had eaten very little for days and the effects of good food and strong
drink were very strengthening. The look of challenge took the place
of alarm in his large expressive eyes and his great square jaw seemed
to set firmer. Half of his cigar disappeared between his teeth, which
closed upon it with the set of a vise.
They went aft again in time to meet Mrs. Holbrook coming on deck
assisted by the Captain, who placed rugs for her in a steamer chair in
the cockpit. It was getting thicker and the wind was now well to the
eastward of north, but there was no harbour nearer than Cape Fear, and
the Captain had many reasons for not wishing to stop there. He would
run along close to the land and after passing would be in Long Bay,
where he would have a fair wind to Charleston, one hundred and fifty
miles ahead, making a run of more than two hundred miles from Beaufort.
This would get the yacht well down the coast to where they might expect
good weather.
"I think," said the tall Mr. Jones, during a break in the conversation,
"I would head the vessel offshore a couple of points. You know the
Frying Pan runs well off here. It will be breaking in three fathoms
with this breeze. The ways o' Providence air un----
"Never mind about Providence, Mr. Jones," said Holbrook, with a wave
of his hand. "The Captain will look out for the yacht. You needn't
be scared. Tell us about the sailors you get in your flock. How you
learned all about boats from them."
Mr. Jones drew himself up a good foot. His head went up in the air and
the look of defiance came into his eyes.
"The only fellows that got sent up with me were Jack Elwell and Bill
Haskins," said he.
"How do you mean sent up with you?" asked Mrs. Holbrook.
"Well, they were caught straight enough," said the tall man, sadly.
"You mean they had to be caught and sent to you for spiritual
teaching?" asked Mrs. Holbrook with a smile.
"Well, er--not exactly," said the tall man, in a voice which died away
to a whisper.
"Ha, ha, ha, a good one on you, Mr. Jones," said Holbrook.
"Well, you see," went on the tall man, slowly, "you don't seem to
understand just what I am." He looked at the Captain, who stood near at
the wheel, but whose face was like a mahogany mask.
"Why, you are a clergyman, are you not?" asked Mrs. Holbrook.
"A convict," said Mr. Jones, slowly. "I am Stormalong Journegan,
sailor, navigator, and was sent up for fifteen years. Bahama Bill an'
me got out."
There was a long silence. Holbrook rose and went to the farther side of
the yacht. Mrs. Holbrook sat a few moments and looked out to sea. Then
she motioned to the steward, who was at the companionway, to take her
wraps below, and she disappeared down the steps without a word.
Holbrook saw something forward and made his way toward the bow followed
by his son, who turned to look back at the tall man.
"Serves her bloomin' well right fer turnin' me out," growled the
Captain into the ear of the helmsman. "Next time she'll be a bit more
careful about takin' passengers."
Mr. Jones, or Journegan, sat looking out over the sea. The veil of
mist that hung over the land held many images for him. He saw how it
was aboard. His year of reformation had taught him many things, and
the lesson he was learning was not entirely new. He gazed sadly at
Holbrook. He had felt drawn toward the man, but after all, in spite of
his assumed contempt for holy men, he was more of a hypocrite than the
veriest village parson he had ever met.
He arose slowly, unkinking his long frame like the opening of a
jack-knife. Then he tossed his cigar over the side and went to his
room. He was an outcast aboard that yacht and he knew it. The privacy
of his room was much better than the inhospitality of the deck.
All the long afternoon he sat there thinking. He was not a strong man
save for his great muscular frame. He had fallen before and he was now
trying to do what he could to atone for it. The thought of the silver
in the after-cabin came to him and his vacillating spirit could not
quite get the glistening vision out of his brain, for after all, these
people were his enemies. They could never be anything else as long as
human vanity and conceit endured. Even the miserable little prig of an
owner who ridiculed clergymen need not be spared. It might do his small
soul good to have to part with some of his treasures. He pondered,
while the light failed and the look of challenge came into his eyes.
He had a powerful frame and had nothing to fear. And all the time the
_Dartmoor_ ran to leeward with the lift of the northeast sea behind her.
It was just before eight bells, when a man who had gone forward on
lookout hailed the Captain.
"Something white dead ahead, sir," he cried.
