THE MYSTERY SHIP
THE MYSTERY SHIP
Waves from the exhausted swimmers sent bright streaks of watershine wavering up the green hull over Madden's head. Utter silence pervaded the vessel. There was no creaking of spar or block. Hot tar stood in her seams in the beating sunshine.
The boys kicked wearily through the tepid water to the schooner's prow, where Greer succeeded in catching the bobstays and climbing aboard. A little later he lowered a rope to Madden with a double bight in it. The Yankee made the Englishman fast in the loops, climbed on deck himself and helped haul the unconscious fellow aboard.
The two boys lugged the senseless man wearily across deck into the shade of the superstructure, then in default of any better restorative, Leonard began slapping the bottom of the Englishman's feet to revive him. Presently Caradoc groaned, drew up his legs.
"He's coming around all right," said Greer, then he looked about him. "What do you make out of this anyway, Mr. Madden?"
Leonard glanced around and did see a remarkable derelict. The schooner was as newly painted and trig as if fresh from the ways. Her deck was holystoned to man-o'-war cleanliness; every sheet, hawser, stay, tackle, pin, spike, was in place. Three small boats, her full complement, hung in davits. On the bow of these boats, on their oars and buoys, was painted the name of the schooner, "Minnie B."
From the port side of the vessel there stretched a long cable patently leading to a sea anchor. All sails were brailed except mains'l and tops'l, which were reefed and set against each other to hold her steady in case of a blow. The funnel was freshly painted black with a red band at the top. Judging from her appearance, the desertion of theMinnie Bhad been carefully planned. Yet why desert a new vessel? By what means did the crew leave the schooner, since all her small boats remained?
What was their motive in anchoring theMinnie Bin the middle of the Sargasso?
There appeared to be no easy answer to these questions.
"I don't understand this," said Greer, in answer to Madden's unspoken perplexity. "Where did the crew go, sir, and how did they go?"
"They might have deserted her for her insurance," suggested Madden tentatively.
"Then why didn't they scuttle her—besides, a new vessel like this is worth more than her insurance."
"Maybe it was her cargo. Perhaps they faked it, rated it away above its value."
"Why she has no cargo, sir. She's riding light as a skiff; I noticed that as I climbed up."
"Then what is your idea?" inquired the American.
Greer glanced around with a trace of uneasiness. "The crew went by the board, sir, I'm thinking."
"Overboard—all washed overboard! Why there isn't one chance in a million of such a thing hap—"
"I didn't say 'washed overboard,' sir," corrected Greer heavily. "I think they got throwed overboard, one by one, sir."
"One by one!" Madden stared at the solemn faced fellow.
Farnol nodded stolidly. "Just so, sir."
"You mean—?"
"The plague, sir."
"O-oh!" The American stared around the deck with new eyes. Greer's explanation struck home with a certain convincingness. The mere thought of disease-laden surroundings filled him with alarm. Could they have unwittingly wandered into a deserted pest-ship? A focus of death in these rotting seas? The very air he breathed, the wood he touched, might inoculate him with malignant germs. Then he began reasoning on it.
"Even if it were the plague, there ought to be someone left aboard, Greer, a last corpse." The American sniffed the hot, breathless, tar-scented air.
"He could well have gone crazy, sir, in this heat and followed his mates overboard—but we can look and see."
At this moment, Caradoc stirred and pulled himself to a sitting posture on the burning deck.
"You—you pulled me aboard?" he murmured weakly, looking about with the face of a corpse.
"How do you feel—anything I can do?"
"If I had a dr—" he broke off, drew a long breath. "Nobody aboard?"
"If you're all right, Greer and I will take a turn below and see what we can find," suggested Madden.
Caradoc nodded apathetically and stared seaward toward the cable sagging into the dead ocean.
The two boys moved gingerly up to the hatchway that led down to the forecastle. If disease had smitten theMinnie Bthey hoped to get some clew from the taint of the sailors' quarters. Greer stuck a nose down the ladder first. Beyond the usual close ship smells there seemed to be nothing wrong. Then they climbed down.
Here again they found order. The bunks against the bulkheads and the curve of the prow were clean with neatly rolled blankets. The lockers were open and empty. The two searchers climbed out and walked aft to the lazaret. They were rapidly getting over their fright of the plague. Again Greer entered first, and this time Madden heard a loud snort of disgust.
