“Fetch her in. No, wait a minute. Straighten out the bedclothes and see that my nightie is buttoned clear up to the neck. This is the da-darnedest thing that ever happened to me.”
It was also an unprecedented experience for Miss Katharine Hollister, but one could not live twenty-four hours on board theFearlesswithout losing one’s grip on conventions, even though they were made in New England. She halted at the brass-bound threshold of the little room, and peered curiously at the recumbent figure of the chief engineer with his gray mustache and mop of grizzled hair.
“Come in and take the chair by my desk, ma’am. What on earth made you want to see me?” was his hearty greeting.
She remained standing, and confessed, hesitating nervously:
“I formed such a shocking opinion of you when I first saw you—I thought you had killed that negro—and when Mr. Van Steen told me how you had toiled and suffered to save the ship—and were in pain—I knew my judgment was mistaken—and that it was myduty——”
“Forget it, ma’am,” and Johnny Kent waved a bandaged fist. “We ain’t pretty to look at, and our manners are violent, but when you talk about duty, I guess you and I believe in the same gospel.”
His gaze was so honestly, respectfully worshipful that Miss Hollister was conscious of an agreeablesensation. She was a woman, and a charming one, but at fifty years she no longer dreamed of masculine homage.
“Were you severely injured, Mr. Kent?”
“Not half as much as those poor old boilers. I’m afraid to guess how many tubes are leaky. I’ll quit sputterin’ and losin’ my temper when we get those Cubans and guns ashore.”
“Their leader does not seem very capable,” ventured Miss Hollister. “I was not at all favorably impressed with him when he spoke to me just now.”
“Did that sea-sick tin soldier annoy you, ma’am?” heatedly ejaculated Johnny Kent as he raised himself on his elbow and fixed a glittering eye on a holster which hung on the wall. “I’ll surge out of here and learn him a lesson that will do him a whole lot of good.”
“No more violence, I beg of you,” implored the spinster, dismayed and yet enjoyably thrilled. “I should not have mentioned it. If there is anything that can be done to make you morecomfortable——”
“Pshaw, I’ll be up and doing before we try to make a landing, ma’am. Your droppin’ in to see me has made me chirk up. Blessed if it don’t make this hole of a room seem kind of sweetened and lit up and sanctified.”
Miss Hollister colored and concluded that she had stayed quite long enough. With a gracious word of farewell, she hastened to the upper deck. Nora Forbes had found a new companion, a lean, sandy man in faded khaki whose sad, freckled face had anoticeable pallor and whose head was wound about with a white bandage. He sat with his back propped against a boat in the shade of the awning, and Nora announced to her aunt:
“I want you to know Mr. Jack Gorham. He is the man who conquered that giant of a negro. Captain O’Shea says it was one of the finest things he ever saw.”
Gorham, a modest, shrinking soul, looked acutely uncomfortable and protested:
“I had to get him. He fetched me a couple of clips, but I feel pretty spry. I’ll be ready to hop ashore and perforate them Spanish officers at a thousand per.”
Oddly enough, Miss Hollister was no longer terrified by the presence of these men of war. Since meeting Johnny Kent she had suffered a sea-change. In the face of the veteran soldier she was able to read that same quality of respectful admiration. She had been vouchsafed a glimpse of the real spirit of this singular voyage. It was pure romance, reincarnated from the age when the world was young. She had been permitted to sail with men who were living an Odyssey, a saga, but they knew it not. She thought of Johnny Kent in his bunk, and now she looked at Jack Gorham, commonplace, unlettered, uncouth, and listened while Nora repeated the story of the fight with Jiminez. The soldier wriggled uneasily. His embarrassment was painful. When questioned he could only repeat:
“Well, I just had to get him. That’s all there was to it.”
“But you did not have to risk your life,” persisted Nora. “Captain O’Shea was ready with his whole crew to overpower the man.”
“The captain wanted to tackle him, but of course I couldn’t stand for that,” patiently explained Gorham.
“Whydid you do it?” asked Miss Hollister.
“I guess it was what you might call a question of duty,” he drawled.
“I have heard nothing else,” was the spinster’s wondering comment. “And yet you are all breaking the laws of your country. My standards of right and wrong seem all topsy-turvy.”
“You sure did land in queer company this time,” seriously affirmed Gorham.
Miss Hollister’s excursion into the debatable ground of conduct and ethics as applied to buccaneering in the Caribbean was interrupted by Captain O’Shea, who was in a mood of brisk action and curt speech. Paying no attention to the ladies, he halted in front of Gorham to say:
“We shall try to put the stuff ashore to-night. Will ye be fit to land with the Cubans, or will I carry you back home with me?”
“Of course, I’ll land, sir. The nigger didn’t cut me deep,” was the dogged response. “What’s the programme?”
“The cargo will be hoisted out of the hold this afternoon, convenient for droppin’ into the boats.If you are able, will ye stand by to boss a gang of Cubans? Ye need not bear a hand yourself. Just talk to them and make signs with the butt end of that old Springfield.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll manage to keep them busy.”
The news ran through the ship. By noon the patriots were seething with excitement. They were about to set foot on the beloved soil of Cuba, to be quit of the hateful, perfidious ocean. They became incredibly valiant. These forty men would face a Spanish army. They talked of marching to attack fortified cities. Magically revived, they scoured the rust from their weapons and brandished them with melodramatic gesticulation. They sang the battle-hymns of the revolution and wept at sight of the blue, misty mountain range of the distant coast. Jack Gorham regarded them critically.
One gang of Cubans went into the hold and another was stationed on deck. The heavy cases of rifles and cartridges were passed up through the hatchways and piled along the rail. Captain O’Shea sauntered hither and yon, once halting to remark in chiding accents:
“Better not bang those square boxes about so free and careless. ’Tis nitro-glycerine for making dynamite ashore.”
“I’ll land it myself,” said Gorham. “It will come in handy for blowin’ up Spanish troop-trains.”
Toward nightfall theFearlessreduced speed and loafed along over a smooth sea at a distance of perhapsthirty miles from the coast. The crisis of the voyage had come. O’Shea must run his ship into a trap and get her out again.
As soon as darkness was at hand theFearlessbegan the final dash for the coast. Johnny Kent had crawled from his bunk and wearily set himself down in the engine-room doorway to await orders.
“If anything goes wrong to-night, it’ll happen all of a sudden,” he grumbled to his first assistant. “Takin’ chances of getting bottled up in a bay don’t please me a mite.”
“There is nothing in sight, chief. It looks like an easy landing. The skipper knows his business.”
“But it would be just our fool luck to run into trouble with these two ladies aboard. Women complicate every game they draw cards in. But that Miss Hollister is certainly a queen, ain’t she, Jim?”
“She’s old enough to be my mother,” ungallantly observed the youthful assistant.
“And I’m ’most old enough to be your grand-daddy, you godless, disrespectful sculpin,” was the angry retort of Johnny Kent. “And I’m man enough to break you in two across my knees.”
