THE ROCK

"I tell ye I saw it--wi' these eyes I saw it!"

"You think you seen it."

"Now I quit. Ye talk like every mate or skipper or Consul I've told

this to. Just the same, I never git to the end o' the third day out,

either way,--I'm in a six-day boat, ye know--but what the nervousness

gits me, an' I'm no good for twelve hours, until I know we're past the

spot."

"A rock, you say, in the middle o' the Atlantic? Why isn't it known and

charted?"

"Because it's awash an' visible only at the fall o' the spring tides."

"How is it that no one else saw it but you?"

"I was the only man aloft. She was a hemp-rigged old ballyhoo out o'

Quebec, an' gear was chafin' through all the time. I was passin' a new

seizin' on the collar o' the foretopmast stay, when I squinted ahead

through the fog, and there it was black an' shiny, an' murderous, about

forty feet long, I should judge, and five feet or so out o' water,

right dead under the bow. I could see the lift o' the water where the

current pushed ag'in' it, and the swirl on t'other side, showin' it was

no derelict, bottom up. No, it was a rock. 'Starboard!' I yells to the

felly at the wheel. 'Starboard! Hard up!' Well, the skipper was below,

an' the second mate, who had the deck, was mixin' paint under the

fo'c'sle; so the wheel went up an' the old wagon payed off 'fore the

wind. Then I lost it myself in the fog, an', as I couldn't point out

anything to the skipper when he come up, I was called down an' damned

for a fool. But I saw it, just the same, a big rock halfway across, and

squarely between the lane routes!"

"How do you know that?"

"The skipper wasn't above givin' me the ship's position--forty-seven

north; thirty-seven twenty west. That's between the lanes, an' I'll bet

the _Narconic_ is at the base o' that rock, to say nothin' o' the

_Pacific_, the _President_, and t'others."

The wabbly little West Street horse car had reached the White Star dock

by this and the two men stepped off. Steamship sailors, I knew. I had

never seen them before, and have never seen them since; but their

conversation produced a marked impression upon me, and I could not

shake off a feeling--not of itself a remembrance, however--that I had

heard something of the kind before. A submerged rock in mid-Atlantic.

But it was incredible, and at last I put it from my mind as a "galley

yarn."

But next morning it was back, in company with another galley yarn, one

I barely remembered as having heard ten years before from an old

Confederate man-o'-war'sman who had sailed with Semmes in the

_Alabama_. The yarn pertained to the pursuit of a Northern merchant

ship, and I give only the conclusion.

"We were gaining fast," he had said, "and hoped to bring her to before

breakfast; for at daylight she was but three miles or so ahead, every

sail drawing and every detail of spar, canvas, and hull showing clear

in the morning light. And then, while we looked at her, she quickly

settled under, not head first or stern first, as is usual, but on an

even keel. They had no time to start a brace or a halyard; there was

not time for her to answer to her wheel, if it had been shifted. She

just went down as though something had hooked onto her keel and dragged

her under. I never learned her name; but she must have been bound out

of New York or Boston, for some French port in the Channel. We picked

up one of her men, a Dago who couldn't tell her name, and only this

much as to what happened. A ripping, crashing sound began forward and

worked its way aft, ending at the stern, and we could only surmise that

something--a submerged derelict, perhaps--had scraped the bottom out of

her."

Memory is treacherous. In a few days I had forgotten this yarn with the

other, and might never have recalled it had I not ascended to an upper

floor in the lofty Flatiron Building, and looked out of a window at the

loftier, but unfinished, tower of the Metropolitan Building across the

park. It was a damp, dismal day of fog; but at my elevation I could see

clear of it. I was above it, looking over an undulating sea of cloud

bank from which the tower rose, massive and mighty, apparently floating

on end, like an immense spar buoy at the turn of the tide. The rest of

New York lay hidden beneath that silent gray ocean of fog.

Interesting as it was of itself, it was not the spectacle before me

that gripped and held me, but an associated idea. As it was the first

time I had ever seen a skyscraper lift itself above the clouds, so it

naturally reminded me of the first time I had seen a mountaintop above

the clouds. This was Krakatoa Island, a conical mountain rising from

the sea in the Straits of Sunda, but since submerged in the Java

earthquake.

