"Nix," said the Captain, shortly.
"Well, naow, that's too bad. But think it over, Cap'n, think it over."
The skipper edged to the rail and sniffed suspiciously.
"If it's just the same to you, Jubiter, I'll thank ye to get to lor'ard with that mullet roe. Whew!" said the Captain.
Jubiter John looked pained. He put the rest of the fish roe into his pocket and turned to go. At that instant the Captain started and looked up the dock. A huge figure of a man hove in sight and came slowly down the shell fill towards the yawl.
The figure was dressed in black cloth of clerical cut, the broad shoulders squared across and the hands folded behind. The stranger's head was not visible owing to the fact that he bowed it over until nothing but the top of a shiny tall hat showed in front of him, and he looked almost like a huge turtle with his head drawn inside the shell. The black tails of his coatflapped about his legs in the sea breeze as he strode slowly down to where theDartmoorlay.
Mrs. Holbrook noticed the man about the time the Captain started up the gangplank to intercept him coming aboard. Visitors were not always welcome to the skipper of the yacht, and it was his duty to see what they wanted. The Captain had hardly started well up the narrow way, when the stranger, who had reached the inshore end of it and was about to proceed down its length, suddenly raised his head. The motion was not unlike that of a turtle poking forth his nose, for it increased the man's stature a full foot, and he stopped, looking at the Captain out of eyes that seemed to hold both a challenge and a half-hidden fear. His shaved chin had a stubble of black hair, but it failed to cover the great square jaw except in spots. A line of white teeth showed between the partly opened lips, and the Captain hesitated to take in the man's appearance more fully before ordering him off the boat. The vessel gave a tug at her moorings and the gangplank took a sudden slue to one side. The next instant the Captain gave a spring for the string piece of the wharf. He missed it by a fraction of an inch and fell heavily against the timber and overboard, landing in the water with a rousing splash.
The accident caused a cry of alarm from Mrs. Holbrook which brought from the depths of the cabin her son Richard. He came bounding up the companionway as rapidly as a boy of twelve could. Jubiter John stood spellbound, looking over the side while the boy,the cook and a sailor rushed to the rail to lend a hand and get the skipper back aboard.
The tall stranger, however, had anticipated their arrival by a few seconds and, jumping on deck, leaned over the side and reached a long thin arm down to the Captain, who came spluttering to the surface. He seized the collar of the coat as it came clear of the water and without apparent effort raised the Captain to the deck. The motion was one of such ease, the Captain being a short, heavy fellow, that a close observer would have marvelled at the man's strength, but in the excitement little notice was taken of it. The stranger had saved the Captain from the sea, and Mrs. Holbrook, who had now advanced to the rail, thanked him warmly for his services.
The look of challenge died away from the man's eyes and one of fear came in place. He shuffled uneasily under the woman's gaze, but finally controlled himself. Then without a word he lifted his face heavenward and clasped his hands before him.
"The ways o' Providence air unbeknownst," said he, slowly, closing his upturned eyes and standing like some huge statue carved in wood. His voice was so soft and gentle that it brought a smile to the face of the boy who stared at him insolently. But the rest were impressed by the man's manner and stood silently watching him until he brought his head back to its normal position with a jerk. Then the Captain muttered something about inquisitive strangers and went below to change, for the air was cool.
"I am sure I should like to repay you for your bravery, Mr.—Mr.——" began Mrs. Holbrook, "but I hardly know how to thank you, sir."
"Mr. Jones is his name, ma'am," said Jubiter John, "an' youse kin repay him at once."
Mr. Jones looked somewhat abashed at this, and the stranger's look of defiance came into his eyes again.
"He's the sanctified man I ware tellin' the Cap'n of jest before he fell overboard," went on Jubiter, "an' all he wants is a passage down the coast a ways. The settlement is down near where I used to run."
"Ah, a clergyman,—a country clergyman, I see," said Mrs. Holbrook.
"I reckon that's about it," said Jubiter John.
"Mr. Jones," said Mrs. Holbrook, "I should be very glad, indeed, to aid you down the coast. You know the yacht is small and you might have to sleep in the Captain's stateroom. If you would not object to that arrangement, you are more than welcome to the voyage."
"Ah, madam," said the tall man, solemnly, in a small voice hardly above a whisper, "I should be glad to have the opportunities you speak of, and if the bed be rough an' hard an' the grub poor, I know it will be the hand o' Providence what makes it so, an' I kin stand it. The ways o' Providence air unbeknownst."
"Very well, then, we leave to-morrow morning at daylight. My husband will be back before sundown and you may come aboard to-night," said Mrs. Holbrook. "Won't you come aft? I am sure the walk must have tired you. It is a long way to the village."
The tall Mr. Jones glanced at Jubiter John and then followed the lady to the quarter-deck, where he folded up like a huge jack-knife in a deck chair, to listen to the somewhat vague but religious conversation of his new patron. He sat there for a full hour, seldom even answering questions which were put to him and not offering a single sentence of his own volition. When he arose to go, he looked askance at Mrs. Holbrook, then he raised his face heavenward and said, solemnly: "The ways o' Providence air unbeknownst."
He turned in a moment and went rapidly to the rail near the dock, leaving Mrs. Holbrook staring at him.
"Ain't he a long one, say," said young Richard, "an' them legs—Gee whizz!"
But at that instant the tall man sprang to the wharf and hurried off, hearing nothing, and Richard received a severe rebuke.
"My dear," said Mrs. Holbrook to her husband that evening, "I have taken the liberty of inviting a country clergyman to accompany us down the coast. He will be here this evening and I hope you will be civil to him."
"Huh," said Mr. Holbrook, and went on deck to smoke his cigar.
"Is he really comin' to go with us?" asked Richard.
"Yes, my dear, of course he is," answered his mother.
"But ain't he long, say?" and he bounded up the companionway to join his father.
Before eight bells that evening the tall Mr. Jones made his appearance and introduced himself to the Captain. As the latter had been instructed to entertain the new arrival to the extent of giving up his room, he received the tall man with scant ceremony.
"What's the matter wid payin' yer passage on a steamboat?" growled the mariner, as he jerked his belongings out of the berth.
"My friend," observed the sanctified man, "it is not my wish to cause trouble, an' I can't help it. If your bed be hard I make no complaint; I'll try to sleep on it. If my grub is no good, I'll try to forget it. The way o' Providence air unbeknownst."
The short, stout skipper stood looking at him a moment, but the sanctified man beamed down upon him until he turned with an exclamation of a somewhat unconventional sort and left the room. Then the tall man closed the door.