Half expecting some sinister sight, Madden ran down the three steps and entered the storeroom. But what had roused the sailor's dislike was that the lazaret contained no provisions. It was as empty as the forecastle; not a chest, not a canister, not even a spice box remained. Here again the lockers were open and empty. From one of the keyholes hung a bunch of keys. The steward had deserted his ring, knowing it could never be of service to him again.
The little metal bunch hung straight down without the slightest oscillation. Such lack of motion and life amid the close stewing heat of the lazaret threw a glamor of unreality over the whole affair. The schooner might well have been warped to a dock in some port of the dead. The very newness of everything accentuated its amazing loneliness.
"Doesn't seem real, does it?" said Greer in a low tone, drawing a long breath in the heat. "I keep listening."
Madden shook himself. "It seems as if someone ought to be aboard." He broke away from the spell: "I wish they had left us some provisions—we need 'em."
The hot heavy silence fell immediately after the remark, like a curtain that was heavy to lift.
"Let's look through the hold and see if thereisn'tsomeone here!" suggested Greer uneasily.
With a feeling that they were likely to encounter some being, human or spectral, at every turn, they went below. The farther they went the more inexplicable became theMinnie B'sdesertion. Her engines were in perfect order, her furnace so new that the grate bars were still unsealed from heat; the maker's name-plate was still bright on the boilers; her hull was quite dry, with less than six inches of water in her bilge. She had no cargo, except four or five tons of raw metal ingots used as ballast. The coal in her bunkers was nearly exhausted. Indeed she was riding so light that heavy weather would upset her like a chip. It seemed as if the crew had looted theMinnie Bin a thorough and extraordinary manner, and then had simply vanished. Every now and then in their search the two would find themselves standing motionless, open-mouthed, listening intently to the brooding silence.
More puzzled than ever by these explorations, the two adventurers climbed into the chart room. Here, also, everything was intact, and in order. In a desk they found the ship's log and clearance papers. The captain's and the mate's licenses hung in frames against the wall. Near these was tacked the picture of a sunny-haired little girl and underneath it was written the name "Minnie." So the schooner was the little smiling-faced girl's namesake, this tragedy-haunted abandoned vessel. A Mercator's projection lay thumb-tacked on a table, and the last position of the schooner was indicated by a pin sticking in the map.
Madden moved over to it eagerly, hoping this pin would give him some inkling as to where the disaster, if there had been one, occurred. He noted the latitude and longitude indicated by the marker, then turned excitedly to Greer.
"Look here!" he cried, "this pin marks our position at this moment. We are right here!" he touched the point on the map.
"How do you know it does?"
"I calculated the dock's position this morning."
"Well, what of that? She will probably lie here till she rots in this stagnant sea."
"That's the point: This is not a stagnant sea. There is a current of about six miles a day in the Sargasso, very slow, but it will change a ship's reckoning."
Greer remained unimpressed. "What do you make of that?"
"Make of that! Why, man, the person who took this reckoning, took itthis morning! That's the only way he could have got it. There was somebody on this schooner this morning when we sighted her."
"This morning! Thismorning! Where in Davy Jones' locker——"
Madden was leaning over the chart scrutinizing it with careful eyes. At last he raised up in complete bewilderment.
"Farnol," he said in a queer tone, "the crew meant to come here! Meant to sail through the Sargasso—clear away from all trade routes—incomprehensible but—just look!"
Both boys bent above the chart, and Madden silently pointed out a row of pin holes that marked the daily reckonings of theMinnie B. She had sailed from Portland, Maine, had swung up the northern route past Newfoundland Banks as if going to England. On this portion of her voyage her average run was a little less than two hundred knots a day. On the fifth day out, theMinnie Binexplicably deserted the normal trade course, turned from "E. NE." and sailed directly "S. SW." At the same time her speed was accelerated to a trifle over three hundred knots a day. Her last reckoning left the pin sticking in the exact longitude and latitude which Leonard had worked out for the dock that morning.
"They got in a hurry when they did turn south," said Greer vacuously.
"They certainly burned coal from there to here."
"But what could have put her in such a rush, sir?"
"She must have sailed somewhere after a cargo, and later received a cancellation of the order. With that cancellation there must have come a new commission with a time limit, from some of the South American ports, I should judge by her course, say Caracas, or Paramaribo."
"But she has no wireless, sir. She couldn't have changed her destination."
