slowly into the bay. There was little or no surf on the lee of the
bank, and the party landed without difficulty. Then they began carrying
their outfit to the wreck. They would break her up, stripping the
plates from her sides for old iron and tearing apart the most valuable
portion of her engines to sell at Key West. It was a job that the men
who had been there before them had declined as unprofitable, for it
required considerable work to strip the plates, and the engines were
well rusted in the half-submerged hull. At high water there was little
of value uncovered in her hold; but the wrecking crew had not been
successful that season, and it was a case of getting what they could.
Wrecks had been few, and the sponging industry, which all wreckers of
the bank usually follow during the summer and hurricane season, had
paid small returns. Dynamite was expensive to use; but it was just as
well to explode a part of it as to have it spoil on their hands. They
could still keep enough for a few loads of fish, for the law of the
reef and bank was never enforced in regard to high explosives, and they
were far away from any prying eyes.
The crew carried sledges and hydraulic jacks, with a spare tackle or
two, and the mate carried the explosive. They reached the high side
where the dry sand had banked against it, and one by one mounted to the
deck, the Captain going aft, still gazing at the old hulk in an absent
manner. She was a long ship, and he walked the entire length of her
deck until he reached the taffrail. Then he turned and looked at the
cabin house. His mind was far away from the work he intended. He saw
that deck as it had been in the days gone by, the days of his youth,
and as he looked a strange feeling of loneliness came upon him.
The deck was there before him, and upon it he saw the faces of the
people who had walked or sat upon it. Even a blistered bit of paint
on the deck-house recalled a certain day in the time gone when he sat
there with the one woman he had lived for, the wife of his youth. A
soft voice called to him and spoke the words he remembered so well. He
almost started, and a choking feeling came in his throat. Yes, he had
sat near that particular spot many times and listened to that voice;
now still, but which seemed to call again. There were the stitches
in the canvas deck covering she used to rub with her foot while
talking, sitting there as they used to do in the old days when the
company allowed him to take his wife with him on the run across. The
deck seemed to slant away and roll from side to side, and he balanced
himself to meet the roll of the ship. The stillness about him was
unbroken save by the distant murmur of the sea and the low voices of
the men waiting forward for the work to begin; but he heard nothing
save the voice of the past.
He went into the deck-house. There was the old settee, now without the
red upholstered cushions. He remembered how many times he had sat there
in the evenings after the voyage was run, and how for years they had
chatted under the light of the saloon lamp when the passengers had all
gone ashore and the ship was deserted by all save the crew. About him
were the signs of wreck and ruin, and he stood for some minutes gazing
about the cabin. A woman's shoe lay mouldy and green upon the floor
near a stateroom door, and it brought a dull pain in his heart as he
noted it. The owner was dead, long dead, probably lost in the hurricane
when the vessel went into her last resting-place. Far away in Nassau
was a mound, grass grown and storm swept, the resting-place of the one
who had made life worth living for him. Soon the sand would bank up
and cover the old hull, and the long beach grass would grow over it,
blotting out all.
He looked into a deserted room. The door was broken and hung slantwise
upon its one rusty hinge. Then he stepped softly back into the middle
of the saloon and listened. A thousand little things brought back
memories, and he raised his head. "Oh, God! the loneliness of it all!"
he cried.
In the stillness he thought he heard the laughter of a woman's voice.
No, it was the sobbing, and he started. A land crab scuttled across the
floor of the cabin, making a disagreeable rattling as it went. In the
ghastly stillness of the lost ship a thousand sounds seemed to fall
upon his listening ears. He saw the table set and the people sitting
about it, the stewards getting the dinner, and the old questions asked
him of the day's run; but foremost and always was the form of one woman
whose bright smile welcomed him from the table end. He stole forward
and went into his room, the Captain's room of the liner. The wreck and
confusion here were even greater than aft; but he saw nothing now save
the time when they used to sit there, she sewing upon some piece of
woman's work and he poring over the chart which held his course.
His heart seemed bursting. The ghastly wreck was awful,--it was the
wreck of his hopes,--and he bowed his head and covered his face with
his hands as he sat upon the edge of the bunk. The light was fading;
but he failed to note it. Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes he sat there,
and the mate, who had returned with the rest of the gear left in the
boat, was searching for him. The sun sank below the sea before that
officer broke into the room and saw him sitting there.
