myrmidons of such gross negligence.
"Oh yes, sir," he said, "they've been down every day, but on'y one
man 'as quit. We don't want to leave 'er, but we ain't satisfied
with the skipper, sir, and we know, or at least we suspect, that 'e
ain't no favourite of yours neither, Mr. Lant, sir."
"Well, and if he ain't?" said Lant.
"'E do abuse you something awful; don't 'e, Corlett?"
"Awful," said Corlett; "it's 'orrid to 'ear 'im."
"And 'e shipped nearly all real teetotallers to do you in the eye,
sir," said Eales, "for 'e said, sir, as no sober man would 'ave
nothing to do with you."
"Are you a teetotaller?" asked Lant.
"To-day I am," said Eales hurriedly. "I was drunk yesterday, and the
day after I can't look at an empty bottle even without cold shivers,
sir. And it's the same with my mate; ain't it, Corlett?"
"The sight of a tot would make me sick," said Corlett plaintively.
"Well, well," said Lant, "what's your game? Spit it out, I say. I
can't give all my time to hearin' you've not the stomach of a man
between you. Now, quick, what is it?"
But Eales stood first on one leg and then on the other.
"You, Corlett!"
"No, not me," said the seaman of pure intellect.
"Well, then, sir, Mr. Lant, does you 'ave any sort of respect for
Captain Brogger, or would you like to get even for 'is most unkind
language respectin' you?"
Lant looked him up and down, and for a moment was inclined to break
out violently. But he hated Brogger, who had injured his prestige
once before by taking out of Portland every man he brought into it,
and he was curious besides.
"Suppose I'd like to do him up complete-ly," said Lant, staring at
Bales hard.
"And make 'im fair redik'lus and the laughin' stock of the 'ole
coast?"
"That would suit me," said Lant. "It would fit me like a dandy suit
of clothes."
"'E's the nastiest, meanest skipper as ever lay in the Willamette;
ain't 'e, Corlett?"
"I never 'eard of a measlier," said Corlett, looking for a cuspidor
in order to accentuate his verdict.
"Then 'ere's for tellin' Mr. Lant the 'ole thing," said Eales
desperately. And when he was 'through' with his scheme, Lant lay
back in his chair and laughed till he cried.
"It's great," he said, "it's great. Holy Mackinaw, it's great! And
you say he's no seaman?"
"'E ain't even a thing in place of it, sir," said Eales.
"And you really won't drink?"
Eales looked at Corlett, and Corlett looked at Eales.
"We wouldn't mind takin' a bottle down on board, sir," said Corlett,
who once more proved his intellectual capacity.
"And mind you keep your mouths shut," said Lant.
"Wild 'orses shan't drag a word out of us, sir," said Eales, "for
when my mate's drunk 'e's sulky, and I'm 'appy but speechless."
And down they went on board the _Enchantress_ with their bottle,
while Lant held a council of war with his chief runner.
* * * * * * *
Portland is a hard place; there is no harder place in the world. San
Francisco, for all its reputation, which it owes so greatly to the
gold times, is a sweet and easy health resort compared with the
trading capital of Oregon. Oregonians from all parts of the State
say it is a selfish city, with no more sense of State patriotism than
an Italian city of the fifteenth century had of national patriotism.
But in these days Portland is beginning to get a trifle nervous about
its reputation. It is beginning to get written about, and the truth
is told occasionally as to what goes on there. This is why a sudden
and remarkable disappearance of Captain Brogger, two days before the
_Enchantress_ was due to be towed down stream to the ocean, caused
rather more sensation than it might have done a few years ago. The
newspapers took two sides, and regarded two hypotheses as needing no
proof. The papers which were trying to make Portland smell sweetly
in the nostrils of the mercantile world said that some of the
boarding-house bosses might be able to clear up the mystery. They
gave reasons for supposing that Brogger was not loved by the tyrants
of the water-front. But other papers declared that he had been
knocked on the head and dumped into the river by some of his own
crew. One reporter declared that a more evil-looking lot of ruffians
than the crowd on board the _Enchantress_ never towed past Kalama.
