SAIL HO!
Caradoc lay stretched out in a deck chair, on top of the broad wall of
the dock, a cool dawn breeze playing over him. He looked across the
motley sea toward an opalescent sky reddening in the east.
"No," replied Madden without great interest, from his seat on the rail,
"I've no idea what you mean by a 'remittance man.'"
The Englishman's eyes strayed wearily from the limpid dawn to the tiny
image of a lion couchant on a small blue enameled shield which he used
as a watch fob.
"Among the English--" He paused and began again: "Among a certain class
of English families," he proceeded in an impersonal tone, "when a member
goes hopelessly astray, that member is sent abroad to travel
indefinitely. Remittances are forwarded to him from place to place,
wherever he wishes to go, but--" there was a scarcely noticeable
pause--"he can't come back to England any more."
"O-o-h!" dragged out Madden in a low voice, comprehending the man before
him for the first time.
"So they are called remittance men--always remitted to." Caradoc's long
fever-worn face, that was filling out in convalescence, colored
momentarily.
"So that's what you were," said the American after a pause; "a
remittance man, simply drifting over the face of the earth, supported by
your family, boozing your life away, and always longing to see England
again?"
"You can put things so raw, Madden," responded Caradoc with a ghost of a
smile. "I _am_, not _were_."
"_Were_," insisted the American quickly. "Before your collapse you
were a confirmed alcoholic, but you are slightly different now. Your
eight days of fever, when Hogan and I had to hold you in bed, must have
burned you out, cleaned up your whole system. You are nearer normal now
than you were. You have a fresh start. It's up to you what you do with
it."
The Englishman looked at his friend with a sort of slow surprise on his
face. "I hadn't noticed it, but I don't believe I do crave drink as
keenly."
"No, sickness is often not so bad a thing as folks think. It is nature's
way of putting us right. Sometimes," he added thoughtfully, "we crumple
up in the process, but we can hardly blame the old lady for that."
"You're an odd fellow, Madden," laughed Caradoc, getting slowly out of
his chair and stretching his arms. "Well, for some reason or other, I
feel fine this morning--let's take a constitutional around the dock."
The young men walked off, side by side, and began the circuit of the
dock's quarter-mile outline. The breeze was such a rarity in the
becalmed region that the two paused now and then to take long grateful
breaths, and to watch the little wind waves ripple the glassy Sargasso
lanes.
As they walked, navvies came out with buckets brushes and set to work
painting the maze of iron stanchions that lined the long interior of the
dock.
"I'm afraid I'll have to stop that painting," remarked Leonard after
watching them a moment.
"They'll be very glad of it--but why?"
"It consumes too much energy. The men can live on less if they quit
work."
"Oh, I see."
"I think I shall have to cut their food down to half rations. We've been
adrift nearly sixteen days now and not a smoke plume from the
_Vulcan_. She has lost us--if she didn't founder."
"Any chance of meeting some other vessel?"
"Here in the ocean's graveyard?"
"Are we far in?" inquired Smith with rising concern.
"Close to three hundred miles, and getting deeper every day."
The two walked on mechanically, with the precise step of those who seek
exercise. The rim of the sun cut the edge of the ocean and a long trail
of light made the east difficult for their eyes.
"Any danger of starving?" questioned Caradoc, staring moth-like at the
blinding disc of flame.
"Perhaps not," meditated Madden. "I've been thinking about it. As a last
resort this seaweed is edible, at any rate certain species of it. The
Chinese and Japanese eat it, but that isn't much of a recommendation to
a European. Then the water is full of fish that come to nibble at the
stuff."
Caradoc was obviously inattentive to this consoling information. "Yes,"
he murmured politely, "Japanese do nibble at the fish."
Madden looked around at his abstracted friend, who was still staring
into the molten sunrise.
"When the Japanese come to nibble at the fish, we might get some food
from them," suggested Madden with American delight in the ridiculous.
"Perhaps so."
"And fans, parasols, and little ivory curios--souvenirs of the Sargasso,
when we roll up the dock and take it home."
Smith nodded soberly, still gazing.
"What are you looking at, Caradoc?" laughed the American.
"I say, Madden, just look at that sun, will you? I thought I saw a
little black fleck against it straightaway to the east right down on the
horizon."
"You're injuring your sight, that's all," the American was still
smiling. "You know black specks will dance before your eyes if you stare
at the sun too long."
"But this was shaped like a sail," persisted Smith, staring again.
"Illusion," diagnosed Madden promptly, but his eyes followed Caradoc's
eastward nevertheless.
As far as his sight could reach up the golden path, he saw the black
markings of seaweed; then his vision became lost in a mist of
illumination. However, in this region, he could distinguish things dimly
and in flashes.