"It's dun gitting too late toe do enny mo' this evenin', Cap," said he
with a tone of complaint.
"All right. Go aboard, I'll stay here awhile," said Sanders.
There was something in the seaman's face that caused the big mate to
forget his temper at the delay.
"De men want dere grub, sare," he said quietly, "but I reckon I ken
wait. Shall I send de boat in fo' yo', sare?"
"Good Lord! let me alone!" he cried. "Go! Leave a boat for me. I'll row
out aboard myself when I'm ready."
The mate went forward, and the men followed him in the small boat. They
went aboard the schooner for the evening meal, and afterward turned in
for the night. A small boat was towed in by a man in the craft they had
used, and it was left upon the sand.
Comment was made forward at the Captain's absence. No one understood.
Even the mate, who had an idea, did not think it of enough real
importance to dwell upon it; and so the tropic night fell over the
reef, the haze deepened, and the darkness grew intense.
In the dull, heated quiet of the early night the Captain sat upon
the ship's rail. He could not stand the oppressive stillness of the
blackness in the cabin. The outline of the surf upon the sea side of
the wreck shone in a line of phosphorus, but the dull glare failed to
outline the vast bulk of the hull. The wind had all died away and the
warmth of the air was felt, being heavy with a moisture and sultriness
that bespoke of a falling glass. But he sat and wandered through the
memories of a past life which was all the more bitter because of the
happiness that would never return.
"She will never come back--never!" he whispered into the void about
him. "I'm so tired--tired of it all!" and he groaned aloud in his
anguish. He would not break up the ship. In the morning he would find
some excuse to tell the mate and crew. He could not tell them the real
one. They would not understand. How could they--poor devils? What had
they known of life, life as he had known it? No, he would weigh his
anchor and sail away over the tropic seas to live out his existence
as Fate had demanded of him. He might kill himself; but there were
others dependent upon him for a living, and he would not do a cowardly
thing, would not cause them suffering to alleviate his own. He must
live on--just on and on to help the few who trusted in his strength
to provide for them. It was no pleasure save to ease their burden. It
would be to-morrow--and to-morrow--and to-morrow--a broken life of
unending work and hardship.
"God grant I'll not have to make it too long! Let me go to a long--a
long, an unending rest! I want to sleep, to sleep for ever; for I'm
tired out!"
His voice was deep and vibrant; but it fell upon the empty air, and he
more than ever noted the silence. He gazed to the southward. There was
nothing upon the dark sea. To the eastward it seemed a little blacker;
but over the desolate ocean there came no sound of even a breaking wave
top. For several hours he sat there gazing out into the blackness, and
then sometimes watching the riding light of his vessel as it flickered
upon the oily sea. All was quiet upon the schooner. The tired men were
sleeping, for they expected heavy work on the morrow.
A low murmur came from the sea. It seemed to come from some distant
point, and rose and fell faintly. Then a flash of lightning lit the
inky darkness to the southeast. He waited to hear the following
thunder; but none came. Minutes afterward the murmur rose again.
In the sultry air even his breathing oppressed him, and he turned to
fix his limbs in a more comfortable posture. He sat easily now and
waited. Over the sea from the southeast came a low rushing sound, the
sound of a mighty wind, and as he gazed toward it he felt the first
puff in his face. The noise of the surf on the outside of the bank grew
louder. A spurt of sand whistled up against the steel side beneath him.
Then came a fiercer blast, and the storm burst over the reef with a
wild, swirling roar of wind and rain.
He stood up and faced it. It relieved his feelings, this fury of the
elements, and he seemed to be again upon his ship at sea facing the
hurricane of the West Indies. The dry sand of the upper bank struck the
sides of the wreck with great force, and flying over it cut his face
so that he could not see any longer. He made his way to the lee of the
deck-house and looked out over the water to see how his vessel stood
the strain. The riding light was still showing in the same place; but
a faint rattling told plainly that both anchors were now on the bottom,
and that the mate, with the instinct of the true sailor, was giving
them chain as fast as he could, with the hope of holding on. How it
blew! The wind came in fierce gusts, rushing, tearing, over the lost
ship.
