THE CAPTAIN AND THE SUPERCARGO.
When Harry was so treacherously thrown overboard by Jack Rodman, the
supercargo was not on deck. He had been attacked by a violent headache,
which had caused him to go below and “turn in,” in the hope of obtaining
a little sleep. In this he at length succeeded, and when Harry’s life was
placed in jeopardy he was fast asleep. He did not wake up for an hour or
more. Feeling refreshed he got up and went on deck. He looked round as
usual for Harry, but did not see him. His attention, however, was drawn
to Tom Patch, who, good, honest fellow, every now and then raised his
rough hand to his eyes to brush away a tear.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” asked the supercargo, for he had observed the
rough sailor’s partiality for Harry, and this had inclined him favorably
towards him.
“Is it you, Mr. Weldon?” said Tom, in a subdued tone. “I wish you’d been
on deck an hour ago.”
“Why?”
“Mayhaps you could have saved the poor lad.”
“Saved whom?” asked the supercargo, suspecting at once that some harm had
befallen Harry, but not dreaming of the extent of his misfortune.
“He fell overboard, or was thrown over, I can’t justly say which.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“Harry Raymond.”
“Good heavens! How long since?”
“An hour and a half, maybe.”
“And was nothing done to save him?”
“I threw a plank when I heard him cry for help.”
“And where was the captain when this happened?” asked Weldon,
suspiciously.
“In his cabin. I went down to tell him, and ask to have a boat lowered to
save the poor lad; but he swore that if he was careless enough to fall
overboard he must save himself.”
The supercargo was not an excitable man, but rather mild and pacific in
his disposition; but when he heard of the cold-blooded manner in which
Captain Brandon had refused help to the drowning boy, he was filled with
a just indignation, which he was unable to conceal.
“Where is Captain Brandon?” he asked, in a quick, stern voice, so unusual
to him that Tom looked up in surprise.
“In his cabin, Mr. Weldon. He gave orders that he should not be
disturbed.”
“That, for his orders!” returned the supercargo, snapping his fingers
contemptuously. “He _shall_ be disturbed, and he shall answer to me for
his atrocious inhumanity!” And Mr. Weldon hurried to the rear of the
companion-way.
“I didn’t think he had so much spirit,” said Tom, as he followed with
his glance the retreating form of the supercargo, “he’s so mild-like,
commonly. But I’m glad the poor lad’s got some one that’ll dare to
speak up for him. I’d do it, but the captain’d knock me down with a
marlin-spike, and put me in irons, likely, if I did.”
The captain’s attention was drawn to a quick, imperative knock at the
door of the cabin.
“Go away!” he growled. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”
The only answer was a succession of knocks still louder and more
imperative.
“I’ll fix him for his insolence, whoever he is,” the captain muttered,
angrily, and, walking to the cabin door, opened it himself.
“What do you mean, Mr. Weldon?” he demanded, in surprise and anger.
The young man’s face was white with anger, and there was a suppressed
fury in his tone, as he replied, “I come here, Captain Brandon, to demand
why you have sacrificed a human life, by refusing to make any effort to
save the boy Harry Raymond.”
“I am not responsible to you for what I do or decline to do, Mr. Weldon,”
said Brandon, fiercely. “It is none of your business.”
“It is my business, Captain Brandon, and the business of every man on
board who has a spark of humanity in his bosom.”
“You are insolent, sir.”
“Is this a time to choose words? You have suffered that poor boy to
perish when you might have saved him, and in the eyes of Heaven you are
responsible for his murder.”
“Murder!”
Hartley Brandon was not a brave man. He was disposed to bully and
threaten, when he thought he could do it with safety; but when he was
opposed in an intrepid and fearless manner, his tone became milder and he
lowered his pretensions. So, in the present case, it startled him to be
told that, in failing to take means for the rescue of Harry, he had been
accessory to a murder, and he began to have undefined apprehensions of
the possible consequences of his neglect. He thought it best to exculpate
himself.
“Walk in, Mr. Weldon, and sit down,” he said. “We will talk this matter
over. You don’t understand all the circumstances.”
“I hope I do not, Captain Brandon,” said the young man, gravely. “I do
not wish to think so ill of you as I fear I must.”