With this mental picture before me, my thoughts touched upon other

happenings of that boyhood voyage--the long, tedious beat through the

straits against light head winds and a continuous head tide; the

man-killing log windlass, round which we hove, and lightened, chain of

an eight-inch link; the natives, with their welcome fruit in exchange

for trinkets; and, lastly, the white-haired old pilot, who came forward

to visit me one evening on anchor watch.

And then, like an inspired flash, there surged into my mind, not only

the two galley yarns, but the story told by the pilot--a story of such

burning power and horror that, though forgotten for a generation, it

spelled itself out, word for word, as I stared into the fog from the

window, exactly as the old man had told it.

He had heard from the skipper that I was from the same part of New York

State as himself, and he had come forward for news of home. I could

give him little. I knew no one that he knew; the small town that give

him birth was not far from my own, but was only a name to me. Still he

remained to talk. My up-State accent pleased him, he said, and reminded

him of home, which he had not seen for forty years, and which he hardly

hoped to see. He was sixty-five; two shocks had come, and the third

would finish him.

"But I'm an old, experienced man, my boy," he said, "and I can give you

my life's wisdom in three short rules, easy to remember and easy to

follow. Stick to your skipper; leave liquor alone; and never, under any

provocation, engage in mutiny. I broke every one of these, and here

I've been, for half a lifetime, an exile, afraid to go home."

Not realizing how sorely I needed this wisdom, but keenly interested in

mutiny, piracy, and such fancies of boyhood, I asked for light, and he

gave it to me.

"I won't tell you the name of the ship," he said; "for you'll be a boy

for some time to come, and you might talk about it. Nor will I give you

the real names of the men engaged in that mutiny; for it is only forty

years back, and there may be men alive yet who will be interested in

the fate of the ship; though none, I expect, who would care much about

her crew. But I'll tell you that her crew was the toughest gang I ever

saw in a forecastle, and her skipper and mate the most inhuman brutes I

ever saw aft. I was second mate, and, having won my berth in deep

water, thought I was something of a bucko; but I found my masters

there. The ship, I may as well say, was one of the packets that traded

between New York and Liverpool, sometimes carrying passengers, but not

always. We had none this trip.

"Before we were two days out from Sandy Hook I got a taste of the

skipper's caliber. A man aloft--a big, red-headed fellow, gave me an

insolent answer from the cro'-jack yard, and I called him down. When he

reached the deck I was ready, and sent him reeling over the break of

the poop with one smash on the jaw. He was satisfied to go aloft again

and answer civilly when spoken to; but the skipper, who had watched the

performance, was not. He called me over to the lee alley and faced me,

his face fairly alive with rage and contempt.

"'Say, you--you--you Sunday school teacher! Is that the way you expect

to handle men in these packets? Hey?'

"'I didn't hit him hard, sir,' I answered. 'I didn't hurt him. He's

aloft now, at work.'

"'You didn't hurt him? No, I'll warrant you didn't! Why didn't you

follow him up, watch for his knife, and take it away from him? 'Fraid

of him? Hey? How do you expect to get along wi' this kind of a crew if

you're content with one smash? Follow it up, man! Follow up your first

blow with another, and another, till you're sure of him.'

"'Oh, I understand, Captain,' I said. 'Well, sir, I'm not worrying over

any further trouble with that fellow. He's had enough.'

"'Make sure of it. You'll get no sympathy from me if he wins out.'

"It seems that the way of deep water was not the way of the packets.

Somewhat impressed by this, I waited until eight bells, when the

red-head came down--his job was merely the passing of new ribbons in

place of old--and tackled him amidships, as he went forward.

"'Well,' I said. 'What do you think? The skipper says I didn't give you

enough. Have you had enough, or do you want more?'

"He looked me squarely in the eyes, and his hand wandered toward his

sheath knife in his belt. Mine wandered toward a pistol in my hip

pocket.

"'I'm 'fore the mast, sir,' he said; 'and as a man 'fore the mast--yes,

of course I've had enough. But I've been aft, and I may be aft again.

Then, too, you may be 'fore the mast. Well, sir, I know the law.'

"'Forecastle lawyer, are you?' I asked derisively.

"'Yes, and more,' he exploded. 'Your superior in seamanship, you

blanked whitewashed son of a ship owner!'

"My fist shot out; but he dodged it, and ran forward. I sent a belaying

pin after him, and it hit him on the shoulder; but I doubt that it hurt

him.

