BAHAMA BILL
Works of
T. JENKINS HAINS
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Bahama Bill 1.50
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L.C. PAGE & COMPANY
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[Illustration: "_The giant black stood gazing out to sea"_
(_See page 17_)]
BAHAMA BILL
Mate of the Wrecking Sloop
_Sea-Horse_
By
T. Jenkins Hains
Author of "The Black Barque," "The Voyage
of the Arrow," "The Windjammers," etc.
_With a frontispiece in colour by_
H.R. Reuterdahl
[Illustration]
_Boston_: L.C. PAGE &
COMPANY _Mdccccviii_
_Copyright, 1908_
BY L.C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, January, 1908
_COLONIAL PRESS_
_Electrotyped and Printed by C.H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S. A._
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. BENEATH THE "BULLDOG'S" BILGE 1
II. THE WRECKER'S REWARD 18
III. THE MATE OF THE "SEA-HORSE" 35
IV. BARNEGAT MACREARY 50
V. AT THE END OF THE REEF 68
VI. THE SANCTIFIED MAN 88
VII. WHEN THE LIGHT FAILED AT CARYSFORT 116
VIII. THE TRIMMING OF MR. DUNN 129
IX. THE SURVIVOR 176
X. ON THE GREAT BAHAMA BANK 196
XI. THE ICONOCLAST 232
XII. JOURNEGAN'S GRAFT 266
XIII. SHANGHAING THE TONG 296
XIV. THE EDGE OF THE RONCADOR 323
XV. THE WRECKER 338
XVI. THE BARRATORS 350
BAHAMA BILL
I
Beneath the "Bulldog's" Bilge
The brig lay in four fathoms of water on the edge of the Great Bahama
Bank. She had been a solid little vessel, built for the fruit trade,
and she was about two hundred tons register. Her master had tried to
sight the "Isaacs," but owing to the darkness and the drift of the
Gulf Stream, he had miscalculated his distance in trying for the New
Providence channel. A "nigger-head," a sharp, projecting point of
coral, had poked a hole about four feet in diameter through her bottom,
and she had gone down before they could run her into the shoal water on
the bank.
Down to the graveyard of good ships, Key West, the message was hurried,
and the wreckers of Florida Reef heard the news. A heavily built sloop
of thirty tons, manned by ten Spongers and Conchs, started up the
Florida channel and arrived upon the scene two days later.
The _Bulldog_ had settled evenly upon her keel, but as she was sharp,
she had listed until her masts were leaning well to starboard, dipping
her yardarms deep in the clear water. She was submerged as far up as
her topsail yards.
The captain of the wrecker was a Conch. His mate was a giant negro of
the Keys; young, powerful, and the best diver on the Florida Reef.
His chest measured forty-eight inches in circumference over his
lean pectoral muscles, and he often bent iron bars of one-half inch
to show the set of his vise-like grip. He was almost black, with a
sinister-looking leer upon his broad face, his eyes red and watery like
most of the divers of the Bank. He could remain under four fathoms for
at least three and a half minutes, and work with amazing force, and
continue this terrific strain for six hours on a stretch, with but
five minutes between dives. Half fish or alligator, and half human,
he looked as he lounged naked in the hot sunshine upon the sloop's
forecastle, his skin hard and callous as leather from long exposure to
a tropic sun and salt water. He was ready for the work ahead, for it
had been rumoured that the _Bulldog_ had not less than fifty thousand
dollars in silver aboard her. She was known to have been chartered by
agents of the Venezuelan revolutionists, and to have arms and money
aboard in abundance for their relief.
The day was well advanced when the spars of the brig showed above the
sea. The sky was cloudless, and the little air there was stirring
scarcely rippled the ocean; the swell rolling with that long,
undulating sweep and peculiar slowness which characterizes calm weather
in the Gulf Stream.
Far away the "Isaacs" showed above the horizon, and just the slightest
glint of white told of the nearest cay miles away on the Great Bank.
To the westward it was a trifle more than sixty miles to Florida
Cape across the channel, with the deep ocean current sweeping to the
northward between. The steady set of the Stream brought the wreckers
rapidly nearer the brig in spite of the calm, and they let go their
first anchor about fifty fathoms due south, and veered the cable to let
the sloop drift slowly down upon the wreck. Then, lowering all canvas,
they got out their kedges and moored the sloop just over the port rail
of the _Bulldog_ which could be distinctly seen about ten feet below
the surface of the sea.
Three of the crew, all experienced divers, made ready while the mate
went slowly to the rail and gazed fixedly down into the clear water.
In calm weather the bottom on the Bank can be seen distinctly in
five fathoms, and often at much greater depth. The weather was ideal
now, and no one thought it necessary to use the "water-glass," the
glass-bottomed bucket into which the diver usually sticks his head and
gazes into the depths before making his plunge.
"I reckon ye might as well make a try," said the captain, coming to
the mate's side. "Start here an' let the drift o' the current take ye
th' whole length." And as he spoke he hove a life-line overboard for
the men to grasp should the stream carry them too far. Coming to the
surface they would be tired and not want to swim back. A man stood by
to haul in and save the diver the exertion.
The mate raised his eyes. He looked over the smooth sea and tilted his
nose into the air, sniffing the gentle breeze.
"It might be a wery good day, Cap, but I sho' smells shurk. I ain't
much perticular about this smooth weather. It nearly always brings 'em
along 'bout dis time o' year. De season am mighty nigh done on de Bank.