"That would be fairly easy to explain. There are so many fast liners with wireless between New York and Liverpool, it would be a simple matter to get a message signaled to a sailing vessel in the trade route."
"But I can't see why she sailed through the Sargasso?"
"If the time factor had been urgent enough, she might have tried to shorten her journey by coming this way instead of following the usual course by Cuba and through the Caribbean."
"That doesn't tell what happened to the men."
Madden shook his head and wiped the sweat from his face on his undershirt sleeve. "Let's read the log. That ought to clear up things a bit."
Both lads hurried over to the desk, drew out the greasy, well-thumbed book. In their excitement, they forgot rank and tried to read together.
"Let me read it aloud," compromised Madden.
Dripping with sweat, they leaned on the hot desk and went carefully over the log of theMinnie B.
The record was simple. TheMinnie B, of Leeds, England, sailed from Portland, Maine, for Liverpool on July thirtieth with a cargo of lake copper in bulk bound for Liverpool. For the first five days, her log was written in two heavy unscholarly hands, which alternated with each other, and were evidently those of the mate and the captain. These two handwritings were quite distinct from each other and contained the usual notes of prevailing winds, state of weather, speed, distance indicated by patent log, dead reckonings, vessels sighted and such like.
From the sixth to the twentieth day, the log of theMinnie Bwas written in a sharp, pointed, scholarly hand, and this record was confined to the mere relation of distances and reckonings. Then on the twenty-first day of August there appeared the following entry:
"46° 57' W. Long. 27° 24' 11" N. Lat. No wind. Sargasso Sea. Current 9.463 kilometers per 24 hrs. W.SW. Cast sea anchor. Five hundred tons ingots reshipped."
At this statement, Leonard turned and stared at Greer.
"Reshipped! Reshipped! Holy cats, Farnol! Reshipped from here—right here!" He jabbed a finger downward to indicate the spot in the dead Sargasso Sea occupied by theMinnie B.
Greer shook his head dully. "But this is all the wildest—" he made a helpless motion. "You oughtn't to think about it, sir, or you'll be going overboard, too. Reshipped!... This heat will get anybody in time.... The man who wrote that went and jumped overboard the next minute no doubt. Reshipped..... It ain't good for us to read it, sir."
"But something's gone with her cargo, Greer!" declared Madden vehemently. "Something's gone with it. I don't care how crazy the crew became they surely wouldn't have dumped a hold full of copper into the sea. This log says 'reshipped' and blessed if I don't believe—"
At this moment the boys seemed to hear the sound in the deathly silent vessel for which their ears had been all the time straining. Madden broke off abruptly and both stood listening with palpitating hearts. It was repeated. A repressed half groan, inarticulate, as if some human being were in distress. It was in the main cabin below them.
Hardly daring to guess at what they would see, the adventurers crept silently out of the chart room, down a short hot passageway to a door. Leonard caught a breath, then opened it without noise.
In the brilliant westering light that flooded the main cabin through the port holes, Madden saw a dining table, disordered as from a recent feast. On the floor around it were fragments of smashed glasses and bloody stains. A cut glass decanter, half full of wine, sat on the table, and in a corner of the cabin shrank the figure of a man.
A MODERN COLUMBUS
A MODERN COLUMBUS
Hardly knowing what to expect the two advanced into the cabin, when the figure turned and looked at them with pallid countenance.
"It's Caradoc!" cried Madden in great astonishment and relief. "Scots, Smith, you gave us a jolt! We thought—what's the matter, old chap? Heat again?"
The Englishman's long face was strained. "Would you—take that decanter away, please!" he begged unsteadily.
Instantly Leonard understood the temptation into which Caradoc had unwittingly wandered. A strong odor of wine pervaded the cabin, and Smith's knock-out had given his nerves a great craving for a stimulant.
Without a word, Leonard walked to the table, took the wine bottle by its neck and heaved it through the open port. The three men in their half costumes stood listening intently until it chucked into the sea below. All three seemed to feel relief at the sound.
"That's all right, Caradoc," said Madden with a note of comfort in his voice, "all right, old chap. It won't be like this always."
"I was unstrung—rotten heat," grumbled the Englishman in acute self-disgust. "I thought I was getting over all—" he shifted the topic suddenly: "What do you make out of all this?"
"Completest mystery I ever ran into—the crew deserted for some reason——"
"And they had a feast and a celebration before they went. What cause of rejoicing they discovered in this place is more than I can fancy."