"In the next twenty-four hours four men came aft to the skipper for

medical treatment from the medicine chest. Red-head had disabled them,

in one way or another. One had a broken rib, the result of a punch; the

skipper set it. Another had lost some teeth, and showed a few more that

were loose. The skipper called upon the carpenter and his pliers to

remove these, and sent the man forward. Another was carried aft,

unconscious from a fist blow under the ear; and the skipper could only

lay him out on a cabin transom to wait until he came to. The last was a

case of asthma. Red-head had planted his fist plumb upon his throat,

and the resultant inflammation threatened to strangle the man. But the

skipper gave him a porous plaster for his chest, and a big cathartic

pill by means of which the man came around. You know the Yankee

skipper's formula: break your leg or lose your mother--take a pill.

"Well, the outcome of this was that the skipper held a conference of

himself, the first mate, and myself. He stated the situation: a man

forward was a menace to the tranquillity and the safety of the ship.

Who would take him down?

"The first mate, with a look of patronizing pity at me, said to the

captain, 'I'll do this, if nobody else can,' again the look of pity.

'I'll show him who's who, and what, and which.'

"'Well,' said the skipper, 'do so, or I'll be afraid of my officers.'

"I looked on while the mate called that troublesome malcontent down

from aloft, where he had reported the paral seizing of the fore royal

yard adrift without saying sir to Mr. Parker. I watched tranquilly,

while the big, whiskered first mate, meeting the man as he dropped from

the fore-rigging to the deck, received a threshing of fists and kicks

that laid him out. We carried him aft, while Red-head retired to the

forecastle. And, as we nursed the mate back to self-respect, we heard

the profane vows of Red-head to clean us up, all of us.

"The skipper was furious. 'Have I got to go forrard and lick that

fellow?' he said. 'Haven't I got a mate aft able to do his duty?'

"'Why not put him in irons, captain?' I asked. 'I knocked him off the

poop once, and made him run next time. That seems to be enough as far

as I'm concerned.'

"The skipper glared at me. 'And do you think,' he said sneeringly,

'that he ran because he was afraid of you? He's afraid of the irons and

of the law. But that's just why we don't appeal to the irons and the

law in these packets. It's a point of honor with us; and--yes, a matter

of policy. We couldn't get crews after a time if we ironed and jailed

'em for each offense. No, that man must be properly licked, and if you

can't do it, I'll have to do it myself.'

"'I can do it,' I answered quietly, and went forward.

"Mike--for that was the name he gave--was in my watch, and should have

remained on deck. I found him in the empty starboard forecastle and

called him out. He came, with a bad look in his eyes.

"'Put your knife on the water tank alongside my gun,' I said, 'and come

aft where there's a clear space. We'll find out who runs this ship, you

or the afterguard.'

"'That sounds fair,' he said; 'but how about the after clap? This is

not my proposition.'

"'You mean darbies? There'll be none. The skipper wants you licked into

shape, so you'll be useful. Come on.'

"We laid our weapons on the tank as we passed it, and faced each other

abreast of the main hatch. The skipper looked on from the poop; the

carpenter and cook came out of their shops to witness; and of course

the watch, working aloft, stopped work to look down on us. The sea was

smooth, the wind mild and fair, and the ship slid along with very

little pitching or rolling; so it was a fair fight.

"Mike was a game fighter; but I was just a little heavier, just a

little more skilled, and had just a little longer reach; so I soon had

him going. I backed him completely round the hatch, and when I had him

up to windward again, both his eyes were half closed and his nose

broken and bleeding. So far I had not been struck, and I decided now to

finish him. I put all my strength and the whole weight of my body into

that smash, aiming for the point of his chin; but he saw it coming and

attempted to duck. My closed fist brought up with a crash on the top of

his big bullet head; for he was slow and groggy, and didn't duck low

enough. However, it didn't hurt him, while the effect upon me was to

break every small bone in my hand. It was like slugging a windlass

bitt; for he leaned partly forward, and hardly budged under the blow.

"I could not repress a slight grunt of pain, and I simply had to stop,

and rub my sore hand with the other. He saw and heard; then he came for

me, and the rest of the fight was the other way. I fought as I could,

one-handed, for I couldn't even guard with my right; but it was no use.

He soon had me going, and the last I remember of the fight was a

sickening smash under the ear. I don't remember hitting the deck; but

when I came to my senses I was laid out in the weather scuppers, and

the skipper was down off the poop, talking to Mike.

