THE
BARGE OF HAUNTED LIVES
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE
BARGE OF HAUNTED LIVES
BY
J. AUBREY TYSON
AUTHOR OF “THE SCARLET TANAGER”
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1923
_All rights reserved_
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
COPYRIGHT, 1923,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and Electrotyped. Published, 1923.
FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY
NEW YORK
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A SALT MARSH ADVENTURE 3
II. AT DESTINY’S CROSSROADS 18
III. THE MYSTERY OF A DERELICT 35
IV. THE SHADOW OF NEMESIS 68
V. THE EYES OF RAJIID 112
VI. A WANDERER FROM ARABY 171
VII. THE IMAGE OF GOD 244
VIII. ON DESERT SANDS 260
IX. THE QUEST OF THE BEAUTIFUL 271
X. AT THE END OF A TRAIL 292
XI. “WHAT DREAMS MAY COME?” 306
XII. THE DRAINED GLASS 329
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
THE BARGE OF HAUNTED LIVES
CHAPTER I
A SALT MARSH ADVENTURE
For more than two hours, a solitary hunter, crouching in a reed-covered
sneak-boat that was drawn close to a muddy bank topped with coarse,
yellow grass, had been gazing moodily skyward or across the broad
expanse of gloomy marshes to the north of Great South Bay. Near him
a score of gray and black decoy ducks bobbed lightly on the chill,
drab waters of a wide creek, but their complacent attitudes thus far
had failed to inspire among vagrant wildfowl any desire to seek their
companionship.
The hunter was a thick-set, sullen-looking man, with a broad,
clean-shaven face and thick, curly gray hair. He had only one eye--a
greenish-yellow, searching left eye which often produced uncanny
effects on persons on whom it gazed. For five years it had been this
man’s wont to go down to Sellersville on the first day of November.
There he was known to Captain Peters, the boathouse-keeper, as Colonel
Canbeck. From Peters he hired a little sloop, with a rusty motor that
was barely powerful enough to drive the craft up and down the tidal
creeks, which, flowing through the monotonous expanse of salt meadows,
empty into Great South Bay.
The sloop had a closed cabin in which were a couple of bunks, a folding
table, several lockers and a stove. Canbeck’s shooting trips lasted
one week, and he always went on them alone, seldom getting more than
ten or twelve miles from the Peters boathouse. Upon arriving at the
shooting grounds, he would anchor the sloop, and for two or three days
at a time the little craft would remain at the same anchorage. Leaving
the sloop alone, Canbeck would paddle off in a sneak-boat, sometimes
a mile or two distant, and, after floating his decoys, he would sit
motionless for hours, within his screen of reeds, except when, fortune
favoring him, he was engaged in bringing down and gathering in such
wildfowl as exposed themselves to his unerring aim.
It was now a few minutes after four o’clock, and the gray sky and
lapping waters were growing more chill and dark. It was Canbeck’s first
day out this season, and since ten o’clock in the morning his gun had
been silent. With an exclamation of disgust, he deposited it in the
bottom of the boat and began preparations for his return to the sloop.
As the duckhunter, with reluctant hands, began to draw in one of
the strings to which his floating decoys were attached, he swept a
last questioning glance around him. Suddenly the expression of bored
resignation on his features gave place to one of mild interest.
Faintly, at first, but soon more distinctly, he heard the distant drone
of an airplane. For several moments his attempts to locate the plane
were vain; then he saw it--a small, black blot on the western sky.
Uncertain concerning the course it was taking, Canbeck reflected that
it probably was one of the machines attached to the Mineola flying
field and now was returning to its base.
But, as the drone became more viciously assertive, Canbeck observed
that the great, man-made hawk was speeding eastward, leaving Mineola
further and further behind it, following a course which would take
it directly over his head. As it drew nearer, however, it veered
suddenly, and Canbeck saw it was a seaplane, flying at a height of
about six hundred feet above creeks and meadows. Immediately after it
veered, it circled toward the west and mounted higher. After proceeding
about a mile in that direction, it turned again and headed eastward,
gliding lightly and gracefully downward, in the manner of an albatross
as it sinks to the surface of the sea.
As the high, muddy bank of the creek hid from his view the final stage
of the seaplane’s descent, Canbeck fell to speculating on the purpose
of the airman in bringing down his craft at such a time and place.
