[Illustration: The Escape.]
SAM STEELE’S ADVENTURES
In Panama
By
CAPT. HUGH FITZGERALD
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1907,
BY
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. I UNDERTAKE A HAZARDOUS VOYAGE 9
II. I SHIP A QUEER PASSENGER 22
III. THE MOIT CONVERTIBLE AUTOMOBILE 33
IV. WE COME TO GRIEF 56
V. MAKING THE BEST OF IT 71
VI. THE DEAD MAN’S STORY 84
VII. THE FOLLY OF THE WISE 100
VIII. THE SAN BLAS COUNTRY 116
IX. FACING THE ENEMY 128
X. NALIG-NAD 137
XI. PRINCESS ILALAH 153
XII. WAR IS DECLARED 170
XIII. WE LOOK INTO DANGER’S EYES 182
XIV. WE ASTONISH OUR FOES 195
XV. WE SEARCH FOR THE VALLEY 213
XVI. THE ARROW-MAKER 224
XVII. A WOODLAND WONDERLAND 241
XVIII. THE PRINCESS DISAPPEARS 255
XIX. WE ATTEMPT A RESCUE 265
XX. OUTWITTED 275
XXI. THE SACRIFICE 285
XXII. THE THRUST OF A SPEAR 293
XXIII. THE DESERTER 299
XXIV. WE LEAVE PANAMA 307
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM ORIGINAL PAINTINGS BY HOWARD HEATH
THE ESCAPE _Frontispiece_
THE ARROW MUST HAVE KILLED HIM INSTANTLY 84
“ANY SPEAK ENGLIS’?” 124
“DIAMONDS! THEY ARE MAGNIFICENT!” 246
HE DREW THE BOWSTRING TO HIS CHIN 290
SAM STEELE’S ADVENTURES IN PANAMA
CHAPTER I
I UNDERTAKE A HAZARDOUS VOYAGE
The bark _Nebuchadnezar_ came staggering into Chelsea harbor in a very
demoralized condition. Her main and mizzen masts were both gone, the
bulwarks were smashed in, the poop swept away, and she leaked so badly
that all the short-handed crew were nearly ready to drop from the
exhausting labor of working the pumps. For after weathering a dreadful
storm in which the captain and mate were washed overboard, together
with five of the men, those remaining had been forced to rig up a
square-sail on the foremast and by hook or crook to work the dismantled
hulk into harbor, and this they did from no love of the ship but as a
matter of mere self-preservation, the small boats having all been lost
or destroyed.
As soon as they dropped anchor in the harbor they fled from the
crippled ship and left her to her fate.
It fortunately happened that an agent of the owners, a man named
Harlan, lived at Chelsea and was able to take prompt action to save
the company’s property. The _Nebuchadnezar_ was loaded heavily with
structural steel work from Birmingham, which had been destined for San
Pedro, California, which is the port of entry for the important city
of Los Angeles. It was a valuable cargo, and one well worth saving; so
Mr. Harlan quickly sent a lot of men aboard to calk the sprung seams
and pump her dry, and within twenty-four hours they had her safe from
sinking, although she still looked more like a splintered tub than a
ship.
And now the agent spent a whole day exchanging telegrams with the chief
agents of the Line in New York. It appeared that to unload the heavy
structural beams, which were of solid steel, and ship them by rail
across the continent would entail a serious loss, the freight rates
being enormous for such a distance. There was at the time no other
ship procurable to carry the cargo on to its destination. Either the
old _Nebuchadnezar_ must be made seaworthy again, and sent on its way
around the Horn to San Pedro, or the company was in for a tremendous
loss.
Harlan was a man of resource and energy. He promptly informed his
superiors that he would undertake to fit the ship for sea, and
speedily; so he was given permission to “go ahead.”
New masts were stepped, the damages repaired, and the bark put in as
good condition as possible. But even then it was a sad parody on a
ship, and the chances of its ever getting to the port of destination
were regarded by all observers as extremely doubtful.
Having done the best in his power, however, Mr. Harlan came to my
father and said:
“Captain Steele, I want you to take the _Nebuchadnezar_ to San Pedro.”
