WHEN the two men left Dorothy alone in the Queen, she was not uneasy,
although she did not welcome being alone in that desolate place. She
had so grown to depend on Howard’s companionship, and to take comfort
even in Jackson’s bear-like presence about the ship, that she felt a
queer sinking at heart when they left her. Still, she realized that it
was necessary that some one who understood thoroughly what was wanted
should explore, and she knew that Howard was the only one possessed of
that information. If Jackson felt it his duty to go along, she would
not for worlds ask him to stay with her, although she was entirely
convinced that Howard would not desert them. She had accepted without
reservation Howard’s story of the crime for which he had been tried,
and she put implicit trust in him.
The fire in the galley was burning well when the two men left, and
Dorothy decided to postpone her dishwashing and tidying up, and to
remain on deck and watch their progress. Several times before the
tangled masts and hulls, torn canvas, and frayed cordage hid them from
her view, Howard turned to wave his hand to her and shake his head
in token that the search had as yet brought them nothing. When they
disappeared at last behind a big, high-floating steamer, she went below
to attend to her duties, which included the preparation of what she
told herself should be an extra fine dinner, in celebration of the
completion of the first stage of their journey.
Time passed rapidly in accompaniment to the cheerful clink of the pans
and the rattle of the dishes with which she set the table. At last she
paused and looked at her watch.
“Twelve o’clock,” she murmured. “He ought to be coming back now.” It
was noticeable that she said “he,” not “they.” “I’ll go on deck and
look.”
She started up the companionway, then paused, as a faint shout was
borne to her ears. “There they are now,” she thought, happily. “I
wonder what they have found.” She hurried up the stairway.
The call was repeated as she went, and was unmistakable now. “Ahoy, the
ship!” it came again and again.
Dorothy stopped short. “That’s not Mr. Howard’s voice--nor Mr.
Jackson’s,” she gasped. “Who----”
Cautiously she peered from the door and looked around anxiously. Two
unknown sailors were standing on the deck of the fire-blackened steamer
that lay across the bows of the Queen. As she stared, one of them
hailed again. “Ahoy, the steamer!” he shouted.
Dorothy’s first feeling was one of delight. There were people then in
this place of desolation, and people, to Dorothy, meant civilization
and all that it connotes--including facilities of communication with
the world. She was about to answer the hail when something made her
hesitate. It might be all right, but she was alone. She turned, and,
slipping back to the galley fire, rapidly thrust into it an armful of
wet straw. An exclamation outside, faintly heard, showed that the smoke
had changed accordingly. Twice she repeated the signal with an interval
between; then warned by the thump of feet on the deck overhead, she
thrust in a last armful and hurried toward the companionway.
As she reached its top, the sailors appeared at the door. Dorothy bowed.
“Good morning, gentlemen!” she cried. The men started back with one
accord; their hands flew to their caps and pulled them from their
heads. One seemed too amazed for speech, but the other was somewhat
bolder.
“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” he stammered. “I--we--Bill an’ me hailed,
but--I hopes you’re well, ma’am.”
Dorothy smiled. “Yes! I’m well,” she returned, “and very glad to see
you. Tell me, do you live here?”
“On this ship, ma’am? No, ma’am.”
“Oh, no, I know you don’t live on this ship, for we have just drifted
in on it. I mean here.”
She waved her hand comprehensively.
Bill had recovered somewhat by now. “No, ma’am,” he declared
positively. “Joe and me live in little old New York. But we’ve been
here ten years!”
“Ten years!” Dorothy’s cheeks paled. “Ten years! Oh! can’t you get
away? Don’t tell me you can’t get away!”
“No, ma’am, we can’t get away. We’d go like a shot if we could. You
see, ma’am, nothing but wrecks ever come in here, and there ain’t no
way of getting out.”
“Can’t you build a boat?”
“We might, ma’am, but how could we get it through the weed. Nobody ever
has. Everybody who’s ever come in here is here yet.”
“Everybody! How many are there of you?”
“Twenty-two--not countin’ the women and the child.”
“Women! Are there women here? I’m so glad! Oh! poor creatures! Have
they--But, there! Come up here and sit down. We drifted in here only
yesterday--three of us. The men have gone to explore, but they will be
back soon. While we are waiting for them, you must tell me all about
everything.”
Dorothy led the way aft, reaching the taffrail just in time to see
Howard and Jackson speeding toward her over the wrecks. She waved her
hand at them; assured of their safety she felt more secure.
“There comes the rest of our party,” she explained.
The story told by Bill and Joe over the dinner-table was long and
involved with many interruptions and many repetitions. According to
them, there had always been people living on the assembled wreckage.
The one of their number who had been there longest--for twenty-five
years--knew personally others before him who had been there for as long
again, and declared that these in turn knew of still others who had
been there before them. It seemed very probable that the colony--if
such a name could be applied to it--had existed for centuries.
