A VOYAGE TO BERMUDA.
If Kit had been less at home in the water, there is little doubt that
they would both have found their long rest down among the black columns
of pitch. But besides being a strong swimmer he was well versed in all
the arts of managing a drowning companion. He knew that without his
assistance the purser at least must drown, so he quickly brought his
right hand around, and seizing the struggling man’s nose with a grip
of iron, he bent the purser’s head back till it seemed as if his thick
neck must break. But this had the desired effect, as Kit knew from
experience that it would. Mr. Clark let go his hold to save his neck,
and in an instant Kit had him firmly by the waist.
This was done almost in a second; and when they came to the surface
again, Kit grabbed at the slippery edge of the “mushroom.” His hand
slipped off, but struck against the floating plank, which he had not
seen in the darkness; and that was better still. He guided one of Mr.
Clark’s hands to the plank, and then let go his own hold.
“Now hold fast for a minute, sir,” he said, “and we’ll be all right.”
“I’m g-gone, Silburn!” the purser gasped; “I c-can’t (ah!) swim!”
“You’ll be on shore in a moment, sir, if you hold tight,” Kit answered;
and he scrambled up on the nearest “mushroom” and laid one end of the
plank upon it. But he could not risk the leap to the opposite shore in
the darkness, so he plunged into the water again and swam across and
soon had the other end of the plank in place.
But getting Mr. Clark out was no easy matter, even with the plank made
firm again. Kit climbed out, and walking the plank till he could reach
the purser’s nearest arm, he grasped it firmly and helped him toward
the shore.
“Now get one knee on the plank,” he said, when he had him in the corner
between the plank and the edge of the “mushroom”; and stooping down he
seized the knee that his companion was trying in vain to raise high
enough, and pulled it up.
“Now one grand pull, and we’re all right.” Kit was on the pitch bed
again by this time, with a firm hold under the purser’s arms. He pulled
with all his strength. Mr. Clark got the other knee on the “mushroom,”
and in an instant more he was safe on land, but exhausted with his
efforts, and unable to rise.
Kit quickly turned the purser over on his face and raised his feet
to let any water run out of his mouth that he might have swallowed;
and that was no light undertaking with so heavy a man. Then he turned
him over again, and finding that he was breathing regularly, though
heavily, he began to urge him to rise.
“We must get ashore to dry our clothes,” he said. “It won’t do for you
to lie here in the wet.”
“Oh, I never can walk ashore!” the purser gasped; and putting up his
hand, he added, “I must have struck my face against something down in
that hole; my nose is so sore.”
In spite of the unpleasant surroundings, it was all that Kit could do
to keep from laughing; for he knew what was the matter with that nose.
“No, sir,” he answered; “you had me by the throat, and we were both
drowning, and I had to take you by the nose to make you let go.”
The purser laughed himself at this; and thinking that a good sign, Kit
took hold of him again and half dragged him to his feet. Then he ran
across the plank to get his coat, the only dry garment they had between
them, and with a little more urging Mr. Clark consented to make an
effort to reach the station.
It was almost totally dark now, and they had to feel their way along,
moving very slowly.
“I don’t know what put it into my head to bring you with me to-day,
Silburn,” the purser said when they were near enough to shore to feel
safe. “But it was the best thing I ever did in my life. If it hadn’t
been for you, the catfish would be making a supper of me by this time
in this miserable lake.”
“Oh, you might have taken a different route entirely, if I had not been
with you, sir,” Kit answered. “What we want now is a fire to dry our
clothes by. If we have a little time at the station, we must find one
somewhere, or build one.”
Finding at the station that they had more than an hour to wait for the
return train, and indoor fires being almost unknown in that part of
the world, they went out to the edge of the road and built a little
camp fire with such stray sticks as they could find, and piece by piece
dried their outer clothing, much to the amazement of a crowd of coolies
that soon gathered and stood watching them. And the station agent,
learning what had happened, brought them each a steaming cup of coffee.
By the time they reached the ship and put on dry clothes Mr. Clark was
quite ready to crack jokes over his mishap, though he insisted that but
for Kit he should have been drowned. And Captain Fraser refused to see
any but the funny side of it, and declared that such a roll of fat as
the purser could not possibly have been in danger of drowning.
