At six o'clock next morning the _Maggie_ was rounding Point Loma,
heading in for San Diego Bay, and Captain Scraggs went below and
awakened Mr. Gibney.
"What's for breakfast, Scraggsy, old kid?" asked Mr. Gibney.
"Fried eggs," said Captain Scraggs, remembering Mr. Gibney's
partiality for that form of nutriment in the vanished days of the
green-pea trade. "Ham an' fried eggs an' a sizzlin' pot o'
coffee. Thought a way out o' our mess, Gib?"
"Not yet," replied Mr. Gibney as he rolled out of bed, "but eggs
is always stimulatin', and I don't give up hope on a full
stomach."
An hour later they were tied up under the coal bunkers, and at
Mr. Gibney's suggestion some twenty tons of sacked coal were
piled on top of the fo'castle head and on the main deck for'd, in
case of emergency. They lay in the harbour all day until about
four o'clock, when Mr. Gibney, by virtue of his authority as
supercargo, ordered the lines cast off and the _Maggie_ steamed
out of the harbour. Off Point Loma they veered to the south,
leaving the Coronado Islands on the starboard quarter, ten miles
to the west. Mr. Gibney was below with Captain Scraggs, battling
with the problem that confronted them, when the mate stuck his
head down the companion-way to report a large power schooner
coming out from the lee of the Coronados and standing off on a
course calculated to intercept the _Maggie_ in an hour or two.
Captain Scraggs and Mr. Gibney sprang up on the bridge at once,
the latter with Scraggs's long glass up to his eye.
"She was hove to under the lee of the island, and the minute we
came out of the harbour and turned south she come nosin' after
us," said the mate.
"Hum!" muttered Mr. Gibney. "Gasoline schooner. Two masts and
baldheaded. About a hundred and twenty ton, I should say, and
showin' a pretty pair of heels. There's somethin' up for'd--yes--let
me see--ye-e-es, there's two more--_holy sailor! it's a gunboat!_
One of those doggoned gasoline coast patrol boats, and there's the
Federal flag flying at the fore."
"Let's put back to San Diego Bay," quavered Captain Scraggs.
"I'll be durned if I relish the idee o' losin' the _Maggie_."
"Too late," said the philosophical Gibney. "We're in Mexican
waters now, and she can cut us off from the bay. The only thing
we can do is to run for it and try to lose her after dark. Tell
the engineer to crowd her to the limit. There ain't much wind to
speak of, so I guess we can manage to hold our own for a while.
Nevertheless, I've got a hunch that we'll be overhauled. Of
course, you ain't got no papers to show, Scraggs, and they'll
search the cargo, and confiscate us, and shoot the whole bloomin'
crowd of us. I bet a dollar to a doughnut that fellow Lopez sold
us out, after the fashion of the country. I can't help thinkin'
that that gunboat was there just a-waitin' for us to show up."
For several minutes Mr. Gibney continued to study the gunboat
until there could no longer be any doubt that she intended to
overhaul them. He made out that she had a long gun for'd, with a
battery of two one-pounders on top of her house and something on
her port quarter that looked like a Maxim rapid-fire gun. About
twenty men, dressed in white cloth, could be seen on her decks.
Presently Mr. Gibney was interrupted by Captain Scraggs pulling
at his sleeve.
"You was a gunner once, wasn't you, Gib?" said Captain Scraggs in
a trembling voice.
"You bet I was," replied Mr. Gibney. "My shootin' won the trophy
three times in succession when I was on the old _Kearsarge_. If I
had one good gun and a half-decent crew, I'd knock that gunboat
silly before she knew what had hit her."
"Gib, I've got an idee," said Captain Scraggs.
"Out with it," said Mr. Gibney cheerfully.
"There was four little cannon lowered into the hold the last
thing before we put on the main hatch, and the ammunition to load
'em with is stowed in the after hold and very easy to get at."