The rash young man wisely held his tongue, and the chief engineer murmured to the world at large:
“Refinement and culture do make a heap of difference in folks. Now, if I had chased after refinement and culture when I was young, instead of incessantly pursuin’ rum, riot, and rebellion on the high seas—but what’s the use?”
Thereupon this pensive pirate turned to surveyhis chanting engines and wondered what the night might bring forth. TheFearlessmaintained an even gait until the coast was no more than five miles distant. Then she drifted idly while Captain O’Shea swept the horizon with his night-glasses. His eyes and ears were acutely alert, but there was neither sight nor sound of Spanish blockading craft cruising to intercept him. Astern were piled six large flat-bottomed surf-boats, in nests, as fishermen’s dories are carried. These were now launched and towed, ready to be ranged alongside and filled with cargo.
The forty Cubans conversed in hushed tones. Every man had knapsack, blanket-roll, canteen, and loaded rifle. TheFearlessagain picked up full speed and moved straight for the coast. Soon the mountains loomed like gigantic shadows blotting out the stars. It was a bold, sheer coast, indented here and there by small bays into which the rivers flowed from the passes and valleys. It was in a certain one of these bays that Captain O’Shea had been told by the Junta to beach his cargo. A force of Cubans led by General Maximo Gomez himself would be waiting to receive the munitions. As had been arranged, theFearlessnow showed a white mast-head light above a red. Captain O’Shea looked at his watch. Three minutes later his signal-lights flashed again. In the gloom of the mountain-side, a white light winked above a red.
“That looks good to me,” said O’Shea to the mate. “If there was anything wrong, the answering signal would warn us to keep clear. But I donot like this messin’ around in a bay. Give me the open coast and plenty of sea-room.”
TheFearlesshad come so near the entrance of the bay that the shadowy headlands on either side were dimly discernible from the bridge. The speed of the tug diminished until she was cautiously moving ahead with no more than steerage-way.
The silence was intense. No one spoke above a whisper. The engines were turning over so slowly that their rhythmic clamor was no more than a faint, muffled throb, like the pulse-beat of the ship. Warily she slid into the quiet bay and made ready to drop anchor off a strip of white beach. The surf-boats were hauled alongside and the cargo began to tumble into them. It looked as though this game of filibustering might not be so hazardous as reputed. The seamen were in the boats, detailed to handle the oars and put the Cubans and the cargo ashore.
The deep-laden flotilla had not quit theFearlessfor the first trip to the beach when the vigilant skipper fancied he saw a shadow steal from behind a headland at the mouth of the bay. For a long moment he ceased to breathe, while his gaze followed the illusive shadow which he was not sure that he could distinguish from the darkened sea.
Then one or two sparks gleamed like fire-flies and were gone. This was enough. Captain O’Shea instantly concluded that the sparks had dropped from a steamer’s funnel. He was caught inside the bay. Perhaps the steamer would pass without sighting theFearless. But the shadow halted midway betweenthe headlands, and O’Shea cursed the treachery which he presumed had betrayed his destination. The snare had been cleverly set for him. The Cuban force in the mountains had failed to detect this Spanish vessel or they would not have signalled him that the coast was clear.
O’Shea had to make his choice. He could abandon his ship and flee with his crew and passengers to the beach and the jungle, or he could turn and try to smash his way out to sea. The thought of deserting theFearlesswas so intolerable that he made his decision without hesitating. Summoning the mate and Johnny Kent, he spoke hurriedly.
“’Tis bottled up we are. Look yonder and ye can see for yourself. Call the men aboard and cut the boats adrift. Give it to her, Johnny, and hold on tight. There may be the divil and all of a bump.”
“Goin’ to run her down?” asked the chief engineer.
“If she doesn’t get out of my way. ’Tis a small gun-boat most likely.”
The patriots were unable to adjust themselves to the sudden shift of events. One moment they were about to land, rejoicing and valorous, to be welcomed by the tattered legion of Maximo Gomez, and the next they were snatched away to surge hell-bent in the direction of the enemy and the detestable sea. Captain O’Shea might have delayedto dump them into the boats and turn them adrift to flounder about the bay, but in all probability the Spanish gun-boat would overtake and slay many before they could reach the shore. He did not love them, but it was his duty to safeguard them along with the cargo.
Less than ten minutes after the shadow had moved across the entrance of the bay, theFearlesswas swinging to point her nose seaward. As soon as the tug was fairly straightened out, O’Shea rang for full speed. It was no longer a silent ship. The patriots raised a lamentable outcry of grief and indignation, unable to comprehend this slip between the cup and the lip. They were unconvinced that the captain had really seen a gun-boat. They accused him of taking fright at phantoms.
Indeed, there was no such thing as slipping unperceived past the waiting enemy, for besides the loud protests of the Cubans, the engines of theFearlessmade a strident song that re-echoed from the wooded shores. No longer in ambush, the Spanish craft turned on a search-light whose streaming radiance picked the tug out of the gloom like a lantern-slide projected on a screen. The two vessels were perhaps four hundred yards apart. Straight into the path of the search-light rushed theFearless, veering neither to right nor left. Her tactics were disconcerting, her insane temerity wholly unexpected. It was obvious that unless the gun-boat very hastily moved out of the way there would occur an impressive collision. And the tall steel-shod prow of anocean-going tug is apt to shatter the thin plates of a light-draught, coastwise gun-boat.
Captain O’Shea himself held the wheel. The Spanish gunners hurriedly opened fire, but sensations of panic-smitten amazement spoiled their aim, and they might as well have been shooting at the moon.
“By Judas! ye are so gay with your search-light, I will just have a look at you,” muttered O’Shea as he switched on the powerful light which was mounted upon the wheel-house roof. The handsome gun-boat was sharply revealed, her sailors grouped at the quick-fire pieces on the superstructure, the officers clustered forward. Jack Gorham’s Springfield boomed like a small cannon, and a man with gold stripes on his sleeves toppled from his station and sprawled on the deck below.
The Cubans cheered and let fly a scattering, futile rifle fire, but the crew of theFearless, convinced that they must fight for their skins, crouched behind the heavy bulwarks and handled their Mausers with methodical earnestness. The Spanish officers and seamen took to cover. They were not used to being shot at, and this filibustering tug was behaving like a full-fledged pirate. The commander of the gun-boat made up his mind to dodge collision and sink theFearlesswith his guns before she should flee beyond range outside the bay. His mental machinery was not working swiftly, because this was what might be called his crowded hour. He tried to swing his vessel head on and to sheer to one side of the channel.
Captain O’Shea climbed the spokes of his steering-wheel and swung theFearlessto meet the manœuvre. He was bent on crippling the gun-boat. With leaky boiler tubes, the tug was in no condition for another stern chase and the Spanish gunners would certainly hull her through and through and explode the cargo before he could run clear of the hostile search-light.