In the early morning theDartmoorwas cast loose from the dock and her mainsail hoisted. Jubiter John stood near the wheel and piloted her safely over the bar and out into the green waters of the Atlantic. Then he left her and took to his dory to row back.
The air was crisp with the tingle of a nor'wester and the sun rose with a ruddy glow. The sea was smooth under the land, but the little lumpy cloudswhich were running away from the northward, told of wind behind. Before the sun was well above the horizon, Mr. Jones appeared on deck. He was dressed in his black trousers with suspenders tied about his waist in place of a belt. His once white shirt was open at the neck displaying a deep and brawny chest. Two long white feet poked themselves from beneath his trouser legs in most unpoetical fashion, but showed he was ready for the washing down of the vessel's decks. He tailed on to the gaff-topsail halliards and sweated up that piece of canvas until the block nearly parted from the masthead with the strain. Even the Captain, who had spent the night sleeping upon the galley floor, felt that he had, indeed, an able seaman in the sanctified man who hurled buckets of water along the snow-white planks or hustled the squeegee along the deck until the wood and seams fairly oozed water like a sponge. The three foremast hands hurried along in his wake.
TheDartmoorwas fast making an offing. With all sail she was running before the breeze which now began to get a heart in it, and the long heave of the heavy sea coming around Cape Lookout told of something behind it. There was a live kick and quick run to this swell that made the skipper look anxiously to his lighter canvas, but it was his object to get as far down the beach as possible while the wind lasted. A few miserable hours of heavy weather and all might be well, but thrashing down a nor'wester would cost him his job if he judged Mrs. Holbrook correctly.
The motion brought young Richard on deck, where he stood looking at the tall man in amazement.
"I thought you was a minister, say?" he ventured, as the sanctified man came near with the squeegee, "an' ministers don't work."
"Well, some kinds do, sonny. I ain't just what you might call a priest."
"Naw, you look like you might be some good," said the boy. "But ain't you a long one, say? When you get through I'll come forward and talk to you. Ma won't care; she says she hates to have to sit around an' try to talk to people she don't know nothin' about."
"Did she say that?"
"Sure, she don't know nothin' about you."
The look of fear came into the tall man's eyes and he squeegeed the deck vigorously. Then he went slowly forward and put the tool away.
One of the sailors struck off six bells and the cook announced that breakfast was ready for the Captain and the guest. As the saloon was for the owner and his party, the meal was served in the galley, the Captain and sanctified man sitting at the small table used to manipulate the several ingredients which went to make a yacht's meal.
"Do you think we'll have good weather, Captain?" asked the tall man, starting in at a plate of prepared oats.
"Naw," snapped the skipper, who still held vision of his night's rest upon the galley floor.
"D'ye mind me sayin' a thank ye fer the vittles, hey?"
"Do yer prayin' to yerself," snapped the Captain.
The long man raised his eyes and muttered something in his soft voice.
"No matter if the vittles is bad—an' poor, I'm thankful. The ways o' Providence air unbeknownst," he said as he finished.
"What's the matter with the whack?" snarled the Captain. "Ain't it good enough fer yer? I'll lay it's a sight better'n you been used to gettin', an' that's a fact."
"I didn't say it wasn't good," said the tall man, hastily, in a gentle tone. "I only said I was thankful even if it wasn't any good."
"Huh," snarled the Captain, "tryin' to sneak out of it, hey?"
"A sanctified man never fights," said the big fellow in a small voice, "for if he did I would break you up in little pieces."
"Well, a sailor fights an' don't you fergit it," snarled the Captain. "You want to try the breakin' game a bit aboard here, you long-legged sky-pilot. What the thunder d'ye call a sanctified man anyways, hey?"
"Don't ye know?" asked the tall man, mildly, his eyes taking again that peculiar look of fear they often held.
"Naw," answered the skipper.
"Well, he's one what's been tried. A man that'sbeen off the path an' come back again. He's taken the oath to do no more harm—nothin' but good. He's sanctified."
"No more harm! What harm hev ye done, hey?" asked the Captain, sharply.
"Well, I served my time out—all but three years," said the tall man, fearfully.
"What?" gasped the skipper.
"I served my time out, nearly out. It was only fifteen years I got. I'm all right and have papers to prove it. One of the men they thought I killed got well again. The money was divided among my pals. I didn't get a cent of it; no, not a cent. But the past is past. Let it die!"
"An' you calls yourself a sanctified man, you bloomin' convict, hey? Steward, set these things somewhere else. I may not be particular as to friends aboard ship, but I draw the line at eatin' with jailbirds."
"I never was in jail—only for a month. It was the penitentiary," corrected the tall man, his small voice almost dying away. There was something very sad in his tone; something so touching that even the steward hesitated at obeying the skipper's orders.
"An' to think," said the Captain, "that Jubiter John should play it so badly on us."
He ate his meal in silence on the other side of the little room, while the vessel plunged and ran down the slopes of following seas, creaking and straining so that he soon left for the deck.
The sanctified man sat eating slowly, in spite of the motion and cries from above, as the men shortened sail to ease the racing craft in the sea. He was lost in thought. The memories of his sufferings were upon him, and as the sad years rolled back, he seemed to stand again upon a ship's deck giving orders to a crew who obeyed as only deep-water men know how. His had been a long, hard road, indeed. The surly Captain was forgotten and his insults were as though they had never been uttered.
While he sat there eating slowly and thinking over the past, he became aware that the door leading to the main saloon was open. Through it he caught a glimpse of shining silver as theDartmoorrolled heavily to starboard, letting in a flood of sunlight through her side ports. A huge urn or cup weighing many pounds, and of solid silver, was firmly planted upon a shelf near the end of the saloon. Upon it was an engraving of a yacht under full sail with the legend "Dartmoor" with "1898" beneath. Evidently the trophy of that season and probably the greatest she had ever won. It was a superb piece of ware, and the man looked at it for a long time, while his face gradually took on a hard expression and the strange look of defiance and challenge came again into his eyes. He had suffered much, but there was something within him that was stirred by the glint of that silver. Twelve long years among a certain class of men had implanted new weaknesses and developed those he hadalready possessed. He was forgetting himself under the flashing of that reflected sunlight.
Suddenly he was aware of a small hand stealing within his own and he turned with a cry of alarm. A look of despair came across his face and his wide jaws set firm.
"I didn't mean to scare you," said Richard, glancing backward at the steward who was busy with the morning meal. "You don't look like you scare easily. I heard what old square-head said to you. Don't you mind him. He'll eat with you—an' afterwards you can tell me what you done."
