THE MATE OF THE
VANCOUVER
BY
MORLEY ROBERTS
AUTHOR OF "KING BILLY OF BALLARAT," ETC.
NEW YORK
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
238 WILLIAM STREET
Copyright, 1892,
By CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.
Copyright, 1900
By STREET & SMITH
CONTENTS.
PART I.
On Board the Vancouver
PART II.
San Francisco and Northward
PART III.
A Golden Link
PART IV.
Love and Hate
PART V.
At the Black Cañon
THE MATE OF THE VANCOUVER.
PART I.
ON BOARD THE VANCOUVER.
I am going to write, not the history of my life, which, on the whole,
has been as quiet as most men's, but simply the story of about a year
of it, which, I think, will be almost as interesting to other folks
as any yarn spun by a professional novel writer; and if I am wrong,
it is because I haven't the knowledge such have of the way to tell a
story. As a friend of mine, who is an artist, says, I know I can't
put in the foreground properly, but if I tell the simple facts in my
own way, it will be true, and anything that is really true always
seems to me to have a value of its own, quite independent of what the
papers call "style," which a sailor, who has never written much
besides a log and a few love-letters, cannot pretend to have. That
is what I think.
Our family--for somehow it seems as if I must begin at the
beginning--was always given to the sea. There is a story that my
great-grandfather was a pirate or buccaneer; my grandfather, I know,
was in the Royal Navy, and my father commanded a China clipper when
they used to make, for those days, such fast runs home with the new
season's tea. Of course, with these examples before us, my brother
and I took the same line, and were apprenticed as soon as our mother
could make up her mind to part with her sons. Will was six years
older than I, and he was second mate in the vessel in which I served
my apprenticeship; but, though we were brothers, there wasn't much
likeness either of body or mind between us; for Will had a failing
that never troubled me, and never will; he was always fond of his
glass, a thing I despise in a seaman, and especially in an officer,
who has so many lives to answer for.
In 1881, when I had been out of my apprenticeship for rather more
than four years, and had got to be mate by a deal of hard work--for,
to tell the truth, I liked practical seamanship then much better than
navigation and logarithms--I was with my brother in the _Vancouver_,
a bark of 1100 tons register. If it hadn't been for my mother, I
wouldn't have sailed with Will, but she was always afraid he would
get into trouble through drink; for when he was at home and heard he
was appointed to the command of this new vessel, he was carried to
bed a great deal the worse for liquor. So when he offered me the
chief officer's billet, mother persuaded me to take it.
"You must, Tom," she said; "for my sake, do. You can look after him,
and perhaps shield him if anything happens, for I am in fear all the
time when he is away, but if you were with him I should be more at
ease; for you are so steady, Tom."
I wasn't so steady as she thought, I dare say, but still I didn't
drink, and that was something. Anyhow, that's the reason why I went
with Will, and it was through him and his drinking ways that all the
trouble began that made my life a terror to me, and yet brought all
the sweetness into it that a man can have, and more than many have a
right to look for.
When we left Liverpool we were bound for Melbourne with a mixed cargo
and emigrants; and I shouldn't like to say which was the most mixed,
what we had in the hold or in the steerage, for I don't like such a
human cargo; no sailor does, for they are always in the way.
However, that's neither here nor there, for though Will got too much
to drink every two days or so on the passage out, nothing happened
then that has any concern with the story. It was only when we got to
Sandridge that the yarn begins, and it began in a way that rather
took me aback; for though I had always thought Will a man who didn't
care much for women, or, at any rate, enough to marry one, our anchor
hadn't been down an hour before a lady came off in a boat. It was
Will's wife, as he explained to me in a rather shamefaced way when he
introduced her, and a fine-looking woman she was--of a beautiful
complexion with more red in it than most Australians have, two
piercing black eyes, and a figure that would have surprised you, it
was so straight and full.
She shook hands with me very firmly, and looked at me in such a way
that it seemed she saw right through me.
"I am very pleased to see you, Mr. Ticehurst," she said; "I know we
shall be friends, you are so like your brother."
Now, somehow, that didn't please me, for I could throw Will over the
spanker boom if I wanted to; I was much the bigger man of the two;
and as for strength, there was no comparison between us.
Besides--however, that doesn't matter; and I answered her heartily
enough, for I confess I liked her looks, though I prefer fair women.
"I am sure we shall," said I; "my brother's wife must be, if I can
fix it so."
And with that I went off and left them alone, for I thought I might
not be wanted there; and I knew very well I was wanted elsewhere, for
Tom Mackenzie, the second Officer, was making signs for me to come on
deck.
After that I saw her a good deal, for we were often together,
especially when she came down once or twice and found Will the worse
for liquor. The first time she was in a regular fury about it, and
though she didn't say much, she looked like a woman who could do
anything desperate, or even worse than that. But the next time she
took it more coolly.
"Well, Tom," she said, "he was to take me to the theater, but now he
can't go. What am I to do?"
"I don't know," said I, foolishly enough, as it seemed, but then I
didn't want to take the hint, which I understood well enough.
"Hum!" she said sharply, looking at me straight. I believe I blushed
a little at being bowled out, for I was I knew that. However, when
she had made up her mind, she was not a woman to be baulked.
"Then I know, Tom, if you don't," she said; "you must take me
yourself. I have the tickets. So get ready."
"But, Helen!" I said, for I really didn't like to go off with her in
that way without Will's knowing.
Her eyes sparkled, and she stamped her foot.
"I insist on it! So get ready, or I'll go by myself. And how would
Will like that?"
There was no good resisting her, she was too sharp for me, and I went
like a lamb, doing just as she ordered me, for she was a masterful
woman and accustomed to have her own way. If I did wrong I was
punished for it afterward, for this was the beginning of a kind of
flirtation which I swear was always innocent enough on my side, and
would have been on hers too, if Will had not been a coward with the
drink.
In Melbourne we got orders for San Francisco, and it was only a few
days before we were ready to sail that I found out Helen was going
with us. I was surprised enough any way, for I knew the owners
objected to their captains having their wives on board, but I was
more surprised that she was ready to come. I hope you will believe
that, for it is as true as daylight. I thought at first it was all
Will's doing, and he let me think so, for he didn't like me to know
how much she ruled him when he was sober. However, she came on board
to stay just twenty-four hours before we sailed; the very day Will
went up to Melbourne to ship two men in place of two of ours who had
run from the vessel.
