A REMINISCENCE
The bargain completed, the two comrades were about to board the craft
when the old sailor of the cove interposed.
"I reckon you ain't in any sort of a hurry. If you start across the bay
now before it gets plumb dark old Bill Broome is liable to ketch yer,"
and the aged fellow gave Jim a shrewd look from under his grizzled
eyebrows.
"I guess that he wouldn't really do us any damage," replied Jim, with an
assumed carelessness.
"I should think that you would have to look out for him, yourself," put
in the engineer; "he's just as likely as not to drop in on you sometime,
and take your two boats and such ballast as you have stowed away in your
cabin, that he might take a fancy to."
"Him," said the old sailor with indescribable contempt; "why, old Bill
wouldn't come within a mile of my cabin, unless he was drug here. I had
quite a set-to with him a few years ago, and since thet time he don't
even pass the time of day with me." He was quick to see that he had
roused the deep interest of his two visitors. "Come in to my cabin,
while I smoke a pipe," he continued, "and I'll tell yer about that
fracas between old Broome and myself."
"Certainly we will come in," said the engineer; "we are in no rush that
I know of."
"Suits me," agreed Jim tersely.
They entered the cabin through a low doorway that caused Jim to stoop
his proud crest as it were. The interior was snug and cozy with
brown-hued walls and wooden beams that gave the room the appearance of a
ship's cabin. A large lamp swung from the center of the ceiling gave a
tempered light through a green shade.
There were several nautical prints upon the wall, and in front of a
small stove, wherein glowed coals through its iron teeth, lay on a rug
of woven rags a huge yellow cat stretched out at full and comfortable
length. Everything was scrupulously neat about the place, and kept in
ship-shape condition. The old man seated himself in a hacked wooden
chair with semicircular arms and a green cushion. Jim took his place on
a sea-chest, once green but now much faded, and with heavy rope handles,
while the engineer occupied the other chair. After the sailor's
wrinkled old wife had brought in some coffee for his two guests, and he
had filled his short black pipe, he began his narrative of his once-time
scrap with Captain William Broome, of unpious memory.
"That was one of the most unusual jobs I ever tackled when I took
command of the _Storm King_ for J. J. Singleton."
"That's the famous mining man, who used to live in San Francisco,"
remarked John Berwick.
"The same fellow," continued the old sailor, "and in spite of his money
he had a lot of sensible ideas. You see, old 'J. J,' as he was known
hereabouts, had three sons, the oldest seventeen, and their mother being
dead for some years he brought 'em up according as he thought best. Had
'em work in one of his mines learning to run an engine and earning their
own money. The youngest was on a big cattle ranch that the old man owned
down in the southern part of the state.
"He told the boys that when they earned a certain amount they could put
it into a steam yacht and what was lacking he would make up. Maybe those
kids didn't work hard for some years until they had what was needed. I
had been in command of one of Singleton's coasting ships and the old
man picked me to take charge of the _Storm King_, which was the fool
name of the yacht that they invested in, but there was nothing the
matter with the boat herself.
"'Teach 'em navigating, Captain,' he says to me in his final
instructions, 'and give 'em a taste of the rope's end if they ain't
sharp to obey orders.'
"But shucks, I had no trouble with them boys, they weren't like rich
men's sons, but knew what hard work meant and could obey orders as well
as give 'em. The oldest one's name was John--about your size," pointing
to Jim, "but one of those sandy complected chaps, with white eyelashes
and cool, gray eyes and no end of grit. The other two named Sam and Joe,
were active, competent lads, and they had brought with them a friend off
the cattle ranch, whom they called 'Comanche,' and I want you to know
that boy was some shot with a revolver, rifle or cannon.
"Well, the second day out was where Captain Bill Broome put in an
appearance. He was a smuggler and cutthroat in those days, and did a
little kidnaping on the side."
"He hasn't reformed yet either," put in Jim.
