Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by plus signs is in bold face (+bold+).
THE WRECKING MASTER
* * * * * *
BOOKS BY RALPH D. PAINE
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
+Sandy Sawyer, Sophomore.+ Illustrated, 12mo $1.50
+The Stroke Oar.+ Illustrated, 12mo $1.50
+The Fugitive Freshman.+ Illustrated, 12mo $1.50
+The Head Coach.+ Illustrated, 12mo $1.50
+College Years.+ Illustrated, 12mo $1.50
* * * * *
+The Wrecking Master.+ Illustrated, 12mo $1.25
+A Cadet of the Black Star Line.+ Illustrated, 12mo $1.25
* * * * * *
THE WRECKING MASTER
[Illustration: "You're working for Jim Wetherly"]
THE WRECKING MASTER
by
RALPH D. PAINE
Author of "A Cadet of the Black Star Line," "The Fugitive
Freshman," "The Head Coach," etc.
Illustrated by George Varian
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1911
Copyright, 1911, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
Published September, 1911
[Illustration: Logo]
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I. A Skipper in Bad Company 3
II. The _Resolute_ Fathoms the Plo 21
III. The Race for the _Kenilworth_ 40
IV. Wicked Mr. Pringle in Collision 59
V. "All Hands Abandon Ship" 75
VI. Dan Frazier's Predicament 93
VII. A Fat Engineer to the Rescue 110
VIII. A Fog of Suspicions 128
IX. The Broken Hawser 149
X. Dan's Dreams Come True 168
ILLUSTRATIONS
"You're working for Jim Wetherly" _Frontispiece_
Facing page
And with Bill McKnight's assistance the derelict was hauled
aboard like a large and dripping fish 6
The _Sombrero_ sailed like a witch in the race 34
But for once that square-jawed uncle of his had dared too
much 84
Dan felt a new thrill of surprise and alarm 104
It was a pretty bit of old-fashioned boarding for the prosaic
twentieth century 120
"If you are going to call me a liar at the start, you won't
get very far!" 132
She looked as if she had laid her bones on the Reef for
good and all 150
THE WRECKING MASTER
CHAPTER I
A SKIPPER IN BAD COMPANY
"A thick night and no mistake, Dan. It's as black as the face of a
Nassau pilot. We ought to be nearing the coal wharf by now. Of course
they wouldn't have sense enough to leave a light on it to give us our
bearings."
Captain Jim Wetherly was growling through the window of the darkened
wheel-house to his deck-hand, young Dan Frazier, as the oceangoing tug
_Resolute_ felt her way up the harbor of Pensacola. She had towed a
dismasted bark into port after a long and stubborn tussle with wind and
sea, and her master was in haste to fill the empty bunkers and drive
her home to Key West, five hundred miles across the blue Gulf.
The mate and several of the crew had gone ashore for the evening, the
fat and grizzled chief engineer was loafing on the deck below, and
Captain Wetherly was somewhat consoled to have a sympathetic listener
in his youngest deck-hand. This Dan Frazier was his nephew, not long
out of the Key West High School, and trying his hand at seafaring
in the _Resolute_ as the first chance which had offered to ease his
mother's task of caring for him.
In the presence of any of the vessel's company, discipline was observed
between the two with a respectful "aye, aye, sir," or "no, sir," on
Dan's part, but now when they were alone on deck Dan felt free to reply:
"It's strange water to me, Uncle Jim. I shouldn't wonder if the old
_Resolute_ felt timid about poking around a crowded harbor on a thick
night. What she likes best is plenty of sea-room with a wreck piled
hard and fast on the Florida Reef and a fighting chance to pull it off.
I wish I could have been on board when you were taking hold of that big
Italian steamer last spring. The men say they thought the _Resolute_
was going to yank the engines clean out of her before you let go on the
last haul that dragged the wreck clear of the Reef. Is it true that
Bill McKnight clamped the safety-valve down and said it was up to
Providence to see that his boilers didn't blow up?"
Captain Wetherly chuckled. The flare of a match as he relighted his
pipe illumined a pair of steadfast gray eyes and a smooth-shaven chin
of such dogged squareness of outline that Dan's statements seemed to be
half-way answered even before his uncle said:
"Pshaw, boy, Bill McKnight is a good chief engineer, but if his engines
didn't get any more rest than that tongue of his, they would have
been in the scrap-heap long ago. I suppose he has been filling you up
with yarns of the wonderful things he has done with this boat on the
Reef. Come to think of it, he _was_ carrying some steam more than the
law allowed when we tackled that Italian wreck for the last time, but
we weren't there for our health. And wrecking isn't a business for
children, Dan. You'll find that out if you stick by me long enough
to get your mate's papers. Seems to me we must have run past that
confounded coal wharf by this time. I don't know whether that light
yonder is a lantern or a store up the street somewhere."