“I think I shall have to stop going ashore at any of the ports, except
on business,” Kit said, after the accident had been well discussed;
“particularly toward night. In all my voyages I have not had a sign of
an adventure on the water; but as soon as I go ashore, something is
sure to happen. The first night in Marseilles we were imprisoned in
Louis-Philippe’s cell in Monte Cristo’s castle; the second night we
were up in Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde when the elevators broke, and had a
cardinal to entertain us; now here I go ashore for a little ride in the
country, and tumble into the pitch lake.”
“Don’t you worry about adventures on the water, young man,” Captain
Fraser said, almost precisely as Captain Griffith had once answered
him. “All you have to do is to stick to the sea long enough, and your
adventures are sure to come. I shouldn’t be in any hurry for them,
either, if I were you. Sometimes a man comes out on the top side of an
adventure; but more times he’s on the under side, and don’t come out at
all.”
On the homeward voyage, whenever he had a few spare moments, Kit tried
to think out what he ought to do. As soon as his cargo was out he would
make a hurried trip home; that was the first thing. There could not
possibly be a second letter from the New Zealand consul yet, but there
might be a photograph. And if--ah! if the photograph proved to be what
he hoped, he would fly back to New York and take his promised leave of
absence, get Captain Fraser’s and Mr. Clark’s help to find a berth on
some steamer going to Australia, and be off for New Zealand as fast as
possible. And Captain Griffith would help him, too, if the _North
Cape_ had not sailed again. What a lucky fellow he was, he thought,
to have three such friends to help him!
These were all reasonable and natural things for him to think of;
perfectly proper plans for him to make. But when shall we see the happy
time when the best laid plans may not sometimes go wrong?
When the _Trinidad_ neared her pier on the North River, Mr. Clark
was quite excited and very much annoyed to find that one of her sister
ships, the _Orinoco_, was lying on the other side of the slip.
“Now that’s going to upset everything,” he exclaimed.
“Why, what difference does it make, sir,” Kit asked, “whether the
_Orinoco_ is here or not?”
“Difference!” the purser repeated. “A heap of difference to us all, as
you may find. The _Orinoco_ is running on the Bermuda line, and
she ought to be out there now. Something has broken down about her, or
she wouldn’t be lying here. And if that is the case, we will be put in
her place for Bermuda. That means that we shall have to hustle this
cargo out as fast as steam and men can move it, and get another in
equally fast, and be off to sea again before we have time to say Jack
Robinson.”
That was precisely what happened. As soon as the _Trinidad_ was
docked they received orders to prepare for a voyage to Bermuda; and as
they must leave port within three days, Kit saw that he should be busy
every minute, without the slightest chance of going home.
In the hurry of emptying the ship and reloading her in so short a time
he barely had opportunity to write a brief note to Vieve, telling
her of the circumstances and asking her to send him, the moment she
received the letter, a telegram saying whether the photograph or
another letter had arrived from New Zealand. All his plans were of
course upset, but there was nothing for him to do but give himself up
to work and forget, as far as possible, his own affairs.
The way the old cargo was taken out and the new one put in was very
different from the manner of work he had become accustomed to in
European and West Indian ports. The gangs of ’longshoremen, working by
night under electric lights, were relieved every eight or ten hours;
but only the purser and his assistant could attend to the clerical
labor, and there was no relief for them.
The _Trinidad_ was almost ready for sea again, and some of the
Bermuda passengers were already on board, when a blue-coated telegraph
messenger inquired his way to the purser’s office and handed Kit a
telegram. He could not hesitate about opening it, for he had no time
now to hesitate about anything; but he understood perfectly well that
its contents might make a great change in his movements.
CHRISTOPHER SILBURN [the message read], _Assistant Purser_,
S. S. _Trinidad_, New York.
No letter. No photograph. All well.
GENEVIEVE.
Under other circumstances that would have been a disappointment; but
now it was what he hoped for, for with so much extra work he felt that
it would be unfair for him to leave everything to Mr. Clark until the
ship returned from Bermuda.
On the second day out, while sitting at his desk working at the
manifest, Kit leaned his head on one hand and took serious counsel with
himself.
