“Do!” roared Breeze. “If I knew, do you suppose I’d ask you? I’d make
you do it so infernal quick you----”
“Or whang yer lights out, ye insolent man,” said McCloud, turning upon
him.
“Well, well, I’m no priest,” said the repentant O’Hara.
“No more ye ken, Mickey, me boy; na is it the likes o’ you as will be o’
service in this case. Now, ye know, Mickey, I knows law, and I always
have told ye the skipper of a vessel is a law to himself. Ain’t that be
the truth, sir?” he asked, turning to the captain.
Captain Breeze nodded.
“That being the case, I know a skipper can marry people, perform
religious worship, and do all manner o’ things aboard ships off
soundings, as the saying is.”
The skipper nodded encouragingly from the safe.
“That being the case,” says I, “there’s no reason or being or state as
can keep him fra marrying this minute if--if he wants to.”
“I know that all right,” said Breeze; “but who’s to marry me?”
“I don’t happen to be able to guess the leddie’s name,” said McCloud.
“D--n the lady! Who’s to marry me? That’s what I want to know,” roared
the skipper.
“Why, the leddie will marry you, and you will marry the leddie to
yourself, I presume. We are both married, O’Hara and me.”
The skipper sat glaring at his passengers, while he repeatedly damned
the lady, the priests, the passengers, and all else connected with the
affair.
“You infernal cross-checkered sea-lawyer, how can I marry myself? How
can I marry myself and the girl too? Answer me that, sir,” and he glared
at McCloud.
“Sure, ’tis aisy enough, a little bit av a thing loike that, sur,” said
O’Hara. “Mac is right, an’ he has the lure strong an’ fast in his books
foreninst th’ state-room.”
“I’ll get the law and read it to ye so ye may ken it, ye hard-headed
sailor-man,” said McCloud, somewhat ruffled, and he started for the
door. The skipper unlocked it and let him out, holding O’Hara as hostage
against his return.
In a few minutes McCloud came back with several leather-covered books,
and, seating himself, opened one of them and began his search for
authority.
“Here it is,” he said, at length, while the skipper sat and looked
curiously at him. “Here’s law for ye, an’ good law at that. Just as
binding as any law ever writ.”
O’Hara nodded at the skipper and smiled an “I told you so.”
Jimmy Breeze came over to his passenger and looked over his shoulder
sheepishly. McCloud read, “And therefore be it enacted, that all such
masters of vessels when upon the high seas on voyages lasting one month
or more shall have authority to perform such services upon such members
of the ship’s company as they may see fit; provided that notice of the
consent of the contracting parties has been previously given, etc.”
“Wal, I swow!” said Breeze, after a short pause.
“Get married first,” suggested O’Hara, draining one of the mugs.
“Sink me if I don’t pull off the affair before eight bells, and if I
find your infernal book is wrong, blast me if I don’t ram the insides of
its law down your throat and whang your hide off with the leather
cover,” said the skipper, hopefully.
“’Tis good, rale good lure,” muttered O’Hara, looking for more beer.
“Who’s th’ leddy?”
Although no one had mentioned the name of the fair stewardess for fear
of precipitating an outburst on the part of the skipper, no doubt was
felt by the passengers that she was the object of the skipper’s
affections. His contempt for the O’Haras in general precluded the
possibility of a match with either of the young ladies of that
prosperous family. Besides, they both had pug-noses and were exceedingly
well freckled. The beauty of Miss Carrie had long been observed to have
had its effect upon Captain Breeze; so his answer to O’Hara’s apparently
hopeful question caused the latter little real disappointment, although
he may have had secret ambitions.
“Seems to me ye might give the lassie some notion of your hurry,
especially if it’s going to happen so soon. The puir child na kens your
purpose, no doubt,” said McCloud.
“Faith, I think ye right, Mac. I gave th’ owld gal nigh six months tu
git ready in----”
“Six thunder!” growled Breeze. “I mean to get married afore eight bells,
at high noon, according to good English law, and if you fellows want to
help you can get your wives and darters to bear a hand.” They went into
the saloon, where they found Carrie fixing the table for dinner.
The skipper hitched up his trousers impressively while his passengers
stood at either hand.
