"Good-by," she said simply, and thus we parted.
I was filled with the idea, as we went down the street, that I would run
across Gaston; but I determined that if this happened, I should not show
the fear of him that I had a few moments since. But we met no one except
some villagers driving their cows to pasture, and approaching the
wharves once more, we entered one of the warehouses, and found awaiting
there a crowd of seamen. They all touched their hats as Captain Temple
and I came to the doorway. A red-faced man with a great bulbous nose and
snuff-powdered coat greeted us.
"You're late, Captain," he grumbled; "and look at the gentry that have
been awaiting you. There may be some seamen amongst them, but I'll wager
we've got some hog-butchers and tailors here, at any rate."
He might properly have added pirates in his category, for some of the
men were as rough-looking cut-throats as any one might wish to see.
"Here, act as shipping-clerk, lad," said Captain Temple, shoving a great
ledger toward me. "And set things down right and ship-shape, too, in
plain English. Never mind the spelling--just so one can read it."
Luckily it happened that the page before was but half filled, and I saw
at a rapid glance the mode of procedure. I recognized also Bullard's
handwriting. And now began the examination that to me was most
interesting.
Temple looked at every man, as he presented himself, slowly from top to
toe, and I noticed that many of them gave a shake to their shoulders
when he lowered his eyes, as if a chill had passed over them. The
questions were very simple, consisting in asking the man's name, age,
previous occupation, and the vessel that he had last sailed in, and if
satisfactory, he was told to get his dunnage and present himself at the
pier some time before noon.
"We have no idlers on board this ship," said the Captain, addressing the
crowd. "If you're not doing one thing, you're doing something else. I
want both-handed men about me."
In about two hours the work was finished, and Captain Temple, looking
over the ledger, paid me a compliment upon my writing, and expressed the
opinion that evidently I was an old hand; in which I did not contradict
him. Before noon arrived, however, I was almost famished, but I had
found no time to search for anything to eat.
It had got noised about the lower part of the town that the remaining
part of the crew of the _Young Eagle_ were to debark at that hour, and
quite a crowd had gathered along the shore to see them off. I had
managed to run up to the inn and to secure my small bundle, and had
hastened back again.
Already a boat-load had gone off to the ship, and as I clambered down
the rough ladder, the crowd and those in the second boat were indulging
in much rough playfulness. It was a very mixed assembly, and there
appeared to be no deep feelings shown in any of the farewells. Just as
we shoved off, I heard my name called--that is, my first name. "John!
John!" said a voice, and looking up, I saw Mary Tanner standing at the
edge of the pier. She waved her hand to me, and then, with a quick
glance about her, kissed it.
My return to this, which I kept repeating for fully a minute, was not
conspicuous, because half of the men gathered in the stern-sheets were
doing the same thing and indulging in mock-lamentations. Three or four
silent ones, perhaps, felt more deeply than the others.
As we came alongside the brig, I noticed that her free-board was not
more than six feet amidships, but that her bulwarks were fully the
height of a man's shoulder. Her sides shone as if they had been
varnished, and the brass-work along her rails gleamed like gold. But
when I set my foot on deck, it was then that I was astonished. I have
seen many privateers and vessels of the regular navy since that day, but
never have I seen such a clean sweep of deck and such fine planking in
my life. All the loose running-gear was flemished down neatly, many of
the belaying-pins were of brass, and her broadside of six guns was very
heavy for her tonnage.
Amidships, carefully lashed and blocked, was a long twelve-pounder. The
others were eighteen-pound carronades. Two brass swivels she carried
besides these--one on her forecastle, and one forward of the wheel on
the quarter-deck. She was built upon a plan different from most of the
vessels of that time, but now become more adopted in America. Instead of
having her greatest breadth well forward, it was farther aft, and she
was cut away like a knife-blade. I have never seen her equal in going
close-hauled; or, in fact, in any point of sailing.
