THE ALTERNATIVE ROUTE
Her most ardent admirers--and they had never been very numerous--could
hardly have described the Orinoco as a rapid or up-to-date vessel. She
could average a fair eight knots in ordinary weather (except when the
Chief Engineer was not sober; and then she had been known to do as much
as eleven), and she had faced with tolerable credit seven strenuous
years of North Atlantic weather, winter and summer alike. But she was no
flier.
She had not always ploughed the ocean at the behests of Mr. Noddy
Kinahan, her present owner. As a matter of fact, she dated back to the
early sixties. She had been built on the Clyde, in days when people were
not in such a hurry as they are now, for steady and reliable
cross-channel service between Scotland and Ireland; and the crinolined
young lady who had blushingly performed the christening ceremony as the
brand-new steamer slipped down the ways had named her the Gareloch.
After fifteen years of honest buffeting between the Kish and the Cloch
the little Gareloch had been pronounced too slow, and sold to the
proprietor of a line of coasting steamers which plied between Cardiff
and London. In this capacity, with a different-coloured funnel and a
slightly decayed interior, she had served for nine years as the Annie S.
Holmes. After that an officious gentleman from the Board of Trade
happened to notice the state of her boilers, and unhesitatingly declined
to renew her certificate until various things were done which her
present owner was not in the habit of doing. Consequently she had
lain rusting in Southampton Water for six months, until an astute Scot,
who ran a sort of Dr. Barnardo's home for steamers which had been
abandoned by their original owners, stepped in and bought her, at the
rate of about a pound per ton; and having refitted her with some
convenient boilers which he had picked up at a sale, and checked her
fuel-consumption by reducing her grate-area, set her going again in a
humble but remunerative way as a pig-boat between Limerick and Glasgow.
During this period of her career she was known as the Blush Rose--and
probably smelt as sweet.
The maritime Dr. Barnardo sold her three years later (at a profit) to a
gentleman who required a ship for some shady and mysterious operations
amid certain islands in the Southern Pacific. The nature of the poor
Blush Rose's occupation may be gathered from the fact that in the space
of three months she made those already tropical regions too hot to hold
her; and, with her name painted out, a repaired shot-hole in her
counter, and a few pearl oyster-shells sticking out here and there in
the murky recesses of her hold, was knocked down for a song at Buenos
Ayres to a Spanish-American who desired her for the fulfilment of some
rather private contracts, into which he had entered with a Central
American State, for a consignment of small arms and ammunition delivered
immediately--terms, C. O. D. and no questions asked. Her captain on this
occasion was a Lowland Scot of disreputable character but inherent
piety, who endeavoured to confer a rather spurious sanctity upon a
nefarious enterprise by christening his nameless vessel the Jedburgh
Abbey. But, alas! the Jedburgh Abbey was confiscated a year later by the
United States government, and having disgorged a most uncanonical cargo,
was knocked down by Dutch auction, without benefit of clergy, to the
highest bidder. Competition for her possession was not keen, and she
ultimately became the property of Mr. Noddy Kinahan, who at that
time was beginning to pile up a considerable fortune by purchasing
old steamers on their way to the scrap-heap and running them as
tramp-freighters until they sank. The Jedburgh Abbey, with a new
propeller,--she had gone short of a blade for years,--her rusty carcase
tinkered into something like sea-worthiness, and her engines secured a
little more firmly to their bed-plates, had re-established her social
status by creeping once more into Lloyd's list--the Red Book of the
Mercantile Marine--and, disguised as the Orinoco, of the "River" Line of
freight-carrying steamships, had served Mr. Noddy Kinahan well for seven
years. This grey morning, with Sandy Hook well down below the western
horizon, she clambered wearily but perseveringly over the Atlantic
rollers, like a disillusioned and world-weary old cab-horse which,
having begun life between the shafts of a gentleman's brougham, is now
concluding a depressing existence by dragging a funereal "growler" up
and down the undulations of a London suburb.