Mr. Gibney turned a beaming face to the skipper, reached out his
arms, and folded Captain Scraggs in an embrace that would have
done credit to a grizzly bear. There were genuine tears of
admiration in his eyes and in his voice when he could master his
emotions sufficiently to speak.
"Scraggsy, old tarpot, you've been a long time comin' through on
the imagination, but you've sure arrived with all sail set. I
always thought you had about as much nerve as an oyster, but I
take it all back. We'll get out them two little jackass guns and
fight a naval battle, and if I don't sink that Mexican gunboat,
and save the _Maggie_, feed me to the sharks, for I won't be
worthy of the blood that's in me. Pipe all hands and lift off
that main hatch. Reeve a block and tackle through that cargo gaff
and stand by to heave out the guns."
But Captain Scraggs had repented of his rash suggestion almost
the moment he made it. Only the dire necessity of desperate
measures to save the _Maggie_ had prompted him to put the idea
into Mr. Gibney's head, and when he saw the avidity with which
the latter set to work clearing for action, his terror knew no
bounds.
"Oh, Gib," he wailed, "I'm afraid we better not try to lick that
gunboat after all. They might sink us with all hands."
"Rats!" said Mr. Gibney, as he leaped into the hold. "Bear a
light here until I can root out the wheels of these guns. Here
they are, labelled 'cream separator.' Stand by with that sling
to----"
"But, Gib, my _dear_ boy," protested Captain Scraggs, "this is
_insanity_!"
"I know it," said Mr. Gibney calmly. "Scraggsy, you're perfectly
right. But I'd sooner die fightin' than let them stand me up agin
a wall in Ensenada. We're filibusters, Scraggsy, and we're caught
with the goods. I, for one, am goin' down with the steamer
_Maggie_, but I'm goin' down fightin' like a bear."
"Maybe--maybe we can outrun her, Gib," half sobbed Captain
Scraggs.
"No hope," replied Mr. Gibney. "Fight and die is the last resort.
She's eight miles astern and gainin' every minute, and when she's
within two miles she'll open fire. Of course we won't be hit
unless they've got a Yankee gunner aboard."
"Let's run up the Stars and Stripes and dare 'em to fire on us,"
said Captain Scraggs.
"No," said Mr. Gibney firmly, "my old man died for the flag an'
I've sailed under it too long to hide behind it when I'm in
Dutch. We'll fight. If you was ever navigatin' officer on a
Colombian gunboat, Scraggs, you'd realize what it means to run
from a Mexican."
Captain Scraggs said nothing further. Perhaps he was a little
ashamed of himself in the face of Mr. Gibney's simple faith in
his own ability; perhaps in his veins, all unknown, there flowed
a taint of the heroic blood of some forgotten sea-dog. Be that as
it may, something did swell in his breast when Mr. Gibney spoke
of the flag and his scorning to hide behind it, and Scraggs's
snaggle teeth came together with a snap.
"All right, Gib, my boy," he said solemnly, "I'm with you. Mrs.
Scraggs has slipped her cable and there ain't nobody to mourn for
me. But if we can't fight under the Stars and Stripes, by the
tail of the Great Sacred Bull, we'll have a flag of our own," and
leaving Mr. Gibney and the crew to get the guns on deck, Captain
Scraggs ran below. He appeared on deck presently with a long blue
burgee on which was emblazoned in white letters the single word
_Maggie_. It was his own houseflag, and with trembling hands he
ran it to the fore and cast its wrinkled folds to the breeze of
heaven.
"Good old dishcloth!" shrieked Mr. Gibney. "She never comes
down."
"Damned if she does," said Captain Scraggs profanely.
While all this was going on a deckhand had reeved a block and
tackle through the end of the cargo gaff and passed it to the
winch. The two guns came out of the hold in jig time, and while
Scraggs and one deckhand opened the after hold and got out
ammunition for the guns, Mr. Gibney, assisted by the other
deckhand, proceeded to put one of the guns together. He was
shrewd enough to realize that he would have to do practically all
of the work of serving the gun himself, in view of which
condition one gun would have to defend the _Maggie_. He had never
seen a mountain gun before, but he did not find it difficult to
put the simple mechanism together.