“I have made a good many voyages,” he reflected; “to Sisal, to
Barbadoes, twice across the Atlantic and back, and again to the West
Indies. But I have never--”
He suddenly resolved to finish his reflections in the open air; and for
greater convenience he leaned heavily against the rail.
“What’s the matter, Silburn?” Mr. Clark asked through the open door,
catching a glimpse of his assistant’s white face. “You don’t mean to
say that you’re--”
“Yes, I do, sir!” Kit answered, leaning over the rail again for fresh
thought. “After all my voyages, this little choppy sea has made me just
as sick as a dog!”
“Ah, you’re not the first victim of the Bermuda voyage!” the purser
laughed. “I get sick myself out here sometimes. It’s the Gulf Stream
that does it, my boy. We cross the stream diagonally, and the current
catches us under the starboard quarter and gives us a nasty little
motion, half pitch and half roll, that sends the oldest sailors to the
rail sometimes. Lie down a few minutes, and you’ll feel better.”
“No, sir, I’m not going to give in to it,” Kit replied. “I’ll walk the
deck a little in the air. I don’t see a single passenger on deck.”
“So much the better!” said the purser, with another of his jolly
laughs. “When they’re all sick they can’t be haunting our office to ask
questions. We can do very well without them.”
Kit’s nausea soon wore off under his open-air treatment; and before
many hours he was too much interested in his first look at Bermuda
to think of being sick. Though he had seen many places, this was
entirely different from any of the others. Here were three hundred and
sixty-five little islands (so report said; and that estimate looked
about right) grouped together in mid-ocean, forming a tiny kingdom far
removed from the rest of the world.
After taking a pilot, the _Trinidad_ bore down toward one of the
points of the largest island, which was shaped like a horseshoe, with
a large smooth bay in the hollow. There was a town on the point, which
the ship seemed to be heading for; but when near it she coyly circled
away to follow the shoreline in the opposite direction, almost turning
on her course, entered the horseshoe bay, and steamed for several
hours, still skirting the shore, among tiny islets, nearly grazing
half-hidden rocks, turning and twisting in here, out there, till she
reached a smaller bay making in from the large one, on whose shore was
another and larger town.
“How do you like that for a channel?” Mr. Clark asked. “It is called
the most intricate channel in the world, and I suppose it is. That
first town was St. George’s. We had to go so close to it because the
channel runs that way. This place is Hamilton, the capital. Have you
noticed that most of the people live in white marble houses?”
“Yes, I have been wondering at that,” Kit answered. “They must have
marble quarries here.”
“Most strangers wonder at it when they first see the islands,” the
purser went on. “But they are not all millionaires here, as you
might think. Those walls are made of rough stone, plastered over and
whitewashed; and from the sea they look exactly like marble. There are
more queer things here than you could put in a sea-chest, and it’s a
pity we’ll not have more time. They don’t quarry their stone out, you
know, like other people, but cut it out with saws. It’s soft stuff,
like that building-stone you must have seen in Marseilles, but hardens
when exposed to the air. Now if you want to see a novel way of docking
a ship, just watch.”
On shore was a broad street, with no buildings on the water-side except
a long, low iron shed that was nothing but pillars and roof, with no
walls. A great many colored people waited on the wharf, and a few
whites, and Kit noticed two big round timbers lying near the edge, with
a little pile of planks. The _Trinidad_ was carefully brought to
a stop about thirty feet from the wharf, her further progress being
prevented by a hidden ledge of rocks; and a gang of colored laborers
immediately began to shove out the heavy timbers, with a little help
from the ship’s donkey engine and winches. In a few minutes one end of
each timber rested on the wharf and the other end upon the ship’s deck,
making the skeleton of a substantial bridge. To these large timbers
the men lashed smaller cross-pieces, then laid on the planks for a
flooring, and in about twenty minutes the steamer was connected with
shore by a bridge strong enough for much heavier work than would be
required of it.
There was part of one afternoon, while the _Trinidad_ lay at
Bermuda, that both the purser and his assistant were at liberty; but
that was not long enough for the favorite drive to St. George’s.
“There’s one place that we could go, five or six miles from town,” Mr.
Clark said, “and that’s the Walsingham caves and Tom Moore’s house.”