“Carrie,” said he, solemnly, “we’ll stand by to tack ship at seven
bells,--an’--an’--and after that we’ll make the rest of the voyage in
company. Hey? How does that strike you, my girl?”
“Mercy! What a man you are, Captain Breeze!” said Carrie, blushing
crimson. “Sure it’s sort of sudden like.”
“You’ll have half an hour to get ready in,” said the skipper.
“Plenty of time,” chimed in McCloud.
“An’ an aisy toime iver afterwards as th’ capt’in’s leddy,” said O’Hara,
with dignity.
“But who’s to marry us?” asked the maiden, shyly, glancing at the
skipper.
“I’m to marry you,” said Jimmy Breeze. “It’s law and it’s all right. I’m
master of this here hooker, and what I says goes aboard, or ashore
either, for that matter. It’s put down in that yaller book, an’ it’s
law.”
“Land sakes! I never could, Captain Breeze,--really, now, not before
these people,--I never could in the world.” And Carrie blushed
furiously.
“You passed your word last night, so I holds you in honor bound,” said
Breeze, with great fervor. “You have half an hour, so I leaves you.” And
he drew himself up and strode to the companion, and so up on the
main-deck out of sight.
McCloud and O’Hara, seeing danger ahead, strove with all the power of
their persuasive tongues to get the fair girl to listen to reason, or
rather law. She was stubborn on the point, however, and the female
portion of the O’Hara faction, together with Mrs. McCloud, was brought
to bear. These ladies, after expressing their modest astonishment at the
skipper’s unseemly haste, immediately, however, vied with each other to
argue in his behalf. They were so persuasive in their appeals, and so
adroit in painting the picture of Miss Carrie’s future happiness, that
in less than a quarter of an hour that refractory young lady gave way
in a flood of tears. After this she hastily prepared herself for the
ordeal by reading over the marriage service with Miss O’Hara, and things
looked propitious for the skipper.
At seven bells that truculent commander promptly put in an appearance,
dressed in a tight-fitting coat and cap with gold braid. He was followed
below by Mr. Enlis, who looked uncertain and sour. After a short
preliminary speech the skipper called the blushing bride to his side as
he stood at the head of the cabin table. The book lay open before him,
and without further ado he plunged boldly into the marriage service,
answering for himself in the most matter-of-fact manner possible. He
placed a small gold ring upon the middle finger of his bride’s right
hand, which she dexterously removed and transferred to her left, and
after the ceremony was over he glared around at the assembled company as
if inviting criticism.
No one had the hardihood to venture upon any. Then the paper which was
to do duty as certificate was drawn up by the clerky McCloud and was
duly signed by all present. It was afterwards transferred to the
skipper’s safe. Whiskey and water was produced for the men and ale for
the ladies, and before long even the sour mate was heard holding forth
in full career by the envious Mr. Garnett, who was forced to stand watch
while his superiors enjoyed themselves. It was a memorable affair for
some and immemorable for others, for the next day O’Hara could remember
nothing, and Mr. Enlis remembered that he had gotten exceedingly drunk.
Much he related to Garnett during the dog-watch, and that worthy rubbed
the top of his bald head and sniffed furiously at his vial, swearing
softly that the “old man” had made a fool of himself, and that he was
accordingly glad of it.
The cruise continued as a cruise should when a bride is aboard ship, and
at the end of a fortnight the Northern Light was in the latitude of the
river Plate. There had been never an oath uttered since the skipper’s
marriage, and the mates had begun to chafe under the restraint. The
bride was on deck nearly all the time, and was certain to make remarks
and cheer on any attempt at a fracas.
One afternoon the carpenter sounded the well and was astonished to find
a foot of water in the hold. The weather had been fine and the vessel
steady, so he was at a loss to account for this phenomenon. He sounded
again an hour later and found the water had gained six inches. Then he
lost no time in reporting the condition of the ship to the captain.
With water gaining six inches an hour, the crew manned the pumps with
set faces, appalled at the sudden danger in mid-ocean. Suddenly,
however, the pumps “sucked.” An investigation showed the ship was
rapidly becoming dry.
The water-tanks were examined and found to be empty, but no leaks in
them could be discovered.
To be at sea without water to drink is most dreaded by deep-water
sailors, so Jimmy Breeze started his condenser and headed his ship for
Buenos Ayres, cursing the fates for the foul luck that would ruin his
anticipated quick passage.