"Good God," murmured the man, and seized the boy in his arms.
"Don't hug me; I ain't no girl" cried Richard, and the tall man sat him on his knee and smilingly patted his head.
"I reckon we'll go on deck," said the sanctified man, in a few minutes. "They'll want some help reefin' the mainsail—pretty big sea to run her under all lower canvas." And he took the lad's hand and went forward through the forecastle to the scuttle and so on up to the sunlight above.
The morning was now well advanced. Eight bells struck off, and the head of Mr. Holbrook appeared emerging from the cabin companionway. The sea was sparkling in the sunshine and the quick combers running before the freshening breeze were covering the surface with patches of white. The topsail hadbeen taken in and all hands were lowering down the mainsail to close reef it.
The sanctified man tailed on to the main sheet and soon had the boom nearly amidships. Then the sail was lowered slowly, the men handing in the canvas to ease it on the lazyjacks and toppinglift while theDartmoorran along under jigger and jib before a sea that was rapidly shifting to the eastward. Mr. Holbrook came on deck and watched his flying fabric, taking a hand and passing reef-points under the jackstay along the boom, which were all carefully pulled out again and passed under the foot-roping of the mainsail by the careful skipper.
Mrs. Holbrook decided that as the motion was very great she would remain where it affected her the least. It would be time enough to go on deck after dinner, when the beauties of an afternoon at sea might be appreciated.
Mr. Holbrook soon went below to breakfast and took his son with him. When they appeared again the mainsail was set close-reefed, and the jigger rolled up, letting the yawl run easily with more head-sail. She now rose on the following seas like a swan, and as she would reach the crest she would rush wildly along the slanting side, her nose pointing downward and the full weight of the gale in her canvas, until the sea would run from under her, letting her sink slowly into the trough where her canvas would flap in the almost calm spot between the seas. It was a little thick to the westward, but although the landcould not now be seen there was a good stretch of water plainly visible.
The sanctified man stood near the wheel, looking occasionally into the binnacle where the compass card swung a good three points each side of the lubber's mark, as the vessel broached or paid off in the sea.
"D'ye ever adjust that compass?" he asked, mildly, of Mr. Holbrook.
"Ever what?" asked the owner, contemptuously.
"Do you ever see that the card swings true?" asked the sanctified man.
Mr. Holbrook looked at the tall man with undisguised pity. What should a clerical man know about navigation, he thought. The poor country clergyman was evidently a bit ignorant concerning compasses, although every schoolboy knew that the magnet swung north and south. He attempted to explain the matter in a wearied tone, but when he had finished the tall man only smiled and his expressive eyes showed traces of amusement. He said nothing. Finally he ventured:
"If I were you, I would let her head a little more to the eastward."
Mr. Holbrook walked away giving a little grunt of disgust as though he had been holding intercourse with a lunatic. As he never spoke to his Captain except to tell him where he wanted to go, he had a rather lonely time on deck and took to playing with his son by sitting at one end of the cabin-house andthrowing a line to him at the other and then pulling upon it.
The sea became rougher during the day, but in spite of it, dinner was served in the saloon. Mrs. Holbrook appeared at last and bravely tried to play the part of hostess to her guest. Holbrook had always shown an aversion to piously inclined people, and a clergyman's presence gave him extreme annoyance, as it prevented his picturesque flow of words. As adjectives were a weakness of his, the conversation would have lapsed into monosyllables, had not Mrs. Holbrook determined to do her duty.
"I suppose," said that lady, "you have many sailor men in your congregation, Mr. Jones."
The tall man looked at her sharply. He thought of his "congregation" and wondered. Did the lady know what he was? He had not meant to deceive any one. Jubiter John had simply asked for a passage for a sanctified man and had not thought it necessary to go into the man's history. His eyes held the strange look of alarm they had when he first came aboard, and he answered in his thin voice.
"Yes, ma'am, there's plenty of sailors get in, though they are no worse'n landsmen. It don't make much difference what callin' a man takes, there's bad ones in all."
Mrs. Holbrook glanced at her husband, who smiled his approval.
"Do you know Mr. Brown, the pastor in Beaufort?" asked the lady.
"He must be a very excellent man—I never heard of him," said her husband, with a touch of irony.
"I asked Mr. Jones," said Mrs. Holbrook, sweetly.
"No, ma'am, I never did," said the tall man, shooting his head upward and looking at his host. "He never did time."
"Never what?" asked the lady.
A sharp kick upon the shin bone from young Richard caused the sanctified man to raise a full foot higher in his seat.
"What's the matter?" he asked quickly.
"Aw, tumble," said the irreverent Richard.
Mrs. Holbrook looked at her son sharply.
"What did you do? Do you want to be sent from the table?" she said.
The young man dropped his gaze into his plate and looked abashed. His father smiled. The meal proceeded in silence until they had finished, when Mr. Holbrook led the way on deck with a handful of cigars.
"That wasn't a bad one on the country parson," ventured the yachtsman. "You fellows so seldom joke, a man never knows just when you will break out. Ha, ha, ha—'never did time'—Well, that wasn't half bad." And he quite warmed to the tall man as he offered him a perfecto.
"But you see——"
"Yes, I see well enough. I don't blame you for kicking about such men. Nowyoucan tail on to a sheet or pass a reef point like aman. Will you havea good nip of grog before Mrs. Holbrook comes on deck?"
The sanctified man thought he would. They repaired to the forehatch, where the steward passed up the spirits unseen.
The warmth of the liquor put new life in the tall man's great frame. He had eaten very little for days and the effects of good food and strong drink were very strengthening. The look of challenge took the place of alarm in his large expressive eyes and his great square jaw seemed to set firmer. Half of his cigar disappeared between his teeth, which closed upon it with the set of a vise.
They went aft again in time to meet Mrs. Holbrook coming on deck assisted by the Captain, who placed rugs for her in a steamer chair in the cockpit. It was getting thicker and the wind was now well to the eastward of north, but there was no harbour nearer than Cape Fear, and the Captain had many reasons for not wishing to stop there. He would run along close to the land and after passing would be in Long Bay, where he would have a fair wind to Charleston, one hundred and fifty miles ahead, making a run of more than two hundred miles from Beaufort. This would get the yacht well down the coast to where they might expect good weather.
"I think," said the tall Mr. Jones, during a break in the conversation, "I would head the vessel offshore a couple of points. You know the Frying Pan runs well off here. It will be breaking in three fathomswith this breeze. The ways o' Providence air un——
"Never mind about Providence, Mr. Jones," said Holbrook, with a wave of his hand. "The Captain will look out for the yacht. You needn't be scared. Tell us about the sailors you get in your flock. How you learned all about boats from them."
