below saw the little craft rise high and slow on a broad swell.
"Same dory," said Trendon. "I'd swear to her in Constantinople."
"What else could she be?" muttered Forsythe.
"Somethin' that looks like a man in the bottom of her," sang out the
crow's-nest. "Two of 'em, I think."
For five minutes there was stillness aboard, broken only by an occasional
low-voiced conjecture. Then from aloft:
"Two men rolling in the bottom."
"Are they alive?"
"No, sir; not that I can see."
The wind, which had been extremely variable since dawn, now whipped
around a couple of points, swinging the boat's stern to them. Barnet,
putting aside his glass for a moment, called down:
"That's the one, sir. I can make out the name."
"Good," said the captain quietly. "We should have news, at least."
"Ives or McGuire," suggested Forsythe, in low tones.
"Or Billy Edwards," amended Carter.
"Not Edwards," said Trendon.
"How do you know?" demanded Forsythe.
"Dory was aboard when we found her the second time, after Edwards had
left."
"Can you make out which of the men are in her?" hailed the captain.
"Don't think it's any of our people," came the astonishing reply from
Barnett.
"Are you sure?"
"I can see only one man's face, sir. It isn't Ives or McGuire. He's a
stranger to me."
"It must be one of the crew, then."
"No, sir, beg your parding," called the lookout. "Nothin' like that in
our crew, sir."
The boat came down upon them swiftly. Soon the quarter-deck was looking
into her. She was of a type common enough on the high seas, except that a
step for a mast showed that she had presumably been used for skimming
about open shores. Of her passengers, one lay forward, prone and quiet. A
length of sail cloth spread over him made it impossible to see his garb.
At his breast an ugly protuberance, outlined vaguely, hinted a deformity.
The other sprawled aft, and at a nearer sight of him some of the men
broke out into nervous titters. There was some excuse, for surely such a
scarecrow had never before been the sport of wind and wave. A thing of
shreds he was, elaborately ragged, a face overrun with a scrub of beard,
and preternaturally drawn, surmounted by a stiff-dried, dirty, cloth
semi-turban, with a wide, forbidding stain along the side, worked out the
likeness to a make-up.
"My God!" cackled Forsythe with an hysterical explosion; and again, "My
God!"
A long-drawn, irrepressible aspiration of expectancy rose from the
warship's decks as the stranger raised his haggard face, turned eyes
unseeingly upon them, and fell back. The forward occupant stirred not,
save as the boat rolled.
From between decks someone called out, sharply, an order. In the grim
silence it seemed strangely incongruous that the measured business of a
ship's life should be going forward as usual. Something within the
newcomer's consciousness stirred to that voice of authority.
Mechanically, like some huge, hideous toy, he raised first one arm, then
the other, and hitched himself halfway up on the stern seat. His mouth
opened. His face wrinkled. He seemed groping for the meaning of a joke at
which he knew he ought to laugh. Suddenly from his lips in surprising
volume, raucous, rasping, yet with a certain rollicking deviltry fit to
set the head a-tilt, burst a chanty:
"Oh, their coffin was their ship, and their grave it was the sea:
_Blow high, blow low, what care we!_
And the quarter that we gave them was to sink them in the sea:
_Down on the coast of the high Barbaree-ee._"
Long-drawn, like the mockery of a wail, the minor cadence wavered through
the stillness, and died away.
"The High Barbaree!" cried Trendon.
"You know it?" asked the captain, expectant of a clue.
"One of those cursed tunes you can't forget," said the surgeon. "Heard a
scoundrel of a beach-comber sing it years ago. Down in New Zealand, that
was. When the fever rose on him he'd pipe up. Used to beat time with a
steel hook he wore in place of a hand. The thing haunted me till I was
sorry I hadn't let the rascal die. This creature might have learned it
from him. Howls it out exactly like."
"I don't see that that helps us any," said Forsythe, looking down on the
preparations that were making to receive the unexpected guests.
With a deftness which had made the _Wolverine_ famous in the navy
for the niceties of seamanship, the great cruiser let down her tackle as
she drew skilfully alongside, and made fast, preparatory to lifting the
dory gently to her broad deck. But before the order came to hoist away,
one of the jackies who had gone down drew the covering back from the
still figure forward, and turned it over. With a half-stifled cry he
shrank back. And at that the tension of soul and mind on the
_Wolverine_ snapped, breaking into outcries and sudden, sharp
imprecations. The face revealed was that of Timmins, the bo's'n's mate,
who had sailed with the first vanished crew. A life preserver was
fastened under his arms. He was dead.