The creek in which he had spent the day emptied into the bay at a
point scarcely more than two hundred yards from where he now sat in
his sneak-boat, and it was apparent that it was just beyond the mouth
of the creek that the flying-boat had come to water. But from that
direction there now came no sound.
The impulse to seek some point from which the movements of the seaplane
might be viewed was so slight that Canbeck quickly smothered it.
He lighted his pipe, smoked reflectively for several minutes, then
addressed himself to the task of taking in his decoys. He was thus
engaged when a succession of clattering, explosive sounds, near the
mouth of the creek, indicated that the motors of the seaplane again
were in action.
Nearly three minutes passed, however, before the flying-boat became
visible to the eyes of the watching duckhunter. Now, once more clear of
the bay, it was headed seaward. Higher and higher it mounted toward the
darkening sky, then, turning, it took a westerly course.
Canbeck still was watching the retreating plane when his attention was
attracted by the quacking of frightened ducks. He promptly crouched,
picked up his gun and raised its muzzle. A few moments later he
discharged both barrels and three ducks, out of a flock of a dozen,
dropped into the stream. He was preparing to paddle out to gather in
the dead wildfowl when a quiet voice near him caused him to start and
turn abruptly.
“I beg your pardon, but will you tell me whether it will be possible
for me to get to a railway station to-night?”
The soft, well-modulated voice was that of a woman, who stood on the
bank near the sneak-boat. The duckhunter, frowning, looked at the
speaker with astonishment. Habitually morose, he had as little liking
for women as they had for him, but in the aspect of this one there was
something that fairly startled him. Had he seen her in a ballroom,
in the lobby of a hotel, behind the footlights of a stage or on the
deck of a transatlantic liner, she would have held his gaze for a few
moments, then he would have passed on, phlegmatically admitting to
himself that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but
would have given no more thought to her.
In this environment, however, the rare beauty of this stranger affected
him strangely, and the thrill that passed through him was of the sort
that may come to a man in the presence of the supernatural. He promptly
combated and conquered the awe with which she inspired him, but he
never could have described her. More soberly appraising her, Canbeck
saw the speaker was young, rather above the average height of her sex,
with a straight, admirably proportioned figure, a matchless complexion,
black hair and dark eyes that had the lustre of moonlighted waters. Her
hair was disordered, however, and her gray Tam-o’-Shanter was a little
askew. She wore a neatly fitting tailor-made gown of heavy gray cloth,
and the protection afforded by the jacket of this was supplemented by a
plaid golf cape. Her stockings and high shoes were spattered with mud.
For several moments the duckhunter stared vacantly at the young woman
who had hailed him. She repeated her question:
“Can you tell me if it will be possible for me to get to a railway
to-night?”
“How, in Heaven’s name, did you get out here?” Canbeck demanded.
“I came in the seaplane,” the young woman replied, and now there was a
note of sharpness in her voice.
The duckhunter, turning deliberately, gazed thoughtfully toward where
the flying-boat appeared to be scarcely larger than an eagle in the
distance.
“The devil you did!” he muttered; then, in a louder voice, he asked:
“Why did it leave you in such a place as this?”
“Frankly, I do not know. I was compelled to alight, however.”
“Compelled!” Canbeck exclaimed. “Am I to understand that you were left
here against your will?”
“It is scarcely such a place as a woman would select to pass the
night,” the fair stranger retorted, curtly.
“You are right,” the duckhunter assented. “But how did it happen that--”
“Pardon me if I remind you that I was the first to ask a question and
that it still is unanswered,” interrupted the young woman, with some
severity. “Will it be possible for me to get to a railway station at
which I can get a train for New York to-night?”
“I am very much afraid it will not be possible, madame,” Canbeck
replied, with rather more politeness in his manner than had been
apparent before. “It already is getting dark and the tide is ebbing.
The nearest railway station is at Sellersville, which, in a direct
line, is seven miles from here, but between the village and this spot
are several creeks, so the meadows cannot be crossed on foot. In order
to get there by my sloop we would have to leave this creek, go out
into the bay and enter a long, winding creek which only a native can
navigate after nightfall--a distance of about eleven miles. I am not a
Long Islander and so am not competent to undertake the task.”
The expression of distrust that had settled on the young woman’s
features gradually disappeared while the duckhunter was speaking. There
was something in the aspect and voice of the speaker which encouraged
the fair aeronaut in the belief that he was a man who could be trusted.