Next morning, when we were lying in the bay, for we had hauled out
from the wharf at Sandridge, a boat ran alongside just at six
o'clock, and the two men came on board.
"Who are you, and where are you from?" I asked roughly, for I didn't
like the look of one of them.
"These are the two hands that Captain Ticehurst shipped yesterday
from a Williamstown boarding house," said the runner who was with
them.
I always like to ship men from the Sailor's Home, but I couldn't help
myself if Will chose to take what he could get out of a den of
thieves such as I knew his place to be.
"Very well!" said I gruffly enough. "Look alive, get your dunnage
forward and turn to!"
One of them was a hard-looking little Cockney, who seemed a sailor
every inch, though there weren't many of them; but the other was a
dark lithe man, with an evil face, who looked like some Oriental
half-caste.
"Here," said I to the Cockney, "what's your name?"
"Bill Walker, sir," he answered.
"Who's the man with you? What is he?" I asked.
"Dunno, sir," said Walker, looking forward at the figure of his
shipmate, who was just disappearing in the fo'c'sle; "I reckon he's
some kind of a Dago, that's what he is, some kind of a Dago."
Now, a Dago in sailor's language means, as a rule, a Frenchman,
Spaniard, or Greek, or anyone from southern Europe, just as a
Dutchman means anyone from a Fin down to a real Hollander; so I
wasn't much wiser. However, in a day or two Bill Walker came up to
me and told me, in a confidential London twang, that he now believed
Matthias, as he called himself, was a half-caste Malay, as I had
thought at first. But I was to know him better afterward, as will be
seen before I finish.
Now, it is a strange thing, and it shows how hard it is for a man not
accustomed to writing, like myself, to tell a story in the proper
way, that I have not said anything of the passengers who were going
with us to San Francisco. I could understand it if I had been
writing this down just at the time these things happened, but when I
think that I have put the Malay before Elsie Fleming, even if he came
into my life first, I am almost ready to laugh at my own stupidity.
For Elsie was the brightest, bonniest girl I ever saw, and even now I
find it hard not to let the cat out of the bag before the hour. As a
matter of fact, this being the third time I have written all this
over, I had to cut out pages about Elsie which did not come in their
proper place. So now I shall say no more than that Elsie and her
sister Fanny, and their father, took passage with us to California,
as we were the only sailing vessel going that way; and old Fleming,
who had been a sailor himself, fairly hated steamboats--aye, a good
deal worse than I do, for I think them a curse to sailors. But when
they came on board I was busy as a mate is when ready to go to sea,
and though I believe I must have been blind, yet I hardly took any
notice of the two sisters, more than to remark that one had hair like
gold and a laugh which was as sweet as a fair wind up Channel. But I
came to know her better since; though in a way different from the
Malay.
When we had got our anchor on board, and were fairly out to sea,
heading for Bass's Straits, I saw her and Helen talking together, and
I think it was the contrast between the two that first attracted me
toward her, not much liking dark women, being dark myself. She
seemed, compared with Will's wife, as fair as an angel from heaven,
though the glint of her eyes, and her quick, bright ways, showed she
was a woman all over. I took a fancy to her that moment, and I
believe Helen saw it, when I think over what has happened since, for
she frowned and bit her lip hard, until I could see a mark there.
But I didn't know then what I do now, and besides, I had no time to
think about such things just then, for we were hard at it getting
things shipshape.
Tom Mackenzie, the second officer, and a much older man than
myself--for he had been to sea for seventeen years before he took it
into his head to try for his second mate's ticket--came up to me when
the men were mustered aft.
"Mr. Ticehurst," said he gruffly, "I should be glad if you'd take
that Malay chap in your watch, for I have two d--d Dagos already, who
are always quarreling, and if I have three, there will be bloodshed
for sure. I don't like his looks."
"No more do I," I answered; "but I don't care for his looks. I've
tamed worse looking men; and if you ask it, Mackenzie, why I'll have
him and you can take the Cockney."
I think this was very good of me, for Bill Walker, I could see, was a
real smart hand, and a merry fellow, not one of those grumblers who
always make trouble for'ard, and come aft at the head of a deputation
once a week growling about the victuals. But Mackenzie was a good
sort, and though he was under me, I knew that for practical
seamanship--though I won't take a back seat among any men of my years
at sea--he was ahead of all of us. So I was ready to do him a good
turn, and it was true enough he had two Greeks in his watch already.
When we had been to sea about a week, and got into the regular
routine of work, which comes round just as it does in a house, for it
is never done, Will got into his routine, too, and was drunk every
day just as regular as eight bells at noon. Helen came to me, of
course.
"Tom, can't you do something?" she said, with tears in her eyes, the
first time I ever saw them there, though not the last. "It is
horrible to think of his drinking this way! And then before those
two girls--I am ashamed of myself and of him! Can't you do anything?"
"What can I do, Helen?" I asked. "I can't take it from him; I can't
stave the liquor, there's too much of it; besides, he is captain, if
he is my brother, and I can't go against him."
"But can't you try and persuade him, Tom?" and she caught my arm and
looked at me so sorrowfully.
"Haven't I done it, Helen!" I answered. "Do you think I have seen
him going to hell these two years without speaking? But what good is
it--what good is it?"
She turned away and sat down by Elsie and Fanny, while just
underneath in the saloon Will was singing some old song about "Pass
the bottle round." He did, too, and it comes round quick at a party
of one.