Yo' knows dey is mighty peart when dey gits plentiful."
"Are you feared?" asked the captain, looking at him scornfully.
"Well, I smell him plain, an' dat's a fact," said the mate, "but here
goes."
The giant mate fell slowly outboard, then putting his hands before him
he dropped straight down into the sea with hardly a splash. The captain
bent over the rail and watched him as he swam quickly down, his great
black form looking not unlike a turtle as it struck out vigorously with
both hands and feet. Down, down it went until the shimmering light
made it distorted and monstrous as the distance increased. Then it
disappeared under the bend of the _Bulldog's_ bilge.
A second diver came to the side and looked out over the smooth swell.
There was nothing in sight as far as the eye could reach save the glint
of white on the distant cay to the eastward. The Gulf Stream was
undisturbed by even a ripple.
In a couple of minutes a loud snort astern told of the mate's
reappearance. He seized the life-line and was quickly hauled alongside.
He climbed leisurely to the deck.
All hands were now assembled and waited for his report.
"Tight as a drum. There ain't no way o' gettin' into her there," said
the mate after two or three long breaths.
"Well, will you try the hatchway, then?" asked the captain.
"I ain't perticular about workin' down hatchways," said the giant, with
a scowl.
"Nor me either," said the man who had come to make the second trip.
"They said the stuff was aft under the cabin deck," said a tall man
with aquiline features, known as Sam.
"Dynamite," whispered another, "what's the difference?"
"Plenty, if the underwriters come along and find her blown up. She
ain't ours yet," said the captain sourly.
"An' who's to tell?" asked the mate with a fierce menace. "Who'll know
what knocked a hole in her? They'll nebber float her. Bust her, says I."
The captain looked about him. There was nothing in sight, save the
distant cay, ten miles or more to the eastward, which might harbour an
inquisitive person. And then the light-keeper himself was a wrecker.
He thought a moment while the mate stood looking at him, and then went
slowly down into the cabin and brought up a box of cartridges. Sam
immediately brought out some exploders and several fathoms of fuse.
In a moment a large package was wrapped up and lashed with spun-yarn.
It contained five half-pound cartridges and an exploder, with a fathom
of fuse. A piece of iron was made fast to the whole to keep it upon the
bottom, and then the mate called for a match. The fuse would burn for
at least two minutes under water before the exploder was reached, and
give time for the diver to get clear.
The captain scratched a light upon his trousers and held it to the
fuse. A spluttering fizzing followed. Then over the side went the mate
with the charge in his hand, and the men on the deck could see him
swimming furiously down through the clear depths, the dynamite held
before him and a thin spurt of bubbles trailing out from the end of the
burning fuse.
He had little enough time to spare after he disappeared under the curve
of the bilge. Coming to the surface he was quickly dragged aboard by
the life-line, and then all hands waited a moment, which seemed an
hour, for the shock.
A dull crash below followed by a peculiar ringing sound told of the
discharge. The water lifted a moment over the spot some twenty feet
astern, and then a storm of foam and bubbles surged to the surface.
The captain gazed apprehensively around the horizon again, and then
smiled.
"I reckon that busted her," he said.
Over the side plunged the mate, followed by two more men, and as they
went a great, dark shadow rose slowly to the surface in the disturbed
water. It was the body of a giant shark.
The captain stood looking at it for a moment.
"The harpoon, quick," he yelled.
A man sprang for the iron, but the monster rolled slowly over upon his
belly, and opened his jaws with spasmodic jerks. A great hole was torn
in his side, and his dorsal fin was missing. He gave a few quick slaps
with his tail, and then sank slowly down before the harpoon could be
thrown.
"He's as dead as salt-fish," said a sailor, "clean busted wide open."
"He's a tiger," said the captain, "an' they never hunt alone. I c'ud
see his stripes."
A diver called from the end of the life-line and was hauled up. One
after another they came up, the mate last.
"What was the thing yo' dropped overboard?" he asked with a grin. "I
seen him sinking an' thought he ware alive."
"It was a tiger," said the captain solemnly, looking askance at the big
man.
"That settles it fer me," said one diver, "they always go in pairs."
"Me, too," went the chorus from the rest.
The mate said nothing. He had seen something below that made his eyes
flash in spite of their salty rheum. The dynamite had done its work
well, and with more daring than the others he had penetrated the hull
far enough to catch a glimpse of the treasure. The explosion had
scattered bright silver coins about the entrance of the hole, and he
had seen what they had missed in the roiled water.
Here was a sore problem for the captain. He had the first chance at the
wreck without observers, and here the carcass of a huge tiger-shark had
upset everything. Within a few hours, the spars of other wreckers might
show above the horizon, and then farewell to treasure-hunting. He could
expect nothing but salvage at the most. If the owners decided to raise
her he could do nothing more than sell his claim upon her, and probably
lose most of that, for he was a poor man and dreaded the Admiralty
courts. It would be much better if he could get what money there was
in her, finding it in an abandoned hull. Having the whole of it in his
possession was much better than trying to get back from the owners his
share under the salvage law. Any delay for shark-hunting meant a heavy
loss. He looked askance at the big mate, but said nothing, knowing full
well that it lay with that black giant whether he would take the risk
of going below again or not.
"I knew I smelt him plain enough," said the giant, sniffing the air
again, "dem big shurks is mighty rank."