When she first had met the gaze of that single eye she had been
conscious of a feeling of creepiness and suddenly awakened fear. But,
as Canbeck spoke, he looked away from her. His voice was deep, clear
and deliberate, and, despite his rough garb, there was something in the
man that bespoke a certain degree of refinement. Being a young woman of
quick perception, the fair stranger also recognized the fact that this
man’s spirit of chivalry was rather more perfunctory than earnest--in
short, that his aid would be offered as a result of a sense of duty
rather than a sense of pleasure. She was only twenty-two and he was
well past fifty, but she involuntarily straightened her Tam-o’-Shanter
and glanced ruefully at the mud on her skirt and cape.
“Is that the boat to which you refer?” she asked, as Canbeck paused.
“Oh, bless you, no! This is only a sneaker. The boat I speak of is
that little sloop over yonder. There’s a cabin on her, with a couple
of bunks and a stove. The centerboard trunk divides the cabin, and
a piece of tarpaulin will make a couple of rooms of it, with a bunk
in each. I can get a hot supper, if you like, and you can turn in
afterward on your side of the tarpaulin and centerboard. As soon as the
sun is up I’ll get you to Sellersville.”
An expression of vexation settled on the young woman’s face and she
compressed her lips slightly.
“You have nothing to do, then, with the canal-boat?” she asked.
“With the canal-boat!” Canbeck repeated wonderingly.
“Yes--it is a canal-boat, isn’t it? Or is it a barge?”
“I am afraid I do not understand you,” replied the duckhunter.
The young woman frowned impatiently.
“I mean the boat that is lying in the other creek,” she said.
“I did not know that there was a boat of any kind in the other creek,”
Canbeck explained.
Once more the young woman was looking at him searchingly, and, as she
looked, distrust again entered her eyes.
“How long have you been here--here in this creek?” she asked.
“I entered it from the bay about seven o’clock this morning, but I saw
no boat in the other creek.”
She looked over her shoulder.
“True,” she said, “one cannot see it from here. It does not show above
the bank and the meadow grass. There is a canal-boat there, however,
and, while I was in that miserable seaplane I saw smoke issuing from
the stovepipe on the roof of the deckhouse.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the duckhunter, and the expression of relief on his
features was unmistakable. “Most canal-boats have the families of their
captains on board, so we may be able to find a woman on this, and a
woman doubtless can make you more comfortable than I can. We will see.”
“You will go with me?”
“Certainly--if you will permit me to do so. It is better, perhaps, that
you should not go alone.”
Canbeck drew in his decoys; then he paddled his boat to the bank.
“Shall I take your gun?” the young woman asked, as the duckhunter
prepared to disembark from his craft.
“If you will, please.”
The manner in which she took the weapon from his hand indicated that
firearms were not strange to her.
“The ducks you shot are drifting downstream,” she said, suggestively.
“I can spare them. I did pretty well this morning.”
Canbeck threw on the bank the big stone that did service as an anchor,
then, taking his gun from the small, gloved hands that held it, he led
the way over the spongy surface of the meadow toward the neighboring
creek.
As the young woman followed her conductor, she saw that his shoulders
were broad and square and that his thick-set figure was singularly
erect. Then, too, there was something in the precision of his steps
that suggested that there had been a period in his life during which he
had carried arms for purposes other than shooting ducks.
“An army man, and probably a West Pointer,” she murmured.
They had only about three hundred yards to go and the distance soon
was covered. When they arrived at the creek, the duckhunter saw that
the young woman had spoken truly. There was a long, broad, black barge
lying beside the bank of the creek--a creek scarcely more than three
times the width of the boat itself. From the stovepipe on the roof of
the deckhouse a thin cloud of smoke was issuing.
The port rail of the boat was against, and some three feet below, the
bank. The duckhunter stepped aboard, and, grasping a rough wooden
stool, he placed it in such a position that his companion could step on
it from the bank above. This done, he extended her a hand and helped
her aboard.
Without speaking, Canbeck led the way to the door of the deckhouse at
the stern. This was closed, and he knocked. To the knock there was no
reply. Canbeck grasped the knob and thrust the door open cautiously.