Her redeeming feature was a certain purity of outline and symmetry of
form. She boasted a flush deck, unbroken by any unsightly waist
amid-ships; and not even her unscraped masts, her scarred sides, and her
flaked and salt-whitened funnel could altogether take away from her her
pride of race,--the right to boast, in common with many a human derelict
of the same sex and a very similar history, that she had "been a lady
once."
She had now been at sea for well over twenty-four hours, and her crew,
who had to a man been brought on board in what a sympathetic eyewitness
on a similar occasion once described as "a state of beastly but enviable
intoxication," were once more beginning to sit up and take notice. Their
efforts in this direction owed much to the kind assistance of Messrs.
Gates and Dingle, the first and second mates, who with cold douche and
unrelenting boot were sparing no pains to rouse to a sense of duty those
of their flock who had not yet found or recovered their sea-legs.
The crew consisted of two Englishmen and a Californian, together with a
handful of Scandinavians, Portuguese, and Germans, divided by sea-law
(which, like its big brother, _non curat de minimis_) into "Dagoes" and
"Dutchmen" respectively, representatives of the Romance races being
grouped under the former and of the Anglo-Saxon under the latter
designations. With one exception none of them had sailed on the ship
before, and in all probability would never do so again. They had been
purveyed to Captain Kingdom by a Tenderloin boarding-house keeper, and
had signed a contract for the voyage to Bordeaux and back, wages for
both trips to be paid at the end of the second. If sufficiently knocked
about, they would in all probability desert at Bordeaux, preferring to
forego their pay rather than stand a second dose of the home comforts of
the Orinoco. This was one of the ways in which Captain Kingdom saved his
employer money and in which Mr. Noddy Kinahan made the "River" Line a
profitable concern. There were also others, which shall be set forth in
due course.
Captain Kingdom had just appeared on the bridge. He was a furtive and
sinister-looking individual, resembling rather a pawnbroker's assistant
than one who occupied his business in great waters. But he was a useful
servant to Noddy Kinahan.
"Got all the hands to work, Mr. Gates?" he called down to the mate.
"Aye, aye, sir!" replied Mr. Gates, knocking the heel of his boot on the
deck to ease his aching toes.
The captain ran his eye over the crew, who were huddling together
forward of the bridge. He cleared his throat.
"Now, you scum," he began genially, "attend to me, while I tell you what
you've got to do on board this ship."
The scum, stagnant and unresponsive, listened stolidly to his harangue,
the substance of which did not differ materially, _mutatis mutandis_,
from one of Mr. Squeers's inaugural addresses to his pupils on the first
morning of term at Dotheboys Hall. Captain Kingdom's peroration laid
particular stress upon the fact that Messrs. Gates and Dingle had been
requested by him as a particular favour to adopt the policy of the thick
stick and the big boot in the case of those members of the crew who
refrained from looking slick in executing their orders.
The crew received his remarks with sheepish grins or sullen scowls; and
the orator concluded:
"Pick watches, Mr. Gates, and then we'll pipe down to dinner. Are all
hands on deck?"
"Aye, aye, sir," replied Mr. Gates, looking over his list.
"I saw _somebody_ down below a few minutes ago," drawled a voice,
proceeding from a figure seated upon a bollard.
It was Mr. Allerton, who, with characteristic contentment with (or
indifference to) his lot, had performed the unprecedented feat of
signing on for a second voyage in the Orinoco. He wore his usual air of
humorous tolerance of the cares of this world, and spoke in the composed
and unruffled fashion which stamps the high-caste Englishman all over
the globe. His lot on board the Orinoco had been lighter than that of
most, for his companions, finding him apparently impervious to ill-usage
and philosophically genial under all circumstances, had agreed to regard
him as a species of heavily decayed and slightly demented "dude," and
had half-affectionately christened him "Percy,"--a term which sums up
the typical Englishman for the New Yorker almost as vividly as "Rosbif"
and "Godam" perform that office for the Parisian.
The captain descended from the bridge, walked across the deck, and
dispassionately kicked Mr. Allerton off the bollard.
"Stand up, you swine, when you speak to me!" he shouted. "Where did you
see anybody?"