"Now, then, Scraggsy," he announced cheerfully when the gun was
finally assembled on the carriage, "get a sizeable timber an'
spike it to the centre o' the deck. I'll run the trail spade up
against that cleat an' that'll keep the recoil from lettin' the
gun go backward, clean through the opposite rail and overboard.
Gimme a coupler gallons o' distillate and some waste, somebody.
This cosmoline's got to come out o' the tube an' out o' the
breech mechanism before we commence shootin'."
The enemy had approached within three miles by the time the piece
was ready for action. Under Mr. Gibney's instructions Captain
Scraggs held the fuse setter in case it should be necessary to
adjust with shrapnel. Mr. Gibney inserted his sights and took a
preliminary squint. "A little different from gun-pointin' in the
navy, but about the same principle," he declared. "In the army I
believe they call this kind o' shootin' direct fire, because you
sight direct on the target." He scratched his ingenious head and
examined the ammunition. "Not a high explosive shell in the lot,"
he mourned. "I'll have to use percussion fire to get the range;
then I'll drop back a little an' spray her with shrapnel. Seems a
pity to smash up a fine schooner like that one with percussion
fire. I'd rather tickle 'em up a bit with shrapnel an' scare 'em
into runnin' away."
He got out the lanyard, slipped a cartridge in the breech,
paused, and scratched his head again. His calm deliberation was
driving Scraggs crazy. He reminded Mr. Gibney with some asperity
that they were not attending a strawberry festival and for the
love of heaven to get busy.
"I'm estimatin' the range, you snipe," Gibney retorted. "Looks to
be about three miles to me. A little long, mebbe, for this gun,
but--there's nothin' like tryin'," and he sighted carefully.
"Fire," he bawled as the _Maggie_ rested an instant in the trough
of the sea--and a deckhand jerked the lanyard. Instantly Mr.
Gibney clapped the long glass to his eye.
"Good direction--over," he murmured. "I'll lay on her waterline
next time." He jerked open the breech, ejected the cartridge
case, and rammed another cartridge home. This shot struck the
water directly under the schooner's bow and threw water over her
forecastle head. Mr. Gibney smiled, spat overboard, and winked
confidently at Captain Scraggs. "Like spearin' fish in a bath
tub," he declared. He bent over the fuse setter. "Corrector three
zero," he intoned, "four eight hundred." He thrust a cartridge in
the fuse setter, twisted it, slammed it in the gun, and fired
again. The water broke into tiny waterspouts over a considerable
area some two hundred yards short of the schooner, so Mr. Gibney
raised his range to five thousand and tried again. "Over," he
growled.
Something whined over the _Maggie_ and threw up a waterspout half
a mile beyond her.
"Dubs," jeered Mr. Gibney, and sighted again. This time his
shrapnel burst neatly on the schooner. Almost simultaneously a
shell from the schooner dropped into the sacked coal on the
forecastle head of the _Maggie_ and enveloped her in a black pall
of smoke and coal dust. Captain Scraggs screamed.
"Tit for tat," the philosophical Gibney reminded him. "We can't
expect to get away with everything, Scraggsy, old kiddo." The
words were scarcely out of his mouth before the _Maggie's_
mainmast and about ten feet of her ancient railing were trailing
alongside. Mr. Gibney whistled softly through his teeth and
successfully sprayed the Mexican again. "It breaks my heart to
ruin that craft's canvas," he declared, and let her have it once
more.
"My _Maggie's_ tail is shot away," Captain Scraggs wailed, "an' I
only rebuilt it a week ago." Three more shots from the long gun
missed them, but the fourth carried away the cabin, leaving the
wreck of the pilot house, with the helmsman unscathed, sticking
up like a sore thumb.