The sanctified man heard and thought of the untrue compass. The next
instant there was a dull reverberating snore alongside as a giant
breaker burst into a white smother and rolled away in the darkness. It
was breaking in three fathoms, and the yacht was racing to her end.
There was a rush of feet on deck. Wild cries came from aft, where
the Captain had rolled the wheel hard down and was struggling with
the sailor to get the jigger on her and force her offshore. She had
not touched yet, but as the yawl came to in the gale, she brought up
broadside in a sea that burst upon her with the weight of an avalanche,
heaving her on her lee beam and washing everything off her, fore and
aft. The water poured down the companionway and flooded the cabin.
The sanctified man reached the deck by dint of a fierce struggle up
through the forward companion. The men who were below followed as
best they could; swashing, floundering through the flood and loosened
fittings, and they managed to get aft in time to get a line to the
sailor who had been at the wheel and who was now close alongside. The
Captain was gone.
All the time the _Dartmoor_ was drifting to leeward and into the
breakers. She had swung off again under the pressure of her jib, and
just as the tall man seized the jigger halliards to get the after sail
upon her, she struck on the Frying Pan Shoals. The next sea rolled over
her and was the beginning of the end.
Mr. Holbrook had been below all this time, and he now appeared at the
companion with his wife and boy. The sea that fell over the wrecked
craft nearly drowned them and washed Richard back into the cabin. Mr.
Jones roared out for the men to get the only small boat left alongside,
and his voice rose to a deep sonorous yell. He led the way himself to
the falls, where the small boat trailed to leeward, the davits having
been torn out bodily with the weight of the breaking seas. The hauling
part was still on deck and he handed in the line quickly, the three
sailors and steward taking heart at his example and helping all they
could. Mrs. Holbrook was placed in the small boat and her husband
waited not for an invitation to follow, but floundered in after her.
The three sailors sprang aboard. At that instant a giant sea rose to
windward. It showed for a second in the ghastly phosphorescent glare of
the surrounding foam. Then it thundered over the doomed yacht.
When the sanctified man came up from the blackness below, he was just
aware of the vessel's outline some fifty feet away to windward, and he
struck out strongly for her. In a few minutes he was alongside. A great
sea broke over her again, but he held well under the rise of her bow
and managed to cling to the trailing débris. Then he climbed on deck.
There was nothing living left there. He looked for the boat, but it had
disappeared. Then he was suddenly aware of a bright light and as he
looked he remembered the Bald Head tower which marks the dreaded shoals
of Cape Fear.
He knew he was a mile or more from the beach and all the way was the
rolling surf. It was a desperate swim at any time, but in a northeast
gale, with the sea rolling high, it was useless to think of anything
human attempting it without artificial aid. He clung to the stump of
the mainmast and tried to live through the torrents that swept over him
by getting directly in its lee. This was the only way he could stay
even a few moments aboard the vessel. She was lifting still with each
succeeding sea and driving higher and higher upon the bank, but she
had not broken up badly yet. Yachts like the _Dartmoor_ could stand a
tremendous pounding before going to pieces, but he knew that nothing
could stand the smashing long. Before daylight there would be not a
stick to show that a fine ship had gone ashore in the night.
The cabin scuttle was open and he wondered if the cabin was full of
water yet. The silver was still there and belonged to the man who could
save it. There was a chance for him and he was already looking about in
the blackness for a proper spar or piece of wood to float him for the
struggle in. It might be just as well to try to take in a little extra
weight along with him, for he would not start until he could get his
float.
In a smooth between two seas he made a dash for the companion,
springing along the coamings of the skylight to get a footing, for the
deck was at a high angle. He reached it and clung under its lee for
shelter. Then he peered down into the darkness below. The cabin was not
quite full of water and he climbed down, feeling for the magnificent
cup he had seen there the day before. His hand touched it, although he
was now almost shoulder deep in the water. A mattress floated against
him and he seized it. The cork within would float him and his prize. He
tried to find something else that would float, but just then a torrent
of sea water rushed below and he saw that if he would get away at all
he must soon start. He lugged his prize to the steps and started to
drag it clear. He reached down in the water to get a better grip of
it and his great fingers closed upon a human hand. Then he made out
the form of the boy with his head still above water, clinging to the
topmost step of the ladder. He peered into the child's face and saw
the frightened eyes open and look at him. Then he stopped and stood
motionless upon the ladder.