“Moore’s house!” Kit repeated; “you don’t mean the poet, Thomas Moore,
I suppose.”
“That’s the man,” the purser answered. “He lived here for some time.
It is just a nice drive out to his house, and the caves are very near
it. But as to going out there with _you_, no I thank you! The
caves are very spooky-looking places, dark and slippery; and you admit
yourself that you are a hoodoo on shore. When you go to Monte Cristo’s
castle, you are locked in a cell. When you go to that church on the
hill, the elevators break down. When you go with me to the pitch lake,
I am all but drowned. If I should go to the caves with you, I’d no
doubt be buried alive. I beg to be excused.”
“If that is the only objection,” Kit laughed, “maybe we can make a
compromise. I never cared anything about caves, but I should like
to see the house that Mr. Moore lived in. My collection of foreign
curiosities includes a count and a cardinal so far, you know. I should
like to add a poet.”
After a little bantering, Mr. Clark agreed to go as far as Walsingham,
Mr. Moore’s house, but declared that he would on no account go near the
caves. And it was as well that there were two to divide the expense of
the carriage between, for Bermuda cab fares are “on the American plan,”
not on the cheaper European scale.
They found the poet’s house to be a plain double two-story edifice of
stone, so blackened by time and weather that it looked gloomy in the
extreme; and the yard in front grown up with bushes, a large lake in
the rear studded with black rocks and bordered with dismal drooping
mangrove trees, and the general dilapidation of the place, added to the
sombreness.
Kit was much amused at Mr. Clark’s positive refusal to get out of the
carriage, for fear of something happening. But he got out himself and
went all over the place, and was satisfied that nothing but the most
solemn poetry could ever have been written in so gloomy a place.
“You don’t really mean that you’re afraid of something happening when
you go ashore with me, Mr. Clark, do you?” Kit asked his companion on
the way back to the ship. “You must be joking about that.”
“Not exactly in the way you mean,” the purser answered. “But some
people are always having adventures of one kind or another; it comes
natural to them; and I think you’re one of that sort. It’s all very
well for youngsters like you. But when you come to be my age, or
especially my weight, you’ll find that a trifling adventure may mean
something serious. To slip into a lake means a bad cold, as I know to
my cost; a fall may mean some broken bones. No; adventures are for the
young and spry, not for the old and fat.”
“Well, we have certainly had a safe and quiet trip ashore this time,
sir,” Kit said, with a laugh, as, once more on deck, they reached the
door of their office. “This whole voyage is about as quiet a trip as
any one could ask for.”
At that moment his eye caught sight of a small bluish envelope lying
sealed upon his desk. It was addressed simply to “Silburn, str.
_Trinidad_, Bermuda,” and the printing across the top indicated
that it was a cable message. He hastily tore it open and read:
“Silburn str Trinidad Bermuda Photograph received very encouraging
Genevieve”
There was no punctuation, hardly any divisions between the words; but
its meaning was plain enough.
“Now isn’t that a thoughtful sister of mine!” he exclaimed, handing
the message to Mr. Clark. “She knows that I’ll be in a hurry to set off
if we identify the picture. So she sends me this cable to give me time
to make any arrangements on the way up to New York.”
“This is important news for you, Silburn,” the purser said, after
reading the few words. “It looks very much as if you would find your
father.”
“It is the best news I ever got in my life, sir,” Kit answered. “I
don’t quite understand what my sister means by ‘very encouraging,’ but
I imagine they are still in a little doubt after seeing the picture,
though they think it looks like my father.”
“That is exactly what I anticipated after hearing your story,” the
purser agreed. “You have no idea how hardships and sickness can alter
a man’s appearance in a few months; and from what you tell me, your
father, if this _is_ your father, must have gone through a great
deal. Now what do you propose to do about it?”
“I think I ought to get out there just as soon as possible, sir,”
Kit answered, “if we are all agreed at home that the picture bears a
reasonable resemblance to my father.”
“I can’t advise you against it, Silburn; I can’t advise you against
it,” Mr. Clark said, more seriously than was his custom. “If I were out
there in that fix, I should expect one of my boys to come after me just
as fast as a ship would bring him. I don’t want to lose you for a few
months, but it is your duty to go. You must remember, though, that you
are to come back to me. I will get some one to take your place while
you are gone, but I want you back again when you return.”
