WHEREIN THE _KANSAS_ RESUMES HER VOYAGE
The events of the next hour were shadowy as the dawn to Elsie. She knew
that her lover placed men in each of the canoes, that the life-boat
itself was crowded, and that it began the seaward journey after the
others had started. She followed his explanation that if one of the
lighter craft got into difficulties at the Indian barrier, the big,
heavy boat would be able to extricate it. But she feared neither
Indians nor sea. Had Courtenay proposed to sail away into the Pacific
she would have listened with placid approval. She was by his side; that
sufficed. For the rest, they lived in the midst of adventures. What did
it matter if they were called on to run the gauntlet of one more
ambuscade—or a dozen, if it came to that?
But they sped out of the twilight into the morning glory of the open
bay, and never a savage hoot disturbed the echoes. Some of the
Alaculofs had dragged a couple of canoes from beneath the trees and
raced off toward the village; others had followed a coast path known
only to them, while, if there were watchers by the side of that
mysterious river which flowed both ways with the tide, they kept a
silent vigil, awed by the force arrayed against them.
As the life-boat emerged into the estuary under the vigorous sweep of
six ash blades, Elsie’s wondering glance rested on the brown plumpness
of a three-quarters naked girl who was gazing at Suarez with wistful,
glistening eyes, much as Joey was regarding his master. In the intense,
penetrating light of sunrise, the bedaubed and skin-clothed Argentine
was the most unlovely object that ever captivated woman. Yet he
satisfied the soul of this Fuegian maid, so what more was there to be
said?
Courtenay caught the happy little sigh, half laugh, half sob, with
which Elsie announced her discovery of the idyl in the canoe.
“We owe a lot to that young person,” he said. “None of us could make
out a word she uttered when first we saw her. She loses what small
amount of Spanish she can speak when she becomes excited, and it was
sheer good fortune that some of the crew were with her when she swung
herself down the side of the cliff to warn us of our danger; otherwise
she might have been shot. I suppose Suarez told you what to expect?”
“You might as well be talking Alaculof yourself for all I can follow
what you are saying,” murmured Elsie happily.
“Then how did _you_ know where to tie up? _We_ went too far. We lost
the boat that way, and my gun as well. We had to jump for it, and it
was only the boat’s stout timbers which enabled her to live through
that boiling pot in the volcano. The native girl said that no
Indian-built craft ever came back.”
“Excellent!” said Elsie. “When we reach the ship I shall write down
everything you tell me. After a time I shall begin to understand.”
Whereupon, Courtenay took thought, and explained that the channel which
flowed through that amazing cut in the cliff led to the crater of an
extinct volcano, into which the sea poured twenty feet of water each
tide. An almost everlasting maelstrom raged within, as the water
entered by a side-long channel, and sent a whirlpool spinning with the
hands of the clock until the enormous cistern was full, and against
them until it was empty. The sailors had taken refuge on a wide,
sulphur-coated ledge high above the vortex, and the presence of several
skeletons showed that many an unfortunate had sought a last shelter
there against pursuit. Every Alaculof knew of this retreat, but few
dared approach it, as the roar of the water far below appalled them.
There was only one path; when the hunters closed that their prey was
safe. The alternative to capture was death by starvation. The Chileans,
and he himself during the past fourteen hours, had subsisted on a bag
of dried berries stolen by the girl when she first led the sailors
thither.
“Didn’t you see how eager we all were to search the lockers?” he asked.
“But the rascals had cleared every scrap when the boat fell into their
hands again with the falling tide.”
She nestled close to him.
“I saw nothing,” she whispered. “My mind held but one thought—that you
were alive, though, indeed, I was mourning you as dead. But now I am
restored to my senses. I think I can grasp what happened. Did Joey find
you?”
“Yes. You can guess my bewilderment when he sprang on top of me. I was
lying down; I heard our sentries shouting, but paid no heed. As a
matter of fact, Elsie, I, too, had abandoned hope. I could see no
chance of escape. Great Heaven! To think of your coming to my rescue!
What made you do it?”
“Please go on. Tell me all. You shall hear my story afterwards.”
“Well, I jumped up, and Joey nearly fell into the crater with delight.