Presently, in one of these clear instants, he saw flashed, like the
single film of a moving picture, the tiny black silhouette of a ship's
sail against the dazzling east. Next moment it was lost in light.
"I told you!" cried Caradoc, getting his friend's expression. "It's
there! We've both seen it! A ship, Madden!"
Then he turned with more strength than Madden thought was in him. "Sail
ho, men!" he sang out. "A sail!"
"Come up, fellows, and take a look!" chimed in Madden just as eagerly.
"We believe we see a sail!"
The crew dropped work at once, and came climbing the ladder up the deep
side of the canyon like a string of monkeys; then they came running
across the red decking.
"Where?" "Wot direction?" "Where ees eet?" came a chorus of inquiries.
The two were pointing and soon the whole crew was lined up staring into
the brilliance. Their fresh eyes caught the glimpse immediately and held
it long enough to make sure.
"A sail!" "There she is!" "Oi see her!" bellowed half a dozen voices.
The whole crew fell into tense, happy confusion, laughing, staring,
yelling, speculating, slapping backs.
"Will she see us?" cried someone.
"Do ye think she'd overlook the whole west half o' th' sea, Galton?"
"She weel run against us eef she cooms thees way."
"But she might not know we are in distress?"
"Disthress, is it ye're sayin'? We're not in disthress, ye loon. This is
th' happiest day o' me loife."
Leonard turned to the Irishman. "Hogan, go dip that flag on the jury
mast--wiggle it up and down--let 'em know something is wrong--make 'em
think we have the rickets if nothing else."
Two men ran off with Hogan to the forward bridge; the others stared,
waved, shouted and let their excitement bubble down.
"But I don't understand a sailing vessel in these waters," speculated
Leonard.
"Maybe it's a derelick?" surmised Galton. "I've 'card as 'ow this was a
great place for derelicks."
"'Ow could she be a derelick," argued Mulcher, "w'en she 'as so much
canvas aloft? You run up on derelicks an' git sunk, ever' cove knows
that."
"I carn't think of hall these things at once!" retorted Galton.
"Perhaps she ees the _Vulcan_ under sail with deesabled engines?"
suggested Deschaillon.
This explanation was accepted unanimously and joy broke out afresh.
"Why sure, th' _Vulcan_, th' good old _Vulcan_! Now, lads,
let's give three cheers and maybe it'll reach 'er!"
Madden left the men trying to reach her with their bellows and went
below after the mate's binoculars. When he returned the sun had swung up
above the rim of the ocean and the sail was plainly discernible. He
leveled his glasses and his eyes went searching among the distant
markings of seaweed, until it finally rested on the sail. The vessel was
hull down. There was nothing to see except a little canvas stretched
neatly aloft and ship-shape masts and spars. He observed her attentively
for some time. She seemed to be making very little headway. All in all,
Madden made little of the craft, so he handed the glass to Smith. The
Englishman was likewise puzzled, and the binoculars went down the line
of curious men.
There was something in the way the youth named Farnol Greer handled the
instrument that caused Madden to ask:
"What do you make out, Greer?"
"She is lying to, sir. She's backing her tops'ls flat against the
breeze, and her mains'l's reefed and drawing with it."
"Lying to!" cried three or four voices. "W'ot does she mean by that?
Looks as if she'd be bloomin' glad to get out o' such a bally place as
this!"
"Let me have another look." Madden resumed the binoculars.
Now that Madden's attention was called to this unusual disposition of
the sails, he could make out their position for himself.
This started another tide of speculation buzzing among the castaways.
Was the _Vulcan_ crippled? Had she run short of coal? But why
should she voluntarily lay-to in the very sight of her quarry?
"They're fishin'," surmised Deschaillon, "off in th' boats fishin';
they're weethout food also."
This wild surmise was the only reasonable hypothesis that had been
struck on. Another group of men rushed for the jury mast to show the
fishermen that their presence was desired. At any rate the faint breeze
was very slowly bringing the two vessels together.
If the men had been heretofore anxious that the cool breeze continue,
now their anxiety was redoubled. At any moment it might die away and
leave the _Vulcan_ stranded beyond communication. In painful
uncertainty, they watched the tug drag her hull slowly into sight, then
slowly eat her way down the long mazy lanes of the Sargasso.
Then, when she was well in view, Farnol Greer said:
"She is not the _Vulcan_, sir."
By this time all the men had their brown faces wrinkled up against the
glare of the sunshine. Now they redoubled their gaze on the distant
vessel.
"Faith, and sure enough she isn't!" cried Hogan.