This journal was partially owned by Lant and Gulliver. They owned
something of everything, even a judge. And the good police did what
they were told, so long as it was possible. They set about a story
that Brogger had committed suicide. The crew said he had been
looking wild of late. Mr. Plump had no theory, and was only mad that
he had no master's certificate. Young Dodman went round whistling,
in spite of the fact that he was the last man to have a real shine
with the skipper.
"I hope he won't come back, that's all," said Dodman. "If he does
I'm for the shore, boys; I'm for the shore. I've not known what it
was to be happy for months till now."
But Plump grew haggard running to the police and the agents. The
_Enchantress_ was full up to the deck-beams with the best Oregon
wheat, and was ready to go to sea. Every hour's delay meant a notch
against him with the owners. And yet, as the owners were the missing
skipper's brothers, he did not like to hurry. But the agents, who
cared about no man's brother, put their foot down.
"We've found you a captain, Mr. Plump."
"What sort?" asked Plump anxiously.
"He's a good man and well recommended, and a thorough seaman."
"That'll be a change," said Plump. "Poor old Brogger was fit to
skipper a canal-barge. All right, if you say so. We're ready if
your new man is. All we want is another hand, and he's coming on
board to-night if we sail to-morrow. We've had luck that way,
whatever else has gone wrong. If Brogger had lived I believe he'd
have lost the whole crowd the way he was shaping. He grew meaner
every day."
And that night the new skipper came on board. He shook hands with
his officers, and in half an hour Plump had almost forgotten his want
of a master's ticket, and Dodman was swearing by the new man; for
Captain John Greig was a man, and no mistake! He was quick and hard
and bright and humorous, and there was that about him which was
better than any extra certificate--he looked a seaman, and was one.
And he was as happy as he could be to get a good ship. The vessel in
which he had been mate had gone home without him, owing to his
getting smallpox.
"I think we shall do," said Greig. "I wonder what became of that old
duffer Brogger? Well, it's an ill wind that don't serve some
skipper. I'm a skipper at last, and with any luck I'll stay so."
Early next morning, just as the _Enchantress_ was making ready to tow
down the river, and when the whole world was still dark save where
the dawn on the great peak of Mount Hood showed a strange high gleam
to the eastward, Lant and Gulliver's chief runner came on board and
saw the mate.
"The man we agreed to put on board is sick," said the runner, "and as
all our crowd here is fixed up for, we've wired down to Astoria to
our other house to send you a good man in his place."
"Right," said Plump, who was standing on the fo'c'sle head--"right
you are. Ay, ay, sir, let go that head-line! Jump and haul--haul it
in, men!"
The men were cheerful; there was something in the voice of a real man
now on the poop that bucked them up. And they knew as well as Plump
himself that he was happy to have got rid of Brogger. The
_Enchantress_ looked as if she was to be a happy ship on the passage
home.
"You seem a derned happy family," said the runner to Jack Eales as he
skipped ashore.
"So we are," said Jack. "But tell us what's the name of the chap
that'll come aboard at Astoria."
"His name," said the runner--"his name--oh, it's Bill Juggins!"
For he knew that Jack Eales knew more than he 'let on.'
"The new man's name is Bill Juggins," he told Corlett five minutes
later, as they began to move swiftly down the smooth dark waters of
the Willamette while the early lights of the town still gleamed and
the snowy peak of Mount Hood was edged with roses in a rosy dawn.
"'Is name is Juggins!"
He slapped his thigh and laughed. They lay that night off Astoria,
and before the tow-line was again made fast to pull her out over the
great Columbia bar the new hand was put aboard in the usual condition
of alcoholic coma with not a little laudanum mixed with it. He was
stowed in a bunk in the fo'c'sle, where he lay just as they threw
him. But Jack and Corlett were as nervous now as two greenhorns on a
royal yard.
