EUNEZ PARETA
Tunis Latham went down the track toward the port as the dull dawn
glimmered behind him in a frame of mind so dismal and despairing
that more than Sheila Macklin would have pitied the captain of the
_Seamew_. Against the tide of emotions which now surged in his heart
he scarcely had the energy to battle.
Never had he felt less like approaching his usual tasks as commander
and owner of the schooner and facing the trials he knew would meet
him upon this coming trip to Boston. Freight was waiting upon Luiz
Wharf, and he would be able to pick up the remainder of his cargo at
Hollis, which, with the wind as it was now, he could reach that
afternoon by four o'clock. Given good luck, he would warp into the
T-wharf next day before nightfall.
The uncertain point which troubled him most was the matter of the
crew of the _Seamew_. The Portygees remaining with him--even Johnny
Lark, the cook--had been in a most unhappy temper all the way back
from Boston on the last trip. Tunis could depend upon Mate Chapin,
Boatswain Newbegin, and 'Rion Latham himself to stick by the
schooner. For, in spite of his quarreling and long tongue about a
hoodoo, Tunis thought that his cousin was a man above any real fear
of the very superstitions he talked about.
But four men could not safely work the schooner to Boston, nor in
season to keep his contract with the consignees of freight which the
_Seamew_ carried. Troubled as he had been at Boston, and delayed,
Tunis wished now that he had remained there even longer while he
made search for and engaged a proper crew for the schooner. He had
better, perhaps, have paid the fare of the Portygees back to Big
Wreck Cove and so saved quarreling with them.
When he had been about to leave the schooner the afternoon before,
the foolish fellows had sent a spokesman to him asking if he was
sure the _Seamew_ was not the old _Marlin B._, the Salem fishing
craft which had been acclaimed "the murder ship" from the Banks to
the Cape by all coasting seamen several years before. To answer this
question rasped the pride of the owner of the _Seamew_. For a seaman
to ask a question of one of the officers--a question of such a
nature--was flaunting authority in any case.
Although Captain Latham considered the question ridiculous and
utterly unworthy of a serious answer, he had replied to it.
He had told the sailor that to the best of his knowledge and belief
the old _Marlin B._ was several thousand miles away from the Cape at
that time, and that the _Seamew_ was herself and no other. In any
case, he had said he had no personal fear of sailing in the schooner
as long as he could keep a decent crew of seamen aboard her, but
that he would stand for no more foolishness from his present crew.
Tunis had spoken quite boldly. But, to tell the truth, he did not
know where or how he was to sign another crew and a cook if the
Portygees deserted the schooner. Not at Big Wreck Cove. He had heard
too many whispers about the curse upon his schooner from people of
all classes in the port. Even Joshua Jones, who was supposed to be a
pretty hard-headed merchant, had been influenced by the story 'Rion
Latham had first told about the _Seamew_. He and his father had
hesitated to give Tunis an order for another lot of freight now
waiting on the dock at Boston. They wanted to be sure that the
schooner was not going to sail from the latter port undermanned.
Whether or not the Joneses believed in the hoodoo, they did know
that if the _Seamew_ sailed without a proper crew their insurance on
the freight would be invalid.
So the farther Tunis walked down toward the wharves, the more these
thoughts assailed and overcame his mind, to the exclusion even of
the tragic happenings back there on the Head the night before. He
could not consider Ida May Bostwick--not even Sheila--now. The
schooner, with her affairs, was a harsh mistress. His all was
invested in the _Seamew_, and business had not been so good thus far
that he could withdraw with a profit. Far from that! There were
financial reefs and shoals on either hand, and that fact the young
skipper knew right well.
As he drew near to Portygee Town, he glanced toward the open door of
Pareta's cottage and saw the girl, Eunez, seated upon the step. She
did not come out to meet him, as had been her wont, but she hailed
him as he approached--though in a sharper tone than usual.
"So Captain Tunis Latham has still another girl? He is a lion with
the ladies, it is plain to be seen. Ah!"
"You don't mind, do you, Eunez?" replied the young man, trying to
assume his usual careless manner of speech. "You have the reputation
of being pretty popular with the fellows yourself."
"Ah!" she said again, tossing her head. "Who is this new girl I see
you walk with last evening, Tunis?"
"She is a stranger in Big Wreck Cove," was his noncommittal reply.
"So I see. They come and go for you, Tunis Latham. You are the
fickle man, eh?"
"Tut, tut, Eunez!" he laughed. "Those who live in glass houses
should not throw stones. How about yourself? Didn't I see you going
to church with Johnny Lark last Sunday? And then, in the afternoon,
you had another cavalier along the beaches. Oh, I saw you!"
The color flashed into her dark cheek, and her black eyes reflected
some unexplained anger. Beside her, leaning against the house wall,
was the handle end of a broken oar. Tunis chanced to mark that there
was a streak of dull blue paint on it.
"You have sharp eyes. Tunis Latham," hissed the girl. "Not all of
the Lathams are too proud to walk with Eunez Pareta--or too proud to
think of her. But _you_--bah!"
She got up suddenly, turned her back upon him, and entered the
cottage. Tunis walked on, just a little puzzled.
Horry Newbegin sat on the rail of the schooner smoking, and
evidently looking anxiously for the appearance of the skipper. There
was no smoke rising from the galley chimney.
"What's the matter with cooky?" demanded Tunis briskly.
"The dratted Portygee's gone off to Paulmouth. He left word that he
couldn't sail with us this trip."