The duckhunter now found himself in a dingy, unpainted cabin which was
manifestly a storeroom. It was about twelve feet wide and fourteen
long, and was filled with barrels and wooden cases which, it was
plain, contained provisions. At the forward end appeared the head of a
companionway. To the left, rising from the floor to the roof, was the
pipe whose top had been seen from without.
“Queer barge--this!” he muttered. “They are doing their cooking below.”
He drew a thick, stubby wooden pipe from his pocket and with this
he rapped sharply several times on the door at the foot of the
companionway. This summons also failed to elicit an answer. Finding
that this door, too, was unlocked, Canbeck pushed it open. The fair
aeronaut, standing on the steps behind him, saw him stop suddenly as an
exclamation of amazement fell from his lips.
From the half-open door came a flood of mellow light and an odor which
was suggestive of that which permeates the atmosphere of cathedrals
after the celebration of a mass--the odor which emanates from swinging
censers borne by priests.
“You had better wait there,” said the duckhunter in a low voice, as,
moving back a step, he glanced over his shoulder at his companion.
But the aeronaut was a woman, and so it came to pass that when the
duckhunter, having entered the apartment, heard the door close behind
him with a soft click, he found his companion was beside him.
“Why did you not stay outside?” the duckhunter demanded sharply.
The young woman, looking around her with wide, staring eyes, gave no
heed to his question.
“In the name of all that is wonderful--” she began.
With a shrug of impatience, the duckhunter turned to the door and
grasped the knob.
“They’ve locked us in!” he muttered.
She heard him now.
“Locked us in!” she exclaimed with sudden apprehension. “Who do you
mean by ‘they’?”
“How should I know? But come--let’s get away from this door.”
Grasping the young woman roughly by one of her arms, Canbeck led her a
few paces to the left.
“Keep your back to this wall and your eyes on the curtains at the other
end of the room,” he cautioned in a low voice.
The first part of his advice she heeded, the second she ignored, for
the spectacle which now offered itself to her view was so extraordinary
that her curiosity exceeded her fears.
The apartment was about thirty-five feet in length, twenty in breadth
and ten in height. The walls were covered with rich crimson damask
and those on the sides were pierced by niches of polished black
wood--there being twelve niches in all. In each niche was a statue
wrought in gleaming white marble. Though these statues represented
different subjects, all possessed two remarkable features in common.
Each represented a human figure, which, like many of the sculptures
of Auguste Rodin, was only partly hewn from the rough block. In no
instance, however, was the face of the statue revealed, each being
hidden in a manner that differed from the others. The features of one
female figure were covered with the hands, while those of a second were
obscured by a veil. The form of a tense-muscled man appeared to be
struggling to free itself from the rough block from which it was hewn
with great perfection of detail, but the head, thrown backward, was
still a part of the block and only a few outlines of the face were even
faintly perceptible. Other faces were hidden by falling, dishevelled
hair, behind masks or within the closed visors of helmets.
At the further end of the apartment was a broad doorway which was
approached by three wide, carpet-covered steps. On each side of
these steps, on a low pedestal, was a full suit of armor. Each right
gauntlet grasped an upright lance and the raised visors of the helmets
revealed the hideous faces of grinning skulls. In the doorway hung a
pair of heavy velvet curtains of the same color as the damask-covered
walls, and, on each side of the doorway, niches in the wall held large
Etruscan vases. The apartment was lighted by numerous candelabra set in
the walls between the niches.
The floor was covered with a large Oriental rug of which the prevailing
colors were red, black and yellow. The carved ceiling was black, with
a curious mosaic centerpiece from which depended a heavy bronze chain
that sustained a large and elaborately wrought lamp of Arabesque
design. The lamp hung over the center of a table about ten feet long
and six feet wide--a table with appointments scarcely less remarkable
than the room in which it had a place. A snowy cloth, hanging low over
the sides and ends of this concealed its wood and carvings, but on the
cloth were crystal and gold and silverware befitting a feast of royalty.
The table was laid for ten persons, there being four chairs at each
side and one at each end. The chairs were of carved ebony, with arms,
the seats and backs being covered with heavy Japanese brocade of black
and gold. Other chairs of similar design stood against the wall, as did
also several ottomans that were covered with costly skins and rugs.
