some sailor’s joke,’ said he. ‘Nobody but a fool would send a message
tied to the leg of an albatross.’
“‘It’s a joke I don’t like, an’ I’d like you to take us away.’
“‘Well, joke or no joke, you’ll have to stay until I get some one to
take your place,’ and Jackson filled his pipe and smoked vigorously.
“I must have been dozing in my chair, for it was quite late and the fire
in the stove almost out, when I was aroused by a peculiar sound.
“I noticed Jackson start up from the table and then stand rigid in the
centre of the room.
“There was a deep moaning coming from the water that sounded like wind
rushing through the rigging of a ship. Then I heard cries of men and the
tumbling rush of water, as if a vessel were tearing through it like mad.
Jackson sprang to the door and was outside in an instant. I followed,
but the old keeper sat quietly smoking.
“Outside, the light from the tower shone like a huge eye through the
gloom, and as the fog was thick, it lit up the calm sea only a few
fathoms beyond the ledge. This made the blackness beyond all the more
intense.
“‘That vessel will be on the rocks if they don’t look sharp,’ said
Jackson. ‘Ship ahoy!’ he bawled in his deep base voice, but the sound
died away in the vast stillness about us.
“‘There’s no wind,’ said I; ‘but I distinctly heard the rattle of blocks
and snaps of slatting canvas as she came about.’
“We stood there staring into the night, and were aware of the presence
of the old keeper, who had joined us. Suddenly we heard the rushing
sound again, and it seemed as if a mighty wind was blowing through the
Strait. There were faint cries as if at a great distance. Then the noise
of waring braces coupled with the sharp snapping of slatting canvas.
“Jackson looked at me, and there was a strange look in his eyes.
“‘They’ll pass through all night,’ said the old keeper, ‘and in the
morning there won’t be a sail in sight, calm or storm.’
“We stood in the fog for half an hour listening to the noises in the
Strait, while the glare from the light made the mist-drifts form into
gigantic shapes which came and melted again into the darkness. Once
again Jackson went to the water’s edge and bawled into the blackness.
The long-haired keeper smiled at his attempts, and his eyes had a
strange glow in them like the phosphor flares in water of the tropics.
“‘The devil take this infernal place!’ said Jackson. ‘I never heard of
so many vessels passing through here in a whole season. The whole Cape
Horn fleet are standing to the s’uth’ard to-night.’
“I felt a little creepy up the back as we went into the house. Jackson
made up the fire, while I lay in a bunk.
“‘It’s been so since the light went out last winter; but it was the
fault of the oil, not me,’ said the old keeper.
“‘Why didn’t you stay awake and look to it?’ asked Jackson.
“‘It was a terrible night, and I got wet. I sat by the stove and fell
asleep, and when I woke up it was daylight, and the light was out. That
bird was there on the platform.’
“Jackson talked to the old fellow sharply, but I finally fell asleep. He
aroused me at daylight, and I went outside.
“The sun was shining brightly, and the light air had drifted the fog
back across the Strait to the ragged shore of Tierra del Fuego, where it
hung like a huge gray pall, darkening underneath. To the northward lay
the steamer, but besides her there was not a floating thing visible.
“The younger keeper, with the hang-dog look, started up the tower to put
out the light, and I followed, taking the telescope to have a look
around. We had just reached the platform when there waddled out from
behind the lantern the most gigantic albatross I ever saw. The creature
gave a hoarse squawk and stretched its wings slowly outward as if about
to rise. But instead of going it stood motionless, while the keeper gave
a gasp and nearly fell over the rail, his face showing the wildest
terror.
“‘That’s him,’ he whispered.
“And I must say I felt startled at seeing a bird four fathoms across the
wings. I stood looking at the creature a moment, and was aware of
something dangling from its leg. Then I went slowly towards it. It stood
still while I bent down and unfastened the piece of canvas hanging to
its leg, but it kept its great black eye fixed on me; then it snapped
its heavy hooked beak savagely, and I started backward.
“The creature dropped gracefully over the edge of the platform, and,
falling in a great circular sweep, rose again and held its way down the
Strait. I watched it with the telescope until it disappeared in the
distance, and then swept the horizon for signs of a sail. There was
nothing in sight, and the sea was like oil as far as the eye could
reach. I put down the glass and examined the piece of rag. It was
nothing but a bit of tarred canvas, with nothing on it to tell where it
came from. The keeper asked to see it, and he could make no more of it
than I could. Then we went down, and as we approached the house the old
keeper came out of the door and looked around in the air above him. I
held out the piece of canvas and he gave a start.