I was just in time to save Suarez from being shot. Luckily he was a
long way behind the dog, and I recognized his make-up. The guard, who
belonged to the original lot, naturally thought he was an Indian. And
you ought to have seen that blessed girl skipping around when she set
eyes on him. We must give her money enough to fix her up as his wife if
the _Kansas_ gets off.”
“If—”
There was a world of belief in that one word. Could any one doubt the
ultimate hap of that thrice fortunate ship? Had not Mr. Boyle said her
captain was a lucky man? Elsie laughed aloud in her joy, for the queer
notion occurred to her that her grumpy friend would surely have some
remarkable story of the one-legged skipper of the _Flower of the Ocean_
brig, wherewith to point the moral and adorn the tale of the _Kansas_
and her commander.
Though Courtenay did not allow ten seconds to pass without a glance at
the charming face by his side, he, nevertheless, had a sharp eye for
events elsewhere. He saw smoke rising from the funnel of the ship; a
line of flags dancing from the foremast told him that Boyle had
discovered them as soon as they were clear of the deep shadow of
Guanaco Hill. But there were anxious moments yet in store. A fleet of
canoes put off from Otter Creek. There was every prospect of a fight
before they reached their fortress. They had a long two miles to
travel, and the Indians could attack them ere they covered half the
distance.
Gray and Tollemache were sitting together in the fore part of the boat.
When they had met in the cañon they had merely exchanged a hearty grip,
and Gray’s inquiry if his friend was O.K. had elicited the information
that his general state was “Fair.” But the sight of the sparkling bay
had unlocked even the Englishman’s lips, for he was telling his friend
some of the adventures of the previous afternoon, when he viewed the
black dots darting forth from behind Point _Kansas_.
“Here they come again,” he growled. “I never have seen such persistent
rotters. And this time we’re in a fix.”
A long blare from the ship’s siren thrilled their hearts, but the
excitement became frantic when three short, sharp blasts followed, and
every sailor knew that the chief officer had signalled: “My engines are
going full speed astern.”
That was a pardonable exaggeration, but the _Kansas_ was certainly
moving. They could see the white foam churned up by her propeller. With
one accord they cheered madly, and the oars, double-handed now, tore
the life-boat onward at a pace which outstripped even the shallow
canoes.
Then the Indians did a wise thing. They spared many of their own lives,
and, perchance others of greater value to the world, by ceasing to
paddle. The unlooked-for interference of the great vessel was too much
for them. They merely stared and cackled in amaze, while the small
flotilla dashed towards the towering black hull, and Boyle lowered the
gangway in readiness to receive the captain, his bride elect, and a
good half of the passengers and crew.
Courtenay lost not an instant of favoring tide and fine weather. When
Boyle told him that Walker could work the engines under easy steam, he
dashed up to the bridge three steps at a time. With his hand on the
telegraph, he superintended the hoisting on board of the life-boat and
two of the canoes, which he meant to carry away as trophies—be sure
that Elsie’s own special craft was one of them. Meanwhile, Boyle saw to
the safe stowing in the remaining canoes of the wounded Indians in the
fore cabin, and a few furnace bars attached to a rope anchored them in
mid channel, whence their friends could bring them to shore later.
At last, the captain of the _Kansas_ had the supreme satisfaction of
hearing the clang of the electric bell in the engine-room as he put the
telegraph lever successively to “Stand By,” and “Slow Ahead.” Gradually
the ship crept north, gaining way as the engines increased their stroke
and the full body of the ebb tide made its volume felt. Round swung the
_Kansas_ to the west, just as the sun cleared the highest peak of the
unknown mountains. Courtenay had not forgotten his bearings. Although
he had men using the lead constantly, he did not need their help. Once
clear of the reefs which he had seen when the vessel first ran into the
inlet, he made straight for the pillar rock, and rather raised the hair
of the man at the wheel, not to mention most of the people on deck, by
the nearness of his approach to that solitary buoy set in the midst of
a broken sea. How good it was to feel the steady thrust of the pistons,
the long roll of the ship over the swell! And then, when Elsie brought
him his breakfast, and stood by his side as he watched the set of the
tide with unwavering eyes, what a joy that was, to listen to her story
of the night’s wanderings, and to know that, with God’s help, their
Odyssey was nearing its end!
For every sailor is a fatalist, and in the unwritten code of the sea
the law runs that once a ship has undergone her supreme trial she has
the freedom of the great highway for that voyage, though she girdle the
earth ere the dock gates open.