"I'm all of a bally twitter, I am," said Jack Eales. "D'ye know,
Corlett, I ain't sure we ain't done after all. I don't believe I
ever see this joker before. Brogger 'ad a beard."
"And Lant and Gulliver 'ad a razor," said Corlett.
"Brogger was pippy and pasty and white as--oh--as white," urged
Eales, "and this josser is as black as a mulatter."
"Walnuts grow in Oregon," said the wise Corlett. "D'ye think we
might let the crowd into the racket?"
"No, no, man," said Jack, "don't let nobody know as we 'ad 'alf an
'and in it. The cove's name may be Juggins, but we'll be jugged."
They were well out to sea, and the tug was a blotch of smoke to
windward, before Bill Juggins, A.B., showed the faintest sign of
life. And even then they only heard him grunt as he turned over
uneasily and went off on another cruise in the deep seas of sleep.
"If he works like he sleeps," said the crowd in the second dog-watch,
"he'll be a harder grafter than Smith that skipped. It's a wonder
the second ain't been in after him."
But the new skipper and Plump and Dodman hit it off so completely
that they sat together on the poop and told each other all about
everything in the happiest way. For Greig, though he was a hard
enough man in his way, had the gift of creating good humour along
with respect.
"It's a wonder what became of my lamented predecessor," said Greig.
"He's certainly dead, sir," said Plump.
"As dead as mutton," agreed Dodman.
"It would be a compliment to put the ship in mourning, as he owned a
share in her," said Greig; "and I think I shall do it."
"There's enough blue paint on board, sir," said the second, "to put a
fleet into mourning. I don't know how it came here, for Captain
Brogger didn't care to be extra lavish with stores."
It was Dodman's way of saying the deceased skipper was as mean as his
brothers.
"Very well," said Greig; "you can do it as soon as you like, Mr.
Plump. These are customs which I hate to see die out. And now I
think I'll turn in."
As he went he added--
"I believe we shall get on very well together, gentlemen."
Plump and Dodman said they were sure of it, and when he had gone
below they said--
"He's all right."
At midnight Plump went below too, and Dodman walked the weather side
of the poop in a happier frame of mind than he had known since he
came on board the vessel in Liverpool. The wind was fine and steady
out of the east, and the _Enchantress_ slipped through the water very
sweetly.
"Damme," said poor Dodman, "I believe I could sing."
He walked aft, looked at the compass, stared over the taffrail at the
wake, looked aloft to see if the gaff topsail, which was an ill-cut
and ill-conditioned sail, was in decent shape, and then whistled.
Being right aft he did not see a short, dark man come from the
fo'c'sle and stagger along the main-deck. But Bales and Corlett saw
him and left the rest of the starboard watch, who were yarning
quietly on the spare topmast lashed under the rail.
"'E's come to," said Eales. "Holy sailor, this is a game!"
Bill Juggins, A.B., laid hold of a belaying pin in the fife rail of
the main-mast, and swayed to and fro like a wet swab in a cross sea.
"Where am I?" said Bill Juggins. "This is a nightmare. I want to
wake."
He held tight and pondered. But his brain reeled.
"I have no beard," said the new seaman; "I'm clean shaved. My hair's
that short I can't catch hold of it. These ain't my clothes. I
can't stand straight. But if this ain't my ship I'm mad."
"D'ye 'ear the pore devil?" asked Jack.
"I 'ears," said Corlett. "If 'e 'adn't told me I was a soldier I
should say it was pafettick to 'ear 'im."
"This is a barque," said poor Juggins, "and so's the _Enchantress_.
But she's at sea, and yesterday she was in Portland not ready to go
for three days. This is a dream, it's an awful, awful dream. I'll
wake up, I will, I will!"
He hung on the pin desperately, and as he stood there Dodman walked
for'ard to the break of the poop. He whistled lightly.
"Dodman used to whistle," said the man in a nightmare. "I used to
tell him I wouldn't have it. I said it was a street-boy's habit. I
shall wake presently, oh yes."
"Who's that jabbering on the main-deck?" asked Dodman.
