THE "ENCHANTRESS"
On reaching the steamer's deck, Evelyn glanced with curiosity at her
rescuer. He was a tall, lightly built man, dressed in an old blue shirt,
paint-stained duck trousers, and ragged canvas shoes, but he had an easy
manner that was not in harmony with his rough clothes. Evelyn liked his
brown face. It had a hint of force in it; though now he was watching her
with a half-amused smile. He fell short of being handsome, but, on the
whole, his appearance made a good impression on the girl.
Then she looked about the vessel. The deck, finely laid with narrow
planks, was littered with odd spars, rusty chain, coal bags, and pieces
of greasy machinery, as if repairs and refitting were going on. She was
a very small, two-masted steamer, carrying some sail, for smoke-grimed
canvas was furled along the booms, and Evelyn thought she had been built
for a yacht. Her narrow beam, her graceful sweep of teakwood rail, and
the long, tapering counter suggested speed. A low, lead-gray funnel
stood just forward of the mainmast, and a teak house, rising three or
four feet above the deck, occupied part of her length. The brass boss of
the steering wheel bore the name _Enchantress_. The after end of the
house, however, was built of iron, with raised lights in the top, and
the hammering and the pointed remarks that came up indicated that
somebody below was grappling with refractory metal. After one
exclamation, Evelyn's companion walked to the skylights.
"Mack," he said in a warning tone, "there's a lady on board."
"One o' they half-dressed hussies from the hotel? Man, I thought ye had
mair taste," a hoarse voice replied.
Evelyn was glad that her boating costume was not in the extreme of
fashion, for sleeves and skirts were severely curtailed then, but she
waited with some amusement.
"Come up and don't talk!" said the man who had brought her on board.
"Here's a job for you."
"That's one thing I'll never die for the want of," the voice below went
on. "I've got jobs enough already, and no help wi' them. Ye cannot make
a mechanic out o' a dago muleteer, and the gangrel son o' a rich
American is no' much better. They're wrecking the bonny mill and when I
had them strike at a bit forging the weariful deevils smashed my finger.
I telt them----"
"It won't stand for repeating. Let up; you've the voice of a bull,"
somebody broke in. "Grahame's waiting with a lady. Can't you get a move
on?"
"What's the lady wanting--is it her watch mending?" the Scot asked with
a hint of eagerness. A passion for tampering with the works of watches
not infrequently characterizes the marine engineer.
"Come and see!" called Evelyn's companion; and a few moments later the
mechanic appeared.
He was big, rather gaunt, and very dirty; but he carried himself well,
and had obviously just put on a smart blue jacket with brass buttons
that bore the crest of an English mail line. Evelyn thought his age was
between forty and fifty, but his eyes had a humorous twinkle and his air
was rakish. Behind him came a much younger man in greasy overalls.
The engineer bowed to Evelyn with some grace.
"Ye'll be Miss Cliffe; I ken ye by sight," he said. "They telt me who ye
were in the bar at the hotel."
"Do they talk about me in such places?" Evelyn asked with a touch of
haughtiness.
"What would ye expect? When ye're born good-looking, ye must take the
consequences. But, as Grahame has nae manners, I'll present
myself--Andrew Macallister, extra chief's ticket, and noo, through
speaking my mind to a director, engineer o' this barge." He indicated
his greasy companion. "Mr. Walthew, who, though ye might not think it by
his look, was taught at Harvard. If my temper stands the strain, I may
make a useful greaser o' him yet. The other ye nae doot ken."
"No," said Evelyn, half amused. "He kindly came to my help when I was in
trouble with my boat."
"Then he's skipper. They call him Grahame, and it's a good Scottish
name. But I was hoping ye had maybe some difficulty with your watch."
"Why did you hope so?" Evelyn asked, laughing.
"On no account let him have it," Walthew interposed. "He brought back
the last watch a confiding visitor left him with the gold case badly
crushed. 'I had to screw her in the vice, but a bit rub with a file will
smooth her off,' he told the owner."
"He was a fastidious beast o' a Custom House grafter," Macallister
explained. "But if it's no' a watch, what way can I serve ye?"
Grahame took him to the sloop and showed him the gaff, and a few minutes
later he came back with the bent jaws.
"It's no' a bad piece o' work; your people have an eye for design, but
they make things too light," he said. "Noo I'll cut ye a new grip out o'
solid brass, but it will take an hour."
"I suppose I must wait; there's no other way of getting back," Evelyn
answered dubiously.
Macallister went below, and Grahame put a deck chair for Evelyn under
the awning in the stern, where he sat down on a coil of rope, while
Walthew leaned against the rail near by. The girl felt interested in
them all. She had heard that Walthew had been to Harvard, and his
appearance suggested that he belonged to her own world. If so, what was
he doing in the _Enchantress's_ engine room? Then, Macallister's random
talk had some piquancy. His manners were not polished, but they were
good in their way.
