Shortly after the insult forced upon him by John Thorpe at the Harris
reception, and finding it impossible to enjoy the spirit of the gay
throng, Mr. Corway took his departure.
Disappointed in his endeavor to communicate with Hazel, who deemed it
discreet to avoid his presence until after the affair had been cleared
up--and actuated by the purest motives, he could not but feel that he
was the mistaken victim of some foul play with which fate had
strangely connected him.
He recalled the profound respect he had always entertained for and on
every occasion he had shown Mrs. Thorpe. And as his thoughts of the
affair deepened, his natural fire of resentment softened and died out
as effectually as though he had been summoned to stand beside the
deathbed of some very dear friend. And the more he thought of it, the
more disagreeable and repugnant a quarrel with John Thorpe appeared to
him; yet his honor as a gentleman grossly insulted, forbade any other
way out of it.
Finally he decided to consult Mr. Harris on the best course to pursue,
and for that purpose determined to visit Rosemont the next day.
It was well on in the afternoon that he left his hotel for the
Jefferson street depot, and while walking along First street he
noticed a closed "hack," drawn by a pair of black horses, rapidly
proceeding in the same direction.
As it passed him, he felt sure that he had caught a glimpse of Lord
Beauchamp's profile, through the small, glazed lookout at the back of
the vehicle.
It was late when Corway returned from Rosemont, and strangely
coincident, as he stepped down off the car he saw that same "hack"
move off, and that same face inside, made plain by a chance gleam of
light from a street lamp, that quivered athwart the casement of the
door. But except for a thought of "devilish queer, unless 'me lord'
was expecting some one," he attached no further importance to it, and
dismissed it from his mind.
He proceeded up Jefferson street with head bent low, engrossed in deep
meditation, for Mr. Harris was unable to give him any concrete advice
on the matter, and he was recalling to memory every conceivable act he
had committed, or words he had uttered that could have been possibly
misconstrued by Mr. Thorpe to urge the latter to a frenzy and so
violent an outburst, when he was abruptly halted by a peremptory
order: "Hands up!"
Simultaneously two masked men stepped out from the shadow of a gloomy
recess of a building between Second and Third streets, and one of them
poked the muzzle of an ugly-looking revolver in his face.
At that moment Mr. Corway had his hands thrust deep in his light
overcoat pockets, and the suddenness of the demand made at a time when
his mind was in a perturbed, chaotic state, evidently was not clearly
comprehended. At any rate, he failed to comply instantly, with the
result that he received a heavy blow on the back of his head with some
blunt instrument, which felled him like a log. His unquestioned
personal courage, and his reputation of being a dead shot at twenty
paces availed him nothing. He was not permitted time, short as was
needed, to wrest his mind from its pre-occupied business to grasp a
mode of defense, before he was struck down. He thought he had met
with, what many others before him have met on the streets of Portland
after dark, a "holdup."
When he recovered consciousness the smell of tar and whiskey was
strong about him. To his dazed senses, for his brain had not
completely cleared of a stunned sensation in his head, this smell was
incomprehensible, and suddenly becoming startled, he cried out, half
aloud: "For the love of God, where am I?" And then a recollection of
the apparent "holdup" dawned on his mind.
He lay still for a moment trying to trace his actions following the
blow he had received, but in vain; all was a blank. It was very dark
where he was lying, and he fancied he heard the swish of waters. He
put out his right hand and felt the wooden side of a berth. He put out
his left hand and felt a wooden wall. Then he tried to sit up, but the
pain in his head soon compelled him to desist.
He lay quiet again and distinctly heard a sound of straining, creaking
timbers. He at once concluded he was on a ship. "Why! Wherefore! Good
God, have I been shanghaied?" were the thoughts that leaped to his
mind, and notwithstanding the pain in his head, he attempted to sit
up, but his head bumped violently against some boards just above him,
and he fell back again, stunned. He had struck the wooden part of the
upper berth. He, however, soon recovered and commenced to think
lucidly again. He knew how prevalent the practice of forcibly taking
men to fill an ocean ship's crew had become in Portland and other
Coast cities by seamen's boarding house hirelings, and he felt
satisfied that he was one of their victims.