A few seconds later, the foaming bow of theFearlessstruck the gun-boat a quartering, glancing blow that raked along her side. The Spanish commander had almost twisted his vessel out of the other’s path and O’Shea dared not swing to catch her broadside on, for fear of running aground. The impact was terrific. The Spanish craft had a low freeboard and the guns of her main-deck battery protruded their long muzzles only a few feet above the water. The steel stem of theFearless, moving with tremendous momentum, struck them one after the other, tore them from their mountings and stripped the starboard side clean. The tug’s headway was checked and a tangle of splintered stuff held the two vessels interlocked. The Spanish gunners on the upper deck could not sufficiently depress the secondary battery to fire down into theFearless, and on board the tug all hands had been knocked flat by the collision, so that for the moment there was no hostile action on either side.
So close together were the two steamers while they hung together that cases of cargo, toppling over, spilled through the crushed bulwark of theFearless, and slid upon the gun-boat’s lower deckwhere the side had been fairly ripped out of her above the water-line. Then the tug very slowly forged ahead, tearing herself free and grinding against the gun-boat’s cracked and twisted plates until the twain parted company.
“We are still afloat, glory be, and the engines are turnin’ over,” cried O’Shea.
He spun the wheel hard over to pass out to sea between the headlands, and steered where he thought deep water ought to be. The gun-boat had not opened fire, and he began to hope that he might win the freedom of the sea. Nor was the hostile vessel making any effort to follow him, and instead of blazing his trail with her search-light it had been turned skyward to flash signals for assistance against the clouds.
“I jolted the ambition out of her,” joyfully exclaimed O’Shea. “I would not like to look at my poor old hooker, but she must be an awful hash ondeck——”
TheFearlesssuddenly yawed to starboard and took the bit in her teeth. The skipper tried to fetch her back on her course, but she failed to respond to the wheel. He instantly knew that a rudder chain had parted. He yelled down the tube to Johnny Kent to reverse his engines. The masterless tug was heading out of the channel and the incoming tide caught her bow and swung her away from the seaward passage, over toward the nearest headland and its submerged reef.
TheFearlessfelt the powerful backward drag ofher screw, but not in time. The disabled steering-gear wrought the mischief before the emergency tiller could be manned or an anchor dropped to hold her in the channel. Her keel scraped along the coral bottom and the hull trembled to the shock of stranding. TheFearlesswas hard and fast aground and the tide lacked three hours of the flood.
Finding it useless to try to work her off, Captain O’Shea had the engines stopped. The plight was soon discovered by the gun-boat, which brought her search-light to bear on the tug. The Spanish commander laughed, no doubt, when he perceived that he could train his remaining guns and smash theFearlessto pieces at his leisure. It was point-blank range at a conspicuous target, and the tables had been turned.
Captain O’Shea comprehended the fate that was about to overtake his helpless ship. His boats had been cut adrift and there was no means of conveying his people to the shore. They could only swim for it and try to find footing on the reef.
“’Tis no use showing a white flag and offering to surrender,” he said to himself while the sweat ran down his face. “We fired on them and we rammed their ship.”
There was a life-raft on the deck-house roof, and he was about to order it shoved overside in order to send Nora Forbes and Miss Hollister ashore in charge of Van Steen and the mate. It was a forlorn hope, because the gun-boat would most likely fire at anything seen afloat. Just then Jack Gorhamclimbed to the bridge and respectfully saluted the captain.
“We are up against it, Jack,” said O’Shea. “The Spaniard yonder is taking his time. He will anchor bow and stern and then shoot us to splinters. I will be grateful if ye will lend the mate and young Van Steen a hand with the ladies. If ye can fetch the beach, take to the woods and try to find the camp of General Gomez.”
“I have a proposition, sir,” returned the soldier, and for once his voice was unsteady with excitement. “When we were tangled alongside the gun-boat, some cases of cargo was jolted off our deck onto her deck where the woodwork and plates was all tore away. For God’s sake, put your search-light on her for a minute, quick, before she swings her smashed side away from us. She’s still turnin’.”
“And for what?” queried O’Shea, but he leaped for the lighting-switch, confident that the soldier knew what he was talking about.
“Two of them cases was nitro-glycerine, sir, and for a wonder they slid so easy that they didn’t go off. I know them when I see ’em. Just give me one sight of them.”
The search-light of theFearlessswept across the gun-boat, which was slowly shifting her position to find the middle of the channel and a safe anchorage. There was cramped room to manœuvre, and she was swinging in a small arc which exposed for a little time the shattered side that had been rammed by the tug. A gaping hole above water disclosed themain-deck forward, and the search-light of theFearlessplayed and flickered in and out, white and brilliant. It illuminated the wreckage and the heap of wooden cases which lay as they had slid across the fragments of bulwark that bridged the narrow gap between the interlocked vessels.
“Hold the light steady, sir,” said Jack Gorham as he dropped to one knee, shoved the barrel of the Springfield across the rail of the bridge, and laid his cheek against the stock. “It seems plumb ridiculous, but it’s worth tryin’.”
His wonderfully keen eyes had distinguished a square wooden case which sat exposed and somewhat removed from the others on the gun-boat’s littered deck. He had bragged of his marksmanship. Now was the supreme opportunity to make good. The gun-boat was moving. Her shattered side would be hidden from him before he could shoot more than twice or thrice.
As the sights of his beloved old rifle came true on the tiny target he pressed the trigger and the heavy bullet went singing on its way.
“Missed, by Godfrey!” grunted Gorham as he reloaded. “If I score a bull’s-eye, you’ll know it all right.”
Annoyed by this impertinence, the gun-boat let drive with a one-pounder which put a shell through the funnel of theFearlessand showered the deck with soot. Gorham wiped his eyes and took aim for the second shot. Good luck and good marksmanship guided it. No need to wonder where thisbullet struck. The case of nitro-glycerine exploded with a prodigious detonation that seemed to shake earth and sea and sky. The forward part of the gun-boat was enveloped in a great sheet of flame. The people of theFearlesswere stunned and deafened and the hull rocked violently against the reef. Burning fragments rained everywhere, and fell hissing into the bay. From the place where the gun-boat was rapidly sinking came cries for help.
“She is gone entirely. God help their poor souls,” brokenly murmured Captain O’Shea.
He turned to shout to the mate:
“Pull yourself together and paddle over yonder with the life-raft. Pick up all ye find of the poor men in the water and set them ashore. The Cuban army will take care of them as prisoners of war. And maybe you can find some of our boats. ’Tis an awful sight to see a fine vessel snuffed out like a candle.”
Jack Gorham sat on deck, his head in his hands, a disconsolate figure.
“I made a wonderful shot,” he muttered, “but I hope I’ll never have to make another one like it.”
“Bridge, ahoy!” roared Johnny Kent from the lower deck. “This is war. We beat ’em to it. Now let’s get this tug off the reef on the flood tide, if we rip the bottom out of her. This bay will be full of gun-boats and cruisers to-morrow.”
Going below for the first time since theFearlesshad entered the bay, the skipper found the decks in chaotic confusion. Broken bulwarks, smasheddoors and windows, parted funnel-stays, twisted deck-houses, and other signs of the collision were strewn from bow to stern. Some twenty of the patriots had dived overboard. Of those left on board, several had been hurt, and the crew of theFearlesswere badly cut, bruised, and banged about.