"Turn her around and head straight for them," the gallant Gibney
roared. "She's a smaller target comin' bows on. We're broadside
to her now."
"Gib, will you ever sink that Greaser?" Captain Scraggs sobbed
hysterically.
"Don't want to sink her," the supercargo retorted. "She's a nice
little schooner. I'd rather capture her. Maybe we can use her in
our business, Scraggsy," and he continued to shower the enemy
with high bursting shrapnel. When the two vessels were less than
two miles apart the one-pounders came into action. It was pretty
shooting and the wicked little shells ripped through the old
_Maggie_ like buckshot through a roll of butter. Mr. Gibney slid
flat on the deck beside his gun and Captain Scraggs sprawled
beside him.
"A feller," Mr. Gibney announced, "has got to take a beatin'
while lookin' for an openin' to put over the knockout blow. If
the old _Maggie_ holds together till we're within a cable's
length o' that schooner an' we ain't all killed by that time, I
bet I'll make them skunks sing soft an' low."
"How?" Captain Scraggs chattered.
"With muzzle bursts," Mr. Gibney replied. "I'll set my fuse at
zero an' at point-blank range I'll just rake everything off that
schooner's decks. Guess I'll get half a dozen cartridges set an'
ready for the big scene. Up with you, Admiral Scraggs, an' hold
the fuse setter steady."
"I'm agin war," Scraggs quavered. "Gib, it's sure hell."
"Rats! It's invigouratin', Scraggsy. There ain't nothin' wrong
with war, Scraggsy, unless you happen to get killed. Then it's
like cholera. You can cure every case except the first one."
They had come inside the minimum range of the Mexican's long gun
now, so that only the one-pounders continued to peck at the
_Maggie_. Evidently the Mexican was as eager to get to close
quarters as Mr. Gibney, for he held steadily on his course.
"Well, it's time to put over the big stuff," Mr. Gibney remarked
presently. "Here's hopin' they don't pot me with rifle fire while
I'm extendin' my compliments."
As the first muzzle burst raked the Mexican Captain Scraggs saw
that most of the terrible blast of lead had gone too high.
Nevertheless, it was effective, for to a man the crews of the
one-pounders deserted their posts and tumbled below; seeing which
the individual in command lost his nerve. He was satisfied now
that the infernal _Maggie_ purposed ramming him; he had marvelled
that the filibuster should use shrapnel, after she had ranged
with shell (he did not know it was percussion shrapnel) and in
sudden panic he decided that the _Maggie_, mortally wounded,
purposed getting close enough to sink him with shell-fire if she
failed to ram him; whereupon the yellow streak came through and
he waved his arms frantically above his head in token of
surrender.
"She's hauled down her rag," shrieked Scraggs. "Be merciful, Gib.
There's men dyin' on that boat."
"Lay alongside that craft," Mr. Gibney shouted to the helmsman.
The schooner had hove to and when the _Maggie_ also hove to some
thirty yards to windward of her Mr. Gibney informed the Mexican,
in atrocious Spanish well mixed with English, that if the latter
so much as lifted his little finger he might expect to be sunk
like a dog. "Down below, everybody but the helmsman, or I'll
sweep your decks with another muzzle burst," he thundered.
The Mexican obeyed and Captain Scraggs went up in the pilot house
and laid the terribly battered _Maggie_ alongside the schooner.
The instant she touched, Mr. Gibney sprang aboard, quickly
followed by Captain Scraggs, who had relinquished the helm to his
first mate.
Suddenly Captain Scraggs shouted, "Look, Gib, for the love of the
Lord, look!" and pointed with his finger. At the head of the
little iron-railed companion way leading down into the engine
room a man was standing. He had a monkey wrench in one hand and a
greasy rag in the other.
Mr. Gibney turned and looked at the man.
"McGuffey, for a thousand," he bellowed, and ran forward with
outstretched hand. Captain Scraggs was at Gibney's heels, and
between them they came very nearly dislocating Bartholomew
McGuffey's arm.