The Captain smiled, and answered with his usual deliberation:
“Thank you, Mr. Harlan; but I can’t by any possibility get away this
winter.”
You see, we were just building our new vessel, the _Seagull_, which was
to be our future pride and joy, and my father did not believe the work
could progress properly unless he personally inspected every timber
and spike that went into her. Just now the builders were getting along
finely and during the coming winter all the interior fittings were to
be put in. I knew very well that nothing could induce Captain Steele to
leave the _Seagull_ at this fascinating period of its construction.
Mr. Harlan was very grave and anxious, and spoke frankly of the
difficulty he was in.
“You see, sir, my reputation is at stake in this venture,” he
explained, “and if anything happens to that cargo they will blame me
for it. The only way to avoid a heavy loss is to get the old hull into
port, and I am aware that to accomplish this task a man of experience
and exceptional judgment is required. There is not another captain on
the coast that I would so completely and confidently trust with this
undertaking as I would you, sir; and we can afford to pay well for the
voyage.”
My father appreciated the compliment, but it did not alter his resolve.
“Can’t be done, Mr. Harlan,” he said, pressing the ashes into the bowl
of his pipe and looking around the group of intent listeners with a
thoughtful expression. “Time was when I’d have liked a job of that
sort, because it’s exciting to fight a strong ocean with a weak ship.
But my whole heart is in the _Seagull_, and I can’t an’ won’t leave
her.”
Just then his eyes fell upon me and brightened.
“There’s no reason, howsomever,” he added, “why Sam can’t undertake
your commission. We won’t be likely to need him this winter, at all.”
Mr. Harlan frowned; then looked toward me curiously.
“Would you really recommend a boy like Sam for such an important
undertaking?” he asked.
“Why not, sir?” replied my father. “Sam’s as good a navigator as I
am, an’ he’s a brave lad an’ cool-headed, as has been proved. All he
lacks is experience in working a ship; but he can take my own mate, Ned
Britton, along, and there’s not a better sailing-master to be had on
the two oceans.”
The agent began to look interested. He revolved the matter in his mind
for a time and then turned to me and asked, abruptly:
“Would you go, sir?”
I had been thinking, too, for the proposition had come with startling
suddenness.
“On one condition,” said I.
“What is that?”
“That in case of accident--if, in spite of all our efforts, the old tub
goes to the bottom--you will hold me blameless and look as cheerful as
possible.”
The agent thought that over for what seemed a long time, considering
the fact that he was a man of quick judgment and action. But I will
acknowledge it was a grave condition I had required, and the man knew
even better than I did that under the most favorable circumstances the
result of the voyage was more than doubtful. Finally he nodded.
“I do not know of any one I would rather trust,” said he. “You are only
a boy, Sam Steele; but I’ve got your record, and I know Ned Britton.
Next to getting Captain Steele himself, the combination is as good as I
could hope to secure for my company, and I’m going to close with you at
once, condition and all.”
Britton, who was himself present at this conference, shifted uneasily
in his chair.
“I ain’t right sure as we can ship a proper crew, sir,” he remarked,
eyeing me with the characteristic stare of his round, light blue eyes,
which were as unreadable as a bit of glass.
“Well, we can try, Ned,” I answered, with some concern. “I shall take
Nux and Bryonia along, of course, and we won’t need over a dozen able
seamen.”
I must explain that the Nux and Bryonia mentioned were not homeopathic
remedies, but two stout, black South Sea Islanders who bore those
absurd names and had already proven their loyalty and devotion to me,
although they were the especial retainers of my uncle, Naboth Perkins.
“What became of the crew that brought the ship in?” asked my father.
“Deserted, sir, an’ dug out quick’s scat,” answered Ned.
“Why?”
“Said as nothing but bad luck followed the ship. She were a thirteener,
sir, and bound fer to get in trouble.”
“How’s that?”
“Why, I talked with the second mate, who brung the ship in. He said
they had sailed from Liverpool on a Friday, the thirteenth o’ the
month. There was thirteen aboard; it were the Cap’n’s thirteenth
voyage; an’ the _Nebuchadnezar_, which had thirteen letters in its
name--bein’ as how it were mis-spelled by its builders--was thirteen
year old to a day. That was bad enough fer a starter, as everybody can
guess. Thirteen days out they struck trouble, an’ it clung to ’em as
desp’rit as their own barnacles. You couldn’t hire one o’ that crew to
go aboard agin, sir, fer love or money.”