But best of all was it to hear Elsie tell how Dr. Christobal had handed
her a bulky packet, in which she found Courtenay’s words of farewell,
together with those wonderful letters which fate had held back from her
twice already. They were only glowing epistles from the hundreds of
passengers on the _Florida_, but six of them were proposals from
enthusiastic ladies, all well dowered, and eager to give their charms
and their cash to the safe keeping of the man who had saved their
lives. It was with reference to some joking comment by Courtenay on
these missives that his sister wrote to congratulate him on having
escaped matrimony under such conditions. Elsie, brimful of high
spirits, amused herself by teasing him with nice phrases culled from
each of the six.
Long before noon the _Kansas_ cleared White Horse Island. There was a
ticklish hour while Courtenay and Boyle looked for the shoal. When its
long, low sandspit was revealed by the falling tide, the ship took
thought of her agony there, and traversed those treacherous waters with
due reverence. Thenceforth, the run was due south until eight bells,
when, for the second time within a fortnight, the captain set the
course “South-40-East.”
A stiff breeze blowing from the south-west, and heavy clouds rolling up
over the horizon, showed that the land of storms was repenting the
phenomenal frivolity which had let it bask in sunshine for an unbroken
spell of ten days. But the gale which whistled into Good Hope Inlet
that night carried with it no disabled and blood-stained ship. Mr.
Malcolm, who got his diminished squad of stewards in hand as though the
vessel had quitted port that day, served dinner promptly at two bells
in the second dog watch—by which no allusion is intended to an animal
already gorged to repletion—and wore a proper professional air of
annoyance because everybody was late, owing to the interesting fact
that the half-minute fixed dashing light on Evangelistas Island had
just been sighted.
Elsie noted that Count Edouard de Poincilit came with the rest, and sat
beside Isobel. Courtenay put in an appearance later to partake of a
hasty meal. He gave monsieur a black look, but, of course, catching
Elsie’s eye instantly, he meekly sat down and said nothing—nothing,
that is, of an unpleasant nature. All good ladies will recognize such
behavior as one of the points of a man likely to become a model
husband.
Dr. Christobal and Gray were in great form, while Tollemache actually
told a story. When the captain sent Boyle down from the bridge, Elsie
made Tollemache repeat it—a simple yarn, detailing an all-night search
for a Devonshire village, which he could not find because some rotter
had deemed it funny to turn a sign-post the wrong way round.
“Huh, that’s odd,” said Boyle. “Reminds me of a thing that happened to
a friend of mine, skipper of the _Flower of the Ocean_ brig. Brown his
name was, an’ he had a wooden leg. The day his son an’ heir was born,
he dropped into a gin-mill to celebrate, an’ his stump stuck in a rope
mat. He swore a bit, but he chanced to see on one of the half doors the
name ‘Nosmo,’ an’, on the other, ‘King.’ ‘Dash me,’ says he, ‘them’s
two fine names for the kid—Nosmo King Brown’—a bit of all right, eh? So
he goes home an’ tells the missus. After the christenin’, he took a pal
or two round to the same bar to stand treat. That time the two halves
of the door were closed, an’ any ass could see that the letters stood
for ‘No Smoking.’ Well, the other fellows told me his language was so
sultry that his prop caught fire.”
So all was well with the _Kansas_.
Crawling quietly into the Straits of Magellan at daybreak, the ship put
forth her best efforts in the run through the narrows. Passing Cape San
Isidro, she signalled her name, and it was easy to see the commotion
created by her appearance. The real furore began when she approached
Sandy Point. A steam launch puffed off hastily from the side of a
Chilean warship, and the commander brought the news that he had been
sent specially from Coronel to search the western coast line thoroughly
for the _Kansas_. He was about to return that day, to report his
failure to discover any trace of the missing vessel, and he listened in
amaze while Christobal gave him a succinct history of the ship’s
doings. At the end, Courtenay presented him with a photograph of
Elsie’s chart, to which many additions had been made by her under her
lover’s directions. The position of the shoal, and of Pillar Rock,
together with the set of the tidal current, were clearly shown, and it
is probable that Good Hope Inlet, notwithstanding its dangerous
approach, will be thoroughly surveyed one of these days. Then, perhaps,
more may be heard of those lumps of silver and copper ore which the
savages hurled at the _Kansas_.