In all his work he had only been a few minutes, but those few minutes
had been minutes of his old life, the life of a sailor. The late past
had been forgotten and he was now a shipwrecked mariner, getting ashore
as best he could, saving what he might from a wreck. But the touch
of the boy's hand brought him back again to the realization of his
condition. The hand of an enemy's son, but the hand of one who had
treated him kindly. The mattress would not hold all three. It would be
between the boy and the cup. He swore savagely at the piece of silver,
held it for an instant, then started to hurl it from him. In the
precious seconds he was making a desperate fight. He gripped it again
with both hands and held it before him. A sea roared over the wreck and
half smothered him, pouring down the open companion.
He dropped the heavy cup, seized the half-fainting Richard and quickly
passed a lashing about him. Then he seized the cork mattress and boy
and plunged to leeward.
In the dim gray of the early morning, the keeper of the Bald Head
Lighthouse saw the tall form of a man staggering up the beach carrying
something in his arms. He ran down the steps of the tower and met the
tall stranger and relieved him of his burden of a still living but
half-drowned boy.
"His mother and father are crazy with grief," said the keeper. "The
woman is crying all the time that it was the will o' God, because she
had a convict aboard her yacht. If you are the Captain, you had better
bring the lad to her yourself. I reckon she'll be careful what kind o'
passengers she takes aboard again, and take your word for things aboard
her boats."
"Does she think it was because a convict was aboard, the vessel went
ashore?" asked the tall man, drawing his half-naked figure up to its
full height.
"Sure, she says the Captain didn't want him. A mighty fine religious
woman she is, too," said the keeper.
"I reckon I won't bother her just now," said the tall man, in a voice
hardly above a whisper. "You take the little fellow to her--I'll go and
get some clothes on."
The light-keeper strode away with the boy in his arms. The tall man
stood still for several minutes, looking after him. When the keeper
reached the dwelling he turned and saw the tall man still standing
there in his soaking trousers, his giant torso looking like the statue
of a sea-god. "The ways o' Providence air mighty strange," muttered the
sanctified man, slowly to himself----"But somehow I feel that I won."
VII
When the Light Failed at Carysfort
The United States Lighthouse Establishment organized by Thornton
Jenkins, Rear-Admiral, United States Navy, had built many important
lighthouses upon the coast of the States. The appropriations admitted
the lighting of the dangerous coral banks of the Florida Reef, which
rose from the blue Gulf Stream many miles offshore and stretched away
from Cape Florida to Tortugas.
From Fowey Rocks to Sand Key the high, long-legged towers, built of
iron piling driven into the rock and braced with rods, rose above the
shoal water, and at night their huge lenses flashed forth a warning
gleam for twenty miles or more over the sea.
Carysfort was the second from the beginning the reef: a tall iron
structure, the lantern or lens mounted atop of a wooden house built
upon the platform at the end of the piling.
Inside of the house were the two bedrooms of the keepers, the oil-room,
storerooms, and kitchen. Large tanks of iron held hundreds of gallons
of water caught from the roof.
Outside the structure the platform extended six feet clear all around,
making a comfortable porch or piazza, with a high rail which hung out
over the sea at a height of about a hundred feet.
A long iron ladder extended from a trap-door in the flooring to the
sea below, stopping at a landing about half-way, where the keepers had
a small woodpile, a flower-bed, and a few things which would stand
exposure to the weather. At the sides of the platform above were
davits, on which the two whale-boats hung.
Altogether, the little house and platform offered some inducements to
men who were not particular about being alone for a long time.
It was many miles to the nearest land, clear out of sight from even the
top of the tower; and to those who lived there it was like being at
sea upon a small vessel which neither pitched nor rolled in a seaway,
nor yet changed position in any manner. It was almost like living in
mid-air.
It was a healthy life for the keepers. No germs of any known disease
ever reached the distant lighthouse, and no sickness had ever occurred
there.
On shore, it was a well-established axiom that among the offshore
keepers none died--and few retired.