Mr. Allerton rose slowly and painfully from the scuppers. There are
moments when the _rôle_ of a Democritus is difficult to sustain.
"I'm sorry you did that, captain," he remarked, "because I know you
didn't mean it personally. You had to make some sort of demonstration,
of course, to put the fear of death into these new hands, but I regret
that you should have singled me out as the _corpus vile_,--you don't
know what that means, I daresay: never mind!--because you have shaken up
my wits so much, besides nearly breaking my hip-bone, that I shall have
to pause and consider a minute before I remember where I _did_ see the
gentleman."
If the captain had been Mr. Gates he would probably have felled Allerton
to the deck a second time. As it was, he shuffled his feet uncomfortably
and glared. The broken man before him, when all was said and done, was
his superior; and the captain, who was of sufficiently refined clay to
be sensitive to social distinctions, was angrily conscious of that sense
of sheepish uneasiness which obsesses the cad, however exalted, in the
presence of a gentleman, however degraded.
Allerton continued:--
"I remember now, captain. The man was lying in the alley-way leading to
the companion. I'll go and see how he is getting on. Keep your seats,
gentlemen."
He dived down the fore-hatchway, just in time to escape the itching boot
of the unimpressionable Mr. Gates, and proceeded between decks toward
the stern. Presently he came to the alley-way in question. The man was
still there, but had slightly shifted his position since Allerton had
last seen him. He was now reclining across the passage, with his head
sunk on his chest. His feet were bare, and he was attired in a blue
jumper and a pair of trousers which had once belonged to a suit of
orange-and-red pyjamas. His appearance was not impressive.
Allerton stirred him gently with his foot.
"Wake up, old man," he remarked, "or there'll be hell--Well, I'm
damned!"
For the man had drowsily lifted his heavy head and displayed the
features of Hughie Marrable.
They gazed at each other for a full minute. Then Allerton said feebly:--
"You've preferred the Orinoco to the Apulia after all, then?"
Hughie did not reply. He was running his tongue round his cracked and
blackened lips, and tentatively sucking his palate.
"I know that taste," he remarked. "It reminds me of a night I once spent
in Canton. I have it--opium!"
Then he tenderly fingered the back of his head, and nodded with the
interested air of one who is acquiring a new item of experience.
"I've been filled up with opium before," he said, "but this is the first
time I've been sand-bagged. I suppose I was sand-bagged first and
hocussed afterwards. Yes, that's it."
He looked almost pleased. He was a man who liked to get to the bottom of
things. Presently he continued:--
"Could you get me a drink of water? I've got a tongue like a stick of
glue."
Allerton departed as bidden, presently to return with a pannikin. Hughie
was standing up in the alley-way, swaying unsteadily and regarding his
attire.
"I say," he said, after gulping the water, "would you mind telling
me--you see, I'm a little bit wuzzy in the head at present--where the
devil I am, and whether I came on board in this kit or my own clothes?"
"Steamship Orinoco," replied Allerton precisely, "out of New York, for
Bordeaux."
"Let me think," said Hughie,--"Orinoco? Ah! now I'm beginning to see
daylight. What's the name of the owner, our friend from Coney Island?"
Allerton told him. "But he's more than your friend now," he added; "he's
your employer."
Hughie whistled long and low.
"I see," he said. "Shanghaied--eh? Well, I must say he owed me one: I
fairly barked his nose for him that night. But now that he has had me
knocked on the head and shipped on board this old ark, I think he has
overpaid me. I owe him one again; and, with any luck, he shall have it."
"Do you remember being slugged?" said Allerton.
"Can't say I do precisely. Let me see. I recollect coming along
Forty-second Street on my way to the Manhattan. I'd been dining at the
Lambs, and I stopped a minute on the sidewalk under an L railway-track
to light my pipe, when--yes, it must have happened then."
"I expect you had been shadowed all day," said Allerton. "But I'm
forgetting my duties. You are wanted on deck."
"Who wants me? Noddy Kinahan?"
"Not much! He doesn't travel by his own ships. It's the captain. I
understand that you are to be presented to the company as a little
stowaway, and great surprise and pain will be officially manifested at
your appearance on board."
