Captain Scraggs and The Squarehead partook first of the ham and
eggs, coffee and bread which the skipper prepared. Scraggs then
prepared a similar meal for Mr. Gibney and McGuffey, set it in
the oven to keep warm, and descended to the engine room to
relieve McGuffey for dinner. Neils at the same time took the
course from Mr. Gibney and relieved the latter at the wheel. By
this time, darkness had descended upon the world, and the
_Maggie_ had entered the fog; following her custom she proceeded
in absolute silence, although as a partial offset to the extreme
liability to collision with other coastwise craft, due to the
non-whistling rule aboard the _Maggie_, Mr. Gibney had laid a
course half a mile inside the usual steamer lanes, albeit due to
his overwhelming desire for peace he had neglected to inform his
owner of this; the honest fellow proceeded upon the hypothesis
that what people do not know is not apt to trouble them.
Mr. McGuffey was already seated and disposing of his meal when
Mr. Gibney entered. "Gib," he declared with his mouth full,
"rinse the taste o' chewin' tobacco out o' your mouth before
startin' to eat, an' then tell me, as man to man, if them eggs is
fit for human consumption."
Mr. Gibney conformed with the engineer's request. "Eatable but
venerable," was his verdict. "That infernal Scraggs is tryin' to
make the _Maggie_ pay dividends at the expense of our stomachs."
"_And_ at the risk of our lives, Gib. I move we declare a
strike until Scraggs digs up the money to overhaul the boiler.
Just before we slipped into the fog I saw two steam schooners
headed south--so they must 'a' seen us headed north. Jes' listen
at them a-bellerin' off there to port. They're a-watchin' and
a-listenin', expectin' to cut us down at every turn o' the screw.
First thing you know, Gib, you'll be losin' your ticket for
failin' to be courteous on the high seas."
"Six o' one an' half a dozen o' the other, Bart. If I whistle
I'll use up all your steam, an', then if we should find ourselves
in the danger zone we won't be able to get out of our own way."
"Let's refuse to take her out again until Scraggsy spends some
money on her. 'Tain't Christian the way he acts."
"Got to get in another pay day before I start the high an'
mighty, Bart. But I'll speak to the old man about them eggs. They
taste like they'd been laid by a pelican before the Civil War.
Somehow I can't eat an egg that's the least bit rotten."
"It's gettin' so," McGuffey mourned, "that I don't have no more
time off in port. When I ain't standin' by I'm repairin', an'
when I ain't doin' either I'm dreamin' about the danged old
coffee mill. For a cancelled postage stamp I'd jump the ship."
He gulped down his coffee, loaded his pipe, and went below to
relieve Scraggs, for although experience in acting as McGuffey's
relief had given Captain Scraggs what might be termed a working
knowledge of the _Maggie's_ engine, McGuffey was never happy
with Scraggs in charge, even for five minutes. The habit of years
caused him to cast a quick glance at the steam gauge, and he
noted it had dropped five pounds.
"Savin' on the coal again," he roared. "Git out o' my engine
room, you doggoned skinflint." He seized a slice bar, threw open
the furnace door, raked the fire, and commenced shovelling in
coal at a rate that almost brought the tears of anguish to his
owner's eyes. "There! The main bearin's screamin' again," he
wailed. "Oil cup's empty. Ain't I drilled it into your head
enough, Scraggsy, that she'll cry her eyes out if you don't let
her swim in oil?" He grasped the oil can and, in order to test
the efficacy of its squirt, shot a generous stream down Captain
Scraggs's collar.
"That for them rotten eggs, you miser," he growled. "Heraus mit
'em!"
Captain Scraggs fled, cursing, and sought solace in the pilot
house.
"It's as black," quoted Mr. Gibney as he entered, "as the Earl of
Hell's riding boots."
"And as thick," snarled Scraggs, "as McGuffey's head. Lordy me,
Gib, but it's thick. You'd think every bloomin' steam pipe in the
universe had busted."
"If they was all like the _Maggie's_," Mr. Gibney retorted drily,
"we wouldn't need to worry none. Not wishin' to change the
conversation, Scraggsy, but referrin' to them eggs you slipped me
and Bart for supper, all I gotta say is that the next time you go
marketin' in ancient Egypt, me an' Mac's goin' to tell the real
story o' the S.S. _Maggie_ to the Inspectors. Now, that goes.
Scatter along aft, Scraggs, and let me know what that taffrail
log has to say about it."
Captain Scraggs read the log and reported the mileage to Mr.
Gibney, who figured with the stub of a pencil on the pilot house
wall, wagged his head, and appeared satisfied. "Better go for'd,"
he ordered, "an' help The Squarehead on the lookout. At eight
o'clock we ought to be right under the lee o' Point San Pedro;
when I whistle we ought to catch the echo thrown back by the
cliff. Listen for it."
