Captain Balaam of the 'Cormorant', and other sea comedies
Date: 2022-09-06T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Short stories; English; Sea stories; English fiction -- 20th century

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Captain Balaam of the 'Cormorant', and other sea comedies

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Title: Captain Balaam of the 'Cormorant', and other sea comedies

Author: Morley Roberts

Release date: September 6, 2022 [eBook #68920]

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: Eveleigh Nash

Credits: Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTAIN BALAAM OF THE 'CORMORANT', AND OTHER SEA COMEDIES ***

CAPTAIN BALAAM
OF THE 'CORMORANT'

AND OTHER SEA COMEDIES

BY MORLEY ROBERTS

AUTHOR OF
'THE PROMOTION OF THE ADMIRAL,' ETC.

LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
1905

Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty

CONTENTS

I. THE OWNER OF THE PATRIARCH

II. THE ORDER OF THE WOODEN GUN

III. CAPTAIN BALAAM OF THE CORMORANT

IV. JACK-ALL-ALONE

V. THE MUTINOUS CONDUCT OF MRS. RYDER

VI. THE COMEDY OF THE ORIANA

THE OWNER OF THE PATRIARCH

If any one cares to look up the Patriarch in Lloyd's List, it will be discovered that the line given to her reads thus:—

And all these hieroglyphics mean something to the initiated, of whom, as a matter of fact, there are more ashore than at sea. But the main point is that the owner of her was T. Tyser, and it matters very little whether she was built of heavier plating than the rules required, or whether she was cemented, or built under special survey, or what not. For T. Tyser, otherwise Mr. Thomas Tyser, was not only the owner of the Patriarch, but also the owner of a dozen other vessels all beginning with a P. He was, moreover, the owner of a large block of land in the heart of Melbourne; he had several streets, of which the biggest was Tyser Street, S.E., in London, and his banking account was certainly of heavier metal than he had any personal use for. He was a rough dog from the north country, and in the course of half a century's fight in London he came out top-dog in his own line, and was more or less of a millionaire.

'And he's my uncle,' said Geordie Potts; 'his sister was my mother, and here I am before the stick in one of his old wind-jammers, and gettin' two-pun-ten in this here Patriarch of his, and hang me if I believe the old bloke has another relative in the world. It's hard lines, mates, it's hard lines. Don't you allow it's hard lines?'

It was Sunday morning in the South-East Trades, and every sail was drawing, 'like a bally droring-master,' as Geordie once said, and the 'crowds' of the Patriarch were all fairly easy in their minds and ready for a discussion.

'If so be you are 'is nevvy, as you state,' said the port watch cautiously, 'we allows it's 'ard lines.'

'I've stated it frequent,' said Geordie, 'and it's the truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but it, so help me. D'ye think I'd claim to be old Tyser's sister's son if I wasn't? I'd scorn to claim it.'

'Any man would scorn to be Tyser's sister's son,' said the starboard watch; 'he'd scorn to be 'im unless 'e was, for Tyser's a mean old dog, ain't 'e, Geordie?'

Geordie thanked his watch-mates for backing him up so. 'That's right, chaps. There 's no meaner in the north of England, or the south for that matter, and the way this ship's found is scandalous.'

'The grub's horrid,' said both watches.

'And look at the gear,' said Geordie; 'everything ready to part a deal easier than my uncle is. I never lays hold of a halliard but I'm thinking I'll go on my back if I pulls heavy. Oh, he's a fair scandal!'

He considered the scandal soberly, and with some sadness.

'He might leave you some dibs, Geordie,' suggested his mate, Jack Braby; 'he might, after all.'

'Not a solitary dime,' said Geordie; 'him and me quarrelled because my father fought him in the street, and I hit the old hunks with a bit of a brick because he got my dad down.'

'Wot was the row about?' asked the others eagerly.

'Nothin' to speak of,' said George; 'my old man said he was a blood-sucker, and that led to words. And I never hurt him to speak of. And yet I've shipped in one of his ships, and am as poor as he's rich. He allowed none of us would get a farthing: he shouted it out in the market-place, and said hospitals would get it, because, when one of his skippers that he'd sacked cut him up awful with a stay-sail hank, they sewed him up very neat at one of 'em.'

'There's nothin' so good in a fight as a stay-sail 'ank,' said Jack Braby, contemplatively. 'I cut a polisman all to rags wiv one once.'

'Was that the time you done three months' 'ard?' asked the port watch.

'Six,' said Braby proudly, 'and I told the beak I could do it on my 'ead. But, Geordie, if you was owner yourself what would you do?'

'Yes, wot?' asked the rest.

Geordie shook his head and sighed.

'I'd make my ships such that sailormen would be wanting to pay to go in 'em,' said Geordie. 'I've laid awake thinkin' of it.'

'Oh, tell us,' said all hands, with as much unanimity as if they were tailing on to the halliards under the stimulus of 'Give us some time to blow the man down!' 'Tell us, Geordie.'

'I'd be friends with all my men for one thing,' said Geordie, 'and I'd not have a single Dutchman in a ship of mine.'

The three 'Dutchmen' on board—one of whom was a Swede, another a German, and the third a Finn—shifted uneasily on their chests, but said nothing.

'And not a Dago,' continued the 'owner,' 'and I'd give double wages, and grog three times a day, and tobacco throwed in. And the cook shouldn't be a hash-spoiler but what Frenchies calls a chef.'

'We never heard of that. How d'ye spell it, Geordie?'

'S, h, e, double f,' said Geordie; 'and it means a man that is known not to spoil vittles, as most sea-cooks does, by the very look of him. And when it was wet or cold the galley fire should be alight all night. And the skipper and the mates should be told by me, and told very stern, that if they vallied their billets a continental they'd behave like gents and not cuss too much. And there shouldn't be no working up, and any officer of mine that was dead on dry pulls on the halliards should have the sack quick. And every time a ship of mine came into dock I'd be there, and I'd see what the crowds' opinion was of the skipper and the mates. Oh, I'd make my ships a paradise, I would!'

Most of the men nodded approval, but Braby wasn't quite satisfied.

'And would there be grog every time of shortenin' sail, Geordie?'

'Oh, of course,' said George, 'and every time you made sail too.'

But an old seaman shook his head.

''Tis mighty fine, mates, to 'ear Geordie guff as to what 'e'd do,' he growled, 'but I ain't young, and I've seed men get rich and they wasn't in the least what they allowed they'd be. Geordie 'ere is one of hus now, and 'e feels where the shoe pinches, but if so be 'e got rotten with money 'e'd be for callin' sailormen swine as like as not. And 'e'd wear a topper.'

'You're a liar, I wouldn't,' roared Geordie.

'Maybe I am a liar,' said the old chap, 'but I've seen what I've looked at. If you was to learn as your huncle was dead now, you'd go aft and set about on the poop and see hus doin' pulley-hauley, with a seegar in your teeth. Riches spoils a man, and it can't be helped: it 'as to, somehow. I've no fault to find with you now, Geordie Potts; for so young a man you're a good seaman and a good shipmate (though you 'ave called me a liar), but, you take my word for it, money would make an 'og of you.'

And here was matter for high debate, which lasted all through the Trades, through the Horse Latitudes, and into the region of the brave west winds, till the Patriarch had made more than half her easting.

'So I'm to be a mean swab, and a real swine, when I'm rich,' said Geordie. 'Eh, well, have it your own way. There's times some of you makes me feel I'd like to make you sit up.'

''Ear, 'ear,' said the old fo'c'sleman, 'there's the very thought of 'aughty richness workin' in 'is mind, shipmates. What'll the real thing do if 'is huncle pegs out sudden?'

It was curious to note that a certain subdued hostility rose up between most of the men and Geordie. They sat apart and discussed him. Even Jack Braby threw out dark and melancholy hints that they wouldn't be chums any more if old Tyser's money came to his nephew. There were at times faint suggestions that Geordie was getting touched with his possible prosperity.

'I'll live ashore and have a public-house,' said Geordie Potts.

And they picked up Cape Otway light in due time, and ran through Port Phillip Heads by and by, and came to an anchor off Sandridge. Presently they berthed alongside the pier, and began to discharge their cargo; and one hot day went by like another till they were empty and began to fill up again with wool. In six weeks they were almost ready for sea once more. And the very night before they hauled out from their berth and lay at anchor in the bay, Geordie went ashore at six o'clock 'all by his lonesome,' as he and Jack Braby had fought over the job which Braby was to get from his mate when old Tyser died intestate. And as he got to the end of the pier he met a young clerk from the agents' office who knew him by sight.

'I say, I'm in a great hurry,' said the boy, 'my girl's waiting for me. Will you take these letters to Captain Smith, or I'll miss my train back? I'll give you a bob.'

'Right oh!' said Geordie, and he pouched the shilling and the letters, and the young fellow ran for his train.

'The letters can wait,' said Geordie Potts, 'but the bob can't, and I've five more besides. Jack might have had his whack out of it if he hadn't wanted to be my manager, when he ain't fit for it.'

He put the letters into his pocket and made his way to the Sandridge Arms, where he sat and drank by himself. It was seven o'clock, and he was by then tolerably 'full,' before it occurred to him to see if he still had the letters. He took them out, and the very first his eyes lighted on was one in a long envelope addressed to

George Potts, Esq.,
c/o Captain Smith,
Patriarch.

'Blimy,' said Geordie, 'this can't be me! Esq. is what they puts after names of gents. Even the skipper don't have it after his.'

He fingered the long envelope and took another drink to consider the matter on.

'Holy Sailor, it must be me!' he said as he drew confidence out of his glass, 'there's no other Potts but me.'

He was over-full by now, and he opened the letter and began to read it.

'My dear Sir——'

'By the holy frost,' said Geordie, 'me My dear Sir!'

He went on reading.

'MY DEAR SIR,—We regret to inform you of the sudden death of your uncle, Mr. Thomas Tyser, on the 10th inst. He left no will, and you, as the next of kin and the heir-at-law, are entitled to all his real and personal estate, which is, as you are doubtless aware, very large. According to our present estimate it will amount to at least half a million sterling, and as we have been his legal advisers for the last twenty years, and know all his affairs, we can assure you that, with proper management of certain undertakings at present in our hands, it may be much more than our estimate. In order that you may return at once, we enclose you a draft on the Union Bank of Australia for £200, and have instructed Captain Smith to give you your discharge, which he will of course do at once.

'We hope, as we have been so long in the confidence of Mr. Tyser, that you will see no reason to complain of our care for your interests.—We are, my dear Sir, your obedient servants,

THOMAS WIGGS & Co.'

'Holy Sailor!' said Geordie. And he stared aghast at a square piece of paper which he had reason to believe represented £200. 'Holy Sailor, what a pot o' money!' He gasped, and took another drink.

'I'm the owner of the Patriarch,' he said, and grasping all the letters and his £200 draft he rammed them down into the bottom of his inside breast-pocket. 'I'm the owner of—hic—the—hic—Patriarch.'

He came out of his corner and went to the bar.

'Gimme a drink, an expensive drink, one that'll cost five bob,' he demanded of the barman.

'You'd better have a bottle o' brandy,' said the barman.

'I wants the best.'

'This is Hennessy's forty-star brandy,' said the liar behind the bar. 'There's no better in the world.'

And Geordie retreated with the bottle to his corner, and took a long drink of a poisonous compound which contained as much insanity in it as a small lunatic asylum. He came back to the bar presently, and told the barman that he was a millionaire.

'I own half Newcastle and a lot of Bourke Street, Melbourne, and a baker's dozen of ships, and lumps of London!' said Geordie.

'Lend me a thousand pounds till to-morrow,' said the barman.

'I like you—hic—I'll do it,' said Geordie; and with that he fell headlong and forgot his wealth. They dragged him outside on the verandah, and let him lie in the cool of the evening. He was picked up there two hours later by Jack Braby and some of the starboard watch, and taken on board.

'He let on he was a millionaire,' said the barman contemptuously.

Braby shook his head.

'Ah, he's liable to allow that when he's full, sir,' said Braby.

But that fatal bottle kept Geordie Potts wholly insensible till they were outside the Heads again and on their way to England with the smoke of the tugboat far astern. And presently the second mate, Mr. Brose, who was a very rough sort of dog and had sweated his way up to his present exalted rank from that of a fore-mast hand, hauled Geordie out by the collar of his coat and had him brought to by means of a bucketful of nice Bass's Strait water. Geordie gasped like a dying dolphin, but came to rapidly.

'I'll teach you to get drunk, you swab,' said Brose. 'Take those wet things off and turn to.'

And Geordie obeyed like a child in the presence of force majeure.

'Oh, Lord, I've a head,' he told his mates, 'and it seems to me that I had a most extro'r'nary dream.'

'Wot did you dream of, old Cocklywax?' asked Braby, 'did you dream you'd come in for old Tyser's money?'

And Geordie gasped.

'S'elp me,' he murmured, 's'elp me, did I dream?'

He dropped his marlinspike as if it were red-hot, and made a break for the fo'c'sle and his wet coat.

'Now if so be I dreamed,' he said, 'there'll be nought in this pocket. And if I didn't, I'm jiggered.'

He put his hand in and brought out a handful of damp and crushed letters, and came out upon deck staggering. Mr. Brose saw him, and was in his tracks like a fish-hawk on a herring-gull. Geordie saw him coming, and stood open-mouthed.

'Oh, sir,' said Geordie, 'oh, sir——'

'Oh, blazes,' said Brose, 'what's your damned shenanakin' game? Get to work, or I'll have you soused till you're half-dead.'