An inspection showed Smith was correct. What the boys had taken for bloodstains in their first excitement were splashes of wine. The table was still laden with dishes and eatables. Broken glass around the table showed that the diners had followed the old custom of breaking their goblets after toasts.
"They were having a last square meal before taking to their boats," speculated Leonard.
"But the boats are still here, sir," objected Greer.
"There seems to be no explanation," gloomed Caradoc.
"If we gathered this up and took it to the men, they would thank us heartily," suggested Greer.
"That's a fact," agreed Madden, setting to work at once. "Here, pile these plates on trays and we'll load 'em in the small boat."
The three adventurers set to work busily, carrying the provisions, which were still fresh and wholesome, to the port dinghy which lay toward the dock.
As they worked they speculated further on what could have brought about such an extraordinary situation. Their guesses ranged from water spouts to savages. Presently Caradoc cut in with:
"It's not so much how theMinnie Bgot here, as it is how we are going to handle her."
"We'll man her and sail home," said Greer.
"We'll have to ballast her first," declared Leonard. "She won't run this way."
"We have enough coal on the dock for that, sir."
"In a flat sea like this," suggested Caradoc, "we can warp the schooner to the front of the barge and load the coal directly in her hold."
By this time the dinghy was loaded and the three swung her out of the davits into the sea below. Then they threw down a rope ladder and climbed below. Greer went back to the stern, picked up an oar and began to scull.
The sun sank as the little boat worked her way through the lanes of seaweed, and the great dock threw long purple shadows across the highly colored ocean. Caradoc looked at the great structure intently. The setting sun rimmed its great shape in brilliant red, but the bulk of it lay in deep wine-like shadow. The boys gazed at it musingly.
"A fine structure to desert, isn't it?" said Caradoc in a low tone.
"Just what I was thinking," sympathized Madden. "I suppose we could send a tug back and find her?"
"Doubtful, in this fantastic place."
"The current is fairly well charted; still, it may take us some time to reach port——" Both men fell into a musing silence as Greer nibbled the boat forward with the single oar.
"The thing's worth over a million pounds," appraised Caradoc.
Suddenly Madden straightened with an idea. "How about hitching that schooner to the dock and towing her?"
"What an American idea!" Caradoc lifted his voice slightly.
"Would we—make any—headway, sir, with the schooner's—light machinery?" asked Greer, his sentence punctuated by shoves at his oar.
"We would have to try and see. Besides, we would have to do little else than help the current we are in. The Atlantic eddy sweeps through the Caribbean close to the South American coast. If we could control our direction slightly, we would perhaps make La Guayra or the Port of Spain."
"With a seven or eight mile current that would take us months—years.... What is the distance to La Guayra?" this from Smith.
"Something around fifteen hundred miles. But that isn't the point. It isn't how long it takes us, it's can wedoit. Had you thought of the salvage end of this thing?"
"Salvage, no. We'll get salvage on the schooner—a bagatelle."
Madden shook his head, "No, I believe we ought to get salvage on the whole dock."
"Salvage on the dock!" Caradoc opened his eyes. "We'd be jolly well near millionaires. No, that's impossible. A crew can't salve their own vessel."
"Yes, but we are not the crew of the dock," insisted Madden, "at least not the navigating crew. The men of theVulcanwere that. We are nothing but painters——"
"Oh, that's a quibble—nothing but a quibble!" objected Caradoc.
"Well, anyway, I think there is a rule that if a crew rescue their own craft under circumstances of extreme peril, they come in as salvors. I'll look it up in Malone's books when we get back."
At that moment their ears caught a cheering from the dock, which came to them as a small sound almost lost over the immense flat sea. Greer paused in his work to wave a hand, which was extremely sociable for him. The men bunched on the forward pontoon, waved and shouted at the little boat. As the noise grew louder, questions shaped themselves in the uproar.
"W'ot did ye make of 'er?" "Was there anywan aboard?" "W'ot ship is she?" "Can we git a berth hoff this bloomin' dock?"
Madden held up his hands for silence and shouted a reply.
"We have a meal for you—a dinner!"
A great shouting and cheering broke out at this. It is strange how much more pressing is the small need of a dinner than the large need of a rescue. The mystery of the schooner was overlooked in a sight of the plates and victuals.
"Oh, look, there it is—bread and meat!" "And, say, ain't that fish?" "And that goose or something!"