Mr. Jones drew himself up a good foot. His head went up in the air and the look of defiance came into his eyes.
"The only fellows that got sent up with me were Jack Elwell and Bill Haskins," said he.
"How do you mean sent up with you?" asked Mrs. Holbrook.
"Well, they were caught straight enough," said the tall man, sadly.
"You mean they had to be caught and sent to you for spiritual teaching?" asked Mrs. Holbrook with a smile.
"Well, er—not exactly," said the tall man, in a voice which died away to a whisper.
"Ha, ha, ha, a good one on you, Mr. Jones," said Holbrook.
"Well, you see," went on the tall man, slowly, "you don't seem to understand just what I am." He looked at the Captain, who stood near at the wheel, but whose face was like a mahogany mask.
"Why, you are a clergyman, are you not?" asked Mrs. Holbrook.
"A convict," said Mr. Jones, slowly. "I amStormalong Journegan, sailor, navigator, and was sent up for fifteen years. Bahama Bill an' me got out."
There was a long silence. Holbrook rose and went to the farther side of the yacht. Mrs. Holbrook sat a few moments and looked out to sea. Then she motioned to the steward, who was at the companionway, to take her wraps below, and she disappeared down the steps without a word.
Holbrook saw something forward and made his way toward the bow followed by his son, who turned to look back at the tall man.
"Serves her bloomin' well right fer turnin' me out," growled the Captain into the ear of the helmsman. "Next time she'll be a bit more careful about takin' passengers."
Mr. Jones, or Journegan, sat looking out over the sea. The veil of mist that hung over the land held many images for him. He saw how it was aboard. His year of reformation had taught him many things, and the lesson he was learning was not entirely new. He gazed sadly at Holbrook. He had felt drawn toward the man, but after all, in spite of his assumed contempt for holy men, he was more of a hypocrite than the veriest village parson he had ever met.
He arose slowly, unkinking his long frame like the opening of a jack-knife. Then he tossed his cigar over the side and went to his room. He was an outcast aboard that yacht and he knew it. The privacy of his room was much better than the inhospitality of the deck.
All the long afternoon he sat there thinking. He was not a strong man save for his great muscular frame. He had fallen before and he was now trying to do what he could to atone for it. The thought of the silver in the after-cabin came to him and his vacillating spirit could not quite get the glistening vision out of his brain, for after all, these people were his enemies. They could never be anything else as long as human vanity and conceit endured. Even the miserable little prig of an owner who ridiculed clergymen need not be spared. It might do his small soul good to have to part with some of his treasures. He pondered, while the light failed and the look of challenge came into his eyes. He had a powerful frame and had nothing to fear. And all the time theDartmoorran to leeward with the lift of the northeast sea behind her.
It was just before eight bells, when a man who had gone forward on lookout hailed the Captain.
"Something white dead ahead, sir," he cried.
The sanctified man heard and thought of the untrue compass. The next instant there was a dull reverberating snore alongside as a giant breaker burst into a white smother and rolled away in the darkness. It was breaking in three fathoms, and the yacht was racing to her end.
There was a rush of feet on deck. Wild cries came from aft, where the Captain had rolled the wheel hard down and was struggling with the sailor to get the jigger on her and force her offshore. She had nottouched yet, but as the yawl came to in the gale, she brought up broadside in a sea that burst upon her with the weight of an avalanche, heaving her on her lee beam and washing everything off her, fore and aft. The water poured down the companionway and flooded the cabin.
The sanctified man reached the deck by dint of a fierce struggle up through the forward companion. The men who were below followed as best they could; swashing, floundering through the flood and loosened fittings, and they managed to get aft in time to get a line to the sailor who had been at the wheel and who was now close alongside. The Captain was gone.
All the time theDartmoorwas drifting to leeward and into the breakers. She had swung off again under the pressure of her jib, and just as the tall man seized the jigger halliards to get the after sail upon her, she struck on the Frying Pan Shoals. The next sea rolled over her and was the beginning of the end.
Mr. Holbrook had been below all this time, and he now appeared at the companion with his wife and boy. The sea that fell over the wrecked craft nearly drowned them and washed Richard back into the cabin. Mr. Jones roared out for the men to get the only small boat left alongside, and his voice rose to a deep sonorous yell. He led the way himself to the falls, where the small boat trailed to leeward, the davits having been torn out bodily with the weight of the breaking seas. The hauling part was still on deck and he handed in the line quickly, the three sailorsand steward taking heart at his example and helping all they could. Mrs. Holbrook was placed in the small boat and her husband waited not for an invitation to follow, but floundered in after her. The three sailors sprang aboard. At that instant a giant sea rose to windward. It showed for a second in the ghastly phosphorescent glare of the surrounding foam. Then it thundered over the doomed yacht.
When the sanctified man came up from the blackness below, he was just aware of the vessel's outline some fifty feet away to windward, and he struck out strongly for her. In a few minutes he was alongside. A great sea broke over her again, but he held well under the rise of her bow and managed to cling to the trailing débris. Then he climbed on deck. There was nothing living left there. He looked for the boat, but it had disappeared. Then he was suddenly aware of a bright light and as he looked he remembered the Bald Head tower which marks the dreaded shoals of Cape Fear.
He knew he was a mile or more from the beach and all the way was the rolling surf. It was a desperate swim at any time, but in a northeast gale, with the sea rolling high, it was useless to think of anything human attempting it without artificial aid. He clung to the stump of the mainmast and tried to live through the torrents that swept over him by getting directly in its lee. This was the only way he could stay even a few moments aboard the vessel. She was lifting still with each succeeding sea and drivinghigher and higher upon the bank, but she had not broken up badly yet. Yachts like theDartmoorcould stand a tremendous pounding before going to pieces, but he knew that nothing could stand the smashing long. Before daylight there would be not a stick to show that a fine ship had gone ashore in the night.
The cabin scuttle was open and he wondered if the cabin was full of water yet. The silver was still there and belonged to the man who could save it. There was a chance for him and he was already looking about in the blackness for a proper spar or piece of wood to float him for the struggle in. It might be just as well to try to take in a little extra weight along with him, for he would not start until he could get his float.
