MR. PETH IS PARTICULAR ABOUT WHERE HE SLEEPS
Early in the morning, when Manila was turning over for another nap,
a victoria from the Bay View took Locke, Trask, and Marjorie over
the Bridge of Spain and through Plaza Moraga to the landing steps,
where the tug which was to take the _Nuestra Senora del Rosario_ to
sea was waiting to put the voyagers aboard the schooner. The
_Nuestra_ was at anchor down the bay.
As they got out of the carriage a black man hopped ashore from the
tug and made for their baggage.
"I'm Doc Bird, the steward," he said. "I reckon yo' all is fo'
Cap'n Jarrow's packet?"
"We are," said Locke. "Is everything ready?"
"Never gon' be no readier, sir," said the steward, who looked smart
in a suit of white and a jaunty cap. Instead of a shirt, he wore a
gaudy cotton sweater with stripes running athwart his body, red
and blue, after the manner of a convict's clothes.
"Then we're off," said Locke, as he helped Marjorie aboard, while
Trask superintended the job of getting their bags aboard, at which
task the native crew of the tug assisted the steward.
In a minute they were heading down the river. As they cleared the
old transport docks they made out the _Nuestra_ well off the
breakwater, her brown, bare masts rising like spires from her black
hull, and the morning sun glinting from a strip of brass on her
taffrail. They could see busy figures aboard, and as they drew
nearer Captain Jarrow appeared on the poop-deck smoking a cigar. He
was all in white, his queer cockle-shell straw hat fastened to a
button of his coat by a cord.
They had visited the schooner the night before, under the pilotage
of Jarrow, before Locke had signed the agreement which was
practically a charter, at sixty dollars a day. She had six rooms in
her main cabin in addition to the galley and lazarette, and while
they were small, they were comfortable enough and satisfactory.
No one was aboard during the brief visit, but Mr. Bevins, the
second mate, and one man of the crew. Bevins's manners were
ingratiating and he wore a constant smile, due more to some defect
of his facial muscles than chronic geniality. The other man was a
big fellow with much tattooing on his hands and wrists. Captain
Jarrow summoned him to the cabin door and introduced him as "Shope,
who was to go b'sun."
"There's Captain Dinshaw!" cried Marjorie, as the _patron_ steered
the tug to come alongside.
Dinshaw had popped up over the starboard bulwark, and watched the
tug maneuver with critical eye.
"And all dressed up," said Trask, smiling, as he observed that
Dinshaw wore a white suit and sported an official-looking cap with
a white top.
"The old man shore thinks he's the skipper," remarked Doc Bird.
"How's that?" asked Locke.
"He's a-bossin' everybody," replied the steward. "Thinks he's in
his old brig what he lost on his island."
"The old dear!" said Marjorie. "Isn't he pathetic? He looks
thoroughly happy!"
Dinshaw stood with his hands on the bulwark, and looked down at
the tug, his head askew like an observant fowl.
"Don't scratch the paint!" he shouted to the _patron_ of the tug.
"Mind what ye're at!"
"Paint!" laughed Locke. "Couldn't hurt that paint with a crowbar."
"Glad to see ye in good time, Mr. Locke," called Jarrow, and then
stepped back to escape the smoke from the tug's funnel, calling to
Peth to see that the ladder was put over.
After a deal of fussing and bawling on the part of the tug's crew,
she was nestled alongside the schooner, and Jarrow was at the rail
to assist them over the side.
"I told ye I'd go," said Dinshaw, proudly, taking off his cap to
Marjorie as she jumped down to the deck. "This lady knows, and she
wanted to go to my island. Thank ye, ma'am! Good mornin'."
"Indeed I do want to go," laughed Marjorie. "And I hope we'll find
your island, too, captain."
"Thank ye, ma'am. We'll find it right enough," and with a hasty bow
he waddled forward importantly, to oversee the getting of the
anchor and the passing of the towing hawser.
But the tug remained alongside after Locke and Trask had climbed
over into the waist and the baggage was transferred by Doc Bird.
"Oh," said Jarrow, as the _patron_ mounted the ladder and grinned
at them, hat in hand, "this boy wants his towage."
"How much?" asked Locke, taking out a large roll of yellow American
bills.
"I'd give him a check," advised Jarrow, "if you've got your book."