He put his hand in his pocket for a match; there was none; and his
clothes felt damp, then a fresh whiskey odor entered his nostrils.
"Have I been intoxicated?" The question startled him, but he could not
remember taking any liquor. "No; I am sure of that, but why this odor;
perhaps this berth has been occupied by some 'drunk'."
A feeling of disgust urged him to get out of it at once, and he threw
his leg over the side of the berth and stood upright.
The pain in the back of his head throbbed so fiercely that he clapped
his hand over it, which afforded only temporary relief. He then
thought of his handkerchief, which he found in his pocket, and though
smelling of whiskey, he bound it about his head.
Being now in full possession of his faculties, and feeling strong on
his legs, he determined to investigate his quarters. "Oh, for a
light!"
Again he felt in his pockets for a match and found none, but he
discovered that his watch was gone, and a further search revealed that
every cent of his money was gone.
At this time, in addition to occasional indistinct sounds of the swish
of waters against the bow, he heard some tramping about overhead, as
by barefooted men, acting seemingly under orders from a hoarse voice
farther away.
His first impulse was to shout to apprise them of his presence, but on
second thought decided to remain silent for a time, or until he could
determine their character.
So he proceeded to grope around, first extending his foot in different
directions, and then his hands. He found three berths, one above the
other, and then, fearful of bumping his head against some projecting
beam or other obstacle, put out his left hand as a feeler before him,
and slowly worked along by the side of the berths.
Soon his foot struck something hard, unlike wood, for it appeared to
give a little, and putting down his hand, felt it to be a coil of
rope. It was in an open space at the end of the berths. A little
further his foot struck some wood, and feeling about with his hand,
found it was a partition wall. On rounding the partition a very thin
ray of light issued from a crevice in front, and then he discovered
steps.
He crawled up to a door, opened it, and peered out on a pile of
lumber. Above it masts towered up into the darkness, with sails
hoisted, but unset and flapping lazily to and fro in the wake of the
breeze.
It was near the dawn, light clouds almost transparent and partly
obscuring the moon, drifted along in the sky, while here and there,
through openings of deepest blue, glittered countless stars.
The air was fresh, too, a little raw and chill, but good to inhale
after the dead rank odor from which he had just escaped.
An open space in the lumber pile just in front of the forecastle door,
and left to facilitate ingress and egress, gave him room to stretch.
The light that glimmered faintly through a chink in the door was from
a lantern that hung on the fore mast, a few feet above the deck-load
of lumber.
By the aid of this light he looked over and along the surface of the
lumber aft to where some men were dimly silhouetted against the aft
sail, then swinging abeam, by a lantern on the poop.
Without hesitation he mounted the lumber and was immediately accosted
by a gruff voice from behind: "Where away now shipmate?"
"That's something I should like to know," replied Corway, turning
around and facing the questioner.
Then he saw that the ship was being towed down the Columbia River, of
which he was certain by its width, by a steamer, and the man who had
addressed him was leaning on the boom that swung over the forecastle.
"You'll know soon enough when your 'watch' comes," said the man with a
grunt that may have been meant for a laugh.
"I say, friend," went on Corway, pleadingly, "I am not a sailor, and
as there must be some mistake about me being on this ship, may I ask
what means were used to get me aboard?"
"Well, that's a rummie," said the fellow, leering at Corway, and after
a moment of seeming reflection, he continued: "Well, I reckon it's not
a mate's place to give out information, but bein' you've a sore top
an' wearin' city clothes, I will say this much: you had stowed away
such a bally lot of booze that you come to the ship like a gentleman,
sir. Yes, sir. And nothing short of a hack with a pair of blacks to
draw it, would do for you, sir."