"'So,' the skipper was saying, 'you are Red Macklin, are you? I've

heard of you.' I also had heard of him; for Red Macklin's fame was

international. He was a bullying, murderous scoundrel who had perhaps

killed more sailors than any other first mate on the western ocean, and

who, about five years previous, had foolishly shot his captain. To kill

a sailor is one thing, to shoot a skipper is another.

"'Yes, sir,' answered Mike respectfully. 'I've just finished my time

for that gun play on Captain Blaine, and am not likely to repeat it.

But my prospects were done for, and I had to ship 'fore the mast.'

"'You're a navigator, of course. Bring your dunnage into the first

mate's room and take his place. Put his dunnage into the second mate's

room, and make that duffer in the scuppers bundle his traps into the

forecastle. I want no weaklings aft with me.'

"I scrambled to my feet at this; but--Well, there's no use detailing

the argument that followed. I had to go forward peaceably or lose my

prospects, like Red Macklin. And I had chosen the western ocean trade

because of what I thought my fitness for it, and because in these short

trips a man can the more quickly attract the notice of an owner. And I

understood now why Macklin had run from me when he knew I had a gun;

why he had licked his shipmates; and the reason of his studied

insolence to Mr. Parker and myself. He knew the ways of the packets,

and, while avoiding guns and irons, he sought to attract the skipper's

attention to his prowess. I thought it somewhat severe that Mr. Parker,

who had put up no kind of a fight, should be kept aft instead of me,

until I reflected that Mr. Parker, with two whole fists, might still be

good for any man on board except Macklin; while I, with only one,

couldn't lick anybody. It was merely the survival of the fittest, and I

was not fit.

"However, I drew comfort from the thought that when my hand got well I

could win back my berth in the same manner, and to this end applied at

once to the captain for bandages and splints from the medicine chest.

He responded like a brother; but earned none of my gratitude, for I

considered the medicine chest as furnished out of the Marine Hospital

dues, which I had paid for years.

"I had noticed that my pistol and Macklin's knife had disappeared from

the water tank, and supposed that he, as the first act in his new

position, had confiscated them. So, as I had no use for a gun while

'fore the mast, I put the matter from my mind. I meant to sing small,

until my hand was well.

"But what followed in that ship shows how little we can depend upon our

good resolutions. I was still in the starboard watch, having taken

Macklin's place forward, while he, as mate, had charge of the port

watch, and Mr. Parker as second, became my watch officer. So far there

had been no friction between Mr. Parker and myself; but now I found the

man dead down on me, as though he blamed me for his licking and his

change of office.

"One-handed, I was almost useless around decks, and could not steer

except in the finest of weather; but this made no difference. I was

hounded, cursed, and struck, not only by Parker, but by the skipper and

Macklin. Some kind of armed neutrality must have sprung up between

Macklin and Parker with regard to me; but I could only ascribe the

skipper's new personal attitude to a distrust of my philosophy, which,

while impelling me to make the best of matters, may have seemed to him

the calm before the storm. I escaped Macklin's abuse, however, except

in the dog watches, when all hands were on deck.

"They damned, deviled, and degraded me, keeping me all night on

lookout, and rousing me from sleep at any time of the day watch below

to climb aloft and loose a royal stop buntlines, or remove an Irish

pennant--a loose rope yarn, you know--from any part of the rigging. My

nerves went back on me from loss of sleep and futile anger and

brooding; and once, when Macklin stripped off the sling I had rigged to

hold my sore fist, and knocked me down for protesting, I saw red for a

moment.

"Even so, nothing might have happened--had not the crew been included

in the drill they were serving me. As an old hand in deep-water ships,

I knew the absolute necessity of preserving discipline, and that this

can be done only by occasionally knocking down a malcontent; but no

such considerations demanded the wholesale clubbing with heavers and

handspikes which the men got from the trio. Belaying pins were not

used--they were too small and light for the gentlemen. Macklin had four

deadly enemies when he went aft, and soon every man forward had a

grievance, and voiced it in muttered profanity that held many a threat

of death. I fancy that it was my presence in the forecastle that

inspired all this ill treatment; no doubt I was regarded as a bad

example, whose influence over the men must be offset by stern,

repressive measures, but whom they would not remove because of their

dislike of the law. For the law could reach a skipper or mate, as

Macklin well knew.