I can see easily that if I tell everything in this way I shall never
finish my task until I have a pile of manuscript as big as the log of
a three years' voyage, so I shall have to get on quickly, and just
say what is necessary, and no more. And now I must say that by this
time I was in love with Elsie Fleming, in love as much as a man can
be, in love with a passion that trial only strengthened, and time
could not and cannot destroy. It was no wonder I loved her, for she
was the fairest, sweetest maid I ever saw, with long golden hair,
bright blue eyes that looked straight at one, but which could be very
soft too sometimes, and a neat little figure that made me feel, great
strong brute that I was, as clumsy as an ox, though I was as quick
yet to go aloft as any young man if occasion called for the mate to
show his men the way. And when we were a little more than half
across the Pacific to the Golden Gate, I began to think that Elsie
liked me more than she did anyone else, for she would often talk to
me about her past life in sunny New South Wales, and shiver to think
that her father might insist on staying a long time in British
Columbia, for he was going to take possession of a farm left him by
an old uncle near a place called Thomson Forks.
It was sweet to have her near me in the first watch, and I cursed
quietly to myself when young Jack Harmer, the apprentice, struck four
bells, for at ten o'clock she always said, "Good-night, Mr.
Ticehurst. I must go now. How sleepy one does get at sea! Dear me,
how can you keep your eyes open?" And when she went down it seemed
as if the moon and stars went out.
When it was old Mackenzie's first watch I was almost fool enough to
be jealous of her being with him then, though he had a wife at home,
and a daughter just as old as Elsie, and he thought no more of women,
as a rule, than a hog does of harmony, as I once heard an American
say. Still, when I lay awake and heard her step overhead, for I knew
it well, I was almost ready to get up then and there and make an
unutterable fool of myself by losing my natural sleep.
And now I am coming to what I would willingly leave out. I hope that
people won't think badly of me for my share in it, for though I was
not always such a straight walker in life as some are, yet I would
not do what evil-minded folks might think I did. Somehow I have a
difficulty in putting it down, for though I have spoken of it
sometimes sorrowfully enough to one who is very dear to me, yet to
write it coolly on paper seems cowardly and treacherous. And yet,
seeing that I can harm no one, and knowing as I do in my heart that I
wasn't to blame, I must do it, and do it as kindly as I can. This is
what I mean: I began to see that Helen loved me more than she should
have done, and that she hated Will bitterly, but Elsie even worse.
It was a great surprise to me, for, to tell the truth, women as a
general rule have never taken to me very much, and Will was always
the one in our family who had most to do with them. And for my part,
until I saw Elsie I never really loved anyone, although, like most
men, I have had a few troubles which until then I thought
love-affairs. So it was very hard to convince myself that what I
suspected was true, even though I believe that I have a natural
fitness for judging people and seeing through them, even women, who
some folks say do not act from reason like men. However, I don't
think they are much different, for few of us act reasonably. But all
this has nothing to do with the matter in hand. Now, I must confess,
although it seems wicked, that I was a little pleased at first to
think that two women loved me, for we are all vain, and that
certainly touches a man's vanity, and yet I was sorry too, for I
foresaw trouble unless I was very careful, though not all the woe and
pain which came out of this business before the end.
The first thing that made me suspect something was wrong, was that
Helen almost ceased to keep Will from the bottle, and she taunted him
bitterly, so bitterly, that if he had not usually been a
good-tempered fellow even when drunk, he might have turned nasty and
struck her. And then she would never leave me and Elsie alone if she
could help it, although she was not hypocrite enough to pretend to be
very fond of her. Indeed, Elsie said one night to me that she was
afraid Mrs. Ticehurst didn't like her. I laughed, but I saw it was
true. Then, whenever she could, Helen came and walked with me, and
she hardly ever spoke. It seems to me now, when I know all, that she
was in a perpetual conflict, and was hardly in her right mind. I
should like to think that she was not.
I was in a very difficult position, as any man will admit. I loved
Elsie dearly; I was convinced my brother's wife loved me; and we were
all four shut up on ship-board. I think if we had been on land I
should have spoken to Elsie and run away from the others, but here I
could not speak without telling her more than I desired, or without
our being in the position of lovers, which might have caused trouble.
For I even thought, so suspicious does a man get, that Helen might
perhaps have come on board more on my account than on Will's.
All this time we were making very fair headway, for we had a good
breeze astern of us, and the "Islands" (as they call them in San
Francisco), that is the Sandwich Islands, were a long way behind us.
If we had continued to have fine weather, or if Will had kept sober,
or even so drunk that he could not have interfered in working the
ship, things might not have taken the turn they did, and what
happened between me and the Malay who called himself Matthias might
never have occurred. And when I look back on the train of
circumstances, it almost makes me believe in Fate, though I should be
unwilling to do that; for I was taught by my mother, a very
intelligent woman who read a great deal of theology, that men have
free will and can do as they please.
However, when we were nearing the western coast of America, Will, who
had a great notion--a much greater one than I had, by the way--of his
navigation, began to come up every day and take his observations with
me, until at last the weather altered so for the worse, and it came
on to blow so hard, that neither of us could take any more. Now, if
Will drank enough, Heaven knows, in fine weather, he drank a deal
harder in foul, though by getting excited it didn't have the usual
effect on him, and he kept about without going to sleep just where he
sat or lay down. So he was always on deck, much to my annoyance, for
I could see the men laughing as he clung to the rail at the break of
the poop, bowing and scraping, like an intoxicated dancing master,
with every roll the _Vancouver_ made.
For five days we had been running by dead reckoning, and as well as I
could make out we were heading straight for the coast, a good bit to
the nor'ard of our true course. Besides, we were a good fifty miles
farther east than Will made out, according to his figures, and I said
as much to him. He laughed scornfully. "I'm captain of this ship,"
said he; "and Tom--don't you interfere. If I've a mind to knock
Mendocino County into the middle of next week, I'll do it! But I
haven't, and we are running just right."
You see, when he was in this state he was a very hard man to work
with, and if we differed in our figures I had often enough a big job
to convince him that he was wrong. And being wrong even a second in
the longitude means being sixty miles out. And with only dead
reckoning to rely on, we should have been feeling our way cautiously
toward the coast, seeing that in any case we might fetch up on the
Farallon Islands, which lie twenty miles west of the Golden Gate.
On the sixth day of this weather it began to clear up a little in the
morning watch, and there seemed some possibility of our getting sight
of the sun before eight bells. Will was on deck, and rather more
sober than usual.
"Well, sir," said I to him, for I was just as respectful, I'll swear,
as if he was no relation, "there seems a chance of getting an
observation; shall we take it?"
