CAPTAIN BOB GUESSES NOT.
Shackelford was a daring spirit, one of those Britons who have carried
the flag into remote passes of the Indian border, and whom the
desperate fortunes of war never daunt.
He had doubtless led charges into the jaws of death, and passed through
adventures enough to fill volumes.
In this case however, it was Tartar against Tartar--British bulldog
_vs._ British mastiff. When he rubbed up against such men as Beven and
Roderic Owen, he met those who were of his own calibre, and should the
affair come to blows it promised to be a pretty sight.
When our friends reached the side of the yacht, the sailors were
already there, at least those on deck; and some signal must have
been given below as the boats approached, for the watch off duty was
tumbling out quite ignorant as to what might be required of them, but
ready, like all seamen of their nationality to do their duty with vigor.
"Hold off--our orders are not to receive visitors after ten o'clock!"
cried Beven, as he saw Shackelford rise to his feet.
"We mean to come aboard," said that worthy.
"Then you go back quicker than you come."
"Beven, I am surprised."
"At what?"
"Your deceiving us."
"Nonsense, my visit was in good faith."
"You came with a secret object in view--you kept us engaged below while
your confederate examined our vessel."
"It was prime champagne, Shack."
"Granted, but"--and here he relieved himself by a tremendous expletive,
"why did you put that spy aboard of us?"
"In the first place Mr. Owen is no spy. He cares little or nothing what
cargo you carry, but he is deeply interested in petticoats--your young
lady is his betrothed, and he vowed he would go with me on board just
to see her. Shackelford, that's a man after your own heart."
And Shackelford, realizing the truth of this point blank assertion
could only growl.
"Interrupted in his _tete a tete_ with the young lady by your gentleman
there, they had words, being rivals, and it resulted in Mr. Owen
tossing the elegant Adonis overboard. Shack, that is just what you
would have done, confound you."
Shackelford could not deny it.
Really Captain Beven should have been a lawyer, since he knew so well
how to draw the fire of his adversary, and leave him not a foot upon
which to stand.
"For you to force your way to the deck of my craft under these
conditions I should consider a high act of piracy and I assure you my
men stand here ready to back me up in all I do. Is it so, men?"
A hearty "ay, ay sir" came ringing from the crew.
"Now Captain Shackelford, if you choose to board me you do so at your
own risk. There be English arms and hearts here just as stanch as your
own. Come by daylight and by Heavens I will receive you as an honored
guest--yes, and open another basket of champagne for the occasion; but
I beg of you let discretion play the part of valor now."
Shackelford knew he held a weak hand--that any attempt to board this
craft flying the British jack and drag from her deck a subject of the
United States foreign diplomatic service would not only embroil him in
present difficulties and probably result in a broken head, but future
results promised to make things exceedingly lively for him.
Great Britain was going out of her way to bring about an era of good
feeling between America and the mother country--she had shown in many
matters how sincere her sympathies were and that blood was thicker than
water.
Hence, he might expect severe handling from the legal and military
authorities of both countries.
Although Bob Shackelford had always been accounted pretty much of a
dare devil he really drew the line at throwing his gauntlet into the
ring and sending a defiance to two nations--that would probably be a
little too strong for his blood.
Here was a chance to draw out with honor.
Shackelford accepted the olive branch.
"Well, Beven, you put the matter pretty strongly, and I am inclined to
yield. Give me your solemn pledge that this gentleman boarded us as a
lover and not as a spy, and," here he expressed himself very forcibly
in the genuine Shackelford style--"I'll draw off and spare you the gore
of battle that must come when Greek meets Greek."
"I give you that pledge," replied Beven, readily.
"Why did he go in disguise then?" was the final query from the other,
who had not as yet grasped the full significance of affairs.
"Because he had enemies on board yonder boat--you carry Spaniards, and
his country is at war with Spain. They want him badly, and he is no
fool. Captain, I am under obligations for your courtesy. Come and see
me to-morrow and I'll keep my promise."
Shackelford smacked his lips.
"By Jove! I'll try and oblige you, my boy," he declared,
enthusiastically, as he dropped down upon the thwart.
The incident was closed.