Eager hands reached down as Madden and Caradoc handed up the platters. "To the mess room, to the mess room!" directed Leonard.
"Sure, sure, we wouldn't touch a mouthful for hanything!" cried Mulcher earnestly.
"Misther Madden, you're a wonder!" extolled Hogan.
Then the three men climbed up and were received clamorously. Even the silent Greer found himself beset with a temporary bunch of admirers. All began talking of theMinnie B, asking questions. Caradoc unbent his dignity and explained what he had observed.
Leonard went straight to the officer's cabin, eager to satisfy his curiosity about salvage. A whole fortune shimmered before his vision if law allowed the crew to salve the dock. He turned into the hot cabin, struck a light and ran his eyes over the mate's shelf of books. He soon found what he was hunting, "Abbot's Law of Merchant's Ships and Seamen."
Leonard sat down at his desk, placed the light close by and began a sweating search for the legal rule applicable to salvage. It was Madden's intention to attempt to get the dock to port no matter what the law said, but he knew his best chance of getting the crew to cooperate was through possible prize money.
Like all legal works, Abbott gave shading decisions on both sides of the topic. As the lad read on he discovered many questions were involved.
What constitutes the crew of a vessel? Can a towed vessel have a navigating crew? Could a lawful crew be composed of ordinary laborers, or would it be necessary for them to be able seamen?
All these points and many others were involved, but Leonard plodded patiently through the legal labyrinth, and finally decided that he and his crew were eligible for prize money. He then fell to estimating the probable amount the crew would receive. The dock was easily worth a million pounds, or say five million dollars. It would lack one or two hundred thousand totting up a full five million, but Leonard's imagination was in no mood to balk at a paltry two hundred thousand more or less. Say five million! The share of the salvors would amount to—say fifty per cent, two and a half million. Distribute this among twelve men. There he was, two hundred and eight thousand, three hundred and thirty-three dollars and thirty-three cents. Or say two hundred thousand dollars.
Madden drew a long breath and opened his eyes at his own figures. Was it possible? He doubted it! He believed it!
He stared out of his open port onto the fantastic sea, amazed that a great fortune should drift in to him from such a place. What would he do? How should he live? He could go anywhere, do anything. There came to him suddenly the precepts of his old teacher in economics at college: "A fortune is a great moral responsibility. A rich man is a trustee of society." Did he have the brains to wield this money and make it mean something to the world? The thought of wealth always comes with a question. A man's answer to that question determines whether he is a man or a thing.
Before Leonard could reach any sort of decision, Gaskin rang his gong for dinner. The boy arose and walked buoyantly towards the mess hall. He was hungry, too. Ever since he had cut rations, he had been eating the same fare as the men.
The tropical night was falling as the men joyously entered to a full-fledged, satisfying, if secondhand, meal. They came in laughing, joking boisterously, wondering about the schooner.
When the men had strung around the long table, Mike Hogan arose and the men became quiet as if at some preconcerted signal. The Irishman gave a slightly embarrassed bob toward Leonard and began in an extra rich brogue:
"Misther Madden, sir——"
Leonard glanced up in surprise. "What's worrying you, Mike?"
"Th' bhoys, sir, have been thinkin' as how we would loike to ixpress our appreciation av what ye've done for us, sir, in a little spache, something loike a little spache av wilcome, sir, an' asked me to do it, if ye don't moind."
"Go ahead," nodded Madden, "but don't expect much of a response from me. I'm no speaker and——"
"Go on, Mike!" "Go to it, Mike!" "Take a sip of water, Mike, like a reg'lar one, and cut loose."
With this encouragement, the Celt moistened his dry lips, thrust out his chest, and after a momentary fumble, stuck three fingers in his shirt front.
"It's me pr-roud privilege, ladies and gintilmin, to wilcome to our midst, a gintilmin bearin' in wan hand a distinguished ancistry, a spirit av enterprise and a hear-rt av courage, while wid his other, he snatches a dinner for his starvin' min out o' th' middle av th' Sargasso Sea. Oi rayfer to our distinguished commander, Captain Leonard Madden of America."
A burst of applause followed this period. Hogan beamed, bowed deeply to left and right; his voice went up an octave and he proceeded:
"Ladies an' gintilmin, me mind runs back through th' pages av histh'ry, lookin' for a name fit to be compared with him but I don't find none. There is Columbus and Peary and Stanley and Amundsen, all av thim gr-reat min, but whin you come to compare thim with our hero, phwat have they done?