In a smooth between two seas he made a dash for the companion, springing along the coamings of the skylight to get a footing, for the deck was at a high angle. He reached it and clung under its lee for shelter. Then he peered down into the darkness below. The cabin was not quite full of water and he climbed down, feeling for the magnificent cup he had seen there the day before. His hand touched it, although he was now almost shoulder deep in the water. A mattress floated against him and he seized it. The cork within would float him and his prize. He tried to find something else that would float, but just then a torrent of sea water rushed below and he saw that if he would get away at all he must soon start. He lugged his prize to the steps and started to drag itclear. He reached down in the water to get a better grip of it and his great fingers closed upon a human hand. Then he made out the form of the boy with his head still above water, clinging to the topmost step of the ladder. He peered into the child's face and saw the frightened eyes open and look at him. Then he stopped and stood motionless upon the ladder.
In all his work he had only been a few minutes, but those few minutes had been minutes of his old life, the life of a sailor. The late past had been forgotten and he was now a shipwrecked mariner, getting ashore as best he could, saving what he might from a wreck. But the touch of the boy's hand brought him back again to the realization of his condition. The hand of an enemy's son, but the hand of one who had treated him kindly. The mattress would not hold all three. It would be between the boy and the cup. He swore savagely at the piece of silver, held it for an instant, then started to hurl it from him. In the precious seconds he was making a desperate fight. He gripped it again with both hands and held it before him. A sea roared over the wreck and half smothered him, pouring down the open companion.
He dropped the heavy cup, seized the half-fainting Richard and quickly passed a lashing about him. Then he seized the cork mattress and boy and plunged to leeward.
In the dim gray of the early morning, the keeper of the Bald Head Lighthouse saw the tall form of a man staggering up the beach carrying something inhis arms. He ran down the steps of the tower and met the tall stranger and relieved him of his burden of a still living but half-drowned boy.
"His mother and father are crazy with grief," said the keeper. "The woman is crying all the time that it was the will o' God, because she had a convict aboard her yacht. If you are the Captain, you had better bring the lad to her yourself. I reckon she'll be careful what kind o' passengers she takes aboard again, and take your word for things aboard her boats."
"Does she think it was because a convict was aboard, the vessel went ashore?" asked the tall man, drawing his half-naked figure up to its full height.
"Sure, she says the Captain didn't want him. A mighty fine religious woman she is, too," said the keeper.
"I reckon I won't bother her just now," said the tall man, in a voice hardly above a whisper. "You take the little fellow to her—I'll go and get some clothes on."
The light-keeper strode away with the boy in his arms. The tall man stood still for several minutes, looking after him. When the keeper reached the dwelling he turned and saw the tall man still standing there in his soaking trousers, his giant torso looking like the statue of a sea-god. "The ways o' Providence air mighty strange," muttered the sanctified man, slowly to himself——"But somehow I feel that I won."
VII
When the Light Failed at Carysfort
TheUnited States Lighthouse Establishment organized by Thornton Jenkins, Rear-Admiral, United States Navy, had built many important lighthouses upon the coast of the States. The appropriations admitted the lighting of the dangerous coral banks of the Florida Reef, which rose from the blue Gulf Stream many miles offshore and stretched away from Cape Florida to Tortugas.
From Fowey Rocks to Sand Key the high, long-legged towers, built of iron piling driven into the rock and braced with rods, rose above the shoal water, and at night their huge lenses flashed forth a warning gleam for twenty miles or more over the sea.
Carysfort was the second from the beginning the reef: a tall iron structure, the lantern or lens mounted atop of a wooden house built upon the platform at the end of the piling.
Inside of the house were the two bedrooms of the keepers, the oil-room, storerooms, and kitchen. Large tanks of iron held hundreds of gallons of water caught from the roof.
Outside the structure the platform extended six feetclear all around, making a comfortable porch or piazza, with a high rail which hung out over the sea at a height of about a hundred feet.
A long iron ladder extended from a trap-door in the flooring to the sea below, stopping at a landing about half-way, where the keepers had a small woodpile, a flower-bed, and a few things which would stand exposure to the weather. At the sides of the platform above were davits, on which the two whale-boats hung.
Altogether, the little house and platform offered some inducements to men who were not particular about being alone for a long time.
It was many miles to the nearest land, clear out of sight from even the top of the tower; and to those who lived there it was like being at sea upon a small vessel which neither pitched nor rolled in a seaway, nor yet changed position in any manner. It was almost like living in mid-air.
It was a healthy life for the keepers. No germs of any known disease ever reached the distant lighthouse, and no sickness had ever occurred there.
On shore, it was a well-established axiom that among the offshore keepers none died—and few retired.
Every few months each could get a leave of absence on full pay and spend the time in any manner he pleased. The supply-ship stopped off the reef twice each year, and the lighthouse tender traversed the district as high as Cape Canaveral if anything was wanted.
So at least three or four times a year the keepers would hold communication with the outside world and converse with their fellow men.
The ships passing up the Hawk's Channel from Key West went within a few miles of the reef, and steamers going north outside sometimes stood in close enough to be recognized: but the Carysfort and Alligator Reefs were good places to keep away from, and no vessels except the spongers remained long in sight.
The spongers consisted of small sloops and schooners, which hailed from Key West whose owners were the wreckers of the reef, and who spent the best part of the good weather in summer hunting the growths upon the coral which brought such good prices in the Northern drug-stores.
Few wreckers are piously inclined, some less so than others, but the outlying light was safe from thieves, for by hauling up the iron ladder the keepers were shut off completely from the world below. No one could, or would, climb those polished iron columns painted a dull red and as slippery as glass, unless something valuable was to be had at the top. So the keepers often left the trap-door open or unbolted, knowing their security.
Black Flanagan was the head keeper, a six-foot giant from Wisconsin, who had found his way to Florida while evading a Michigan sheriff. The work and confinement upon the light were not as irksome to him as might be expected.
His assistant was a preacher, a broken-down Methodist minister without a flock, whose religious tendencies were of an order which brooked solitude.
He had the reputation of being the most blasphemous man upon the Florida Reef, and his short sojourns ashore were marked by every excess capable of being committed by a human being within the law.
They called him "the howler," for, when he was drunk—which he invariably was an hour after he came ashore—he would stop at the village street corners and bellow for converts.
Any one within a mile would know what was taking place, and many would stop to listen. Failure to get responses brought forth such a torrent of profanity that he would have to be locked up until sober—when he would repeat the effort until his leave was over.
Then, solemnly and with ponderous dignity, he would take himself back to his home in the air over the blue Gulf Stream, and no one would see him again for several months. Black Flanagan would greet him with a grunt, and the two would take up the even life of lighting the lantern and putting it out.
Men were not struggling for their positions, and they took some comfort from the fact. They would probably live so for a long time, drawing good pay, with nothing whatever to do except clean and light the lamp.