Now, as I stood there with my bundle in my hand, I longed for some one
to ask questions of, and then I remembered that if we sailed on the
morrow, Plummer would be left behind. Most of the men coming off shore
had carried their hammocks with them, and where I was to get mine I did
not know. But as Captain Temple had been so kind to me on shore, I
thought nothing of going to him, and considered that it would be the
best way out of the difficulty, so I stepped up to where he was standing
near the binnacle. He looked at me as if he had never seen me before; in
fact, he appeared a totally different man.
"Well!" he said, sternly. "Coming aft in this fashion! If you wish to
speak to me, wait at the mast."
"I have no hammock, sir," I began.
"Sleep on the deck, then," he returned. "Go forward."
He spoke to me much as one might address a dog, but there was nothing
for me to do but to obey like one, and I went down the hatchway to the
berth-deck. How so many men were going to sleep in that crowded space I
could not see. They were so close that as they moved about they touched
one another, and so low were the deck-beams that the tallest could not
stand erect, and even I brought up against one with a tremendous whack
that set starry skies before me. To my relief, I perceived that I was
not the only greenhorn, and that there were a few others who knew even
less than I did of what was expected of them.
A gawky country lad, who had been standing there gorming about
open-mouthed, approached me.
"Tell me, please," he said, "where are our beds. Where are we going to
sleep?"
I explained that the long bundles some of the men carried, and that they
were taking up to stow in the nettings on the deck, were hammocks, and
that he would probably have one served to him. He thanked me kindly, and
probably looked upon me as being a very knowing, able seaman.
The men were joking and cursing roughly, and before we had been on board
ten minutes a fight had started between two half-drunken sailors, which
occasioned only merriment amongst the lookers-on, until a great,
thick-set figure, that I afterwards learned was Edmundson, the third
lieutenant, ran down the companion-ladder, and sent both of the fighters
to the deck with two blows of his great fist.
"If you're after sore heads, you can get them!" he cried. "But avast
this quarrelling." No one said a word; even the fighters stopped
cursing.
I was mad for something to eat, for, as I have told, I had had nothing
since the night before; but soon the word was passed through the
forecastle that there would be no grub until the evening, at which there
were many mutterings and more strange oaths. During the afternoon the
crew was divided into watches, and the men were given their numbers and
stations, but so far as I could see no provision was made for their
comfort in any manner; no regular messes had been organized, and at six
o'clock, when we were fed, we sat about in groups on the deck, and ate
with our knives and fingers from the rough tubs; but the feed was
wholesome, and there was plenty of it. I did full justice to a very
healthy appetite.
Before dark Mr. Bullard came on board. As he walked forward I managed to
catch his eye, and saluted.
"Ah, here's our sailor fencing-master," he half laughed.
"Might I have a word with you, sir?" I inquired.
"What is it?" he said, frowning.
"There are two country lads on board that have no hammocks; they know
little of shipboard, but are willing. Can you not help them out, sir?"
I did not tell him that one of the country lads was myself. He muttered
a curse, and here I found out that asking favors of ship's officers
generally makes them cross. But he turned and spoke to an old seaman
standing near by.
"Willmot, get two hammocks and give them to this lad," he ordered.
I followed the old sailor to the forward hold, and a few minutes
afterwards presented a new hammock to the lank countryman, and kept the
other myself; following the example of the other seamen, we marked our
names on them in plain, black lettering.
The countryman, whose name was Amos Craig, and I found a hook forward
and agreed to swing together. It was near the hatchway, but we took it
because the air would be better, and it was already foul from much
breathing. I did not turn in early, being in the first watch, which we
kept as if we were at sea; but that night, as I looked out toward the
lights of the town and realized how great a change the life before was
from that I had been leading, I was half tempted to slip overboard and
make a swim for it, for I felt that all this did not mean liberty. I had
yet to learn that there is freedom in faithful and loyal service.
I had been much surprised by the difference in the manners shown by
Captain Temple ashore from those on shipboard. This change, however, is
the natural sequence of absolute authority, and the relief occasioned by
being able to throw off responsibility. In after-years I felt it much
the same with me, but in the writing of this tale, as I cannot claim
that I have the power of adding adornment, I also intend to be as free
from moralizing as I can. So, to return to what happened. As I leaned
over the rail, I made up my mind to accept anything that came, and make
the best of it, and to do my duty according to the best of my powers.