His wife consoled him as best she could and lamented her husband’s luck
to the passengers. Whereat she received the sympathy of the O’Haras and
Mrs. McCloud, and was looked upon as a very unfortunate woman.
“Ah, pore thing! to think av it happening on her honeymoon at that,”
cried Mrs. O’Hara.
“The sweet child, trying all she can to help her husband to forget his
lost chances for extra freight money. To think of it, and just married
at that,” said Mrs. McCloud.
“Pore young sowl,” said Kate O’Hara.
“’Tis a good wife that sticks to her husband in disthress,” said O’Hara.
“Ye ken it’s a jewel he has to be na thinking of money losses,” said
McCloud.
Finally the ship made port and anchored off the city to take in water
and continue her voyage at the earliest opportunity.
Mrs. O’Hara and Mrs. McCloud insisted on being allowed ashore to see the
sights. Captain Breeze would hear of no such thing, but finally, when
his bride added her voice to the occasion, he relented, and the ladies
went ashore together.
Mrs. Breeze pointed out many places of interest, as she admitted having
been there before, and at one of the principal hotels she left the
party. She told them not to wait for her, as she would stop and see a
friend, but to go down to the landing, where the boat might wait for her
after she was through her call.
The day passed gayly, but when the party assembled at the landing, Mrs.
Breeze was not there. They never saw her again.
The next day Captain Breeze called Mr. Enlis aft and took him below.
When he had him in the privacy of his state-room he pointed to his
little safe, and asked him to look through it.
This operation took but a moment, for it was almost entirely empty, and
when he was through he looked at the skipper.
“What would you do?” asked Jimmy Breeze, huskily.
“Me?” asked the mate, apparently amazed at the question.
“Yes, you.”
“About what?” asked Enlis, trying to look utterly lost.
“About that gal and the money, blast you!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Enlis, as if a sudden light had flooded the dark
recesses of his brain. He remained silent.
“Well, what?” asked the skipper, in real anger.
“I dunno,” said Mr. Enlis, after a long pause. “’Pears to me I wouldn’t
let on nothing about it. Mum’s the word, says I.”
“But the money, you swab?” growled the skipper.
“To be sure,” said Enlis. “The money.”
“Well?”
“Well, you might ask the police about the money on the quiet like,”
ventured the mate.
“Suppose you and Garnett go ashore and see about it without making any
fuss. Garnett is a good one for such matters. It would hardly do for me,
seeing as how I stand in the matter of husband.”
“Egg-zactly; we’ll do it right away;” and the mate hastened forward to
take advantage of the opportunity.
Garnett and Enlis went ashore with what money they could get, and they
entered a description of the missing stewardess with the police. “An old
hag with side whiskers, having a wart under her left eye and all her
teeth gone,” said Garnett, as he finished. “An’ I hopes you’ll soon find
her,” he added, with a leer at the official. “Ye’ll know her by the way
she swears.”
Several hours afterwards two exceedingly happy and drunken sailor-men
staggered down the street towards the landing. A beggar accosted them,
but after a search for coin, they protested they were cleaned out.
“Don’t make no difference. Give me clothes,” whined the mendicant.
“I’d give ye anything, me boy, for a weight is off my mind. Was ye ever
married?” cried Garnett.
“Give the pore fellow clothes, Garnett, you swine!” roared Enlis.
Garnett staggered against a house and undid his belt. Then with much
trouble he drew off his trousers and stood with his white legs
glistening in the moonlight.
“Here, pore fellow. You are a long-shore swab, but I knows by your look
ye are married. Take them, blast ye!” And he flung his trousers from
him. “This bean-swillin’ mate is too mean to give ye anything.”
“Not I!” bawled Enlis, casting off his belt. “Here, you swivel-eyed
land-crab;” and he drew off his trousers likewise and handed them to the
beggar.
“Thanky,” hissed the creature, and ran away.
The men in the boat looked up the street towards where they heard
singing, and they beheld two very drunken men in flowing jumpers
staggering trouserless along, while their voices roared upon the quiet
night,--
“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.”