It was a hot and sultry morning in August, and the keepers were hanging lazily over the rail of theplatform, when they saw the wrecking-sloopSea-Horsecoming slowly up the Hawk's Channel.
Her main-boom was well off to port, and she was fanning along before a very light air from the southeast, going not more than two knots an hour.
Upon her deck lay the crew of half-naked Conchs, while at her wheel the giant form of "Bahama Bill," the mate, stood leaning against the shaft, smoking a short pipe.
The fact that the black man now and then looked astern at a thin trail of smoke caused Black Flanagan to notice him.
"There goes theSea-Horse," said he to his assistant; and they both came to the side of the platform nearest the passing vessel.
"Never seen thet big feller show so much consarn about what was astern o' him, hey?" said the preacher. "Looks like they were from the east'ard." And he nodded significantly.
The sloop drew nearer, and the thin line of smoke rose blacker a dozen miles astern. Then there seemed to be signs of life aboard. Two men sprang up and began to drop large kegs overboard, making a great splashing. They kept this up for some minutes, and the keepers went inside the light for the telescope.
Astern of the sloop they made out small, black objects, which floated at intervals upon the swell, and were just discernible through the powerful glass.
For half an hour the men aboard the wrecking-vessel worked heaving cargo overboard, and, as theywent along, the long line of tiny specks marked their wake.
"Corks," said Flanagan; "I thought so."
"They better hurry up," said the preacher; "the cutter's rising fast." As he spoke, he looked toward the steamer, which was now coming along in plain view, her hull rising slowly above the horizon, and her funnel pouring out a black cloud, which hung over the sea.
"They'll get caught fair enough. Half an hour, an' the officers'll be aboard."
"Well, they won't find anything. They'll never see them corks—she's already heading out to get them clear of the wake. When they catch her, she'll be an innocent sponger—an' we'll——"
They looked at each other and smiled.
An hour later theSea-Horseand revenue-cutter were upon the northern horizon heading into Biscayne, and the keepers were lowering their boats.
It is an unwritten law of the reef that a man may steal as much as he can from the United States, but he must not touch property belonging to an individual. A smuggler is not by any means a common thief.
Flanagan's ideas were different. He held that it was well to steal whenever the opportunity offered without danger of getting caught; and upon this principle he had little difficulty in converting his pious assistant, whose thirst had not been slaked for three full months.
Together they loaded three of the kegs into theboats by simply pulling up the fishing-lines whose ends were floated by beer-bottle corks.
The lines anchoring the kegs were lying upon the bottom in six fathoms of water, out of sight, and the small cotton cords were amply strong enough to raise them. Once getting a grip of the anchoring-lines, they had no difficulty in hauling the liquor aboard their whale-boats.
The temptation to sample the goods was so strong that they desisted after the third keg, and made straight away for the lighthouse to enjoy the plunder. They could come back again and get the rest at their leisure, for the corks would be in plain view during the calm weather.
What transpired at the lighthouse during the next three days is somewhat hazy. No light appeared at night, and the Key West steamer almost ran ashore on her trip south. She reported the light out, and the tender was despatched to see what had happened.
The day was clear and bright, and the keepers were on the lookout, seeing the steamer when fully fifteen miles away. Their liquor was promptly put out of sight, and everything made snug to receive the inspector.
While there were evidences of drink in the faces of the men, they showed a properly kept light, and swore solemnly that they had not left the tower, and that the light had not failed at all.
They mildly suggested that the captain of the Key steamer may have been in a highly reprehensiblecondition to have accused two perfectly sober and diligent light-keepers of neglect of duty.
The pious one broke forth in prayer and exhortation for the delivery of deluded pilots from the wiles of the devil, and soon the inspector was glad to go aboard his vessel to return to Key West.
TheSea-Horse, having been searched at Miami and found to be clear of contraband, was allowed to go her way. She stood out to sea, and headed down the Hawk's Channel just as the keepers lit the lantern for the evening watch. Black Flanagan was just sober enough to do this, and then turn in to continue his debauch with a pannikin of rum at his bed.
TheSea-Horseanchored near the light and waited for daylight to pick up the floats.
In the gray of early morning the black mate turned out the crew, leaving the captain below, and, taking the small boat, put off.
It was calm, and the corks were plainly visible. They were promptly hauled aboard, and the sunken kegs stowed until the end of the line was reached.
Here the mate found three floats missing, and, being in a suspicious frame of mind, he looked toward the light, which was still burning, although the rays of the rising sun were colouring the eastern horizon a rosy hue.
"They've got 'em, all right," said he. "If we're quick enough, we might catch 'em—give way hard."
The small boat with three men was headed for thetower; and theSea-Horse, with her captain now thoroughly awake, lay by for developments.
The big mate lost no time gaining the tower. It was broad day now, and Flanagan had just staggered up the steps into the lantern when the small boat arrived alongside the piles below.
In his befuddled state Flanagan saw nothing, until, after putting the light out, he came stumbling back again. He arrived in the lower room just in time to see the black head and shoulders of the mate emerging upward through the trap-door in the floor.
The mate was not in a good humour; moreover, he had turned out early without eating his breakfast, and his great black head and giant arms seemed supernatural in both vindictiveness and size.
Flanagan thought he had taken too much, and that the horrors were upon him at last. With a yell, he launched himself upon the seaman, taking him at a disadvantage, and endeavoured to smash him back into the void below.
But the mate was strong. He had come to the light expecting trouble. With a mighty effort he forced the keeper upward, and, amid a fierce snarling and threshing about, he soon engaged in a desperate struggle.
The "howler," hearing the uproar, sprang to the rescue, and joined in the fray just as the sailors, following their trusty mate, climbed through the door. In less than five minutes the keepers were lashed fast, and were being lowered down through the door into the waiting boat below.
What remained of their spoil was also found and lowered after them; and in the bright light of the tropic sunrise theSea-Horseput to sea, leaving the great tower of the Carysfort light to the westward.
For nearly a week no light was shown from the tower. Strangely enough, no one reported the light out.
The sixth day a sponger, sailing past at dark, noticed the absence of light, and went to the tower to see what was wrong.
He found it deserted, and, being a very poor man, he made his boat fast to the piles and took possession, enjoying the fare and taking care of the lantern in proper style for several days.
All might have gone well with him for several months, but for the fact that the supply-steamer was due, and arrived before he thought it time to make a getaway.
Finding the keepers missing, and no account made for them by the inhabitant, the officers promptly accused him of murdering them, and forthwith took him aboard the vessel to be carried ashore and tried. He was promptly convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to imprisonment for life.