"Very well," said he. "Send Harmer here, and we'll wait for a
chance."
Harmer came aft, and brought up Will's sextant, and just then the
port foretopsail sheet parted, for it was really blowing hard, though
the sun came out at intervals. I ran forward myself, and by the time
the watch had clewed up the sail and made it fast, eight bells had
struck. When I went aft I met Harmer.
"Did you get an observation!" I asked anxiously, for when a man has
the woman he loves on board it makes him feel worried, especially if
things go as they were going then.
"Yes, Mr. Ticehurst," said he, "and the captain is working it out
now. But, sir, if I were you I would go over it after him, for two
heads are better than one," and he laughed, being a merry,
thoughtless youngster, and went into his berth.
However, I did not do what he said, thinking that we should both get
an observation at noon. We were very lucky to do so, for it began to
thicken again at ten o'clock, and we were in a heavy fog until nearly
twelve. And as soon as eight bells was struck, the fog which had
lifted came down again.
When I got below Will already had the chart out, and was showing the
women where we were, as he said; and when I came in he called me.
"There, look, Mr. Chief Officer! what did I tell you? Look!" and he
pricked off our position as being just about where he had reckoned.
I took up the slate he had been making the calculation on, but he saw
me, and snatched it out of my hand.
"What d'ye mean?" said he fiercely; "what do you want?" and he threw
it on the deck, smashing it in four pieces. I made a sign to Elsie,
and she picked them up like lightning, while Will called for the
steward and some more brandy, and began drinking in a worse temper
than I had ever seen him in.
When I passed Elsie she gave me the broken bits of slate, and I went
into my cabin, pieced them together, and worked the whole thing out
again. And when I had done it the blood ran to my head and I almost
fell. For the morning observation which Will only had taken was
wrongly worked out. I ran out on deck like lightning, and found it a
thick fog all round us, for all the wind. Old Mackenzie was in the
poop, and he roared out when he saw me:
"What's the matter, Tom Ticehurst?"
"Put the ship up into the wind, for God's sake!" I shouted. "And
send a hand up aloft to look out, for the coast should be right under
our bows. We must be in Ballinas Bay." And as he ported the helm, I
rushed back into the cabin and took the chart out again to verify our
position as near as I could. The coast ought to be in sight if the
fog cleared. For we had run through or past the Farallones without
seeing them.
When I came down the women all cried out at the sight of me, for
though I controlled myself all I could, it was impossible, so sudden
was the shock, to hide all I felt. And just then the _Vancouver_ was
coming into the wind, the men were at the lee braces, and as she
dived suddenly into the head seas, her pitches were tremendous. It
seemed to the women that something must be wrong, while Will, who,
seaman-like, knew what had happened, though mad with drink, rushed on
deck with a fierce oath. I dropped the chart and ran after him; yet
I stayed a moment.
"It will be all right," I said to the women; "but I can't tell you
now." And I followed Will, who had got hold of old Mackenzie by the
throat, while the poor fellow looked thunderstruck.
"What the devil are you doing?" he screamed. "Why don't you keep the
course? Man the weather-braces, you dogs, and put the helm up!"
But no one stirred; while Tom Mackenzie, seeing me there, took Will
by the wrists and threw him away from him. I caught him as he fell,
roaring, "Mutiny! Mutiny!"
"It's no mutiny!" I shouted, in my turn; "if we keep your course we
shall be on the rocks in half an hour. I tell you the land is dead
to loo-ard, aye, and not five miles off."
But it was less than that, for just then it cleared up a little. And
the lookout on the foreyard shouted, "Land on the lee-bow!" Then he
cried out, "Land right ahead!" Whether Will heard him or not, I
don't know, but he broke away from me and fell, rather than went,
down the companion, and in a moment I heard the women scream.
I caught Mackenzie by the arm.
"It's for our lives, and the lives of the women? He's gone for his
revolver! I shall take command!"
And I sprang behind the companion like lightning. And just in time,
for, as Will came up, I saw he was armed, and I jumped right on his
back. His revolver went off and struck the taffrail; the next moment
I had kicked it forward to where Mackenzie was standing, and grasped
Will by the arms.
I had never given him credit for the strength he showed, but then he
was mad, mad drunk, and it was not till Walker and Matthias--for all
hands were on deck by this time--came to help me that I secured him.
In the struggle Will drew back his foot and kicked the Malay in the
face, and as he rose, with the evilest look I ever saw on a man's
countenance, he drew his knife instinctively. With my left hand I
caught his wrist and nearly broke it, while the knife flew out of his
hand. And then, even by that simple action, I saw that I had made an
enemy of this man, whom up to this time I had always been kind to and
treated with far more consideration than he would have got from rough
old Mac. But this is only by the way, though it is important enough
to the story.
I had to tie Will's hands, and all the time he foamed at the mouth,
ordering the crew to assist him.
"I'll have you hung, you dogs, all of you!" he shrieked, while the
three women stood on the companion-ladder, white and trembling with
fear.
It was with great trouble that we got him below, and when he was
there I shut him in his berth, and sent the two stewards in with him
to see that he neither did himself harm nor got free, and then I
turned my attention to saving the ship and our lives.
We were in an awfully critical situation, and one which, in ordinary
circumstances, might have made a man's heart quail; but now--with the
woman I loved on board--it was maddening to think of, and made me
curse my brother who had brought us into it. Think of what it was.
Not five miles on our lee-bow there was the land, and we could even
distinguish as we lifted on the sea the cruel line of white breakers
which seemed to run nearly abeam, for the _Vancouver_ was not a very
weatherly ship, and the gale, instead of breaking, increased, until,
if I had dared, I would have ordered sail to be shortened.
I went to the chart again. Just as I took it, Mackenzie called to
me, "Mr. Ticehurst, there's a big flat-topped mountain some way
inland. I think it must be Table Mountain." Yes, he knew the coast,
and even as I looked at the chart, I heard him order the helm to be
put up. I saw why, for when we had hauled into the wind, we were
heading dead for the great four-fathom bank that lies off Bonita
Point. But there was a channel between it and the land.