Dan went over to the side of the deck and peered into the shoreward
gloom while Captain Wetherly jerked a bell-pull. A mellow clang floated
from the engine-room, the _Resolute_ slackened way to half-speed, and
began to swing in toward the puzzling light. Dan Frazier thought he
heard the click of rowlocks somewhere off in the darkness and cocked an
ear to listen. The sound ceased and then he fancied he saw a shadowy
patch moving on the water almost in front of the _Resolute's_ bow. An
instant later Captain Wetherly shouted in alarm:
"Boat ahoy. Do you want to be run under?"
Angry, confused voices were raised from the blackness close ahead while
the tug quivered to the thrust of the engines as they strove to check
her headway. Panic-stricken profanity was volleyed from the water,
there was a slight shock and crash as of splintered planking, and the
tug slid over what remained of the blundering small boat.
"Great Scott!" cried Captain Jim. "The poor fools must have done it
a-purpose. When they come up and yell, stand by to fish 'em out, Dan.
Tell Bill McKnight to man a boat and be ready to lower it. Of all
the----"
The horrified Dan had already scampered down to the main-deck and,
snatching up a coil of heaving line, he sprang upon the guard-rail and
waited for a call for help from the castaways. The chief engineer was
bawling commands to a fireman and the cook who were fumbling with the
falls of a boat swung aft. The galley boy came rushing along with a
lantern and Dan held it over the side just in time to see a head bob to
the foaming surface with a gurgling lament:
"Aren't you going to haul me aboard your murderin' tow-boat?"
Dan tossed him a bight of the line into which he wriggled his shoulders
and with Bill McKnight's assistance the derelict was hauled aboard like
a large and dripping fish. They did not waste time in looking him over,
but asked in the same breath:
[Illustration: And with Bill McKnight's assistance the derelict was
hauled aboard like a large and dripping fish]
"How many more of you?"
"Only one, and he can't be far off," panted the victim of the
collision. "You'll hear him holler pretty soon unless you knocked his
brains out when you struck us."
The boat was ready by this time, and Dan and the cook, letting it
down by the run, scrambled in and shoved clear of the tug. They had
paddled only a little way astern when the lantern threw its wavering
gleam athwart the missing man, who was groaning as if hurt, while he
tried with feeble splashing to keep himself afloat. With great exertion
he was dragged over the gunwale and taken to the _Resolute_. He was
unable to stand on deck and blood was oozing from a ragged gash on his
forehead. The engineer helped carry him into his own state-room a few
steps away on the lower deck, where the wet clothing was stripped from
him and the bunk made ready.
Meanwhile, Captain Wetherly, relieved to learn that no lives were lost,
rang up speed and headed the tug for what he hoped might be the wharf
he was seeking. Presently Dan Frazier reported at the wheel-house door
and explained:
"You won't be any more surprised than I was to find out that the first
man we picked up is Jerry Pringle. Yes, it's old Pringle himself sure
enough, Uncle Jim. I didn't get time for a sight of him until just now.
What in the world is he doing so far from Key West, and how did he
happen to be run down in a boat at night in Pensacola harbor? It beats
me."
"What has he got to say for himself?" snapped Captain Jim with a note
of hostility and suspicion in his voice. "Is he sober? And Jerry
Pringle let a tow-boat waltz right over him! Um-mm, he must have been
mighty busy thinking about something else. Who is the other fellow?
Ever see him before?"
"No, sir. He's an Englishman, I think, a big, strong man with a brown
beard. He is pretty well knocked out and his wits were muddled by a
thump on the head. He talks flighty. Jerry Pringle is with him and says
he will fetch him around without our help and get him ashore as soon as
we land."
"Well, there's the coal-pocket looming up ahead, and you'd better get
aft to make a line fast, Dan," observed the captain. "As soon as we
dock, I'll step down and see what I can do for our passengers. They're
welcome to stay aboard overnight. Jump lively."
While the _Resolute_ was deftly laid alongside the head of the wharf,
Dan made a flying leap to the string-piece and dragged the hawsers to
the nearest pilings, bow and stern. Then he hurried back to the chief
engineer's room in quest of more information about the strange and
unwilling visit of Mr. Jeremiah Pringle of Key West.
Dan Frazier knew him as one of the most daring and successful wreckers
of the Florida Reef, that cruel, hidden rampart of coral which
stretches in the open sea for a hundred and fifty miles along the
Atlantic coast of southern Florida, on the edge of the great highway of
ocean traffic for Central and South America. Because the Gulf Stream
flows north along this crowded highway, the steamers and sailing craft
bound south skirt the Reef as close as they dare in order to avoid the
adverse current. Tall, spider-legged, steel light-houses rise from the
submerged Reef, but its ledges still take their yearly toll of costly
vessels, as they have done for centuries. When such disasters happen,
the wreckers flock seaward to try to save the ship and cargo.