The people, like the ships, had always come and never gone; once on
the wrecks, they had stayed there till they died. Several of those now
there had been born on the wrecks, and had lived there all their lives.
Fresh wrecks brought them food, water, clothing, and many luxuries, and
if these failed, there were abundant rain, birds’ eggs, and fish to
fall back upon. Mostly sailors, trained to handiness, the castaways
had developed many lines of industry, and, on the whole, lived very
contentedly.
“Some of us is willing to live here always,” said Joe, “an’ some
ain’t--especially at first. But, Lord love ye, they comes round to it
after a while, seein’ they’ve got to.”
The castaways, it seemed, had developed a sort of government, under a
former ship captain named Peter Forbes, whose ascendency rested partly
on the fact that his strength enabled him to overcome everyone who
contested the leadership with him, and partly on his native ability.
Under his rule, stores were collected from the newly arrived ships
and carried, sometimes from miles away, to what may be called the
village--the central point where the castaways lived. A patrol--Joe and
Bill, at present--was maintained, which made regular trips for fifty
miles in each direction, investigating such new wrecks as might come
in. The patrol only went as far as fifty miles in order to pick up any
new arrivals, it being impracticable to transport stores more than a
few miles over the ragged surface of the wreckage, even by swinging
them on an aerial trolley from mast to mast.
Forbes divided up the work, and saw that each individual did his
share. He also acted as a fount of justice, settling disputes in a
rough-and-ready fashion, and, on occasion, dealing out punishments,
more or less severe, for infractions of the rules he had laid down.
Altogether, he seemed such an exceptional sort of man that Howard could
not understand why he had made no effort to escape to shore.
Bill tried to make things clear. “You see, sir,” he explained, “it’s
like this: This here weed stretches out for two hundred miles and more.
We’d first have to build a boat, and then cut our way through it inch
by inch. We couldn’t get grub or water enough in the boat to last us
till we got out. An’ if we did get out, where’d we be? At sea without
a compass or nothin’! We all wanted to try at first, but Forbes, he
explains things to us so plain that we sees how impossible it is. Two
or three times coves have tried to get out, but they allus got stuck
in the weed, an’ mighty glad they was to get back to where there was
plenty to eat and drink.”
Howard nodded. “I see the difficulty,” he conceded. “But have you no
instruments? Of course there are not likely to be many, but I should
think you would have found a few in all these years.”
Joe hesitated. “The cap’n allers looks out for them things,” he
declared at last. “Nobody knows how to use ’em but him.”
“Ah! I see.”
To himself Howard added that it was tolerably evident that Forbes
was not over-anxious to escape; probably he agreed with Cæsar that
he “would rather be first in a little Iberian village than second
in Rome”; and, contented with his little realm and sway, threw his
influence against any attempt of the others to deplete it. Howard felt
that he and Forbes might come to a clash later on.
Dorothy changed the subject by asking about the women. There were two,
it appeared, one old and one young. The older one, of whom the sailors
spoke affectionately as Mother Joyce, was nearly sixty years old; she
and her husband had been on the wrecks for fifteen years. The younger
had been there only two years; she had been a widow, but had married
one Gallegher, Forbes’s right-hand man, some time before. The only
child in the community was hers.
“So you marry here, just as you do elsewhere?” interjected Dorothy,
lightly, at this point. “Who performs the ceremonies?”
Joe hesitated. “Cap’n Forbes used to up to last year,” he answered at
last. “Then Mr. Willoughby floated in on a wreck. He’s a regular gospel
sharp, an’ he’s done it since.”
“Gallegher ain’t pretty,” continued Joe, thoughtfully. “An’ I guess
Mrs. Strother that was wasn’t over-anxious to marry him. But women
is awful skearce here, and they generally gits married right off.”
He paused and looked from Dorothy to Howard. “Your wife, sir?” he
questioned.
Dorothy flushed hotly, but Howard did not seem to notice it.
“No,” he said. “This is Miss Fairfax. I am Lieutenant Howard, of the
navy. This is Mr. Jackson, of the New York police force.”
The men ducked their heads awkwardly. “We did have another lady here,”
remarked Bill, abstractedly. “She was the cap’n’s wife, but she died a
month or two ago. The cap’n is mighty anxious to marry again--mighty
anxious.”
“Ah! indeed.” Howard rose from the table. “Come,” he continued, “let’s
go on deck. I want you to point out something to me!”
As Dorothy led the way, followed by Bill and Joe, Howard turned to
Jackson, who had been listening to the sailors in dazed silence.
“If you want to get away from here, Jackson,” he counselled hurriedly,
“for God’s sake keep quiet about me. If you don’t, Forbes is likely to
keep us here for the rest of our lives. The chances are he will try to
do it anyway.”