I ran on deck and spoke to Mackenzie. He pointed out on the
starboard hand, and there the water was breaking on the bank. We
were running for the narrow channel under a considerable press of
canvas, seeing how it blew; for all Mac relieved her of when we first
put her into the wind was the main top-gallant sail. And now I could
do nothing for a moment but try to get sight of our landmarks, and
keep sight of them, for the weather was still thick.
Fortunately, as it might have seemed for us, the chain-cables had
already been ranged fore and aft on the deck, and I told Mackenzie to
see them bent on to the anchors, and the stoppers made ready. Yet I
knew that if we had to anchor, we were lost; in such a gale it could
only postpone our fate, for they would come home or part to a dead
certainty.
Mackenzie and I stood together on the poop watching anxiously for the
right moment to haul our wind again.
"What do you think of it, Mr. Mackenzie?" I said, as I clung on to a
weather backstay. "Where do you think we shall be in half an hour?"
"I don't think I shall ever see Whitechapel again, sir," he answered
quietly, and I knew he was thinking of home, of his wife and his
daughter. "She will go to leeward like a butter-cask in this sea;
and now look at the land!" And he pointed toward the line of
breakers on the land, which came nearer and nearer. We waited yet a
few minutes, and then I looked at Mackenzie inquiringly. "Yes, I
think so, sir," he said, and with my hand I motioned the men at the
wheel to put the helm down again. As she came into the wind the
upper foretopsail blew out of the boltropes, while the vessel
struggled like a beaten hound that is being dragged to execution, and
shivered from stem to stern. For the waves were running what
landsmen call mountains high; she now shipped a sea every moment,
which came in a flood over the fo'c'sle head; and pouring down
through the scuttle, the cover of which had been washed overboard, it
sent the men's chests adrift in the fo'c'sle and washed the blankets
out of the lower bunks. And to windward the roar of the breakers on
the bank was deafening. I went below just for a moment. I knew I
had no right to go there, my place was on deck, but could not help
myself. I must see Elsie once more before we died, for if the vessel
struck, the first sea that washed over her might take me with it, and
we should never see each other again on earth. But the two sisters
were not in the saloon. I stepped toward their berth, and Helen met
me, rising up from the deck, where she had been crouching down in
terror.
I have said she was beautiful; and so she was when she smiled, and
the pleasant light fell about her like sunlight on some strange and
rare tropical flower, showing her rosy complexion, her delicate skin
of full-blooded olive, and her coils of dark and shining hair But I
never saw her so beautiful as she was then, clothed strangely with
the fear of death, white with passion that might have made a weaker
woman crimson with shame, and fiercely triumphant with a bitter
self-conquest. She caught me by the arm. "Tom, dear Tom," she said,
in a wonderful voice that came to me clearly through the howl of the
wind, "I know there is not hope for us. He" (and she pointed toward
her husband's cabin) "has ruined us! I hate him! And, Tom, now it
is all over, and we shall not live! Say good-by to me, say good-by!"
I stood thunderstruck and motionless, for I knew what she meant even
before she put up her hands and took me round the neck. "Kiss me
once, just once, and I will die--for now I could not live, and would
not! Kiss me!" And I did kiss her. Why, I know not, whether out of
pity (it was not love--no, not love of any kind, I swear) or from the
strong constraint of her force of mind, I cannot say; and as I lifted
my head from hers, I saw Elsie, the woman I did love, looking at me
with shame at my fall, as she thought, and with scorn. I freed
myself from Helen, who sank down on her knees without seeing that she
had been observed, and I went toward Elsie. She, too, was pale,
though not with fear, for perhaps she was ignorant of her danger, but
as I thought with a little feeling of triumph even then, for we are
strange beings, with jealousy and anger.
"You are a coward and a traitor!" she said, when I reached her.
"No, no, I am not, Elsie," I answered sharply; "but perhaps you will
never know that I am speaking the truth. But let that be; are you a
brave woman? For---- But where is your father?"
"With Fanny," she answered, disdainfully even then.
I called him, and he came out.
"Mr. Fleming," I said; "you know our position; in a few minutes we
shall be safe or--ashore. Get your daughters dressed warmly; stay at
the foot of the companion with them, and, if it is necessary, come up
when I call you."
The old man shook hands with me and pointed to Will's wife. I had
forgotten her!
"Look after her, too," I said, and went to Will's cabin. He was fast
asleep and snoring hard. I could hardly keep from striking him, but
I let him lie. Was it a wonder that a woman ceased to love him? And
I went on deck.
I had not been absent five minutes, but in that time the wind had
increased even more, the seas seemed to have grown heavier, the decks
were full of water, and the fatal wake was yet broader on the
weather-quarter. All the men were aft under the break of the poop,
and most of them, thinking that we must go ashore, had taken off
their oilskins and sea-boots ready for an effort to save themselves
at the last. Even in the state of mind that I was in then, I saw
clearly, and the strange picture they presented--wet through, some
with no hats on, up to their knees in water, for the decks could not
clear themselves, though some of the main deck ports were stove in
and some out in the bulwarks--remains vividly with me now. Among
them stood Matthias, with a red handkerchief over his head, and a
swelled cheek, where Will had struck him. By his side was Walker,
the only man in the crowd who seemed cheerful, and he actually
smiled. Perhaps he was what the Scotch called "fey."
Suddenly Mackenzie called me loudly.
"Look sir, look! There is the point, the last of the land! It's
Bonita Point, if I know this coast at all!"
I sprang into the weather mizzen rigging, and the men, who had
noticed the second mate's gestures, did the same at the main. I
could see the Point, and knew it, and I knew if we could only weather
it we could put the helm up and run into San Francisco in safety.
Just then Harmer, who was as cool as a cucumber, struck four bells,
and Matthias and a man called Thompson, an old one-eyed sailor, came
up to relieve the wheel.
The point which we had to weather was about as far from us as the
land dead to leeward, and it was touch and go whether we should clear
it or not. The _Vancouver_ made such leeway, closehauled, that it
seemed doubtful, and I fancied we should have a better chance if I
freed her a little, to let her go through the water faster. Yet it
was a ticklish point, and one not to be decided without thought in a
situation which demanded instant action.