Half of the watch on deck were lying sprawled out and snoring against
the bulwarks, keeping carefully out of the moonlight, for the reason, as
I afterwards learned, that sleeping in the glare of the moon addles
men's brains; but this may be mere superstition.
Up and down the quarter-deck a restless figure paced in quick, nervous
strides. A sailor, with his heavy hair done in a long queue down his
back, and two small gold rings in his ears, approached me and nudged me
with his knee.
"Old Never-sleep is on the rampage," he said, directing his thumb over
his shoulder. "We'll catch it to-morrow, you can wager on that,
messmate. I've cruised with him, and I know his tricks!"
"Is he a good officer?"
"Ay, good for those who work for him, but he'll hound a shirker till you
can see his bones. Some men on this 'ere craft will wish themselves
overboard before this cruise is over. Jump when he speaks, that's my
advice!"
Then the man went on to ask me questions. I dodged them as best I could
by asking others, and as he liked to talk, I picked up not a little
worth remembering. I found that Captain Temple had various nicknames
that described his qualifications and characteristics to a nicety. Every
skipper, no matter what his age, is called "old" on shipboard. Temple, I
should judge, had not turned four-and-thirty, although he was slightly
grizzled and his face was weather-seamed. "Anger-eyes" they called him
on account of his keenness of vision. "Old Gimlet-ears," because it was
rumored that he could hear in the cabin what went on in the forecastle.
"Kill Devil," for the reason that he feared not to fight the powers of
hell if they were arrayed against him. But chief of all, "Old
Never-sleep," for a very evident reason. He apparently stood all watches
when there was aught to be gained by vigilance.
The quartermaster on deck stepped aft as the sailor and I were talking,
and spoke to Captain Temple.
"Make it so," were the words I caught from the Captain's lips.
Immediately the musical high-toned bell struck the hour. On the voyage
of the _Minetta_ I had learned to tell time after the manner at sea, and
I knew that the other watch was coming on. In ten minutes I was below in
my hammock.
So great a number of people composed the _Young Eagle_'s company that
the men were swinging double in the close-crowded space--that is, one
hammock was underneath the other, the upper lashed high against the
beams, and the lower sagging so that its occupant could touch the deck
with his hand.
I had never heard such a chorus of snoring and muttering in my life, and
it took me a few minutes to become accustomed to the reeking air. But at
last I dozed off into a fitful rest of ever-changing dreams, and was
awakened by the rolling of a drum and a confused sound of stirring,
cursing, and piping. Now began a day in which I had to face some trials,
I assure you, and call upon many resources that I did not know that I
possessed.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
LAWSON'S INVESTMENT
BY MAJOR G. B. DAVIS, U.S.A.
[Illustration: LAWSON ON THE WATCH.]
To begin with, it was not an investment of gold or silver, in land or
bonds, or any of those things for which men vainly toil and strive, in
constant peril of their souls. Of all that, I know nothing. I am simply
to tell how Lawson, a volunteer soldier, defended the Cienega Ranch
during the long hours of a summer day against a band of Mescalero
Apaches, red-handed, thirsting for plunder, and bent upon his
destruction.
I have said that Lawson was a volunteer soldier. If I rightly understood
him, he was born in Ohio. At any rate, he served in the Ohio infantry,
and enlisted for the war, with a thousand others, in the early fall of
1861. By rights he ought to have been drilled and properly set up and
disciplined in some sort of camp of instruction in Kentucky or southern
Ohio, but there was not thought to be time for that, so great was the
need for men, and so he had to acquire his manual of arms and other
military fundamentals in the field from day to day as he went along. Now
this is not the best way nor the way laid down in the books, but it was
the only way for Lawson, and whatever may be said against it, it is
thorough and to the last degree effective.