"Look at Columbus. What is his claim to glory? Did Columbus iver swim out into th' stinkin' Sargasso and come back with a good dinner for his star-r-vin' min? Histh'ry does not say so. He discovered America, Columbus did. What is America? A whole continint. Anybody that was sailin' by would have noticed it. But, gintilmin, a dinner is a very small thing and they are har-rd to discover, as ivry wan of you lads very will know. Columbus wint out in thray ships, our gallant captain wint out in his undhershirt and a straw hat. I say thray cheers for our gallant captain!"
The cheers were given with a hearty good will and the orator sat down smiling broadly and moistening his dry lips with his tongue. Then the diners desired a response.
It struck Madden to propose salving the dock while the crowd was mellow. He arose when the noise subsided somewhat.
"I thank you fellows very much for the kind opinion you entertain of me, and now I want to lay a proposition before you."
"Hear! Hear the captain!" called two or three cockneys in hoarse good humor.
"I want to say that to-morrow we are going to man the schooner and sail for home."
The men were in a bubbling mood, and cheered this with cries of "Good! Good!"
"What I wish you to decide is, whether we shall tow the dock, or sail with the schooner alone?"
"With the schooner alone, sor!" "Schooner alone!" "We 'ave enough of th' dock!" came an instant chorus.
Leonard held up a hand, "One moment. I want you to have a voice in this decision. An attempt to tow the dock will be highly adventurous, no doubt dangerous. You were not hired for any such service, and I wish to leave it to a vote."
"Good, very good, sor! Let's 'ave th' question!"
"Just one moment. You must consider the salvage involved in this matter. If we save the schooner, we will receive as prize money about one-half her value. If we save the dock, we will receive about halfhervalue. The dock is worth a million pounds, about five million dollars. So each man would receive for his portion, in event we salved the dock about... two hundred thousand dollars... a fortune."
A profound silence fell over the diners. They hunched forward, staring fixedly out of sunburned, gross, dissipated faces. Longshores-men, the scum of London, who had worked all their lives for half a pound a week, gaped at the idea of two hundred thousand dollars.
Somebody repeated the sum hoarsely. Suddenly they raised an uproar.
"We'll take 'er, sir!" "We'll tow th' dock, sor!" "We weel tow zee dock to zee moon for zat!" "Sphend our loives and die rich min!"
The strong imagination of wealth ran around the table like wine. Deschaillon responded first.
"Voila! One meellion francs! I weel buy a pond near Paris and raise bull frogs. I weel buy a decoration and be a knight. I weel——"
"I'll start an undertaker shop!" glowed Galton, "and my old mother shall have a bit of ground to raise flowers."
"Glory be!" chanted Hogan, "Oi'll wear a tall hat, a long-tailed coat and carry a silver-headed cane, and thin Susie Maloney and Bridget O'Malley and Peggy O'Brien will be sorry they iver tossed up their saucy noses at th' love o' an honest lad!"
"I'll own a kennel of bulldogs," growled Mulcher, "and 'ave a fight hev'ry day."
All this was given in chorus and much of it lost. Those who didn't speak aloud their heart's desires thought them. Fortune had shown her golden form to these crude men for a fleeting instant, and dreams, long hidden in their hearts, suddenly leaped to life. They were poor dreams, selfish dreams, foolish dreams, but for the moment they poised, like liberated fairies, for a flight to the land where dreams come true.
"We sail in the morning," explained Madden, "for a South American port. Is there anyone in this crew who knows anything about running a marine engine?"
The men fell silent and looked inquiringly at each other. Fortune was beginning to show herself elusive, even in the Sargasso, save to those whoknow.
"I b'lieve not," said Mulcher.
"We could raise steam, sir," suggested Galton, "and then pull all the levers and twist th' w'eels, sir and see w'ot'd 'appen."
"W'ot 'ud 'appen!" cried two or three voices. "W'y, we'd hall be blowed galley west, 'at's w'ot'd 'appen!"
"Sure Misther Madden can figger it out!" suggested Hogan cheerfully.
"We might leave th' dock and run 'er 'ome by sail," suggested Galton.
"No! No! Take th' dock!" "We'll run'er by steam!" "Steam's th' word!" A storm of determination cried down any such suggestion.
"D'ye mean a dozin str-rong min can't run one little engine!" shouted Hogan; "r-rich min, too! It's a shame, lads, we haven't a dhrop o' something to dhrink the health av th' ixpedition."