"Then he'll never sail on the _Seamew_ again," declared the skipper
grimly.
"And _that_ won't bother him none," said the boatswain gloomily.
"I'll get breakfast for all hands," said Tunis. "I'm not above that.
Where are the hands?"
"As far as I know, Cap'n Tunis, they are where Johnny Lark is.
Haven't shown up, and don't mean to," said Horry doggedly.
Tunis Latham cursed his delinquent crew soundly. The rage which
flamed into his eyes, added to the pallor of his face, made an ugly
mask indeed. It was not often that he gave way to such an outburst,
but Horry had seen the same deadly anger displayed on occasion by
Captain Randall Latham.
"Where's Mr. Chapin?"
"He was here before you, Cap'n Tunis. He's gone up to town to see if
he can drum up some hands."
"Where's 'Rion?"
"He says he'll be here by the time you get ready to wheel the stuff
aboard." And the old man pointed with his pipe-stem toward the open
door of the shed.
"Ha!" ejaculated Tunis. "Feared I'd set him to work, eh? Well,
they're all dogs together--the whole litter of 'em. I'll make the
coffee. Tell me when Mr. Chapin comes. I suppose we can hire enough
hands to get the freight aboard."
"But we can't work the schooner with three men, Cap'n Tunis; nor
yet with four."
"Don't I know that? I'll get a crew if I have to shanghai them,"
promised Tunis grimly.
Mason Chapin came along with half a dozen fellows after a while. One
was a negro who could cook. But there was no breakfast worthy of the
name served aboard the _Seamew_ that morning. They were late already
in getting to work.
It was the middle of the forenoon before the schooner left port.
There was a crew, such as it was. But Mason Chapin had been obliged
to promise them extra pay to get them aboard the schooner at all.
When 'Rion Latham slipped aboard finally, half the loading of the
cargo had been accomplished. Tunis himself was keeping tally. The
skipper beckoned his cousin to him.
"'Rion," he said, "you certainly are about as useless a fellow as I
ever had anything to do with. These Portygees who have left me in
the lurch have some excuse for their actions. They are ignorant and
superstitious. You know mighty well that the stuff you have been
repeating about the schooner being cursed is nothing but lies and
old-women's gossip! You've done it to make trouble. I ought to have
had booted you overboard at the start."
"Aw--you--"
"Close your hatch!" ejaculated Tunis. "And keep it closed. I'm
talking, and I won't take any of your slack in return. I am not
married to you, thanks be! I think you've got pretty near enough of
me, and I'm sure I have of you, 'Rion. I give you warning--"
"Oh! You do?" snarled 'Rion, his ugly face aflame.
"Yes. I give you _fair_ warning. When the _Seamew_ gets back here to
Big Wreck Cove again, you're through! You can take your dunnage
ashore now if you like, but you go without pay if you do. Or you can
do your work properly on this trip and return. _Then_ you get
through. Take your choice."
He expected 'Rion would leave the _Seamew_ then and there. Tunis
half hoped, indeed, that he would do so. But to his surprise, Orion
suddenly snatched the book and pencil out of the skipper's hand and,
growling that "he'd stay the voyage out," shuffled away to the rail
and began taking tally of the barrels and cases being hauled aboard.
Working smartly, the new crew got the _Seamew_ under sail and out of
the cove two hours later. The wind held in a favorable quarter, and
they reached Hollis betimes. There they finished the schooner's
loading, and about dark went out to sea on a long tack and got
plenty of sea room before they made the short leg of it.
Supper was the first good meal they had had aboard that day. After
everything was cleaned up, the black cook joined the crew forward.
In whispers the men talked over both the skipper and his schooner.
The story of the curse was known to everybody in Big Wreck Cove by
this time, and none of these new men was ignorant of it. They had,
however, merely used it as a means of getting more pay than ordinary
seamen were getting in such vessels.
"'Tain't nothing as I can see," one of the older men said, "that is
likely to hurt us. It's a curse on the schooner, not on us folks
that warn't aboard her when she run under that other boat. And as
long as we keep away from the spot where the poor devils was
drowned, we ain't likely to see no ha'nts."
The cook's eyes rolled tremendously.
"You thinks likely this yere is that _Marlin B._?"
"Bah!" exclaimed one, whose name was Carney. "It's only talk. Maybe
she ain't that schooner at all. Mr. Chapin says she ain't."
"Is that so?" sneered the voice of 'Rion Latham behind them. "You
fellows don't want to believe what the skipper and the mate say. It
ain't to their benefit for you to believe the truth. Look here!"
"What's that?" asked Carney, looking at the article Orion pushed
forward in the dark. "A broken oar?"
"That's what it is. I found it only this morning in the hold, when I
was helping stow the last of the cargo. It was wedged in behind a
timber of her frame."
"Well? What of it?"
"Strike a match somebody. See what's burned into that handle?"
Their heads were clustered about the faint glimmer of the match
flame. But the light was sufficient to reveal what 'Rion pointed
out. Burned more or less unevenly were the letters M A R L I N B.
"What do you think of that?" exclaimed 'Rion. "Would that broken oar
be aboard of this dratted schooner if she wasn't the _Marlin B._
painted over and a new name give her? What do you fellows think of
it?"
There was silence in the group when the match flame died out. It was
finally the negro cook who made comment:
"Lawsy me!" he groaned. "Ef I had only de faith of Peter I'd up an'
walk ashore from dis here cussed schooner right now!"