"It's me," said the jabberer weakly, as a cloud of laudanum floated
over his brain. "It's me, and I don't know who I am."
But Dodman jumped as if he had been shot. This was a voice from the
grave; there seemed no mistaking Brogger's wretched pipe. But before
the second mate could speak Jack Eales intervened.
"'Tis the new 'and wot come aboard at Astoria, sir. 'Is name is Bill
Juggins."
The man from Astoria wavered doubtfully and looked up at the poop.
"I know that voice," he murmured. "That's Dodman."
"The pore chap's very drunk yet, sir," said Eales.
"Take him away for'ard," said Dodman, with a gasp.
"My name--my name's Brogger!" piped the man from Astoria.
"It's Juggins--Bill Juggins!" said Eales firmly, as he took him by
the arm. "Brogger's dead, Juggins. 'E's dead and buried. Lant's
liquor 'as been too much for you."
And Juggins burst into tears.
"I _thought_ I was Brogger," he said feebly. "But poor Brogger had a
beard."
"So 'e 'ad," said Eales; "and 'e was as white as veal, and you're a
fine, 'ealthy, dark colour. Come back and doss it out, my son. The
pafettick story of the pore chap's death 'as been too much for you."
He and Corlett led the man for'ard and put him in his bunk, where he
wept copiously.
"What are you so sad about?" asked Corlett. "You're no better than a
soldier!"
The whole watch crowded in after them.
"What's wrong?" they asked.
"The chap that's tanked up says 'e's Brogger," said Eales.
The whole watch laughed so that the port watch woke up and cursed
them with unanimous blasphemy.
"But this josser says 'e's Brogger!" urged the starboard watch in
extenuation of their gross infraction of fo'c'sle law.
"Then 'e's no seaman," said the sulky port watch, "for Brogger 'ardly
knew 'B' from a bull's foot as a sailorman. Dry up, and let us go to
sleep!"
But Brogger kept on saying he was Brogger, till Pizzey, the biggest
seaman in the port watch, threatened to bash him if he wasn't quiet.
"But--but I know you all," said Brogger. "If I wasn't me, how should
I?"
"More knows Tom Fool than Tom Fool knows," said Pizzey. And he used
such horrible threats that the skipper was quailed and became quiet,
and at last fell asleep.
And in the meantime Dodman went down below and woke up Plump, who was
in his first sleep.
"What's wrong?" asked Plump, as soon as he found that he was being
waked three hours before his time. "You're as white as putty,
Dodman."
Dodman shook his head and could hardly speak. When he did speak,
Plump fell back upon his pillow and gasped.
"Brogger ain't dead," said Dodman. "Mr. Plump, Brogger's on board."
"You're mad!" cried Plump.
"I wish I was," said Dodman. "This is a Portland plant--this is a
coast game. They shaved him and browned him and drugged him, and he
came aboard at Astoria as a foremast hand!"
There was a deep silence for at least five minutes, and then Plump
said, almost with a wail--
"This is most disappointing!"
There was a strange look in Dodman's face; it was so strange that
Plump sat up and looked at him.
"Between you and me, sir," said Dodman, "he used to make both of us
uncomfortable."
"He did," said Plump.
"And he was no seaman."
"He wasn't fit to sail a paper-boat in a bath," said Plump.
"Then he's dead," said Dodman with a strange wink. And Plump's face
lighted up slowly.
"He's still dead," said Plump. "And if the owners don't like it they
can lump it. And, what's more, I don't believe our new skipper would
stand aside now for any man that ever breathed."
"If he does he's not the man I take him for," said the second mate.
"I shall get up that blue paint in the forenoon watch, sir."
"Get it up," said Plump. And in ten minutes he fell fast asleep
again. For it takes more than a little to rob a seaman of his
slumber. But at four bells in the morning watch he had to
communicate the news to the new skipper, who was an early bird. He
broke the news warily, for he dreaded lest the 'old man' should do
something in a hurry which he and others might repent of afterwards.
