MARTIAL'S MISADVENTURE
There was not a breath of wind, and the night was soft and warm, when
Nasmyth lay stretched upon the _Tillicum's_ deck, with his shoulder
against the saloon skylights and a pipe in his hand. The little
steamer lay with her anchor down under a long forest-shadowed point,
behind which a half-moon hung close above the great black pines. Some
distance astern of her, a schooner lay waiting for a wind with the
loose folds of her big mainsail flapping black athwart the silvery
light, and her blinking anchor-light flung a faint track of brightness
across the sliding tide. There was only the soft lap of the water
along the steamer's side and the splash of the little swell upon the
beach to break the stillness, for the sea was smooth as oil.
The _Tillicum_ would not have compared favourably with an English
steam-yacht. She had been built for the useful purpose of towing
saw-logs, and was sold cheap when, as the mill she kept supplied grew
larger, she proved too small for it. Acton, however, was by no means a
fastidious person, and when he had fitted her with a little saloon,
and made a few primitive alterations below, he said she was quite good
enough for him. For that matter, anyone fond of it might navigate the
land-locked waters of Puget Sound and the Straits of Georgia in an
open whaleboat with satisfaction in summer-time. There are islands
everywhere, wonderful rock-walled inlets that one can sail into,
beaches to which the primeval forest comes rolling down, and always
above the blue waters tower tremendous ramparts of never-melting
snow.
On the evening in question, Acton was not on board. He had taken his
wife and guests ashore that morning for an excursion to a certain
river where there was excellent trout-fishing, and, as a hotel had
lately been built for the convenience of sportsmen visitors, it was
uncertain whether they would return that night. Nasmyth had not made
one of the party because there was scarcely room for everybody in the
gig, and six miles, which was the distance to the river mouth, was
rather far to row in the dinghy. Another guest called Martial also had
been left behind, and afterwards had been rowed ashore to visit a
ranching property somewhere in the neighbourhood. He was the man who
had followed Miss Hamilton out on to the veranda one night, and
Nasmyth, who did not like him, understood that he was connected with a
big land exploitation agency.
Nasmyth felt more or less contented with everything, as he lay upon
the _Tillicum's_ deck listening to the faint murmur of the swell upon
the boulder beach. He had made certain propositions to the Crown lands
authorities, which he believed they would look into, and while he
waited he found the customs and luxuries of civilization pleasant. He
found the society of Violet Hamilton more pleasant still, and the
demeanour of the man, Martial, was almost the only thing that ruffled
him. Martial had constituted himself Miss Hamilton's special
attendant, and though Nasmyth fancied Mrs. Acton connived at this, it
was by no means as evident that the girl was pleased with it. Indeed,
he surmised that she liked the man as little as he did. Martial was
brusque in mariner, and, though that is not usually resented in
British Columbia, he now and then went even further than is considered
permissible in that country, and he had gained the sincere dislike of
the red-haired George, who acted as the _Tillicum's_ deck-hand, cook,
and skipper.
George sat upon the skylights sucking at his pipe, and it presently
became evident that his thoughts and Nasmyth's were very much alike.
There was nobody else on board, for the man who fired and drove the
engines was ashore.
"I guess you can catch trout?" the skipper remarked.
"Oh yes," answered Nasmyth indifferently. "As a matter of fact, I've
had to, when there was very little else to eat."
George, who was big and lank, and truculent in appearance, nodded.
"Juss so!" he rejoined. "You've been up against it in the Bush.
Anybody could figure on that by the look of you and the way you use
your hands. A city man takes holds of things as if they were going to
hurt him. That's kind of why I froze on to you."
Nasmyth took this as a compliment, and smiled his acknowledgment, for
George was a privileged person, and most of his recent companions held
democratic views. He, however, said nothing, and George went on
again.
"Mrs. Acton's a mighty smart woman, but she plays some fool tricks,"
he commented. "Where's the blame use in taking a boatload of folks
after trout when none of them but the boss knows how to fish?" Then he
chuckled. "You'd have gone with the rest this morning if she wanted
you to. Guess the gig would have carried another one quite nicely."
Nasmyth fancied that this was possible, though he naturally would not
admit it to his companion. The fact that his hostess had somewhat
cleverly contrived to leave him behind had its significance, since it
seemed to indicate that she recognized that Miss Hamilton regarded him
with a certain amount of favour.
"Well," said George reflectively, "the boss is quite smart, too! Mrs.
Acton crowded you out of the gig. The boss says nothing, but he knocks
off that blame Martial. That makes the thing even, and, unless he
does it, none of them gets any fish. Now, it kind of seems to me that
for a girl like Miss Hamilton to look at a man like Martial is a
throwing of herself away. I guess it strikes you like that, too?"