"McGuffey, my _dear_ boy," said Captain Scraggs. "Whatever are
you a-doin' on this heathen warship?"
"Me!" ejaculated Mr. McGuffey, with his old-time deliberation.
"Why, I'm the chief engineer of this craft. I had a good job,
too, but I guess it's all off now, and the Mexican Government'll
fire me. Say, who chucked that buckshot down into my engine
room?"
"Admiral Gibney did it," said Scraggs. "The old _Maggie's_
alongside and me and Gib's filibusters. Bear a hand, Mac, and
help us clap the hatches on our prisoners."
"Thank God," said Mr. Gibney piously, "I didn't kill you. Come to
look into the matter, I didn't kill anybody, though I see half a
dozen Mexicans around decks more or less cut up. Where you been
all these years, Mac?"
"I been chief engineer in the Mexican navy," replied McGuffey.
"Have you captured us in the name of the United States or what?"
"We've captured you in the name of Adelbert P. Gibney," was the
reply. "I been huntin' all my life for a ship of my own, and now
I've got her. Lord, Mac, she's a beauty, ain't she? All hardwood
finish, teak rail, well found, and just the ticket for the island
trade. Well, well, well! I'm Captain Gibney at last."
"Where do I come in, Gib?" asked Captain Scraggs modestly.
"Well, seein' as the _Maggie_ has two holes through her hull
below the waterline, and is generally nicked to pieces, you might
quit askin' questions and get back aboard and put the pumps on
her. You're lucky if she don't sink on you before we get to
Descanso Bay. If she sinks, don't worry. I'll give you a job as
my first mate. Mac, you're my engineer, but not at no fancy
Mexican price. I'll pay you the union scale and not a blasted
cent more or less. Is that fair?"
McGuffey said it was, and went below to tune up his engine. Mr.
Gibney took the wheel of the gunboat, and sent Captain Scraggs
back aboard the _Maggie_, and in a few minutes both vessels were
bowling along toward Descanso Bay. They were off the bay at
midnight, and while with Mr. Gibney in command of the federal
gunboat Captain Scraggs had nothing to fear, the rapid rise of
water in the hold of the _Maggie_ was sadly disconcerting. About
daylight he made up his mind that she would sink within two
hours, and without pausing to whine over his predicament, he
promptly beached her. She drove far up the beach, with the slack
water breaking around her scarred stern, and when the tide ebbed
she lay high and dry. And the rebel soldiers came trooping down
from the Megano rancho and falling upon her carcass like so many
ants, quickly distributed her cargo amongst them, and disappeared.
Captain Scraggs sent his crew out aboard the captured gunboat to
assist Mr. Gibney in rowing his prisoners ashore, and when
finally he stood alone beside the wreck of the brave old
_Maggie_, piled up at last in the port of missing ships,
something snapped within his breast and the big tears rolled in
quick succession down his sun-tanned cheeks. The old hulk looked
peculiarly pathetic as she lay there, listed over on her beam
ends. She had served him well, but she had finished her last
voyage, and with some vague idea of saving her old bones from
vandal hands, Captain Scraggs, sobbing audibly, scattered the
contents of half a dozen cans of kerosene over her decks and in
the cabin, lighted fires in three different sections of the
wreck, and left her to the consuming flames. Half an hour later
he stood on the battered decks of the gunboat beside Gibney and
McGuffey and watched the dense clouds of smoke that heralded the
passing of the _Maggie_.
"She was a good old hulk," said Mr. Gibney. "And now, as the
special envoy of the Liberal army of Mexico, here's a draft on
Los Angeles for five thousand bucks, Scraggsy, which constitutes
the balance due you on this here filibuster trip. Of course, I
needn't remind you, Scraggsy, that you'd never have earned this
money if it hadn't been for Adelbert P. Gibney workin' his
imagination overtime. I've made you a chunk of money, and while I
couldn't save your ship, I did save your life. As a reward for
all this, I don't claim one cent of the money due you, as I could
if I wanted to be rotten mean. I'm goin' to keep this fine little
power schooner for my share of the loot. She's nicked up some,
but that only bears evidence to what a bully good shot I am, and
it won't take much to fix her up all shipshape again. Usin' high
bursts shrapnel ain't very destructive. All them bumps an'
scratches can be planed down. But we'll have to do some mendin'
on her canvas--I'll tell the world. She's called the _Reina
Maria_, but I'm going to run her to Panama and change her name.