The shark which had met with the dynamite explosion was one of a pair
of the great "carcharodon" variety. They had come in on the edge of the
Bank at the beginning of the warm season, and one of them had slipped
up along the bottom to the wreck not a minute after the mate had placed
the charge. The package had attracted his attention, and it was while
nosing it the charge had exploded, tearing him almost to pieces. His
mate was but fifty fathoms away, and came slowly up to examine the
place where the crash occurred.
The female was about twenty feet in length. She was lean and muscular
from long cruising at sea, and her hide was as hard as the toughest
leather. Vertical stripes upon her sides, black upon the dark gray of
her body, gave her the name of "tiger." Her jaws were a good eighteen
inches across, and her six rows of triangular teeth formed the most
perfect cutting machine for anything made of flesh. The long tapering
tail and huge fins told of enormous power, and her heavy frontal
development proclaimed her of that somewhat rare species of pelagic
monster which is very different in disposition to the thousands of
sharks that infest all tropical seas.
She came upon the body of her mate as he sank slowly down, shattered
and torn from the explosion. He lay motionless upon the clean coral
bottom, and as she nosed him she came to the grisly wounds and knew he
was dead. The feeling that the floating object above was responsible
for his end took possession of her instinctively. He, her mate, had
travelled with her for months and over thousands of miles of ocean.
There was an attachment similar to that in evidence among the higher
animals, and sullen fury at her loss grew against the thing above. It
was like the implacable hatred of the cobra snake for the slayer of his
mate, the snake who will follow the slayer's trail for miles to wreak
vengeance. And as the monster's fury was growing, the black diver was
preparing to make a plunge for the money within the brig's bilge.
"Gimme a line," said the black man. "If dere is another feller like de
one we busted down dere, yo' kin pull me back ef he don't git a good
hold o' my laig. De water is mighty roiled yit, en I'd like to see a
bit o' the bottom. 'Pears to me I seen something movin' astern dere."
The captain passed a line, and he fastened it around his waist. The
rest of the crew stood looking on. Then taking a bag rolled tight in
one hand to open below and fill with the silver, he gazed anxiously
around the surrounding sea again.
"Here goes," said the big mate, "but I reckon it's de debble himself
dat's waitin' fer me, I feels it sho'."
He went down with a straight plunge without any splash, and they
watched him until he disappeared under the bends.
The mate had his eyes in use as he swam swiftly towards the hole made
by the explosion. He watched the shadows upon the coral bottom in the
dim light that penetrated the depths. The huge shadow of the brig cast
a gloom over the white rock, and at the depth of her keel objects were
hard to distinguish, except out beyond where the sunshine filtered
down. He knew the location of the hole, and headed straight for it
until the black and ragged mouth of the opening showed before him. He
had just reached for it when a form shut off the light behind him. At
the same instant the dread of something horrible flashed through his
brain. He turned instantly to see the giant mouth of a monstrous shark
close aboard, the teeth showing white against the dark edge of the
throat cavity.
There was but a moment to spare. He must get away in the fraction of a
second, and his quick mind, used to emergencies, seized upon the only
way possible.
The line about his waist was still slack, and he dove headlong into the
black mouth of the hole in the brig's bilge. The opening was just large
enough to let him through, the splintered edges raking his back sorely
as he entered. Then he turned quickly, hoping to see the monster sweep
past.
The outline of the hole showed dimly, a ragged green spot set in inky
blackness. He was ready to make a dash outboard, and swam to hold
himself close to it, for the tendency was to rise into the black depths
of the submerged hull. Inside was total darkness, and the unknown,
submerged passages to some possible open hatchway beneath his own
vessel's bottom were not to be thought of for safety. He could hold his
breath but for a very short time longer, and he was more than twenty
feet below the surface of the ocean. Even as he swam his foot struck
something solid above him. He watched the hole and had just about
decided that the monster had passed when the hole disappeared from view.
He knew he had not moved, for he could feel the stillness of the water
about him. With a growing feeling of horror he groped for the opening.
In the total darkness he thought he was losing the instinct of
direction. The danger of his position was so deadly that, in spite of
his iron nerves, a panic was taking possession of him. To be lost in
the hold of a sunken wreck appalled him for an instant. He must act
quickly and accurately if he would live. The precious moments were
passing, and his heart already was sending the blood with ringing
throbs through his head. He made a reach ahead, and as he did so the
greenish light of the hole in the bilge came again before him. He
struck out for it powerfully. Then it failed again, but as it did so
he made out the form that was closing it. The great head of the shark
was thrust into the opening, withdrawn again as though to try to get a
better position to force its way in, and then came total blackness.
The mate was failing fast. He had been under water more than two
minutes. He saw that it was certain death to force the entrance.
Outside waited the monster who would cut him to pieces before he could
reach the surface and help from his vessel. It was a horrible end.
The thought of a mangled form being devoured into the bowels of such
a creature decided him. Any death but that. He hesitated no longer,
but with maddening haste he swam upward into the blackness, groping,
struggling through doors and passages, wildly, aimlessly trying for a
blind chance that he might at last come through the hatchway into the
sea above.