This was rather too pointed a question for Nasmyth to answer, but, so
far as it went, he could readily have agreed with the skipper. As a
matter of fact it suggested the query why he should object to Miss
Hamilton throwing herself away.
"Well," he observed, "I'm not quite sure that it's any concern of
mine."
George's grin was expressive of good-natured toleration. "Oh!" he
replied, "I guess that's plain enough for me. You're not going to talk
about the boss's friends. Still, one man's as good as another in this
country, and, if I wasn't way better than Martial, I'd drown myself.
That's the kind of pernicious insect a decent man has no use for.
What's he come on board for with three bags ram full of clothes, when
many a better man humps his outfit up and down the Bush in an old
blanket same as you have done? It's a sure thing that no man with a
conscience wants to get into the land agency business. It's an
institution for selling greensuckers ranching land that's rock and
gravel and virgin forest. Besides, I heard the blame insect telling
Miss Hamilton that nobody not raised in the hog-pen could drink my
coffee."
It seemed to Nasmyth that there was a little reason in the skipper's
observations, though he thought that Martial's strictures upon the
coffee accounted for most of them.
"I guess it might have been wiser if Martial had kept on good terms
with the skipper," he laughingly rejoined.
George chuckled softly. "Well," he declared, "when anyone up and says
my coffee's only fit for the hog-pen, I'm going to get even with him.
I kind of feel I have to. It's up to me."
He said nothing further for some little time, and Nasmyth, who fancied
that he would sooner or later carry out his amiable intentions, lay
prone upon the deck smoking placidly. Nasmyth was one who adapted
himself to his environment with readiness, and on board the _Tillicum_
the environment was particularly comfortable. Through Acton's
hospitality, he was brought into contact with the luxuries of
civilization without the galling restraints. Miss Hamilton had been
gracious to him of late. That was a cause for satisfaction in itself.
The days when he swung the heavy axe, or, drenched with icy water,
stood gripping the drill had slipped far away behind him. For the
time, at least, he could bask in the sunshine with ears stopped
against the shrill trumpet-call to action that he had heard in the
crash of rent trees and the turmoil of the wild flood.
A faint cry came from the shore out of the stillness of the woods, and
George listened carefully.
"That can't be the boss. Guess he's stopping at the hotel," he said.
"It's quite likely it's that blame insect Martial coming back. Those
ranchers he has been trying to freeze off their holding have no use
for him."
The cry rose again, a trifle louder, and George nodded complacently.
"Oh, yes," he exulted, "it's Martial sure! We'll let him howl. Any
way, he can walk down the beach until he's abreast of us. When anybody
expects me to hear him, he has got to come within half a mile."
It seemed to Nasmyth that Martial would not have a pleasant walk in
the dark, for most of the beach lay in the black shadow of the pines,
and beneath highwater mark was covered with the roughest kind of
boulders. Above the tide-line, a ragged mass of driftwood interspersed
with undergrowth separated the water from the tangled Bush. Both
George and Nasmyth were aware that one could readily tear one's
clothes to pieces in an attempt to struggle through such a labyrinth.
Judging by the shouts he uttered at intervals, Martial appeared to be
floundering along the beach, and presently Nasmyth laughed.
"He appears to be getting angry," he said. "After all, it's only
natural that he doesn't want to sleep in the woods all night."
George filled his pipe, apparently with quiet satisfaction, but, some
time later, he stood up suddenly with an exclamation.
"The blame contrary insect means swimming off," he announced.
Nasmyth, glancing shorewards, saw a dim white object crawling on
all-fours towards the water where the moonlight streamed down upon a
jutting point, and it was then that the idea which had results that
neither of them anticipated first dawned on the skipper, who broke
into a hoarse chuckle.
"I guess he wouldn't want Miss Hamilton to see him like that," he
said. "Some folks look considerably smarter with their clothes on."
"How's she going to see him when she isn't here?"
George grinned again. "Her dresses are, so's her hat and her little
mandolin. If you were pulled in tight you'd have quite a figure."
It was clear to Nasmyth that the scheme was workable, though he was
quite aware that the thing he was expected to do was a trifle
discreditable. Still, he had lived for some time in the Bush, where
his comrades' jests were not particularly delicate, and Martial once
or twice had been aggressively unpleasant to him. What was more to the
purpose, he felt reasonably sure that Miss Hamilton would be by no
means sorry to be free of Martial, and it was probable that their
victim would never relate his discomfiture, if their scheme
succeeded.
As the result of these reflections he went down with George to the
little saloon. The skipper, who left him there a few minutes, came
hack with an armful of feminine apparel. They had no great difficulty
in tying on the big hat with the veil, but when Nasmyth had stripped
his jacket off there was some trouble over the next proceeding.