But Geordie could explain nothing.

'Oh, sir,' he stammered, and held up his papers, shaking them feebly. And Brose shook him, anything but feebly, so that Geordie's teeth chattered.

'If you please, sir,' he cried out at last, 'if you please, sir, don't. I owns her.'

'You owns wot?' demanded Brose. And the rest of the men edged as near as they dared.

'He's drunk still,' said Braby, as Brose shook his mate once more.

'I owns the bally Patriarch,' screamed Geordie, 'and all the rest of 'em, and all my uncle's richness; and I won't be shook, I won't!'

And Brose let him go.

'You're mad,' said Brose, 'you're mad.'

'I ain't,' roared Geordie, who was fast recovering from the shock. 'I ain't. Take these, read 'em, read 'em out. Let the skipper read 'em. I owns the Patriarch, and the Palermo, and the Proosian, and the whole line. The lawyers says so!'

He put the lot of damp letters into Mr. Brose's hands, and sat down on the spare top-mast lashed under the rail.

'There's letters for the captain 'ere,' said Brose suspiciously. ''Ow did you get 'em?'

''Twas a youngster from the office gave 'em me,' replied Geordie, 'and I took a drink first and there was one for me, and it said so, said I was the owner, said it plain.'

And when Brose had read the opened letter he gasped too, and went aft to see the skipper. The rest of the watch gathered round Geordie, and spoke in awestruck whispers.

'Is it true, Geordie?'

'Gospel,' said Geordie, 'it's swore to. They sends me two hundred quid in a paper.'

'Show us,' said the starbowlines, 'show us.'

'It's in the paper the second greaser has,' said Geordie, 'it's wrote "Pay George Potts, Esq., two hundred quid on the nail."'

'I'd never 'ave let Brose 'ave it,' said Braby, 'like as not 'e'll keep it.'

'Then I'll sack him,' said Geordie firmly. 'Let him dare try to keep it, and I'll sack him and not pay him no wages."

'This is a very strange game, this is,' said Braby. 'I never 'eard tell of the likes. Did they put "Esk" on your letter?'

'They done so,' said Geordie. 'I've seen uncle's letters, and they done so to him.'

'Then it must be true,' said Braby; 'they on'y puts "Esk" on gents' letters.'

And Williams the steward was observed coming for'ard scratching his head.

'Where the 'ell am I?' asked Williams, 'and wot's the game? I'm sent by the captain to say will "Mr." Potts step into the cabin.'

They all looked at Geordie.

'Mr. Potts—why, that's you, Geordie.'

'I s'pose it must be,' said the owner. 'Must I go, mates?'

'Of course,' cried Braby.

But Geordie fidgeted.

'I could go in if we was painting of her cabin,' he murmured, 'but to talk with the skipper——'

That evidently disgruntled him.

''Tis your own cabin any'ow,' said Braby. 'I'd walk in like a lord.'

'Well, I s'pose I must,' said Geordie reluctantly, and he went aft with Williams.

'And you're the owner?' asked Williams.

Geordie sighed.

'So it seems, stoo'ard,' he admitted.

'It beats the devil,' said Williams.

'So it does,' said Geordie, and the next moment he found himself announced as Mr. Potts, and he stood before the captain with his cap in his hand, looking as if he was about to be put in irons for mutiny. But as a matter of fact, the old skipper was a deal more nervous than he was.

'This seems all correct, Mr. Potts,' said Smith.

'Does it, sir?' asked Geordie, 'I'm very sorry, sir; but it ain't my fault, sir. I never meant—at least, I never allowed my uncle would do it, because my father, sir, said he was a blood-sucker, and they fought and I hit uncle with a brick, sir, to make him let go of father's beard.'

'Ah, yes, to be sure,' said the captain nervously, 'but I'm thinking what to do. It's a very anomalous situation for you to be here, Potts—Mr. Potts, I mean.'

But Geordie held up his hand.

'I'd much rather be Potts, sir, thanking you all the same.'

'I couldn't do it,' replied the skipper. 'I was thinking that you might like me to put back to Melbourne?'

'Wot for, sir?' demanded the owner.

'So that you could go home in a P. & O. boat,' said old Smith.

'Thanking you kindly, sir,' replied Geordie, 'I'd rather stay in the Patriarch. I don't like steamers, and never did.'

He had a vague notion that the skipper wanted him to go home before the mast in one.

'Then you wish me not to put back, Mr. Potts?' said Smith.

'I'd very much rather not, sir,' replied Geordie. 'I'm very happy here, sir, and takin' it all round, the Patriarch's a comfortable ship, sir. May I go for'ard now, sir?'

He made a step for the cabin door.

'Oh dear, oh dear,' said old Smith, 'you mustn't. You must have a berth here, and be a passenger.'

The skipper's obvious nervousness was not without its effect upon the new owner. For old Smith knew that if he lost his present billet he was not likely to find another one, and he had nothing saved to speak of. So somehow, and without knowing why, Geordie, without being in the least disrespectful, was more decided in his answer than he would have been if the 'old man' had showed himself as hard and severe as usual.

'Not me,' said Geordie, 'not me, sir. I wouldn't, and I couldn't. I'd be that uncomfortable—oh, a passenger, good Lord, no!'

'But bein' owner, you can't stay for'ard,' urged the skipper.

'Oh yes, I can, sir,' said Geordie, 'I'd prefer it.'

Smith sighed.

'If you prefer it, of course you must. But if you change your mind, you'll let me know.'

'Right, I will—sir,' said Geordie.

The skipper walked with him to the cabin door.

'And if you don't want to work, Mr. Potts, I dare say we can get on without your services, though we shall miss them,' he said anxiously.

'I couldn't lie about and do nix,' replied Geordie, 'I'd die of it.'

And away he went for'ard, while the skipper and Mr. Brose, and Mr. Ware, waked out of his watch below to hear the extraordinary news, discussed the situation.

'And 'ave I to call 'im Mr. Potts?' asked Brose with a pathetic air of disgust.

'I say so,' replied the skipper, 'I can't afford, Brose, as you know, to lose this job, and old Tyser promised me a kind of marine superintendent's billet when I left the Patriarch, and I dessay this young chap will act decent about it.'

'I'm damned,' said Ware. 'I'm damned and glad too that he ain't in my watch. This is hard lines on you, Mr. Brose.'

'If you please, Mr. Potts, will you be so good has to be so kind has to be so hobliging has to go and over'aul the gear on the main,' piped Brose in furious mockery. 'Oh, this is 'ard!'

'Far from it,' said old Smith, 'you ought to be proud. It ain't every second mate has a millionaire owner in his watch.'

But Brose was sullen.

'You mark me, this josser won't do no 'and's turn that he don't like.'

And for'ard the crowd said the same. As a result, for at least ten days Geordie Potts worked very well indeed. But of course, Brose, under the skipper's orders, gave him all the soft jobs that were going. The second mate got into a mode of exaggerated courtesy which was almost painful.

'Be so good, Mister Potts, as to put a nice neat Matthew Walker on this 'ere laniard.'

Or—

'Mr. Potts, please be kind enough to go aloft and stop that spilling-line on the fore-topsail-yard to the jackstay.'

And at meal-times the port watch mimicked Brose.

'Dear Mr. Potts, howner, be so good as to heat this 'orrid 'ash without growling.'

And presently when the weather began to get cold and the men brought out their Cape Horn P-jackets and their mitts, Geordie commenced to growl a little.

'I hates turnin' out in the gravy-eye watch worse and worse,' he said. 'I've half a mind to let on I'm sick.'

'You'd better go haft and tell the "old man" to 'ave the galley-fire kep' alight all night,' said the crowd crossly. 'But you dasn't.'

'I dast,' said Geordie, 'why, I owns the bally galley!'

'You dasn't!'

'I will,' said Geordie. And next morning he went aft and touched his cap to the skipper and begged to be allowed to speak to him.

'The galley-fire at night!' said Smith. 'Oh, certainly, Mr. Potts. I never done it because it was against the horders of your late revered huncle, sir.'

'He was as mean as mean,' said Geordie. 'I think I can afford the fire, sir.'

The fire was lighted, and the crowd said Geordie was the right sort.

'And wot about the gear, Mr. Howner?' asked Jack Braby. 'If I was you, before it gets too rotten cold, I'd have a real over'aulin' of things.'

'I'll think of it,' said Geordie. And that very afternoon he tackled Brose.

'The gear's tolerable rotten, sir,' he began. And the second greaser knew he was right and yet didn't like to say so. He yearned to curse him.

'And I'm thinkin',' said Geordie, 'it would be a good thing to get up new stuff and overhaul everything. I risks my life every time I goes aloft. The very reef earings would part if a school-girl yanked at 'em.'

'You'd better speak to Mr. Ware,' said Brose, choking.

And at eight bells Geordie spoke to the chief officer, who was quite as anxious as the skipper to keep his billet. 'It shall be done, Mister Potts,' said Ware.

In the first watch that night Geordie felt very tired, and said so. When it was eight bells in the middle watch he was still asleep, or pretended to be. 'Rouse out, howner,' said Braby, and he shook Geordie up.

'I feels tolerable ill,' said Geordie. 'I don't think I shall turn out.'

He didn't, and the rest of the port watch went on deck by themselves. At the muster Mr. Potts didn't answer to his name.

'Mr Potts is hill, sir,' said the obsequious watch; ''e said 'e couldn't turn out.'

'I thought it'd come soon,' said Brose to himself, and he went for'ard to the fo'c'sle.

'Are you very ill?' he asked drily.

'I don't know quite how I feel,' said the owner, 'but I thinks a little drop of brandy would do me good.'

'I wish I could poison it,' said Brose under his voice. 'This is most 'umiliatin' to a man in the persition of an officer.'

By noon Geordie was well enough to sit on deck and smoke a pipe. The 'old man' came to see him.

'Wouldn't you like a berth aft now, Mr. Potts?' urged the skipper.

'I'll think about it, captain,' said Geordie. 'And in the meantime I don't think I'll turn to.'

The skipper looked at Brose.

'We can dispense with Mr. Potts's services for the time, eh, Mr. Brose?'

'Certingly,' said Brose. But he walked to the rail and spat into the great Pacific.

From that time onward Geordie did no work to speak of except to take his trick at the wheel. And when they were south of the Horn he decided to do that no longer.

'If you'll take my wheel for the rest of the passage I'll double your wages,' he said to Braby. And Braby jumped at the offer. In the morning Geordie went on the poop. It was noticeable that he went up the weather poop ladder. Except in cases of hurry and emergency at sea such a thing is next door to gross insubordination.

'I ain't goin' to take no more wheels,' said Geordie; 'and Braby will take mine. I've doubled his wages.'

Even old Smith gasped. As for Brose he felt sea-sick for the first time since he first went down Channel in an outward-bounder thirty years before.

'I'll make a note of it,' said the skipper.

They shortened sail in a devilish quick flurry of a gale out the south-west later in the day, and, as all the topsails were down on the cap at once it was 'jump' and no mistake. As an act of kindly condescension the owner went to the wheel and shoved away the Dutchman there who was congratulating himself at not being on a topsail-yard.

'Get aloft, you Dutch swab,' said Geordie. 'I'll take her for you.'

And Mr. Ware bellowed like a bull, for he had a fine fore-topsail-yard voice, and when it was a real breeze his language rose with the seas and was fine and flowery, vigorous and ornamental and magnificent. While he was in the middle of a peroration which would have excited envy in Cicero, or Burke, or a barrister with no case, he heard the owner shouting. For a private interview with the steward had given Geordie great confidence.

'Mr. Ware, Mr. Ware, I'd be glad if you'd cuss the men less. I don't like it.'

The chief officer collapsed as if he were a balloon with a hole in it, and for the next minute he and the skipper engaged in an excited conversation.

'I can't, can't stand it,' said Ware.

'You must,' said old Smith almost tearfully.

And Ware did stand it. But, when the Patriarch was shortened down and he left the deck, he went below and swore very horribly for five minutes by any chronometer. 'Now I know what Brose feels,' said Ware. 'I've a great sympathy for poor Brose.'

The owner ordered a tot for all hands when they came down from aloft. And he called the cook aft and harangued him from the break of the poop.

'Now, Mr. Spoil-Grub, mind you cook better than you've been doin', or I'll have you ducked in a tub and set your mate to doin' your work.'

He turned to the skipper with a beaming smile in his blue eyes.

'I can talk straight, can't I, cap?' he hiccupped blandly. 'I'm thinkin' I'll lie down in the cabin.'

And when the 'old man' went below he found Geordie dossing in his own sacred bunk. The poor old chap went and sat in the cabin and put his head in his hands. 'This is a most horrid experience,' he said mournfully. 'I don't like howners on board. I don't like 'em a bit!'

But it was not only the afterguard who suffered. Geordie shifted his dunnage aft at last, and though he left the skipper's berth when he was sober, he made himself very comfortable in the steward's. And he loafed about all day on deck with his pipe in his mouth. He began to look at the men with alien eyes.

'I tell you they're loafin', said he to Ware. 'Don't I know 'em. They watches you like cats, and when your eyes are off 'em they do nothin'. I'm payin' 'em to work and I'm payin' you to make 'em. There's a leak somewhere.'

And he addressed the crowd from the poop.

'You're a lazy lot,' he said; 'that's wot you are. For two pins I'd cut the galley-fire and your afternoon watch below!'

And next day he raised their wages. A week later he cut them down again. The skipper had a hard job to keep track of what the ship owed them.