"The steamer is yours, I suppose?" she remarked.
"Yes," said Grahame. "We bought her cheap, and are getting her ready for
sea. As I dare say you have noticed, she needs refitting."
"But wouldn't that have been easier at New Orleans or Galveston?"
"Perhaps, if we were able to hire professional assistance, but we have
to do the work ourselves, and this place is quiet, and clean for
painting."
"Aren't you painting her an unusual color? White would have been
prettier than this dingy gray."
"White's conspicuous," Walthew answered, and Evelyn noticed Grahame's
warning glance. "A neutral tint stands better, and doesn't show the
dirt. You see, we have to think of our pockets."
"Then it isn't to be a pleasure trip. Where are you going?"
"Up the Gulf Stream. To Cuba first, and then south and west; wherever
there's a chance of trade."
"But the boat is very small. What do you think of trading in?"
"Anything that comes along," Walthew answered with a thoughtful air. "We
might catch turtles, for example."
"One understands that turtles are now farmed for the market."
"It would be cheaper to catch them. We might get mahogany."
"But mahogany logs are big. You couldn't carry many."
"We could tow them in a raft. Then the English and American tourists who
come out in the mail boats might charter us for trips."
"I'm afraid you'd find them exacting. They'd expect nice berths and a
good table. Do you carry a good cook?"
Grahame chuckled and Walthew grinned.
"Modesty prevents my answering, because my partners leave me to put up
the hash. I'll admit it might be better; but our passengers wouldn't
find that out until we got them away at sea."
Evelyn was frankly amused. She could not imagine his cooking very well,
but she liked his humorous candor.
"Your plans seem rather vague," she said.
"They are, but one doesn't want a cut and dried program for a cruise
about the Spanish Main. One takes what comes along; in the old days it
used to be rich plate ships and windfalls of that kind, and I guess
there's still something to be picked up when you get off the liners'
track. One expects to find adventures on the seas that Drake and
Frobisher sailed."
Evelyn mused. She was shrewd enough to perceive that the men were hiding
something, and they roused her curiosity, but she thought Walthew was
right. Romance was not dead, and the Spanish Main was a name to conjure
with. It brought one visions of desolate keys where treasure was hidden,
the rush of the lukewarm Gulf Stream over coral reefs, of palm-fringed
inlets up which the pinnaces had crept to cut out Spanish galleons, and
of old white cities that the buccaneers had sacked. Tragic and heroic
memories haunted that blue sea, and although luxurious mail boats plowed
it now, the passions of the old desperados still burned in the hearts of
men.
Walthew was smooth-faced, somewhat ingenuous, and marked by boyish
humor, but Evelyn had noticed his athletic form, and thought he could be
determined. He was no doubt proficient in sports that demanded strength
and nerve. For all that, it was Grahame and his hawk-like look that her
thoughts dwelt most upon, for something about him suggested that he had
already found the adventures his comrade was seeking. He was a soldier
of fortune, who had taken wounds and perhaps still bore their scars. She
remembered the cool judgment he had shown when he came to her rescue.
Walthew disturbed her reflections.
"It will be some time before Andrew fixes your gaff, and there's no use
in trying to hurry him," he said. "He's an artist in metal, and never
lets up until he's satisfied with a job. So, as you must wait and we
have a kettle on the forge below, I can offer you some tea and I'd like
your opinion of the biscuit I've been baking for supper."
Evelyn felt doubtful. She was spending the afternoon in a way her mother
would certainly not approve of, but she could not get ashore until the
gaff was mended. Besides, it was pleasant to sit under the awning with
the fresh sea breeze on her face and listen to the splash of the combers
on the bows. Then she was interested in her companions. They were
different from the rather vapid loungers she would have been talking to
had she stayed at the hotel.
She let Walthew go and then turned to Grahame.
"Have you known your partner long?" she asked.
"No; I met him for the first time in New Orleans a few months ago."
"I asked because he's a type that I'm well acquainted with," Evelyn
explained.
"And you would not have expected to find him cooking and cleaning
engines on a boat like this?"
"No; they're rather unusual occupations for a conventionally brought up
young American."
Grahame smiled.
"I understand that Walthew might have enjoyed all the comforts your
civilization has to offer, but he preferred the sea. Perhaps I'm
prejudiced, but I don't blame him. There's a charm in freedom and the
wide horizon."
"Yes," she agreed thoughtfully, looking across the blue water; "I
suppose that's true. If a man has the courage to break away, he can
follow his bent. It's different with women. We're securely fenced in;
our corral walls are high."