He had cast off the line to his waist as soon as it came taut, and
instantly it flashed upon him that he had severed the last link between
himself and his men. On and on he struggled, the bright flashes of
light which now began to appear before his eyes, caused by the strain
and pressure, made him fight wildly forward, thinking that they came
from the light outside. He knew he was lost. The picture flitted before
him of the men hauling in the line. Then the silence of the deck in the
sunshine and the looks of his shipmates, the case of "lost man." He
had seen it before when he was upon the deck, and now it was his turn
below. A bulkhead brought him to a sudden stop. He reached upward and
found the solid deck. It was no use. He gave one last gigantic stroke
forward along the obstruction and started to draw in his breath, which
meant the end. Then his head suddenly came out of the water into air,
and his pulses leaped again into action.
The pressure was not relieved upon his lungs, and it was some moments
before he recovered. Then his great strength came back to him and he
began to grope about in the blackness until his feet came in contact
with a step. He felt along this and found that it was evidently a
companionway leading to the deck above. He put forth his hands into
the space overhead and found a solid roof but a foot or less above the
surface of the water he was in. Then it dawned upon him that he was
beneath the coamings of the hatchway, and the air was that which had
been caught under the top as the brig had settled. She had only been
sunk about fifty-five hours, and the air had not found its way through
the tight cover overhead. It was compressed by the pressure of the
water above it. It was only about twelve feet to the surface from where
he now rested, and if he could get free he might yet get away safely.
The shark was probably below under the bilge, trying to get in the hole
and would not notice him if he came up through the hatchway. He could
make a dash for the surface, and call for a line before the monster
could locate him. The air within the small space was already getting
used up while he waited to recover. There were not more than half a
dozen cubic feet of it altogether, and he must work quickly if he would
be free.
He now groped for the fastenings of the hatchway, hoping to seize
them and force the slide back. The covering was of peculiar pattern,
high-domed above the coamings, and it was for this reason that the air
had failed to find its way through the front of the opening. He felt
for the lock and finally found that the hasp was on the outside. He was
locked below.
He had been away from the sloop for more than five minutes now, and
the men aboard had hauled in the line. It came fast enough, and some
leaned over the rail watching until the end came into view. Then they
knew, or fancied they knew, the story.
"Gone, by God," came the exclamation from the captain--"he was
right--they always travel in couples--" Then he stood there with the
rest, all gazing steadfastly down into the clear water of the Gulf
Stream that now went past crystal-like and undisturbed. The dim forms
of the coral showed below, but nothing like the shape of either man
or shark was visible. The disturbed water from the blast had all gone
to the northward with the current, and they wondered. If there were a
monster lurking in the depths, he must be well under the brig's bilge
in the deep shadow. The line told the story the eye failed to reach. It
was not new, the story of a lost diver on the Bahama Bank.
They hung over the side and spoke seldom: when they did, it was in a
low tone. There was nothing to do, for no one had the hardihood to
make the plunge to find out what had happened. They must wait for the
wrecking crew. Diving was not to be thought of again for hours.
Meanwhile the mate was below in the dome of the hatchway.
Finding that the slide was fastened on the outside, he put forth all
his giant strength to force it. Planting his feet upon the after end,
he managed to keep his mouth out of the water and get a grip upon the
hatch-carline. Then he strained away to burst the lock.
In the little bubble of compressed air the exertion caused him to pant
for breath. He must hurry. The wood creaked dully. A jet of water
spurted in his face. The slide was giving way, letting in the ocean
from the outside, and in another moment the remaining space of air
would be gone. With one tremendous shove he tore the carline loose.
Then he clutched frantically at the splintering wood, and as the water
closed over him he wrenched the slide loose and drove himself blindly
through the opening. The next instant he shot upward, and in a moment
he saw the light above. He came to the surface under the sloop's port
quarter, bursting into the sunshine with a loud splash.
The captain heard the noise and hurried over to look. The mate's black
head was just a fathom below him, and he quickly dropped him a line.
Then willing hands reached over and he was dragged on deck. He had been
below nearly a quarter of an hour.
Staggering like a drunken man the great mate lounged forward, his
bloodshot eyes distended, and his breath coming in loud rasping gasps,
a little thin trickle of blood running from his nose and mingling with
the salt water pouring down his face. Men seized him and tried to hold
him up, but he plunged headlong upon the deck and lay still.
It was nearly half an hour later before he opened his eyes and looked
about him. All hands were around him, some rubbing his huge limbs and
others standing looking on, waiting to do what the captain might
direct. Then he came slowly to and rose unsteadily to his feet. There
was a feeling of relief and the men talked. The captain asked questions
and plied his mate with whiskey.
The giant black stood gazing out to sea, trying to realize what had
happened, and while he looked he saw a thin trail of smoke rising upon
the southern horizon. He pointed to it without saying anything, and all
hands saw it and stopped in their work to stare.
"It's the wreckin' tug from Key West," said the captain. "No more
divin' to-day. Jest our bloomin' luck. Nothin' to hinder us from doin'
a bit o' bizness. No danged shurks nor nothin' to stop a man, an' here
we lose our chance."
"I reckon it's all right, cap'n," said the big mate, speaking for the
first time. "I done quit divin' fer this season, ennyways. 'N' when I
says I smells shurk, I means _shurk_. 'N' the fust man what begs me toe
go under ag'in when I says that, I gwine toe break his haid."
II
The Wrecker's Reward
"Ef I wassent er lady, I'd knock yo' blamed haid off, yo' black
rascal!" cried Julia. The big mate smiled at her softly, and made
another pass to seize her; but she struggled free, for he would not
hold her fast enough. "Don't yo' come 'round heah no mo'; I don't want
no dealin's wif no sailor man."