"Not him," agreed the narrator; "he thought that he would make a rich
haul on this occasion if he could get hold of the three Singleton boys
and hold them for ransom. As soon as I saw the long, gray _Shark_, which
I was quick to recognize, and noticed how she hung on our course, I knew
what the game was and, as she had the speed on us, I saw that it was a
case of fight or surrender. I can tell you it wasn't a pleasant
situation for me. I felt my responsibility and I didn't want to face old
Singleton if anything happened to those boys. I told 'em exactly what we
was facing, and it would warm your heart to have seen the spirit they
showed.
"The oldest one declared that their father would never give up one cent
if they surrendered until their ship sank under 'em, and I guess the lad
was right. Now we had three cannon aboard, a long, black, six pounder
mounted aft, which the boys had named 'Black Tom,' and two smaller brass
cannon forward on the bridge deck on either side. I had grinned at these
guns when they were first taken aboard, considering that they were part
of a kid game, and said to the old man that I wasn't qualified to
command a man-of-war and that we might be able to trade the brass pieces
for an island to some chief in the south seas, but now I saw that they
might come in handy, and enable us to land a few kicks in old Bill's
side even if he got us later, as was almost certain, for he was sure to
have the range on us.
"I could see a long, wicked gun that the _Shark_ carried forward, and
there were three cannon on a side; these I could make out clearly
through my glass. 'I'll navigate the ship,' I said to John Singleton,
'and you fight her.'
"'Agreed to that, sir,' he answered, gripping my hand, and I was soon to
learn that he was no kid at the fighting game either. It was now about
eleven of a clear morning, with a smooth and slightly rolling sea; the
_Shark_ was drawing up slowly and steadily, and was about five miles
astern.
"'I reckon it will be an hour and a half before she gets within range,
Captain,' said John Singleton.
"'Just about that,' I replied, wondering how he had estimated it so
closely, but he was one of the most practical chaps I ever saw.
"That will give us time for a good sound feed," remarked John. 'But I
don't feel like eating, Jack,' protested his younger brother, Sam.
"'Sure you've got to eat, Sam,' replied John; 'this game isn't going to
be anything like as fierce as what you and I have faced in the mining
camp. Take my word for it, you won't be fit for anything unless you have
a square meal.' I couldn't help but admire the way in which the lad put
heart into his brothers, and I felt confident that he would more than
hold his end up when it came to the fighting. However, it seemed to me,
the contest could end only one way and as a forlorn hope, I steered
southwest on the chance of cutting across the course of one of the
Pacific steamers, but all I succeeded in raising was the sail of a
Borkentine low down to the south and a few points west.
"About half past two that afternoon the trouble began. The _Shark_ was
nearing the half-mile limit; a long, gray boat of iron, built for speed
and stripped of all superfluous tackle.
"'They are getting ready to show their teeth,' remarked John, pointing
to a group of three men in the bow.
"Besides the men in the bow of the _Shark_, there were several in the
waist leaning over the rail and sizing up the _Storm King_ with cold and
calculating eyes.
"'Let's give 'em a shot, John,' I heard Joe urge.
"'No hurry,' replied his brother; 'don't let them worry you into wasting
any ammunition.'
"In a few minutes John Singleton turned to me, 'could you turn her
course a few points to the north, Captain?' he asked.
"'Certainly,' I replied.
"'Thank you,' responded the lad, 'I've a plan and it won't take over
five minutes.'
"Then he and his friend, Comanche, lowered one of the ship's boats on
the starboard side, where it was sheltered from the sight of the enemy
by the deck cabins just abaft the midships. In this boat were two
rifles, heavily loaded and ready for action. What the boy's scheme was I
did not foresee but it was to develop a short time later.
"Upon the quarter deck of the _Shark_ paced the figure of Captain
Broome, with his long, swinging gorilla-like arms. Suddenly he stopped,
put his hand to his mouth and shouted an order to the men in the bow of
the ship. Then came the quick move of one of the men. A flash leaped
from the mouth of the forward gun, a dull detonation, and a white cloud
of smoke curled back over the bow of the _Shark_, while the shell
plunged into the water directly in front of our prow.
"'That's for us to heave to,' cried John; 'give him our answer,
Comanche, and give it to him hard!'