"And the crew? Never was a wild, half-crazy herd of Liverpool Irishmen

kept under control as that crowd was by a bad example. While aft I had

treated them well, and they liked me for my scrap with Macklin; so,

they listened while I counseled submission and avoidance of legal

consequences--which last was the only point I made. They feared neither

man, God, nor devil; but they did fear the law, and grew quiet when I

talked of jail and the gallows. And this fear possibly accounted for my

finding my pistol--a newly invented Colt revolver--lying in my bunk,

one morning when I came in from a long night's lookout to get my

breakfast.

"'Who put this here?' I demanded. 'Who had my gun?'

"No one would acknowledge the gift; but the state of mind behind it was

given in the remark of one, 'Now ye've got it again, use it!'

"I tucked it under my mattress, resolved not to use it; but a little

later put it into my trousers pocket. Fear of the law, forward and aft,

began to yield to fear of death. Men openly sharpened their knives, and

the afterguard ostentatiously showed their pistols. Their pistols were

not so good as mine--they were double-barreled, muzzle-loading

derringers, with only two shots.

"Things culminated on a moonlight night when we were charging along

before a quartering whole sail breeze, making, I should judge, about

eleven knots. I was on lookout, as usual, and keeping a good one I

know, even though my eyes would half close at times from sheer need of

sleep. It was about seven bells of the first watch and for some reason

or other--perhaps the strong moonlight, which keeps some people

awake--both the skipper and the first mate were on deck, and standing

aft near the wheel, while Mr. Parker stood his watch on the poop

forward of the after house. The men walked up and down between the fore

and main rigging.

"A faint light showed up ahead and to leeward. I opened my eyes wide to

make sure, and saw the faint shadowy outlines of hull and canvas--a

ship close hauled across our bows. Then I sang out:

"'Light ho! Ship on the port tack two points off the starboard bow,

sir!'

"'Light ho, is it?' bellowed the skipper. 'Put another man on lookout

and send that scow bunker aft here, Mr. Parker!'

"A man came and relieved me. Wondering what was up now, I went aft, and

the skipper and two mates met me at the break of the poop.

"'You get up there to the weather maintopsail yard arm, you ----

blind-eyed farmer,' snarled the skipper, 'and keep your lookout there!

D'ye hear? I saw that light ten minutes before you sang out.'

"'I reported it as soon as I saw it, sir,' I answered civilly.

"'None o' your lip! Get up there! And say--'

"I had answered and turned, in no way bothered by the change. I was to

put in the rest of the night on the yard; but I could sit down and rest

my bones.

"The skipper modified this. 'You keep your lookout there, and when the

bell strikes, you call out, "All's well, weather maintopsail yard arm!"

Then you flap your arms like wings, and crow like a rooster, and, you

say, "God bless Captain Black, and Mr. Macklin, and Mr. Parker!" D'you

hear?'

"'Yes, sir,' I said, and went aloft, boiling over with humiliation and

rage. Of what use was life, I thought, and success at sea if it was to

be bought at such a price in manhood and self-respect? The more I

thought of it the stronger grew my resolve to end it in some way.

"It was the man at the wheel who showed me the way. He was a

hot-tempered Irishman, a good seaman; but an indifferent helmsman. He

had put the ship off a couple of points at the skipper's order, so as

to pass under the stern of the ship ahead, and had some trouble in

steadying to the new course. He came in for a round of abuse from the

three, and at last was relieved, while the skipper gave him

instructions similar to mine. He was to take the lee maintopsail yard,

call out the bells when struck on deck, and conclude with the cock-crow

and blessing on his lords and masters. I heard his furious curses as he

reached the yard and slid out to leeward.

"We passed under the stern of the other ship, and I judged by her rig

that she was beating her way west, possibly to New York or Boston. As

she dropped out of sight astern, eight bells struck on deck. The

lookout on the forecastle called out, 'Eight bells, t'gallant

fo'cas'le! All's well!' in the peculiar singsong they have in that

trade. I repeated my call from the weather yard arm; but I left out the

crow and the prayer for blessings. The skipper and mates were looking

up at me, and I saw that the first was about to sing out something; but

Casey over to leeward interrupted.

"'Eight bells!' he called. 'See maintopsail yard arm. All's well, an'

blankety blank yer black hearts and cowardly sools to damnation,

Captain Black, Mister Macklin, an' Mister Parker!'

"'What's that--what?' stuttered the skipper. 'Weather yard arm there!

What do _you_ say?'