There would be no broken heads, no old time boarding of the craft, no
hot time in the harbor _that_ night.
Reason had resumed her sway, pushing valor and blind passion into the
background.
One there was whom disappointment cut to the quick.
A figure arose in the boat, a bedraggled figure, with one arm of his
evening coat almost divorced from its moorings on account of the vigor
shown by the British tars in dragging the owner aboard--a figure that
was just the opposite of the usually dandified Jerome, the pink of
neatness, the epitome of current style.
"What," he ejaculated, "you decline to go aboard and drag the fellow
away? I am astonished beyond measure--I did not expect this of you,
Captain Bob."
"Well, I'm satisfied with the explanation given. If you still object,
sir, we'll hold the boat here and let you go aboard and get him. Of
course you'd have to shoulder the whole responsibility--"
"Pull away," muttered Jerome, suddenly dropping back to his seat and
endeavoring to look as small as possible.
Roderic guessed the reason.
The Adonis had discovered that he was the cynosure of bright eyes from
the cabin--all this excitement had not passed without arousing Cleo and
Miss Becky--the former had not really retired at all, but awaited her
cousin's return from his mission of love--perhaps her earnest prayers
had followed him, even to the arms of her successful rival.
The blockade runner's boat shot quickly over the darkened water toward
the lights that indicated the spot where the steamer was anchored.
Thus the coast was again clear.
Captain Beven turned and shook Roderic's hand.
He was bubbling over with suppressed laughter.
"Congratulations, sir, over your success. A miss is as good as a mile,
they say," he declared.
"Ah!" remarked the satisfied lover, "in this case it is a senorita, and
she is worth many miles. My thanks are due to you, captain, for the
able assistance given. May all our future plans be founded on as firm a
basis."
"Amen," said Beven, solemnly.
He was thinking of that basket of very Extra Dry, and the taste still
lingered as though its memory would haunt him for many a day.
For once he stood ready to immolate his comfort on the altar of
friendship every night, providing the emolument came in such pleasant
fashion.
They chatted a short time, and generally upon the subject mostly in
evidence.
Beven was naturally curious to hear how the Adonis, who was no milk and
water warrior himself, came to take such a fearful plunge into the bay.
He could give a shrewd guess that the act had not been a voluntary one
on his part, and desired to hear what share Roderic had in it.
This was soon told in the most matter of fact fashion by the modest
young man--indeed, one might almost imagine from his manner of putting
it that Jerome had fallen overboard instead of being tossed there.
Beven knew how to put his own construction on the incident, and could
guess just what his principal had done.
Roderic was really unfitted for sleep after such an hour of intense
excitement, and thought he would walk the quarterdeck for a time until
his pipe had soothed the excited nerves and brought him to a condition
where slumber might be possible.
He had not been back and forth a dozen times ere a girlish figure
joined him.
Of course it was Cousin Cleo, who desired to share his walk and mayhap
his confidence, even though what he might relate would cut keenly.
The moth will persist in fluttering about the bright flame of the
candle even after its wings are slightly singed.
Silly moth--wicked candle!
And yet the world goes on, new moths come and the same old story with
variations, is repeated.
Roderic professed to be displeased at the idea of Cleo coming up to
join him in this midnight tramp.
Secretly the man was delighted, for he felt the human desire to
confide his hopes and fears in a sympathetic ear, and though he would
rather it had been some one else than Cleo, still, she knew much of
his love affairs, and had promised to be a sister to him--he would be
egotistical and foolish to ever believe that she cared for him other
than a dear sister might.
"My dear cousin, why do you come on deck--don't you know that at this
hour in this semi-tropical climate the dew is falling, and it is very
unhealthy for one to be exposed to the night air?"
She laughed in his face.
"Well, you are to blame. I should have been in my little bunk and
probably far away in the Land of Nod had you been content to remain
aboard and not start out on a very Quixotic errand. But I am only
joking, Roderic. You have met with adventures, of that I am sure from
what I saw and heard. Poor Jerome has once more crossed your path and
found it one of thorns. Now, you must tell me all that happened, do you
hear, Sir Galahad?"