"All right. Come along and introduce me."
Captain Kingdom's method of dealing with stowaways--natural and
artificial--was simple and unvarying. On presentation, he first of all
abused them with all the resources of an almost Esperantic vocabulary,
and then handed them over to Mr. Gates to be kicked into shape.
On Hughie Marrable's appearance on deck, the captain proceeded with
gusto to Part One of his syllabus. Hard words break no bones, and
Hughie, who was breathing in great draughts of sea-air and feeling less
dizzy and more collected each minute, set no particular store by the
oratorical display to which he was being treated. In fact, he was almost
guilty of the discourtesy of allowing his attention to wander. He set
the crown upon his offence by interrupting the captain's peroration.
"Look here, skipper," he said, brusquely breaking in upon a period, "you
can drop that. My name is Marrable. I am not a stowaway, and I have been
dumped on board this ship by order of--"
"Your name," said Captain Kingdom with relish, "is anything I choose to
call you; and as you stowed yourself away on board--"
"Look here," said Hughie, "I want a word with you--in your own cabin for
choice. All right," he continued with rising voice, as the captain broke
out again, "I'll have it here instead. First of all, what is Mr. Noddy
Kinahan paying you for this job?"
The captain turned to the mate.
"Sock him, Mr. Gates!" he roared.
Mr. Gates, whose curiosity--together with that of the rest of the
crew--had been roused, as Hughie meant it to be, by the latter's
reference to Mr. Noddy Kinahan's share in the present situation, moved
forward to his task with less alacrity than usual, and paused readily
enough when Hughie continued:--
"If you'll put back, captain, and land me anywhere within a hundred
miles of New York, I'll give you double what Kinahan is paying you for
this job."
"You _look_ like a man with money, I must say!" replied Kingdom. "Now
then, Mr. Gates!"
"It's to be no deal, then?" said Hughie composedly. "Very well. The next
question is, if I am coming with you, how am I going to be treated?
Cabin or steer--"
"I'll show you," roared the incensed skipper. "Knock him silly, Mr.
Gates!"
Mr. Gates came on with a rush. But Hughie, who all this time had been
taking his bearings, leapt back lightly in his bare feet and snatched a
capstan-bar from the rack behind him.
"Keep your distance for a moment, Mr. Gates," he commanded, "if you
don't want your head cracked. I haven't finished interviewing this
captain of yours yet. Happy to oblige _you_ later, for any period you
care to specify."
"'Nother Percy!" commented Mr. Dingle dejectedly, expectorating over the
side. He was a plain man, was Mr. Dingle, and loved straight hitting and
words of one syllable.
Mr. Gates paused, and Hughie, leaning back against the bulwarks and
toying with the capstan-bar, continued to address the fulminating
mariner on the bridge.
"Now, captain, I'm going to be brief with you--brief and business-like.
You've been paid by Kinahan to shanghai me and take me for a long
sea-voyage. Very good. I'm not kicking. I wanted to get to Europe
anyhow, and I rather like long sea-voyages, especially before the mast.
In fact, I'd rather sail before the mast on board this ship than in the
cuddy. (Keep still, Mr. Gates!) As I'm here, I've no particular
objection to working my passage, always reserving to myself the right to
make things hot for your employer when I get ashore. I'll work as an
A.B. or deck-hand if you like, though personally I would rather do
something in the engine-room. I'm pretty well qualified in that
direction. But I must be decently treated, and there must be no more
sand-bagging or knockabout variety business. Is it a deal?"
Captain Kingdom surveyed the sinewy stowaway before him thoughtfully. He
saw that until Hughie gave up the capstan-bar Mr. Gates would have
little chance of enforcing discipline. He must temporise.
"I can give you a job in the engine-room," he said, in what he imagined
was a more conciliatory tone. "Second engineer's down with something
this morning. You can take his watch. Drop that capstan-bar of yours,
and go and see Mr. Angus, the chief."