Every few months each could get a leave of absence on full pay and
spend the time in any manner he pleased. The supply-ship stopped off
the reef twice each year, and the lighthouse tender traversed the
district as high as Cape Canaveral if anything was wanted.
So at least three or four times a year the keepers would hold
communication with the outside world and converse with their fellow men.
The ships passing up the Hawk's Channel from Key West went within a few
miles of the reef, and steamers going north outside sometimes stood in
close enough to be recognized: but the Carysfort and Alligator Reefs
were good places to keep away from, and no vessels except the spongers
remained long in sight.
The spongers consisted of small sloops and schooners, which hailed from
Key West whose owners were the wreckers of the reef, and who spent the
best part of the good weather in summer hunting the growths upon the
coral which brought such good prices in the Northern drug-stores.
Few wreckers are piously inclined, some less so than others, but the
outlying light was safe from thieves, for by hauling up the iron
ladder the keepers were shut off completely from the world below. No
one could, or would, climb those polished iron columns painted a dull
red and as slippery as glass, unless something valuable was to be had
at the top. So the keepers often left the trap-door open or unbolted,
knowing their security.
Black Flanagan was the head keeper, a six-foot giant from Wisconsin,
who had found his way to Florida while evading a Michigan sheriff. The
work and confinement upon the light were not as irksome to him as might
be expected.
His assistant was a preacher, a broken-down Methodist minister without
a flock, whose religious tendencies were of an order which brooked
solitude.
He had the reputation of being the most blasphemous man upon the
Florida Reef, and his short sojourns ashore were marked by every excess
capable of being committed by a human being within the law.
They called him "the howler," for, when he was drunk--which he
invariably was an hour after he came ashore--he would stop at the
village street corners and bellow for converts.
Any one within a mile would know what was taking place, and many would
stop to listen. Failure to get responses brought forth such a torrent
of profanity that he would have to be locked up until sober--when he
would repeat the effort until his leave was over.
Then, solemnly and with ponderous dignity, he would take himself back
to his home in the air over the blue Gulf Stream, and no one would see
him again for several months. Black Flanagan would greet him with a
grunt, and the two would take up the even life of lighting the lantern
and putting it out.
Men were not struggling for their positions, and they took some comfort
from the fact. They would probably live so for a long time, drawing
good pay, with nothing whatever to do except clean and light the lamp.
It was a hot and sultry morning in August, and the keepers were hanging
lazily over the rail of the platform, when they saw the wrecking-sloop
_Sea-Horse_ coming slowly up the Hawk's Channel.
Her main-boom was well off to port, and she was fanning along before
a very light air from the southeast, going not more than two knots an
hour.
Upon her deck lay the crew of half-naked Conchs, while at her wheel the
giant form of "Bahama Bill," the mate, stood leaning against the shaft,
smoking a short pipe.
The fact that the black man now and then looked astern at a thin trail
of smoke caused Black Flanagan to notice him.
"There goes the _Sea-Horse_," said he to his assistant; and they both
came to the side of the platform nearest the passing vessel.
"Never seen thet big feller show so much consarn about what was astern
o' him, hey?" said the preacher. "Looks like they were from the
east'ard." And he nodded significantly.
The sloop drew nearer, and the thin line of smoke rose blacker a
dozen miles astern. Then there seemed to be signs of life aboard. Two
men sprang up and began to drop large kegs overboard, making a great
splashing. They kept this up for some minutes, and the keepers went
inside the light for the telescope.
Astern of the sloop they made out small, black objects, which floated
at intervals upon the swell, and were just discernible through the
powerful glass.
For half an hour the men aboard the wrecking-vessel worked heaving
cargo overboard, and, as they went along, the long line of tiny specks
marked their wake.
"Corks," said Flanagan; "I thought so."
"They better hurry up," said the preacher; "the cutter's rising fast."
As he spoke, he looked toward the steamer, which was now coming along
in plain view, her hull rising slowly above the horizon, and her funnel
pouring out a black cloud, which hung over the sea.
"They'll get caught fair enough. Half an hour, an' the officers'll be
aboard."
"Well, they won't find anything. They'll never see them corks--she's
already heading out to get them clear of the wake. When they catch her,
she'll be an innocent sponger--an' we'll----"
They looked at each other and smiled.