The sails of the anchored schooner had been lowered just after dark. He
had heard the creaking of the halliards. There would be no great sea
where she lay, but enough to test the strength of the ground tackle she
possessed. He wished vaguely that he had gone aboard. It was the place
for him, upon the deck of his ship.
He watched the riding light for some minutes. It was jumping now with
the rise and fall of the schooner. It was a desperate undertaking to
row a small boat out to her; but the struggle appealed to him strongly.
He should have gone aboard. He would go, and let himself down over
the side of the wreck, with no concern save for the safety of the
schooner and the crew aboard her. If he failed to make her, it was of
no particular matter.
The small boat was made fast on the shore, and he reached her easily.
The oars were in her, and she was all ready to row out, for the inside
of the bank was partly sheltered, and there was no sea there yet. It
would be a row across the wind with it a little astern, and he was a
strong man. The wildness of the night seemed to stir something within
him, and he grasped the oars eagerly for the struggle. He sent the
small boat's head out into the night and across that hurricane swept
reef with a feeling of something akin to exhilaration. A blast of wind
flung a sea over her, and the salt sea flew in his face, taking his
breath for the instant; but he spat out the brine and drove the boat
ahead.
The riding light appeared to get nearer. He was making good headway,
although the water was flying over the boat and tossing her about
like a cork. All around and about him the sea was white with a
phosphorescent light from the breaking seas; but it failed to outline
the hull of his vessel. He headed for the riding light, and he must
make it, or--
He turned his head now and again to keep the course. The light did not
draw closer very fast, and he knew he was rowing furiously. Then he
noticed that it drew more and more to leeward. He was rowing with the
wind now well aft. He knew what it meant: that his vessel was dragging
her anchors and that there was little or no hope that he would board
her. She might strike, or she might make the open sea. The mate was
an able seaman and would get some canvas on her if he could to try
to fight her off. Out on the wild, storm-swept ocean there might be
safety. To leeward lay certain death.
He rowed now with increased vigour. He would endeavour to get close
enough to hail her at least, even though he could not board her. Over
the tops of the breaking seas the small boat fairly flew. She was
gaining upon the receding light. The Captain turned his head and saw
he was almost alongside. He made out the voices of the men calling to
each other as they close reefed the mainsail. He could hear the mate's
orders, howled into a shriek, sounding faintly but unintelligible above
the roar of the wind and sea. He now made out the hull of the vessel.
He was close aboard. Then the riding light went out.
He knew he had seen the ending; for they had put the forestaysail on
her and were driving her out to sea. As for himself, he was a lost man.
He was so close to her now that he stood up and hailed.
"Keep her east southeast!" he roared out.
A questioning hail came through the night, a wild, terrified cry.
"Keep her east southeast! Good-bye!" he answered.
"Ay, ay, sir! Good-bye, sir!" came the voice of the mate booming
hoarsely above the gale.
The _Buccaneer_ fought her way out that night. She lost her foresail
and half her other canvas before the finish; but she went to sea safely.
Three days later she came in and anchored near the wreck of the
steamer. The mate and two men went ashore and searched the reef for
signs of their Captain. The boat was gone, and so was he. This told
the story. Two hours later they were tearing up the rusted hulk of the
_Stella Polare_, and they carried tons of her to Key West in the little
schooner, with the mate in command.
XVI
The Barrators
Mr. Booker, of the firm of Booker, Benson & Co., closed the door of the
inner office.
"Now, Captain Johns, let's have an understanding at once," said he
in a low tone, "let's make no mistake about this thing. You know we
represent the best there is in the shipping business. You know I've
stood by you. You know how long you'd have been inspector of hulls if
I hadn't fixed it for you with the commissioner. Now, we want James's
certificate returned. He's been master of the _Enos_ for years, and we
can't afford to lose him----"
"But he abandoned his ship in mid-ocean with passengers aboard,"
snapped Captain Johns. "How can we give him a certificate after that,
hey? How'll I get around the fact---- What? I know what I owe you. I
know I'm inspector, but I don't owe you any such rascality as that--no,
sir. I'll lose my place if I do give it to him--you know that--and if I
don't you threaten me----"
"I threaten no man," interrupted Mr. Booker solemnly. "I simply put it
to you as a business proposition. Captain James is our man. We want
him. Now will you give him back his certificate or not?"