"In a hack, you say!" exclaimed Corway, alertly.
"Yes, sir; in a hack, just as we cast off from the sawmill wharf at
Portland."
"Strange! The hack I saw yesterday afternoon, and again at the depot
last night, was drawn by black horses," muttered Corway to himself,
and after a moment of deep reflection, went on: "Looks like a
conspiracy to get me out of the way. I say, my good fellow, do you
remember the time I was brought on board and how many were in the
party?"
"That's none o' my business," replied the mate, turning away.
"Oh, come now," said Corway, pleadingly, for he believed this man
could tell more about the affair than he cared to.
"Well, all I seen was three swabs that said they was from the Sailor
boardin' house, chuck you aboard about two bells," replied the mate,
indifferently, as he straightened himself up.
Corway then noted the huge proportions of the fellow and thought:
"What a terrorizing bully he could be to the poor sailors that chanced
to anger him at sea."
"But I never was in a sailor boarding house in my life."
"Oh, tryin' to crawfish from your bargain, eh?" laughed the big
fellow. "It won't go; ship's bally well short-handed, long vige, too,
and the capt'n had to do it!"
"Do what?" Corway sharply snapped.
"Why, he pays over the money afore they'd h'ist ye over the rail.
Better talk to the capt'n. He's comin' for'ard now," and the mate
stepped over and leaned on the bulwark.
Corway at once turned and moved toward the captain, who was
approaching with his first officer, from amidships, smoking a cigar.
"Yes, I am the captain. What do you want?"
"To be put ashore!" Corway demanded. "I've been sandbagged and robbed,
and evidently sold to you for a sailor, which I am not."
"Not a sailor, eh," the captain said, taking the cigar from his mouth
and looking sharply at Corway. "What did you sign the articles for?"
"I never signed any articles." By this time Corway was fully alive to
his position and spoke with rising heat and ill-suppressed
indignation.
"Oh, yes you did!" sneered the first officer, "but you were too drunk
to remember it."
"Repeat that, and I'll choke the words back down your throat," and
Corway stepped menacingly toward him.
The captain held up his hand warningly and looked at Corway as if he
was daffy, then said slowly and meaningly: "Be careful, young man;
that is insubordination; a repetition will land you in irons. The
boarding-house master swore that he saw you sign the articles, and he
had other witnesses to your signature to satisfy me before I paid him
your wages for six months in advance on your order."
"I signed no articles, and I know nothing about it," fumed Corway.
"And I again demand, as an American citizen, that you put me ashore,
or I shall libel this ship for abduction."
"Ah, ah, ah," sneered the first officer, who was unable to conceal his
ill-will to Corway since the latter's threat to choke him. "Give the
dandy a lady's handkerchief, and he'll believe the ship's a jolly good
wine cask."
Corway struck him square on the mouth. "Take that for your insolence,
you contemptible puppy," and following him up with clenched fists, as
the officer stumbled back, said wrathfully: "If you speak to me that
way again, I'll break in your anatomy."
"Here, Judd," called the captain to the mate on the forecastle. "Take
this fellow to the strong room and keep him there on 'hardtack' for
three days."
"Aye, aye, sir," replied Judd.
Hearing the captain's orders, and seeing the commotion he had created,
Corway saw that his only chance for escape was to go overboard, and
without further hesitation sprang toward the side of the ship for a
plunge, but his toe caught on the edge of a warped board and down he
went sprawling.
The big mate jumped on him, and though he fought desperately, he was
overpowered, and the last he remembered was being dragged by the
collar over the lumber toward the forecastle.
When he next got on deck the ship was far out to sea and bowling along
in a stiff breeze.
It is said that it is an ill wind that doesn't blow somebody good.
So with Mr. Corway, for though the boarding-house toughs had nearly
given him his quietus and sent him on a long journey, they had
conveniently done him the effective service of quashing an encounter
with John Thorpe.