"'Go to hell!' I answered furiously.

"The skipper was near his cabin window, and I saw him reach within.

Casey, over to leeward, filled the night with his imprecations. He

called down, not blessings, but the tortures of the damned on his

tormentors, and attracted the skipper's attention from me. When he

stood up he held a short-barreled rifle, and with this he took careful

aim at Casey. Then there was a spat of flame, a report, a puff of smoke

floating over the house, and Casey, an oath stopped on his lips,

sprawled downward into the sea.

"The watch had been called, and appeared in time to see this. I heard

the explosive but muttered comments, and then a concerted snarl of

hatred and rage as they rushed aft. But I paid no present attention to

it. I had drawn my pistol, and was taking careful aim with my left hand

at the captain, not so much determined by fear that I should be next as

by a resolve, born of my emotions before the shooting, to bring things

to an end.

"The skipper looked up at me and got the bullet, fairly in the face, I

think, but I never was sure just where I hit him. He dropped, however,

and lay still, while the two mates made a dive for the forward

companion.

"Macklin got in; but not so Parker. The enraged men caught him just

outside the door, slammed in his face by Macklin, and I had one glimpse

of him as I scrambled in along the footrope. He was in the center of a

circle of flourishing sheath knives, his voice of command nearly

silenced by the vengeful shouts and oaths of the men, and when I looked

again, as I dropped into the rigging, he was prone on his back, while

the men were surging aft to enter the cabin by the after companion. But

Macklin was ahead of them, and had bolted it as he had the other.

"I descended and mounted to the poop.

"'Ye'll have to take command, sir,' said a big, red-eyed fellow, named

Finnegan. 'Yer the shipped sicond mate, an' it b'langs to ye.'

"'Is the skipper dead?' I asked.

"'Dead, as he ought to be, the murderer! Ye did well, sir!'

"'And Mr. Parker?' I glanced at the quiet, bleeding form at my feet.

"'He's in small pieces, hild togither be his bones.'

"'Not a pleasant prospect for me,' I said; 'but I'm in for it, same as

all of us. We'll have to stand trial; for there's no escape. But

there's a rat down in his hole that we'll have to catch. Look out, or

he'll pot one of you through his window!'

"I spoke at random, yet none too soon. A pistol exploded in the mate's

window, and a man went down, shot through the heart--the last one to

join the rush over to starboard. But the rush continued to the capstan

bar rack amidships, and, armed with these handy clubs, they came back

to batter in the companion. Macklin did not fire again, and I was on

the point of asking him out, to surrender on terms of amnesty and

deposition, when a crashing, grinding jar shook the ship from bow to

stern, and all three topgallant masts went out of her, snapping at the

caps and falling forward. We had struck a rock in midocean.

"There was no more thought of Macklin. As we jumped to the main deck

and ran forward like sheep, the jars and jolts were resumed, working

aft, while the ship reeled far over to leeward. Chips was on deck, and

I got him to sound the well. 'Four feet, and coming in fast!' he

called, and the men rushed for the boats on the forward house, while I

went aft to the wheel. I had never heard of a rock in this part of the

Atlantic, and thought for a moment that we might have hit a submerged

derelict; but soon put that thought away; nothing but solid and jagged

rock could so tear into a ship's bottom.

"'No steerage way, sir,' said the man at the wheel. 'She's fallen off

due south.'

"'Drop your wheel,' I said, 'and lend a hand with the boats.'

"I waited a few moments before following him, looking around at the

prospect. Since I had gone aloft the wind had hauled to the north and

died down to a gentle breeze, which barely ruffled the very slight

ground swell. It was not the pressure of this wind that had driven the

ship over the rock until she hung, pivoted, at a point near the stern;

it was the ship's momentum. The wind, however, had swung her head to

the south, and it was bringing down on us a cold, damp fog out of the

north, which already had shut out the moon and rendered indistinct the

forms of the men at work on the boats. I could see, however, that the

bow had settled nearly under, and knew that it was only a question of

moments when the ship would slide, head first, down the declivity. I

ran forward, and just as I started a report rang out from the after

companion and a bullet furrowed my hair. I had forgotten Macklin, but

had moved just in time.

"Furious with anger and hatred, I halted in the alley and reached for

my revolver; but it was gone from my pocket--jolted out, perhaps, as we

jumped off the poop. So, I left Macklin to his own problem, and joined

the men.

