IV

No man could say where the word came from, no man could say that he had

seen her himself; but the word was out that Oliver Sickles had boarded

his vessel in the early morning with the red-haired girl of the

Tidewater Café in tow.

Nobody on the _Sirius_ ever intended to pass the word to Drislane, but

no crew of a vessel can be whispering for hours without the one man they

don't discuss the mysterious matter with wanting to guess what it is

they are trying to keep from him. Drislane guessed.

I had brought him to the _Sirius_ in a carriage just before she sailed.

Captain Norman had told him to keep to his bunk until the _Sirius_ tied

up to the dock in Boston if he wished, but Drislane did not wish. He

came on deck, still bandaged and battered, on the first morning out, to

stand his watch. A word blown across the deck, when he was thought to be

still in his bunk below, halted him in his walk aft. He turned and

stared at the man who was speaking, whereupon followed such a sudden and

foolish twist to the conversation that he might just as well have been

told.

Throughout his trick at the wheel Drislane said nothing, but every

moment the compass could spare his eyes saw them roaming across to where

the _Orion_, like ourselves, was plugging through the short green seas

for home. When his watch was done he borrowed my glasses, climbed by

painful relays to the masthead and trained them on the _Orion_. After he

came down and had gone below, I went aloft and spent the rest of the

morning trying to see what it was that Drislane may have seen on the

deck of Oliver Sickles's vessel.

Was it a woman's head showing above the cabin companionway? or was it a

man passenger Oliver Sickles had taken aboard at the last minute? If a

man, he surely was no seagoer; for in the two hours that I watched he

never once stepped out on deck. He leaned dejectedly, or it might be

patiently, but, either way, motionless as a stanchion against the

companion casing, his soft flapping hat and the shoulders of a loose

coat showing just above the woodwork. Man or woman, the face was pointed

steadily toward the _Sirius_.

Our captain said it was a passenger of some kind. It had to be, he

said, because during the morning he had kept an eye on the _Orion's_

deck and accounted for every man of her crew, which numbered exactly the

same as his own; even for the cook, who had shown himself on deck to

heave a bucket of galley refuse over the rail. It could not be an extra

hand shipped for the trip, because no hand would be allowed to stand on

the cabin stairs.

And did he think it was a man or a woman? The shoulders in the loose

coat looked wide enough to be a man's. And I looked at him and he at me.

So was Drislane's Rose big enough for a man, but we said no more of that

then--Drislane had just come on deck and was making his way aft. Again

he borrowed my glasses, went aloft, and trained them on the _Orion_.

From time to time he looked down to the man at the wheel, as if to hint

to him to get a little nearer the _Orion_, but the man at the wheel had

already got a quiet word from the captain. We were to leeward. "Keep

off--keep off--off--off--!" Captain Norman was saying in a low voice to

the helmsman. "Don't let her get any nearer, leastwise while he's aloft

with the glasses."

It looked as if we would have to wait to get to Boston to settle the

question. Meantime, if Drislane would only try to forget everything of

shore matters, he might be getting great comfort of a run like this. If

he were himself, he would by now, being half in the way of a poet and

half hoping some day to be an artist, be drawing little water-colors and

writing little rhymes of these two big schooners racing home together.

'Twould have been well worth his paint and paper. The _Orion_ and the

_Sirius_ were two of the best in their class and more trimly modelled

than most. What the _Orion_ looked like we must have looked like, and

she was something I used to spend whole watches on deck just looking at.

She carried an open rail amidships, and her white-painted stanchions,

carved to hour-glass form, with the white-painted flat hand-rail atop,

stood clearly, sharply, beautifully out above her black lower sides and

the pale-green seas.

Not that either of us had much lower planking to show, for four thousand

five hundred tons of coal had brought us pretty well down to our

scuppers. Too deep-loaded for our best looks, some would say; but I

don't know--with all her jibs and all whole sail to her five lower

spars, we must have looked pretty good, the pair of us, plugging along

together through the curling rollers. We had set no topsails or

staysails, because they would not have stayed on, blowing as it was a

good half-gale.

[Illustration: The _Orion_ proved to us that she was faster off the wind

than we were by rounding Cape Cod before us.]