The cruiser hurried away, under forced draft, to report from Coronel,
the nearest cable-station. Thence she would go to Valparaiso, so she
carried a sheaf of letters, and one passenger, Frascuelo. Finding that
he could not execute the needed repairs at Sandy Point, Courtenay
decided to make for Montevideo, where he would be in telegraphic
communication with Mr. Baring. He was fortunate in finding a
shipwrecked crew on shore, awaiting transport to England. He secured a
full complement of officers and engineers, and the _Kansas_ reached the
chief port of Uruguay without any difficulty.
A sack-load of telegrams awaited the ship. The Chilean man-of-war put
into Valparaiso, after calling at Coronel, nearly three days before the
_Kansas_ dropped anchor on the east coast. Hence, there was time for
things to happen, and they seized the opportunity. The copper market
had turned itself inside out; the firm of Baring, Thompson, Miguel &
Co. had rebounded from comparative ruin to a stronger financial state
than ever, and Señor Pedro Ventana, after shooting a man named José
Anacleto, had considerately shot himself. Evidently, Frascuelo lost no
time when he went ashore; Mr. Baring, too, reported that the dynamite
wrapper had been traced to Ventana’s possession.
When Isobel Baring heard this final item she fainted so badly that Dr.
Christobal thought it advisable she should be taken to a hotel while
the ship remained in port. But she vetoed this proposal determinedly
when she recovered her senses, and straightway confessed to Elsie that
Ventana was her husband. She had foolishly agreed to marry him
privately, and Anacleto had witnessed the ceremony. Within a month, she
regretted her choice; there were quarrels, and threats; ultimately, an
agreement was made that they should separate. Her father knew and
approved of the arrangement. He could not afford to break openly with
Ventana, and it must have been a dreadful shock to him when he learned
that the scoundrel had plotted not only to destroy the ship but to
murder his wife at the same time.
“So you see,” she added with a wan smile, “I did not give serious
thought to your troubles, Elsie. Ventana could never have married you
while I was alive.”
Elsie’s cheeks reddened.
“I never told you he asked me to marry him,” she said. “It would have
been just the same had he done so. As it was, I feared the man. Now you
know why I ran away from Chile. If I permitted another impression to
prevail, I acted for the best. But the unhappy man is dead; let us
endeavor to forget him.”
“His memory haunts me with an enduring curse,” cried Isobel, bitterly.
“Among my papers I had some letters of his, the marriage certificate,
and his written promise not to molest me. On that awful night when the
ship was disabled, I went to my cabin and secured them, or thought I
did. At any rate, I could not find them when we landed on White Horse
Island, and, from hints dropped by that wretched little adventurer, de
Poincilit, I feel sure they have fallen into his hands. Believe me,
Elsie, I was half mad when I helped him to steal the boat.”
“Steal the boat! What boat?”
“Has not Captain Courtenay told you?”
“Not a word.”
“Ah, he is a true gentleman. But you forget. You heard what he said to
de Poincilit before he went to the Guanaco cañon?”
“Yes; I did not understand. Oh, my poor Isobel, how you must have
suffered, while I have been so happy.”
“If only I could recover my papers—”
“May I ask Arthur to help?”
“He knows the worst of me already. One more shameful disclosure cannot
add to my degradation.”
“Isobel, how little you know him!” Thus spoke Elsie, after fourteen
days. Truly there is much enlightenment in a hug!
Monsieur le Comte Edouard de Poincilit, to his intense chagrin, found
that a ship’s captain has far-reaching powers when he chooses to exert
them. Rather than enter a Montevidean jail, where people have died
suddenly of nasty fevers, he not only restored the missing documents
but submitted to a close scrutiny of his own belongings, which resulted
in the pleasing discovery that he was not a French count, but a denizen
of Martinique—most probably a defaulting valet or clerk. No one
troubled to inquire further about him. His passage money was refunded
and he was bundled ashore. Courtenay’s view was that he had heard, by
some means, of Isobel’s intended departure from Valparaiso, and deemed
it a good chance of winning her approval of his countship, seeing that
such titles are not subjected to serious investigation in South
America. Suarez took his Fuegian bride up country, where Mr. Baring and
Dr. Christobal established them on a small ranch.