'I wish we was home,' groaned old Smith. 'Oh, he'll be a hell of an owner.'

'I'll murder him,' said Brose.

'Wot did I tell you, chaps, about the 'orrid effec's of sudden richness in a man?' asked the old fo'c'sle man for'ard. 'Geordie Potts was a good sort, but Mr. George Potts, Esquire, is an 'oly terror. 'E raises hus hup an' cuts hus down like grass.'

And it presently came about that the only time they had any peace was when Geordie was very much intoxicated. But when they got into the calms of Capricorn on the home stretch to the north he developed a taste for gambling, and made the old skipper sit up all night playing 'brag' for huge sums of money.

'I lends you the dibs, and, win or lose, it's all hunky for you,' said Geordie. He wrote out orders to pay the 'old man' several thousand pounds, and Smith began to feel rich. Then Geordie raked Ware into the game. At last even Brose succumbed to the lure of 'I promises to pay Mr. Brose five hundred on the nail,' and joined the gamble.

'This is a dash comfortable ship,' said Geordie. 'What's a few thousands to me? I don't mind losin'. Stoo'ard, bring rum.'

By the time they picked up the north-east trader, old Smith owed the 'owner' ten thousand pounds. Ware was five thousand to the good, and Brose, who had played poker in California, was worth fifteen thousand in strange paper. He began to dream of a row of houses with a public-house at each end. He and Geordie grew quite thick, and compared public-house ideals.

'I'm goin' to buy a hotel,' said Geordie; 'there's one in Trafalgar Square, London, as I've in my mind. I'll fit up the bar till it fair blazes with golden bottles.'

He borrowed the mate's clothes, and had a roaring time. And then they came into the Channel, picked up a tug, and went round the Foreland into London River.

'I'll bet lawyers and so on will be down to meet me,' said Geordie. 'They'll be full up with gold. To think of it! And to think I hit my poor old uncle with a brick.'

He mourned over his brutality.

'He wasn't half a bad chap,' he said, 'and I don't see what call my dad had to call him a blood-sucker, after all.'

They docked in the South-West dock, and sure enough they had not been alongside their berth five minutes before old Tyser's usual London agent and a very legal-looking person came on board.

'Let me interduce you to the new owner,' said the obsequious skipper, as he led up Geordie, who had a smile on him large enough to cut a mainsail out of.

'Oh,' said the lawyer, 'then this is Mr. Potts?'

'That's me,' said Geordie. 'Have you brought any money with you? I owes Mr. Ware five thousand and Mr. Brose fifteen.'

The lawyer smiled.

'I'm afraid there's some mistake, Mr. Potts. Your uncle left a will after all.'

Geordie's jaw dropped, and so did Ware's. But Brose's fell as falls the barometer in the centre of a cyclone.

'And me—did he leave me nothin'?' roared Geordie.

'Oh yes,' said the solicitor. 'Mr. Gray, will you kindly give me that cash-box you are carrying?'

And the agent handed him the cash-box.

'He left you this,' said the lawyer. 'And in this sealed envelope is the key.'

And Geordie grabbed the box eagerly.

'It's heavy,' he said, 'it's tolerable heavy.'

And putting it on the rail, he opened it with the key.

There was half a brick in it.

THE ORDER OF THE WOODEN GUN

Bertie Fortescue was twenty-three, he weighed twelve stone, was rather fatter than he should have been, and wore an eyeglass. His father was good to him, his mother spoiled him, he had not been to a public school, and had never had a thrashing in his life. He believed in himself, in clothes and money, and imagined he was born to rule men. He was trying, it was for the first time, in the steamship Pilgrim of 6000 tons register, owners Fortescue and Son of Liverpool, bound from New Orleans to Cape Town with a cargo of mules and horses for the British Government. The Pilgrim was three days out from the mixed mouths of the Mississippi, and already there was the devil to pay and no pitch hot.

'Trouble, didn't I smell trouble like a gas-works?' said Bob Wadd. 'It stuck out a foot while we were lyin' at the Picayune Tier. And just as soon as I heerd old Fortescue was took sick, and that dear Bertie was goin' to come with us to manage these blighted 'orse-keepers, I knewed cyclones would be nothing to the ructions that was in sight. And look at the old man!'

He appealed to his shipmates to look, in their minds, at the skipper, and say what they thought of him. Wadd objected to Captain Scantlebury's white hair, to his meek manner, to his way of walking, which was a waddle, to his religion, to everything that was his.

'Sings 'ymns, don't 'e?' said Wadd scornfully, 'preaches, don't 'e? And don't drink neither, oh no! Reads the Pilgrim's Progress, a reg'lar child's book!'

'Gahn, it's a log-book he wrote hisself about this packet,' said Green, as they sat in the fo'c'sle in the second dog-watch, with the rest of the men listening.

'You're an ignorant man, Green,' replied Wadd; 'I'd fair despise to argue with you about books. 'Owsever, 'ere we are, out to sea, and the skipper and mates dunno where they are with this 'oly crowd of 'orse-keepers, and dear young Bertie walkin' about among 'em with his revolver out and his eyes starin' and usin' delicate language to 'em. There's trouble right ahead, and hany moment there may be bloodshed.'

For once a foremast growler hit the situation off to a T. And no one else did, except some of the mixed gathering who had shipped in the Pilgrim, one to every seventeen horses, to look after them on their way to the war.

'It's almost peaceful now,'said the skipper, 'it was a great and blessed relief to send the carpenters ashore. Their hammering drove me mad. How are you getting along with the horse-keepers, Mr. Fortescue?'

Bertie Fortescue nodded drily.

'I've got 'em to rights,' he said; 'they see already they can't impose on me. I let 'em see right off that I carried a revolver and meant to stand no nonsense. With men of their class it's no use being soft sawdery, is it?'

Old Scantlebury might be soft, but he was not quite a fool or without experience.

'I wouldn't be too hard on 'em, Mr. Fortescue,' he said anxiously, 'they're a very tough lot.'

'I'll show 'em I'm tougher,' said Bertie firmly, as he stuck his eyeglass in his eye. 'They'll not impose on me. They respect me already. I can see it.'

The holy gang that respected him were shrieking for'ard at that very moment over Mr. Herbert Fortescue, of Messrs. Fortescue & Son. For as it happened, there were several humourists among them as well as several who ought to have been hanged, and the jokers leavened the whole lump so that there was peace at present, if the row was to come later.

'Hell,' said Arizona Bill, 'did you ever see such a thing as thishyer Fortescue?'

'I should smile,' replied a man from Michigan, 'by the holy Mackinaw, he's a daisy, Fortescue! What'll we call him, boys?'

'Oh, call him Bertie, that's his name too,' cried some one from British Columbia. 'The next time he gives me taffy, I'll say, "Dry up, Bertie!"'

Arizona grinned.

'Boys, it's Bertie all the time. Did you pipe his gun? That elegant dude with a gun! Bought it for us, boys. And his voice, too. "Hee'ar, men, pawss this aw—rope throo this—aw—thing, aw!" Oh, he makes me sick! Does he know a horse from a mewel! Oh, ain't he tender, and so green and juicy! But that thing, and a gun, is what fetches me every time. He'll shorely be pullin' it down on one of us, onless one of these mustangs kindly plants his heels in his stomach and lays him out.'

There were plenty of mustangs equal to the job if they hadn't been moored so close. For the Pilgrim's fifteen hundred mixed rakings and scrapings of Texas included many able equine gymnasts, many supremely skilled kickers, many that looked for some one to bite as if indeed all flesh was grass. There were real horses on board; there were imitations; some had pedigrees and were unsound, some had no pedigrees and were no sounder; some had teeth and some hadn't. There were mustangs, 'Kieutans,' bronchos, ponies. Some could be ridden, some no one could ride. They could, however, be sold, and England bought them. They were black and grey, white and brown, and bay and sorrel. There were 'painted' horses, or Pintos, skewbalds and piebalds; there were claybanks, and true buckskins, some with black and some with silver tails and manes; some half-hairless, patchy, some with heads like battered fiddles, some with rumps like ancient hatstands; some were blind, some wall-eyed, some were fat and some thin, some worth dollars, others worth cents, but all costing gold because the British Empire was in the market shouting for horses, and yelling 'I'll take all you've got!'

But if the horses were mixed brutes, the men that looked after them were no less a marvellous collection of terrible uniques. Old Bob Wadd reckoned them up.

'There's Texans 'ere, and some from Arizona, and half a dozen bleeding Mexicans, and three real Dutchmen, and two Danes and a Finn, and some real Spaniards and a one-eyed blackguard from Vennyzweela, and seven nigs, and a bally Kanaka, and several English and three Irish, and two Kanucks and three Canadian Frenchmen. That's all I've marked off, but bimeby, I expects a Greek, and a Rooshian, and a Prooshan, and a Turk, and a Chinaman will turn up. Oh, they've the 'oliest lot of unhung pirates I ever see on board a ship or on a wharf! And dear, dear Bertie 'as the management of 'em! Shipmates, mark my words, you'll 'ave a tale to pitch when you 'ops ashore out of this horse-packet as'll curl hair equal to any curlin' tongs. The first time it blows and the 'orses begin to kick and peg out, Bertie and these shinin' gems out of the jool-case they calls Noo Orl'ans, will be 'aving awful arguments on the main deck. I smells trouble afar off like, as I said afore, from a gasworks or a candle factory.'

The two mates said the same. They said it to themselves. They said it to the 'old man.' The first mate groaned to the second greaser, and even to the third.

'Forder, I opine there will be serious difficulties yet between this young Fortescue and these horse-keepers.'

Mr. White always 'opined'; it was as favourite a word with him as 'exploit' is with a socialist orator, or as 'transpire' is with a third-rate journalist.

'I opine there will be serious difficulty,' repeated the chief.

'Would you mind, sir, if I told you my opinion of Mr. Fortescue?' asked the second.

'Not in the least,' said Mr. White.

'Then I think he's the biggest ass I ever set eyes on,' said the disgusted Forder, 'and I hope some of that bally gang will take away that glass eye of his and his revolver and throw 'em both overboard.'

'I opine it would do him good,' said Mr. White pensively.

'I'm darn well sure it would, sir,' said Forder; 'I could have put up with old Mr. Fortescue, though I never knew any good come from havin' owners on board, but his son and heir gives me the hump. It's bad enough havin' a cargo of horses, and worse havin' these pit scrapin's to tend 'em, but Mr. Bertie makes me tired. If he gets into trouble with these Texans for'ard, the old man can read him out of it with hymns and the Pilgrim's Progress for all I care. I've been in the West, and I know he can't bull-doze this crowd. Oh, he makes me weary!'

When there is trouble in a ship, there's trouble for all hands. And trouble was certainly breezing up to windward, because the Pilgrim struck in on a southern edge of a cyclonic disturbance coming up from the eastward on its way north-west, and the westerly gale that played with them made matters extremely lively for every one. It was the purest misfortune for all on board the Pilgrim that Bertie was not sick, though he had never been in bad weather before. It increased his good opinion of himself, which stood in no need of any increase. He swaggered as if he were an old salt, and had been pickled in the year of Trafalgar.

'All these brutes forward are sick, Captain Scantlebury,' said Bertie haughtily. 'They are a lot of useless scum—aw. Those that aren't ill don't know a horse from a mule, and those that know a mule from a horse are too ill to know themselves from a bale of hay.'

'Don't be too hard on 'em, sir,' urged the old skipper. 'This won't last long, and when they get over bein' sick, they'll be all right.'

'If I was as soft—aw—as you want me to be,' said Bertie, 'they'd walk over the lot of us. I've just booted three to work, and I'll boot the rest in about three minutes, or I'll know the reason why, confound them!'

He went forward along the main deck and interviewed some of his men. Among them he interviewed one Arizona Bill, who was in a state of collapse to which he had long been a stranger. As he explained later, sea-sickness was an illness which resembled the results of drink combined with cholera and a few other very fatal diseases, and it took all the stiffening out of a man.

'Get up and get to work,' said Bertie pitilessly.

'Not much,' said poor Arizona, 'I'm dyin'— Oh!'

He said 'Oh' several times.

'Get up, or I'll kick thunder out of you,' said Bertie.

Even in collapse a gleam came in Arizona's eye.

'Don't you kick me, Bertie, or I'll kill you when I'm well,' he said.

And Forder came along just in time to prevent Bertie doing what he said. Forder grabbed him by the arm.

'You don't know what you're aimin' at, sir,' said Forder. 'Do you reckon they'll be sick the whole passage, Mr. Fortescue? If you want to kick any one, go and kick a Dutchman.'

Bertie wrenched his arm loose.

'Confound you, sir, let go my arm! What the devil do you mean by interfering with me, sir? I'll sack you in Cape Town the very moment we get there. He—he called me Bertie!'

'Sack? be hanged,' said Forder. 'And did he call you Bertie? Well, you are Bertie, aren't you? But you're green too, or you wouldn't threaten to boot an American of that sort.'

'You don't know who you're talking to,' said Bertie furiously. 'For two pins I'd knock you down.'

Forder walked for'ard.

'Oh, go to bed,' he said contemptuously. But in less than ten minutes he was interviewing the 'old man,' and explaining how he had saved Mr. Fortescue's life. The skipper abused him severely.

'I shall be compelled to take the very severest steps with you, Mr. Forder,' piped the old man.