Jerry Pringle was one of the last of a famous race of native wrecking
masters of Key West. His father and grandfather were wreckers before
him, and they had been hard and godless men, rejoicing in the tidings
of disaster on the Reef as a chance to plunder and destroy. Rumor had
said some curious things about this Jeremiah Pringle's methods as
a wrecking master, but Dan Frazier gave them careless heed, partly
because he had heard so many wicked tales of the by-gone wrecking days,
but more because young Barton Pringle, the only son of this man, was
his dearest chum and school-mate.
With very lively curiosity Dan halted in the doorway of the little
state-room which Captain Jim Wetherly had entered just before him.
Jeremiah Pringle was sitting on the edge of the bunk as if to shield
his comrade of the small boat from observation, and was gruffly
cautioning him not to exert himself by trying to talk. Captain Wetherly
was eying them both with the keenest interest reflected in his
determined countenance. He was saying as Dan came within earshot:
"Of course I am very sorry it happened, Pringle, but I don't see how
you can hold me responsible for the loss of your boat. My lights were
in order and the vessel was moving at half speed. I'm sure your
friend there, the master of the _Kenilworth_, lays it to your own
carelessness."
"Who said he was master of the _Kenilworth_?" spoke up Jerry Pringle.
"You seem to be taking a whole lot of things for granted. He's in no
shape to deny it, so call him what you please."
Mr. Pringle looked unhappy and not all at ease, nor had he any thanks
to spare for his rescue. Even Dan could perceive how thoroughly
disgusted he was over this unlucky meeting with Captain Wetherly who
replied:
"Oh, yes, it _is_ Captain Bruce of the _Kenilworth_, that big English
cargo steamer in the stream loaded with naval stores for London. He
was pointed out to me in the broker's office this afternoon. Were you
coming ashore from his ship when you ran under my bows?"
Hearing his name spoken, the man with the bandaged head tried to raise
himself in the bunk and muttered, as if his senses were still confused:
"Malcolm Bruce, if you please, bound home to London, then out to Vera
Cruz with a general cargo. Lost at sea, all stove up, and a black, wet
night. But I get well paid for losing the rotten old ship. How much is
it worth, Pringle? Ha, ha!"
Jerry Pringle's tanned cheek turned a shade or two paler and he forced
a hot drink between the other man's lips as if to shut off his speech.
The master of the _Kenilworth_ subsided and put his hands to his head
while Pringle explained to Captain Wetherly with nervous haste:
"He's jabbering about the loss of his boat that you made hash of. It
was nothing but a skiff. It was my fault, I guess. We were busy talking
and I kept no lookout. I'll pay him the cost of the boat, Captain
Wetherly. So forget it, won't you. If you'll send ashore for a hack I
can lug Captain Bruce up to a hotel right away."
"No hurry, is there? Let him rest," said Captain Jim. "Dan here will
sit up with him if you want to turn in. Of course you know Dan Frazier,
your boy's chum."
Mr. Pringle glanced up at the doorway and looked even more downcast
and sullen at recognizing Dan. He nodded at the interested lad and
returned:
"So many of us sort of crowd this state-room. I'll look after Captain
Bruce by myself if you don't mind clearing out, Captain Wetherly."
The dazed captain of the _Kenilworth_ showed signs of trying to break
into the conversation and managed to sputter excitedly:
"I get ten thousand dollars for this night's job."
At this, Jerry Pringle fairly begged the kind-hearted skipper of the
_Resolute_ to withdraw, and although the night was cool for September,
the rescued wrecking master wiped the perspiration from his face with
a wet shirt sleeve. Captain Wetherly gazed down at the man in the bunk
for a moment, nodded gravely, and tiptoed on deck with a parting remark:
"Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money to pay for a splintered skiff,
Pringle."
"Captain Bruce is ravin' crazy," grumbled Jerry Pringle as he shut the
state-room door.
"Go fetch a hack, Dan," ordered Captain Jim, "and help Pringle lug him
ashore. I tried to be decent to them, but my patience is frazzled. I
don't want 'em aboard any longer than I can help."
"But what are they doing together in Pensacola harbor?" asked Dan.
"There's something mighty queer about it all."
"Keep your guesses to yourself, and don't think too hard about it, or
you may go off your noddle like the Britisher in yonder," said captain
Jim as he went forward toward his own room. Dan wandered far and wide
ashore before he found a cruising hack and was able to return to the
wharf. Going aboard, he delayed to coil and stow a heaving line which
tripped him as he passed along the lower deck. From a near-by window
came the voice of Captain Bruce of the _Kenilworth_ in low-spoken
query, evidently addressed to his companion, Jeremiah Pringle:
"Did I say anything silly? I was a bit muddled, I know. I didn't bring
you into it, did I? There was nothing said about the _Kenilworth's_
next voyage, was there?"