A little hand slipped through his arm, and Roderic found himself
obliged to surrender.
So, as they walked up and down he told the story of what had occurred;
several times they paused at the rail to look at the riding lights that
marked the position of the blockade runner, and while one sighed in
rapturous satisfaction at the thought of the beauty aboard the Sterling
Castle, the other experienced quite a different emotion.
Cleo asked questions, and seemed bound to know all, so he felt
compelled to tell her.
Her interest in Georgia grew with each passing day, and strange to say
the yearning to meet and know this daughter of the tropics became an
absorbing dream--she felt as though destiny drew their life lines in
the same channel, these two who both loved Roderic Owen.
Perhaps he was wise enough to refrain from entering into minute
particulars when describing the interview with Georgia--even men
head over heels in love are given a small amount of common sense on
occasions of this kind.
Finally Roderic persuaded her to retire.
The hour was late and he himself now confessed to drowsiness.
By this time the town had given up its mad merriment--gone were many
of the lights and the music of the band had long since ceased to be a
factor in the mighty drama.
Even in the romantic Azores men must take a portion of the night for
sleep--it cannot be given wholly over to song and amusement.
Captain Beven was a wary old sea dog.
He believed an ounce of prevention to be much better than a pound of
cure.
There was no danger in sight, and probably it would be an act of
madness on Shackelford's part to attempt to board the steam yacht under
cover of darkness and secure the person of the man who had been aboard
the blockade runner in disguise.
All the same, chances or not, Beven did not intend to neglect any
precaution, for he was a man who did not believe in being caught
napping.
To shut the door after the horse was stolen might be good policy with
some men, but his idea lay in securing it ere this event happened.
Before retiring Roderic had an interview with the captain, and learned
that worthy's views.
Then he sought his little stateroom.
As fortune would have it he was situated on that side of the boat
nearer the steamer, and from either one of the bulls-eye openings he
could see the uncertain dark mass that told just where the blockade
runner lay, as well as her twinkling riding lights which must be kept
burning the livelong night in order to prevent accident should arriving
vessels enter the snug harbor.
And Roderic stood there a long time, his eyes fixed upon the inchoate
outlines of the Sterling Castle, as one might gaze upon a vessel that
bore his fate.
Many thoughts occupied his mind--he lived over again the past with its
joys and sorrows, and even attempted to raise the veil of the future
to see whether it held a gleam of Paradise; but this must all remain
surmise and uncertainty, since it is not given to mortal vision to see
beyond the present.
The night passed without an alarm.
Evidently Shackelford was a man of discretion as well as astonishing
boldness, for there is such a thing as uniting the two qualities.
Roderic aroused early enough.
The morning had just broken and the glowing eye of old Phœbus was
glancing above the horizon when he proceeded to dress.
This operation had been about completed when, by chance of course, he
looked out of the port hole to see just how far they were from the
steamer, since darkness had been upon land and water during the little
drama of the preceding night.
To his surprise he failed to behold the object of his solicitude.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again--surely he must be dreaming, or
else with a change of tide the steam yacht had headed another way,
cutting him off from the view he had before obtained.
And yet, so far as he could tell his lookout still faced the town and
port, and he could swear the blockade runner should lie between.
Mayhap Shackelford had taken his craft in to a dock for some purpose.
Roderic snatched up his marine glasses and scanned the shore line.
There was only disappointment awaiting him.
The yellow and black funnel of the Sterling Castle was conspicuous only
by its absence.
One chance remained--that the steamer had changed her anchorage.
He hurriedly completed his toilet and rushed on deck.
A sweeping glance around told the story, for the blockade runner was no
longer in the harbor.
Captain Beven saluted from a point forward and beckoned him to approach.
"Looking for the steamer--left port an hour or more before crack of
dawn--yonder she goes, headed straight for the Antilles."
Following the captain's extended finger Roderic saw the smoke of a
steamer hanging on the horizon. Somehow his heart gave a leap after it,
for the girl he adored was aboard the vanishing craft.
"When do we follow, captain?" he asked, composedly.
"Within six hours at the latest," was the reply and when that time had
expired they too were moving over the trackless Atlantic headed due
south west.