Promptly at eight o'clock, Mr. McGuffey was horrified to see his
steam gauge drop half a pound as the _Maggie's_ siren sounded.
Mr. Gibney stuck his ingenious head out of the pilot house and
listened, but no answering echo reached his ears. "Hear
anything?" he bawled.
"Heard the _Maggie's_ siren," Captain Scraggs retorted
venomously.
Mr. Gibney leaped out on deck, selected a small head of cabbage
from a broken crate and hurled it forward. Then he sprang back
into the pilot house and straightened the _Maggie_ on her course
again. He leaned over the binnacle, with the cuff of his watch
coat wiping away the moisture on the glass, and studied the
instrument carefully. "I don't trust the danged thing," he
muttered. "Guess I'll haul her off a coupler points an' try the
whistle again."
He did. Still no echo. He was inclined to believe that Captain
Scraggs had not read the taffrail log correctly, and when at
eight-thirty he tried the whistle again he was still without
results in the way of an echo from the cliff, albeit the engine
room howler brought him several of a profuse character from the
perspiring McGuffey.
"We've passed Pedro," Mr. Gibney decided. He ground his cud and
muttered ugly things to himself, for his dead reckoning had gone
astray and he was worried. The fog, if anything, was thicker than
ever. He could not even make out the phosphorescent water that
curled out from the _Maggie's_ forefoot.
Time passed. Suddenly Mr. Gibney thrilled electrically to a
shrill yip from Captain Scraggs.
"What's that?" Mr. Gibney bawled.
"I dunno. Sounds like the surf, Gib."
"Ain't you been on this run long enough to know that the surf
don't sound like nothin' else in life but breakers?" Gibney
retorted wrathfully.
"I ain't certain, Gib."
Instantly Gibney signalled McGuffey for half speed ahead.
"Breakers on the starboard bow," yelled Captain Scraggs.
"Port bow," The Squarehead corrected him.
"Oh, my great patience!" Mr. Gibney groaned. "They're on both
bows an' we're headed straight for the beach. Here's where we all
go to hell together," and he yanked wildly at the signal wire
that led to the engine room, with the intention of giving
McGuffey four bells--the signal aboard the _Maggie_ for full
speed astern. At the second jerk the wire broke, but not until
two bells had sounded in the engine room--the signal for full
speed ahead. The efficient McGuffey promptly kicked her wide
open, and the Fates decreed that, having done so, Mr. McGuffey
should forthwith climb the ladder and thrust his head out on
deck for a breath of fresh air. Instantly a chorus of shrieks up
on the fo'castle head attracted his attention to such a degree
that he failed to hear the engine room howler as Mr. Gibney blew
frantically into it.
Presently, out of the hubbub forward, Mr. McGuffey heard Captain
Scraggs wail frantically: "Stop her! For the love of heaven, stop
her!" Instantly the engineer dropped back into the engine room
and set the _Maggie_ full speed astern; then he grasped the
howler and held it to his ear.
"Stop her!" he heard Gibney shriek. "Why in blazes don't you stop
her?"
"She's set astern, Gib. She'll ease up in a minute."
"You know it," Gibney answered significantly.
The _Maggie_ climbed lazily to the crest of a long oily roller,
slid recklessly down the other side, and took the following sea
over her taffrail. She still had some head on, but very
little--not quite sufficient to give her decent steerage way, as
Mr. Gibney discovered when, having at length communicated his
desires to McGuffey, he spun the wheel frantically in a belated
effort to swing the _Maggie's_ dirty nose out to sea.
"Nothin' doin'," he snarled. "She'll have to come to a complete
stop before she begins to walk backward and get steerage way on
again. She'll bump as sure as death an' taxes."
She did--with a crack that shook the rigging and caused it to
rattle like buckshot in a pan. A terrible cry--such a cry,
indeed, as might burst from the lips of a mother seeing her only
child run down by the Limited--burst from poor Captain Scraggs.
"My ship! my ship!" he howled. "My darling little _Maggie_!
They've killed you, they've killed you! The dirty lubbers!"
The succeeding wave lifted the _Maggie_ off the beach, carried
her in some fifty feet further, and deposited her gently on the
sand. She heeled over to port a little and rested there as if she
was very, very weary, nor could all the threshing of her screw in
reverse haul her off again. The surf, dashing in under her
fantail, had more power than McGuffey's engines, and, foot by
foot, the _Maggie_ proceeded to dig herself in. Mr. Gibney
listened for five minutes to the uproar that rose from the bowels
of the little steamer before he whistled up Mr. McGuffey.
"Kill her, kill her," he ordered. "Your wheel will bite into the
sand first thing you know, and tear the stern off her. You're
shakin' the old girl to pieces."