"Comanche obeyed with belligerent willingness, and with an accuracy of
aim that was utterly surprising to old Bill Broome, for the round shot
struck his boat amidship, and it fell back into the water. The distance
was too great to do execution, but a yell of triumph went up from the
boys on the deck of the _Storm King_.
"'Just a little higher next time,' cried Jack Singleton; 'sweep the
rascal's decks for him.'
"It was good advice and now the fight was on, and it was like a real
naval engagement, with the constant bark of the guns, the heavy clouds
of white sulphurous smoke rolling over the quiet sea between the
combatants, and the thrusting flames from the mouths of the guns
flashing into the smoke. But the fire of the enemy was becoming more
accurate and deadly, and it was a question of only a few minutes before
a well-directed shot would completely disable us.
"'Pull down our flag, Captain,' yelled John Singleton; 'let him come
alongside.'
"It seemed to me the only thing to do, and in a couple of minutes the
long gray _Shark_ had slipped through the smoke on our portside. Old
Bill could not resist the temptation to make some remarks before he
boarded us.
"'I'd like to know, Cap'n, what you, and your parcel of kids mean by
attacking me on the high seas, me going along peaceable, just enjoying a
fishin' cruise for my health. I'll take it out of yer blasted hide for
making me this trouble, and I'll baste them pretty boys of your'n to a
finish, or my name ain't Bill Broome!'
"'Which it ain't,' I says, and I proceeded to hand him out a line of
talk that kept him eager to say something else about my character.
"You see I noticed that John and Comanche had disappeared just as the
_Shark_ hove alongside, and I intended to give them all the time I
could, and I could of yelled when I see'd John creeping up behind the
Cap'n; and the next second he had felled him with the butt of his rifle,
and Comanche had done the same for two of the men who were standing in
the waist of the ship, joining in our previous conversation.
"Well, it wasn't ten seconds before I was aboard with four of my crew
and it was no time before we had possession of that ship. Now you see
the purpose of John Singleton in lowering the boat when he did. He had
used it to slip around the stern of the _Shark_ and to slip up on Bill
Broome and his crew."
"Great work," cried Jim, in admiration, "but what did you do with 'em
when you had them caught?"
"That didn't bother us long," said the old fellow; "we didn't want their
company, and we had to fix it so they wouldn't bother us, so we put
their engines out of commission, so they had to use their small sails;
broke their cannons, and threw all their ammunition into the sea, and
left them, to their own devices."
"Where is the _Storm King_ and her crew now, Captain?" asked the
engineer with evident interest.
"Cruising down in the South Seas, I reckon."
"Some time we may run across them, eh, Chief?" questioned Jim.
"Stranger things have happened," replied Berwick with a knowing grin.
"Well, I don't intend to let John Singleton beat me at the game with our
mutual friend, Captain Broome," remarked Jim, as he rose to his feet.
"The old chap was right enough," remarked Jim, as the two of them sent
the beautiful boat over the slightly rolling waters of the gray,
sodden-hued bay towards Frau Scheff's. "If money can buy her, I am
going to own this boat. There is no telling when we might find use for
her, if we ever go down into the South Seas."
"You want something bigger than this low, black, rakish craft if you are
going to be a pirate in the South Seas," remarked Berwick caustically.
"Indeed, yes!" agreed Jim. "I'm sure going to have the _Sea Eagle_ over
yonder," and he nodded his head in the direction of the open bay.
"When Captain Broome gets done with her?" questioned Berwick slyly.
"Perhaps sooner; I dunno," said Jim gloomily.
They beached their long, low, black craft on the sands below the
restaurant of Herr and Frau Scheff, and from that base of supplies laid
in a liberal stock of provisions, enough to last for a day at least.
There was some ham, a loaf of bread, butter and an apple pie. Sauerkraut
they had to politely refuse, for, as Jim said in an aside to his friend,
"There was no disguising their trail from the enemy if they carried
that." But they had plenty of other necessities, including tea and
coffee. They were also loaned a few necessary cooking utensils, and thus
equipped, they launched out in their skiff once more.