“‘He was there, then?’ he asked.
“‘If you mean that all-fired big albatross, yes,’ I answered. ‘But why
the devil are you so scared of him?’
“The old fellow didn’t answer, but stood looking at the piece of canvas,
saying, ‘Only one left. This is the third time.’
“‘Only one fool!’ I cried. ‘How, by Davy, can you read anything on that
bit of canvas when it’s as blank as a fog-bank?’
“‘And you are that fool,’ he replied, in a low tone, so smoothly that I
damned him fore and aft for every kind of idiot I could think of.
“‘Let him alone,’ said Jackson, hearing the rumpus. ‘All these outlying
keepers are as crazy as mollyhawks. It’s some joke, or some fellow’s
trying to get the place.’
“In a little while we went aboard the steamer and started for the
Falklands.
“I was still there three weeks later, when two small sealing schooners
came in and unloaded their pelts. The men aboard them told a strange
tale of a wreck in the great hole of the Orkneys. They had gone into the
crater after seals and had found a large ship driven into a cleft in the
rocky wall. Her bow was clear of the water, but her stern was fathoms
deep in it, so they couldn’t tell her name. On their way up they had
gone to the westward and come through the Le Maire. They had hunted for
two days off the rocks and reported the light out both nights.
“Jackson started off in a day or so to see what was the matter, and he
took a goose-gun for that albatross. When he reached the light there
wasn’t a sign of those keepers. Everything was in its place and the
house was open, but there was nothing to tell how the fellows left.
“In a little while he noticed the head of an albatross peering over the
platform of the light, and he tried to get a sight at it. But the
critter seemed to know better than to show itself.
“He finally started up the ladder and gained the platform. There were
the two keepers, stark and stiff, one of them holding an oil-can in his
dead grip. The sight gave him such a turn that when the giant bird gave
a squawk and started off he missed it clean, although it wasn’t three
fathoms from the muzzle of his gun. He yelled to the men below to come
up, but by the time they got there the whole top was afire from the
spilled oil catching at the flash, or burning wad, from his gun.
“There was no way to put the fire out, so they had the satisfaction of
climbing down and watching the tower burn before their eyes.
“It’s hard to say just how those keepers died. It may have been the
falling sickness, or it may have been natives that killed them. As for
me, I’ve believed there was something unnatural about the whole affair,
for I’ve never heard of an albatross landing on a light before. There
was some talk about fear of mutiny aboard the Indian by her owners, but
there was no ground for it. Those fellows probably told a straight
story. There was a boat picked up to the northward of the Strait some
time afterwards, but there was no name on it, and the only man in it was
dead. He had several ugly knife wounds, but it proved nothing.
“There’s room to the eastward of the island for me. You had better watch
those fore-and mizzen-t’gallant-sails,--it looks as if we may get a
touch of the Cape before morning.”
I went forward and started some men aft to the mizzen. We were about to
begin the struggle “around the corner.” The deepening gloom of the
winter evening increased, and the distant flares and flashes from the
Land of Fire gave ominous thoughts of the future in store for us.
_THE BACKSLIDERS_
“Wal, I swow!” exclaimed Captain Breeze, as he came to the break of the
poop the morning after the Northern Light had dropped down the bay to
await the tide before putting to sea. The object that had called forth
this remark was the figure of a very pretty and strongly built woman,
dressed in a close-fitting brown dress with a white apron, standing at
the galley door waiting to receive the breakfast things from the
“doctor,” who was busy with the morning meal inside.
It was quite early and the mates were forward getting the men to the
windlass. The tug was alongside waiting to take the tow as soon as the
anchor came to the cat-head. The passengers were still below in their
bunks and the skipper had only just turned out. He was bound out on a
long voyage to the West Coast, and both he and his mates had enjoyed a
more than usually convivial time the evening before. This accounted for
the skipper not having seen his stewardess until the next morning, for
she had come aboard quietly and had gone unperceived to her state-room
in the forward cabin. He had asked for a good stewardess this voyage,
for he had several female passengers. The company had evidently tried to
accommodate him, for this girl certainly looked everything that was good
and nothing bad. He stood gazing at her in amazement. Stewardesses on
deep-water ships were not of this breed. Forward, the men manned the
brakes, and a lusty young fellow looking aft from the clew of his eye
caught a glimpse of the vision at the galley door and broke forth, all
hands joining in the chorus,--
“A Bully sailed from Bristol town,
Singing yo, ho, ho, oh, blow a man down;
A Bully sailed, and made a tack,
Hooray for the Yankee Jack,
Waiting with his yard aback,
Soo-aye! Hooray! Oh, knock a man down.”