O’Shea rallied all that were able to turn to, and set them to throwing cargo overboard. The guns and ammunition were packed in water-proof cases and could be fished up by the Cuban army at low tide. It was heavy material, and getting rid of two or three hundred tons of it must considerably lighten the stranded tug. At this back-breaking task doggedly labored Gerald Van Steen without waiting for an order. Captain O’Shea stared at him by the light of a lantern as though reminded of something important.
“The ladies!” cried he. “Are they safe and sound?”
“They are alive, thank you,” said Van Steen. “I stowed them in their room, and made them lie on the floor with the mattresses tucked against the wall to stop the bullets. I could think of nothing else to do.”
“And how did they take it?”
“Very well, indeed. Miss Hollister has been rather hysterical, but one can scarcely blame her.”
“Well, the worst may be over, and again it may not,” thoughtfully explained O’Shea. “Now, ’tis this way. I can set you people ashore, and ye can take a chance that the Cuban army will be able tosend you inside the Spanish lines under a flag of truce. But there may be weeks of hard living and fever and exposure before ye get anywhere at all. And it may be the death of the ladies. Or you can stay with me, if we get this vessel off, and I will carry you back to the United States.”
“It isn’t a hilarious proposition either way,” replied Van Steen. “I rather think, though, that we had better stick to you.”
The mate returned aboard with the tidings that more than half the crew of the gun-boat had been rescued by the life-raft and in boats which had drifted to the beach.
“We ought to have those boats in case we need them,” said the skipper; “but if the ship can be worked off this tide, and is fit to go to sea, I will not wait for them or anything else.”
The tide was rising fast and the company worked like mad to heave the cargo overboard. At length Johnny Kent set his engines going hard astern and theFearlessbegan to slide along her coral bed. Halting, bumping, grinding, she gradually moved into the deeper water of the channel and rolled in the swell that ran past the headlands. Collision and stranding had fearfully racked and strained her hull, and the captain was not surprised when Johnny Kent bellowed from below:
“We’re leakin’, of course. I guess every rivet in her must have pulled loose. You’d better pray for a spell of good weather.”
“Would ye rather be shot or drowned decent ina gale of wind, Johnny? ’Tis suicide to stay on this coast till daylight.”
The forlorn tug limped out to sea at her best speed, which was not much. The fire-room gang was more or less disabled and the engines needed a deal of tinkering. Drop an able-bodied man from a third-story window and he may not break his neck, but his gait is not apt to be brisk.
“By the holy poker!” ejaculated O’Shea to the mate as they watched the shadowy mountains drop astern. “We delivered the cargo, though it is in a few feet of water, but I have some patriots left. I could think of only one thing at a time. What will I do with them?”
“You can search me, sir. Dump ’em ashore at Key West, if we ever get that far.”
“I will not run into this coast again with a leaky old crab of a ship and no more than coal enough to carry me to a friendly port.”
Men must sleep, and when theFearlesshad left the coast twenty miles behind her Captain O’Shea set the regular watches and curled up on the wheel-house transom for a nap before daylight. Johnny Kent, after a sorrowful survey of his engines and boilers, crawled into his bunk and presently his snores rose and fell with the cadenced beat of the steam-pump that fought to keep the water from rising in the leaky hold. The sea was smooth, the clouds no longer obscured the stars, and the weary crew was suffered to rest before clearing away the wreckage and patching the broken upper works.
When O’Shea awoke the dawn was bright and a fresh breeze whipped across an empty sea. George, the cook, greeted him with melancholy demeanor.
“You-all suttinly did play th’ mischief with mah galley when you kerbumped that gun-boat, cap’n. Every las’ dish is busted.”
“Where were you, George?”
“Hidin’ behind th’ range, please, suh. An’ when that there Spaniard blew up it broke all th’ galley windows an’ filled me plumb full of glass. Ain’t we had mos’ excitement enough?”
“I hope so. Did your friend, big Jiminez, swim ashore last night?”
“No, suh. He’s in th’ galley helpin’ me straighten things out. Him an’ me ain’t a mite hostile. Mistah Gorham suttinly did knock a heap o’ sense into that niggah’s skull.”
The breeze blew with steadily increasing weight and began to kick up a choppy sea which racked the sluggish, laboring tug. Johnny Kent reported that the pump was not keeping the water down as easily as during the night. O’Shea chewed over this disquieting news and was undecided whether to attempt the long passage around Cape San Antonio into the Gulf of Mexico. The alternative was to run for Jamaica and take refuge in the nearest neutral port. The English government would probably seize his ship, but her company would be safe against arrest and condemnation as pirates by the Spanish authorities.
While he was considering this grave problem hiseyes were gladdened by the sight of Nora Forbes, who came on deck and halted to gaze with amazement at the wrecked appearance of the vessel. Her splendid color paled and she smiled rather tremulously at Captain O’Shea, who reassured her:
“We are still afloat, but we look like a junk heap. And how did ye pull through? And is your aunt getting the upper hand of that nervous prostration?”
“Miss Hollister was terribly frightened, and—and—so was I. I would rather not hear about all that happened last night—not just yet.”
“And I would rather not think of it, just now, Miss Forbes. Perhaps I ought to have set ye ashore among the Cubans. I hope you will not be worse off at sea again.”
“I am glad to be at sea again, with you, Captain O’Shea,” said Nora, and she looked him in the eyes like a true viking’s daughter who scorned subterfuge and spoke as her heart moved her.
It was perhaps as well that Gerald Van Steen decided to join them just then.
“And are ye convinced that the Spanish are not a courteous people when ye meet them by night?” O’Shea cheerfully asked him.
“Do you know, I begin to like this filibustering,” answered the industrious young man, who looked as trampish as any of the crew. “One feels so well pleased after he has pulled out of one of these scrapes that it is almost worth while running into it.” He turned to Nora and addressed her with a shade ofappeal in his voice: “Will you sit down with me for a while? I have no end of things to talk about.”
“Why, certainly, Gerald. Good-by, Captain O’Shea. The top o’ the morning to ye.”
The captain bowed and raised his straw hat. His ingenuous countenance wore a somewhat puzzled expression, as if he beheld a new complication in this tumultuous voyage of his.
It was well into the forenoon before Johnny Kent found a breathing-spell and climbed above to confer with the skipper. The indomitable engineer appeared aged and haggard. The pain of his burns distressed him and he was spent with worry and weariness. His hands trembled as he pulled himself up the bridge stairway.
“I ain’t as young as I was, Cap’n Mike,” he huskily exclaimed. “Blamed if I don’t feel kind of strained and shook up, same as the poor oldFearless. Looks like one of them fair-weather gales, don’t it? Bright sky and a big sea and wind to peel your whiskers off before night.”
“’Tis a good guess,” soberly replied O’Shea. “Can we weather it, Johnny?”
“I don’t want to make the ladies nervous and fretty,” confided the chief, “but we ain’t keepin’ the water down, Cap’n Mike. It will be in the fire-room before dark at thisrate——”
“And then she will fall off into the trough of the sea and founder,” said O’Shea. “And we have no boats. Will your men stay on duty and keep her going?”