"What think you, Mac," said I hurriedly; "shall we ease her half a
point?"
He nodded, and I spoke to the men at the wheel, and as I did so I
noticed the Malay's face, which was ghastly with fear, although he
seemed steady enough. But I thought it best to alter the way they
stood, for the Englishman had the lee wheel. I ordered them to
change places.
"What's that for, sir?" said Matthias, almost disrespectfully. I
stared at him.
"Do as you are told, you dog!" I answered roughly, for I had no time
to be polite. "I don't like your steering. I have noticed it
before."
When the course was altered she got much more way on her, but neared
the land yet more rapidly. I called the men on to the poop, for I
had long before this determined not to chance the anchors, and looked
down into the saloon to see if the women were there.
As I did so Mr. Fleming called me.
"If I can be of any use, Mr. Ticehurst, I am ready."
"I think not, Mr. Fleming," I replied as cheerfully as possible; "we
shall be out of danger in a few minutes--or on the rocks," I added to
myself, as I closed the hatch.
It was a breathless and awful time, and I confess that for a few
moments I forgot the very existence of Elsie, as I calculated over
and over again the chances as we neared the Point. It depended on a
hair, and when I looked at Mackenzie, who was silent and gloomy, I
feared the worst. Yet it shows how strangely one can be affected by
one's fellows that when I saw Harmer and Walker standing side by side
their almost cheerful faces made me hope, and I smiled. But we were
within three cables' length of the Point, and the roar of the
breakers came up against the wind until it deafened us. I watched
the men at the wheel, and I saw Matthias flinch visibly as though he
had been struck by a whip. I didn't know why it was, I am not good
at such things, but I took a deeper dislike to him that moment than I
had ever had, and I stepped up to him. Now in what followed perhaps
I myself was to blame, and yet I feel I could not have acted
differently. Perhaps I looked threatening at him as I approached,
but at any rate he let go the wheel and fell back on the gratings.
With an angry oath I jumped into his place, struck him with my heel,
and then I saw Walker make a tremendous spring for me, with an
expression of alarm in his face, as he looked beyond me, that made me
make a half turn. And that movement saved my life. I felt the knife
of Matthias enter my shoulder like a red-hot iron, and then it was
wrenched out of his hand and out of the wound by Walker.
In a moment the two were locked together, and in another they were
separated by Mackenzie and the others; and Walker stood smiling with
the knife in his hand. Although the blood was running down my body,
I did not feel faint, and kept my eye fixed on the course kept by the
_Vancouver_, while Mackenzie held me in his arms, and Harmer took the
lee wheel from me.
"Luff a little!" I cried, for we were almost on the Point, and I saw
a rock nearly dead ahead. "Luff a little!" and they put the helm
down on a spoke or two.
The moments crawled by, and the coast crawled nearer and nearer, as I
began to feel I was going blind and fainting. But I clung to life
and vision desperately, and the last I saw was what I can see now,
and shall always see as plainly, the high black Point with its ring
of white water crawl aft and yet nearer, aft to the foremast, aft to
the mainmast and then I fell and knew no more. For we were saved.
When I came to, we were before the wind, and I lay on a mattress in
the cabin. Near me was Elsie, and by her Helen, who was as white as
death. Both were watching me, and when I opened my eyes Helen fell
on her knees and suddenly went crimson, and then white again, and
fainted. But Elsie looked harder and sterner than I had ever seen
her. I turned my face away, and near me I saw another mattress with
a covered figure on it, the figure of a dead man, for I knew the
shape. In my state of faintness a strange and horrible delirium took
possession of me. It seemed as if what I saw was seen only by
myself, and that it was a prophecy of my death. I fainted again.
When I came to we were at anchor in San Francisco Bay, and a doctor
from the shore was attending to me, while Mackenzie stood by, smiling
and rubbing his hands as if delighted to get me off them. I looked
at him and he knelt down by me.
"Mackenzie, old man," I whispered, "didn't I see somebody dead here?"
"Aye, poor chap," he answered, brushing away a tear; "it was poor
Walker."
"Walker!" I said. "How was that?"
"Accident, sir," said old Mac. "Just as we rounded the Point and you
fainted, the old bark gave a heavy roll as we put her before the
wind, and Walker, as he was standing with that black dog's knife in
his hand, slipped and fell. The blade entered his body, and all he
said after was, 'It was his knife after all. He threatened to do for
me yesterday.'"
"Where's Will?" I asked, when he ended, for I was somehow anxious to
save my brother's credit, and I shouldn't have liked to see him
dismissed from the ship.
"He's on deck now, as busy as the devil in a gale of wind," growled
Mackenzie. "'Tis he that saved the ship. Oh, he's a mighty
man!--but I don't sail with him no more."
However, he altered his mind about that.
Now, it has taken me a long time to get to this point, and perhaps if
I had been a better navigator in the waters of story-telling I might
have done just what Will didn't do, and have missed all the trouble
of beating to windward to get round to this part of my story. I
might have put it all in a few words, perhaps, but then I like people
to understand what I am about, and it seems to me necessary. If it
isn't, I dare say someone will tell me one of these days. At any
rate, here I have got into San Francisco, a city I don't like by the
way, for it is a rascally place, managed by the professional
politicians, who are the worst men in it; I had been badly wounded,
and the Malay was in prison, and (not having money) he was likely to
stay there.
I was in the hospital for three weeks, and I never had a more
miserable or lonely time. If I had not been stronger in constitution
than most men I think I should have died, so much was I worried by my
love for Elsie, who was going away thinking me a scoundrel, who had
tried to gain the love of my brother's wife. Of course she did not
come near me, though I knew the Flemings were still in the city. I
learnt so much from Will, who had the grace to come and see me,
thanking me, too, for having saved the _Vancouver_.
"You must get well soon, Tom," said he, "for I need you very much
just now."
I kept silence, and he looked at me inquiringly.
"Will," I said at length, "I shall never I sail with you again--I
can't do it."
"Why not?" he cried, in a loud voice, which made the nurse come up
and request him to speak in a little lower tone. "Why not? I can't
see what difference it will make, anything that has occurred."