The rising sun shone upon the white topsails hanging in the buntlines
and glittered upon the brass binnacle and companion-rail. In the bright
light the hair of the young woman at the galley door looked like
burnished copper or a deep red gold. The curve of her rosy cheek was
perfect, and every now and then the skipper caught a glimpse of red lips
and a gleam of white teeth.
“Wal, I swow!” he exclaimed again.
“Anchor’s short, sir!” came the hoarse cry of Mr. Enlis from the head of
the top-gallant-forecastle.
“Sink me if that ain’t the all-aroundest, fore an’ aft, alow an’ aloft,
three skysail-yard, close-sailin’ little clipper I----”
“Anchor’s short, sir!” came Garnett’s bawl from the capstan.
“----I ever see,” continued the skipper, completely deaf and lost to
everything else.
“Stand by to take the line!” roared Mr. Enlis to the tow-boat.
He was a cool, collected, and extremely profane mate, and he saw in an
instant that if the tug did not get the ship’s head she would swing
around with the sea-breeze and be standing up the harbor with the tide.
As it was, she kept paying off so long that the natural sailorly
instinct, alive in every true deep-water navigator as to a sudden change
of bearings, asserted itself in the skipper and brought him out of his
dream with a start. His vision faded, and in its place he saw his vessel
swinging towards Staten Island, her topsails filling partly as they
hung.
“What’s the matter for’ard?” he roared. “Wake up, you----,” and he let
drive a volley of oaths which for descriptive power stood far and away
above any of that extensive collection of words found in the English
dictionary. Had Mr. Garnett been of a literary turn of mind he might
have noted them down for future reference, but he apparently did not
appreciate their depth and power, for he caught them up carelessly as
they came and flung them into the faces of the crew with no concern
whatever.
No one was affected much by this outburst, but after the skipper had
taken pains to explain that his mates and crew were all sons of female
dogs, and that they had inherited a hundred other bad things besides low
descent from their ancestors, he subsided a little and another voice was
heard from the main-deck.
“That’s right, old man; don’t mind me. Cuss them out, I shan’t pay any
attention. I’ll get used to your tune, even if I don’t to your words,”
cried the pretty girl from the galley door, smiling up at him.
Jimmy Breeze looked down upon the main-deck from the break of the poop.
Then he scratched his head, first on one side and then on the other.
Never before in the twenty years he had followed deep water had he ever
heard of a stewardess addressing a captain like this. Had she been old
and ugly a belaying-pin would have found itself flying through the air
in the direction of her head. But this beautiful, gentle young girl!
It was too much for the skipper, so he turned slowly upon his heel and
walked aft with the air of a much disturbed man, muttering incoherently
to himself.
At three bells in the morning the female passengers had their breakfast
served in the saloon. The skipper happened to be in his room adjoining
and could hear the praise bestowed upon his stewardess by Mrs. O’Hara,
the Misses O’Hara, and Mrs. McCloud.
“A perfect jewel,” affirmed the latter, while “Carrie” was forward
getting her tea. “I really don’t think we could make a voyage without
her.”
“And so beautiful and good,” said the Misses O’Hara.
“Faith, tu be sure, she’s a rale saint av a gurl,” added Mrs. O’Hara,
just as she appeared with the tea things. “An’, Carrie, me gurl, d’ye
like th’ sea that ye follow it alone, so to spake?” she continued,
addressing the stewardess.
“Yes, indeed, ma’am. But it’s not alone I am entirely, for surely the
captain is the finest I ever saw, and they told me he was a father to
his crew. He’s a man after my own heart.”
“Humph!” growled Jimmy Breeze in the solitude of his state-room. He
thought his stewardess was not only very pretty, but an extremely
discerning young woman. It was, however, this very perfection in
appearance and deportment that caused trouble this morning, for when
“Bill,” the cabin boy, passed the stewardess in the alley-way he was
quite overcome by the vision of loveliness. He had some of the dinner
things for the officers’ mess, and when he turned suddenly at the door,
a heavy lurch of the vessel sent him against the coamings. This had the
effect of throwing the things scattering to leeward about the feet of
Mr. Enlis.