“They will, Cap’n Mike. The big nigger feels spry enough to turn to, and the gang is scared to death of him. They believe he’ll murder ’em if they quit on me.”
“Well, Johnny, make steam as long as ye can, and if the weather will not moderate I can try to fetch up somewhere before she goes to the bottom.”
“I ain’t particularly anxious, Cap’n Mike. I never saw you in a hole you couldn’t work your way out of. Of course, there’s the ladies. How are they, anyhow? The young one is on deck, lookin’ like a morning-glory. But what about Miss Hollister? She ain’t sick, is she?”
“Van Steen says the flurry last night gave her a sort of nervous prostration,” answered O’Shea. “She is up and dressed now and taking it easy in her room. Maybe ye would like to duck in and hand her a few kind words.”
“I sure would,” and Johnny Kent beamed. “Ladies like her are mighty refined and delicate and sensitive, and they’re liable to be took with this nervous prostration. I don’t blame her a bit, Cap’n Mike. Why, when we piled up on that reef and the gun-boat was fixin’ to shoot us all to hell-and-gone, I felt nervous myself. Honest I did.”
“Go to it, Johnny, but don’t mention the fact that we are due to founder as the next act of this continuous performance.”
It was really extraordinary to see how much animation came into the face of Miss Hollister when Johnny Kent poked his gray head inside the opendoor and grinned a bashful greeting. Never did a hero wear a more unromantic aspect, but the spinster had selected him as her own particular hero, nevertheless. He was rugged, elemental, as she had come to regard him, and, in fact, there was something uncommonly attractive to the discerning eye in the modest courage, inflexible devotion to duty, and simple kindliness of this grizzled old sea rover.
“I’m ashamed that we had to give you such a scare last night, ma’am,” he began. “It’s a hoodooed voyage, any way you look at it. Why, Cap’n Mike and me ran a cargo into Hayti last summer and you would have enjoyed it. Stuff on the beach in three hours and a funny old stone fort bangin’ away at us just enough to keep all hands amused.”
“But after this experience, you will not dream of going filibustering again, will you?” Miss Hollister asked him.
Johnny Kent tugged at his gray mustache and looked rather blank as he ejaculated:
“Why not? I ain’t fit for anything else. Of course, I get big wages for runnin’ these risks, and if I can ever save some money, I’m hopin’ to buy a farm down in Maine and raise chickens and such truck. That’s what I call really excitin’ and romantic.”
Miss Hollister responded eagerly:
“And a vegetable garden and cows,and——”
“Yes, ma’am. And flowers in the front yard—hollyhocks, and asters, and peonies, and a lilac bushby the front door-step. I set and think about it a lot.”
It did not appeal to the chief engineer as at all incongruous that the conversation should have taken this turn while the ship was slowly sinking beneath them.
“I have been very successful with flowers,” brightly returned Miss Hollister. “I shall be delighted to send you some seeds and cuttings whenever you return to New England to live on that wonderful farm of yours.”
“Thank you. Now when it comes to chickens, for all-round service there ain’t a bird to beat the Plymouth Rock. I subscribe to thePoultry Journal, and always bring it to sea toread——”
The mate dodged out of the wheel-house to shout:
“You’re wanted below, chief. The assistant sends up word that the loose coal is sucking into the pump and she’s chokin’ up.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” gently spoke Johnny Kent as he ceremoniously shook Miss Hollister’s hand. “Engines and pumps are provokin’ critturs and they’re always getting out of kilter.”
He paused outside to ask Captain O’Shea:
“What’s the answer? Do we win or lose? There’s bad news from below. The bunker coal is awash. The pump is liable to quit on me ’most any time.”
“I have overhauled the charts, Johnny, and there is a bit of a coral key marked down thirty miles from our present position, bearing sou’-sou’west. I have changed me course to head for it.”
“Thirty miles! Five hours or more at the speed we’re makin’. It will be a close finish, Cap’n Mike.”
“Life seems to be a game of close finishes for you and me, Johnny.”
TheFearlesswallowed sluggishly over a rolling, foamy, blue sea. Already the water in the holds had diminished her natural buoyancy. The waves leaped through her broken bulwarks and flung themselves across the deck. The crew and the remaining Cubans had a listless, discouraged demeanor. Their energy was deadened by misfortune. The voyage was ill-fated. Jack Gorham, by contrast, undertook whatever duty came handiest with a kind of machine-like, routine fidelity, unhurried, efficient, his melancholy countenance reflecting neither fear nor impatience. Now and then Jiminez emerged from the stoke-hole to sluice his huge body with pails of salt water. At such times Gorham crossed the deck to slap the negro on his bare back and speak words of approval in broken Spanish. The responsive grin of Jiminez showed every big, white tooth in his head. He had found a master whom he vastly respected, and there was no ill-will between them.
Long before the thirty miles had been run down Captain O’Shea was searching the sea with his glasses to find the tiny coral islet where he hoped to find refuge. It was out of the track of steamer traffic, and so far from the Cuban coast that the danger of discovery by the Spanish navy seemed fairly remote. The chart failed to indicate any harbor, but O’Shea had no expectation of saving his ship. He woulddrive her ashore and try to put his people on the beach.
At length he was able to descry a low, sandy strip almost level with the sea, along which the breakers flashed white and green. It was the key, and as theFearlessmoved nearer it was seen that the vegetation comprised only a few ragged bushes. Desolate, sun-baked, and wind-swept was the place, but it was dry land, and better than the deep sea in a foundering ship.
Captain O’Shea laid down his glasses and called Van Steen.
“’Tis not what I expected, but theFearlessis done for,” said he. “We have fresh water and stores to last some time. And I have faith enough in me luck to feel sure we will be picked off that bit of a key yonder. Please ask the ladies to pack their traps, and you will put life-belts around them.”
As theFearlesslurched drunkenly toward the beach, it seemed as though every comber would stamp her under. The water in the hold had covered the fire-room floor, and was hissing and swashing under the furnaces. The deck-hands were strung along the ladder and hatch, bailing with buckets to aid the choking, sputtering steam-pump.
“I ain’t got any business to be drowned in this lump of a tug,” said Johnny Kent to the first assistant. “I’m thinkin’ about that farm with the hollyhocks and Plymouth Rocks.”
“If that pump stops, which it has symptoms ofdoing, you’d better be thinking of your wicked old soul,” growled the assistant.
“I can’t swim a lick,” muttered the chief engineer.
“You’d better learn quick. There go the fires,” yelled the other as clouds of steam poured out of the engine-room, and the men below came up the ladder, fighting, scrambling, swearing. Johnny Kent dodged the wild rush, glanced out to sea, and shouted, “Breakers ahead! There are a few more kicks in the old packet and she’ll hit the beach yet.”
As the steam pressure rapidly ran down, the dying engines turned over more and more feebly, but the propeller continued to push the vessel very languidly into the shoal water. Presently she ceased to move, there was a slight jar, and she heeled to starboard. The doomed tug rested upon a sandy bottom.