"All right," said Locke, and he followed Jarrow into the cabin
while Trask and Marjorie went to the poop-deck. The _Nuestra_
looked clean as a pin and fresh as a maker's model. Her decks had
been scrubbed until the caulking in the seams looked like lines of
black paint on old ivory. Her standing rigging had been newly
tarred, her bright work polished, and the water casks lashed in the
waist had their hoops painted a bright yellow, not yet dry. New
hemp hung in the belaying pins. The roof of the cabin, covered by a
tarpaulin, gleamed with oil and yellow paint. She had been scrubbed
and freshened until she had quite the aspect of a yacht.
"This beats waiting around Hong Kong," said Marjorie, as they stood
looking forward. She looked quite nautical in a suit of white duck
and a yachting cap pinned to her flaxen hair. Trask thought she
appeared entrancingly healthy and "out of doors."
"It's going to be a jolly fine trip," said Trask. "I hope you'll
enjoy it one hundredth as much as I do."
"But gold-mine hunting is no novelty to you," she said.
"It's the first time I've actually gone to sea in search of a gold
mine. And there are other reasons which make this trip unique."
"You are absurdly reticent, Mr. Trask."
"Under the circumstances it would be unfair to state the facts in
their blunt simplicity," he retorted, with a smile.
"You mean father and me?"
"Mostly you," and he moved forward abruptly to tell Doc Bird to put
his bags in his room.
Locke and Jarrow came out of the main cabin and paid off the
_patron_ of the tug.
"Well, we're off," said Locke, coming aft, as Jarrow went forward
to oversee the getting of the anchor and the passing of the
hawser. Bevins came aft presently and took the wheel, and in a few
minutes the _Nuestra_ started down the bay at the end of her leash.
Well under way, Jarrow called Peth to the main cabin and introduced
him to Marjorie, Locke, and Trask, who had been summoned below for
the assignment of their rooms.
Peth stood in the doorway and bowed, looking quite smart and
respectable in clean dungarees, and though he said nothing but "How
de do," he gave the impression of affability mixed with shyness. He
missed no detail of Trask's clothing, and seemed to measure the
young man's strength as he looked him up and down.
"Now, Miss Locke, you'll have this room aft, to port, next is Mr.
Locke, and then Mr. Trask. Then comes the cabin stores. I'll be aft
to starboard, Mr. Peth and Captain Dinshaw next, the cook and the
steward, and the galley----"
"If ye don't mind, cap'n," interrupted Peth, "I'd not want to bunk
with the old man. I got to be up and around nights."
"All right," said Jarrow. "There are two bunks in Mr. Trask's room
here. Maybe you wouldn't find it out of the way if Mr. Peth took
the lower?"
"Not at all," said Trask. "I'll sleep soundly enough."
"My gear's in there now," said Peth, and he went out on deck.
"I'd git my stuff all opened up and stowed while we're in the bay,"
suggested Jarrow. "There may be a swell on outside, and then it's
goin' to be hot below as the sun climbs. Tom! How's that coffee
comin' on?"
The fat Chinese cook looked out from the galley, a white cap on his
head and an apron tied about him. He grinned pleasantly, and
replied that the coffee was on the fire.
"We had breakfast," said Locke.
"I'd take a nip of coffee," said Jarrow. "Now then, here's Doc Bird
to help open your gear. Anything you want, ask for it, and you,
Doc, keep an eye out to make all hands comfortable. I got to go up
now."
Trask followed the captain up the companion and left Marjorie and
her father below, until he was called to have his coffee. When
they went on deck again Corregidor Island was astern, rising out of
the channel like a derelict battleship.
To starboard, close aboard beyond the stretch of sun-dazzled sea,
was the coast of Bataan, with the brown fuzzy mountains behind
Mariveles shouldering into the sky. Point Luzon marked the limit of
the land over the starboard bow, and on the port side the shining
China Sea reached away to the horizon.
The jib and foresail were already set although the tug had not cast
off. Soon they began to fill, and as Peth bawled to the tug, the
hawser was dropped, and tooting a farewell, the little boat swung
in a wide arc and headed back for Manila.
Peth came aft and routed Doc Bird from under the mainsail boom
where the steward sat peeling potatoes. Dinshaw kept moving about,
repeating the orders of the mate, or talking to himself.