“You holy son of Belial!” roared the mate. And he continued to curse him
loudly until Mr. Garnett came up.
“Whang him!” grunted the second officer, shortly. “Whang the lights out
of him, the burgoo-eating, lazy,” etc.
Mr. Enlis had seized the unfortunate “Bill” by the slack of his coat and
had yanked him to the mast to “whang” him, when the form of the
stewardess appeared at the door of the forward cabin.
The mate laid on one good whang, when he was interrupted by the remark,
“Soak it to him; don’t mind me, I’ll get used to hearing him pipe.” And
the pretty girl smiled pleasantly.
“Ye had better go below, missie, for there’s a-going to be a little
hee-hawing for’ards. Come back again soon,” said Garnett, with a leer.
“Not exactly, while the fun lasts,” answered Miss Carrie.
But, somehow, the mate could not curse loud enough to keep his temper up
before the young girl, and he ended matters by giving Bill a kick that
sent him to leeward, where he landed in the mess-kit. Then the mate
touched his forelock to Miss Carrie and went forward muttering something
about there being no discipline aboard a boat with wimmen folks around.
Garnett balanced himself upon his short bow-legs to the heave of the
ship, which was now well off shore, and took his cap in his hand while
he mopped a deep, greasy dent in the top of his bald head. Then he took
out a vial of peppermint salts and sniffed loudly at it, looking out of
the clew of his eye at the stewardess. “Holy smoke an’ blazes, but she’s
a craft to sail with! To think of a tender-hearted young gurl like that
wanting to see a man whanged.” And he went forward like a man in a
dream.
Each time during the following days when the oaths flew thick and fast
from poop or forecastle, Miss Carrie appeared upon the scene and cheered
on the contestants. It was simply uncanny to see the fresh young girl
telling the skipper or mates to “go ahead and cuss them out,” or “don’t
mind me, boys, I’ll get used to it.” They could not go on while the
young girl stood by. Once Enlis continued to use foul language before
her, but two or three groans and hisses made his face flush for the very
shame of it. He threatened to kill every man who uttered a sound, and
seized a belaying-pin to carry out his design, but a laugh from the
galley door drove him into a frenzy, and he sent the pin flying at the
girl’s head. He was instantly reported to the skipper for his brutal
conduct and had the satisfaction of being knocked down by that truculent
commander, barely escaping forward with his life.
“He’s a real captain,” said Miss Carrie to the O’Haras, whenever she
thought the skipper was in his state-room and could hear. She was a very
pretty girl, and what she said was seldom lost entirely.
Day after day life grew quieter on board the Northern Light. There was
no help for it. And while life grew quieter, so likewise did Jimmy
Breeze, the skipper. He was just “losing his tone,” as Mr. McCloud
expressed it. He sometimes burst forth at odd moments, but the presence
of his stewardess usually ended the flare into deep mutterings.
One morning he came on the poop and joined his passengers.
“There’s no use denyin’ it,” he said, “cussin’s wrong, and that young
gurl shan’t be exposed to it no more. She’s a-tryin’ not to mind the
rough words; but, sink me, any one can tell how they effects her, young
and innercent as she is. Things is goin’ much better this v’yage, and
blast me if I allows any d--d swab to shoot off his bazoo in my hearing.
No, sir; if there’s any cussin’ to be done, I’ll do it. Yes, sir, I’ll
do it; and I’ll whang the lights out of any d--d junk-eating son of a
sea-cook aboard here I catches,--an’ I don’t make no exceptions for
passengers.”
Here he glared at Mr. O’Hara, but that gentleman appeared absorbed in
the weather-leach of the main-top-sail.
“An’ I don’t make no exceptions for passengers,” repeated the skipper,
still glaring at the small and inoffensive O’Hara, who stared vacantly
aloft. Then the skipper went aft to the wheel and noted the ship’s
course.
Within another week after this speech of Captain Breeze’s a change had
come over the ship’s company almost equal to that which had physically
come over Mr. Garnett, whose long, flowing jet-black mustaches had now
given place to a natural growth of stubbly, grizzly beard and whiskers.
But of course the change of ships’ morals did not cause as much comment
after the skipper had repeated his remarks in regard to swearing to the
mates. Mr. Garnett’s private affairs were always of a nature that caused
inquisitive and evil-disposed persons much interest, whereas the ship’s
company interested no one, unless it was the stewardess.