"What' the good o' gettin' mad over a little squeeze, Sugar-plum?"
grinned the black giant. "I ain't done yo' no harm--an' wouldn't fo'
nothing Jule. Yo' knows I ain't got no gal but yo'self."
"Youse a rascal, dat yo' is, 'n' ef I wassent a lady, I'd knock yo'
cocoanut off'n yo' ugly haid!" said the indignant Julia, whose dignity
had been ruffled by the sailor's amorous but powerful wooing. "I knows
yo', comin' around dis house an' tryin' to fool a pore gal like me."
"No, Jule, I means everythin' I says, an' a lot mo' besides. I wants
yo' to marry me, sho' 'nuff," said the big sailor earnestly.
Julia rapidly was soothing herself. There was something so strong and
pleading in the man's voice that she almost forgot the liberties he had
taken, and looked at him keenly. "Aw, gwine away, yo' black man; whar
yo' got money to marry a gal like me?" She was now smiling at him; but
edging away into the doorway of the little cabin which stood by the
coral roadway in Key West. She really did not dislike the sailor; for
Bahama Bill had a reputation for being a good money-getter and a most
excellent spender. As mate of the wrecking sloop _Sea-Horse_, he often
came in with a few English pounds sterling, or a pocketful of good
American dollars, earned in his business along the Great Bahama Bank.
Three days, however, always was the limit of his prosperity.
Now he had been ashore for a week, and consequently was the possessor
of nothing more than a clasp-knife, a dirty pair of trousers and
jumper, and an old clay pipe. Shoes he had left at some friend's house
for a trivial debt for a handful of cigars, and head-gear he did not
need. He was more or less contented, and was entirely willing to enter
into the married state, feeling with the utmost confidence that money
was a plentiful article and easy for a man of parts to procure. His
wild excesses seemed vain in the sober light of the tropic sunshine,
and it manifestly was the time for him to settle down to a state of
quiet bliss with Julia.
"I kin get plenty o' money, Jule," said he softly.
"When yo' shows me, den yo' cain talk wif me, an' not befo'," said
Julia. "I ain't doin' no washin' 'n' ironin' for no one. I'se near
eighteen now, an' I ain't married no one yet."
"But, Jule, I kin get money easy enough. Come here now an' let me tell
yo' how I kin."
"No, sah, no monkeyin'," said Julia, edging farther into the
doorway. "Yo' get de money fust, 'n'--'n'--den--well, yo'
knows--'bout--'bout--dat."
Then she softly but firmly shut the door. He caught a glimpse of her
through the kitchen window, and she smiled and waved her hand so that
he almost was tempted to force an entrance; but he remembered that
the Cuban who owned the house would likely hear him and perhaps fill
him with bird-shot. He gave one longing look, and strode toward the
harbour. The wrecking sloop was to sail that day, sponging to the
northward along the Keys.
The first few days were hard on him. He was solemn and lonesome in
spite of himself, and his quiet behaviour was noticed by his shipmates.
They made the remarks usual among rough men of the forecastle, but Bill
took no notice.
"Here's a chance for a feller to make good," cried a Conch to a stout
German sailor called Heldron: "Reward fer old man Sanches' boy who run
off to sea in one o' them fruit-ships," and he read from an old paper
as he lay in his bunk during the watch below.
"I know dot poy: he pad poy; but him fader big sight worse," said the
German. "He make de worst seegar in Key West."
"Well, if I was a mate o' a ship I might make good on that, hey?" said
Sam.
"Blamed sight easier'n spongin', to catch a little boy," said another;
"but I hear the old man is going to the eastward--heard of something
down Fortune Island way."
And the conversation turned to business, while the mate smoked on in
silence. That night they were speeding across the Florida Channel in
spite of the threatening weather and heavy sea. By morning they were
many miles off shore, and gradually had been forced to slow down.
The wind, while now slacking up and becoming heavy with moisture and
warmth, had been strong enough during the night to make the _Sea-Horse_
shorten down to keep from forcing too heavily into the high, rolling
sea.
It was dirty weather in the Gulf Stream. The flying scud streamed
away to the northwest in little whirling bits of vapour. They tore
along with the speed of an express train in a direction which seemed
at a sharp angle to the heavy, steel-blue bank which swept in a
mighty and majestic semicircle across the southern sky. High overhead
the sky had a distant appearance, something peculiar and weird, for
the storm-centre was advancing northward and gathering all straying
moisture in its grasp. It made dark streaks in the heavens at a
distance above the sea, and rays of the morning sun shone upon them
with a brassy glare, as though the whole universe was incased in a
colossal dome which darkened near the horizon. It seemed to absorb
the failing light less and less as the line of vision rose toward the
zenith.
With a line of reef-points tied in from the second hoop on the
mainsail to the cringle on the leach, which raised only a couple of
fathoms in the air, the _Sea-Horse_ lay upon the starboard tack. A bit
of staysail forward hauled to the mast held her steady as she breasted
the sea, staggering to leeward with the heave that, increasing, told of
a mighty power behind it. The combing crests rolled white with a dull,
rattling snore, and the beautiful blue colour of the warm stream was
paling into a dark lead.
