Neils Halvorsen often wondered what had become of the _Maggie_
and Captain Scraggs. Mr. Gibney and Bartholomew McGuffey he knew
had turned their sun-tanned faces toward deep water some years
before Captain Scraggs and the _Maggie_ disappeared from the
environs of San Francisco Bay, and Neils Halvorsen was wise
enough to waste no time wondering what had become of _them_.
These two worthies might be anywhere, and every conceivable thing
under the sun might have happened to them; hence, in his idle
moments, Neils Halvorsen did not disturb his gray matter
speculating on their whereabouts and their then condition of
servitude.
But the continued absence of Captain Scraggs from his old haunts
created quite a little gossip along the waterfront, and in the
course of time rumours of his demise by sundry and devious routes
came to the ears of Neils Halvorsen. Now, Neils had sailed too
long with Captain Scraggs not to realize that the erstwhile
green-pea trader would be the last man to take a chance in any
hazardous enterprise unless forced thereto by the weight of
circumstance; also there was affection enough in his simple
Scandinavian heart to cause him to feel just a little worried
when two weeks passed and Captain Scraggs failed to show up. He
had disappeared in some mysterious manner from San Francisco Bay
and the old _Maggie_ had never been heard from again.
Hence Neils Halvorsen was puzzled. In fact, to such an extent was
Neils puzzled, that one perfectly calm, clear night while beating
down San Pablo Bay in his bay scow, the _Willie and Annie_, he so
far forgot himself and his own affairs as to concentrate all his
attention on the problem of the ultimate finish of Captain
Scraggs. So engrossed was Neils in this vain speculation that he
neglected to observe toward the rules of the ocean highways that
nicety of attention which is highly requisite, even in the
skipper of a bay scow, if the fulsome title of captain is to be
retained for any definite period. As a result, Neils became
confused regarding the exact number of blasts from the siren of a
river steamer desiring to pass him to port. Consequently the
_Willie and Annie_ received such a severe butting from the river
steamer in question as to cause her to careen and fill. Being,
unfortunately, loaded with gravel on this particular trip, she
subsided incontinently to the bottom of San Pablo Bay, while
Neils and his crew of two men sought refuge on a plank.
Without attempting to go further into the details of the
misfortunes of Neils Halvorsen, be it known that the destruction
of the _Willie and Annie_ proved to be such a severe shock to
Neils' reputation as a safe and sane bay scow skipper that he was
ultimately forced to seek other and more virgin fields. With the
fragments of his meagre fortune, the ambitious Swede purchased a
course in a local nautical school from which he duly managed to
emerge with sufficient courage to appear before the United
States Local Inspectors of Hulls and Boilers and take his
examination for a second mate's certificate. To his unutterable
surprise the license was granted; whereupon he shipped as
quartermaster on the steamer _Alameda_, running to Honolulu, and
what with the lesson taught him in the loss of the _Willie and
Annie_ and the exacting duties of his office aboard the liner, he
forgot that he had ever known Captain Scraggs.
Judge of Neils Halvorsen's surprise, therefore, upon the occasion
of his first trip to Honolulu, when he saw something which
brought the whole matter back to mind. They were standing in
toward Diamond Head and the _Alameda_ lay hove to taking on the
pilot. It was early morning and the purple mists hung over the
entrance to the harbour. Neils Halvorsen stood at the gangway
enjoying the sunrise over the Punch-bowl, and glancing longingly
toward the vivid green of the hills beyond the city, when he was
aware of a "put," "put," "put," to starboard of the _Alameda_.
Neils turned at the sound just in time to see a beautiful
gasoline schooner of about a hundred and thirty tons heading in
toward the bay. She was so close that Neils was enabled to make
out that her name was _Maggie II_.
"Vell, aye be dam," muttered Neils, and scratched his head, for
the name revived old memories. An hour later, when the _Alameda_
loafed into her berth at Brewer's dock, Neils noticed that the
schooner lay at anchor off the quarantine station.
That night Neils Halvorsen went ashore for those forms of
enjoyment peculiar to his calling, and in the Pantheon saloon,
whither his pathway led him, he filled himself with beer and
gossip. It was here that Neils came across an item in an
afternoon paper which challenged his instant attention. It was
just a squib in the shipping news, but Neils Halvorsen read it
with amazement and joy:
The power schooner _Maggie II_ arrived this morning, ten
days from the Friendly Islands. The little schooner came
into port with her hold bursting with the most valuable
cargo that has entered Honolulu in many years. It
consists for the most part of black coral.
The _Maggie II_ is commanded by Captain Phineas Scraggs,
and after taking on provisions and water to-day will
proceed to San Francisco, to-morrow, for discharge of
cargo.
"By yiminy," quoth Neils Halvorsen, "aye bat you that bane de ole
man so sure as you bane alive. And aye bat new hat he skall be
glad to see Neils Halvorsen. I guess aye hire Kanaka boy an' he
bane pull me out to see de ole man."
Which is exactly what Neils Halvorsen proceeded to do. Ten
minutes later he was at the foot of Fort Street, bargaining with
a Kanaka fisherman to paddle him off to the schooner _Maggie II_.
It was a beautiful moonlight night, and as Neils sat in the stern
of the canoe, listening to the sound of the sad, sweet falsetto
singing of half a dozen _waheenies_ fishing on the wharf, he
actually waxed sentimental. His honest Scandinavian heart
throbbed with anticipated pleasure as he conjured up a mental
picture of the surprise and delight of Captain Scraggs at this
unexpected meeting with his old deckhand.
A Jacob's ladder was hanging over the side of the schooner as the
canoe shot in under her lee quarter, and half a minute later the
expectant Neils stepped upon her deck. A tall dark man, wearing
an ancient palmleaf hat, sat smoking on the hatch coaming, and
him Neils Halvorsen addressed.