Greer was right; the strange vessel was not the tug. She had a funnel
amidship and two masts, but there her resemblance to the _Vulcan_
ceased.
The crew stared, talked, speculated, until the sun swung up like a
white-hot metal ball in the sky, and the quivering heat drove them below
under the awnings. From here they could still view the stranger, but not
to so good advantage. The breeze, by good fortune lasted till deep in
the morning, but finally dropped down in the blanketing heat, with the
unknown craft a good three miles distant.
The dock's crew could make out no sign of life as they strained their
eyes through the glare of tropical brilliance. The high-lights of the
schooner's reversed topsails and the luminous shadows of her mainsail
stood out vividly against the hot copper sky. The multi-colored markings
of the ocean and the sharp line of the horizon finished a very picture
of pitiless heat.
The men stood beneath the awning, legs apart, arms held away from
bodies, and stared from under dripping brows for some signs of
recognition from the stranger.
"'Asn't she got up a single rag to show us she sees us?" puffed Galton,
swiping his hand across his forehead and flinging drops on the iron
deck, where they evaporated the moment they hit.
"Don't see none," replied the navvy who possessed the binoculars at that
moment.
"'Ave they any boats?"
"One cleated down for'ard, one slung on the midship davits, and I think
I make hout one on t'other side past the booby hatch."
"And not a soul on deck?"
"Not unless they're settin' on th' fur side o' th' superstructure."
"Wot would they want to be settin' in th' sun for?" demanded Galton
brusquely.
"'Ow do I know? If they was Eth'opians, wouldn't they set in th' sun?"
"This is as clost as we'll ever git," surmised another voice. "The night
breeze'll blow 'er back where she come from."
"Well, w'ere's that?" demanded Mulcher savagely.
"Why, Eth'opia, I reckon, if she's got a crew of Eth'opians settin' on
t'other side of 'er superstructure."
"They ain't a man-jack aboard; and you know it," snarled Galton, "or
'e'd be poppin' 'is eyes hout at such a 'orrible big sight as we must
be."
"Anyway, I'll bet she blows back w'ere she come from, to-night,"
persisted the advocate of this theory.
The men caviled on at each other endlessly, disputing, denying,
upbraiding, and once in a while coming to blows.
In order to keep any sort of discipline, Leonard and Caradoc kept to
themselves under a separate awning, for all sea-faring experience has
shown that a separation of officers and men is necessary for the
management of sailors.
However, Madden heard most of the arguments that went on under the men's
canvas, and he became convinced that the sailor was right; the evening
breeze would carry the schooner away from the dock. He measured the long
distance through the sea lanes from dock to schooner with his eyes.
"Caradoc," he said to his friend, "if we ever reach that vessel now's
our time."
"How do you hope to do it?"
For answer Madden turned to the men. "Mulcher, bring me a life buoy,
will you?"
Mulcher arose and started on his errand.
Caradoc stared. "You don't intend to _swim_ that distance--through
this heat?"
"There's a boat over there, and provisions, perhaps."
"And the crew?"
"It is quite possible that they sleep through the day which is utterly
becalmed and make some little headway at night with the slight evening
and morning breezes--it would be a task for a sailing vessel to work
herself out of the Sargasso."
"Why I never thought of that. I suppose it is possible."
Mulcher was returning with a buoy. The crew came forward behind the
navvy, on the _qui vive_ over this new undertaking.
"Faith, and hadn't ye betther sind one o' th' min, sir," suggested
Hogan, "an if he drowns, sir, Oi would take it to be a sign that it's a
dangerous swim."
"An' the sharks, Meester Madden," warned Deschaillon.
As Madden kicked off his clothes, he observed Caradoc stripping
likewise. Then Farnol Greer came running down the deck with another buoy
and a big clasp knife.
The American looked at these fellows. "Caradoc, you can't possibly hold
out that distance; you're weak."
"I've done ten miles in--at home."
Greer said nothing, but rapidly undressed.
All three kept on their hats and undershirts as protection against
sunburn. As Madden walked from the awning through the stinging sun rays,
crimping up his naked feet from the blistering deck, Galton called to
him.
"If we git a lot of grub, sir, couldn't it be hextra, and carn't we 'ave
a spread to-night, sir?"
"Something like that," agreed Madden, tossing his buoy into the water.
The two other swimmers followed example, then all three dived off the
twelve foot pontoon toward their floats. They came up shaking the water
from ears and eyes. Madden was immersed in tepid water. His men were
cheering stolidly. The schooner looked very, very far away now that he
was at the surface of the water. Between him and his goal streaked mazes
of sargassum. It suddenly struck the American that he might have trouble
getting through those barriers.
However, the three swimmers were progressing boldly.