Meanwhile, theSea-Horse, having made the Bahamas, put the thieving keepers ashore to shift for themselves. After vainly trying to get passage back to their home, they finally managed to get a small boat and put to sea, to make the two hundred miles or more to the lighthouse.
They had been absent more than a month, and they arrived at Carysfort one sunny morning in time to see the two new keepers who had been appointed in their place take their whale-boat and start fishing along the reef to the northward of the tower.
Seizing the opportunity, they promptly gained the lighthouse and climbed into the landing, dropping the trap-door fast behind them.
The new keepers, seeing the strangers in possession of the tower, hailed them lustily, and started back to inquire their business.
For answer Flanagan leaned over the railing and gazed calmly down upon them with a quizzical look.
"What d'ye want?" inquired the tall keeper, in response to a hail.
"What are you doing in that light?" asked the new keeper.
"I am the keeper, and when you address me say 'sir,'" roared the tall man in stentorian tones. "Tie that boat to the spiles and git away from here, or I'll fall on top o' ye."
But the new keepers were not made of easy stuff. They gained the lower landing, and held forth under threats and persuasion for a day and a half, when the "howler," getting tired of their proximity, began attacking them with hot water and other missiles, which he hove or dropped from the platform above.
The new keepers could not get up, but they determined that the men above should not get down, andthey built a bomb-proof shelter to protect themselves until help should arrive.
After two days, they finally gave it up and started for Miami, where they arrived and reported the state of affairs.
The inspector came along, but found the two worthies sober, and attending strictly to their duties.
They explained how they had been attacked by a huge smuggling vessel bound for the North, and how, after a desperate fight, they finally had been overpowered, taken forcibly from their abode in the light, where they had been attending to their duties, and put ashore in the Bahamas.
They described how, after a tremendous exertion, they had managed to get back again, only to find two strangers in possession of the tower. Naturally, they treated them as trespassers and took charge. The light had been kept regularly ever since, and they had no fault to find with the job.
After listening to their tale, there was nothing to do but to leave them to their duties, for nothing could be found against them.
Their absence from the light would have enabled the inspector to give them their discharge, but they could prove they had not left of their own accord. The forepart of their story would necessarily remain in the dark, for they would not talk of it, and the crew of theSea-Horsewould rather have it kept quiet. Besides, it would be more than useless to try to find the vessel from their description. The tender steamedaway for Miami to inform the authorities of the existence of the keepers.
"Virtue is usually triumphant," said the inspector to the judge, who ordered the release of the convicted prisoner. "But in this case there seems to be an exception."
"There are exceptions to every rule," quoted the judge wisely. "Light-keepers are rare birds—trouble will probably not happen again—I would therefore sentence them to life imprisonment in—well, I reckon there is no worse place than the Carysfort light."
"I don't know but what you are right," said the inspector.
VIII
The Trimming of Mr. Dunn
Mrs. Dunnsat under the awning stretched over the quarter-deck of the yachtSayonaralying in the stream, off the government coal-dock, at Key West. It was winter, but the air was warm, and white linen duck was the most comfortable clothing. Even the six men who composed the crew of the trim little schooner showed nothing but white in their garments, save the black silk ties knotted rakishly, drawing together their wide sailor-collars. Phenix Dunn was a broker, a gambler in the productions of others, and because of this he was wealthy. He had bought and sold certain commodities known as stocks, and they had proved profitable—so profitable that he had decided to take a few months away from the excitement of the game and buy a yacht and cruise.
Mrs. Dunn was something of a beauty. That is, many men thought so. Some women differed in opinions, especially those women whom she counted as her friends. Anyhow, she possessed a dashing air, a figure beyond criticism, and clothes that made Phenix say many bad words when the bills came in. Also she had a disposition the gentle side of whichhad not been overdeveloped. She was not quarrelsome. Far from it. She had plenty of tact and ability, but the absence of children and household cares had given her more time than necessary for the contemplation of self, and this had not been satisfying. She worked it off by dint of much outdoor exercise.
Dunn joined her at the taffrail and flung himself into a chair with a show of wrath. Something had gone wrong, as it always does upon yachts of any size where the owner is not used to the sea or its peculiar people.
"The steward is gone, the cook is going, and here we are a thousand miles from anywhere at all—anywhere at all, I say; and the commandant of the yard will be aboard to-morrow with not less than twenty officers and their wives. What'll we do about it?" he rapped out.
"Why do you ask me?—I'm not good at riddles," answered his wife lazily.
"Well, we've got to take on a couple of blacks—niggers they call 'em here—and I don't like the idea of it. I've no use for 'em. What I want is Japanese servants. Japanese are good. Good fighters make good servants. You don't want a servant to think, and a good fighter never thinks. If he did he would see something else besides glory in walking up to a man with a gun. The Japs do that—and they are good servants. I don't want any of these black people aboard this vessel."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know," grumbled Dunn, "but when in doubt, take a drink—I'll go and get one."
While he was below, a dingy-looking vessel came slowly in the northwest channel. She was a heavily built sloop, and upon her deck lounged a rather numerous crew. They were picturesque, half-clothed in nondescript rags, their bare arms and shoulders seeming impervious to the rays of the torrid sunshine, for along the Florida reef, even in winter, the sun is burning.
The craft dropped anchor about twenty fathoms astern of the yacht, and when Dunn came from below, bringing with him an odour of gin and bitters, the crew of the sloop regarded him silently.
"Hello, a wrecker!" exclaimed Dunn.
His sailing-master had come to the taffrail and was gazing at the stranger, while Mrs. Dunn, careless of nautical neighbours, read her magazine.
"Yes, seems like one of the wreckers," said Captain Smart; "an ugly-looking crew, for a fact. They say these spongers divide their time between wrecking and smuggling. Not that either's bad if indulged in moderately, but they are apt to get loose after awhile and do queer things."
"There ought to be plenty of good in a wrecker, if he plied his trade right—ought to save lives and property," said Dunn. "Let's have a look through the glass."
The men of the wrecking-sloop gazed back insolently at the yachtsman, and a giant black man amongthem rose up, placed his fingers in line, and applied the thumb of one hand to his big, flat nose, wiggling his huge digits in derision.
"That fellow is a corker," said Dunn, watching the wrecker good-humouredly.
"He's a big one, all right," assented Smart, "and I reckon they don't like us looking so hard at 'em."
"Lower a boat and send over for that fellow—I want him," said Dunn.
The captain looked at him for a moment. "I go ashore for Miss Marion Harsha in a few minutes," he said. "Mrs. Dunn gave the order. If you say so, I'll let the gig go for the wrecker afterward—go myself in her."