As there was war on the West Coast of South America between Chile and
Peru, the Northern Light carried her specie in the captain’s safe, as
drafts and exchanges were difficult to negotiate. Captain Breeze was a
careful and determined skipper and he had the confidence of the owners.
He was a bachelor, but he debauched in moderation,--that is, in
moderation for a deep-water sailor. Therefore it was something over ten
thousand dollars in negotiable form that he carried in the small steel
safe lashed to the deck beside his capacious bunk.
On the days he opened his “slop-chest” to sell nigger-head tobacco which
cost him seven cents a pound for ninety, and shoes which cost him thirty
cents a pair for two dollars and a half, he took pride in opening the
steel doors and displaying his wealth to the stupid gaze of the men. The
men were not forced to pay the prices he asked for his stores, but it
was a case of monopoly. They could go without tobacco or shoes for all
he cared. When they had done so for a short time they usually accepted
matters as they were and signed on for both at any price he had the
hardihood to demand. Oil-skins and sou’westers usually took a whole
month’s pay, but that was no affair of his. If the men wished to go wet
they could do so. He had no fear that they would attempt to crack his
safe or steal his stores, for behind the safe and within easy reach of
his strong hand stood his Winchester rifle loaded full of cartridges.
Mr. McCloud and Mr. O’Hara often had the pleasure of viewing the ship’s
wealth, for there were occasions when the skipper’s temper was
sufficiently mellow to allow them in his room that they might marvel at
his power. He seldom failed to impress them. When the Northern Light had
crossed the line he had impressed them into such a state of high respect
for himself, and had subdued their own spirits so far, that he actually
began to make their acquaintance. He would now hold conversation with
them, but always in a tone of immeasurable and hopeless superiority.
During this period the moral tone of the crew had likewise risen
accordingly.
Garnett marvelled greatly during his watch below, and at night when on
deck he could be seen walking to and fro in the light of the tropic
moon, mopping the dent in his bald head and sniffing hard at his little
vial. The change was dreadful to the old sailor’s nerves.
Mr. Enlis went about his duties silently, muttering strange sounds when
things went wrong. The skipper’s promise to “whang the lights out” of
any one caught swearing had had its effect.
One warm morning, after breakfast, the skipper invited McCloud and
O’Hara below to try some beer. This feeling of good fellowship, starting
as it did under impressive surroundings, developed into one of real
confidence within a very short time. Mr. O’Hara had pronounced the hot,
flat beer the best he had ever tasted, and McCloud had affirmed without
an oath that he told nothing but the truth.
“Th’ only wan av all th’ saints that cud come within a mile av it,” said
O’Hara, “is that paragin av goodness and all the virtues, me own old
woman, Molly. She kin make beer.”
“Ah, the blessings of a good lassie!” said McCloud, holding his mug at
arm’s length. “Captain, ye have me pity, fra I weel ken ye need it,
being as ye are a puir lonely sailor-man. I drink to ye, sir, with much
feeling----”
“An’ hope as ye will not be always be sich,” interrupted O’Hara.
Jimmy Breeze sat silent and sullen upon his safe, glaring at his
passengers over the rim of his mug each time he raised it to his lips.
At the end of the sixth measure he dashed the mug upon the deck and
swore loudly for nearly a minute, and his guests were wondering what had
happened.
“I’ll not be any d--d sich any longer!” he roared. “I’ve stood it long
enough, s’help me.”
O’Hara put down his mug and edged towards the cabin door, and McCloud
was in the act of following his example when Breeze sprang forward and
locked it, putting the key in his pocket.
“Sit down, you swabs, and give me your advice. You can’t leave here till
you do; so take your time and lay me a straight course.”
“What’s--what’s the matter?” gasped O’Hara.
The skipper seated himself on top of his safe.
“It’s like this,” he said. “Here I’m bound for the West Coast in cargo
and passengers, likely to be at sea four months or more, and here I am
bound to get married even if I have to run the bleeding hooker clear
back to Rio to have it done.”
“Whew!” said McCloud.
“Whew!” said O’Hara.
“What I wants is advice. Shall I lay a course back to the Brazils and
cross the hawse of some shaved-headed priest, or put into the river
Plate and have her own kind of sky-pilot do the job? She lays she won’t
have no shave-head splice her, and it’s a good three weeks’ run to the
river, to say nothing of the danger of the Pompero this time o’ year.
Ain’t there any way to make her ’bout ship an’ head her on the right
tack, or have I got to be slanting about this d--d ocean until I get to
be an old man?”