_CAPTAIN CRAVEN’S COURAGE_
Every man develops during the period of his growth a certain amount of
nerve-power. This energy or life in his system will usually last him,
with ordinary care, twoscore or more years before it fails. Sometimes it
is used prodigally, and the man suffers the consequence by becoming a
debtor to nature. It is this that makes the ending of many overbold men
out of keeping with their lives. Some religious enthusiasts would have
it that they are repentant towards the end of their careers,--that is,
if they have not led conventional lives,--and that accounts for their
general break-down from the high courage shown during their prime. Among
sailors, soldiers, hunters, and others who live hard lives of exposure,
the strain is sometimes peculiarly apparent.
It is often the case that the man of hard life dies before his
life-flame burns low, and then he is sometimes classed as a hero. For
instance, the captain of the Penguin, who ran his ship ashore on the
North Head of San Francisco Bay, was the most notorious desperado in the
whole Cape Horn fleet. Many men who sailed with him never saw the land
again. Their names appeared upon his log as “missing,” “lost overboard
in heavy weather,” etc. Investigation of such matters resulted in
nothing but expense to the courts and the development of the ruffian’s
sinister character and reputation. Yet when he ran the Penguin ashore
with the terrible southeast sea rolling behind her, he maintained his
rigid discipline to the last and saved his passengers and part of his
crew. He died as a brave man should, never flinching from his post until
his life was crushed out.
There were some who said he dared not come ashore, as he had overrun his
distance through carelessness, and that without the backing of his
ship’s owners he would have been stranded in a bad way upon the beach.
But the majority were willing to forget his record in his gallant end,
and he will be known in the future by the men who follow deep-water as a
hero.
Craven, the pirate, was a much bolder and desperate man, yet his end was
different. He hailed from the same port as the skipper of the Penguin,
and sailed with the Cape Horn fleet in its early days.
He retired from the sea at the age of thirty-five and settled on the
southern coast of California, taking to farming with that peculiar zeal
shown by all deep-water sailors. He fell desperately in love, married,
and the following year shot and killed a man who was less pious than
polite in his behavior towards Craven’s wife.
After this affair he fled. Nothing was heard of him again for several
years, but as he was an expert navigator it was supposed he took to the
sea for safety.
One day an American trader was standing in the Hoogla River, China, when
a junk appeared heading for her under all sail. Behind the junk, about a
mile to windward, came a trading schooner. The Chinese on the junk made
desperate efforts to overtake the American ship. When they came within
hailing distance they begged to be allowed alongside.
The skipper of the Yankee warned them off with his guns, and ten minutes
later the schooner had laid the junk aboard. There was some sharp firing
for a few minutes, and then the Americans saw the men from the schooner
swarm over the junk’s deck. After that Chinamen were dropped overboard
in twos and threes, and before they had drawn out of sight ahead the
schooner was standing away again, leaving the junk a burning wreck. When
the ship made harbor they learned that Craven had appeared on the coast.
He had been there the preceding year and had been recognized. Altogether
it was said he had taken over five hundred junks and put their crews
overboard. The captain of the American ship reported the incident he had
just witnessed to the English gunboat Sovereign, but no action was taken
in the matter. There was no treaty between the United States and China,
and, as Craven was an American, it was a case for the Chinese to settle.
Craven had been on the coast several times. He had a rendezvous to the
eastward somewhere among the numerous coral reefs, and from this den he
would sally forth in his schooner, armed with six twelve-pounders, and
swoop down upon some unsuspecting Chinese town. His boldness was
remarkable.
Once he held a whole village in check single-handed while his men
carried a boat-load of young maidens aboard the schooner, and then
returned for the rest of their booty left upon the sand. It was said
that had the emperor himself been within a day’s journey of the coast,
Craven would have had him aboard his vessel to gratify his sinister
humor.
His cruelty was phenomenal. A favorite amusement of his being to tie two
Chinamen together by their pigtails and sling them across a spring-stay.
Then he would offer freedom to the one who would demolish the other the
quicker. It was seldom that he failed to produce a horrible spectacle.
On one occasion when he captured a prominent mandarin he asked an
enormous ransom. Not getting it within the time specified, he had the
unfortunate man skinned and stuffed. Then he was carried ashore and left
standing for his friends to greet.