'You can't do worse, sir, than send me for'ard and fire me at Cape Town and mark me D.R.,' said Forder in the civilest tone, 'and I'm ready to shift my dunnage for'ard right now, sir. But I tell you that Mr. Fortescue won't get to Cape Town at all if he plays up with those chaps for'ard.'

'I can take care of myself,' roared Bertie, 'and I don't require your advice.'

'You'll get no more of it,' said Forder.

'There, there,' said the skipper, 'of course you'll get no more of it, Mr. Fortescue. Mr. Forder says you won't. That will do, Forder. I am exceedingly displeased, outraged, annoyed. But as you have apologised you can go.'

Forder opened his mouth, shut it again, scratched his head, looked at Bertie, sighed, and went down the port poop ladder very slowly. When he reached the deck he walked across to his own berth, put his head inside, and swore vigorously. After this relief he went for'ard again.

'I don't care what trouble there is,' he said, 'so long as it ain't bloody trouble. I'll have a yarn with this Arizona chap as soon as he stops sayin' "Oh," so bad. I ain't bin in Texas myself, flat footin' it over the ties, without knowin' the breed.'

He did know them, and it is very possible that his hard-earned knowledge turned a tragedy into a comedy, and helped to make a man of the owner's son, instead of a very good-looking corpse. For it must be owned that Bertie was not a bad-looking young fellow, and had the makings of a man in him under his conceit.

The wind took off that night, for the centre of the cyclone moved steadily to the north-west, while the Pilgrim was heading more to the south of east, with Trinidad on her starboard quarter. Forder's watch below that night was from eight to twelve, and he took the chance of seeing Arizona Bill, who had now ceased to say 'Oh,' and was saying 'Ah' with a sense of deep relief as he lay on a hay bale, and wondered what folly had brought him to sea when there was so much solid prairie in Arizona.

'How are you makin' it?' asked Forder.

Arizona sighed.

'Why, sir, I'm of opinion I shan't actuly die this time. But I've a mighty strange feelin' of a void within that I've no rek'lection of experiencin' since I was three days without hash in the neighbourhood of the Californian mountings. Thishyer sea-sick business is a holy terror, and some new to me. I'd admire to see my enemies takin' a hand in the game while I stood out.'

'To-morrow you'll be as fit as a fiddle,' said Forder, 'it'll do you good—scrape out your limbers, so to speak.'

Arizona shook his towzled head.

'Well, sir, I'd ruther be done good to more gently, for if thishyer's a cure for indigestion as the cook reckons, it should be a root cure and no fatal error. And now I rek'lects it was you as stopped that boy Bertie from doin' suthin' he'd ha' bin mighty sorry for! Sir, I thank you! I was mighty sick at that moment, and I felt near my latter end, and was helpless as a babe.'

Forder grinned.

'Excuse my smilin', partner,' he said, 'but somehow I can't help it when I think of people bein' sea-sick.'

Arizona sighed.

'Grin, my son, I ain't complainin'. It makes me smile to see a tenderfoot tackle a buckin' horse. I reckon I'm a tenderfoot at sea.'

'Do you know Fort Worth?' asked Forder.

'Do I know my dear yearthly home from the cold clouds of heaven?' asked Arizona contemptuously. 'I know Fort Worth like ez if it wuz my pants. Wuz you ever thar?'

'Ay,' said Forder, 'I was flat bust there, and slung hash for a month at Canadian Pete's.'

Arizona held out a limp hand.

'Shake, pard,' he said. And Forder shook.

'I reckoned as there wuz somethin' not so green about you ez the others,' said Arizona. 'Havin' been in Texas is a great deal, oh, it's a great deal towards an eddication. But Arizona——'

'I was in Arizona too,' said Forder, 'at Tombstone!'

'I'm dod-busted,' cried Arizona, quite forgetting he was ill, 'squat alongside and tell us what you wuz doing over to Tombstone. This is real pie, ain't it? I yearns strangely over the plains of Arizona. Shake again! Tombstone, waal, I'm doggoned! Did you know Red Pete?'

'No, but——'

'Or Apache Adams, him without ears? Geronimo ear-marked him.'

'I've seen him,' said Forder.

And they let right into a yarn about Arizona and the Apaches, and Adams and Red Pete, and Ginger Simpson and Two-thumbed Thompson till the stars came out.

'But about this Mr. Fortescue?' said Forder, when the well of reminiscence was about dry. 'I want to know what the trouble will be?'

Arizona Bill looked exceedingly disagreeable. He would have impressed a member of the Peace Society very unfavourably.

'Bertie's goin' to die, I reckon,' he said simply. 'He cayn't survive long, if my opinion is worth a cent. He kicked three of the boys, though one don't count bein' a Dutchman, and he used language, which the Governor of no State could pardon, to Ben Wilkins.'

Forder nodded.

'Damn young ass,' he said, 'but, Arizona, let him down light. If any one shoots him, he'll be hung. This is a British ship, and he'll be tried at Cape Town, not in Tombstone.'

'If he fell overboard,' said Arizona, 'there's seventy of us here to try. He don't know what dynamite he's monkeyin' with.'

'That's so,' said Forder, 'he don't know, and might be taught. You're the top dog in this crowd, ain't you?'

'I might be,' said Arizona cautiously.

'And you'd oblige me if you could?'

'I would, you're a white man,' said Arizona, 'even if you are an Englishman.'

Forder, who thoroughly understood the Western attitude towards Englishmen, took no notice of the last part of Arizona's declaration.

'Then treat him like the baby that he is.'

'Eh, what, smack him, for instance?' said Arizona eagerly.

'Anything you like, except kill him, my son.'

'I see,' said Arizona, 'take his gun from him, and so on.'

'I'm givin' no advice,' replied Forder.

'That's all hunky, I tumble to the racket,' said Arizona. 'I reckons he sets a high value on that glass eye of his, eh?'

'It looks like it,' said Forder.

'We'll kapsualla it, as B.C. Bob says, and give it to the Major. He let on he'd worn 'em once. He wuz in your British Army, and now he's the toughest hoodoo on board.'

'Oh, give it the Major then,' said Forder, and he went off.

He met Bertie on the main deck, and they passed as if they were strangers in the Strand.

'Oh, go to bed,' said Forder to himself. But he knew he had done a good deed.

'Haw, bumptious ass, haw,' said Bertie, who had no notion how grateful he ought to be to the man who knew Texas and Arizona, and the pride of those who grow upon the high plateaus of the South-West. He didn't know for several days, and the reason for his remaining ignorant was the comic spirit that endures in man in all the strange places of the world and sea, and makes laughter flourish on the barrenest soil.

There were twelve hundred horses and mules on board, and though they were packed a bit over-closely there was plenty of ventilation, and at least half the men in charge knew a horse from a harmonium. As the men who knew were naturally the bosses by birth and education, having been mostly born in Texas and educated on the prairie, the unlearned learned because they had to. It was not an unhappy ship for the horses, even though Bertie knew as much about them as he did about men. What was due to Arizona and Ben Wilkins and half a dozen others he put down to himself. And he was much surprised at the peculiar change which came over the whole horse crowd as soon as they ran into good weather and went along on an even keel. For the first ten days every one had been sick and sorry and savage, and now the main deck and the 'tween-decks fairly rang with laughter.

'Aw, they've come to their bearings,' said Bertie, who liked sea terms, which he sometimes used quite accurately. 'I think, Captain Scantlebury, that the men are very amenable after all; my severity—aw—with them when they were complaining of sea-sickness did them good. That fellow they call Arizona Bill has a very good idea of handling horses, and I can see he now thoroughly understands that I am not to be scared or imposed upon.'

The skipper was obsequiously glad to hear it.

'Ah, sir, I always said to your father that you knew what's what, even as a boy. Dear, dear me, to think I remember you when you weighed no more than half a hundred. Going through life is a strange Pilgrim's Progress, sir, and here we are in the Pilgrim goin' straight ahead in a calm sea, all so peaceful and so happy, that I could sing a hymn all the way to Cape Town with horses. Oh, but war's a sad, sad thing.'

'Old ass,' said the brutal Forder, whose watch on deck it was, 'which is the biggest, the old man or Bertie, tires me to calculate. I'd rather work out lunars with a monkey-wrench than try to take the altitude of these asses. He's got 'em down fine, has he? Sing hymns all the way to the Cape, eh? Oh, my stars! We'll be hard and fast ashore on a reef of woe in a twinkle. The horse-crowd's devilish merry this night!'

And so they were. For after their supper the unholiest gang of them all was gathered on the fore-hatch on the orlop deck, and they made the horses, who twisted their necks round to see what was going on, wonder more than ever what strange animals men were. Arizona lay on the hatch, and with him was Ben Wilkins. The Major, who indeed had been an officer in a crack cavalry regiment, chewed tobacco while resting against the coamings. Seth Evans and Missouri Jack were among the crowd. So were the Mexicans, though they sat aloof. Manuel, the one-eyed blackguard from Venezuela, was there too. And in the background were the Dutchmen, who included real Hollanders, Danes, a Swede named Hans, and a Finn known as Tubby when he was called anything. A dozen lanterns cast a glimmering and unequal light on this party in Tophet. Arizona had the floor, so to speak. He was very fluent.

'Boys,' said Arizona, 'air we all in this?'

'To bee sure!' said Ben Wilkins, 'the man that ain't goes out with the muck next mucking-out, if I'm any authority on the doings in this ole packet!'

'Don't discourage any of us,' said Arizona. 'Ben, you're too fiery. I've known men that'd die sooner than be encouraged your way. Your talk inspires a sperrit of rebellion in the brave. Let us confine ourselves to the programme which is entitled as a drayma, "The Takin' Down of Bertie." Bertie, boys, is the boss.'

'Boss o' blazes!' said Ben.

'Oh, shucks!' said Arizona, 'do dry up and let me orate. Am I the orator or ain't I? If I'm the orator let me orate in peace; if I ain't, I'll stand out and be as silent as the grave. I was talkin'—aw—about dear Bertie—aw—who walks round with a new silvery gun, a forty-five frontier pistol, in his nice clean hands, in order to reduce this unholy crowd to a proper sense o' their subordination. Who is it carries a nice new gun, boys?'

'Bertie carries a nice new gun,' said the crowd, shrieking with laughter.

'Bertie's paw owns thishyer horse-packet, and is some sick in New Orl'ans right now,' went on Arizona, 'but if his son, who'll own this Pilgrim when he paysses in his checks, was to be filled up with lead, the ole man would be some disgruntled. Who's sick paw would be some disgruntled if Bertie was to stop lead, boys?'

'Bertie's paw would be some disgruntled,' answered the crowd.

'Does we, the kind and peaceful crowd that looks after horses, need guns to subdue our bloodthirsty instincts?' asked Arizona. 'Far from it, boys. We come from the calm prairies of Texas and sunny Arizona, where peace flourishes for ever and no man dies without askin' for death, except in some fatal instances that may be looked on as accidents. We are all sorts here, Texans, Arizonians, Californians, Henglishmen, Kanucks, Mexicanos, but all serenely devoted to the cause of peace. Who's the disturbing influence here, waltzing round with a gun, boys?'

'Bertie is,' said the crowd unanimously.

'Who is it that says "aw" to freeborn citizens of the United States, to men from Chihuahua, to down-trodden subjects of the King of England and the Emperor of Prussia?'

'Bertie does,' affirmed the crowd.

'And looks at sons of the prairie and the mountain through a piece of glass, which the Major here discarded years ago. Who does that?'

And the crowd said that 'dear Bertie did.'

'I calls all freemen with a clarion voice, to say nothin' of a bugle, to rise and put him down,' said Arizona. 'We can endure much, and can endure it long. But the worm turns at last, and dear Bertie is doomed. Boys, who is doomed?'

'Dear Bertie,' said the crowd; 'dear Bertie is doomed!'

'He is doomed to have his gun taken from him, and his eyeglass, if the Major won't have it, shall be destroyed by the heel of freedom. Boys, I have done.'

'Bully for you,' said the Major, 'I'll take the eyeglass.'

And the ingenious orator went on deck with his fellow-conspirators to take the evening air, and commune with the genial and gentlemanly stokers. The cinder-shifters owned with much amazement that the most promising Whitechapel hero with the fire-rake was not a patch on the chief ruffians from Louisiana and Texas. They admired Arizona wonderfully, were marvellously civil to Ben Wilkins, who was a murderous devil in his heart, and sat at the feet of 'Mizzoura' Jack and Seth Graves, his partner. Neither of them could go back to Missouri, and they said they didn't want to. At least Jack said so. Seth was as silent as a cemetery.

'I've a notion,' said Arizona, when he was through his second pipe, 'I've a notion as it'll be best to decorate Bertie for his doin's hyar.'

'I'd decorate him with a bowie, but for you're sayin' you'll regard it as a favour if I don't,' said Ben Wilkins.

'You're ever too ready with the knife, my son,' said Arizona, 'but if you'll stand aside with me I'll furnish your barren and uninventive genius with a harmless job for your weepon, that you keep in your boot, which will amuse Bertie worse than wounds. Let's climb up on what these gentlemen from the fiery depths calls the fiddley deck, and I'll breathe an elegant scheme into your starboard earhole, which is ship's palaver for right ear.'

They climbed up, and presently Ben climbed down and went hunting for a piece of board.

'Ter-morrer is the fatal day,' said Arizona. 'Jokin' will be the death of me. But oh, dear Bertie would almost make Seth Graves smile, and as for me who was born with a rich endowment of fun, I kin no more keep off him than a bear off honey.'