Now that she was inert, aground, lifting no more to the heave and swing of the seas, the breakers shook her with an incessant bombardment. Spray flew over the bridge and pelted into the cabin windows. The key was about three hundred yards distant from the tug. Between her and the dry land was a strip of deeper water than the shoal on which she had stranded, and then the wide barrier of surf where the breakers tossed and tumbled in a thundering tumult.
Captain O’Shea scanned the angry water and wondered how he could send his people through it. The clumsy life-raft was all he had to put them on. It was buoyant enough, but unmanageable in suchboisterous weather as this, and would most likely be blown out to sea and miss the key entirely. To remain on board and hope for quieter weather on the morrow was to risk pounding to pieces overnight.
Then O’Shea caught sight of the jagged timbers of an ancient wreck half covered by the sand on the ridge of the key. If a line could be carried from the ship and made fast to one of those stout timbers, the life-raft might be hauled through the surf.
“’Tis a terrible swim to undertake,” he painfully reflected. “I will try it meself, but if I go under there is nobody to take charge of these people. My men are a rough lot, and it will be hard living on this God-forsaken bit of a key.”
As if Jack Gorham had read what was in the skipper’s mind, he crawled across the sloping deck and shouted something in the ear of Jiminez. The negro nodded and waved an arm in the direction of the beach. The soldier was urging and explaining, the other eagerly assenting. Gorham shouted to the bridge:
“This fine big nigger of mine will carry a rope ashore. He can swim like a duck, and there’s nobody aboard with half his strength.”
“Aye, aye, Jack!” exclaimed O’Shea. “I will give him a heaving-line, and when he hits the beach he can haul a light hawser ashore and make it fast.”
Jiminez had no need to strip for active service, clad as he was only in tattered dungaree breeches chopped off above the knees. It was apparent that he proposed risking his life because the soldier hadasked it of him. For the lives of the others he cared not a snap of his finger. Knotting an end of the heaving-line around his waist, he poised himself upon the guard-rail, a herculean statue of ebony. Gorham grasped his hand and said in farewell:
“You keep on going, Jiminez, old boy, or I’ll cave in your cocoanut with the butt of my Springfield.”
The negro grinned and shot downward into the foaming sea. His round head and gleaming shoulders emerged for an instant and then he dived again to pass under the toppling crest of a breaker. A few overhand strokes, and he was in the deeper water with a hundred yards of comparatively easy swimming. He ploughed through it with tremendous ease and power while Captain O’Shea paid out the heaving-line in his wake. Turning on his back, Jiminez rested before the final struggle with the surf on the beach.
The people on theFearlessforgot their forlorn situation. They were absorbed in the picture of the bright, hot sand, the dazzling wall of surf, with the gulls dipping and screaming overhead, and the tossing figure of the black swimmer. Jiminez vanished in the outer line of breakers, bobbed into view for an instant, and was whirled over and over. The undertow caught him and pulled him down, but he fought clear and came to the surface, now beaten seaward, now gaining a yard or so.
From the tug it looked as though he were being battered about like a piece of drifting wreckage, but the sea could not drown him. More than once thebeholders were sure he had been conquered. Then they shouted as they saw him shoot landward on the crested back of a rearing comber. He felt the sand with his feet. He was knocked down and rolled back, but regained a foothold and resisted the drag of the out-rushing waves. Wading powerfully, he stumbled into shallow water and fell on his knees, too exhausted to walk, and crawled on all fours to the dry sand. There he sprawled on his back like a dead man, while the hearts of those on board theFearlessbeat slow and heavy with suspense. A little while and Jiminez staggered to his feet, shook himself like a dog, and made for the timbers of the old wreck. Making the end of the heaving-line fast, he threw his arms over his head as a signal.
Captain O’Shea bent to the other end of the line the strong rope which he had used for towing the surf-boats. Jiminez sat himself down, dug his heels in the sand, and began to haul in like a human capstan. The rope trailed slowly through the surf without mishap, and the negro firmly belayed it to one of the embedded timbers. Having accomplished what he had set out to do, Jiminez sensibly rolled over, pillowed his head on his arm, and let the other men rescue themselves.
The life-raft was now shoved overboard and secured to the swaying rope by means of pulley blocks. Four picked men and the mate were detailed to make the first trip, which was in the nature of an experiment. They paddled the life-raft across thestrip of quieter water, the pulleys holding them close to the fastened hawser. When the raft reached the surf, they laid hold of the hawser and lustily hauled their careering craft shoreward, hand over hand. Drenched and breathless, they gained the beach and sought a few minutes’ rest before undertaking the return journey.
As soon as the raft had safely come back to theFearlessCaptain O’Shea shouted:
“Now for the ladies! ’Tis time they quit the poor old hooker.”
Nora Forbes was waiting, a lithe round arm about Miss Hollister’s waist. The spinster was white to the lips, and her eyes sought, not the protecting care of Gerald Van Steen, but the bracing presence of that stout-hearted old pirate Johnny Kent, who was profanely wrestling with the fresh-water barrels.
“You will get wet, ladies,” said O’Shea, “but ’tis not at all dangerous. The raft will take you through the surf like a toboggan. Mr. Van Steen will go with you. Ye are a brave pair, and I would ask no better shipmates.”
The raft was pitching and bucking alongside, but the lower deck of the vessel was now level with the sea. O’Shea caught Miss Hollister in his arms, waded to the rail with her and waited until Van Steen and the other men were ready to catch her. Then with a wrenching heave, O’Shea tossed her into their outstretched arms. It was Nora Forbes’s turn to leave the vessel.
“You will pardon the liberty,” O’Shea whisperedin her ear, “but this is no small consolation for losing me ship.”
He swung her clear of the deck and her arms, perforce, had to cling around his neck while he balanced himself with sailorly agility and waited for the tug to right itself and the raft to rise on the next wave. Perhaps he held her a moment longer than was necessary. Captain Michael O’Shea was a man with a warm heart and red blood in him. Deftly and carefully he swung her over the rail, and the men on the raft placed her beside Miss Hollister. Nora waved her hand in a blithe farewell. Miss Hollister had closed her eyes, but she opened them quickly enough when Johnny Kent came rolling aft to flourish his cap and shout:
“Sorry I can’t make the passage with you. We’ll have lots of time to talk flowers and hens on that patch of sand, but it looks like mighty poor soil for gardenin’ ma’am.”
Guided by the pulley-blocks that creaked along the hawser, the raft made the tempestuous passage through the surf. The shipwrecked ladies set themselves down on a sandy hummock in the hot sunshine. They were waterlogged and appeared quite calm and collected because they lacked strength for anything else.
The raft plied to and fro in a race against time. Such stores as would be damaged by wetting were wrapped in tarpaulins. The precious water-barrels were filled from the ship’s tank, and the wise Johnny Kent packed spare copper piping, a gasolene torch,empty tin cases, and tools for making a condenser to distil salt water. Captain O’Shea took care to send all the arms which had been served out to the crew, besides several boxes of rifles and ammunition that had been overlooked in dumping the cargo. Also he saved a number of shovels and picks designed for use as intrenching tools.
