Capt. Matt Peasley, with his heart in his throat, called up the British
consul at San Francisco. Cappy Ricks, looking very pale and unhappy,
sagged in his chair, while Mr. Skinner stood by, gnawing his nails and
looking as if he would relish being kicked from one end of California
Street to the other.
“Hullo!” Matt Peasley began. Cappy Ricks shuddered and closed his eyes.
“Is this the British consul's office?... This is Captain Peasley, of the
Blue Star Navigation Company... Yes... About our steamer _Narcissus_...
You say the consul is on his way down to our office... Thank you...
Goodbye.”
Cappy Ricks sighed like an old air-compressor. “I hope I live till he
gets here,” he declared feebly. “Deliberate race, the British. No pep.
Never get anywhere in a hurry.”
As if to give the lie to Cappy's criticisms, the British consul was
admitted at that moment.
“Gentlemen,” he announced as the heart-broken trio gathered round him,
“I have some very grave news for you.” His voice was vaguely reminiscent
of that of the foreman in a quarry who calls upon a lady to inform her
that her husband has just been caught in a premature blast and that the
boys will be up with the pieces directly. “Your steamer _Narcissus_,
loaded with ten thousand tons of coal, has been captured a hundred miles
north-east of the Falkland Islands by His Majesty's cruiser _Panther_.
In view of your vessel's clearance--”
A low moan broke from Cappy Ricks.
“Tightwad!” he reviled. “Old Alden P. Tightwad, the prince of misers!
He thought he'd add a couple of ten-dollar bills to his roll, so he
encouraged his skipper to hire a lot of interned Germans to work his
ships in neutral trade! He was penny-wise and pound-foolish, so he cut
out the wireless to save a miserable hundred and forty dollars a
month. Bids are invited for the privilege of killing the damned old
fool--Skinner! What are you looking at?”
“N-n-nothing!” stammered Mr. Skinner.
“I won't be looked at that way, Skinner. I have my faults, I know--”
“Ssshh!” Matt Peasley interrupted.
“And I won't be 'sshh-ed' at either. I lost the ship. I admit it. I
O.K.'d the charter, and Murphy did his best to save her for us and
couldn't. I'm the goat, but if it busts me I'll reimburse you two boys
for every cent you have lost through my carelessness--”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Ricks,” the consul interrupted. “Pray permit me
to proceed. The circumstances attending this case are so very unusual--”
“My dear Mister British Consul, I shall not argue the matter with you.
You're too bally deliberate, and, besides, what's the use? The ship is
gone. Let her go. We'll build another twice as big. Of course I could
give you an excuse, but if I did you'd think I was old Nick Carter come
to life. We'll just have to take it up through our State Department,
present our alibi, and try to win her back in the prize court.”
“She will never be sent to a prize court, Mr. Ricks. It doesn't require
a prize court to decide the case of the steamer _Narcissus_. The
evidence is too overwhelming. There could not possibly be a reversal of
the decision of our admiral.”
Mr. Skinner sat down suddenly to keep from falling down. The consul
continued: “The commander of the _Panther_, Captain Desmond O'Hara--by
the way, an old schoolmate of mine--has sent me a long private report
on the affair; by wireless, of course, and in code. It appears that in
Pernambuco harbor your German crew overpowered the captain--”
“What?” cried Cappy, Matt and Skinner in chorus. “You admit that?”
“We do, Mr. Ricks. And last night your chief engineer, Mr. Terence
Reardon, with the aid of the steward, one Riggins--a British subject and
unfortunately killed in the affray--and Captain Murphy overpowered the
German crew--”
“Oh, Mr. Ricks!” gasped Skinner.
“Oh, Matt!” shrilled Cappy Ricks.
“Oh, Cappy!” yelled Matt Peasley.
“Oh, nonsense,” laughed the British consul. “They stole her back,
gentlemen, and when Captain O'Hara found her rolling helplessly and
boarded her, she was a shambles. Dead men tell no tales, Mr. Ricks--yet
it was impossible for any fair-minded man to doubt the testimony of
the dead men aboard your _Narcissus_! Her killed, wounded and prisoners
formed a perfect alibi. In the meantime, Mr. Reardon and Captain
Murphy are aboard the Panther, receiving medical attention, and will be
returned to duty in a few weeks; the _Narcissus_ is proceeding to meet
the other ships of our fleet. She will coal them at sea.”
“Then you've confiscated her cargo?” Matt Peasley demanded.
“We should worry about the cargo if they give us back our vessel,”
Cappy Ricks declared happily. “We haven't received our freight money,
of course, but by the time I get through with the charterers they'll pay
the freight and ask no questions about the coal.”
“We confiscated it, Mr. Ricks,” the British consul continued, “for the
reason that it was German coal. The supercargo who boarded the vessel
at Pernambuco told your captain his people had paid cash for it to the
charterers. But we're going to give you back your vessel because we
haven't any moral right to keep her, since her owners have committed
no breach of international law. The supercargo left fifteen thousand
dollars behind him when he jumped overboard, but Captain O'Hara declined
to confiscate that. At Captain Murphy's suggestion it will be forwarded
to the widow of the man Riggins. Captain O'Hara especially requested
that I call upon you and inform you that you have two of the finest
Irishmen in the world to thank for your ship.”
“Thank you, Mister Consul. By the way, can you reach Captain O'Hara by
wireless? If you can, I should be glad to pay for a message if you will
send it.”
“I shall be delighted indeed.”
“Then tell him the Blue Star Navigation Company thanks him for the
courtesy of his message, but that it does not agree with his statement
that we have two Irishmen to thank for our ship. We think we have
three! I know the Irish. The scoundrels never go back on each other in a
fight.”
The consul laughed.
“By the way,” he said, as he took up his hat preparatory to leaving,
“your ship is now equipped with wireless--a fine, powerful plant such
as they use in the German Navy. The supercargo brought it aboard at
Pernambuco.”
Matt Peasley, the Yankee, came to life at that. “Has that been
confiscated, too?” he queried.
“No, captain. However, we have confiscated that German crew of yours--”
“Hallelujah!” yelled Cappy Ricks.
“--and loaned you a crew of British seamen from the tramp _Surrey Maid_.
The _Scharnhorst_ torpedoed her off the coast of Chile, and we found her
crew on board one of the German transports when we captured them after
the fleet was destroyed. You're all fixed up, from skipper to cabin
boy--”
“Wireless operator, too?” Matt Peasley cried.
The consul nodded. “He's got a steady job,” the youthful president
declared, and turned to Cappy Ricks for confirmation of this edict. But
Cappy, the pious old codger, had bowed his head on his breast and they
heard him mutter:
“O Lord, I thank Thee! All unworthy as I am, Lord, thou loadest me with
favors--including a wireless plant, free gratis!”