"That should suit me," replied Hughie. "But as a guarantee of good
faith, and to avoid disappointing the assembled company, I'm quite
willing to stand up and have a turn with Mr. Gates here, or that
gentleman over by the funnel-stay, or any one else you may appoint. But
I should _prefer_ Mr. Gates," he added, almost affectionately. "I'm not
in first-class form at present, as my head has got a dint in it behind;
but I'll do my best. Are you game, Mr. Gates?"
"Go on, Mr. Gates, learn him!" commanded the highly gratified skipper.
"Drop that bar," shouted the genial Mr. Gates, "and I'll kill you!"
"Half a minute, please," said Hughie, as unruffled as if he were putting
on the gloves for a ten-minute spar in a gymnasium. "I'm not going to
fight a man in sea-boots in my bare feet. Can any gentleman oblige me
with--Thank you, sir! You are a white man."
A pair of oily canvas tennis shoes, with list soles, pattered down on
the deck beside him. Their donor, the "white man,"--a coal-black
individual attired chiefly in cotton-waste,--was smiling affably from
the engine-room hatchway.
"They'll dae ye fine," he observed unexpectedly, and disappeared below.
In a moment Hughie had slipped on the shoes. Then, casting away the bar,
he hurled himself straight at the head of Mr. Gates.
In the brief but exhilarating exhibition which followed Mr. Gates
realised that a first mate on the defensive is a very different being
from a first mate on the rampage. He had become so accustomed to
breaking in unresisting dock-rats and bemused foreigners, taking his own
time and using his boots where necessary, that a high-pressure combat
with a man who seemed to be everywhere except at the end of his fist--to
his honour he never once thought of employing his foot--was an entire
novelty to him. He fought sullenly but ponderously, wasting his enormous
strength on murderous blows which never reached their mark, and stolidly
enduring a storm of smacks, bangs, and punches that would have knocked a
man of less enduring material into a pulp. But there is one blow which
no member of the human family can stand up to, glutton for punishment
though he be. Hughie made a sudden feint with his left at his opponent's
body, just below the heart. Gates dropped his guard, momentarily
throwing forward his head as he did so. Instantaneously a terrific
upper-cut from Hughie's right took him squarely under the chin. Mr.
Gates described a graceful parabola, and landed heavily on his back on
deck, striking his head against a ring-bolt as he fell. The whole fight
had lasted less than four minutes.
Hughie was about to assist his fallen opponent to rise, when he heard a
warning cry from half-a-dozen voices. He swung round, to find the
captain making for him, open-mouthed, with the capstan-bar. He sprang
lightly aside--a further blessing on those list shoes!--and his opponent
charged past him, bringing down the bar with a flail-like sweep upon the
drum of a steam windlass. Next moment Hughie, grasping the foremast
shrouds, leaped on the bulwarks and pulled himself up to the level of
the bridge, which was unoccupied save by the man at the wheel, who had
been an enthusiastic spectator of the scene below.
Having climbed upon the bridge, and so secured the upper ground in case
of any further attack, Hughie leaned over the rails and parleyed. In his
hand he held a pair of heavy binoculars, which he had taken out of a box
clamped to the back of the wind-screen.
"The first man who attempts to follow me up here," he announced, when he
had got his breath back, "will get this pair of glasses in the eye.
Captain, I don't think you are a great success as an employer of labour.
You haven't got the knack of conciliating your men. Can't we come to
terms? Mine are very simple. I want some clothes--my own, for choice. If
you haven't got them, anything quiet and unobtrusive will do. But I
decline to go about in orange-and-red pyjama trousers in mid-Atlantic to
please you or anybody else. For one thing they're not warm, and for
another they're not usual. If you will oblige me in this matter, I am
quite willing to live at peace with you. I don't see that you can really
suppress me except by killing me, and that is a thing which I don't
think you have either the authority or the pluck to do. Why not give me
a billet in the engine-room and cry quits?"
Captain Kingdom looked up at the obstreperous mutineer on the bridge,
and down at the recumbent Mr. Gates on the deck, and ground his teeth.
Then he looked up to the bridge again.
"All right," he growled. "Come down!"