Craven’s crew numbered less than twenty-five men, and they were all
white, except two or three who acted as servants to the rest, taking a
hand in the fracases only when ordered to.
It might be supposed that the pirate wasted much time and energy for
little gain taking junks. He dared not touch a white trader, and the
junks were the easiest to handle. There was little left for him to prey
upon, so he went along the Chinese coast like a ravenous shark, leaving
a smoking wake behind, strewn with the blackened timbers of burned
junks and dotted with the corpses of murdered men. Everything Chinese
was game for his crew, and what he lost in quality of plunder he made up
in quantity.
While the American ship lay in the Hoogla an accident occurred aboard
which delayed her departure. During the time spent in making some of the
necessary repairs Craven appeared at the mouth of the river, and was so
bold that the English gunboat was at last prevailed upon to drive him
away. The Sovereign met him some twenty miles off shore in the act of
scuttling a captured junk. This was too much for the Englishman, and he
fired a shot to drive him off. To his surprise Craven returned the fire.
That settled the matter. The heavy Blakely rifle on the gunboat’s
forecastle was trained upon the schooner, and it sent a shell that cut
both masts out of her and left her helpless. Craven returned the fire
with vigor, landing several telling shots. A heavy shell from the rifle
was then fired at half a mile range, and struck the schooner in the
stern above the water-line. It ranged forward, raking her whole length,
and left her a burning wreck. She began settling rapidly by the head,
and the gunboat, firing a parting broadside, which destroyed the
schooner’s two boats, drew slowly away. The Englishman waited within
sight until the schooner disappeared beneath the sea, and then, thinking
it would be more merciful to let the crew remain in the water than to
bring them ashore, steamed away for the river.
A few weeks after this a Spanish brig came in. She was a trader bound
south, and the mate of the American ship made arrangements to take
passage on her as far as Singapore to get some necessary supplies for
his vessel.
The first person he met on rowing over to the brig to secure a passage
was a small, peculiarly yellow man with a Spanish cast of features, who
met him at the gangway and asked him his business before allowing him to
come aboard. On telling his desire to secure a passage to the southward,
he was peremptorily refused; but when he explained his business was
urgent and that he had many necessary supplies to secure, the man at the
gangway reconsidered the matter, and bade him wait alongside until he
could consult his skipper, who was below suffering from an attack of
gout in his leg.
In a little while he reappeared at the brig’s side and announced gruffly
that he might bring his things aboard the following morning, as that was
the time set for the brig’s sailing.
The next day the mate, Mr. Camp, came aboard the brig, and soon
afterwards she was standing out to sea. There were two passengers
besides himself aboard, Manila traders, who had come over from the
Philippines and who wished to get to the southward.
When the brig had made an offing, Camp was surprised at the appearance
of a most peculiar looking colored man, who limped up the companion-way
to the poop. His skin was an orange-yellow, and appeared dry and dark in
spots. His right leg was swathed in bloody rags, and he limped as if in
some pain. He had an eye that glinted strangely as the mate came within
its range of vision, and his face wore the determined look of a fighter
who is making a desperate stand against heavy odds. In a quiet voice he
addressed the man who had made the arrangement with the mate, Mr. Camp.
“Collins,” said he, “get me the glass. I believe I see a couple of birds
making in along the beach for the harbor.” This he said in good English,
with a slight Yankee accent, and Camp turned in astonishment to look at
him more closely.
The man Collins, who was the mate of the brig, handed him the glass, and
after a moment Craven laid it down with an oath.
“The two fellows we missed last week. They’ll loose off at having seen
us, and that gunboat will be hard in our wake before night. You might
send a few men aft to get to work on our passengers. They are poor
whelps.”
Camp went towards him.
“I don’t understand what you mean by that last remark,” said he. “I am
an American and wish a certain amount of civility aboard here.”
The skipper smiled grimly at him and sat upon the poop-rail.
“You’ll get the best the coast affords, my boy,” said he. “You’ll be a
gentleman of leisure after you quit this hooker. This is the brig
Cristobal, Captain Craven; and now you can make up your mind whether you
will be a member of the ship’s company or try and float a twelve-pound
shot. It’s piracy, says you? Well, it’s swim, then, says we, and good
luck to you,” and he chuckled hoarsely, while several men came aft and
stood by the mate for further orders.