The whole ship's company was down on Bertie. They were down on his eyeglass, on his nice khaki clothes, on his revolver, on his voice, which subtly implied that they were nothing, and much less than zero. And every one on board, with the exception of the skipper, and the chief officer and the chief engineer, who came from Paisley, and was probably a brother of the man who owned to coming from there, but urged in extenuation, 'sure as deeth I canna help it,' knew that something was brewing among the aristocrats who looked after the horses which boded Bertie no good. Forder, of course, knew it, and said nothing. The third officer knew it, and said a good deal to the steward, who hated Bertie worse than poison for telling him how to run his business. Bob Wadd and Green, and the rest of the deck-hands, smelt it. They smelt it like Bob Wadd's gasworks, and rubbed their hands joyously. The firebrands down below used most horrible language on the subject, and wished that they could have Bertie in a bunker for a watch to show him what running Cardiff coal in an iron barrow was like.

'Blimy, and stri-me-pink, but I fair 'ytes to ketch saight of 'im,' said the boss of the whole gang of stokers. 'Thet vice of 'is syin' "aw, aw," maikes me feel saime's I did first taime I was blasted fool enough to come to sea. I wunner wod them blokes of 'orse-keepers 'as put up for 'im! I 'opes it's somethin' that'll larn 'im.'

He smote the burning fire with his rake as if he was preparing a place for Bertie, and slammed in a few shovels of coal vengefully. But then stokers are stokers, and hard nuts to deal with, and few men know them, and those who do often wish they didn't. It's no soft job in a stokehold when the thermometer marks 120°, and what little wind there is, is a following breeze.

And Bertie walked round quite unconscious of his doom. But he was conscious, somehow, that every one smiled at him. Old Wadd grinned and so did Green. As he went along the alleyway and by the ash-shoot, the stokers taking air in that agreeable locality showed their white teeth and made remarks, audible but unintelligible, as he passed. One-eyed Venezuela grimaced like a damaged idol, and said something blasphemous but humorous in South American Spanish. Some of the deckhands said, 'What cheer! Let her scoot,' as they passed him. Arizona said to Ben something about being knocked as high as Gilroy's kite, and Ben said, 'Aw, hell, aw, what?' The insolent and debauched Major, who was only saved from dying of drink by going at intervals where he couldn't get it, put a penny in his left eye when he saw Bertie. And a boy from New Orleans, an elegant young ruffian of the hoodlum type, yelled out 'Bertie!' from an obscure corner of shadow. In his heart Bertie began to wonder whether he had the crowd down to such a fine point as he had imagined. But he hardened his heart and said, 'Aw,' and flourished his gun, his nice new gun, and talked horse till Ben Wilkins said insolently, 'Ain't Mr. Fortescue a smart Aleck?' and Bertie thought it was a compliment.

'Ter-morrer's the day of judgment,' said Arizona, as he lay on a bale of hay and squealed with laughter. He went round the 'tween-decks and told the horses so, rubbing their muzzles and pleasing the poor things very much. For he understood them as he did men, and loved them, perhaps, a trifle better.

'Ain't it a pity, horses, that you warn't endowed by a gen'rous Providence with a just sense of the ridik'lous? If, by a special dispensation, you was so endowed, you'd smile to know that Bertie, who talks horse like a burro, will be showed his real rank in nature and decorated with the newest thing in orders.'

He shook his head and again addressed his equine friends.

'Boys, you're goin' to the war and will see many jackasses in high places, but not a burro among 'em equal in jackassery to Mr. Bertie Fortescue. Did you say you'd hev a bit of hay, my son? Here you are, then, and good night to you.'

Everything went on wheels next day, and, save for one little uproar, caused by Bertie's not understanding what a Spaniard said, there was no trouble. Bertie talked severely to the unintelligent ass who didn't understand English, and a row was only saved by Arizona, who could yap Mexican wau-wau like a native of the country. The Spaniard said something not to be written, beginning with 'mucho,' and Bertie said he accepted the apology, and put away his gun.

'We're getting along first-rate, aw,' said Bertie, and so the whole ship's company said when night fell, and the stars came out and looked down on the pilgrimage of the Pilgrim on a calm sea, with just enough breeze from the east of north to make the windsails worth their positions in the general scheme of things. And at 5.30 P.M. the men took their grub, having watered and fed the eager and impatient cargo, and Ben Wilkins said the 'order' was ready.

'What order?' asked the rest eagerly.

''Tis between me and Arizona,' said Ben; 'and all I'll say is that it's for dear Bertie. Wait, and you'll see.'

At three bells in the second dog-watch they watered the horses again, as the weather was rather more than warm, and at eight bells they gave them hay for the last time till the morning. Bertie went his rounds, and at half-past eight was down on the orlop deck, which was so badly lighted with electric light that the men supplemented the electricity with lanterns. Though there were fewer horses there than on the 'tween-decks or the main deck, there were more men down on the orlop deck than on any other. And they were obviously much amused at something. What it was the owner's son did not know till he came right forward on the starboard side, having begun for'ard on the port side and walked aft. He found quite a gathering on the fore-hatch of No. 1 hold. A lot were sitting and the rest standing about in two groups, with Ben and Arizona in the midst.

'Good night, Bertie,' said some one from the background.

'Who the devil said that?' asked Bertie. He turned to Arizona. 'Was it you?'

'No, Bertie,' said Arizona, 'it warn't me, dear; I wouldn't think of takin' such a liberty with so fine a lookin' young man. Was it you, Ben?'

Ben shook his head.

'Not me, Bill. Would I call a nice young boy like him by such a horrid insultin' name? No, it warn't me that called him Bertie.'

Bertie gasped.

'Haw—haw!'

And the crowd said—

'Aw—aw!'

And then the young fellow, who certainly did not lack courage, made a bolt for the biggest gang, and naturally caught the slowest of the lot, who was a very harmless Dutchman. He knocked him down and pulled out his 'gun.' There was a dead silence for a moment, and then Arizona stepped up to him.

'What are you producin' that very fine weepon for?' he asked.

And Bertie roared—

'This is mutiny—mutiny!'

'Don't get excited, sir,' said Arizona; 'don't get flighty or flurried. With a tough and horrid crowd like this always keep cool. We wants to know unanimous what your purpose is in wearin' that weepon and pullin' it out and flourishin' it permiscus? For we're very peaceful and worships peace, and hates to die.'

'Go—go to the devil!' said Bertie. 'Confound you, let me pass.'

For now there were at least thirty men round him, and some of the stokers who were off duty stood in the background roaring with laughter.

'Make him hand over his gun, Bill,' said Ben, edging closer.

'We'd like to look at it to see if it's a real gun, sir,' said Arizona, with a very taking air of simplicity. 'Some of us reckons it's real, and some says your dad heeled you with a wooden one to scare a timid lot of boys from Arizona and Texas and Louisiana. Please let us look at it, sir.'

'Do, dear Bertie,' said the rest. And what happened then no one quite knew. Some said Bertie meant to shoot, some said he made a break for the brow which was the horse-gangway at the main hatch, and some say that Ben grabbed him. For about ten seconds there was a rough-and-tumble on the fore-hatch, in which three lanterns were finally expended, and then from the rumpus there emerged a pale and desperate Bertie, without a gun, in the grip of Ben, Arizona, and the silent Seth Graves. Jack from Missouri had the gun.

'Boys, the verdict of this expert is that this is a real gun,' said Jack, 'a real forty-five Frontier pistol, loaded with real cartridges. And if you pulls the trigger hard it's likely to go off.'

'There, dear Bertie, see what you've been monkeyin' with,' said Arizona. 'Mizzoura knows a gun well. You might have killed one of us poor boys, mostly orphans too, owin' to similar accidents happenin' to our paws.'

But the speechless son of the owner found his tongue.

'Let me go. I'll kill some of you! What the devil do you mean?'

He struggled frantically, and found his struggles entirely vain. For Seth Graves had him from behind in a clutch that it would have taken a small and healthy grizzly bear to get free of.

'I'll tell you what we mean,' said Ben, dusting himself carefully. 'We mean to give you some healthy advice. Mebbe you remember kickin' this child in the ribs when he was sick?'

'And me!' said Seth, who spoke for the first and last time.

'And you let on that you would kick me, boy,' said Arizona, 'and nothin' but the second officer interferin' saved you from it. Now we're goin' to investigate your case and decide what kind of immejit death will be joodishal. Boys, put a bale on the fore-hatch and I'll appint myself judge with a view to strict impartiality, for if I don't Ben Wilkins will, and he cayn't be impartial, as he said las' night he'd decided to hang the prisoner if he was appinted judge.'

He climbed on the bale.

'Boys, the Court is now sittin'. No one that the prisoner hez kicked can be on the jury. Them as he hez pulled his gun on ain't disqualified, or there wouldn't be no panel. Bein' sworn at ain't no disqualification neither.'

The jury was formed after several bitter quarrels. It was composed of a Louisiana man called Buckeye Joe; a Canadian-Frenchman known as French Pete; a young Californian originally from Mendocino County, but later from the San Francisco House of Correction; a Finn; a Dutchman from Amsterdam; an Englishman who had been born at sea, and brought up in Australia; and the Major, who in the struggle had annexed Bertie's eyeglass, and was now wearing it with the curious effect of making him look almost like a gentleman again, and several others who came from countries between Patagonia and Hudson's Bay.

'Our verdict is "Guilty,"' said the foreman, Buckeye.

'Don't be previous,' said Arizona; 'he is guilty, of course, we all know that, but we've got to act impartial and hear some evidence. And I've to sum up. You look out for my summing up, Bertie. It'll make you squirm, or I'm no true-born impartial citizen of the United States. Ben, take the stand and lay your complaint against this bobtail burro.'

The helpless prisoner shook his head feebly. He was entirely done for and seriously alarmed; there wasn't a kick left in him. Seth Graves' job was now a sinecure, and he let him go.

'This lop-eared leper kicked me,' said Ben Wilkins, who had been adding to his already extensive vocabulary of picturesque abuse by consorting with the stokers. 'He said "Get up, you lazy loafin' scumpot, and do your dooty," and with that he booted me in the ribs. If I was on the jury I'd bawl for death. And it's only because you asked me to let him off, Arizona, that I didn't slay him when I could stand. Boys, your verdict, if just, will be "death."'

This was irregular, and Arizona said so.

'You ain't addressin' the jury, Ben,' said the judge. 'You've no call to, either. I'll do that. You can stand down.'

'I heven't hardly cleared my throat to begin with,' urged Ben. 'I've a deal more to say, oh, a deal more.'

'Oh, dry up,' said Arizona. 'Who's running this Court, you or me? Where's the one-eyed galoot from Caraccas?'

The one-eyed galoot from Caraccas testified to having been smitten on the side of his head by Bertie. Bill translated the evidence without editing it. One-eye said he hadn't killed Bertie because he was too sick to do it. He addressed the Mexicans on the jury with much fervour, and though reproved by Bill, did not cease his oration till Ben, who was jealous, pulled him down.

A Dutchman spoke afterwards, but did not meet with great sympathy from the judge.

'Cut it short,'said Bill, 'a Dutchman don't count anyhow, hardly more'n a nigger.'

This was rather hard on three 'coons' grinning in the background, and lighting up the darkness with their teeth. However, Dutchmen and negroes are never really troublesome unless they are in the majority, and no protest was made.

After that Arizona refused to hear any more evidence.

'That'll do the palaver,' he said, 'it's as clear as the Missouri in flood-time that Bertie is a gone coon. He struck citizens of the United States with a British shoe, and he smote Caraccas over the cabeza with a British hand. The jury can consider their verdict, while the judge considers his sentence.'

'Ain't the prisoner to be allowed no defence?' asked old Wadd, who had been given the tip there was something on.

'To bee sure,' said Bill. 'Bertie, can you say anythin' to prevent your bein' found guilty right off?'

'Go to the devil!' said Bertie. 'I'll have you all in gaol for mutiny at Cape Town.'

'That's contempt of Court,' said Bill, 'but we pass it by secure in the dignity of our high office. Is there any one who can testify on behalf of poor doomed Bertie before the verdict is announced?'

Not a soul volunteered.

'What! no witnesses ez to character?' asked Bill. 'Would the seafaring gentleman in the background, who threw some reflections on me just now by inquiring if the prisoner warn't to hev no defence, like to speak on behalf of Bertie?'

Bob Wadd shuffled uneasily. But Green egged him on.

'His old dad ain't a bad sort,' said Wadd at last, with all that trepidation which paralyses an Englishman in his first speech. 'His old dad——'

'So far the Court is with you,' said Arizona. 'But the evidence is what lawyers justly calls irreverent. His old dad has our sympathy, but the griefs of the prisoner's parent cayn't interfere with the course of justice. Have you anythin' else to allege on his behalf?'

'Well, the grub's good in this packet,' said Wadd desperately. 'And old Mr. Fortescue——'

'Oh, give us a rest,' said the judge. 'You tire me, my son, by your continued irreverence. The fact is you cayn't rake up the least thing in favour of this benighted burro, and you slide off on the matter of the chewing, just as if the old man's notions of hash could help the criminal I see before me. Gentlemen of the Jury, what is your verdict?'

'Guilty,' said Buckeye Joe, 'and we all say it, and you might as well have heard us first as last.'

'Do you all say "Guilty"?' demanded Bill, ignoring the foreman.

'Yep, si, oui, ja, yes,' said the jury, 'by crimes, we do, all of us, todos, tous, the hull crowd unanimous. And we sentences him to death.'