The inspector thought a minute. He was a big man, big, strong, capable
of filling the office of inspector of hulls perfectly. He had been
to sea for more than twenty years and was a first-class navigator, a
first-class seaman. He knew the duties of inspector, and he knew the
law. Upon him rested the responsibility of issuing masters' and mates'
certificates, and he had generally conducted the examinations without
fear or favour. He prided himself upon this point, for it was generally
understood that a Board of Trade license was good. It meant something.
But he knew Mr. Booker and he knew his man, Captain James, who had
abandoned his vessel in mid-ocean.
"As far as the taking his license away from him is concerned," said he,
looking straight at the head of the firm, "I had no more to do with it
than others. We did the only thing we could do under the evidence." He
seated himself in a chair and crossed a leg, rubbing his knee as though
to gain time for the struggle he knew would take place. Mr. Booker was
a leading shipper and also a politician of note. It was he who had
swung the party, he who had practically made the inspectors. It would
not do to act hastily. Booker was an able and deadly foe to any one who
blocked his trade. He was unscrupulous when it came to acting against
an enemy of the firm.
"I don't want to tie your vessel up," he went on, "and if I can do
anything in reason I'll do it. Why not let the mate come up? There's
nothing that can't be argued away about him. He had to obey orders.
I'll give him a ticket all right."
A strange light shone in Mr. Booker's eyes. He saw his man was
weakening. It was what he wanted, this mate's ticket, but to state it
openly would have meant ruin to his scheme. He held out strongly for
his captain, but not strong enough to carry his point. If the inspector
chose to promote his mate, it was not Mr. Booker's fault. That would
lie entirely and healthily with others. After a futile struggle lasting
half an hour he gave in.
"Very well, then. If you'll give Mr. McDuff a master's license and let
him take the _Enos_ out, it'll have to go. I don't stand for him, you
know, and I want that distinctly understood. But I'll compromise on
that--and not a little bit less. You know what she's carrying?"
The inspector did not. It was not his business to keep track of all
cargoes before they were shipped. He felt irritated. His victory had at
first seemed a good thing, a fine thing to get out of the hole yawning
before him. Now there seemed to be some complications.
"It's dynamite," went on Mr. Booker indulgently. "Dynamite for the
Canal, and while it's all right, you want a man who's mighty careful
to carry it through the tropics along with the mercury exploders.
Climate affects mercury, and it don't need much to send the whole kit
to kingdom come. But let it go. I'll pay a premium the underwriters
can't refuse. We'll have to stand a heavy insurance with a man like
McDuff--but of course, if you say so, let it go at that. James might go
as mate. You won't take away his living, will you? You'll let him go as
mate--on his old ticket? You know we've got to have men aboard a ship.
A vessel won't run herself."
He arose to show the inspector that further conversation meant a loss
of valuable time to the head of the firm. Captain Johns knew it and
put on his hat. He had certain misgivings about granting McDuff a
certificate, but he had passed his word. To break it would mean almost
loss of position to himself, for Mr. Booker would do what he could to
make him trouble, and he knew that trouble with Booker was trouble
indeed. The inspector before him had cause to know this. There was no
necessity for history repeating itself.
"I'll send McDuff down to you--good morning," said Mr. Booker, bowing
him out.
Captain James and Mr. McDuff were staying at St Lucia. It had been
convenient for them both to keep well away from the curious gaze of the
government officials after the supposed loss of the _Enos_, and St.
Lucia was a beautiful, far-removed spot. Upon the crumbling ramparts of
the fort near the entrance Mr. McDuff sat cogitating a few days after
Mr. Booker had made his little deal with the inspector, and when a
small black lad handed him an envelope bearing the firm's name in the
corner the taciturn mate trembled. It was so beautiful, so far removed
from modern business, so restful at St. Lucia. The trade-wind blew
steadily across the point and the Caribbean sparkled in the sunshine.