The sloop would throw her forefoot high in the air as the rolling
crests would strike and sweep from under the now almost logy hulk. The
brown of the copper-painted under-body showed in strong contrast to
the dirty white above. Then she would drop with a sidewise, twisting
motion, a little bow-foremost into the trough, and back her snub nose
away from the onrushing hill before it, which sometimes would burst and
smother her out of sight to the mast in a storm of flying water. Then
she would drop again, sidewise and forward down the incline, the rush
of foam on the decks sweeping through the side ports in the bulwarks,
spurting and pouring over everything, and finally overboard, until the
action was repeated.
Two men in their yellow oilskins were upon the quarter-deck; one lying
prone abaft the rise of the cabin, gazed sullenly at the menacing sky.
The other sat and held on the wheel, which was fast in a becket, with
relieving tackles on the gear heaving it hard down, and he tried to
get puffs of smoke from a pipe. The wind was getting too strong for
smoking, and he went into the companionway and called the mate to
relieve him. Bahama Bill came up, and the Captain went below.
The big mate sat there watching the weather, and his face bore a
good-humoured expression. The conditions suited his frame of mind. Away
from the temptations of the beach, he was a different man from the
fracas-loving ruffian when full of cheap grog. Captain Bull Sanders
turned in for a short rest, knowing that the vessel was in good hands.
Below in the bunks of the cuddy five men lay in all possible positions
to keep from being flung out. One read, or tried to read, the paper
which told of the running away to sea of the rich cigar-maker's son
and of the reward offered for his safe delivery into the bosom of his
family. Others lay and talked. Another slept, grasping even in his
slumbers at the bunk-boards, and mechanically bracing his knee to
hold himself during the wild plunges. The creaking and racking of the
straining sloop blended with the droning roar overhead, punctuated
now and then by a smashing crash as a sea would fall on deck; but the
resting men paid little attention to either the noise or motion, until
the Captain had finished his pipe.
He suddenly threw down the magazine he had been trying to read for some
minutes, and glanced at the barometer on the bulkhead. "Goin' down all
the time. I reckon we'll catch it," he said.
"Hurricane season began nigh a month ago," said a man significantly.
"It don't got here alretty yet, maybe," said Heldron.
"Must be," said a Swede.
There was a general movement. All hands reached for oilskins and
without further orders followed the Captain on deck.
"How's the wind now, Bill?" bawled the Captain.
"Been easterly; but goin' toe th' s'uthard fast," said the mate. "Looks
a bit dirty."
"Whew! Beginning to blow a bit, hey?" said the Captain, as a fierce
squall struck them and roared past, sending a blinding cloud of spray
and drift over them. The droning cry of the wind in the rigging
increased, and the straining cloth stretched until the blast passing
over it made a dull, booming, rushing sound of such volume that
conversation was deadened in the noise.
It now was blowing with force. The sea was white under the steel-blue
bank, which had risen until a twilight darkness was upon the ocean. The
sky above was turning a dull gray, and the scud was darker against it,
whirling along in torn masses before the squalls, which were becoming
more frequent and violent. The wind was shifting southerly, and the
shifts in the squalls told plainly of the danger of the approaching
spot of low pressure, about which the squalls drew in with the spiral
movement common to tropical hurricanes.
Bull Sanders looked anxiously at the lubber's mark. The sea was getting
worse, and the sudden hot blasts of wind were more vicious. He was too
old a sailor to be caught with loose gear. Everything already had been
done to snug the sloop down; but there was a limit to the strength of
spars and lines. The mainsail might hold; but some of those hurricane
squalls would blow away anything made of canvas, and he decided to take
no chances. He got out his sea-anchor, or drag, and let it go from
the weather quarter, passing the line forward with difficulty to the
windlass. Then, just after a squall, all hands handed in the bit of
canvas, rolled it up, and made it fast. The _Sea-Horse_ now was going
astern fast, pulling the drag with her which kept her head to the sea.
Nothing more could be done for the time, and Sanders crouched in the
wake of the cabin, watching ahead for the shift which would come.
"What's that?" he bawled into the mate's ear, and pointed to the
eastward.
Just as the sloop rose upon a high crest, a dark speck showed for a
moment on the eastern horizon. It was not far away; for it was too
thick to see any great distance.
"Steamer," bawled the mate, "hove-to and going to the north'ard like
blazes!"
"We're right in th' stream--if the wind holds southeast, he'll be all
right."
"But it won't. It's shifting--be southwest in an hour--he'll be close
to the bank."
"Gun Key?"
"We ain't more'n twenty miles to the south'ard o' Gun Key--'bout
sou'west-b'-south."
The squalls became fiercer and more frequent. They were like blasts
from an explosion, the wind roaring past with incredible power. Between
them it was blowing at the rate of sixty miles an hour; but when they
struck it was nearly double that velocity. The wrecking sloop sagged
away to leeward, and the dangerous sea swept upon her during those
rushes in a way that shook every bolt and fastening in the frame.
She was beginning to make water a little, and the bursting sea which
struck now and again sought out every crack and seam in the companion
doors and hatchway. The men on deck were submerged repeatedly. For
an hour and more they watched her making bad weather of it, and then
came a darker colour in the gray above. There was a sudden squall of
tremendous power. The vessel was hove almost on her beam ends as it
took her forward of the beam, and she swung up to the drag barely in
time to take the sea bow on. The lubber's mark swung slowly from left
to right until it reached southwest.
"It's goin' fast," bawled the mate to Sanders alongside him.
"See that feller now?" asked the Captain.
The mate pointed to the eastward.