"Yes, Mister Madden, a drop o' something!" urged another voice.
At that moment, Gaskin entered the door with suppressed excitement showing through his usually imperturbable manner.
"Hi—Hi beg pardon, Mister Madden. Hi, don't want to interrupt, but—" he rubbed his hands with a little bob—"but would you 'ave th' goodness to step outside for a look, sir. Hi think th'Minnie Bis on fire."
And the fairy dreams, evoked by a wave of Fortune's wand, crept silently back into the hearts of their owners.
THE STRANGE END OF THEMINNIE B
THE STRANGE END OF THEMINNIE B
At Gaskin's announcement, bedlam broke loose among the diners. They leaped to their feet and rushed headlong from the messroom.
"Get th' buckets!" "Man th' boat!" "We'll niver get there in toime!" "Allons! Allons!" "W'y didn't we put a guard on 'er!" "Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!" "Yes, 'urry! 'urry!"
Out into the darkness to the forward pontoon rushed the howling mob. Some gave inarticulate cries, others bewailed their lost riches to the vast empty night.
A strange sight met their eyes. The spars and sails of theMinnie Bstood out against the black heavens in a flickering brilliance that danced up through the rigging, but presently all saw it was a mere light shining from beneath.
"Th' fire's in th' hold!" cried Galton hoarsely. "Did you men drop a match?"
"'Ow could they drop a match, wearin' nothin' but undershirts?" flared back another navvy.
"We could do no good in a small boat!" cried Galton.
'She's afire from stem to stern!"
"But smoke—w'ere's th' smoke?"
Then, quite surprisingly, the light wavered out, leaving the schooner in stony blackness. A vague blur of complementary color swam in Madden's eyes. A gasp went up from the watchers.
"Bhoys," faltered Hogan in an awed tone, "th' banshees ar-re dancin' to-night!"
"Banshees!" sneered Mulcher. "Th' deck's caved in—it'll break out again!"
"Th' engines must be ruint complately."
"Wot do ye make of it, Mister Madden?" asked Galton, bewildered. "Look—there it is again!"
Sure enough the mysterious light flamed up once more as suddenly as it disappeared. It flickered and wavered over hull and spars.
"It might possibly be a phosphorescent display," hazarded Leonard, completely mystified.
"Tropical seas grow very luminous when disturbed... a school of dolphins or sharks on the other side the schooner might——"
"This must be a reg'lar fire!" cried Mulcher. "Nothin' but a furnace in th' hold——"
"W'y don't hit smoke?"
"'Ow do I know?"
"Hit ain't a fire!"
"W'ot is hit?"
"Phosphescence, didn't you 'ear Mister Madden say!"
"Will hit sink 'er?"
Deschaillon gave a sharp laugh. "Whatsauvages!"
By this time it became clear to everyone that it was not a fire. As the weird illumination continued its fantastic gambols, little points of light began moving about the deck.
Just then Caradoc's grave voice hazarded: "That must be an extraordinary display of St. Elmo's fire. I should say a storm was brewing."
"Would St. Elmo's fire 'urt th' vessel, sir?" asked a cockney.
"Not at all," replied the Englishman.
As Leonard stared a queer thought came into his head. He looked around at his companions. In the faint radiance from the mysterious schooner, he could make out their faces, pale blurs all fixed on the strange spectacle. He picked out the heavy form of Farnol Greer and moved over to his friend. Under the cover of excited talking and exclamations, he asked in a low tone.
"There was somebody on that schooner this morning, Farnol?"
"Just what I was thinking, sir."
"He could have hidden from us. You thought he must be crazy—a crazy man would probably have secreted himself."
"I had it in mind, sir, the very thing."
"Now could he possibly make a light like this?"
Greer remained silent. The queer fellow never said anything when he had nothing to say.
"I'd like to go over and see," went on Leonard. "I want one man to row with me. We want to go light and fast."
"That's me, sir."
Greer moved instantly to the rope ladder where the dinghy was tied. Madden followed him. Caradoc was still explaining the theory of St. Elmo's fire to the listening men. Madden broke in on it.
"Fellows," he called, "Greer and I are going to row over there. We'll let you know what we find."
Amid warning protests the two climbed down the ladder for the small boat.
"I wouldn't do it, sir." "Leckricity's liable to strike you, sir." "There's a storm comin', sir, and you won't get back, like th' mate did." "You can see just as well from 'ere."