'Rise up the prisoner,' said Bill, 'and the jury can sit down and hold their blamed tongues. This isn't lynchin'; this is a Court with a joodishul jedge. If witherin' sarcasm warn't lost on the lot of you, I'd tell you what I think of your trespassin' upon my rights. Rise up the prisoner.'

And Seth Graves 'rose' him up.

'Let me go, you damn fool,' said Bertie. 'How dare you? You've no right to do it, to make a fool of me. Help! help! I'm not going to stay here and be jeered at. Don't you touch me,' and he foamed at the mouth. Even Seth Graves found him hard to freeze to.

'Hold on,' said Arizona, now without a smile. 'Mr. Bertie Fortescue, mebbe you think this is a joke? Well, so it is, in one way, but not in the next. Do you reckon it a joke?'

'No,' said Bertie, through his teeth.

'You're right,' said the judge, 'for at the bottom, my son, it's tol'rable serious. While we've been takin' the evidence, I've been considerin' my sentences. I reckon one sentence ain't enough, so I'll do my best to put a few together. For the sentence of this Court is that you are to be told briefly and with a rasp what I and the rest think of you, my son. Silence, boys, there's somethin' actual afterwards, and I'm goin' to hev peace while I orate, or a few of you will go on deck in a horse-sling.'

Arizona stood up, and there was a look in his eye which produced order. He turned again to Bertie.

'You miserable young jackass,' said the impartial and just judge. 'You miserable young jackass, listen and l'arn. We've been good to you, I've been good to you, and by my orders your life hez been spared. You kicked Seth Graves, you hoofed Ben Wilkins in the ribs, you threatened to kick me, and if it hadn't bin for a friend of yourn on board this packet you'd ha' bin shot and thrown overboard. I wonder if you understand, my son, that you're no one, that you're ignorant, that you're as green and juicy as grass in rain. Mebbe you never saw men before. We're a rough and tough crowd, we've lived our lives, seen men die and taken chances ourselves, though I own some of us are little better than hoboes or tomayto-can vags, and you come along flourishin' a gun (thishyer gun) that you cayn't shoot with, and shoot off your mouth at us! By the great horn spoon, it's a marvel, boys, ain't it?'

'That's so,' said the crowd seriously.

'Do you believe me, Bertie, when I tell you straight that if I hadn't interfered you'd hev been dead by now?' asked Bill as he sat down again.

'No,' said Bertie.

Ben Wilkins got up and walked close to the prisoner.

'Don't you?' asked Ben. His eyes were like furnaces. 'Don't you?'

'Stand back, Ben,' said Bill. 'My son, don't you think you kin persuade yourself I speak the trewth?'

There was a strange short silence.

'Speak,'said Bill.

'Ye—es,' said Bertie.

Bill nodded.

'Ah, I thought you'd see it, my son. It's true, it's truer than most gospel, as preached. Why, you miserable galoot, what we thinks of you is below words. What do you know? You know nothin'. You reckon you know "horse." Let me tell that does, that you don't know "horse," nor mewel, nor even jackass. Your knowledge of horses is equal to your knowledge of men. Mebbe this'll teach you some. Your clothes don't make you a man, nor your eyeglass. You talked a while back about mutiny! Waal, I ain't an expert in mutiny, but my notion is that the only authority such as you possess is the authority nat'ral to a man. You've got none. You said you'd hev us all in gaol at Cape Town. Some of us hev assaulted you, eh? Well, you assaulted some of us. Is your opinion of yourself ez high ez it was at supper-time, or hev you come to the conclusion that you've suthin' to l'arn? I don't press for an answer, for I reckon one ain't required. You've been taken down some, and we've done it serious, and without violence, because you're a boy and may be made a man of yet. I ain't down on Englishmen, like some is out West. I know good men Englishmen, real good. But your kind, when green, would rise the dander of a peaceful cow. The order of this Court is, that your gun shall be throwed overboard, and that you'll wear no real gun while we're here to take care of you. Ben, break up Bertie's nice new gun, and do it now.'

Ben Wilkins smashed the stock of the six-shooter on the iron coamings of the hatch, and then broke the trigger. He threw the disorganised weapon into a muck-skip.

'Whose nice new gun has been taken away and bust up?' asked Ben.

'Baby Bertie's nice new gun has,' said the crowd.

'And now,' said Bill, 'to take the sting out of these proceedings, we propose to present you with a gun that cayn't do no harm. Produce the gun, Ben.'

And Ben produced a piece of wood shaped roughly in the form of a six-shooter.

'We invests you with the order of the wooden gun,' said Bill. 'And our advice to you is, that you will treasure it and put it up in your cabin and look at it daily till you come to understand why we presented it. From the way you've took these proceedings since your last fight to down Seth, which no man on board can do, this Court and the rest of the crowd hez hopes of you. Boys, do I voice the sentiments of this educational meetin' on the orlop deck o' the Pilgrim, belonging to Messrs. Fortescue and Son, when I say we all believe that this collegiate course will eventuate in makin' a man of Mr. Fortescue's son and heir?'

'You do,' said the unanimous crowd. 'We hev high hopes of him.'

'Release the prisoner,' said Bill. 'And this Court is dissolved into its constituent individuals.'

And Bertie rose from the hatch, not knowing where he was, or what he was, or who he was. But of one thing he was quite certain. He was not the young man who came below an hour before. He walked away perfectly quietly, not knowing that the wooden gun was suspended from his shoulder by a string.

'Ah!' said Bertie. He went through the crowd as if he didn't see them, walked up the brow to the 'tween-decks, and presently found himself outside his cabin on the spar deck. He nodded and said 'ha,' and found the order of the wooden gun. He dropped it inside the cabin and went for'ard to the bridge. Old Scantlebury waddled to him.

'Ain't it a lovely heavenly night, sir?' said the 'old man.' 'And going along so peaceful, while the stars shine on us. Are the horses all right, and the men?'

'They're—all right,' said Bertie. He seemed so silent that the skipper said no more.

'I wonder who Arizona meant when he said a friend of mine,' thought Bertie. 'I'll—I'll ask him.'

He went down below on the main deck and found Arizona leaning on a breast-rail and rubbing a big grey's muzzle.

'Arizona,' said Bertie.

'Yes, sir,' said Arizona.

'What friend of mine did you mean just now?'

Arizona looked at him. The electric light was strong there and fell on Bertie's face. It seemed quite different from what it had been. Arizona looked him full in the eyes as if nothing whatever had happened.

'It was the second mate, Mr. Forder, sir.'

'Why did he interfere?' asked Bertie.

'Well, sir,' said Arizona, 'he hez bin in Texas and in Arizona, and he understands things.'

Bertie turned away.

'He understands—what?'

'Us, I reckon,' said Arizona simply.

'Thanks,' said Bertie, and he went to the second officer's room, and tapped at the door. Forder opened to him, for he was reading.

'Yes,' he said, 'what is it?'

If he spoke without any audible tone of respect, it was only what Bertie looked for.

'I'm sorry we had that trouble the other day,' said the owner's son. 'I've had a talk with Arizona.'

'Don't mention it,' said Forder. 'It's a beautiful night, Mr. Fortescue.'

'It is,' said Bertie. 'Good night, Mr. Forder.'

'Good night, sir,' said the second officer.

And Bertie stood for half an hour by the rail looking into the sea.

'Damn!' said Bertie, 'I don't know——'

But Arizona said there were hopes of him.

CAPTAIN BALAAM OF THE CORMORANT

Captain Balaam of the Cormorant was an ignorant old fool. Captain Benjamin Wood of the Scanderbeg said so. He was also obstinate, ferocious, blatant, bigoted, and given to liquor. Captain Benjamin Wood said this too. The crew of the Cormorant agreed with the crowd in the Scanderbeg that their skipper was a disagreeable personality: they phrased it differently, they said he was an adjectival 'blighter.' And yet for all that there was jealousy between the crews of the two ships, just as there was jealousy between the two skippers. The only difference between them was that the Scanderbegs believed in their ship and their skipper and the Cormorants believed in the Cormorant only. Both vessels hailed from the same port of registry; they both traded to Australia, and mostly to Melbourne; they were owned by related rivals, and manned for the most part by men who knew each others' home affairs. It was no wonder that when the Cormorant was re-masted, as she had been previously under-sparred, the Scanderbeg's crew was very greatly excited. Up to the present time their ship had made the best passages, and now Balaam had announced that he meant to lick the Scanderbeg by a ruddy ensanguined crimson month.

'You're an ignorant old ass, and can't do it,' said Captain Wood.

'I'm an ignorant old ass, am I?' retorted Balaam, who was slow at repartee. 'I'll show you!'

'I expect you will,' said Wood. 'I know you, Balaam.'

'You know me, do you?' said Balaam. 'Do you know anything against me? I despise you, Wood; I despise you. You shortened sail mighty quick that time we was in company off the Leuuwin. Oh yes, you 'anded that foretaups'l mighty quick, and I 'eld on to mine.'

'You'll not do it now the Cormorant has some real spars in her,' retorted Wood. 'You know, according to your own account, you could never put enough on her to do her any harm in a cyclone.'

'I never,' said Balaam; 'but any'ow this time I'll lick your ugly 'ead off. It don't foller because a man's full of scientific talk that 'e's a seaman. Great circles and double haltitudes and star hobservations make me sick!'

'They'd make you sick to work 'em out,' said Wood. 'When you got your ship resparred you might have got a new set of brains, Balaam.'

And he left Balaam foaming at the mouth as an old timber drogher foams under bluff bows with a whole gale behind her.

They left London River the same day, and lost sight of each other in the chops of the Channel. But since destiny was playing with them they lay close together under the Line for the best part of a fortnight in a dead calm. The Cormorant was the first to draw away in a series of light flaws, which were really the northern edge of the South-East Trade, and Balaam signalled to Wood: 'I'll report you!'

'Confound it, she's a wonder in light airs,' said Wood. 'But what she'll be in bad weather will settle it. I don't give in; not much.'

They ran across each other once more to the south of the Cape, and both ships had a first-class opportunity of showing what they could do in heavy weather.

'I'll run her under before I'll shorten sail,' said Wood.

'Blimy,' said Balaam, 'before I shorten down I'll 'ave the new sticks out of her.'

Mr. Briggs, the chief mate, implored him to go a bit easy. 'She's new to it, sir, and we're not settled down and set up the way she should be yet.'

'I'll show you,' said Balaam. 'If she ain't what she should be it's your fault. You're the mate, ain't you?'

But if the mate is responsible for the rigging the skipper is responsible for trying it, and Balaam drank hard and tried it high.

'I'd rather fetch into Hobson's Bay under jury rig than let that swine lick us,' said Balaam thickly. 'Mr. Briggs, h'ist that main-t'gall'ns'l over the reefed taups'l and let her scoot!'

If they hadn't once more lost each other in a screaming south-easter the catastrophe might have come right then. It was only when the Scanderbeg was swallowed up in thick weather and the night that Balaam got so drunk that Briggs ventured to shorten sail.

'I wish he'd keep drunk,' said Briggs bitterly to the second greaser.

'Ah, his bein' only squiffy is very tryin', sir,' replied Mr. Creak. 'It strikes me, sir, that the men are gettin' disgruntled at the way he keeps things goin'. They're beginnin' to want a lot of driving.'

'Then drive 'em,' said Briggs shortly. He was being driven himself.

The crowd for'ard were really very sore about everything. They had no particular grievance; that is, they only had seamen's grievances. The vessel was undermanned. Well, all British ships are. What's the good of an Englishman if he can't do more than any one else? They were, of course, badly fed. That was nothing: nothing even that it steadily grew worse. What hurt them was Balaam's way of looking at them. An Italian might have said he had the evil eye. They didn't mind his evil tongue. The truth is that Balaam was sand in their bearings; they got hot to think of him. They compared him with Captain Wood.

'That's a man,' said Charlie Baker; 'a real one.'

'You're over young to go so large about men, my son,' remarked Smith, a grey-haired veteran who had served his time in the Western Ocean; 'but I allow that Cap'n Wood is all there. When he was launched he was classed 100 A1 and no mistake.'

'With a broad A for iron and a Maltee Cross for built under special survey,' added Tom Paddle, who hailed from Newcastle, and had worked in a shipbuilding yard.

'I never heard of no Maltee Cross connected with ships,' said old Smith.

This raised an argument which lasted for the best part of an hour and ended in Paddle being put down by a unanimous vote, though he shouted as loudly as possible.

'You must be wrong,' urged his particular mate. 'Don't you 'ear we're all agin you?'

'I'll fight on it,' said Paddle fiercely.

''Ow could a scrap settle it?' asked Smith contemptuously. 'Suppose you and Baker fo't over it and you knocked Charlie out, would that make black white?'

'Then 'ow the devil is a man to know the truth of anything,' said Paddle pathetically.

It was the first argument of his that the rest owned had some sense in it. But the row blew over, as rows do in the fo'c'sle, and they abused the skipper till eight bells.

But if the row blew over it was more than the gale did. It lasted for forty-eight hours and was followed by another. The way Balaam carried sail made every sober man shake. That year, and at that season, running down the easting was no joke. And as Balaam knew the Scanderbeg would go as far south as possible on the Composite Great Circle Track he did likewise.

'Gawd's treuth,' said Charlie Baker, who was a joker, 'I've 'eard tell of the brave west winds, but these 'ere are puffectly reckless 'eroes!'