"Aye bane want to see Cap'n Scraggs," he said.
The tall dark man stood erect and cast a quick, questioning look
at Neils Halvorsen. He hesitated before he made answer.
"What do you want?" he asked deliberately, and there was a subtle
menace in his tones. As for Neils Halvorsen, thinking only of the
surprise he had in store for his old employer, he replied
evasively:
"Aye bane want job."
"Well, I'm Captain Scraggs, and I haven't any job for you. Get
off my boat and wait until you're invited before you come aboard
again."
For nearly half a minute Neils Halvorsen stared open-mouthed at
the spurious Captain Scraggs, while slowly there sifted through
his brain the notion that he had happened across the track of a
deep and bloody mystery of the seas. There was "something rotten
in Denmark." Of that Neils Halvorsen was certain. More he could
not be certain of until he had paved the way for a complete
investigation, and as a preliminary step toward that end he
clinched his fist and sprang swiftly toward the bogus skipper.
"Aye tank you bane damn liar," he muttered, and struck home,
straight and true, to the point of the jaw. The man went down,
and in an instant Neils was on top of him. Off came the sailor's
belt, the hands of the half-stunned man were quickly tied behind
him, and before he had time to realize what had happened Neils
had cut a length of cord from a trailing halyard and tied his
feet securely, after which he gagged him with his bandana
handkerchief.
A quick circuit of the ship convinced Neils Halvorsen that the
remainder of the dastard crew were evidently ashore, so he
descended to the cabin in search of further evidence of crime. He
was quite prepared to find Captain Scraggs's master's certificate
in its familiar oaken frame, hanging on the cabin wall, but he
was dumfounded to observe, hanging on the wall in a similar and
equally familiar frame, the certificate of Adelbert P. Gibney as
first mate of steam or sail, any ocean and any tonnage. But still
a third framed certificate hung on the wall, and Neils again
scratched his head when he read the wording that set forth the
legal qualifications of Bartholomew McGuffey to hold down a job
as chief engineer of coastwise vessels up to 1,200 tons net
register.
It was patent, even to the dull-witted Swede, that there had been
foul play somewhere, and the schooner's log, lying open on the
table, seemed to offer the first means at hand for a solution of
the mystery. Eagerly Neils turned to the last entry. It was not
in Captain Scraggs's handwriting, and contained nothing more
interesting than the stereotyped reports of daily observations,
currents, weather conditions, etc., including a notation of
arrival that day at Honolulu. Slowly Halvorsen turned the leaves
backward, until at last he was rewarded by a glimpse of a
different handwriting. It was the last entry under that
particular handwriting, and read as follows:
June 21, 19--. Took an observation at noon, and find
that we are in 20-48 S., 178-4 W. At this rate should
lift Tuvana-tholo early this afternoon. All hands well
and looking forward to the fun at Tuvana. Bent a new
flying jib this morning and had the king and Tabu-Tabu
holystone the deck.
A.P. GIBNEY.
Neils Halvorsen sat down to think, and after several minutes of
this unusual exercise it appeared to the Swede that he had
stumbled upon a clue to the situation. The last entry in the log
kept by Mr. Gibney was under date of June 21st--just eleven days
ago, and on that date Mr. Gibney had been looking forward to some
fun at Tuvana-tholo. Now where was that island and what kind of a
place was it?
Neils searched through the cabin until he came across the book
that is the bible of every South Sea trading vessel--the British
Admiralty Reports. Down the index went the old deckhand's
calloused finger and paused at "Friendly islands--page 177";
whereupon Neils opened the book at page 177 and after a
five-minute search discovered that Tuvana-tholo was a barren,
uninhabited island in latitude 21-2 south, longitude 178-49 west.
Ten days from the Friendly Islands, the paper said. That meant
under power and sail with the trades abaft the beam. It would
take nearer fifteen days for the run from Honolulu to that desert
island, and Neils Halvorsen wondered whether the marooned men
would still be alive by the time aid could reach them. For by
some sixth sailor sense Neils Halvorsen became convinced that his
old friends of the vegetable trade were marooned. They had gone
ashore for some kind of a frolic, and the crew had stolen the
schooner and left them to their fate, believing that the
castaways would never be heard from and that dead men tell no
tales.
"Yumpin' yiminy," groaned Neils. "I must get a wiggle on if aye
bane steal this schooner."
He rushed on deck, carried his prisoner down into the cabin, and
locked the door on him. A minute later he was clinging to the
Jacob's ladder, the canoe shot in to the side of the vessel at
his gruff command and passed on shoreward without missing a
stroke of the paddle. An hour later, accompanied by three Kanaka
sailors picked up at random along the waterfront, Neils Halvorsen
was pulled out to the _Maggie II_. Her crew had not returned and
the bogus captain was still triced hard and fast in the cabin.
The Swede did not bother to investigate in detail the food and
water supply. A hasty round of the schooner convinced him that
she had at least a month's supply of food and water. Only one
thought surged through his mind, and that was the awful necessity
for haste. The anchor came in with a rush, the Kanaka boys
chanting a song that sounded to Neils like a funeral dirge, and
Neils went below and turned the gasoline engines wide open. The
_Maggie II_ swung around and with a long streak of opalescent
foam trailing behind her swung down the bay and faded at last in
the ghostly moonlight beyond Diamond Head; after which Neils
Halvorsen, with murder in his eye and a tarred rope's end in his
horny fist, went down into the cabin and talked to the man who
posed as Captain Scraggs. In the end he got a confession. Fifteen
minutes later he emerged, smiling grimly, gave the Kanaka boy at
the wheel the course, and turned in to sleep the sleep of the
conscience-free and the weary.