Indeed, Derrick did not feel quite comfortable about appropriating
Miss Hamilton's garments, but he had committed himself, and it was
quite clear that his companion would not appreciate his reasons for
drawing back.
"Hold your breath while I get this blame hook in," said the skipper.
Nasmyth did so; but he could not continue to hold it indefinitely, and
in a few moments there was a suggestive crack, and George desisted in
evident dismay.
"Come adrift from the stiffening quite a strip of it," he said. "Well,
I guess I can somehow fix the thing up so as nobody will notice it. It
should be easier than putting a new cloth in a topsail, and I've a
mending outfit in the locker."
Nasmyth was by no means sure of George's ability to make the damage
good, but he permitted the skipper to tie on the loose skirt, and then
to hang the beribboned mandolin round his neck. When this was done
George surveyed him with a grin of satisfaction.
"Well," said George, "I guess you'll do. Now you'll keep behind the
skylights, and only get up and bang that mandolin when Martial wants
to come on board. Guess when he sees you he'll feel 'most like jumping
right out of his skin. Miss Hamilton's not going to mind. I've seen
her looking at him as if she'd like to stick a big hatpin into him."
They went up, and Nasmyth, who felt guilty as he crouched in the
shadow, could see a black head and the flash of a white arm that swung
out into the moonlight and disappeared again. Martial was swimming
pluckily, and the tide was with him, for his head grew larger every
minute, and presently the gleam of his skin became visible through the
pale shining of the brine. His face dipped as his left arm came out at
every stroke, and the water frothed as his feet swung together like a
flail. He paddled easily while the tide swept him on until he reached
the _Tillicum_. Then his voice rose, breathless and cautious.
"Anchor watch," he called. "Anybody else on board?"
George, who kept out of sight, did not answer. Martial called again.
"Don't let anybody out of the companion while I get up," he
commanded.
The _Tillicum_ had a high sheer forward, and he could not reach her
rail, but as the tide swept him along he raised himself to clutch at
it where it was lower abreast of the skylights.
"Now," said George softly, "you can play the band."
Nasmyth rose and swept his knife-haft across the strings of the
mandolin. For a moment he saw something like horror in Martial's wet
face, and then the man, who gasped, went down headforemost into the
water. Martial was nearly a dozen yards astern when his head came out
again, and he slid away with the tide, with his white arm swinging
furiously. George sat down upon the deck, and expressed his
satisfaction by drumming his feet upon the planking while he laughed.
"He's off," he said. "Might have a high-power engine inside of him.
Guess he's going to scare those schooner men 'most out of their lives.
It's quite likely they won't keep anchor watch when they're lying snug
in a place of this kind."
Nasmyth managed to control his laughter, and went down to divest
himself of his draperies. When he came up again, George reported that
he had just seen Martial crawling up the schooner's cable, and in
another few moments what appeared to be a howl of terror rose from
the vessel. It was not repeated, and shortly afterwards Nasmyth went
to sleep.
Martial remained on board the schooner that night, and Nasmyth was not
surprised when he failed to appear next morning. Acton had come back
with his party when a man dropped into the boat astern of the
schooner, and pulled towards the _Tillicum_ leisurely. Everybody was
on deck when he slid alongside, and, standing up in his boat, laid
hold of the rail.
"I've a message for Mr. Acton," he said, holding up a strip of paper.
Acton, who took the paper from him, was a trifle perplexed when he
glanced at it.
"It seems that Martial didn't stay at that ranch last night as I
thought he had done," he remarked.
Mrs. Acton, who sat next to Miss Hamilton, looked up sharply. She was
a tall woman with an authoritative manner.
"Where is he?" she inquired.
"Gone back to Victoria," said her husband, who handed her the note.
"It's kind of sudden, and he doesn't worry about saying why he went.
There's a little remark at the bottom that I don't quite like."
George naturally had been listening, and Nasmyth saw his subdued
grin, but he saw also Mrs. Acton's quick glance at Miss Hamilton,
which seemed to suggest that she surmised the girl could explain why
Martial had departed so unceremoniously. There was, however, only
astonishment, and, Nasmyth fancied, a trace of relief in Violet
Hamilton's face. Mrs. Acton turned to her husband with a flush of
resentment in her eyes.
"I should scarcely have believed Mr. Martial would ever write such a
note," she said. "What does he mean when he says that he does not
appreciate being left to sleep in the woods all night?"
"That," answered Acton, "is what I don't quite understand. If he'd
hailed anchor watch loud enough, George would have gone off for him.
Still, we're lying quite a way out from the beach."
Then he remembered the man from the schooner, who still gripped the
rail.
"How did you come to get this note?" he asked.
"The man who came off last night gave it to the skipper," said the
schooner's deck-hand with a very suggestive grin.