The crew were all white, in accordance with the orders of Locke,
who had declared that he did not want to undertake the voyage with
natives forward.
The breeze from landward died as the main was being set, and the
_Nuestra_ began to roll gently as she fell off. For a few minutes
she threatened to follow the tug back to Manila, with many lurches
and angry snappings of blocks.
"We'll git a clinkin' good breeze from the south'ard when we're off
the land," said Jarrow, glancing aloft to the windvane on the
mizzen truck. It was flopping about like a dead fish on a gaff.
Before long the foresail began to fret its sheets, and Bevins got
her head to seaward. Then there came from astern a hot, puffy
breeze, and the schooner stood out on a port tack, curvetting
prettily as her sails were trimmed and filled.
One of the crew, hailed as Pennock, now came aft and took the
wheel, and Bevins went forward. Captain Dinshaw went into the
cabin, and looking down, Trask could see him bent over the table,
sucking a stub of a pencil and studying a sheet of paper.
"What's the bearin' and distance of Point Luzon?" he called up the
companion.
Jarrow looked at Locke and smiled.
"Northwest, five miles," called Jarrow, after a look at the compass
and the land.
"What course ye steerin'?"
"Nor'wes'bywes'."
"Variation, one degree east," remarked Dinshaw, and went back to
his figuring, talking to himself and scratching his head. From his
conduct since sailing it was obvious that he intended to hold
himself aloof from the rest of the party.
"Thinks he's navigatin'," whispered Jarrow, with a wink to Trask.
"He looks a lot better than he did," said Locke. "Has more colour
and walks with more vigour."
"Good eatin'," said Jarrow. "He perked right up the minute he come
aboard. Acts like he's master. Don't do no harm, only Mr. Peth gits
rubbed the wrong way sometimes. I say, if the old man gits any fun
out of thinkin' it's his own schooner, what's the odds?"
"How did you come out on getting anything certain about the
position of his island?" asked Locke. "From what you said last
night it was a sure thing."
"Oh, we know where we're goin' right enough," said Jarrow.
"Then he's given you some more data?"
"We ain't goin' on his say-so. He give me the leaf out of his old
log, with his noon position the day before he was lifted off his
course by the typhoon."
"Is that enough?"
"We ought to run slap into his island. It's one of the Capones, off
the Zambales coast. There's a whole flock of 'em, but the one I
figure on stands out from the rest, from what I've worked."
"Wilkins, at the hotel, was telling me the geodetic people couldn't
find the island."
"Wilkins?" Jarrow turned and looked at Locke intently. "Oh, yes.
Did he say anything about me?"
"Yes, he spoke very highly of you."
"Well, it's this way," said Jarrow, after a thoughtful pause. "The
old man didn't give 'em the right position. He said he'd piled up
near one of the Sisters, just to the south'ard of the Little
Sister, to be exact. But that's more'n sixty miles north of where
the _Wetherall_ struck. Ye see, the old man didn't want nobody to
find the island if he couldn't go himself. But he's all right now."
Peth came up the weather side of the poop, and seeing the trio with
the captain, turned abruptly to go forward again.
"Did you want to see me, Mr. Peth?" called Jarrow.
The mate stopped, and pushing his cap to the back of his head,
grumbled an assent.
"What about?" asked Jarrow, leaning his elbows on the top of the
cabin trunk.
"I wanted to speak private," said Peth, grumblingly.
"Well, sing out," said Jarrow.
"Thought I'd speak to ye about where I'd bunk, sir," said Peth.
"Didn't we settle that?" demanded Jarrow, with considerable
surprise.
"Not to my tastes," said the mate.
"What's the trouble?"
"I thought I'd take my gear out, if it's all the same to you, sir."
"Out where?"
"Out of that room, sir."
"Where'd ye want to bunk?"
"I thought I'd bunk for'ard. Bevins is with the men----"
"Well, you're the mate," said Jarrow. "Ye don't want to be with the
crew, do ye?"
"I thought mebbe if I moved for'ard I wouldn't be in the way."
"Nobody's said anything 'bout ye bein' in the way," said Jarrow,
with rising temper.
"I'd be a heap more comfortable, sir," insisted Peth.
"I won't be at all disturbed," said Trask, getting out of his deck
chair so that he could see Peth.
"I reckon I'd rather be for'ard," repeated the mate, doggedly.