On the homeward voyage there were some serious talks in the purser’s
office about how Kit was to be got to New Zealand.
“It just amounts to this,” Captain Fraser said, after the matter had
been well discussed. “If there is any ship going that way that I know
the master of, or the owners of, I can almost certainly arrange it for
you; and if there isn’t, I can’t. You will have to go without pay, you
understand; just for your passage there and back.”
“I will willingly do that, sir,” Kit answered.
“Then I’ll tell you how I think it can be done,” the Captain continued.
“Here’s a steamer, we’ll say, loading for Australia, with a supercargo
at so many dollars a month. Now after seeing the owners or agents and
convincing them that you are a supercargo of experience and understand
your business, and getting their consent, we go to the supercargo and
say, ‘Here’s a seafaring man got a sick father in New Zealand; wants
to go out there and bring him home; willing to make the round voyage
and do your work for the sake of the passage. We have seen your agents
and they are willing. You stay ashore this voyage and draw your pay and
enjoy yourself, and he’ll do your work.’”
“Well, I wonder that I never thought of that before!” Kit exclaimed.
“It’s the very best plan that could be made.”
“I think it can be done, if we can strike the right ship,” the Captain
continued. “You couldn’t very well do it for yourself, you understand;
but what’s the use of having friends if they can’t help you along a
little? It’s a different matter if an old shipmaster like myself goes
to the firm and says, ‘I know this young man. I recommend him.’ And I
take Captain Griffith along, if he is in port, and he says, ‘This man
was trained on my ship; he is a good supercargo; I recommend him.’ And
Clark goes along and says, ‘This man is my assistant purser on the
_Trinidad_; he understands his business and will take care of
your interests; I recommend him.’ You see that makes a pretty strong
backing; and if that isn’t enough, I’ll get the Quebec Steamship
Company to put in a word too. Just you go home after you get your cargo
out and leave me your address, and we’ll attend to the rest for you.”
Kit began to try to thank them both for their good opinion of him; but
seeing what was coming they quickly changed the subject.
The photograph had caused many a tear to be shed in the Silburn cottage
in Huntington, and there was a fresh flood when Kit reached home.
So old the man looked; so wan and worried; so bent and gray! What
sufferings must he not have endured if that was indeed a picture of
Christopher Silburn!
“Take off the beard,” Kit declared, “trim the long hair, straighten the
back, smooth out the wrinkles, and there is father! Of course it is not
a certainty, but I feel reasonably sure of it.”
“So do I!” Vieve echoed.
“I pray you may both be right!” was all that Mrs. Silburn could say.
Two days later a neighbor’s boy ran in to say that Kit was wanted at
the telephone office in a hurry. He ran up the hill to the post-office,
in which was a station of the New York and New England telephone line.
“That you, Silburn?” a familiar voice asked. “Yes, I’m Captain Fraser,
in New York. It’s all arranged for you. You’re to take the supercargo’s
place on the steamer _Brindisi_, sailing for Melbourne next
Thursday. Come in and report to Hayes, Ward, & Burt’s, 82 South Street,
as soon as possible. Got that down? Good luck to you, my boy. Here’s
somebody else wants to speak to you.”
“That you, Kit?” It was the familiar and beloved voice of Captain
Griffith. “It’s all fixed for you. You’ll be over to the _North
Cape_ to say good-by, of course. Remember what I told you long ago
about money.”
Before Kit could answer, a third voice came over the wire.
“Look out for pitch lakes over there!” There was no mistaking the
cheery voice of Mr. Clark. “We’ll be gone before you see us, but never
mind. We’ve done a good day’s work for you to-day, Silburn. A good
voyage to you, and--success!”
There were so many hundred things to be done at home in so few hours!
And that ever-present, ever-troublesome question of money! The hard
saving of the whole family for months had not been for nothing. Kit
was surprised to find how much his mother had saved for this occasion;
and she was equally surprised to learn that he had nearly two hundred
dollars in his pocket. With the joy of the errand and the sorrow of
parting he hardly remembered just what happened when he said good-by.
“Be careful of my little parcel!” Vieve called after him as Silas
cracked his whip and the stage rattled down the road.