In the raw early spring of 1862, Lawson's regiment, still rusty in its
ployments and facings, and having as yet no abiding knowledge of the
goose step, began its campaigning in West Tennessee. He was at Donelson
and Shiloh, and later got his first lessons in digging and the use of
the head-log at the siege of Corinth. After that was over, he marched
about, hither and yon, as his Generals wished--but somewhat aimlessly as
he thought--in northern Mississippi. This sort of thing was kept up all
through the fall and winter until the spring came, and the Army of the
Tennessee set out to do something at Vicksburg. He did his share of
digging and fighting in the hot trenches there, and then, just as the
cool fall breezes were beginning to blow, he betook himself with Sherman
to the relief of his beleaguered comrades at Chattanooga, arriving just
in time to share in Corse's gallant but unfruitful assault upon the
north end of Missionary Ridge. Always a private, he missed none of the
marching or fighting or digging of the Atlanta campaign, and closed the
year '64 with the long sweet-potato walk to Savannah and the sea. Then
he waded and toiled up through the miry Carolinas, adding not a little
to his military stature and to his stock of technical war knowledge in
the way of corduroying and trestle bridges, and at Bentonville finished,
as he had begun, a private, full of dearly bought experience, fuller
still of malaria, an expert in all the arts of defence, a resolute and
resourceful soldier, who had been tried on many an emergent occasion,
and who had stood shoulder to shoulder with the boys whenever they lined
up at the sound of the long-roll or rushed to the parapet to repel the
assaults of the enemy.
At last, when the whole thing was over, and he had been paid off and
discharged, and had spent the greater part of the little that was coming
to him in seeing the great world that lay between Pittsburg and
Columbus, Lawson fared back to the peaceful Maumee Valley, with his
chills and fever and his slender resources, only to find himself a sort
of living vacancy in the body-politic. Look where he would, there seemed
to be no place open for an old soldier like him in the changed order of
things that somehow seemed to prevail in the little community which he
called his home. He was in no sense a "hustler," he had no trade but
war, no capital save his strong arms and an honest heart, and no
powerful friends to push him in any direction, and so, after many
disappointments, it came about that he drifted down to Cincinnati, and
there enlisted in the regular army. He had served side by side with the
regulars for four long years, and they were now the only folk with whose
goings and comings he was familiar; and for the first time since his
discharge he felt at home among the lean infantrymen as he ate his bacon
and beans in the company kitchen, and took his turn at guard, as he had
been used to do, or discussed the characters of his Generals with the
old men who had served under them when they were Lieutenants in Mexico,
in the hazy days before the war, when men's minds were at peace and
soldiering a trade worth thinking of.
The days rolled into weeks and months. There was little to do, there
were many to do it, and he was content, ay, happy--happier than he had
been at any time, that he could remember, since the winter quarters at
Chattanooga, after the blockade was broken and fresh beef and soft bread
were issued every day. But this was altogether too good a thing to last,
and the end came one day when a big detachment of ex-deserters and
bounty-jumpers were assigned to the Fourteenth, and the good times were
gone forever. To Lawson it was an enigma, and he gave it up, but it came
about in this way: When the great volunteer armies were disbanded and
sent to their homes, there remained on hand a residuum of deserters and
men without souls, who had been bought with a price, but who belonged to
no regiment, and so were kept in pay when the rest were mustered out and
discharged. Of a sudden it occurred to the powers that this unpromising
material might be put to some use in filling the depleted ranks of the
regular army.
But fire and water will not mix, and if honest dough-boys be shaken
together with such sons of Belial the regimental traditions will suffer,
and discipline will surely come to naught. And so it happened that the
old Fourteeth had to undergo all the pangs of dyspepsia before it could
make way with the indigestible mass that had thus been cast upon it.