"It would be a mighty strange thing, sir, if Captain Brogger wasn't
dead after all," he remarked just a trifle nervously after Greig had
walked the deck once or twice.
"He might rise up now and find his ship missing," said Greig with a
chuckle. "After all, that's only what I did, Mr. Plump. I was
crazy, luny, dotty, and raving with fever before I was taken out of
the _Winchelsea_, and when I came to she was days at sea."
He marched up and down again.
"And a dashed good man got my billet," he said, "and now I don't envy
it him. It was a bit of luck my getting this, Mr. Plump, though in a
way I own I'm sorry that you couldn't have it. I know that's tough."
Plump sighed.
"I'd ha' had my ticket, sir, but for a fluke that a youngster going
up for second mate might have been ashamed of. A plus for a minus,
and I was minus. You wouldn't like to step down for Captain Brogger
now, sir?"
"Minus Brogger is plus me," said Greig. "I'd not step down to
loo'ard for all the Brogger family up from the tomb."
"No more would I, sir," said Plump. "But----"
"But what?" asked the 'old man.'
And Plump gasped a bit.
"Last night, sir----"
Greig stared at him curiously.
"Don't hang in the wind like that!" he said sharply. "What is it?"
Plump burst out with what it was, and told Greig in a fine flow of
words what the second mate had said.
"By crimes!" said Greig. "By all that's holy!"
He walked the deck for a minute, and then came back and stood close
to his mate.
"Have you seen this man?"
"No, sir."
"Did Mr. Dodman believe him?"
"Dodman isn't a fool, sir. No doubt it seemed to him that the man
had heard the tale of the captain's disappearance, and, having been
on the drink, he took it into his head that he is Brogger."
Greig turned his back to the mate and stared to windward.
"It's delirium tremens, of course," he said. "That's plain. I'll
see him after breakfast, unless he's sober and comes to his senses."
He went below.
"Crawl down now, and for a ghost!" said Greig. "If I do I'll be
damned!"
And just then Brogger was sitting up in his bunk, chewing his fingers
and trying to reconstruct the lost days. He had elusive visions of
strange interviews, he tasted strange drinks, his head ached with
horrid drugs, he recalled strange snatches of talk by strangers. And
out of the phantasmagoria of his jumbled vision there came sometimes
the powerful and brutal face of Lant, of the firm of Lant and
Gulliver.
"Someone hit me!" he said aloud. And Jack Eales, who was wide awake,
heard him.
"Where am I? I'm in a dirty fo'c'sle!"
He seemed to remember vaguely that he had been out on deck in the
night. He looked up and saw Eales' face dimly.
"What ship's this?" he asked.
"It ain't a ship," said Eales; "this is hell!"
Brogger shook his head dismally.
"It ain't--you're jokin' with me! What am I doin' here? Is this my
ship?"
"You was shipped in her," said Eales. "You came aboard in Astoria.
Your name's Juggins."
"I'm Brogger--Captain William Brogger!" said Brogger.
"Hush, hush!" said Eales. "Don't say it. All the men 'ere 'as sworn
to 'ave Brogger's life if 'e's alive. They say Brogger was mean, and
made them un'appy. 'E called good sailormen sojers; 'e give 'em bad
grub; 'e wouldn't 'ave no clothes dried in the galley off the 'Orn;
'e never gave 'em no forenoon watch in. In the dirtiest weather he
'ad 'em makin' sennit between shortenin' and makin' sail. 'E wasn't
no sailor, they says, to add to it all. And it's a sayin' 'ere that
Brogger saved 'is life by bein' killed, same as the pig did 'is by
dyin'. For Gawd's sake don't say you're Brogger, or there'll be
blood knee-deep--if there's blood in Brogger!"
"I'll--I'll go aft," said Brogger tremulously.
"Don't you do it!" said Eales. "There's a new skipper on board; 'e's
as fierce and 'ard as if 'e was a bucko tough out of a Western Ocean
packet of the old days. 'E won't stand taffy, nor any sort of guff;
but 'e'll jump on your stummick quick."