An hour later the _Sea-Horse_ and revenue-cutter were upon the northern
horizon heading into Biscayne, and the keepers were lowering their
boats.
It is an unwritten law of the reef that a man may steal as much as he
can from the United States, but he must not touch property belonging to
an individual. A smuggler is not by any means a common thief.
Flanagan's ideas were different. He held that it was well to steal
whenever the opportunity offered without danger of getting caught; and
upon this principle he had little difficulty in converting his pious
assistant, whose thirst had not been slaked for three full months.
Together they loaded three of the kegs into the boats by simply
pulling up the fishing-lines whose ends were floated by beer-bottle
corks.
The lines anchoring the kegs were lying upon the bottom in six fathoms
of water, out of sight, and the small cotton cords were amply strong
enough to raise them. Once getting a grip of the anchoring-lines, they
had no difficulty in hauling the liquor aboard their whale-boats.
The temptation to sample the goods was so strong that they desisted
after the third keg, and made straight away for the lighthouse to enjoy
the plunder. They could come back again and get the rest at their
leisure, for the corks would be in plain view during the calm weather.
What transpired at the lighthouse during the next three days is
somewhat hazy. No light appeared at night, and the Key West steamer
almost ran ashore on her trip south. She reported the light out, and
the tender was despatched to see what had happened.
The day was clear and bright, and the keepers were on the lookout,
seeing the steamer when fully fifteen miles away. Their liquor was
promptly put out of sight, and everything made snug to receive the
inspector.
While there were evidences of drink in the faces of the men, they
showed a properly kept light, and swore solemnly that they had not left
the tower, and that the light had not failed at all.
They mildly suggested that the captain of the Key steamer may have been
in a highly reprehensible condition to have accused two perfectly
sober and diligent light-keepers of neglect of duty.
The pious one broke forth in prayer and exhortation for the delivery of
deluded pilots from the wiles of the devil, and soon the inspector was
glad to go aboard his vessel to return to Key West.
The _Sea-Horse_, having been searched at Miami and found to be clear
of contraband, was allowed to go her way. She stood out to sea, and
headed down the Hawk's Channel just as the keepers lit the lantern for
the evening watch. Black Flanagan was just sober enough to do this, and
then turn in to continue his debauch with a pannikin of rum at his bed.
The _Sea-Horse_ anchored near the light and waited for daylight to pick
up the floats.
In the gray of early morning the black mate turned out the crew,
leaving the captain below, and, taking the small boat, put off.
It was calm, and the corks were plainly visible. They were promptly
hauled aboard, and the sunken kegs stowed until the end of the line was
reached.
Here the mate found three floats missing, and, being in a suspicious
frame of mind, he looked toward the light, which was still burning,
although the rays of the rising sun were colouring the eastern horizon
a rosy hue.
"They've got 'em, all right," said he. "If we're quick enough, we might
catch 'em--give way hard."
The small boat with three men was headed for the tower; and the
_Sea-Horse_, with her captain now thoroughly awake, lay by for
developments.
The big mate lost no time gaining the tower. It was broad day now, and
Flanagan had just staggered up the steps into the lantern when the
small boat arrived alongside the piles below.
In his befuddled state Flanagan saw nothing, until, after putting the
light out, he came stumbling back again. He arrived in the lower room
just in time to see the black head and shoulders of the mate emerging
upward through the trap-door in the floor.
The mate was not in a good humour; moreover, he had turned out early
without eating his breakfast, and his great black head and giant arms
seemed supernatural in both vindictiveness and size.
Flanagan thought he had taken too much, and that the horrors were upon
him at last. With a yell, he launched himself upon the seaman, taking
him at a disadvantage, and endeavoured to smash him back into the void
below.
But the mate was strong. He had come to the light expecting trouble.
With a mighty effort he forced the keeper upward, and, amid a fierce
snarling and threshing about, he soon engaged in a desperate struggle.
The "howler," hearing the uproar, sprang to the rescue, and joined in
the fray just as the sailors, following their trusty mate, climbed
through the door. In less than five minutes the keepers were lashed
fast, and were being lowered down through the door into the waiting
boat below.