There is no telling what dire happening would have come to the regiment
had this state of things been allowed to continue indefinitely. A period
was put to it at last, however, by a telegram, which came to the
commanding officer at dead of night, transferring the Fourteenth to
Arizona. Then it was that the deserters and bounty-jumpers held council
of the situation, and being of one mind as to the unpleasing outlook,
took wing and troubled the service no more, and the old Fourteenth,
weaker in numbers but stronger in _men_ than it had been since
Fredericksburg, was landed at Yuma, where it was appointed to garrison
the abandoned posts and protect the overland mail from the depredations
of the Apaches, who had been working their will of late upon the
unprotected settlements in southeastern Arizona. Here, taking his
chances with the rest, and doing his full share of escort and fatigue,
Lawson served "honestly and faithfully," as it ran in his discharge
papers, until his term expired and he was a free man again. And then it
was that he went up to keep the mail station at the Cienega.
The Cienega, or, to give the place its fall name, the Cienega de las
Pimas, was a low-lying, swampy valley through which a small stream ran,
alternately rising and sinking after the manner of creeks and rivers in
Arizona. To the west, twenty-eight miles away, was the pueblo of Tucson,
a cathedral town, once the capital of the territory. To the east,
twenty-two miles distant, was the middle crossing of the San Pedro. To
the north there was nothing; while to the south were the Whetstone
Mountains, then old Camp Wallen, the Patagonia Mine, and Old Mexico. The
Cienega itself was flat, infested with all manner of poisonous vermin,
submerged in the rainy season, and miry and impassable, in a military
sense, at all times. It was also malarial, and to the last degree
unlovely to the eye. A few dead cottonwood-trees, upon which the owls
creaked at sunset, rose stiffly here and there out of the general dead
level of sacaton grass and chaparral, while the tarantula and centipede
and the ubiquitous rattlesnake reserved to their unhallowed uses the
moist, impenetrable depths below. The station had been located just
where it was because it broke into two fairly equal parts the long
fifty-mile drive from Tucson to the crossings of the San Pedro. Wagon
trains and occasional parties of prospectors or travellers camped at the
Cienega on their way to the White Mountains, or to the Apache Pass and
New Mexico, and from their small needs in the way of refreshment for man
and beast Lawson and his partner eked out an extremely moderate
existence. At very rare intervals a troop of regular cavalry passed that
way, and the ranchmen ministered to its needs in the way of long forage
to the extent of twenty dollars or more. These were red-letter days for
Lawson--a very gold-mine, indeed--and led him to hope that, sometime in
the uncertain future, he might be able to leave the Cienega forever, and
go back to Ohio, where green grass and tall trees grew, where churches
and kindred were, and where he might, perhaps, take a new start in life
in a land beyond the dim eastern mountains, where pistols were not, and
where civilization flourished throughout the year. This was a dream that
came to Lawson in the night when a big escort camped at the Cienega and
he could eat and sleep in peace.
No one who knows Arizona need be told that the Apaches were particularly
bad in the early seventies. No place outside the towns or beyond the
lines of the garrisoned forts was safe from their incursions.
Depredations were of daily occurrence, and were only desisted from when
there were no white men left to kill and no horses or cattle to steal
and carry away. A single traveller journeyed south of the Gila and east
of the Santa Cruz, not simply at his peril, but to certain, inevitable
death. It was the same with two, or three; if four travelled together,
one had a running chance to escape if the marauding party was less than
ten, or if the attack came within an hour of darkness. On the whole, the
best local judgment, both civil and military, was that five persons,
alert, fully armed, and, above all, judiciously scattered along the
trail, were the smallest company that could venture into the country
ranged over by the Mescalero or Chiricahui Indians with any chance of
getting out alive. The roads were dotted with the graves of those who
had paid, with their lives, the awful penalty of being too venturesome,
and the isolated ranches were heavily barred and otherwise defended
against the common enemy. The Cienega was no exception to the rule;
indeed, on account of its perilous situation, it had one or two
defensive features which less-exposed ranches lacked, and which I shall
presently describe. Partly because it was located near the junction of
several large north and south Indian trails, and partly because of the
ease with which it could be approached from the dense chaparral, it was
always surrounded by hostile Apaches, and its occupants went in and out
under their constant observation.