Old Balaam stumped the weather side of the poop, or hung on to the weather mizzen rigging and bawled—

'Let her scoot; what she can't carry—hic—she may drag. Mister Briggs—hic—shake out a reef in the main taups'l; I smells the cookin' on board the Scanderbeg, what ho!'

'Good Lord,' said Briggs. And Mr. Creak said so too.

'We'll be crawlin' into Hobson's Bay yet under a jury rig,' both mates agreed. They prophesied sadly, gloomily; and they prophesied right.

'The Scanderbeg will lick us by months,' they said. Here they prophesied wrong, for the Scanderbeg was a hundred miles only to the south'ard, and the same gale that was destined to whip the sticks out of the Cormorant was worse the further south it blew. They were then in latitude 45° S. and longitude 56° W., and the Crozets were on their starboard quarter. The real gale started at N.W. like a perfect fiend, grew into a hurricane from the west with the centre of the disturbance to the south-'ard, and when it passed away with frightful squalls into a steady sou'wester, the Cormorant was lying head to wind, anchored to part of her own wreckage, and she hadn't a feather to fly with. Captain Balaam went below and called to the steward.

'Bunting, rum!' said Balaam, and Bunting, who was as white as spindrift with terror, brought it. Balaam went to sleep calmly, and left matters to Briggs and Creak. The worst having come to the worst, being left to themselves, they proved to be men. They had something to do and did it. They cut all the wreck adrift and rigged a proper sea-anchor and repaired damages as best they could. But they couldn't repair the damage done to the provisions. The whole of the front of the poop had been burst in by the sea, and a big hole driven by the mizzen-topmast into the deck right through the poop and main deck into the lazarette. Into that there went so much water that anything not in tins was unfit to eat. And now all the pork and beef, save that in the harness casks, was found to be rotten.

'Great Scott!' said Briggs. The crew of the Cormorant anticipated starvation and had huge appetites. But they bore up well. A day ahead is enough for men of the sea. Charlie Baker took hold of the boys and felt them all over to see if they were fat. The others thought it an admirable joke. The boys were not so sure that it was.

'Never mind, mates,' said Baker, 'a boy will go a long way, and we 'ave three! But I wonder 'ow the Scanderbeg is makin' it?'

There is something peculiarly diabolical at times in the way of the sea. It was a coincidence, though perhaps an ordinary one, that the poor Scanderbeg was just then wallowing at a sea-anchor a hundred miles to the south of them, with nothing but the stumps of her masts to show a rag on. But it was a far more extraordinary coincidence that her crew were in danger of starvation. As Captain Wood did not drink, his steward did. It seems necessary that some one shall at sea, and though it is usually the skipper, who has no one to control him, it excites no surprise to find that the steward does. This particular specimen of a hard-worked individual went into the lazarette with an uncovered candle, sampled some rum, which was forty over proof, and fell asleep to wake in a world where we are led to believe drink is scarce, though smoking is permitted. And the Scanderbeg was on fire just when the wind from the N.W. and a falling barometer announced the approach of a hurricane.

The fire was put out and the steward dragged out, but what with fire and smoke and water combined, the provisions he had charge of were no more likely to do their duty than he was. They put him overboard gloomily, and that night the hurricane fell on them and did its worst.

'Well,' said poor Captain Wood, 'I'm afraid the Cormorant will beat us this time!'

But he did not take to drink and camp in a wet bunk as Balaam did. He worked day and night with his two mates, and made some sort of a show with a jury rig inside of twenty-four hours. But he was very much troubled about the 'grub.' Ships are never over-provisioned, and even the stock of canned goods had been fired and fuzed.

'I'd give fifty pounds for a ton of biscuits,' said Wood.

It wasn't till they were under way again and doing nearly four knots an hour with the sou'wester behind them, that an idea struck him.

'By Jove,' said the skipper. He slapped his thigh and suddenly became cheerful. Mr. Boden, the chief mate, was very curious but did not express his curiosity.

'The old man has something in his mind,' he told the second greaser, Tom Hankin.

'I wish I had something in my stomach,' said Hankin.

And the skipper went below. When he came up he altered the course to E.N.E., and Boden having taken a squint at the chart, became much more cheerful. So did Hankin, though he tightened his belt. So did the crowd for'ard, though they tightened theirs.

And the next day they ran across the Cormorant in that almighty waste of grey storm.

'Blimy,' said the crew, 'maybe we'll get some toke from this 'ere 'ooker wot's 'ad the syme misforchune as ourselves. I wonder what she is?'

So did Wood, and when he found out he would have been much more than human if he had not been pleased, though he had not read La Rochefoucauld.

'She won't lick us into Melbourne after all,' said the skipper.

He hove the poor old Scanderbeg to under the lee of the Cormorant, and she lay wallowing comfortably under a rag of a faked-up trysail and the head of a staysail showing on her forestay. Wood bellowed to windward with a speaking-trumpet, 'Where's Captain Balaam?'

Poor Briggs was tired and cross and insubordinate in his mind.

'In his bunk,' came down the wind.

'Is he hurt?'

'Drunk, sir,' said the distant voice.

'What did he say?' asked Wood of his mate.

'He said Captain Balaam was drunk, sir.'

'Ah,' said the skipper. He asked no more about Balaam, but inquired if they could let him have some provisions. The answer he got was rather a blow. But it was not so much of a blow to him as the question had been to Briggs.

'We're starving already,' bellowed Briggs forlornly to the wind, and the sea and the wreck to loo'ard of him.

'When will you get sail on her, d' ye think?' asked Wood.

'To-morrow,' replied Briggs.

'Make for St. Paul,' said Wood; 'provisions are stored there, so I see in the Directory. We'll share 'em!'

'Thanks,' said the other speaking-trumpet. And then silence fell between these two partners of the sea in high misfortune.

'She's really not so badly crippled as we are,' said Wood.

And that was true; so true, that on the morrow the Cormorant crept out of the waste of tumbling seas and the gloom of the grey dawn and wallowed past them. Balaam was on deck dancing.

'Licking thunder out of you, you dog,' was his polite message of thanks to the Scanderbeg. 'Crippled or all ataunto, we can knock spots off of your old barge.'

'Oh, he's a gentleman,' said Wood. 'We won't reply.'

'I'm sorry he's likely to get to the island first, sir,' put in his mate. 'I'd not be surprised if he grabbed all there is to get, sir.'

'Oh no, surely,' said Wood. But though he said so, the notion bit into him and made him all the more anxious to get more sail on her. He worked with the men like one of them, and only slept two hours out of the twenty-four.

'He's a bully old man,' said his hungry crew: 'the best skipper we ever sailed with. Oh, but ain't we 'ungry!'

They were hungrier yet when they sighted the crater of St. Paul and rounded to on the north-east coast opposite the broken entrances to the inner crater harbour. They anchored in deep water, and so long as the wind stayed west of south were in perfect safety. But there was no Cormorant in sight.

'By Jove,' said Wood, 'she's missed it after all. I'm not surprised. Balaam's no navigator. Called me a dog, did he? Well, I've smelt my way here and he's out of it.'

The crew were joyful and excited. This was something new, something a little out of the way in the dull, dead monotony of sea-life, which as a rule is about as interesting as running a water-cart up and down a suburban road. The august and awful sea is only august and awful for those who have august minds. Seamen as a rule haven't; they have only awful language.

'Blow me tight,' said Bill Waite from Shadwell. 'I sye, this is a gyme! Sye, Tom, let's desert and live 'ere for hever and make a farm!'

'Oh, let's,' said his mate, Fred Day. 'If it's anythin' like the Canary Bird Islands, it'll be a fine farm for sulphur and cinders. What I want is the grub, and get out of it. Give me Sandridge and a pot of she-oak.'

They went ashore, pulling in through the crater entrance, and were surrounded by gloomy walls nearly a thousand feet high.

''Tain't exactly as bloomin' as the Isle of Man,' said Bill, 'at least not on a Benk 'oliday. Where's the grub, d'ye think?'

They found out where it was very soon. At least, they considered they were able to deduce from the facts in front of them where it was. The rude stone and lava hut in which it had been stored stared them almost in the face. But it was odd, they said, that the door was open.

When Mr. Briggs reached it he turned round and looked very much disturbed. So did the hut. It had been disturbed recently, and there wasn't as much as the smell of a biscuit left in it.

'The Cormorant has been here and taken it all,' said Briggs. You could have knocked the boat's crew down with much less than a belaying pin. They collapsed upon adjacent blocks of lava and said things not fit for publication except in realistic novels.

'The swine,' sighed Charlie Baker. 'Oh, ain't there nothin', sir?'

'Not a thing,' said the mate. He led the way back to the boat, and under the wondering eye of the skipper, which was just then glued to a telescope, they embarked and rowed back like a funeral procession.

'Captain Balaam has taken all the provisions, sir,' said the mate.

'All?'

'Every biscuit, sir.'

'Get the anchor up and make sail,' said the skipper. He went below, and when he came on deck again the Scanderbeg was standing out to sea.

'Muster the men aft, Mr. Briggs,' said Captain Wood. And when they came aft the old man addressed them. The pith of his address lay in the tail of it.

'We must catch the Cormorant,' he said. And the men said they would if human hands could get enough sail on their old wreck to catch the robber and scoundrel, then somewhere to the east of them. Men and mates and the skipper took their coats off. They clapped make-shift sails on every stay till the Scanderbeg looked like a laundry drying-yard. They got up another jurymast made of the fished halves of the main topmast. They made her four knots into five, into five and a quarter, into five and a half, and then they lay down at midnight and dreamed of eating.

They sighted the Cormorant ahead of them two days later.

'There she is, the thief,' said the men. As the weather was now finer and dry, they wetted their rags of canvas so that the sails held a little more wind; they rigged up more canvas yet by lacing it to the foot of their foresail, which did most of the work. They hung out their clothes to dry, and tied them so that the very shirts held wind.

'All right, my sons,' said the crowd of the Scanderbeg, 'wait till we catch you.'

They drew up with her at dark. The weather was moderating fast, the heavy sea went down rapidly: the wind fell light, and stars shone through the breaking canopy of clouds. The Scanderbeg drew up on the Cormorant's starboard quarter slowly. It was obvious that in her present trim she could out-sail the other vessel anyhow, and this in spite of the fact that Briggs had made good use of his spare topmast. The Scanderbeg had none. It had broken from its lashings, and gone overboard like a match out of an emptied pail when she was nearly under water and came up out of the smother like a diver.

The crew of the Scanderbeg were on the fo'c'slehead.

'Will he run aboard of 'em? By crimes, there'll be ructions,' said Bill Waite dancing. 'Oh, the miserable dogs; oh, the scum o' the seas; oh, the pirates!'

'Dry up, you ass,' said his mate. 'The skipper's goin' to 'ail 'er!'

'Cormorant, ahoy!' said Captain Wood, who came for'ard to the t'gallant fo'c'sle. 'Cormorant, ahoy!'

'Hallo!' said Briggs from the poop.

'What made you take all the provisions, Mr. Briggs?'

'The captain's orders, sir,' said poor Briggs, who was obviously ashamed of himself and his ship. 'I couldn't help it, sir.'

The two moving wrecks were now almost alongside.

'Clew up the foresail, Mr. Hankin,' said Captain Wood.

The sail was clewed up, and now the Cormorant drew a little ahead.

'I want to see Captain Balaam,' said Wood. 'Is he drunk now?'

The night was suddenly dark, and the figures of the speakers barely distinguishable. Nevertheless those on the fo'c'slehead of the Scanderbeg were aware that Briggs suddenly disappeared and was replaced by some one else.

'I'm not drunk, you swab,' hiccuped Captain Balaam. It was a very obvious misstatement on his part. 'I'm not drunk, you miserable howler. There warn't enough grub for one, let alone two, so I collared the lot.'

A voice was heard from his ship which contradicted him.

'That's a lie. There was plenty for both!'

Balaam left the poop hurriedly and was heard inquiring for the mutineer who dared to put his oar in at such a time. Every man jack on the main-deck protested it was not he.

'Very well,' said Balaam, 'when I find who it is, I'll hammer him flat, flat! I'll massacre him!'

He came back to the poop and resumed his talk with Wood.

'Not enough for two—hic—and if there was you shouldn't have it. I'll give you a bag of split peas!'

The men in the Scanderbeg groaned. They had been living on split peas for three days. Bill Waite signified what he thought of the offer by taking an iron belaying pin from the rail and throwing it at old Balaam. It was a good shot, but the distance was too great. It hit the rail of the Cormorant and fell into the sea.

'Split peas,' said Fred Day; 'oh, lor'! What'll our old man say to that?'

Wood was a gentleman, and he very rarely used bad language. There are times, however, when language to do any good to the user must be bad, and Wood told Balaam what he thought of him. He ran the Scanderbeg close up alongside until Balaam thought he was going to be boarded, and then addressed him. His crew roared with applause and hissed Balaam furiously. They called him every horrible thing they could think of, and Charlie Baker said 'Hear, hear' from the Cormorant's main-deck.

'It ain't our fault, maties,' he cried. 'Old Balaam's a cock-eyed blighter!'

But Wood roared, 'Silence fore and aft,' and spoke once more.

'Will you divide the provisions, Captain Balaam? I ask you for the last time.'

'I'll see you sunk, burnt, and destroyed and doubly damned if I will,' said Balaam. 'I 'ates you, and don't hown to no obligation to you. You never was polite nor friendly. Now you're repentin'. You may go to blazes by express. My name's Balaam. I'm captain of this ship, and don't take horders from a scientific lubber like you. I ain't drunk—hic—though you say so. I'm as sober as a missionary, quite sober—hic—and hif you incites my crew to mutiny I'll sue you for damages and justice in Melbourne. Mr. Briggs, make sail, crack on!'