She'll be known as _Maggie II_, out of respect for the old girl
that's burnin' up there on the beach."
Captain Scraggs was so touched at this delicate little tribute
that he turned away and burst into tears.
"Aw, shut up, Scraggsy, old hunks," said McGuffey consolingly.
"You ain't got nothin' to cry about. You're a rich man. Look at
me. I ain't a-bawlin', am I? And I don't get so much as a bean
out of this mix-up, all on account of me bein' tied up with a lot
of hounds that quits fightin' before they're half licked."
"That's so," said Captain Scraggs, wiping his eyes with his grimy
fists. "I declare you're out in the cold, McGuffey, and it ain't
right. Gib, my boy, us three has had some stirrin' times together
and we've had our differences, but I ain't a-goin' to think of
them past griefs. The sight o' you, single-handed, meetin' and
annihilatin' the pride of the Mexican navy, calm in th' moment o'
despair, generous in victory and delicate as blazes to a fallen
shipmate, goin' to work an' namin' your vessel after him that
way, is somethin' that wipes away all sorrer and welds a
friendship that's bound to endoor till death us do part. If
McGuffey'd been on our side, we know from past performances that
he'd a fit like a tiger, wouldn't you, Mac?" (Here Mr. McGuffey
coughed slightly, as much as to say that he would have fought
like ten tigers had he only been given the opportunity.)
Captain Scraggs continued: "I should say that a fair valuation of
this schooner as she stands is ten thousand dollars. That belongs
to Gib. Now I'm willin' to chuck five thousand dollars into the
deal, we'll form a close corporation and as a compliment to
McGuffey, elect him chief engineer in his own ship and give him
say a quarter interest in our layout, as a little testimonial to
an old friend, tried and true."
"Scraggsy," said Mr. Gibney, "your fin. We've fought, but we'll let
that go. We wipe the slate clean and start in all over again on the
_Maggie II_, and I'm free to state, without fear of contradiction,
that in the last embroglio you showed up like four aces and a king
with the entire company standin' pat. Scraggsy, you're a hero, and
what you propose proves that you're considerable of a singed
cat--better'n you look. We'll go freebootin' down on the Gold Coast.
There's war, red war, breakin' loose down there, and we'll shy in
our horseshoe with the strongest side and pry loose a fortune
somewhere. I'm for a life of wild adventure, and now that we've got
the ship and the funds and the crew, let's go to it. There's a deal
of fine liquor in the wardroom, and I suggest that we nominate
Phineas Scraggs, late master of the battleship _Maggie_, now second
in command of the _Maggie II_, to brew a kettle o' hot grog to
celebrate our victory. Mac--Scraggsy--your fins. I'm proud of you
both. Shake."
They shook, and as Captain Gibney's eye wandered aloft, First
Mate Scraggs and Chief Engineer McGuffey looked up also. From the
main topmast of the _Maggie II_ floated a long blue burgee, with
white lettering on it, and as it whipped out into the breeze the
old familiar name stood out against the noonday sun.
"Good old dishcloth!" murmured Mr. Gibney. "She never comes
down."
"The _Maggie_ forever!" shrieked Scraggs.
"Hooray!" bellowed McGuffey. "An' now, Scraggsy, if you've got
all the enthusiasm out of your blood, kick in with a hundred an'
fifty dollars an' interest to date. An' don't tell me that note's
outlawed, or I'll feed you to the fishes."
Captain Scraggs looked crestfallen, but produced the money.