II

A fortnight later the _Suwannee_ was steaming across the sapphire

Gulf. Before her bow flying-fish skittered and splashed like flights

of shrapnel bullets, on deck sailors were stretching awnings fore and

aft, and wind-sails bellied in the open hatches. Men in flannels and

women in trim, white freshness leaned along the rail and watched the

sparkling play of color overside. There was the air of a yachting

cruise in these pleasant aspects of the day's routine, yet the season

was the dead of winter, and the _Suwannee_ was hurrying as fast as twin

screws could drive her toward bitter latitudes.

On the bridge walked to and fro, with a slightly limping gait, a man

of an unusual presence. Those who looked up at him from the deck noted

his uncommon height and breadth, and the white beard that swept almost

to his waist. Nearer vision was needed to know the seamed yet mobile

face, and the gray eye that held an eager light as of strong emotions

continually burning. When he halted to speak to his first officer, his

voice was sweet and vibrant:

"I am going below for a little while, Mr. Parlin. Call me when you've

run down your course."

Captain Kendrick went into his room just abaft the wheelhouse, and

picked up from his desk a typewritten letter that showed marks of much

handling. He read it slowly, and his lip quivered as it had done with

each of many previous readings. Seating himself upon the edge of the

couch, he said aloud little fragments of the letter, taken here and

there without sequence:

"Astonishing behavior ... guilty of annoyance ... serious complaints

... ridiculous religious display ... prime of usefulness past ...

evidently ripe for retirement...."

The letter fell to the floor unheeded, as there came into his eyes a

look of impassioned intensity that was focused ever so far beyond the

walls of this little sea-cabin. He was on his knees and his head was in

his hands as he murmured:

"Cast me not off in the time of old age, forsake me not when my

strength faileth.... Thy way is in the sea, and Thy path in the great

waters.... I said I will keep my mouth with a bridle while the wicked

are before me. But it is also written that evening and morning and at

noon will I pray and cry aloud and He shall hear my voice.... They have

prepared a net for my steps, my heart is bowed down.... But Thou hast a

mighty arm, strong is Thy hand and high is Thy right hand...."

While Captain Kendrick was voicing his troubles and his consolations

in words wondrously framed by another strong man long ago, the purser

of the _Suwannee_ was sought out by Arthur Valentine, whose manner

held a trace of uneasiness. He would not have confessed it, but far

back in the young ship-owner's head was the glimmering notion that a

terrier might be snapping at a mastiff. Was this imposing figure on the

bridge the "dottering ass" to whom he had smartly dashed off his first

official reprimand, gloating in the chance to test the sweep of his new

authority? But this suspicion now shaped itself only in a growing fear

lest he be discovered in such uncomfortably close quarters with Captain

Jesse Kendrick. Mr. Valentine closed the door of the purser's room and

set that worthy officer's teeth on edge by remarking:

"Fine morning. I say, you needn't bother to make any special point of

seating me at the captain's table. Fact is, I don't want to be bored.

Just put me over at your table, will you? And please tell nobody who

I am. I want to look around a bit. The captain doesn't know that I'm

on board, I take it, or he would have been showing me some troublesome

attentions. So you need say nothing to him about it. Just see that my

name is rubbed off his copy of the passenger list."

The purser disentangled himself from a staggering heap of cargo

manifests, and emphasized his reply with a wave of an inky finger:

"All right, Mr. Valentine, if those are your orders, but you miss your

guess if you think our skipper is going to run after you or any other

passenger. He ain't that kind. But sub rosy you go and as far as you

like, till further notice."

Slightly ruffled, Mr. Valentine sauntered on deck, where he fell in

with Second-Officer Peter Carr, who proved to be contrastingly voluble

and cheerful. Before the passenger could ask certain questions that

were in his mind, Mr. Carr flourished an arm seaward, and began:

"Passin' that bark yonder reminds me of a voyage I sailed as bos'n in

the old packet _Guiding Star_, out o' Liverpool for Sydney. We was

carryin' two hundred Irish girls as immygrants, an' soon after we

crossed the Line they mutinied 'cause we refused to give 'em curlin'

irons, an' let 'em waltz with the sailors every night an' twice on

Sunday. 'Bout four bells of the middle watch pourin' out o' the hatches

they come like a consolidated female explosion. I was in th' waist, an'

fust I knowed them millions of infuriated young angels surged straight

at poor Peter Carr. Sez I to myself, here's too much of a good thing

for once, an' with that I makes a flyin' scoot an' scrambles aloft

like a cat with a bunch o' firecrackers belayed to its spanker boom.