No, he did not see, but then he did not know. How could I go in the
ship again with Helen? Besides, I had determined to win Elsie for my
wife, and how could I do that if I let her go now, thinking what she
did of me?
"Well, Will, I can't go," said I once more; "and I don't think I
shall go to sea again, I am sick of it."
Will stared, and whistled, and laughed.
"Ho!" said he; "I think I see how the land lies. You are going to
settle in British Columbia, eh? You are a sly dog, but I can see
through you. I know your little love-affair; Helen told me as much
as that one day."
"Well, then, Will," I answered wearily, for I was out of heart lying
there, "if you know, you can understand now why I am not going to
sail with you. But, Will," and I rose on my elbow, hurting myself
considerably as I did so, "let me implore you not to drink in future.
Have done with it. It will be your ruin and your wife's--aye, and if
I sailed with you, mine as well. Give me your hand, and say you will
be a sober man for the future, and then I shall be content to go
where I must go--aye, and where I will go."
He gave me his hand, that was hot with what he had been drinking even
then (it was eleven in the morning), and I saw tears in his eyes.
"I will try, Tom," he muttered; "but----"
I think that "but" was the saddest word, and the most prophetic, I
ever heard on any man's lips. I saw how vain it was, and turned
away. He shook hands, and went without saying more than "Good-by,
Tom." I saw him twice after that, and just twice.
By the time I was out of the hospital the _Vancouver_ was ready to go
to sea, being bound to England; and she might have sailed even then,
only it was necessary for Tom Mackenzie and one or two others to
remain as witnesses when they tried Matthias for stabbing me. I
shall not go into a long description of the trial, for I have read in
books of late so many trial scenes that I fear I should not have the
patience to give details, which, after all, are not necessary, since
the whole affair was so simple. And yet, what followed afterward
from that affair I can remember as brightly and distinctly as if in a
glass--the look of the dingy court, the fierce and revengeful eyes of
Matthias, who never spoke till the last, and the appearance of Helen
and Fanny (Elsie was not there)--when the judge after the verdict
inflicted a sentence of eighteen months' hard labor on the prisoner.
Perhaps he had been in prison before, and knew what it meant, or it
was simply the bitter thought of a revengeful Oriental at being
worsted by his opponent; but when he heard the sentence, he leant
forward and grasped the rail in front of him tightly, and spoke. His
skin was dark and yet pallid, the perspiration stood in beads on his
forehead, he bit his lips until blood came, while his eyes looked
more like the eyes of a human beast than those of a man. This is
what he said as he looked at me, and he spoke with a strange
intensity which hushed all noise.
"When I come out of jail I will track you night and day, wherever you
go or whatever you do to escape me. Though you think I do not know
where you are, I shall always be seeking for you, and at last I shall
find you. If a curse of mine could touch you, you should rot and
wither now, but the time will come when my hand shall strike you
down!"
Such was the meaning of what he said, although it was not put exactly
as I have here written it down; and if I confess, as I should have to
do at last before the end of this story comes, that the words and the
way they were spoken--spoken so vehemently and with so fixed a
resolution--made me shiver and feel afraid in a way I had never done
before, I hope nobody will blame me; but I am sure that being in love
makes a coward of a man in many ways, and in one moment I saw myself
robbed of life and love just at their fruition. I beheld myself
clasping Elsie to my bosom, having won from her at last an avowal of
her love, and then stabbed or shot in her arms. Ah! it was dreadful
the number of fashions my mind went to work, in a quick fever of
black apprehension, to foretell or foresee my own possible doom. I
had never thought myself cowardly, but then I seemed to see what
death meant better than I had ever done; and often the coward is what
he is, as I think now, from a vivid imagination, which so many of us
lack. I went out of the court in a strange whirl, for you see I had
only just recovered. If I had been quite well I might have laughed
instead of feeling as I did. But I did not laugh then.
Now, on the next morning the _Vancouver_ was to leave the harbor,
being then at anchor off Goat Island. All the money that was due to
me I had taken, for Will had given me my discharge, and I sent home
for what I had saved, being quite uncertain what I should do if I
followed Elsie to British Columbia. And that night I saw the last of
Will, the last I ever saw, little thinking then how his fate and mine
were bound up together, nor what it was to be. Helen was with him,
and I think if he had been sober or even gentle with her in his
drink, she would have never spoken to me again as she did on that day
when she believed that life was nearly at its end for both of us.
But Will, having finished all his business, had begun to drink again,
and was in a vile temper as we sat in a room at the American Exchange
Hotel, where I was staying. Helen tried to prevent his drinking.
"Will," she said, in rather a hard voice from the constraint she put
on herself, "you have had enough of drink, we had better go on board."
"Go on board yourself," said he, "and don't jaw me! I wish I had
left you in Australia. A woman on board a ship is like a piano in
the fo'c'sle. Come and have a drink, Tom."
"No, thank you," I said; "I have had quite enough."
And out he went, standing drinks at the bar to half a dozen, some of
whom would have cut his throat for a dollar, I dare say, by the looks
of them. Then Helen came over and sat down by me.
"I have never spoken to you, Tom," she began, and then she stopped,
"since--you know, since that dreadful day outside there," and she
pointed, just like a woman who never knows the bearings of a place
until she has reckoned out how the house points first, to the East
when she meant the West, "and now I feel I must, because I may never
have the chance again."
She took out her handkerchief, although she was dry-eyed, and twisted
it into a regular ground-swell knot, until I saw the stuff give way
here and there. She seemed unable to go on, and perhaps she would
not have said more if we hadn't heard Will's voice, thick with drink,
as he demanded more liquor.
"Hear him!" she said hurriedly, "hear the man who is my husband!
What a fool I was! You don't know, but I was. And I am his wife!
Ah! I could kill him! I could! I could!"
I was horrified to see the passion she was in; it seemed to have a
touch of real male fury in it, just as when a man is trying to
control himself, feeling that if one more provocation is given him he
will commit murder, for she shook and shivered, and her voice was
strangely altered.
And just then Will came back, demanding with an oath if she was ready
to go. She never spoke, but I should have been sorry to have any
woman look at me as she did at him when his eyes were off her. I
shook hands with her and with him, for the last time, and they went
away.