"There were two whaleboats, which we had carried upside down on the

forward house, and when I got there I found that the men, sailors all

from head to foot, had turned them over, fitted in the bottom plugs,

and bent long painters that led forward outside the rigging. There was

no time to rig hoisting tackles aloft, nor was there need, as a gang to

each could launch them bodily over, one on either side.

"Sailors all, from head to feet, but wild 'packet rats' whose necks

were already in their halters! I considered my chance in an open boat

with that crowd, and thought of my gun, lying somewhere aft on the main

deck. Resolved to risk another shot from Macklin rather than my chance

unarmed among the men, I turned back, watching the cabin windows with

one eye and searching the deck with the other; but I saw no gun, and

perhaps Macklin did not see me, for there was no more shooting.

"Giving it up at last, I ran forward as both boats went over the side

and the men were tumbling into them. As I ran I noticed the steeper

incline to the deck, and that the forecastle was submerged; but I was

not prepared for the sudden launch of the ship into the sea, nor the

sickening crash of riven timbers as her after body was torn away, and

which drowned my shouts to the men.

"In a roaring, yeasty froth of tumultuous water, I went under, and when

I at last came to the surface, half drowned, I was alone on the sea,

hidden from the boats by the thick envelope of fog. I shouted, and was

answered faintly; but not able to determine the direction the sound

came from, I could only shout again and tread water, hoping to make

sure.

"But I could not make sure; sound is twisted around amazingly in fog,

and little by little the calls grew fainter. I was tired out already,

and my useless right arm ached with the hard usage it had lately

received. In the next few minutes, while my chin sank lower and lower

in the water, I thought of about every incident of my life; but just as

the first mouthful went down my throat my right foot hit something, and

the next moment I was standing on it--a hard, firm substance which

could be nothing but the rock.

"At first I found difficulty in holding my footing until I realized

that I must breast a current of about half a knot; but when I had

mastered the knack I found no trouble. Feeling carefully with my feet,

I explored the ground under foot, and following a rise to where it

ended found myself waist high out of water. This was better than

nothing, and I resumed my shouts to the men in the boats. At times they

answered; but very faintly, and after a while they grew silent. And

then, from somewhere out of the fog came the faint stroke of a small

bell. I shouted again; but was not answered.

"There was very little wind, and but a perceptible heave of the ground

swell; so I was bothered at first only by the dense fog and the

current. But after a time I had other troubles, of a mental nature. The

water was unquestionably rising, and whether or not it would rise above

my chin was an unsolvable problem. I did not know the time of low tide

in that part of the world on that night. Then, too, that bell sounded

again. And again and again I shouted into the silence. It struck twice

this time; but it was not until another half-hour had gone by, and it

struck three times with an interval between the second and third

strokes, that I realized that somewhere at hand was a ship's bell

clock. I yelled for help, calling 'Ship ahoy! Give me a hand here! I'm

standing on bottom--on a reef! Lower a boat!'

"Nothing answered me, and I suppose I went more or less crazy as the

night went on and that infernal ghostly bell struck off the half-hours.

It seemed to have the correct time; but it was hard to realize that a

ship had gone through a successful mutiny and shipwreck in the

half-hour between eight bells and one bell.

"But it ended at last, when, from the cold and the wet and the strain

on my voice, I found myself unable to call out any more. And it struck

me as rather hard, too; for at daylight the fog lifted a bit, and

there, about a mile and a half to the nor'ard, showed the lug sail of

one of the boats. The current must have drifted it to the north during

the night, and when the fog lifted I suppose they set the lug and

sailed 'fore the wind as the easiest and fastest way to sail.

"But another sight met my eyes! Over to the east about fifty yards was

the stern of the ship, taffrail and cabin out, and the mizzentop and

topmast. She was just hung there, canted to an angle of forty-five, and

ready to slide down with the first shift of a sea. And there was where

that clock was, high and dry in the cabin! The tide had reached my

shoulders by now, and perhaps this was what did the job; for I suppose

there was some air in that wreck, and when an extra heavy pulse of the

ground swell came along, there was a slight wrenching sound, as though

the sternpost had carried away; then, with a very little flurry, the

stern and mizzen sank out of sight.

"But up into the froth and the bubbles caused by the plunge came the

red head, anxious face, and big shoulders of Macklin. He sighted me,

and came on, breasting the water with all the vigor of a strong man in

good form, and with a new look in his face that meant trouble for me. I

looked for the boat; but the fog had thickened again, blotting her out.