Isobel renewed her voyage somewhat chastened in spirit. But her
volatile nature soon survived the shocks it had received. By the time
the _Kansas_ put her ashore at Tilbury, to be clasped in the arms of a
timid and tearful aunt, she was ready as ever for the campaign of glory
she had mapped out in London and Paris.
And she was a success, too. Her father’s victory over the copper ring,
her own adventures, which lost nothing in the telling, and her
vivacious self-confidence, carried her into society with a whirl.
Recently, her engagement to an impecunious peer was announced.
* * * * * *
Captain Courtenay, R.N., and his wife are not such distinguished
personages, but their romance had a sequel worthy of its unusual
beginning. They were married quietly a week after the _Kansas_ reached
London. There was some war scare in full blast at the moment, and a
Lord of the Admiralty who deigned to read the newspapers thought it was
a pity that a smart sailor should not risk his life for his country
rather than in behalf of base commerce. So he looked up Courtenay’s
record, and found that it was excellent, the young lieutenant’s reason
for resigning his commission being the necessity of supporting his
mother when her estate was swept away by a bank failure. The Sea Lords
made him a first-rate offer of reinstatement in the service, at a
higher rank, without any loss of seniority, and they went about the
business with such dignified leisure that Dr. Christobal had time to
find out, through men whom he could trust, that Elsie’s small estate in
Chile contained one of the richest mines in the country. He secured a
bid of many thousands of pounds for it, and advised Mrs. Courtenay to
accept half in cash and half in shares of the exploiting company.
Hence, there was no need for Courtenay to decline a new career in the
magnificent service which Mr. Boyle once sniffed at, and Elsie became a
prominent figure in that very select circle which clusters around the
ports mostly favored by his Majesty’s ships.
It was not unreasonable that Gray should go back to Chile to take
charge of Elsie’s mine, nor that Mr. Boyle should become captain and
Walker chief engineer, of the _Kansas_, but there was one wholly
unexpected development which fairly took Elsie’s breath away when she
heard of it.
She was with her husband in London. While passing the National Gallery
one day, she remembered the picture by Claude which deals with the
embarkation of Saint Ursula and her Eleven Thousand Virgins. A painter
herself, Elsie had an artist’s appreciation of the vanity which led
Turner to bequeath his finest canvasses to the nation with the proviso
that they should be placed cheek by jowl with those of his great rival,
the Lorrainer. So a fat fox-terrier was given in charge of a catalogue
seller, and they passed up the steps.
It was a students’ day, and the galleries were crowded with embryonic
geniuses. Courtenay waxed sarcastic anent the rig of Claude’s ships; he
was laughing at the careless grace with which several of the Baozan
maidens were standing in a boat just putting off from a wharf, when a
lady cried sharply:
“George, how careless of you! You are sitting on my mahl-stick.”
“Sorry, my dear,” said a tall thin man, rising from a camp-stool.
“Good gracious, it’s Mr. Tollemache,” whispered Elsie.
“Gad, so it is. Let’s hail him.”
Tollemache’s solemn face brightened when he heard the hail. He
introduced his wife, an eminently artistic being who answered to the
name of Jennie. She at once enlisted Elsie in an argument as to
atmospheres, but Tollemache drew Courtenay aside.
“Got married when I reached home that trip,” he explained. “The wife
comes here every Thursday, an’ I have to carry the kit. Rather rot,
isn’t it?”
“It is certainly a change from stoking the donkey-boiler, and bowling
over Alaculofs like nine-pins.”
“That’s what I tell her, but she says the Indians were Boeotian, and
the landscape, as I describe it, had the crude coloring of the Newlyn
school, which she abominates. She thinks Turner might approve of Suarez
in his black and white stripes, but the Guanaco crater reminds her of
Gustave Doré, who always exaggerated his tone values. I learn that sort
of gabble by heart. Jennie’s a good sort, yet sometimes she talks rot—”
“George,” said Mrs. Tollemache, “pack up my portfolio. We are going to
lunch with your friends. Mrs. Courtenay and I have so much to talk
about. We find we think alike on many points. I am delighted to have
met your wife, Captain Courtenay. My husband raves about her.”
“So do I, ma’am,” cried Courtenay, gallantly, yet with a subtle glance
at Elsie which told her he meant what he said.
THE END