[Illustration]
_“In Sargasso.”_
MISSING
A ROMANCE
NARRATIVE OF CAPT. AUSTIN CLARK, OF THE TRAMP STEAMER
“CARIBAS,” WHO, FOR TWO YEARS, WAS A CAPTIVE AMONG
THE SAVAGE PEOPLE OF THE SEAWEED SEA.
BY
JULIUS CHAMBERS
AUTHOR OF “A MAD WORLD AND ITS PEOPLE,” ETC., ETC., ETC.
MDCCCXCVI
THE TRANSATLANTIC PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK ~ LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1896
BY
THE TRANSATLANTIC PUBLISHING COMPANY
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
PREFACE, 3
I. A KNIGHT ERRANT OF THE SEA, 7
II. MY FATAL CURIOSITY, 10
III. I AM BETRAYED, 15
IV. THE PEOPLE OF THE SEA, 21
V. SARGASSON MANNERS AND CUSTOMS, 25
VI. ATTACK ON THE CARIBAS, 33
VII. THE AGONY OF SUSPENSE, 42
VIII. FIDETTE, 50
IX. AN OLD MAN’S DARLING, 59
X. COOKING FOR ALL, 69
XI. “MUSIC HATH CHARMS,” 74
XII. AGONY OF A JEALOUS HEART, 80
XIII. “THE WEEK OF SILENCE,” 83
XIV. THE KANTOON’S DISPLEASURE, 88
XV. THE CHIN-GOONE REVOLT, 91
XVI. THE PAPIER-MACHÉ ORANGES, 99
XVII. THE SPAR FIGHT, 105
XVIII. FRUIT FOR DEAD MEN, 111
XIX. FIDETTE BECOMES MINE, 116
XX. MAKING NEW BOATS, 122
XXI. I BECOME A SARGASSON, 130
XXII. A SOLEMN CEREMONIAL, 137
XXIII. THE NEW LIFE, 143
XXIV. THE LAST OF AN ENEMY, 147
XXV. THE DANGER OF AN IDEA, 152
XXVI. THE NEW WOMAN IN SARGASSO, 156
XXVII. EVEN IN SARGASSO DOTH ENVY FIND A
PLACE, 161
XXVIII. PLOTTING TREASON, 166
XXIX. THE CARIBAS UNDER STEAM, 172
XXX. FAREWELL TO THE FLOATING CONTINENT, 178
PREFACE.
Within a week’s sail of New York is a vast and trackless waste,
unexplored by the hardiest sailors, uncrossed by the stateliest
ships; a monster mass of floating debris, consisting of growing
seaweed, blooming and blossoming orchids, creeping and twining vines;
traversed by broad and easily navigated straits that stretch through
its broad expanse of living green. It is called The Sargasso Sea.
There dwells a nation of castaways--a new and distinct differentiation
of the human race. Countless lost ships, whose tales of disaster
never have been told, are floating there to-day. The destination of
every wandering hulk, once it reaches the Gulf Stream or the Spanish
Main, is this Harbor of Missing Ships!
Geographers have little to say about this floating continent, but
the Sargasso Sea has always been a wonder-shop to me, wherein are
gathered all the lost, strayed and stolen treasures in the ocean’s
keeping. In every grassy cove, a story; in every watery lane, a
romance; in every frowning hulk, a Secret of the Sea. J. C.
MISSING.
CHAPTER I.
A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE SEA.
My name, with that of my crew of forty men, has been posted for two
years at Lloyds in New York and London, followed by the single word
“Missing.” This statement is still true of the two score of good men
who sailed with me in the steamer Caribas, but I have returned to New
York alive.
I am an American, was born and raised in Brooklyn, and served my
apprenticeship before the mast on the “Black Ball” line between New
York and Liverpool.
I then entered the employment of Cameron & Co., at the age of 23, as
second mate on one of the Australian ships, and made four voyages
’round the Horn to Melbourne. As we sailed on our return journey the
last time I was made first mate, and, although only 27 years of age,
an accident to the captain during the first week gave me command of
the ship for the three months that succeeded.
On my arrival at New York I was offered a position as captain of a
tramp steamer sent out from Plymouth by Triplett & Jones. That firm
is one of the largest owners of vessels for charter in Great Britain.
The little iron steamship was already in New York, and I went down
to the Erie Basin to look her over. The Caribas, named after the
Marquis of that name, was a trim craft. Her engines were of the
newest pattern. She had no accommodations for carrying passengers,
but her general fittings and equipment were excellent. The cabin and
the captain’s quarters were finished in mahogany; the forecastle
was in hardwood, and very comfortable for the men. Although I had
previously had a contempt for a tramp steamer and thought the command
of such a craft unworthy of a deep-water sailor, I decided to accept
this position, and to follow for a few years the wandering life it
entailed.
There was some glamour attaching to the position, because, unlike the
master of a transatlantic steamship, whose route is over the same
course week after week, the commander of an ocean tramp visits all
parts of the world. Entering port to deliver his cargo of goods to a
consignee, he knows not whether a cable order awaiting him there will
take him to the North Atlantic or the Indian Ocean, to Halifax or to
Singapore. He must accept his duty in any climate; and the likelihood
is that in the end his friends and employers will be watching the
register at Lloyds, just as were mine through two long and lingering
years.
The commander of a tramp steamer is a commercial knight-errant of
the sea--a homeless wanderer, cut off from all ties of blood and
affection, and devoted to the remorseless accumulation of gain for
people personally unknown to him. His pay is always small, and
the only opportunity he has of increasing it is by an occasional
passenger from port to port, for whom he can surrender his stateroom
and enjoy instead a sofa in the cabin.
Romantic as is his life, I never knew the commander of an ocean tramp
who excelled at handling the English language. He may know how to box
the compass, to calculate the latitude and longitude from the midday
sun, to follow out the chart, or to work down a lee shore with the
lead, but when it comes to writing, he usually lards his text with
so many words only known to sailor men that the general reader is
mystified and bored. While, modestly, I might claim a somewhat varied
experience in the forecastle and the cabin, this is my first attempt
at wielding a pen, and I shall rely very much upon the trusty blue
pencil of the editor to render what I shall say creditable to me.