"'What you got there?' he demanded, as he puffed up close to me.

"'Rock bottom,' I answered. 'Keep off! There's room for only one.'

"'And that one is me!'

"I squared myself as I could, with my bad right hand tucked into my

shirt out of the way, and my legs as far apart as I could get them. I

struck at him, and pushed him under; but the reacting force of the blow

sent me backward, and then it was a mad scramble under water to get my

foothold again. Macklin came up, saw me, and swam under water until he

had reached my legs; then he hove me off and took my place.

"But he wasn't used to the push of the current, and the next moment he

was off and swimming again, while I was on, breasting the current, and

waiting for him. He came back under water again; but this time I met

him with a kick that sent him so far down as to give me hope he would

stay there; but he didn't. He came up, swam around to the south, came

down with the current, and brushed me off. I did the same; but he met

me with his feet, and I drifted by. However, I had him by the leg with

my one good hand, and he came with me. We swam, side by side; but he

beat me, and scrambled to his feet on the small spur of rock that meant

life to each of us, but not to both. I swam weakly around to the south,

and then down on him; realizing that my strength was giving out. But

the fight went on, and I soon realized that his gun was soaked, or left

behind; otherwise he would have used it before this.

"I have often wondered if God and the angels watched that fight in

mid-ocean, or only hell and the devils. The nearest land to the west

must have been Cape Race, the nearest to the east the Azores, each

about five hundred miles away. I did not know the longitude; but I did

know that we had sailed due east since I was disrated, and that then we

were on the forty-seventh parallel.

"And so, in latitude forty-seven north, longitude unknown, two weakened

human brutes unable to strike a heavy and telling blow, yet animated by

a fear of death and love of life that twisted their features into

frenzied contortions (I judged mine by Macklin's), struggled feebly for

the possession of a mountaintop rising from the sea bed, on the

diminishing chance that some ship would come along to the rescue before

hunger, thirst, or a rising sea overcame them.

"I hardly know how it ended; I only knew that I found myself too weak

to breast the current, and then I gave up, and drifted. I went under

twice, I remember, and waited calmly for the end; but before the last

sinking I heard voices; then I was clutched by the hair, and as I was

dragged bodily into a boat I lost my senses. When I came to, the men

lifted me up, and I saw big Finnegan at the tiller, standing erect and

declaiming to something astern:

"'Stay there an' think it over, ye man-killin' shlave driver! Stay

there, ye devil out o' hell, an' may the min ye've killed come back to

kape ye company till yer master comes fur ye!'

"I took one look at Macklin. He was standing erect, breasting the

current with his arms folded, secure in the possession of the foothold

he had won from me. But he sent no call for help, and soon went out of

sight in the thinning fog as the boat sailed away.

"There is little more to this yarn. We never saw the other boat again,

and did not know the story they told if rescued. But among ourselves we

agreed to say nothing about the mutiny or the shooting or the

rock--only that we had struck something submerged, that the ship had

sunk, and that the captain, first mate, and three sailors had been

drowned. We were picked up in a few days, told this lie, and were not

questioned closely. Then I realized why the men had stood by me; they

wanted a shipped officer to justify the story.

"But I knew the long arm of the law, and I did not know the fate of the

other boat, or the tale they might tell. So, I shipped for the East,

found and learned this strait, and have been here since, afraid to go

home."

* * * * *

This is the yarn I listened to on anchor watch thirty years ago. It

pertains to events forty years farther back in the past. If that

white-haired, mild-mannered old pilot is still alive, he is over

ninety-five years old, and immune from earthly punishment.

But, before deciding to give this story to the world, I visited the

United States Hydrographic Office for some corroborative data, and on a

pilot chart of 1896 read that one Captain Lloyd, of the British ship

_Crompton_, had lately reported seeing in latitude forty-seven north

and longitude thirty-seven degrees twenty minutes west, a rock sixty

feet long and eight or ten feet high in the middle. It was at a time of

low spring tides, and such a menace to navigation could easily elude

observation under ordinary conditions. Captain Lloyd averred that he

saw it at twenty minutes to eight on a fine, sunshiny morning, so close

and clear to him that he forbore lowering a boat.

Yet, as I learned from further inquiry, he was the subject of much

ridicule, and his story was generally disbelieved.

Should it be disbelieved?