"Oh, what shall I do?" moaned Brogger. "Why, I know you! You're
Eales!"
"And you're Juggins!" said Eales fiercely. And just then in came one
of the port watch and banged a tin can.
"Starbowlines, ahoy! Turn out, you sleepers!" he roared. "Turn out,
turn out, my bully boys!"
The starboard watch yawned and groaned and grunted, and showed
unwilling legs, and at last crawled out upon their chests as the boys
brought the tea and grub in.
"Holy Moses!" said big Pizzey; "don't I remember that there was one
of the starboard watch that allowed he was Brogger?"
"This is 'im," said Corlett, pointing. And the whole crowd roared.
"'E's no more like old beast Brogger than I'm like the mate," said
Pizzey contemptuously. For Plump was a nice-looking man, and Pizzey
had a face like a bruised apple. "Where's your beard, Brogger?"
"It's--it's shaved," said Brogger.
"And where did you get them brown 'ands and that ma'og'ny face?
Brogger was as white as muck," said Bush. "And, besides, 'e's dead,
and there's no more in it than that."
"I'm goin' aft," said Brogger. "There's a dreadful mistake
somewhere."
But Corlett caught him by the tail of his jacket and sat him down on
a chest suddenly.
"Less talk and more work, shipmate. Eat your breakfast."
He helped the poor devil to a pannikin of tea and to a tin plate full
of bad bacon.
"This tea's beastly," he declared.
"Brogger's notion of wot's fit for sailors," said Corlett. "Drink
'is 'ealth in it."
And Brogger drank. The hot infusion of the Lord knows what did him
good. The fumes of fusel oil and the clouds of laudanum rolled away
from him.
"I know 'em all," he said--"I know 'em, every one. This is my ship;
this is the _Enchantress_. If it isn't, I'm mad!"
He rose up suddenly and made a bolt for the door, and ran aft. As
his evil luck would have it, the very first person he ran against was
the new skipper, who looked at him very fiercely.
"Where the devil are you running to?" asked Greig, giving him a push
in the chest that sent him reeling.
"I'm Captain Brogger," said Brogger with the most lamentably weak air
of dignity. It sat on him like a frock-coat on a gorilla.
"The devil you are?" said Greig. "So you're still drunk. Go
for'ard, or I'll cure you so quick!"
But just then Plump came for'ard to the break of the poop.
"Mr. Plump, Mr. Plump," cried Brogger. It has to be owned that the
mate started just a trifle at the sound of his voice. "Mr. Plump,
I'm Captain Brogger, and who's this?"
"Stop," said Greig, "stop right here. Mr. Plump, do you recognise
this man?"
It was impossible to recognise him by anything but his voice, and
Plump truly denied that he saw the least resemblance to the dead
skipper.
"Call Mr. Dodman," said Greig. And Dodman said he couldn't see the
faintest likeness.
"Then how do I know you all?" asked Brogger.
"It's my belief you sailed with us three voyages back," said Dodman.
"I seem to have seen you somewhere."
"That will do," said Greig; "go for'ard and behave yourself, or
you'll find out, whether you're Brogger or Juggins, or the Lord Muck
from Bog Island, that I'm captain here. Bo'son!"
The bo'son came from the galley, where he was taking in the situation
with the cook.
"Set this man to work," said Greig, "and keep your eye on him."
And Brogger went for'ard like a lamb.
"It's cruel! it's cruel!" said Brogger. But in less than two shakes
of a lamb's tail he found himself getting paint out of the bo'son's
locker in company with Corlett and Jack Eales.
"What you've got to do, sonny," said Jack, who had half a mind to be
sorry for him, "is to do your duty and do it smart and quick. Just
now you're off-colour, so to speak, in spite of that 'ealthy
complexion of yours, and you don't feel well. Exercise will do you
good. We'll have you on a topsail-yard yet singin' out: ''Aul out to
loo'ard' with the best." He turned to Corlett.
"What's all this bally paint for, Corlett?" he asked.
"Blamed if I know," said his mate.