It could have been blowing twice a gale and nothing happened to either

of us. Probably no stiffer class of vessels sails the seas than the big

coasters of our side of the North Atlantic. Give them plenty of ballast

and there is no capsizing them. We surely had plenty of ballast in us

now, and took cheerfully all the hard westerly had to give us, and

foamed along. Foamed? We wallowed--like a couple of sailing submarines

almost. In that wind and sea, with all that loose water sloshing around

her deck, there was no careless standing around of course; but with

rubber boots to your hips, a good oil-slicker to your back, and yourself

lashed to something solid up to wind'ard, it was a great place for a man

to let the wind blow away three months of coal-dust from his eyelids;

and what the wind couldn't blow away the sea would surely wash out.

That loose water flopping around her deck--that was no harm. "Tarpaulin

her hatches, clamp 'em down, and let her roll!"--that had been Captain

Norman's word coming out of Hampton Roads. And "Batten her down and let

her plug into it!" had come roaring across to us at almost the same

moment from the deck of the _Orion_. And no more than into the open

Atlantic than we were plugging into it. The sea came mounting up over

our low lee-rails--up, up our swash-swept decks, clear across us

sometimes, when for a moment a doubtful helmsman would let her ship an

extra cargo. But, again, no harm in that. Let 'em slosh and let 'em

roll--we were standing up, the pair of us, like two brick houses. And

the rest didn't matter. And so almost forgetting Drislane's trouble in

the strain of the race, we batted our way through the winter seas on

which the sun was dancing--batted and slatted, plugged and slugged our

way beside the _Orion_ for the New England coast.

Two vessels may be built alike and rigged alike, but that doesn't mean

they will sail alike. The _Orion_, in the judgment of seafaring folk,

was a shade faster reaching and running than the _Sirius_. At any rate,

the _Orion_ proved to us that she was faster off the wind than we were

by rounding Cape Cod before us. To there it had been a good passage. No

collier loaded to her scuppers is ever going to break any sailing

records, but hard driving had brought the pair of us along at a good

clip. So far, fine; but it was to be a beat to windward for the rest of

the way. West-north-west is the course from Cape Cod to Boston, and

west-north-west was where the wind was coming from when it hit us on the

nose as we rounded the Cape.

The _Orion_ might outrun us, the _Sirius_, but to windward there was no

difference except in their masters; and there we had the best of it.

Norman Sickles could get more out of a vessel than his cousin when the

going was bad. Oliver used to claw around deck like a sore-headed bear,

and every now and then go below and have a drink for himself when things

weren't breaking right. Norman took things more quietly, and so taking

them wasn't too busy to grab every little chance that bobbed up.

The _Orion_ stood off on one tack, we on the other, and by and by we

lost her below the horizon; but standing in, after some hours found her

again; and finding her, were pleased to see that we had made up

something on her. We filled away once more, and by and by stood back to

her. We were making distance fast. Had we held on we would have crossed

her wake almost under her stern on that tack. On our next tack we would

be crossing her bow, and it would then be on past the lightship in the

lead, and the race over; for neither of us was going to tack up the

channel, deep-loaded, against a tide which would soon be ebbing. Up at

the harbor entrance two tugs had already seen that and were racing out

to pick us up.

To more quickly get in tow of the tug nearest us, which was coming

hooked up for us, our captain put the _Sirius_ about earlier than he

had originally intended. As we tacked, so did the _Orion_. We stood in

toward the harbor. The _Orion_ stood in toward the harbor. We were

surely going to pass close to each other--very close. Altogether too

close.

I didn't like the looks of things. Being a passenger, I had a mind free

for other things than navigation. "In case of doubt who gives way--the

_Orion_ or the _Sirius_?" I asked Captain Norman. "Why, she does," he

said, surprised. "It has to be her--not us. Both of us close-hauled, but

we being starboard tack have the right of way. He'll have to come about

and give us the road."

"But suppose, captain, he will not give way?"

"What! not give way! That'd be foolish. He c'n go bulling his way on

shore all he pleases, but out here he'll only get what's due him. He'll

have to give way."

So Norman Sickles said, but he wasn't the man to lose his vessel or risk

men's lives. The _Orion_ was holding on. She was going to force us. When

Norman Sickles saw that, he motioned with his arm for the man at our

wheel to keep off. But the _Sirius_ wasn't keeping off. Norman Sickles

turned and yelled: "Keep her off--off--off, I say!" starting aft, at the

same time, to take the wheel himself.

He was too late. They seemed drawn together. We took a shoot. The

_Orion_ took a shoot. "Damned if she didn't get away from him!" I

remember hearing one of our fellows jerk out, but I remember also I was

left wondering whether he meant our vessel or the _Orion_.