But the two clambered into the half-seen dinghy and pushed off. The moment they dipped oars into water, the mystery was partially explained. Every stroke they made created bright phosphorescent rings in the lifeless sea. Their blades drove through the water in a flame. The navvies cried out at this phenomenon. A sufficient disturbance of the sea beyond the schooner would almost explain the strange light dancing through the rigging. But what made that disturbance?
Reflections of the shining spars made a wavering path over the weed-strewn water, and up this path the dinghy moved amid its own flashing fires. It formed a queer spectacle, a glowworm creeping up on a bonfire.
The fact that the two boys had just traversed the Sargasso lanes a few hours before aided them greatly now in finding their way to the schooner. Presently they were skirting the drift of seaweed where Madden had come so near losing his life. As they rowed, the flashing of the water about their oars only half convinced Madden that a similar cause underlay the bizarre illumination on the schooner. The American's mind clung to the idea that there was somebody on board theMinnie B, a madman, possibly, who in some unknown way produced this amazing light.
He groped for some theory to account for a maniac on a deserted schooner in these desolate seas. No doubt if a solitary man were left in these terrible painted seas he would go insane. Madden regretted that he had not searched theMinnie Bmore thoroughly when he had the opportunity.
Similar thoughts evidenly played in Greer's mind, for presently he puffed out, between oar strokes: "Did you bring along a pistol, sir?"
"No, but there are two of us."
"They say they are tremendously stout, sir."
"We can use our oars; they'd made good clubs."
"I'm with you, sir."
By this time they had entered a long S-shaped rift that Madden recalled led straight to the schooner. By glancing over his shoulder, the American saw its two curving strokes drawn in pale light against the dark field of seaweed. As they drew nearer, wild notions of what they might encounter played through Madden's mind. What would be the outcome of this fantastic adventure?
The dinghy was moving down the middle of the long "S" when a dull noise from the schooner caused both oarsmen to look around. Such an extraordinary sight met their eyes that they ceased rowing completely, and stood up in the boat to stare at their goal.
TheMinnie Bno longer lay at rest. Some strange and mighty convulsion was taking place in the schooner. The lights still played about the vessel, but her whole prow rose slowly out of the sea, while she settled heavily by the stern. The most unexpected thing in the world was happening.
TheMinnie Bwas foundering!
In the ghastly light, her masts and rigging swung in a slow drunken reel. Presently she settled back to normal with a heavy crushing sound as the water in her hold rushed forward. She seemed some mighty leviathan weltering in agony. She lay on even keel for four or five minutes while a hissing and spewing of air compressed in her hull told she was slowly settling.
In the ghostly light the foundering vessel gave a strange impression of clinging desperately to her life. She seemed striving to remain upright. Her hissing and sucking might have been a living gasp for breath. Very slowly she rolled over, and came the noise of many waters cascading down over her upflung keel. Her masts crashed, yards broke, rigging popped in the wildest confusion as they dashed into the sea. Great phosphorescent waves dashed through the prone rigging and over the hull in liquid fire. A sea of quicksilver leaped up to lick her down. With great bubbling and sucking and groaning, theMinnie Bfought for her last gasp of life. For several minutes she lay thus, on her side, every detail clearly delineated as liquid fire roared down her open hatches. At last, as she filled with water, the schooner straightened with a mighty effort, a last stand between sea and sky, then sank slowly out of sight in a scene of wild and ill-starred beauty. Her mainpeak disappeared in a shining maelstrom. The convulsed water flashed and hissed, and the circling waves here torches into the dead seaweed and moved the black fields to a whispered sighing.
Toward the south the waves moved with great velocity and brilliance. Indeed something seemed to be rushing away from the wreck, clad in long winding sheets of flame. It might have been a continuation of the waves in that direction, or it might have been some dolphin or shark flying from the roaring vessel.
In ghastly mystification, the two watchers stared at the last weird gleams that marked the foundered schooner. The waves reached the dinghy, raised it and dropped it with a slow gurgling, then died away in firefly glimmers. The sea presented once more a dim gray surface. To Madden's mind there came, with a sharp sense of pathos, the picture of the little sunny-haired girl he had seen in the chart room.
"Sunk," murmured Greer in a strange tone, "sunk—when she was as dry as a chip."
"Heeled over," shivered Madden, "heeled over in a dead calm—God have mercy on us!"