The dark smudge of the steamer's hull showed through the flying drift.
While they looked a flash of white told of a heavy sea boarding her.
She disappeared in the foam.
"Must have trouble with her engines," said Sanders. "She's goin' to
lor'ard as fast as we be."
Bahama Bill was staring astern into the gray blank where all things
seemed to melt into chaos. Suddenly he called out, and all hands swung
about and stared in the same direction.
"Gun Key light!" screamed Heldron, his eyes staring from their
salt-burned lids.
"Will we go clear?" asked Sam, his voice steady, but his intense look
telling of the tale of life or death he wanted to hear. They stared
into the drift astern, and the squalls broke over them unheeded. The
sea was quick and heavy, and to strike meant certain loss of the
vessel. There was one chance in a thousand for any one to get ashore,
should she fetch up on the coral bank. Yet there she was going to
leeward fast in spite of the drag, and the tower of Gun Key light was
rising under the lee. To the northward was the Beminis. She was getting
jammed, and the chances were growing against her as the minutes flew by.
The steamer was farther to leeward. She had sighted the edge of the
bank, and was trying to drive off into the Gulf Stream with the force
of her crippled engines. A cross-head bolt had started, and under the
terrific strain the starboard engine had broken down. She could not
keep head to the sea with the port wheel, and had placed a tarpaulin
in the mizzen-rigging to help hold; but it had forced her to leeward
also, and she now was close to the edge of the Great Bahama Bank. The
_Sea-Horse_ still had between twelve and fifteen miles between her and
the reef; but the ship had hardly ten, and was dropping back too fast
for any hope to clear unless the wind eased up suddenly.
Squall after squall followed the shift. It blew harder, if anything,
and the Captain of the steamer, seeing that he must go on the bank,
made ready to pile his ship up as high as possible in the hope of
saving some of the passengers and crew. To go upon the submerged part
of the reef meant death to all hands. He must run upon the coral above
the surf, and get as high up as he could. Then if the outer edge was
steep, he might get his bow near enough to dry land to get the people
ashore.
The crew of the _Sea-Horse_ watched him as he went slowly in. In an
hour after the westerly shift he was so close that the white coral
showed through the blinding clouds of spray thrown up by the sea on the
reef. Then, by hard work, he managed to get some head sail on the ship
and start in for Gun Key.
She ran the half-mile between her and the beach at a tremendous pace.
Lifting upon a sea, she rushed shoreward and struck, swung, lifted
again, and then was hove solidly broadside into the surf. The men on
the wrecker saw her strike. When she stopped a great burst of white
told of a smashing sea going over. The slanting spars and funnel told
how high she had hit, and the huge, bursting clouds of white water
smothering her told of the rending power that she was exposed to
in that surf. The hundred yards between the bow and the sand was a
churning, boiling stretch of whiteness.
"That's the end of her," said the mate. "Looks like we're in fer the
same thing."
In silence the rest watched the wreck. They were going in themselves;
but the fate of the ship held their attention in spite of the death
that they knew lay in the white line to leeward. It had been blowing
now for four hours with hurricane force, and as they went in within
a mile of the surf the shifting squalls swung more and more to the
westward. Then it began to ease suddenly. Between gusts there was
not more than a stiff gale. It was growing brighter, and they knew
that they had missed the storm-centre, which must have passed to the
eastward.
"Get the mainsail on her--we'll poke her to the s'uth'ard!" bawled
Sanders.
Led by the mate, the men lay forward, and working for life raised the
balance-reefed mainsail. Bahama Bill lay flat on his stomach, knife in
hand, while they cleared the forestaysail and ran it up. Then he cut
clear the drag. A wave of the hand, and Sanders filled the vessel off
on the starboard tack, and as it went the dull booming thunder of the
surf came up against the gale.
"If the wind keeps goin' we'll poke her off yet," said Sanders as the
mate came aft.
"Ay, we'll poke her out to sea; but I could swim that surf good an'
easy," said the mate quietly.
The Captain grinned, and looked at his giant form, its huge proportions
made all the larger by the loose-fitting oilskins.
"Mebbe you'll git a chance yet," he said. "If it had blown half an hour
longer, you cud ha' tried."
They worked off that afternoon, getting sail up as the wind slacked. At
night they kept the light in sight, and the next morning were standing
back for Gun Key under a single-reefed mainsail with a fine strong
northerly wind and clear sky. The steamship lay over on her side in the
surf, which broke over her in sheets of foam and spray. The sea had
gone down; but there still was enough to tear up the craft. The masts
and funnel and nearly all the superstructure had gone. Even the iron
sides were smashed, twisted and bent, the plates starting and ripping
clear of the rivets under the smashing blows of the sea. No sign of
life showed aboard; but as she was high up on the bank there was no
doubt that men could live. The _Sea-Horse_ ran close enough to give the
crew a chance to read the name _Orion_ on the stern.
"One o' them new ships," said Bill. "She was in Key West last time we
ran sponges."
They ran as close to the surf as they dared, and let go both anchors.
Paying out cable, the sloop soon came within fifty fathoms, and then
stopped; for the sea rose just under the stern, and burst a few fathoms
farther in.
"Gimme a line," said the mate.
Sam and Heldron brought forth a coil of whale line, and the black man
stripped for the plunge. He went over the side without a splash, and
they paid out fathom after fathom until his black head showed close to
the bow of the ship, which had settled inshore and lower. Then they saw
him disappear around it, and they waited. Five, ten, minutes passed,
and then a form showed upon the high stern. It was the mate, and he
waved to haul line.