"You said a heap sight too much," was the reply in a rumbling
undertone. "That Jim Wetherly is pretty keen when it comes to putting
two and two together. But he has a kind of mushy streak of sentiment in
him and he won't believe anything bad of a man till the evidence is
strong enough to hang him. It's been an unlucky night's work, and it's
time we were out of here."
Dan knocked on the door and, without even a "thank you," Jerry Pringle
brushed him out of the way and half-dragged, half-carried Captain Bruce
toward the gang-plank. The master of the _Kenilworth_ bade him halt,
however, and, grasping Dan by the hand, told him in a deep and pleasant
voice:
"You saved my life, youngster, and I won't forget it. Come aboard my
ship before sailing and let me thank you, won't you? I'll be fit and
hearty in a day or so."
Dan liked the looks and manner of the big, brown-bearded Englishman and
warmly replied:
"Pulling you out of the wet was the least we could do. I hope your head
will mend all right. Captain Wetherly will be glad to see you on board
again, sir."
Dan lent a hand as far as the hack and then sought Captain Wetherly's
room. The light was burning and the deck-hand dared to enter on the
chance of having a talk with "Uncle Jim," whom he found reading a
novel in his bunk. The boy had many questions to ask, but he was not
ready to go straight to the heart of the matter, and so began:
"Jerry Pringle acted kind of ugly and uneasy, didn't you think? I
suppose he was mad at getting spilled into the harbor. You and he never
did seem to be very fond of each other."
Captain Jim threw down his book and sat up in his bunk with a rather
grim smile as he replied:
"You're no fool, Dan, though you aren't more than half as old as me.
And you have lived ten of your years in Key West. I know you think
the world of young Barton Pringle. He is a fine, clean lad, the son
of his mother through and through. But there's a different strain in
that dad of his, and you know it. You want to find out what I think of
to-night's business, don't you? Well, I think the big Englishman might
have picked better company."
"But he said some things about getting ten thousand dollars for losing
his ship and so on, Uncle Jim, and I heard more than you did. He
was worried to death for fear he had talked too much. The wrecking
business in Key West is square and honest as far as I know, but ship
captains _have_ put their vessels on the Reef on purpose in the old
days and the wreckers helped plan it beforehand. And I can't help
wondering if Jerry Pringle came to Pensacola to fix up a deal with this
captain of the _Kenilworth_ to lose his ship on the next voyage out
from London to Vera Cruz. There would be rich salvage and loot in a
general cargo, wouldn't there? She's a mighty big steamer."
Captain Jim stroked his chin and was so long silent that Dan began
to fidget. Then, as if rousing himself from some very interesting
reflections, the elder man drawled in a tone of mild reproof:
"There isn't a bit of evidence that would hold water, Dan. I may have
my suspicions, but perhaps they are all wrong, and if we said a word
it might ruin a good ship-master with his owners. Jerry Pringle and he
must have been up to their ears in conversation when they let us run
'em under, and I wish the big Englishman could prove an alibi for the
time we had him, aboard. Better forget it."
Dan bit his lip and appeared so gloomy and forlorn that his uncle was
moved to ask what troubled him.
"It's Bart Pringle," said Dan, and his voice was not quite steady.
"When I meet him in Key West I'll have a secret to hold back from him,
and it's about his own father. Oh, I can't believe there's anything to
it. And there's Bart's mother! Well, I think I'll turn in, Uncle Jim.
Good-night."
Late in the next afternoon the _Resolute_ cast off from the coal
wharf and swiftly picked up headway as her powerful engines began to
urge her, with tireless, throbbing cadence, toward her distant home
port of Key West. Presently she surged past a long, deep-laden cargo
steamer from whose stern rippled the flaming British ensign. It was
the _Kenilworth_, and Captain Jim and Dan Frazier stared at her with
curious interest.
A tall, broad-shouldered, brown-bearded figure was leaning against the
railing of her bridge. A strip of bandage gleamed white beneath the
visor of his cap. He flourished an arm in farewell to the _Resolute_
whose deep-toned whistle returned a salute of three blasts.
Dan passed by the wheel-house door on an errand for the mate and could
not help saying aloud to himself:
"It must have been a nightmare. That Captain Bruce looks like too fine
a man to think of such a dreadful thing!"
Captain Jim Wetherly overheard the comment and seemed to echo this
verdict as he remarked in a reverent and sympathetic tone:
"Lead Captain Malcolm Bruce not into temptation, for Jerry Pringle is a
hard customer to have any dealings with, on or off the Reef."