Captain Dinshaw came up through the companion, and started toward
Peth, glaring at the mate.
"What's this? What's this?" cried Dinshaw.
"Better keep quiet, sir, and let me handle it," said Jarrow in a
low tone. Then to Peth: "If ye think ye'll be more comfortable
for'ard, Peth, why, that's your lookout. We'll let it stand that
way till we talk it over and----"
"Bad for discipline to have the mate for'ard with the crew,"
shouted Dinshaw. "Ye'll stay with the afterguard, Mr. Peth. I'm
master here. That's all."
"Who is skipper, anyhow?" demanded Peth.
"I'm skipper," said Jarrow. "No use of gittin' excited up this
way. Captain Dinshaw, ye'll please me if ye go below. Now we'll go
for'ard and talk this over, Mr. Peth. I won't have no disputin'
aboard me." He hurried after Peth, and they went forward of the
foremast, talking in low tones.
"Captain Dinshaw!" said Locke, as the old man started to descend
the stairs to the cabin.
"Dad!" warned Marjorie. "Don't hurt his feelings."
"Yes, sir," said Dinshaw.
"Don't you want to go to your island?" asked Locke, gently.
"Yes, sir."
"Then we can't have this sort of thing, or I'll turn back to
Manila. Captain Jarrow is in command."
"I know now, sir," said Dinshaw, rubbing his forehead with his
hand, as if to brush away something which affected his vision.
"It's all clear in my head, sir--I git kind o' dreamy, sir."
"All right," said Locke. "You'd better go down and keep out of the
sun. It's all right this time, but you know we must not have a
division of authority. Captain Jarrow is master."
"Very good, sir." And Dinshaw, somewhat crestfallen, went below.
"I merely wanted to take a hand in things," said Locke. "Better for
me to chip the old man and keep him quiet than for Jarrow to give
him fits."
"And I'm as well satisfied that Mr. Peth is going to live in the
forecastle, if that's a measure of his temper," said Trask, who was
more annoyed by the mate's request than he allowed the Lockes to
see.
"I didn't like his looks from the first," said Marjorie.
"Oh, things'll get shaken down," said Locke. "But I'll give Jarrow
to understand that we don't want to hear any more quarrels."
Trask and Marjorie left their chairs on the lee side of the poop,
and leaned against the rail, the better to see what was taking
place forward, where they could hear Jarrow and Peth in quiet
argument. From their gestures it was plain that in spite of
Jarrow's pleas Peth was still obdurate.
Pennock, the man at the wheel, gave no sign that he had heard any
of the conversation aft, but stared over the top of the cabin
trunk, glancing aloft now and then at the sails, and watching the
compass. The crew were busy wetting down the decks, having swept
them after clearing a litter of rope and boxes.
Soon Captain Jarrow came back, looking red and flustered, his cigar
out and badly chewed. He made an attempt to light it, but gave up
the attempt and threw it over the side.
"I'm sorry to see this happen, Mr. Locke," said Jarrow finally, as
if he felt that he must say something to restore a pleasant status.
"You know I've half a mind to put back to Manila and throw him
ashore," said Locke, severely. "We're here for pleasure, Captain
Jarrow, and we can't have any such scenes. My daughter's worried."
"Oh, Mr Peth's all right," said Jarrow. "His bark's worse'n his
bite. He feels a little awkward with you folks aboard, that's all.
It was the old man scraped him."
"I've already chipped the old man about it," said Locke. "I wish
you'd let the matter drop. What did Mr. Peth decide to do?"
"He's set on bunkin' with the men," said Jarrow.
"All right, then, he can mess with the men," said Locke. "We won't
have him aft at all."
"All right," said Jarrow, and fell to pacing the weather side of
the poop, his hands clasped behind his back.
In a few minutes Peth came clumping down the waist and, calling two
of the crew, went into the main cabin. There was a banging of
doors, heard above the clatter of Shanghai Tom's chopping tray, and
then Peth went forward, carrying clothes under both arms, followed
by two men with his sea-chest.
The schooner was bowling along now at a good rate, marching away
from the land steadily, and making little leeway. Trask went below,
ostensibly to have his bag unpacked, but really to have a talk with
Doc Bird. Also, he had an automatic pistol which he thought he
would get out and clean. He suspected that it would do no harm to
have it known that there were weapons among the "passengers."