"I'm out," said the surgeon briefly, and stood with mouth agape. Never
had the disciplined _Wolverines_ performed a sea duty with so ragged
a routine as the getting in of the boat containing the live man and the
dead body. The dead seaman was reverently disposed and covered. As to the
survivor there was some hesitancy on the part of the captain, who was
inclined to send him forward until Dr. Trendon, after a swift scrutiny,
suggested that for the present, at least, he be berthed aft. They took
the stranger to Edwards's vacant room, where Trendon was closeted with
him for half an hour. When he emerged he was beset with questions.
"Can't give any account of himself yet," said the surgeon. "Weak and not
rightly conscious."
"What ails him?"
"Enough. Gash in his scalp. Fever. Thirst and exhaustion. Nervous shock,
too, I think."
"How came he aboard the _Laughing Lass_?" "Does he know anything of
Billy?" "Was he a stow-away?" "Did you ask him about Ives and McGuire?"
"How came he in the small boat?" "Where are the rest?"
"Now, now," said the veteran chidingly. "How can I tell? Would you have
me kill the man with questions?"
He left them to look at the body of the bo's'n's mate. Not a word had he
to say when he returned. Only the captain got anything out of him but
growling and unintelligible expressions, which seemed to be objurgatory
and to express bewildered cogitation.
"How long had poor Timmins been drowned?" the captain had asked him, and
Trendon replied:
"Captain Parkinson, the man wasn't drowned. No water in his lungs."
"Not drowned! Then how came he by his death?"
"If I were to diagnose it under any other conditions I should say that he
had inhaled flames."
Then the two men stared at each other in blank impotency. Meantime the
scarecrow was showing signs of returning consciousness and a message was
dispatched for the physician. On his way he met Barnett, who asked and
received permission to accompany him. The stranger was tossing restlessly
in his bunk, opening and shutting his parched mouth in silent, piteous
appeal for the water that must still be doled to him parsimoniously.
"I think I'll try him with a little brandy," said Trendon, and sent for
the liquor.
Barnett raised the patient while the surgeon held the glass to his lips.
The man's hand rose, wavered, and clasped the glass.
"All right, my friend. Take it yourself, if you like," said Trendon.
The fingers closed. Tremulously held, the little glass tilted and rattled
against the teeth. There was one deep, eager spasm of swallowing. Then
the fevered eyes opened upon the face of the _Wolverine_'s first
officer.
"Prosit, Barnett," said the man, in a voice like the rasp of rusty metal.
The navy man straightened up as from a blow under the jaw.
"Be careful what you are about," warned Trendon, addressing his superior
officer sharply, for Barnett had all but let his charge drop. His face
was a puckered mask of amaze and incredulity.
"Did you hear him speak my name--or am I dreaming?" he half whispered.
"Heard him plain enough. Who is he?"
The man's eyes closed, but he smiled a little--a singular, wry-mouthed,
winning smile. With that there sprung from behind the brush of beard,
filling out the deep lines of emaciation, a memory to the recognition of
Barnett; a keen and gay countenance that whisked him back across seven
years time to the days of Dewey and the Philippines.
"Ralph Slade, by the Lord!" he exclaimed.
"Of the _Laughing Lass_?" cried Trendon.
"Of the _Laughing Lass_."
Such a fury of eagerness burned in the face of Barnett that Trendon
cautioned him. "See here, Mr. Barnett, you're not going to fire a
broadside of disturbing questions at my patient yet a while. He's in no
condition."
But it was from the other that the questions came. Opening his eyes he
whispered, "The sailor? Where?"
"Dead," said Trendon bluntly. Then, breaking his own rule of repression,
he asked:
"Did he come off the schooner with you?"
"Picked him up," was the straining answer. "Drifting."
The survivor looked around him, then into Barnett's face, and his mind
too, traversed the years.
"_North Dakota?_" he queried.
"No; I've changed my ship," said Barnett. "This is the _Wolverine_."
"Where's the _Laughing Lass_?"
Barnett shook his head.
"Tell me," begged Slade.
"Wait till you're stronger," admonished Trendon.
"Can't wait," said the weak voice. The eyes grew wild.
"Mr. Barnett, tell him the bare outline and make it short," said the
surgeon.
"We sighted the _Laughing Lass_ two days ago. She was in good shape,
but deserted. That is, we thought she was deserted."
The man nodded eagerly.
"I suppose you were aboard," said Barnett, and Trendon made a quick
gesture of impatience and rebuke.
"No," said Slade. "Left three--four--don't know how many nights ago."