Next morning, being lonely and having nothing to do I went out to the
park, made on the great sand-dunes which runs from the higher city to
the ocean beach and the Cliff House on the south side of the Golden
Gate. For the sake of a quiet think I went out by the cars, and
walked to a place where few ever came but chance visitors, except on
Sunday. It is just at the bend of the great drive and a little above
the road, where there is a large tank with a wooden top, which makes
a good seat from which one can see back to San Francisco and across
the bay to Oakland, Saucelito, and the other little watering-places
in the bay; or before one, toward the opening of the Golden Gate, and
the guns of Alcatraz Island, where the military prison is. Here I
took my seat and looked out on the quiet beautiful bay and the sea
just breaking in a line of foam on the beach beneath me. The sight
of the ships at anchor was rather melancholy to me, for my life had
been on the sea. It seemed as if a new and unknown life were before
me; and a sailor starting anything ashore is as strange as though
some inveterate dweller in a city should go to sea. There were one
or two white sails outside the Heads, and one vessel was being towed
in; there was a broad wake from the Saucelito ferry-boat, and far out
to sea I saw the low Farallones lying like a cloud on the horizon.
It was beyond them that my new life had begun, really begun; and
though the day was fair, I knew not how soon foul weather might
overtake me, and I knew indeed that it could only be postponed unless
fate were very kind. I don't know how long I sat on that tank
drumming on the hollow wood, as I idly picked up the pebbles from the
ground and threw them down into the road; but at last I saw what I
had partly been waiting for--the _Vancouver_ being towed out to sea.
I had no need to look at her twice; I knew every rope in her, and
every patch of paint, to say nothing of her masts being ranked a
little more than is usual nowadays. I had no glass with me, but I
fancied I could see a patch of color on her poop that was Helen.
I watched the vessel which had been my home--and which, but for me,
would have been lying a wreck over yonder--for more than an hour, and
then I turned to go home, if I can call an American hotel "home" by
strained politeness, and just then I saw a carriage come along. Now,
I knew as well before I could distinguish them that Elsie, Fanny, and
her father were in that carriage, as I did that Helen was on board
the _Vancouver_; and I sat down again feeling very faint--I suppose
from the effects of my wound, or the illness that came from it. The
carriage had almost passed beneath me--and I felt Elsie saw me,
though she made no sign--before Mr. Fleming caught sight of me.
"Hi! stop!" he called, and the driver drew up. "Why, Mr. Ticehurst,
is that you? I thought the _Vancouver_ had gone? Besides, how does
a mate find time to be out here? Things must have changed since I
was at sea. Come down! Come down!"
I did so, and shook hands with them all, though Elsie's hand lay in
mine like a dead thing until she drew it away.
"The _Vancouver_ has gone, Mr. Fleming," said I; "and there she
is--look!"
They all turned, and Elsie kept her eyes fixed on it when the others
looked at me again.
"Well," said Fleming, "what does it all mean? Where are you going?
Back to town? That's right, get in!" And without more ado the old
man, who had the grip of a vise, caught hold of me, and in I came
like a bale of cotton. "Drive on!"
"Now then," he went on, "you can tell us why you didn't go with them."
I paused a minute, watching Elsie.
"Well, Mr. Fleming," I said at last, "you see I didn't quite agree
with my brother."
"H'm!--calls taking the command from the captain not quite agreeing
with him," chuckled Fleming; "but I thought you made it up, didn't
you?"
"Yes, we made it up, but I wouldn't sail with him any more. I had
more than one reason."
Again I looked at Elsie, and she was, I thought, a little pleasanter,
though she did not speak. But Fanny pinched her arm, I could see
that, and looked roguishly at me. However, Mr. Fleming, did not
notice that byplay.
"Well," he said, a trifle drily as I fancied, "I won't put you
through your catechism, except to ask you in a fatherly kind of way"
(Elsie looked down and frowned) "what you are going to do now. I
should have thought after what that rascal of a half-bred Malay, or
whatever he is, said, that you would have left California in a hurry."
"Time enough, Mr. Fleming--time enough. I have eighteen months to
look out on without fear of a knife in my ribs, and I may be in
China, or Alaska, or the Rocky Mountains then."
You see I wanted to give them a hint that I might turn up in British
Columbia. Fanny gave me a better chance though, and I could have
hugged her for it.
"Or British Columbia perhaps, Mr. Ticehurst?" she said smiling very
innocently.
"Who knows," I answered, hastily; "when a man begins to travel, there
is no knowing where he may turn up. I had a fancy to go to Alaska,
though."
For the way to Alaska was the way to British Columbia, and I did not
want to surprise them too much if I went on the same steamer as far
as Victoria. And in four days I might see what chance I really had
with Elsie.
"Well," said the father, thoughtfully, "I don't know, and can't give
advice. I should have thought that when a man was a good sailor and
held your position he ought to stick to it. A rolling stone gathers
no moss."
"Yes," I answered, "but I am tired of the sea."
"So am I," said Fanny, "and I don't blame you, though you ought to go
with careless captains just on purpose to save people's lives, you
know, Mr. Ticehurst; for you saved ours, and I think some of us might
thank you better than by sitting like a dry stick without saying a
word."
With this she dug at Elsie with her elbow, smiling sweetly all the
time.
"Yes," said Elsie, "and there is Mr. Harmer now in the _Vancouver_.
Perhaps she will be wrecked."
This was the first word she had spoken since I had entered the
carriage, and I recognized by its spite that Elsie was a woman not
above having a little revenge. For poor Fanny, who had flirted quite
a little with Harmer, said no more.
They put down at their hotel, and I went inside with them.
"Well," said Fleming, "I suppose we shan't see you again, unless you
do as Fanny says, and turn up in our new country. If you do, be sure
we shall welcome you. And I wish you well, my boy."
I shook hands with them again, and turned away; and as I did so, I
noticed some of their boxes marked, "Per SS. _Mexico_." Fanny saw me
looking, and whispered quickly, as she passed me, "Tom Ticehurst, go
to Mexico!" and vanished, while Elsie stood in the gaslight for a
moment as if in indecision. But she turned away.