Before the last load of stuff had been hauled to the beach, theFearlesswas driven so far on the shoal that she began to break amidships. O’Shea ordered Colonel Calvo and his Cubans off the vessel, and then sent his crew ashore. He was left on board with Johnny Kent, Jack Gorham, and the men needed to help manage the life-raft. The little group stood in the lee of the deck-house. The tragedy of the ship oppressed them. They were mourners at the funeral of a faithful friend. Sentimental Johnny Kent exclaimed with a husky note in his voice:
“TheFearlessdid her best for us, Cap’n Mike. It’s a rotten finish for a respectable, God-fearin’ tow-boat.”
“She was a good little vessel, Johnny,” softly quoth O’Shea. “But those guns we dumped in the bay will come in mighty useful to old Maximo Gomez, and maybe the voyage is worth while after all.”
“I seem to be sort of side-tracked, but I ain’t complainin’,” murmured Jack Gorham. “I hope the Cubans will keep the rebellion moving along until I can get to ’em and help mix it up.”
One by one they jumped to the raft and Captain O’Shea was the last man to leave. With a shake of the head he turned to gaze no more at theFearless, but at the disconsolate cluster of men on the key, who were waiting for him to take command.
With ready resource and dynamic energy, O’Shea proceeded to organize the refugees. The dreary little sand-bank was no longer populated by discouraged loafers, but by busy, shouting toilers who made a camp with the cheerful zest of children at play. There were tarpaulins, storm-sails, and awnings to fashion shelters from the sun and rain. The beach was strewn with an accumulation of drift-wood which served to cut into uprights and cross-pieces that were lashed together with bits of line. In this wise a tent was built for the two women. It was set apart from the other camps with an ingenious amount of comfort and privacy.
The crew of theFearlessflocked together, while Colonel Calvo and his Cubans established themselves in quarters of their own. All this was a two days’ task, at the end of which the shipwrecked company, utterly fagged, slept and rested most earnestly and took no thought of the morrow. The blessed respite from excitements and alarms lulled them like an anodyne.
When, at length, the camp came out of its trance, Captain O’Shea discovered that his work was cutout for him to devise a daily routine which should maintain obedience, discipline, and good-nature. His own men were accustomed to an active life, their energy was exuberant, and when not fighting the sea they enjoyed fighting among themselves. On shipboard they obeyed by instinct because it was the iron tradition of their calling, but on the key these bonds were inevitably loosened.
While this was to be expected, the behavior of the surviving patriots was nothing short of phenomenal. They were rid of the curse of the sea which had wilted them body and soul. The immovable land was under their feet. They laughed and displayed an astonishing vivacity. They strutted importantly, soldiers unafraid. Even Colonel Calvo was reanimated. His sword clanked at his side. Large silver spurs dashed on the heels of his boots and he perceived nothing absurd in wearing them. His attitude toward Captain O’Shea was haughty, even distant. It was apparent that this miraculously revived warrior considered himself the ranking officer of the island. He signified that he would take entire charge of matters in his own camp.
O’Shea was surprised. At sea the patriots had been so much bothersome, unlovely freight.
“’Tis comical,” he said to himself. “I took it for granted that I was the boss of the whole outfit.”
Common-sense and experience told Captain O’Shea that he must keep all hands busy, if he had to invent work for them. He therefore staked out arectangular space of considerable extent and set them to throwing up sand to form four walls several feet thick within which the company might find shelter. It was a simple pattern of earthworks, but more efficient to resist bullet and shell than stone or concrete.
“We may not need to scuttle into it,” he explained to Jack Gorham, “but if one of those Spanish blockadin’ craft should accidentally cruise off shore, we will be in shape to stand her off. Anyhow, it will keep our tarriers occupied for a while.”
“How do you frame it up that we’re goin’ to get away from this gob of sand?” asked the chief engineer. “Not that I’m fretty, Cap’n Mike, or findin’ fault, but I’ve seen places that I liked better.”
“We will mark time a little longer, Johnny, and then if a schooner or steamer doesn’t happen by, I will rig a sail on the life-raft, and send it to the south’ard. How are the ladies to-day? I have had no time to pay a social call.”
“Miss Hollister don’t seem as droopin’ as she was. I dried out a pack of cards that was in my jumper, and we played some whist. If you want to set in, Cap’n Mike, I’ll drop out. I ain’t really graceful and easy in a game where there’s more than five cards dealt to a hand.”
“Thank you, but I am handicapped in the same way, Johnny. I will stroll over and pay me respects before supper.”
“Miss Forbes seemed a mite peevish that youhaven’t made more tracks toward their tent,” observed the engineer.
“Pshaw, they are glad to have the chance to be by themselves.”
Nevertheless, Captain O’Shea appeared interested when he spied Miss Forbes sauntering alone on the beach, and at some distance from her tent.
“Miss Hollister is asleep and Mr. Van Steen is trying to mend his shoes with a piece of wire,” said Nora. “And I have done my week’s washing like an industrious girl, and now I’m looking for someone to play with.”
“Would you like to walk to the far end of the key, Miss Forbes? And then, perhaps, ye would care to inspect the camps. We have a ship-shape little settlement, if I do say it meself.”
“An exploring expedition? I shall be delighted,” cried she, unconsciously glancing at the tent which hid the chaperon and also Gerald Van Steen.
They strolled a little way without speaking. O’Shea halted to gaze at the wreck of theFearless. With quick sympathy, the girl understood and made no comment. He turned away with a sorrowful smile and broke the silence.
“’Tis strange how close a man’s ship is to his heart. I wish I did not have to see her.”
“There will be other ships for a man like you, Captain O’Shea,” said Nora.
“But never a voyage like this one, Miss Forbes.”
“I was thinking the same thought. For me there will never be a voyage like this, Captain O’Shea.”
“For misfortune and bedivilment generally, do ye mean?” he asked rather hastily.
“No, I do not mean that,” and she spoke in a low voice as if talking to herself. “I have enjoyed it. I suppose I am very queer and shocking, but I shall look back to this experience all my life and be glad that it came to me.”
The shipmaster wondered how much she meant. Her intonations told him that it was something personal and intimate. Perhaps other women had made love to Captain Michael O’Shea, but never one like Nora Forbes. Amid circumstances so strange and exotic, so utterly removed from the normal scheme of things, it was as natural as breathing that speech should be sincere and emotions genuine.
O’Shea had a curiously delicate sense of honor. He could not forget Gerald Van Steen. Nora had promised to marry him. Steering the conversation away from dangerous ground, he said:
“I have changed me opinion of Mr. Van Steen. He has behaved very well. He did not understand us at first.”
Nora was not as interested as before, and replied rather carelessly:
“He has worked hard because you and Mr. Kent compelled him to.”
“You are not fair to him,” warmly returned O’Shea. “There is not a man in the crew that has stood up to it any better. Nor am I warped in his favor, for I will own up that he rubbed me the wrong way at first.”
“Of course, I have admired the way he handled himself on board theFearless,” admitted Nora, her conscience uneasy that she should be so laggard a champion. “But I hardly expected to hear you sing his praises, Captain O’Shea.”
