On that first voyage the _Narcissus_ carried general cargo to northern
ports on the West Coast. Then she dropped down to a nitrate port and
loaded nitrate for New York, and about the time she passed through the
Panama Canal the Blue Star Navigation Company wired its New York agent
to provide some neutral business for her next voyage. Freights were
soaring by this time, due to the scarcity of the foreign bottoms which
formerly had carried Uncle Sam's goods to market, and Cappy Ricks and
Matt Peasley knew the rates would increase from day to day, and that
in consequence their New York agents would experience not the slightest
difficulty in placing her--hence they delayed as long as they could
placing her on the market.
On the other hand, the New York agents, realizing that higher freight
rates meant a correspondingly higher commission for them on the charter,
held off until the _Narcissus_ had almost finished discharging at
Hoboken before they closed with a fine old New York importing and
exporting house for a cargo of soft coal from Norfolk, Virginia, to
Manila, or Batavia. The charterers were undecided which of these two
cities would be the port of discharge, and stipulated that the vessel
was to call at Pernambuco, Brazil, for orders. The New York agents
marvelled at this for--to them--very obvious reasons; but inasmuch as
the charterers had offered a whopping freight rate and declined to do
business on any other basis, and since further the agent concluded it
was no part of his office to question the motives of a house that never
before had been subjected to suspicion, he concluded to protect himself
by leaving the decision to the owners of the _Narcissus_. Accordingly he
wired them as follows:
“Blue Star Navigation Company,
“258 California St., San Francisco, Cal.
“Have offer _Narcissus_, coal Norfolk Batavia or Manila, charterers
undecided, Pernambuco for orders, ten dollars per ton. Shall we close?
Answer.
“SEABORN”
2 boards, 1” x 8” and up, and too great a percentage of 4” x 6”-20' No.
1 clear. And there were mighty few clear twenty-foot logs coming into
the boom these days.
“Well, will a cat eat liver?” declared Cappy Ricks. “I should say we do
accept. Why, man, she'll make forty thousand dollars on the voyage,
and whether she goes to Batavia or Manila, we're certain to get a cargo
back.”
“All right, I'll wire acceptance,” Skinner replied, and paused long
enough to make a notation on the message: “O.K.--Ricks.” Mr. Skinner
meant nothing in particular by that. He was a model of efficiency, and
that was his little way of placing the responsibility for the decision
in the event that the wisdom of said decision should, at some future
time, be questioned. Mr. Skinner never took unnecessary chances. He
always played a safe game.
It is necessary to state here also that Matt Peasley was not in the
office when that telegram arrived from Seaborn & Company. If he had been
this story would never have been written. He was down at Hunter's Point
drydock, superintending the repairs to the steam schooner Amelia Ricks,
which recently on a voyage to Seattle had essayed the overland route via
Duxbury Reef. When Matt reached home that night he found his ingenious
father-in-law fairly purring with contentment.
“Well, Matt, old horse,” Cappy piped, “I've chartered the Narcissus.
Norfolk to Batavia or Manila with coal. Got a glorious price--ten
dollars a ton. That's what we get for holding off until the last
minute.”
“That's encouraging,” Matt answered pleasantly, and asked no further
questions. He was obsessed with the engines of the _Amelia Ricks_. It
was going to cost a lot of money to put them in condition again, and
he remarked as much to Cappy. Thus it happened that they entered into
a discussion of other matters, and the good ship _Narcissus_, having
finished discharging her cargo of nitrate, dropped down to Norfolk,
where Captain Michael J. Murphy proceeded to let a stream of coal into
her at a rate that promised to load her fully in less than four days.
It is worthy of remark, at this juncture, that Mike Murphy and
Terence Reardon had, by this time, cast aside all appearance of
even shirt-sleeve diplomacy. Diplomatic relations had, in fact, been
completely severed. Crossing the Gulf Stream, Murphy had called the
engine-room on the speaking-tube and politely queried if Mr. Reardon
didn't think he could get a few more revolutions out of her. To this Mr.
Reardon had replied passionately that if such a thing were possible he
would have done it long ago without waiting to be told. He desired to
inform Captain Murphy that he knew his business; whereupon Murphy
had replied that he never would have guessed Mr. Reardon was that
intelligent, judging by the face of him. In disgust Mr. Reardon had
replied: “Aw, go to--” and then tried to close the speaking-tube before
the captain would have the opportunity to retort. However, Michael J.
knew his own mind, and, like all the Irish, was a marvel at repartee.
Quick as was Terence Reardon, therefore, Michael J. Murphy was quicker.
Perhaps all of his message had not been delivered before Reardon closed
the tube, but the chief got enough of it for all practical purposes.
He caught one word--“Renegade”; a word so terrible that it left the
chief engineer speechless with fury, and before he could call the
skipper a baboon, the golden opportunity was gone. He closed the tube
with a sigh.