The yacht skipper was about forty, and slightly grizzled, his tanned face lined from work and exposure in more than one hard-run merchant vessel. But he made a rather good-looking yacht captain when dressed in his blue broadcloth coat with gold-braided cuffs, white duck trousers, and white canvas shoes. His cap bore the flag of Mr. Dunn upon its front, and was the only badge of dependence about him.
"All right, go ahead when you're ready; I'm in no hurry," said the owner. "Only I want to see that big nigger who was insolent enough to poke his fingers at me. Seems like he'd make a good man aboard here—steward, maybe, or even cook, if he knows how to do the work. They say these Southern darkies know how to cook like a French chef—and maybehis wife takes in washing. Get him, bring him in—there's some one waving on the dock now."
"Bring the gig to the starboard gangway," ordered Smart; and two men swung into her from the boom-end and dropped her aft. In a moment the captain was on his way to the dock.
Miss Harsha was young, stout, pug-nosed, and short-haired, but she dressed well and swung her parasol daintily as she walked down the dock end beside a uniformed marine officer from the yard. At the landing-steps the officer assisted her into the gig, talking so interestedly that she failed to notice the yacht captain until he took her hand and helped her into the cushions in the stern-sheets. She suddenly dropped his hand, started, and stared at him a moment.
"You—you—what are you doing here?" she stammered.
"I'm to bring you aboard—Mrs. Dunn's orders," said Smart.
"Er—yes, I suppose so. Oh, good-bye, Major Simson, we'll see you to-morrow; you must come aboard, you know. Nice little boat—so different from a ship, and Miss Jennings will be there. Good-bye."
The officer bowed low, waved his helmet, and started back as the small boat pulled away.
"I thought you were still aboard the liner—theAmpersand," said Miss Harsha casually, as she edged away to give the captain room to steer.
"No, I left the next voyage. I was taught that a ship's officer was not in the class I supposed him to be."
"Please don't," interrupted the girl. "You know, or ought to know, the difference between a common sailor—a mate of a transatlantic steamer—and a naval officer. I hoped to spare your feelings, but you would not listen to me. I am the daughter of a naval officer. You are very little different from Mr. Dunn's butler, socially speaking. You wear his livery——"
"A very pretty uniform it is," suggested the skipper, interrupting and smiling complacently at her.
"You must pardon me if I hurt your feelings, but it seems necessary for me to make myself plainly understood——"
"Oh, I understand you thoroughly," said Captain Smart gently. "You are away above me—high up. I know I'm only a sailor. So was my father. But I'm not a bit ashamed of it. I work for my living. I have no kind Uncle Sam to provide for me that I may loaf about in white duck and seek diversion among the fairer sex. You'll excuse me if I cannot hold a poorer opinion of myself than I do of many of those who wear the country's livery and draw pay for it. They are mostly good fellows—but there are others."
"But you won't understand. It isn't that. It's the—well, we won't discuss it any further. I know you are too much of a man to make me uncomfortableaboard the yacht. If you do, I shall have to speak to Mr. Dunn."
Captain Smart chuckled softly. He seemed to enjoy the situation very much, but he said no more, for the men rowing were beginning to listen to the conversation. He swung the boat alongside with precision, and assisted the girl up the companion.
Aboard the wrecker the crew watched these proceedings with interest. The big mate bit off a piece of tobacco and settled himself comfortably in the sun upon the deck, with his head just above the rail.
"Here comes the boat for us," grinned Captain Sanders, poking his head out of the cuddy. The rest grinned silently in turn.
Captain Smart came alongside, and the big mate rose to a sitting position at the rail, squirting a stream of tobacco over the side, barely missing the gig.
"Mr. Dunn, the owner of theSayonara, would like to see you aboard the schooner," said Smart, addressing the black.
"What fur?" growled the giant.
"Oh, he has some business, I suppose—will you come?"
Sanders winked at his mate, and a Dutchman named Heldron nudged him in the ribs.
"Sho', I'll come," said the mate.
"Me, too," said Sanders, winking hard at the rest. "I'm the captain of the wreckin'-sloopSea-Horse, an' it's no more'n proper for me to pay my respect to his nibs. This here little black boy"—pointing to theblack giant—"is my first officer. They calls him Bahama Bill. He's a bad man to call out o' his name."
Bahama Bill frowned and his ugly face leered for a moment at the crew on deck. Then he swung easily over the side and dropped with a crash into the small boat. Some of the men sniggered, but Sanders gave them a look and followed.
"Shove off," said Smart, and in a moment the gig was heading for the yacht.
Upon the deck of the schooner the captain and mate of theSea-Horseseemed slightly out of place, but Bahama Bill swaggered aft with an air that had little retirement or modesty about it, and his skipper followed behind him.
The giant mate was much amused by the immaculate decks, the new rigging, and, above all, the spotless clothes of the crew. He knew a good ship, and this toy, this playship of the rich Northerner was much to his liking, for theSayonarawas strongly built and had much valuable material in her building.
Dunn was sitting under the awning aft when the visitors were announced. Sanders, hat in hand, stood awkwardly smiling and smirking at the ladies, but his mate cocked his cap over his ear and leered savagely at the owner.
"You sent fur us, cap—an' here we is," said he.
Dunn had been watching them for several seconds.
"Yes, yes, my good man, I wanted to see you," he said. "Do you know of any one who wants a jobcooking aboard here? I heard there were some good sea-cooks knocking about these keys, perhaps you're one—what?"
"Does I look like a cook?" said Bahama Bill, staring at him.
"Most certainly not, but appearances are sometimes deceptive. Maybe you know of one—what?"
"I does," said Bill.
"Can you get him aboard here to-day?" asked Dunn.
"I cayn't—nussur. I cayn't."
"Why not? I'll give good pay—fifty dollars. Steady job, if they make good."
"Well, de onliest good cook I knows is 'Scrappy Jule,' dey calls her——"
"Oh, no, she won't do; we don't want any disrep——"
"She's my wife," went on Bill, with a smoothness in his tone that made his captain smile broader than ever, "an' don't reckon she'll come abo'd no boat onless hit's me dat takes her."
"Perhaps she'll do some washing for us, then?"
Bill stared at the yachtsman for nearly a minute, and the smile died away from Sanders' face.
"Look here, yo' white man, did yo' send fur us to come ober heah to listen to a lot ob nonsense?" said Bill solemnly. "What yo' takes me fur, anyhow? We comes ober to take a drink an' pass de time o' day like ship's officer, an' yo' begins wid a lot o' foolishness 'bout cooks an' washerwomen. What yo' reckon I am?"