“Why not? I would give me dearest enemy his deserts”—he hesitated and bluntly added—“and then if he got in my way I would do me best to wipe him off the map.”
“If he got in your way?” murmured Nora. “I should hate to be the man that stood in your way.”
“If there is to be straight talk between us,” demanded O’Shea, “tell me why ye show no more pleasure that this voyage has knocked the foolishness out of Van Steen and made a two-fisted man of him? When he came aboard he was an imitation man that had been spoiled by his money. He is different now. Can ye not see it for yourself?”
“Yes, I see it,” replied Nora, regarding O’Shea with a demeanor oddly perplexed. He was not playing the game to her liking. The interview had been twisted to lead her into a blind alley. With a petulant exclamation, she walked briskly toward the farther end of the key. O’Shea followed, admiring, cogitating.
Overtaking her, he indicated a broken topmast washed ashore from some tall sailing-ship, and they found seats upon it. The hypnotic spell of the sea took hold of them both until Nora turned and protestingly exclaimed:
“Aren’t you fearfully tired of seeing nothing but this great, blue, empty expanse of salt water?”
“My eyes could never tire if I had you to look at,” said he, not by way of making love to her, but as a simple statement of fact.
Nora appeared happier. This buccaneer of hers was becoming more tractable, but he perversely hauled about on another tack and added:
“As long as there are ships to sail the sea, there will be men to go in them, men that will never tire of salt water though it treats them cruel. They will hear the voices of sweethearts and wives on shore, but they will not listen. The hands of little children will beckon, but they will not stay. ’Tis fine to be warm and dry in a house, and to see the green things grow, and men and women living like Christians, but if you are the seafarin’ kind, you must find a ship and put out of port again. I am one of those that will never tire of it, Miss Forbes. Poor old Johnny Kent is different. He sits and sighs for his farm and will talk you deaf about it. My father was a shipmaster before me, and his people were fishermen in the Western Islands.”
Nora sighed. O’Shea’s caressing voice rose and fell with a sort of melancholy rhythm, an inheritance from his Celtic forebears. It was as though he were chanting a farewell to her. Her lovely, luminous eyes were suffused. The wind was warm and soft, but she shivered slightly.
“We had better turn back to the camp,” said she. “My aunt will be looking for me.”
They walked along the shining beach, thinking many things which could not find expression. O’Shea left her near her tent and was about to go to his own quarters when he overheard a stormy meeting between Nora and Gerald Van Steen. He hastened on his way, ashamed that he should have been an unwitting eavesdropper. It was most emphatically none of his business. His cheek reddened, however, and he felt gusty anger that Nora should be taken to task for strolling to the end of the key with him.
“A jealous man is the most unreasonable work of God,” he said to himself. “’Twas a harmless walk we had.”
Duty diverted Captain O’Shea from considering the disturbed emotions of Gerald Van Steen. Rations must be measured out and inspected, the muster roll called, the sick visited, and the sentries appointed for the night. He had finished these tasks and was standing near his tent when Van Steen approached in a hurried, angry manner. Surmising the cause, O’Shea caught him by the arm and led him in the direction of the beach, away from the curious eyes and ears of the camp.
Van Steen wrenched himself free with a threatening gesture. He had worked himself into a passion childishly irrational. O’Shea was inwardly amused, but his face was grave as he inquired:
“Why these hostile symptoms? Do not shout it all over the place. Tell it to me easy and get it out of your system.”
This casual reception rather stumped young Mr. Van Steen. He gulped, made a false start or two, and sullenly replied:
“You and I will have it out as man to man, O’Shea.”
“CaptainO’Shea, if ye please, while I command this expedition,” softly spoke the other. “As man to man? You have been a man only since I took charge of your education. Are ye sure you are ready to qualify?”
The shipmaster’s smile was frosty, and his glance was exceedingly alert. Van Steen raised his voice to an unsteady pitch as he cried:
“That is a cheap insult. It shows what you are under the skin. Now, I don’t propose to bring her—to bring any one’s name into this—but you are to keep away, understand? It has to stop.”
“Did any one request ye to tell me to keep away, as ye put it in your tactful way?” blandly suggested O’Shea.
“No; this is my affair. There has been enough of this blarneying nonsense of yours, and watching for a chance when my back is turned. If you were a gentleman, there would be no necessity of telling you this.”
The veneer had been quite thoroughly removed from the conventional surfaces of Gerald Ten Eyck Van Steen. He was the primitive man ready to fight for his woman. O’Shea was divided between respect for him and a desire to swing a fist against his jaw.
“We have no gentlemen in my trade, of course,” he retorted. “Now and then we pick up one of them adrift and do our best for him, and he turns to and blackguards us for our pains. Have ye more to say?”
“Considerably more. It is an awfully awkward matter to discuss, but it is my right,and—and——”
O’Shea interrupted vehemently:
“The hot sun has addled your brain. For heaven’s sake, stop where you are. If it was me intention to make love to the girl and try to win her for myself, I would go straight to you. You would not have to come to me.”
“You are a liar and a sneak, and I think you are a coward unless you have your men at your back,” almost screamed Van Steen.
“Which I will take from no man,” returned O’Shea, and he swung from the shoulder and stretched the young man flat on the sand. Several seamen and Cubans beheld this episode and ran thither.
“Pick yourself up and keep your mouth shut,” exhorted O’Shea, “or ye will be draggin’ some one’s name into this after all.”
Van Steen was sobbing as he scrambled to his feet, let fly with his fists, and was again knocked down by a buffet on the side of the head. O’Shea turned to order the men back to camp, and then quizzically surveyed the dazed champion.
“You will fight a duel with me or I’ll shoot you,” cried Van Steen. “At daylight to-morrow—with revolvers—at the other end of the key.”
“I will not!” curtly replied O’Shea. “Ye might put a hole through me, and what good would that do? ’Tis my business to get these people away, and keep them alive in the meantime. As for shooting me informally, if I catch you with a gun I will clap ye in irons.”
“But you knocked me down twice,” protested Van Steen.
“And ye called me hard names. We are quits. Now run along and wash off your face.”
The misguided young man marched sadly up the beach to find solitude, and was seen no more until long after night. O’Shea stared at his retreating figure and sagaciously reflected:
“He wants to fight a duel! ’Tis quite the proper thing. He figures it out that he is a buccaneer on a desert island, and ’tis his duty to play the part. Consistency is a jewel.”
It seemed improbable that Van Steen had acted wholly on his own initiative. Then the provocation must have come from Nora herself. And what could have aroused Van Steen to such a jealous frenzy but her admission that she was fond of the company of Captain O’Shea?
“Right there is where I stop tryin’ to unravel it,” soliloquized the skipper. “’Tis not proper for a man to confess such thoughts. But I have no doubt at all that she stirred him up when he scolded her for walking on the beach with me this afternoon.”
In the evening Johnny Kent became inquisitive. There was something on his mind, and he shiftedabout uneasily and lighted his pipe several times before venturing to observe: