the four winds of Heaven shortly after being paid off.
Donald recalled their shouting of the fare-well chantey as they warped
the barque alongside the wharf:--
"The work was hard, the voyage was long,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
The seas were high, the gales were strong,
And it's time for us to leave her!
She would not steer, nor stay, nor wear,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
She shipped it green, and made us swear,
And it's time for us to leave her!
The sails are furled, our work is done,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
And now on shore we'll have some fun,
And it's time for us to leave her!"
Roaring this nautical valediction, they belayed and coiled down, and
when Martin had said, "That'll do, men!" they tumbled their dunnage
over the rail and hied along to Pete Larsen's Place or Two Bit Peter's
Sailors' Boarding House and Nautical Emporium--glad to get away from
the "bloody starvation Scotch work-house" which they called the
_Kelvinhaugh_. Aye! in a week or two, in all probability, they would
be outward-bound again in something as bad, and the much-anathematized
_Kelvinhaugh_ would be glorified in "my last ship" reminiscences.
Donald and Jenkins worked from six to five painting and doing odd
jobs, under the orders of Thompson and Captain Muirhead--the mystery
of whose reinstatement had not yet been cleared up. He was not the
same man, however, and he spoke quite kindly to Donald on several
occasions, and even gave him a dollar with which to see the sights. A
dollar did not go far on the West Coast in those hectic days, with
prices enhanced by the gold-seekers' demands, but Jenkins had received
something from home, and he generously "stood on his hands" and shared
with the others.
A great packet of letters from his mother made Donald happy. She was
well and getting along all right in the Hydropathic and had no
complaints, though she was lonesome for her darling boy. These
motherly missives usually contained many warnings about sleeping in
damp bed clothes, sitting in draughts, and the danger of wearing wet
socks. There was also much well-meant advice about the dire results of
"overloading his stomach," and requests not to "eat too much rich
food." Donald smiled grimly when he read these paragraphs. God knows
there was no danger of overloading his stomach on any "rich" food in a
starvation Scotch barque! Pea soup, hard biscuit, salt beef and pork,
occasional potatoes and "duff," tea and coffee (water bewitched),
constituted the bulk of the "rich food" he had lived on, and there
wasn't too much of it at any time, and latterly, he had tautened his
belt on the meagre feed to delude his imagination into the belief that
his stomach was full!
Thompson--a four-years' voyager--received similar reminders from home.
"The dear old mater thinks I should wear goloshes and an umbrella on
deck when it is raining," he said with a laugh. "What mothers don't
know won't hurt them."
With Captain Muirhead's dollar, Donald wrote several letters home and
got his photograph taken standing alongside one of the giant cedars in
Stanley Park. The photo cost him "four bits," or fifty cents, but he
thought it would be the best thing he could send, and cheerfully spent
the money.
The _Kelvinhaugh's_ cargo had been nearly all cleared out of her, when
a boy delivered a note to "Mr. Donald McKenzie." It was from
Nickerson, and it requested him, briefly, to meet him ashore at a
certain corner at seven o'clock, and not to say anything to the others
about it. Donald cleaned up, and slipped away from Jenkins and
Thompson by saying he was "going up street to post a letter."
Captain Nickerson, looking prosperous and smoking a cigar, met him at
the appointed time and they went to a Chinese cafe and ordered
something to eat. "Now, Donald," said the other--it was the first time
he had ever addressed him thus--"what do you plan to do? Are you going
to stick by the ship?"
McKenzie had spent many hours thinking over matters, and he was unable
to make up his mind. Since the ship had been in port, the miseries of
the passage had been forgotten, and he had already gotten into that
frame of mind--common to all sailors--wherein he thought that his
future sea-faring would be easier. He knew the ropes now, and, of
course, it had been his first voyage, and it had been an unusually
rough one. If he was to get on in his chosen profession, he would have
to go through his apprenticeship. He voiced these thoughts to
Nickerson, who nodded understandingly.
"Naow, sonny," he said, when Donald had finished. "I know haow ye
feel, but I'm agoin' to tell you something. Do you know that your
uncle shipped you on that hooker to get rid of you? Do you know that
Muirhead and Hinkel tried to do you in? Did you know that the two of
them framed up that jigger-gaff accident off the Plate, and that
Hinkel cut the tackle rope of the gaff vang to make sure you'd go
overboard? Do you know that Muirhead tried to leave you to drown, and
that I just came on deck in the nick of time and made him bring the
ship to the wind while we got a boat over? No? Waal, son, ye may look
flabbergasted, but it's gospel truth! They tried every dodge they
could think of outside of plain murder, and it was me that spiked
their guns!"
Donald stared at him in open-eyed astonishment, but the other's stern
features betrayed no emotion, and he puffed his cigar and continued.
"I took you out of Hinkel's watch after the jigger-gaff incident to
save your life when I got wind of the game. The skipper got cold feet
then and gave up all ideas of doing away with you. Off the Horn, the
ship got him frightened--blamed frightened--and he knew that Hinkel
was no good as a second mate, so he agreed to break him and send him
for'ard. Hinkel had fallen down on his job and the skipper was scared
of me, and it was me that put that Dutchman out of the afterguard.
Then when Hinkel got hurt and thought he was going to die, I got a
long confession out of him and it don't show your uncle up in a good
light." He paused, took a drink of coffee, and puffed on his cigar.
"Aye, son, your uncle is a downy bird--a proper queer-feller! He had
old Muirhead under his thumb for some ship-scuttling job which he did
for some one, and the old cuss was in dead fear it would be found out,
and he would do any dirty work your uncle asked him to do. Then this
Hinkel was another rotter, and another of your uncle's assassins. You
ain't likely to know it, but your skunk of a relative was managing
owner of the _Orkney Isles_, and I have good reason to believe he got
palm-oiled to get that half-baked apprentice McFee out of the way. I
think McFee's step-father engineered that job and Hinkel confessed to
me, when he thought he was agoin' to die, that he got paid for doing
it through your measly uncle. Aye, aye,--the more I learn about some
ship-owners the more I feel sure that hell 'ull be overcrowded!"
"What--what would be his reason for trying to get rid of me?" Donald
enquired in a daze at Nickerson's astounding revelations.
"Hard to imagine," replied the other. "You ain't got any money and
there ain't nobody to benefit by your death, is they?"
Donald pondered for a minute. "No! I can't think of anything. There's
only mother and I. When the dad was drowned, he left nothing."
Nickerson grunted and gazed on the smoke from his cigar. "He's got
some deep object, son," he said after a pause, "and I'll take time to
find it aout." He did not speak for several moments, then he threw
away his cigar and turned to Donald.
"Now, son," he said kindly, "I've taken a shine to you and I know
you've had a rough deal, an' that you're a poor little devil of an
orphan with nobody to look after you. I knew your daddy, though I
never told you. We were shipmates one time and he did me a good
turn ... never mind what. I've been a wild one in my day and should be
further ahead than what I am. But I'm going to settle daown. I'm
agoin' back home and I'll take you along if you care to come. You'd
better get clear of your uncle and your uncle's ships, and we'll frame
up a dodge on him if you're game. Will you skip naow after what I have
told ye?"
"Yes, I will!" replied Donald emphatically. "I don't want to stay.
I'll run away to-night and go anywhere and do anything to get away
from that ship."
"Don't hurry," said the Nova Scotian. "Wait until I'm ready and I'll
tell you what to do. I have been around with some friends of mine who
own sealing schooners. One of them wants me to take a contract to
deliver a schooner in Halifax--taking her 'round the Horn from
Victoria. This sealing game is getting played out here naow, and
there's a lot of trouble on between the Canadian and American
Governments about saving the Behring Sea seals and putting a stop to
the fishery altogether. Ef I agree to take this vessel around, I'll
take you along with me and I'll see that you are paid seaman's wages.
You won't have a hard time, and you'll find one of these sealers make
a fine able craft for rough voyaging. They'll make better shape of a
Horn passage than that ugly barge we jest came around in, and the
trip'll do ye good. When we git 'round to Halifax then we'll discuss
the future. Ye kin either go home or come into the Bank fishing game
with me. We'll see. Naow, Donald, here's a couple o' dollars. Skip off
an' see the sights. Don't say anything to the other lads and stand-by
for a hail from me later." "What about the captain?" asked Donald
anxiously, "will he do something to me now?"
"He won't harm you," replied the other smiling. "He's pickled that
liver of his until it's like a sponge. He may never take the
_Kelvinhaugh_ to sea again." He rose, paid the bill, and left Donald
on the street, much astonished, perplexed, and speculating on the tale
he had listened to.
And Judson Nickerson? he thought. Could he trust him? The young Nova
Scotian was a peculiar fellow. A hard master--a driver--and quick with
his feet and hands--a regular sailor banger! Donald thought of the way
in which Nickerson kept him skipping around on the _Kelvinhaugh_; his
bitter, oath-besprinkled commands, and his callous remarks in lieu of
praise for strenuous accomplishments. And yet Nickerson had been his
best friend. He had saved his life when he fell from the jigger-gaff;
saved him from Hinkel's studied hazing, and had secured him warm
clothes when he was perishing with cold off the Horn. He had done him
many kindnesses, but he had awed Donald with his shipboard severity.
He called to mind the time he had sent him aloft to reeve a signal
halliard through the main-truck ... but that was to test him. It could
not be called bullying. Nickerson was a hard officer, but he had never
hit any of the boys, though he horsed them around. Yes! he felt he
could trust Nickerson. He was a capable, aggressive sort of fellow,
but under his stern manner he had a kind heart, and his piercing grey
eyes looked honest, and he was undoubtedly gentle at times. And he had
known his father! Was he doing these favors for Donald as a return for
something his father had done for him?
And his Uncle David! Why should he want to get rid of him? What had he
done, or in what manner did he stand in the way of his uncle's unknown
objective? He racked his brain to solve this problem, but reached no
satisfactory conclusion. He believed Nickerson's story, and a review
of his voyage on the _Kelvinhaugh_ recalled many incidents in which
his life hung by a thread. If it had not been for Nickerson he would
never have seen the land again ... no doubt of that. He had been sent
to sea to be made away with, and he shivered at the thought of his
many narrow escapes from death.
The _Kelvinhaugh_ had discharged her cargo of rails and hauled over to
Hastings Mills to load lumber for Australia. Moore had received his
remittance and had gone, and nobody mourned him. He came aboard and
packed his dunnage with Thompson, Jenkins and McKenzie looking on.
"Why don't you give that gear to some of us?" Thompson had remarked,
but Moore replied, "I want to take it home with me."
"Aye," sneered the other, "you'll go home in your brass-bound rags and
cut a dash blowing about your passage around Cape Stiff. Believe me,
you cub, you've nothing to blow about! You want to tell your girl what
a ruddy sojer you were, and tell her that I was going to boot you off
a yard one time for having no guts. Aye! you ain't worth
carrying--even as ballast--and the sooner you get to your pa's beer
factory the better for you. You can help him stick the labels on the
bottles--that's your trick, young fellow-my-lad!" And with the other
three lads jeering at him over the rail, he slinked off in a hack to
catch the C.P.R. transcontinental train for Montreal.
Thompson was looking for a passage to England in a Blue Funnel liner,
and planned to ship in one 'fore-the-mast. Jenkins did not know what
to do. He didn't want to sail again in the barque, but he thought he
would hang on to her for board and lodging and skip out just before
she sailed. Donald was non-committal and said nothing about his future
intentions.
They had some pleasant times in Vancouver, and in company with four
other apprentices from an English ship, also loading at the Mills,
they toured the beauty spots of the vicinity. Sundays, they spent at
English Bay--bathing and picnicing, or drove to New Westminster and
Steveston on the Fraser River and looked over the numerous salmon
canneries established there. One time they made up an excursion to
Capilano Canyon; other events were boat sails up to Port Moody or up
the North Arm of Burrard Inlet. The towering mountains had a strange
fascination for Donald, and he loved to watch their lofty crests
reflect the colors of the westering sun or enhalo themselves with
wispy vapors when the clouds hung low. He set out one day to scale the
"Sleeping Lions" which guard Vancouver's bay, but a few yards plunging
among the muskeg, rocks, and huge fallen trunks of trees, made him
give up the attempt.
One of the foremen at the Mill kept an "open house" for
'prentice-boys, and Donald often went up with other lads and played
the old piano. It seemed strange to him to be fingering the keys
again, and it took some time to get his stiffened fingers limbered up.
As a piano player, McKenzie was very much in demand, and "sing-songs"
at the genial Mr. Harrigan's bungalow became almost nightly events.
Another artistic accomplishment was renewed when he made sketches of
Vancouver scenery and mailed them to his mother. He did not feel like
sketching while at sea, but during the placid hours of port life, the
mood returned, and with pencil and crayons, he limned the sights
around while Thompson and Jenkins admiringly looked on. "If I could
draw like that, nipper," remarked the former, "I'd be cussed if I'd
ever go to sea. I'd sooner squat on Jamaica Bridge and make chalk
pictures of herrings, and mountains, and fruit, on the paving-stones
for pennies. Hanged if I wouldn't!"
A month passed very pleasantly, when he got a message from Captain
Nickerson, and in company with the Nova Scotian he dropped into the
Chinese cafe.
"Naow, son," said Nickerson, when they were seated with coffee before
them, "I'm all fixed up. I'm agoin' to take a ninety-five ton sealing
schooner called the _Helen Starbuck_, around to Halifax soon's I git a
crew of four or five able hands. Naow, tell me, Donny-boy, d'ye s'pose
young Thompson 'ud like to go along with me? And young Jenkins? I'd
gladly give them a lift out o' that big barge ef they'd care to ship.
D'ye think they would?" Donald felt pretty sure that both would go if
they got the chance.
"Good!" replied the other. "We'll sound 'em later to-night. I s'pose
you can get 'em some time this evening? Right! Naow, I've thought up a
dodge for your uncle's benefit. You go on that lumber wharf to-morrow
night and pretend you're goin' fishin'. Lay your brass-bound coat on
the wharf, an' git a big rock, or anything that'll sink, and you jest
give a yell for help an' heave it in. Chuck yer cap in afterwards, an'
sling your hook from th' wharf as hard as you can pelt. I'll wait for
you at the head of the dock in a quiet spot an' we'll slip away. As
for your clothes, Thompson kin bring them away with him ef he comes
with us."
Donald opened his eyes in wonder. "What is the object of pretending
I'm drowned off the wharf?"
The other smiled knowingly. "Two objects! First--it will prevent old
Muirhead from notifying the police that you have deserted.
Second--he'll inform your uncle of your death, and then you'll see
what the game is. Write and tell your mother what you are doing and
she can keep an eye on things over there. Naow, skip along an' find
Thompson an' Jenkins!"
Two days later, Nickerson and the three apprentices sailed on the
night boat for Victoria. All were dressed in cheap store clothes and
looked like laborers or fishermen, and in Thompson's sea-chest and
dunnage bag reposed the best parts of Jenkins' and McKenzie's kit.
Thompson had left the ship openly and with a clear discharge from the
captain, on the plea that he was going to join a steamer in Victoria.
Jenkins had skipped out "between two days," and his name and
description was on the police blotter of Vancouver as a runaway
apprentice, who, when apprehended, was to be kept in confinement until
such time as the barque was ready for sea. McKenzie, alas! had fallen
off the wharf while fishing and was drowned, and Captain Muirhead
tersely reported the matter to D. McKenzie, Esq., Bothwell St.,
Glasgow, without any elaborate explanations. _Mr. McKenzie, no doubt,
would consider that the job was satisfactorily accomplished._
Next morning early, they stepped off the steamer at Victoria and hired
a boatman to put them aboard of a trim, black, copper-bottomed, two
topmast schooner lying in company with a small fleet in the Inner
Harbor. Nickerson said that they were all ready to sail, and the
quartette tumbled aboard the little vessel.
"Naow, boys," said the Nova Scotian, "Thompson'll live aft with me and
act as mate. Donald an' Jenkins here'll live for'ard in the fo'c'sle.
It's nice an' comfortable compared with the _Kelvinhaugh_. There's two
other hands an' the cook aboard an' daown havin' breakfast, I
cal'late, so we ain't noways short-handed. We'll hev a bite to eat,
an' then we'll git under way!"
Donald and Jenkins clambered down the fo'c'sle ladder and found three
men eating at the triangular table fixed between the fore-mast and the
pawl-post. They looked up when the boys jumped down, and one of them
rose to his feet with a shout.
"Donal'!"
It was McKenzie's school-boy chum--"Joak" McGlashan!