The harbour, devoid of shipping save when the week-end steamer from
the States came to load bananas, lay like a deep azure pool unruffled
by the lively breeze outside. It made a picture of quiet repose, and
even the old dismounted guns used hundreds of years before to repel
the buccaneers before Morgan's day seemed to have sunk into attitudes
of profound peace. Then this letter from the world of business and
strife. McDuff hesitated about opening it. It was probably a scouring,
scathing, blistering sheet, edited in the cutting language of the head
of the firm. "Ah, what's the use?" sighed McDuff. He held the missive
in his hand and was about to fling it over the rock and watch it go
fluttering to the sea beneath. Then curiosity came to his aid.
"Might as well open it; if there's any hot stuff in it, I don't have to
read it," he muttered. "Here, boy--here's a tuppence--git out."
He tore the paper, pulled the letter out and read it carefully, and as
he did so his fingers clinched and his back straightened. He was wanted
to go as skipper of the old ship. Would he? Well, he would do almost
anything except eat bananas. He walked swiftly to the town and stopped
only long enough to drink three high-balls of rum and cola. Ah, the
sparkling cola! He must have that. Then he took the train for Kingston.
"The _Enos_ is lying at the dock at Port Antonio," said Mr. Booker,
after he had greeted his man coldly and formally. "You will proceed
there and take command. Go down at once and see Johns. He'll give you
your examination at once. Get your ticket and go. Then wait for further
orders. James will be mate."
McDuff grinned.
"Ah, weel, I ken he'll be a noddy wan--ah, man, man, but I'll fair
dress him down into shape," he said, shifting his watery gaze over the
room.
"You can dress him all you want," said Mr. Booker. "If I were you,
however, I would not tempt Providence too far. James will not stand too
much foolishness. He can lick you."
"Ah, na fear, me laddie, na fear--do I fergit th' times he gie me? Na,
na. Wait till I trim him--my mate--at last, at last," said McDuff with
unction.
"Well, we'll let that go," said Booker; "you're carrying dynamite and
it won't do to get too frivolous. Do you know anything about carrying
dynamite?"
"Na, an' I'm that old to learn," said McDuff, eying the owner
quizzically. All his Scotch canniness was alert.
"Oh, it's all right," said Booker; "only you don't want to make
rough-house aboard your ship the first time you take her out as master.
You're chartered for Colon again, carrying supplies for the Canal."
"Ah, weel," said the mate.
"I reckon that's about all, Captain McDuff. Do your duty like a man.
If you do we'll forget some of your past--understand?"
"I ken it, I'll do it," said the man, dropping his eyes to the floor.
His past was not a thing to speak lightly upon.
"Drink as much cola and good rum as you think you need. It doesn't hurt
a man used to it, like yourself."
McDuff gave the owner a long searching look. The idea tickled him. He
threw back his head and laughed, showing his yellow fangs.
"Good day, Captain McDuff," said Booker, bowing him out.
The new master of the little cargo carrier _Enos_ had hardly arrived
aboard his vessel when James came slinking into the office. He had been
laying up at Montego Bay, well up the hills, where the natives took
care of him for sixpence a day. Booker appeared to have expected the
visit. He closed the door of the inner office as the former skipper of
the ship entered and they were alone.
"You know why I sent for you?" began Booker.
"I'm a good guesser," snarled the captain, his bloodshot eyes roving
furtively about. "Make it short, don't cut in too deep. I'm here for
orders."
"I haven't sent you up for life for desertion, have I?" asked the calm
owner, eying him with a cold look.
"No, an' what's more you ain't going to," growled the captain.
"Lord, what a man!" sneered the owner. "You don't think I'm afraid to,
do you?"
"There's mighty little you fear, Mr. Booker," said Captain James
sourly, "but I understand you're not trading in morals--not yet. If you
were, you might. If there's anything you've got to say, say it and let
me go. I didn't come here for any lecture."
"How would you like to get your ticket back again--on some other
vessel?" James eyed his former employer steadily. The effects of
debauch made his swollen features seem grotesque in their red ugliness,
but he was sober enough for business. He had dreaded the meeting. He
knew his owner's moral tone, but he had not expected a reward where
punishment was plainly indicated. He had given the ship a bad name.
"Let's have it fair and square--out with it," said the seaman.
"You know the ship is old--fit only to carry supplies," said Booker.
"We're chartered to carry one hundred tons of blasting powder with
exploders to Colon--enough to blow the whole Canal through. Can you see
the point?"
"You don't want the stuff to get there--is that it?" asked James
bluntly.