"How'd he come off?" Acton asked. "Did you go ashore for him?"
"We didn't!" said the man. "He must have swum off and crawled up the
cable. Any way, when he struck the skipper he hadn't any clothes on
him."
There was a little murmur of astonishment, and Mrs. Acton straightened
herself suddenly, while Nasmyth saw a gleam of amusement creep into
Acton's eyes. The schooner man evidently felt that he had an
interested audience, for he leaned upon the rail as he began to tell
all he knew about the incident.
"I was asleep forward, when the skipper howled as if he was most
scared out of his life," he said. "I got up out of the scuttle just as
quick as I could, and there he was crawling round behind the
stern-house with an axe in his hand, and the mate flat up against the
rail.
"'Shut that slide quick,' says the skipper. 'Shut it. He's crawling up
the ladder.'
"'I guess you can shut it yourself if you want it shut.' He asked for
whisky. 'Tell him where it is,' says the mate."
There was no doubt that the listeners were interested, and the man
made an impressive gesture. "It was kind of scaring. There was a soft
flippety-flop going on in the stern-house, and I slipped out a
handspike. Then the skipper sees me.
"'There's a drowned man crawling round the cabin with water running
off him,' he says.
"Then a head came out of the scuttle and a wet arm, and a voice that
didn't sound quite like a drowned man's says, 'Oh you----'"
Acton raised his arm restrainingly, and the narrator made a sign of
comprehension.
"He called us fools," the man explained, "and for 'most a minute the
skipper was going to take the axe to him. Then he hove it at the mate
for being scared instead, and they all went down together, and I heard
them light the stove. After that I went back and dropped off to sleep,
and the skipper sent me off at sun-up to fetch the stranger's clothes.
We set him ashore as soon as he'd got some breakfast into him."
The man rowed away in another minute or two, and, as he had evidently
told his story with a relish, Nasmyth wondered whether Martial had
contrived to offend him by endeavouring to purchase his silence. There
are, of course, men one can offer a dollar to on that coast, but such
an act requires a certain amount of circumspection.
Acton's eyes twinkled, and the men who were his guests looked at one
another meaningly.
"Well," answered one of them, "I guess there is an explanation, though
I didn't think Martial was that kind of man."
Nasmyth said nothing, but he saw Mrs. Acton's face flush with anger
and disdain, and surmised that it was most unlikely that she would
forgive the unfortunate Martial. The women in the party evidently felt
that it would not be advisable to say anything further about the
matter, and when George broke out the anchor the _Tillicum_ steamed
away.
It was after supper that night, and there was nobody except the
helmsman on deck, when Miss Hamilton approached the forward scuttle
where Nasmyth sat with his pipe in his hand. Nasmyth rose and spread
out an old sail for her, and she sat down a little apart from him. The
_Tillicum_ was steaming northwards at a leisurely six knots, with her
mastheads swaying rhythmically through the soft darkness, and a
deep-toned gurgling at her bows. By-and-by Nasmyth became conscious
that Miss Hamilton was looking at him, and, on the whole, he was glad
that it was too dark for her to see him very well.
"I wonder if you were very much astonished at what you heard about Mr.
Martial?" she asked.
"Well," said Nasmyth reflectively, "in one way at least, I certainly
was. You see, I did not think Martial was, as our friend observed,
that kind of man. In fact, I may admit that I feel reasonably sure of
it still."
"I suppose you felt you owed him that?"
"I didn't want to leave you under a misapprehension."
There was silence for half a minute, and then Nasmyth turned towards
the girl again.
"You are still a little curious about the affair?" he suggested.
"I am. I may mention that I found a certain dress of mine, which I do
not remember tearing, had evidently been repaired by somebody quite
unaccustomed to that kind of thing. Now there were, of course, only
the skipper and yourself on board while we were away."
Nasmyth felt his face grow hot. "Well," he replied, "if it's any
consolation to you, I am quite prepared, in one respect at least, to
vindicate Martial's character. In any case, I think I shall have an
interview with Mrs. Acton to-morrow."
His heart beat a little faster, for the girl laughed.
"It really wouldn't be any consolation at all to me," she admitted.
"Ah," said Nasmyth, "then, although you may have certain fancies, you
are not dreadfully vexed with me?"
Violet Hamilton appeared to reflect. "Considering everything, I almost
think you can be forgiven."
After that, they talked about other matters for at least an hour,
while the _Tillicum_, with engines throbbing softly, crept on through
the darkness, and Acton, who happened to notice them as he lounged
under the companion scuttle with a cigar in his hand, smiled
significantly. Acton had a liking for Nasmyth, and though he was not
sure that Mrs. Acton would have been pleased had she known where Miss
Hamilton was, the matter was, he reflected, after all, no concern of
his.