Heldron went over the taut line next, followed by a Swede and Sam. Then
the line was slacked off, and the big mate, taking a new one, plunged
to leeward and made his way ashore. Half-fish, the diver went through
the surf without accident and joined the light-keeper and his assistant
on the beach, where they were waiting to do what they could to save
those on the wreck. A line they had sent in on a buoy had parted, and
the man upon it had been drowned.
The mate went back aboard, and managed to get the ten passengers
and rest of the crew ashore without accident. All had gone except
an uncouth-looking lad, the ship's galley-boy, in whom no one
took interest enough to care whether he got ashore or not. Dirty,
dishevelled and frightened beyond words, the lad crawled out of his
hiding-place and begged the big mate to take him in.
As he had been calling and looking through the ship for disabled men,
the Captain having told him his crew, the mate seized the lad without
further words and plunged over the side. The boy was the last person
unaccounted for.
"Seems to me I seen yo' befo', sonny," said the mate as he drew him
clear of the surf. "Don't yo' live in Key West?"
"Oh, yes, I know you," said the lad, grinning.
The mate held him out at arm's length. "Ain't yo' Jimmy Sanches?"
The grin died away from the lad's face. "You won't take me back, will
you, Bill?" he said.
"I reckon I'll have toe, Jimmy."
The next day the _Sea-Horse_ sailed for Key West with the first claim
for salvage, and a small boy who tried to run away at the last minute,
causing the mate a chase to the lighthouse before he recaptured him.
"You've hit it fair this trip," said Sanders. "I reckon as ye ain't
thinkin' about whackin' up on thet reward, hey Bill?"
But the mate said nothing, his rheumy eyes looking far away toward the
southern horizon, where he expected to see the spars of the shipping in
Key West rise above the sea. He was thinking, and it caused his heavy
and seamed jaws to set and line up into a deep scowl. Julia worked for
the rich Sanches, and their reception of a ragged and half-sober seaman
had not been hospitable. Yet here was his chance.
The next day the wrecking sloop rode at anchor close to the beach,
and Sanders made ready to get his load of perishable goods ashore and
notify the authorities of the disaster up the bank.
"Don't take me back!" whispered Jimmy as Bill swung him into the small
boat, and the big mate was silent as the men rowed ashore.
On the way up the street the mate walked slowly, holding the boy by the
hand.
"You know what a feller my stepfather is, Bill. Don't take me back!"
pleaded Jimmy.
A steamer was clearing at the coal dock, and the mate stopped to look
at it. Then he suddenly looked down at the boy. "Kin yo' make it,
sonny?" he asked, and he let go of the boy's hand. Like a flash the
lad ran to the string-piece, balanced a moment, and then sprang to
the rail of the ship astern without those on board noticing him. It
was gathering headway, and in a few moments was steaming out to sea,
leaving the big mate staring after her, and the few men who had cast
off her lines clearing up the rubbish in the wake of her gangway.
"I come back toe tell yo', Jule, dat I ain't in the money racket," said
Bill, half an hour later. "I ain't no perliceman--I'm a sailor."
"Whatcher mean, Bill?" asked the damsel, keeping inside the door.
"Nothin'--only if yo' is sho' nuff goin' toe marry me, gal, yo'll have
toe take yo' chances--same as me."
"Chances? Whatcher mean by chances, man?"
"What I says," said Bill, solemnly.
She saw that he was not in liquor. He sat silent and solemn for a long
time, until finally she opened the door a little wider.
"I reckon I ain't scared o' takin'--usual risks--Bill."
"I would like to borrow five dollars from ye, Bill," said Sanders when
the mate got back aboard.
The giant black scowled at him.
"Didn't ye git the money yet?"
"I ain't naterally quarrelsome," said Bill; "but if I hears any mo'
erbout dat money, dere's likely toe be some daid men 'roun'."
III
The Mate of the "Sea-Horse"
He stalked in behind the captain of the _Caliban_ to the desk in the
consul's office at Key West, where the clerk signed on the men. His
six feet three inches of solid frame almost filled the doorway as he
entered, and he scowled sourly at the group already there. His black
face was lined and wrinkled and bore traces of a debauch, but in spite
of his sinister expression his eyes told of a good-natured steadiness
of temper. The bloodshot whites and heavy lids told plainly that he
was a diver, and his peculiar accent, giant frame and general muscular
development proclaimed him a Fortune Islander, a Conch of the Great
Bahama Bank.
"Nationality?" droned the clerk, in a dull monotone, as he came forward.
"American," he answered, distinctly.
The captain looked at him.
"Where from?" droned the clerk, filling in the blank.
"Jacksonville," he answered, in a deep tone, fixing his eyes upon the
man's face.
The clerk smiled a little, but said nothing. It was not his business to
argue, and he knew the weakness of the reefer. He had signed the giant
on to more than six different vessels within the past two years and
each time he had solemnly sworn he was a native of a different country
from the last one named. He had now become a citizen of the United
States, having reserved this honor for the seventh and last time to
sign.
The age of the giant fluctuated. Once he had had an indistinct
remembrance of being about twenty-five; now he had leaped suddenly to
forty. Something had evidently made him feel aged, and the clerk was
amused, for he felt that it must indeed have been a heavy debauch to
produce such an effect.