This dismal revelation struck a chill to all present, except, perhaps,
Mr. Harlan and myself. I am superstitious about some things, I
acknowledge, but thirteen has for me always been a number luckier than
otherwise. However, I knew very well that sailors are obstinate and
fearful; so I turned to the agent and said:
“You must paint out that name _Nebuchadnezar_ and replace it with any
other you like. Do it at once, before we attempt to ship a crew. With
that accomplished, Ned won’t have much trouble in getting the men he
wants.”
“I’ll do it,” replied Mr. Harlan, promptly. “I’ll call her the _Gladys
H._, after my own little daughter. That ought to bring her good luck.”
Ned bobbed his head approvingly. It was evident the idea pleased him
and removed his most serious objection to the voyage.
“And now,” continued the agent, “it is only necessary to discuss terms.”
These proved liberal enough, although I must say the money was no
factor in deciding me to undertake the voyage. I had been quite
fortunate in accumulating a fair share of worldly wealth, and a part of
my own snug fortune had gone into our new _Seagull_, of which I was to
be one-third owner.
So it was really a desire to be doing something and an irrepressible
spirit of adventure that urged me on; for, as my father said, a
struggle with old ocean was always full of surprises, and when we had
such frail support as the crippled _Nebuchadnezar_, the fight was
liable to prove interesting.
But that preposterous name was painted out the following day, and
before I trod the deck for the first time the bark had been renamed
the _Gladys H._, and was resplendent in fresh paint and new cordage.
The old hulk actually looked seaworthy to a superficial observer; but
Ned Britton went below and examined her seams carefully and came back
shaking his head.
“If the weather holds good and the cargo steady,” he said to me, “we
may pull through; but if them big iron beams in the hold ever shifts
their position, the whole hull’ll open like a sieve.”
“Don’t whisper that, Ned,” I cautioned him. “We’ve got to take chances.”
He was not the man to recoil at taking chances, so he kept a close
mouth and in three days secured all the sailors we needed.
They were a fairly good lot, all experienced and steady, and when I
looked them over I was well pleased. One or two who were new to our
parts grinned rather disrespectfully when they noted my size and youth;
but I paid little attention to that. I was, in reality, a mere boy, and
the only wonder is that they consented to sail under my command.
My mate, however, looked every inch the sailor, and won their immediate
respect, while my father’s ample reputation as a daring and skillful
captain caused the men to be lenient in their judgment of his son.
It was to be a long cruise, for Mr. Harlan had instructed me to skirt
the coast all the way to Cape Horn, keeping well in to land so that
in an emergency I could run the ship ashore and beach her. That would
allow us to save the valuable cargo, even if we lost the ship, and that
structural steel work was worth a lot of bother, he assured me.
“When you get to the Cape,” said the agent, “take your time and wait
for good weather to round it. There’s no hurry, and by the time you
arrive there the conditions ought to be the most favorable of the year.
Once in the Pacific, continue to hug the coast up to San Pedro, and
then telegraph me for further instructions. Of course you know the
consignment is to the contracting firm of Wright & Landers, and when
you arrive they will attend to the unloading.”
I got my things aboard and found my room very pleasant and of ample
size. I took quite a library of books along, for the voyage would
surely consume most of the winter. We were liberally provisioned, for
the same reason, and our supplies were of excellent quality.
My two black Islanders, Nux and Bryonia, were calmly indifferent to
everything except the fact that “Mars’ Sam” was going somewhere and
would take them along.
Bry was our cook, and a mighty good one, too. With him in charge of the
galley we were sure to enjoy our meals. Nux acted as steward and looked
after the officers’ cabins. He was wonderfully active and a tower of
strength in time of need. Both men I knew I could depend upon at all
times, for they were intelligent, active, and would be faithful to the
last.
We arranged to sail with the tide on a Wednesday afternoon, the date
being the nineteenth of September. On that eventful morning every
preparation was reported complete, and I rowed to the shore for a final
conference with the agent and a last farewell to my father.