"They keep trouble out. Hardship and danger aren't pleasant things, and
after a time the romance of the free-lance's life wears off. One
sometimes looks longingly at the sheltered nooks that men with settled
habits occupy."
"And yet you follow your star!"
"Star's too idealistic; my bent is better. What's born in one must have
its way. This is perhaps most convenient when it's an inherited genius
for making money."
"It's useful to oneself and others," Evelyn agreed. "But do these
talents run in the blood?"
"It seems so," Grahame answered, and was quiet for a time, languidly
watching the girl and wondering how far his statement was true.
It might be argued that the strongest family strains must be weakened by
marriage, and their salient characteristics disappear in a few
generations, but he felt strangely akin to the mosstroopers of his name
who scourged the Scottish Border long ago. Their restlessness and lust
of adventure were his. This, however, was not a matter of much
consequence. Chance had thrown him into the company of a pretty and
intelligent girl, and he must try to entertain her.
"You're fond of the sea and adventurous, or you wouldn't have driven
that little sloop so far out under full sail," he said.
"Oh," she admitted, smiling, "that was partly because I wanted to show
my skill and was ashamed to turn back when the breeze freshened."
Grahame laughed. He liked her frankness.
"After all," he said, "it's a feeling that drives a good many of us on.
A weakness, perhaps, but it may be better than excessive caution."
"A matter of opinion. Of course, if you determine never to do anything
foolish, you're apt to do nothing at all. But I'm afraid I can't throw
much light upon these subjects.... Here comes our tea."
It was drinkable, but Evelyn thought the biscuit could undoubtedly have
been better. For all that, she enjoyed the meal, and when it was over
Macallister appeared with the mended gaff.
"I'm thinking yon will never bend or jamb," he said, indicating the
beautifully finished pieces of brass-work.
Evelyn thanked him, and soon afterward Grahame helped her into the boat
and hoisted the reefed sail. The wind was still fresh, but the sloop ran
shoreward safely, with the sparkling seas ranging up on her quarter, and
Grahame admired the grace of the neat, blue-clad figure at the helm. The
rushing breeze and the flying spray had brought a fine color into the
girl's face and a brightness to her eyes.
As they neared the beach, a gasolene launch came plunging out to meet
them, and Evelyn laughed as she turned to Grahame.
"I've been missed at last," she said. "That's my father coming to look
for me."
The launch swung round close alongside and Grahame recognized that he
was being subjected to a keen scrutiny by a man on board. The broken
water, however, made explanations impossible, and the launch followed
the sloop to the inlet, where Evelyn neatly brought the craft up to the
landing. On getting ashore, she spoke to Cliffe, and he thanked Grahame
and invited him to the hotel. Grahame politely declined, but agreed to
borrow the launch to take him on board.
As he was leaving, Evelyn held out her hand.
"It was fortunate that my difficulties began when I was near your boat,
and I don't altogether regret them. I have spent a pleasant afternoon,"
she said.
Grahame bowed and turned away; but somewhat to his surprise, he found
his thoughts return to his guest as the launch carried him back to the
steamer. The girl was cultured and intelligent, perhaps a little
romantic, and unspoiled by luxury; but this was nothing to him. There
were times when he felt lonely and outcast from his kind, for until he
met Walthew his comrades had generally been rough and broken men. Some
years ago he had been a favorite with well-bred women; but he never met
them on terms of friendship now. He was poor, and would no doubt remain
so, since he had not the gift of making money; but an untrammeled,
wandering life had its advantages.
With a smile at his brief relapse into sentiment, he resolved to forget
Miss Cliffe; but he found it strangely difficult to occupy his mind with
calculations about stores for the coming voyage.
Evelyn related her adventure to her mother, who listened with strong
disapproval. Mrs. Cliffe was a thin, keen-eyed woman, with social
ambitions and some skill in realizing them.
"If you hadn't been so rash as to go out alone, this wouldn't have
happened," she remarked. "You must really be more careful."
"I couldn't prevent the gaff's jambing," Evelyn replied.
"That is not what I meant. After all, nobody in the hotel knows much
about the matter, and there is, of course, no need to do more than bow
to the men if you meet them at the landing, though it would be better to
avoid this, if possible. A small favor of the kind they did you does not
justify their claiming your acquaintance."
"Father wanted to bring one of them here."
"Your father is a man of business, and has very little discretion in
social matters," Mrs. Cliffe replied. "If Reggie cannot go with you,
take the hotel boatman when you next go sailing."
Evelyn did not answer, but she disagreed with the views her mother had
expressed, and she resolved to leave Reggie ashore. For one thing, he
was not of much use in a boat. Yet it was curious that she had once been
pleased to take him out.