As the duckhunter, still grasping his fowling-piece and looking
around him, moved forward a couple of paces, he saw an upright
sarcophagus, with the cover removed. Within the sarcophagus was the
gilded cartonnage of a mummy, and the face painted on this was the
only representation of normal human features among the figures in the
room. The sarcophagus stood midway between two doors--one of these
being the door through which Canbeck and his companion had entered. The
duckhunter inferred that the second door communicated with the room
containing the stove from which rose the pipe that passed through the
deckhouse to its roof.
“What does it all mean?” asked the young woman, in a voice that was
scarcely louder than a whisper.
“It may mean much or little,” the duckhunter muttered. “No one but a
lunatic would fit up a barge like this and have it towed out here. If
there is only one of his class aboard we probably shall have little
difficulty in getting out, but--well, the table is laid for ten.”
The young woman, gazing around her with wondering eyes, murmured:
“It looks like some of those strange places--those cabarets in
Montmartre, in Paris--the Chat Noir, the House of Death and----”
“It will look many other things as well if I am compelled to let these
two barrels go,” growled the duckhunter, as, passing a hand under his
coat, he reached for a couple of “Double B” shells.
The words were scarcely spoken, however, when Canbeck and the young
woman started suddenly.
From the other end of the room came the sound of a low, chuckling
laugh. The curtains in the doorway shook for a moment, then they were
slowly thrust aside and the figure of a tall man in evening dress
appeared between them.
The hair of the newcomer was white, but his dark-skinned, clean-shaven
face was devoid of wrinkles, and his gray eyes were as clear and
shining as those of a youth. His head was admirably shaped, but was
scarcely as large as is usual in the case of men of such large stature.
His limbs were long, and he stooped slightly, but there was a grace and
courtliness in his bearing which indicated that he was as well endowed
with drawing-room accomplishments as he was with physical strength. As
he looked down now at the duckhunter, his thin lips were smiling. There
was a mocking, penetrating and unfathomable expression in his gray eyes.
“If you must shoot, my friend, let us have one barrel at a time,” he
said.
Thus speaking, he descended the three steps in front of the doorway.
Canbeck and his companion fairly gasped for breath. The man who
so suddenly had confronted them was a familiar figure on two
continents--in fashionable clubs, in boxes at the opera, at race
meetings, at public dinners and in the councils of princes of finance.
Neither of the persons whom he now was approaching had met him, but
his portrait had appeared so often in illustrated journals that his
features were as familiar to schoolboys throughout the land as was the
face of the nation’s President. In short, the newcomer was none other
than Hewitt Westfall, the multimillionaire.
Fixing his gaze on the duckhunter, Westfall, still smiling, added:
“We had been expecting you to dinner, Colonel Canbeck. I was only
awaiting the arrival of a boat, which should be here in a few minutes,
in order to visit you and ask you to join our party this evening. But,
thanks to the appearance of the seaplane and your gallantry, such a
visit has been made unnecessary.”
Frowning slightly, Canbeck regarded the speaker searchingly.
“You were expecting me to dinner--here--to-day?” he exclaimed
incredulously.
“Yes,” replied the millionaire, easily. “And the fact that you come as
escort to our guest of honor makes you doubly welcome.”
Nodding genially, Westfall now turned to Canbeck’s wondering companion.
“Your highness----” he began.
The young woman started violently, and, as the color left her features,
she gazed with widening, frightened eyes at the man who thus addressed
her.
“Highness!” she murmured in a low, trembling voice.
As if oblivious of the consternation with which he had inspired her,
Westfall approached, and, taking her hands, said gravely:
“And now, your highness, permit an honored and appreciative
host--Hewitt Westfall--to welcome the Princess Maranotti to the Barge
of Haunted Lives, on which it will be his pleasure to present to you
certain persons who have been victims of some of the most remarkable
misadventures that ever have fallen to the lot of men. Most of these
persons are unknown to you, and even they have yet to learn that their
strange lives have taken color from your own.”
A little cry of astonishment and pain escaped the young woman’s lips,
and there was a wild look in her eyes as, withdrawing her hands from
those of Westfall, she glanced furtively towards the door through which
she had entered the apartment. Westfall gently laid a hand on one of
her shoulders.
“Have no fear, your highness,” he said kindly. “Among the persons of
whom I have spoken there is none who willingly would cause you pain.
All are here in an attempt to lead you from that spectre-peopled wood
in which, for the last three years, you have been groping blindly. When
we are done, you will have no reason to reproach me for the visit I
have caused you to make to the Barge of Haunted Lives.”