“The boy carelessly fell overboard,” commenced the captain.
“Are you sure he fell?” asked the supercargo, significantly.
“Of course he fell. How else could it be? I don’t understand you.”
“It seems strange that he should be so careless.”
“That’s the way of it. He didn’t deserve to be helped. Can I be expected
to stop my ship every time a careless boy takes a notion to fall
overboard?”
“When a human life is in jeopardy, Captain Brandon, our duty is to save
it if we can. I don’t envy the man who at such a time can stop to inquire
whether the danger is the result of carelessness or not.”
The supercargo spoke sternly, and the captain felt arraigned for his
action, and this irritated him.
“I have to think of my ship,” he said.
“In what way would it have injured the ship, if you had lowered the boat
for Harry?”
“I cannot afford to lose time.”
“Have you thought how much time the poor boy has lost, whose life is
probably a sacrifice to your criminal negligence? A life which, in all
probability, would have been prolonged to seventy, has been cut short at
fifteen. Fifty-five years lost to save one hour in the voyage of the Sea
Eagle!” said Weldon, scornfully.
“I am not responsible to you, Mr. Weldon,” said Brandon, with irritation,
“I acted as I thought for the best. I am the captain of this ship, not
you.”
“I am aware of that. Captain Brandon. But you could not expect me to
stand by and see a human life sacrificed without uttering my earnest
protest. Any life would be worth saving,—the life of this bright, manly
boy more than most. His death lies at your door.”
“You have said as much before,” said the captain, sulkily. “If you have
no more to say, I will trouble you to leave me to myself.”
“I have something more to say,” said the supercargo, regarding the
captain fixedly. “I am aware of the manner in which this boy was
entrapped on board your vessel. What motive you had in carrying him
away from home and friends I do not know. You perhaps know, also,” the
young man continued, “whether in leaving him to his sad fate you are not
influenced by a similar motive.”
“What do you mean, Mr. Weldon?” demanded the captain, startled by the
words and tone of the other.
“I mean this: that in this whole affair there is something which I do not
understand,—something that has excited my suspicions. I shall feel it
my duty to report all that I know of it to the authorities at the first
opportunity.”
Brandon turned pale. He began to see that he had made a mistake, and
exposed himself to grave suspicions. It would have been better, as he
now perceived, to make a show of rescuing our hero. It would have been
easy to secure failure by unnecessary delay. The threat of a legal
investigation alarmed him, and he prepared to make an argument by which
he might dispel, if possible, the impression which had been created in
the mind of the supercargo. But Mr. Weldon rose, and left the cabin
hastily. The interview had been a most unsatisfactory one, and had only
convinced him of what he feared,—that the captain was, in reality, either
glad to be rid of our hero, even by such means, or else indifferent to
his fate. He was inclined to believe in the former theory. What he had
said of laying the matter before the authorities, he was fully decided
upon. Now the vehemence of his indignation gave place to a feeling of
the deepest and most poignant sorrow for the loss of the boy who had
unconsciously become very dear to him. He thought of his frank, manly
bearing, of his pleasant face, of his courtesy and politeness, and the
warm and generous heart of which he had shown himself to be possessed,
and then of the terrible fate which had so unexpectedly overtaken him,
and the tears rose unbidden to his eyes. By this time, doubtless, Harry
was beyond human succor, and all that he could do was to drop a tear to
his memory. He went up to Tom Patch, towards whom the sailor’s evident
grief for our hero’s fate had warmed his heart, and wrung his hand
heartily.
“He was a noble boy, and his life has been shamefully sacrificed,
Tom,” he said; “but if I live, the man who has done this deed shall be
punished.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Tom, whose voice was gruff with emotion; “I hope
you’ll stick to that. He was a brave lad, and the captain deserves to be
pitched after him.”
Mr. Weldon paced the deck till far into the night. Captain Brandon shut
himself up in his cabin, and did not show himself till morning. He had
made various advances towards the supercargo, whom he evidently desired
to conciliate, from prudential intentions; but the young man met him with
a freezing formality, which showed him that all hopes in that direction
were futile.
So the Sea Eagle sped on its way, till at length it arrived at its
destined port.