Sw-o-o-o-s-h, the rustle of them billion o' skirts is like the sound of

a nor'easter. Wh-e-e-e-e, them shrieks of disapp'inted rage is still

ringin' in my ears. I seen the poor old skipper poke his head out o'

the companionway, an' so help me, before he had time to say----"

Mr. Carr stopped abruptly and his animated countenance froze in horror

as he saw Captain Kendrick wave a beckoning hand from far forward.

"He's got me again," muttered the mate, as he obeyed the summons and

was seen to follow the cause of his panic into the captain's room.

"Sit down, Mr. Carr," said Captain Kendrick, with a menacing note

in his voice. "You have broken your solemn promise made to me last

voyage. Those same old gestures told me you were climbing the shrouds

of the _Guiding Star_ again. How often have I got to tell you that the

_Guiding Star_ packet foundered a dozen years before you went to sea?

You soft-shelled coaster, you wouldn't know the equator if it flew up

and hit you in the nose. 'When you were crossing the Line'--lies, all

lies!"

Peter Carr rubbed his red head and looked sheepish. "Right you are,

sir. I forgot, sir," he stammered. "But I'm improvin'. I can feel it

workin'."

"It isn't only your speech and conduct that need overhauling,"

commented Captain Kendrick severely, as he dug his two fists into his

beard and towered over the contrite mate. "These things are signs of

an inward state of spiritual rottenness, and I intend to hammer the

blessed truth into you as long as we are shipmates. Look at me. Am I a

worse sailor for trying to be what your mother on Cape Cod prayed you

might grow into, when she used to tuck you up in bed?"

Mr. Carr was as earnest as ever in his turbulent career as he responded:

"I'll keep in mind what you say, sir. If all the people that flies

church colors was like you, a ---- ---- sight more of 'em 'ud practice

what they preach. Whoa, Bill, I didn't mean to rip out them naughty

words. I swear I didn't, sir."

The old man sighed:

"You're still in the mire. But I'm not done with you. I'll have you on

your knees yet, Peter Carr."

As the mate rolled forward he muttered:

"He's sometimes kind of wearin', but he means well. An' he's gettin' me

so tame I'll be eatin' out of his hand before long."

Arthur Valentine was hovering within ear-shot, and he halted the

solemn-faced officer with:

"Sorry you couldn't finish that bully yarn of the _Guiding Star_.

Anything the matter? How did you escape from the two hundred angry

ladies?"

Mr. Carr beamed with animation as he hastened to reply: "Well, as I was

sayin', the poor old skipper of her stuck his head on deck, an' before

he could-- Oh, d-- Ouch, excuse me. I bit my tongue. I mean, well, I

never did get down out of that riggin', and that's the end of the yarn.

Can't explain. No time to talk now."

Valentine was puzzled, and laid a hand on the sleeve of the fleeing

mate:

"What the dickens ails you? Why can't you finish that yarn?"

Mr. Carr whipped round and shouted with a noble impulse:

"I ain't goin' to lie again, so help me. The captain's been laborin'

with my poor sin-streaked soul, and I passed the word to steer by his

sailin' chart. I've suffered enough without bein' keel-hauled any more

about it."

"Beg pardon," smiled Valentine. "Now I see the joke. The good old man

and the wandering boy. How nice of him. Perhaps he will pray for me if

I send up a card. Is he often taken that way?"

"Pretty regular," grinned the mate as he made good his retreat.

"Was I right? Well, rather," thought Valentine. "It's time I took hold

of things. If we should run into a storm, the old duffer would be on

his knees praying for good weather and let the ship go to pot."

Later in the day a notice posted in the "social hall" caught his roving

eye:

"To-morrow (Sunday) divine service will be held in the main saloon at

ten o'clock. As is customary in steamers of this line when there is no

clergyman among the passengers, the captain will be in charge of this

service."