The officers looked at each other. "Go on," said Trendon to his
companion.
"We put a crew aboard in command of an ensign," continued Barnett, "and
picked up the schooner the next night, deserted. You must know about it.
Where is Billy Edwards?"
"Never heard of him," whispered the other.
"Ives and McGuire, then. They were there after--Great God, man!" he
cried, his agitation breaking out, "Pull yourself together! Give us
something to go on."
"Mr. Barnett!" said the surgeon peremptorily.
But the suggestion was working in the sick man's brain. He turned to the
officers a face of horror.
"Your man, Edwards--the crew--they left her? In the night?"
"What does he mean?" cried Barnett.
"The light! You saw it?"
"Yes; we saw a strange light," answered Trendon soothingly. Slade half
rose. "Lost; all lost!" he cried, and fell back unconscious. Trendon
exploded into curses. "See what you've done to my patient," he fumed.
Barnett looked at him with contrite eyes.
"Better get out before he comes to," growled the surgeon. "Nice way to
treat a man half dead of exhaustion."
It was nearly an hour before Slade came back to the world again. The
doctor forbade him to attempt speech. But of one thing he would not be
denied. There was a struggle for utterance, then:
"The volcano?" he rasped out.
"Dead ahead," was the reply.
"Stand by!" grasped Slade. He strove to rise, to say something further,
but endurance had reached its limit. The man was utterly done.
Dr. Trendon went on deck, his head sunk between his shoulders. For a
minute he was in earnest talk with the captain. Presently the
_Wolverine_'s engines slowed down, and she lay head to the waves,
with just enough turn of the screw to hold her against the sea-way.
VII
THE FREE LANCE
By the following afternoon Dr. Trendon reported his patient as quite
recovered.
"Starved for water," proffered the surgeon. "Tissues fairly dried out.
Soaked him up. Fed him broth. Put him to sleep. He's all right. Just
wakes up to eat; then off again like a two-year old. Wonderful
constitution."
"The gentleman wants to know if he can come on deck, sir," saluted an
orderly.
"Waked up, eh. Come on, Barnett. Help me boost him on deck."
The two officers disappeared to return in a moment arm-in-arm with Ralph
Slade.
Nearly twenty-four hours' rest and skilful treatment had done wonders. He
was still a trifle weak and uncertain, was still a little glad to lean on
the arms of his companions, but his eye was bright and alert, and his
hollow cheeks mounted a slight colour. This, with the clothes lent him by
Barnett, transformed his appearance, and led Captain Parkinson to
congratulate himself that he had not obeyed his first impulse to send the
castaway forward with the men.
The officers pressed forward.
"Mighty glad to see you out." "Hope you've got your pins under you
again." "Old man, I'm mighty glad we came along."
The chorus of greeting was hearty enough, but the journalist barely paid
the courtesy of acknowledgment. His eye swept the horizon eagerly until
it rested on the cloud of volcanic smoke billowing up across the setting
sun. A sigh of relief escaped him.
"Where are we?" he asked Barnett. "I mean since you picked me up. How
long ago was that, anyway?"
"Yesterday," replied the navigating officer. "We've stood off and on,
looking for some of our men."
"Then that's the same volcano----"
Barnett laughed softly. "Well, they aren't quite holding a caucus of
volcanoes down in this country. One like that is enough."
But Slade brushed the remark aside.
"Head for it!" he cried excitedly. "We may be in time! There's a man on
that island."
"A man!" "Another!" "Not Billy Edwards?" "Not some of our boys?"
Slade stared at them bewildered.
"Hold on," interposed Dr. Trendon authoritatively. "What's his name?" he
inquired of the journalist.
"Darrow," replied the latter. "Percy Darrow. Do you know him?"
"Who in Kamschatka is Percy Darrow?" demanded Forsythe.
"Why, he's the assistant." It's a long story----"
"Of course, it's a long story. There's a lot we want to know,"
interrupted Captain Parkinson. "Quartermaster, head for the volcano
yonder. Mr. Slade, we want to know where you came from; and why you left
the schooner, and who Percy Darrow is. And there's dinner, so we'll just
adjourn to the messroom and hear what you can tell us. But there's one
thing we're all anxious to know; how came you in the dory which we found
and left on the _Laughing Lass_ no later than two days ago?"
"I haven't set eyes on the _Laughing Lass_ for--well, I don't know
how long, but it's five days anyway, perhaps more," replied Slade.
They stared at him incredulously.
"Oh, I see!" he burst out suddenly; "there were twin dories on the
schooner. The other one's still there, I suppose. Did you find her on the
stern davits?"