They rushed together and g-g-h-h! Talk of a smash! Forty-five hundred

tons of coal, nine-tenths of it below the water-line, and a breeze of

wind! Either one would have sunk a battle-ship. It shook the spars out

of the _Orion_. Her after-mast came down, the next one came down, the

others were swaying. "The boat--the boat!" her crew yelled, but taking

another look up at those wabbling masts, they waited to launch no boat.

With few words but much action, they went over her side, one after the

other, and began to claw out for the _Sirius_, on which--she was sinking

too--our crew had a big quarter-boat ready to launch.

While the two vessels were still locked in collision I had seen Drislane

come running from aft and leap into the _Orion_. I lost sight of him

then, because with our captain I had jumped below into our cabin, he to

save his ship's papers and I to save my firm's. We were on deck in time

to get into our boat, and help pick up the crew of the _Orion_ in the

water.

Looking for Drislane then, I saw him and Captain Oliver Sickles at each

other's throats in the stern of the _Orion_. There wasn't much left of

her above water then. And on her deck it was a mess of fallen spars,

with her foremast the only stick left, and that--unsupported by

backstays and the wind still pressing against the big sail--that was

wabbling. Even as we looked it came down--lower and top parts--with a

smash which snapped the topmast off and sent it twisting and gyrating to

where, after a bound or two, it rolled down and pinned to the deck the

two battling men in the stern. With it came a tangled mess of halyards

and stays.

We had picked up all of the _Orion's_ crew from the water and were now

hurrying to get to the two men on the _Orion_, which was fast settling,

when a red-haired girl came running from the cabin companionway. Almost

as if she had been waiting in ambush, she rushed over to the fallen

spar, untangled the halyards from the legs of one of the furthest men,

and after an effort lifted the end of the spar so that he could scramble

free. She needed to be strong to do that; but she was strong. If she had

held the spar up only an instant longer, the other man might have

wiggled free too. But she let it drop back. The man she had freed she

picked up and carried to the quarter-rail, where she waited for us in

the boat. He made an effort as if to get back to the man left under the

spar, but she would not let him. "Tain't no crime, Honey," I heard her

say as we got to them. She went overboard as she said it, and we had to

hurry to get her. "I know him a heap better than you-all, Honey--let him

rest where he done fall to."

She couldn't swim, but we got them in time. She didn't mind us in the

least. "He done tol' me, Honey, you was dyin' abo'd yo' ship 'n' o'

coase I goes on down to see. It sure did look like yo' own ship,

Honey"--she was saying to him before we had them both fairly in the

boat. It was Drislane she had, his head cuddled on her knees till the

tug came and got us.

We weren't in time to get to the man she had left behind. The last we

saw of him was his head sticking out like a turtle's from under the

fallen spar as the _Orion_ went under.

* * * * *

We were all in Boston by Christmas Eve; that is, all of course but

Oliver Sickles--and nobody gibed at his memory for that. He had his good

reason.

The tug rushed the two crews up the harbor to our dock, where I left

them while I went to get carriages and warm clothes and so on. When I

came back Drislane and his Rose were gone and no word behind them. But

the day after Christmas he came to the office early to get his

semiannual check and cash it. I wasn't there, but he left word for me

that he and Rose were married, and he was going to take my advice and go

home to his people. The office force said that with him was a girl of

glorious Titian hair and super-physique, who smiled wonderfully on him.

Captain Norman married the girl he should have married in the first

place. And so all the good people came happy out of it; all except our

firm. Nine thousand tons at two dollars per ton--there was eighteen

thousand dollars' worth of freights that we never collected.

* * * * *

So there's the _Orion_ and _Sirius_ thing, only, in telling it at the

Sailor's Haven the other night, our old stevedore didn't say anything of

Rose's part in it. He probably didn't see what that had to do with it.

However, he said enough to convince the lecturer, who was a pretty

fair-minded kind, that perhaps he would have to reconstruct his views

about sailors' superstitions.

And perhaps there is something in it; but it's a poor case won't stand

hearing both sides of the evidence. "Hoodoo ships!" It's a fascinating

phrase, but--Oliver Sickles it was who held the wheel of the _Orion_,

and it was Drislane to the wheel of the _Sirius_, when they came

together.

[Illustration: It was Drislane she had, his head cuddled on her knees

till the tug came and got us.]