"Yes."
"That's it, then. You see when I left----"
Captain Parkinson's raised hand checked him. "If you will be so good, Mr.
Slade, let us have it all at once, after mess."
At table the young officers, at a sharp hint from Dr. Trendon, conversed
on indifferent subjects until the journalist had partaken heartily of
what the physician allowed him. Slade ate with keen appreciation.
"I tell you, that's good," he sighed, when he had finished. "Real, live,
after-dinner coffee, too. Why, gentlemen, I haven't eaten a civilised
meal, with all the trimmings, for over two years. Doctor, do you think a
little of the real stuff would hurt me? It's a pretty dry yarning."
"One glass," growled the surgeon, "no more."
"Scotch high-ball, then," voted Slade, "the higher the better."
The steward brought a tall glass with ice, in which the newcomer mixed
his drink. Then for quite a minute he sat silent, staring at the table,
his fingers aimlessly rubbing into spots of wetness the water beads as
they gathered on the outside of his glass. Suddenly he looked up.
"I don't know how to begin," he confessed. "It's too confounded
improbable. I hardly believe it myself, now that I'm sitting here in
human clothes, surrounded by human beings. Old Scrubs, and the Nigger,
and Handy Solomon, and the Professor, and the chest, and the--well, they
were real enough when I was caught in the mess. But I warn you, you are
not going to believe me, and hanged if I blame you a bit."
"We've seen marvels ourselves in the last few days," encouraged Captain
Parkinson.
"Fire ahead, man," advised Barnett impatiently. "Just begin at the
beginning and let it go at that."
Slade sipped at his glass reflectively.
"Well," said he at length, "the best way to begin is to show you how I
happened to be mixed up in it at all."
The officers unconsciously relaxed into attitudes of greater ease.
Overhead the lamps swayed gently to the swell. The dull throb of the
screw pulsated. Stewards clad in white moved noiselessly, filling the
glasses, deferentially striking lights for the smokers, clearing away the
last dishes of the repast.
"I'm a reporter by choice, and a detective by instinct," began Slade,
with startling abruptness. "Furthermore, I'm pretty well off. I'm what
they call a free lance, for I have no regular desk on any of the
journals. I generally turn my stuff in to the _Star_ because they
treat me well. In return it is pretty well understood between us that I'm
to use my judgment in regard to 'stories' and that they'll stand back of
me for expenses. You see, I've been with them quite a while."
He looked around the circle as though in appeal to the comprehension of
his audience. Some of the men nodded. Others sipped from their glasses or
drew at their cigars.
"I loaf around here and there in the world, having a good time
travelling, visiting, fooling around. Every once in a while something
interests me. The thing is a sort of instinct. I run it down. If it's a
good story, I send it in. That's all there is to it." He laughed
slightly. "You see, I'm a sort of magazine writer in method, but my stuff
is newspaper stuff. Also the game suits me. That's why I play it. That's
why I'm here. I have to tell you about myself this way so you will
understand how I came to be mixed up in this _Laughing Lass_
matter."
"I remember," commented Barnett, "that when you came aboard the _South
Dakota_, you had a little trouble making Captain Arnold see it." He
turned to the others with a laugh. "He had all kinds of papers of ancient
date, but nothing modern--letter from the _Star_ dated five years
back, recommendations to everybody on earth, except Captain Arnold,
certificate of bravery in Apache campaign, bank identifications, and all
the rest. 'Maybe you're the _Star's_ correspondent, and maybe you're
not,' said the Captain, 'I don't see anything here to prove it.' Slade
argued an hour; no go. Remember how you caught him?" he inquired of
Slade.
The reporter grinned assent.
"After the old man had turned him down for good, Slade fished down in his
warbag and hauled out an old tattered document from an oilskin case.
'Hold on a minute,' said he, 'you old shellback. I've proved to you that
I can write; and I've proved to you that I have fought, and now here I'll
prove to you that I can sail. If writing, fighting, and sailing don't fit
me adequately to report any little disturbances your antiquated
washboiler may blunder into, I'll go to raising cabbages.' With that he
presented a master's certificate! Where did you get it, anyway? I never
found out."
"Passed as 'fresh-water' on the Great Lakes," replied Slade briefly.
"Well, the spunk and the certificate finished the captain. He was an old
square rigger himself in the Civil War."
"So much for myself," Slade continued. "As for the _Laughing
Lass_----"
PART TWO
THE BRASS BOUND CHEST
_Being the story told by Ralph Slade, Free Lance, to the officers of
the United States cruiser Wolverine_.
I
THE BARBARY COAST
A coincidence got me aboard her. I'll tell you how it was. One evening
late I was just coming out of a dark alley on the Barbary Coast, San
Francisco. You know--the water front, where you can hear more tongues
than at Port Said, see stranger sights, and meet adventure with the
joyous certainty of mediaeval times. I'd been down there hunting up a man
reported, by a wharf-rat of my acquaintance, to have just returned from a
two years' whaling voyage. He'd been "shanghaied" aboard, and as a matter
of fact, was worth nearly a million dollars. Landed in the city without a
cent, could get nobody to believe him, nor trust him to the extent of a
telegram East. Wharf-rat laughed at his yarn; but I believe it was true.
Good copy anyway----
Just at the turn of the alley I nearly bumped into two men. On the
Barbary Coast you don't pass men in narrow places until you have
reconnoitered a little. I pulled up, thanking fortune that they had not
seen me. The first words were uttered in a voice I knew well.
You've all heard of Dr. Karl Augustus Schermerhorn. He did some big
things, and had in mind still bigger. I'd met him some time before in
connection with his telepathy and wireless waves theory. It was
picturesque stuff for my purpose, but wasn't in it with what the old
fellow had really done. He showed me--well, that doesn't matter. The
point is, that good, staid, self-centred, or rather science-centred, Dr.
Schermerhorn was standing at midnight in a dark alley on the Barbary
Coast in San Francisco talking to an individual whose facial outline at
least was not ornamental.
My curiosity, or professional instinct, whichever you please, was all
aroused. I flattened myself against the wall.
The first remark I lost. The reply came to me in a shrill falsetto. So
grotesque was the effect of this treble from a bulk so squat and broad
and hairy as the silhouette before me that I almost laughed aloud.
"I guess you've made no mistake on that. I'm her master, and her owner
too."
"Well, I haf been told you might rent her," said the Doctor.
"Rent her!" mimicked the falsetto. "Well, that--hell, yes, I'll
_rent_ her!" he laughed again.
"Doch recht." The Doctor was plainly at the end of his practical
resources.
After waiting a moment for something more definite, the falsetto inquired
rather drily:
"How long? What to? What for? Who are you, anyway?"
"I am Dr. Schermerhorn," the latter answered.
"Seen pieces about you in the papers."
"How many men haf you in the crew?"
"Me and the mate and the cook and four hands."
"And you could go--soon?"
"Soon as you want--_if_ I go."
"I wish to leaf to-morrow."
"If I can get the crew together, I might make it. But say, let's not hang
out here in this run of darkness. Come over to the grog shop yonder where
we can sit down."
To my relief, for my curiosity was fully aroused--Dr. Schermerhorn's
movements are usually productive--this proposal was vetoed.
"No, no!" cried the Doctor, with some haste, "this iss well! Somebody
might oferhear."
The huge figure stirred into an attitude of close attention. After a
pause the falsetto asked deliberately:
"Where we goin'?"
"I brefer not to say."
"H'm! How long a cruise?"
"I want to rent your schooner and your crew as-long-as I-please-to
remain."
"H'm! How long's that likely to be?"
"Maybe a few months; maybe seferal years."
"H'm! Unknown port; unknown cruise. See here, anything crooked in this?"
"No, no! Not at all! It iss simply business of my own."
"Not that I care," commented the other easily, "only risks is worth
paying for."
"There shall not be risk."
"Pearls likely?" hazarded the other, without much heed to the assurance.
"Them Jap gunboats is getting pretty hard to dodge of late years.
However, I've dodged 'em before."
"Now as to pay--how mooch iss your boat worth?"
I could almost follow the man's thoughts as he pondered how much he dared
ask.
"Well, you see, for a proposition like that--don't know where we're
going, when we're going to get back,--and them gunboats--how would a
hundred and twenty-five a month strike you?"
"Double it up. I want you to do ass I say, and I will also give your crew
double wages. Bud I want goot men, who will stay, and who will keep the
mouth shut."
"Gosh all fish-hooks! They'd go to hell with you for that!"
"Now you can get all you want of Adams & Marsh. Tell them it iss for me,
Brovisions for three years, anyhow. Be ready to sail to-morrow."
"Tide turns at eight in the evening."
"I will send some effects in the morning."
The master hesitated.
"That's all right, Doctor, but how do I know it's all right? Maybe by
morning you'll change your mind."
"That cannot be. My plans are all----"
"It's the usual thing to pay something----"
"Ach, but yes. I haf forgot. Darrow told me. I will make you a check. Let
us go to the table of which you spoke."