He retired to a hencoop and sent for the steward.

'Bunting, gimme a drop o' brandy and gin mixed with a dash o' rum in it,' said Balaam.

It was his favourite drink.

But in the Scanderbeg Wood was talking to Mr. Boden.

'All right, Mr. Boden,' said he, 'set the foresail and let us draw ahead. I'll not put up with this. We shall be starving in reality in three days. We'll get even as soon as ever the sea goes down.'

And somehow it got to the men for'ard that the situation was not to last. They ate pease pudding with loathing and smoked heavily.

'We relies on the old man,' they said. 'Oh, what a blighter old Balaam is.'

They kept a mile or two ahead of the Cormorant all that day, and when night fell again the sea was fairly calm and the sky clear.

'We've got three boats fit to go over the side,' said the skipper to Boden. 'Get 'em ready, and now it's dark you can have 'em swung out. Belaying pins will do.'

What belaying pins would do for soon appeared, when the skipper had the men mustered aft.

'Men,' he said, 'all the food which should have been divided is now on board the Cormorant, Captain Balaam, who is no gentleman——'

'He ain't no seaman neither, sir,' said Bill Waite. The others told him to dry up, and he subsided, blushing at his own audacity.

'And I propose to board his vessel and compel him to divide it.'

'Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!' said the crowd. 'Oh, ain't this somethin' like!'

'If there is any resistance,' went on Wood, 'it must be put down. For that purpose each of you will take a belaying pin, but you will leave your knives behind. In half an hour I shall shorten sail and man the boats. You will all keep silence. I shall go with you myself to see that no unnecessary violence is used. Mr. Hankin, you will remain on board with two of the boys.'

As there were three boys it is unnecessary to state that there was an almost immediate fight to see who were to stay. Both who did were much more damaged next morning than the victim who went.

At midnight the foresail was clewed up and a few more of the make-shift sails furled. The boats were lowered safely, and in ten minutes the Scanderbeg was only manned by a sorry second mate and two sore boys. The vessel moved off slowly into the starry darkness, looking like a huge house-boat converted into a laundry. To the westward the Cormorant loomed darkly. She grew slowly as they waited in perfect silence.

'This will be a lesson to Balaam,' said Captain Wood across the quiet sea to Boden. 'I hope, I sincerely hope, that he is not drunk, Mr. Boden!'

'Gosh, we're pirates of the deep,' said Waite, and the men in his boat chuckled.

'Silence in your boat, Waite,' said the skipper. And as the Cormorant drew nearer and nearer the boats divided. The skipper's boat and Waite's lay ready to board her on the starboard side. Boden was to rush her on the port. Now they heard the very lip of the seas against her bows. Her broken spars stood up against the sky. They heard a voice aft. Some one struck one bell on board of her. The man on the look-out sleepily said that it was 'All well!' And now her bows were above them. They pulled a stroke and her sides loomed high.

'Hook on,' said the skipper, and before the Cormorant knew it she was seized by what Waite called 'the pirates of the deep.'

'She's ours,' said Waite as he jumped on deck and found no one to oppose him. In half a minute there wasn't a soul in the boats, which promptly went adrift. Mr. Briggs, who was the officer of the watch, was an unreluctant prisoner in the hands of Captain Wood.

'I couldn't stand it, you see,' said Wood, as he shook hands.

'I ain't a bit surprised,' replied Briggs; 'in fact, I rather reckoned you'd not put up with it.'

'Fetch up Balaam,' said Wood. And Balaam was brought up. By this time the two crews, who were no longer jealous of each other, were standing together on the main deck on the friendliest terms.

'You're our prisoners,' said Waite cheerfully. And the crew of the Cormorant laughed, while Balaam bellowed like a bull on the poop.

'It's piracy, rank piracy,' roared Balaam, as he struggled in the grasp of Boden and his enemy, the skipper of the Scanderbeg. 'This is piracy, and you'll be 'ung for it!'

They slammed him down upon a hencoop with considerable violence.

'Dry up, you old thief,' said Boden. 'You ought to be ashamed of yourself. If you don't stop kicking I'll land you on the jaw.'

He shook Balaam till his teeth chattered and he called on Mr. Briggs for help. Briggs turned his back to him and walked to the rail on the port side of the poop.

'We've come for those provisions, Captain Balaam,' said Wood, 'and we mean to have them.'

'You're a pirate,' said Balaam thickly, 'oh, you're a pirate.'

'And you're a miserable, cowardly thief,' replied Wood. 'I don't propose to argue with you. Mr. Boden, when we come up alongside the Scanderbeg, shorten sail and we'll wait till daylight.'

'You're givin' orders in my ship,' said Balaam. 'Oh, this is horrid, it's a nightmare; it ain't real! I must be dreamin'!'

He yelled horribly, and it took three men to hold him. One of them was his own second mate, who hated him venomously.

'If you make much more row, sir,' said Creak, 'they'll put you over the side. I heard 'em say so!'

'Did they, Mr. Creak?' whispered Balaam.

'They did,' said Creak.

'This is horrid, Creak. Oh, Creak, am I dreamin'? Pinch me, so's I shall know.'

And Creak gave him a nip that drew a shriek from him.

'You've took a piece out, confound you,' said Balaam.

'I'm very sorry, sir,' said the second greaser, with a pleased smile. 'But you ain't dreamin', and the pirates down on the main-deck are very savage against you. I'd give up the grub quickly.'

'Would you?' asked Balaam.

'I would, sir,' said Creak. 'Paddle whispered to me just now that they had fixed it up to hang you, and Captain Wood too if he objected.'

And Balaam, whose sobriety was returning under the stress, lost his courage as his alcohol evaporated.

'I'd beg their pardon, if I was you,' said Creak. 'It's horrid being hung.'

'Yes, yes,' said Balaam. 'Tell 'em they can have the grub quite quiet. I'd—I'd like to go below. Creak, I feel cold.'

And Creak was allowed to lead him to his cabin. When he got there, he locked himself in, and piled all his possessions against the door. He fell into his bunk shivering, and when he slept he dreamed horrible dreams, which were the offspring of terror and alcohol. He sobbed and said, 'Nobody loves me!' He came near to seeing rats.

And in the meantime the two vessels lay alongside within a cable's length of each other, while Waite and Boden used one of the Cormorant's boats to pick up their own. The cook of the Cormorant was busy in the galley, and the crew of the Scanderbeg ate a square meal the first time for ten days.

'This is much better than split peas,' said Bill Waite. 'I shall loathe peas all my life. I don't know which I despise most, Balaam or pease pudding. Mates, it must be a horrid thing to have such a skipper as Balaam.'

The men of the Cormorant said it was horrid.

'He's a cock-eyed blighter,' said Tom Paddle, 'and I most willingly would see you pirates 'ang him. And as for the grub we parts with, what belongs to you comes without grudgin'.'

It was very handsome of Tom Paddle. But he was known to be generous even when he was sober. He helped to transfer the provisions to the Scanderbeg with the heartiest good-will. When the transhipment was made, all the officers of both vessels breakfasted on board the Cormorant, while Balaam lay in his bunk hungry, not daring to call for anything.

'I know Wood will 'ang me,' he whimpered. Without brandy, he had to believe it.

'While I am a pirate, Mr. Briggs,' said Captain Wood pleasantly, 'I may as well carry it out. Can you spare me a coil of three-inch manilla?'

'With pleasure,' said Briggs. 'Is there anything else, sir?'

'What do you say, Mr. Boden?' asked Wood.

'I think we could do with half a dozen stunsail booms,' said Boden.

'I rather want them myself,' said Briggs anxiously.

But Wood was a good pirate, and did not weaken.

'I think we want them more than you do,' said Wood with firmness. And he got them. Briggs was sore, but said nothing.

'Is there anything else you would like?' he asked with some natural bitterness.

'Yes,' said Wood, 'I think we'll take all Balaam's sea-stock of liquor. It will do him good.'

'I haven't the least objection to that,' said Briggs.

And half an hour afterwards the Scanderbeg made sail, and forged slowly ahead of the Cormorant on her way to Albany.

'We'll report you,' said Wood.

But when he was nearly out of sight, old Balaam pulled down his fortifications and came on deck, looking like a man who by a miracle has shaved what are known as the 'jimjams.' He sat down and wailed for Bunting.

'Yes, sir,' said Bunting.

'I think I'll have some brandy and gin with a dash of rum in it,' said Balaam.

The steward looked at Mr. Briggs and grinned.

'If you please, sir, you can't, them pirates took it all,' said Bunting.

JACK-ALL-ALONE

As it happened, I was the only passenger in the steamship Hindoo, and I found little entertainment in the company of her officers. The skipper was said never to open his mouth except upon Sundays, when he preached furiously to the assembled crowd and promised them hell as a reward for their labours on the deep sea. He was a religious maniac, much in favour with the owners because he combined religion with honesty and an unequalled degree of meanness about stores. He was little, and of a pallor that no sun could touch. He carried a hymn-book in his breast-pocket, and loose snuff in a side one. I found no comfort in him, and even less in the two mates. They were much married men with large families, and were subdued by the fear of losing their billets. They hung together and abused the skipper, and took no interest in the sea or any of its works. They pined for inland farms, where they would have been pelicans in a dry desert. I turned to the crew, and by dint of giving them tobacco and occasional nips of liquor overcame their distrust and shyness. For even though I had once been a seaman, that time was so far away that I had lost all look of it. And even when they knew it, they took it for granted I had been an officer, which put me out of their range. It was only my loneliness and my low cunning with rare whisky that made me free of their company, and at last loosened their tongues. I often sat with them in the dog-watches and set them yarning when I could by yarning myself. But only one story that I heard remains in my memory. It remains, not so much by its strangeness as by the strange way it was told, and the difficulty I had in getting it told at all. It was one of the younger seamen that put me on the tracks of the man who had it to tell.

'Why don't you try old Silent for a yarn, sir?' he said one day, when I was on the fo'castlehead with him on the look-out; 'he that says nought could say a lot. He might open up with you. With us he's as close as a water-tight compartment. But they do say in this vessel that he came out of one ship the honly survivor.'

What can one do on board a lonely steamer where there is no one to talk to and nothing to read, and there are so many unoccupied hours in front of one? The days were grey, the sea was grey, and as flat as last year's news. I set out yarn-hunting, and went for old Silent as they called him. I went for him warily. To ask him a question would be to cheat oneself of any expectation. I ceased to attempt to talk with him. But having fallen into his mood, I added to the compliment by giving him more tobacco on the quiet than I gave any one else. I called him into my deck cabin, and gave him a drink of whisky without a word. He drank it without a word, wiped his lips, scraped a sort of bow, and withdrew.

He was a melancholy man, downcast, ragged-bearded, with a glazed, yellow skin on his face, and shining scales upon the backs of his hands. His teeth were black with tobacco-chewing. His ears had been pierced for earrings, though he wore none. His eyes were deep-set, black; his mouth was a mere slit, his ears large and outstanding, like a couple of stunsails. He was obviously strong even yet. But he assuredly bore the marks of certain disastrous hours upon him, and his nerves betrayed him at times. I saw his hand shake when he lifted the drink to his lips.

'You've been through something, my friend,' I said to myself. 'I wonder what it is. It's not only "D.T."'

Life to my mind is a series of fights, and one is mostly knocked out. I could see that old Silent had been knocked out. Well, so had I, many a time, and his gloomy face appealed to me as a man of like disasters to myself. I saw (ay, and see) so many who seem to have no kind of insight into things. They are mere children, and one pities them as one does young recruits going to war. I've known men to die without suspecting it. For the most part, men live without suspecting any of the dangers, traps, pitfalls, and disasters that surround them. There was an uneasy alertness at times in this old seaman's eye which suggested that he knew Death was close at hand. I watched him keenly enough, for I had a great curiosity about him. What was the story of this poor inhabitant of this strange globe? What had he in common with those who see through illusion, who can pierce the hollow earth and see the fires, who can foretell storms, who can scent immediate and irremediable death?

This was folly, no doubt. I was in a bad state of mind, and had disaster behind me, and the shadow of it before me. There have been hours in many a man's life when the thought that he could end it was his only comfort. Without being in that state, my frame of mind was not wholly enviable, and I wanted some kind of help that I could not find. What was it that sent me to old Silent, if not the intuition that he had known worse than I?

We talked at last, at midnight, for I had found the clue to his heart in some inscrutable way beyond my knowledge. Perhaps he saw something in me that invited confidence. Oddly enough, strangers have often enough opened their hearts to me, when I least expected it. There is some deep necessity of confession in men's hearts, and in speech they compel sympathy—or at least they can plead their own cause.

''Tis a black night, sir,' said the old man, whose real name was Gilby, ''tis a black enough night.'

He was on the look-out, and it was the first hour after midnight. I climbed up and stood beside him close against the windlass, which looked in the dark like a stiff, distorted corpse covered with merciful canvas. The heavens were low and there was not one star visible. Wind there was none, and the sea was a dulled plate of pale dark steel. What air blew on the fo'castlehead we made ourselves. The cargo derricks on their platforms held watch with us: they looked diabolical and all alert. Under the straight stem of the Hindoo the sea hissed lightly like water escaping from a cock. The vibration of the engines was muffled for'ard; but it beat like a steady pulse.

'Ay, it's a very dark night,' I answered, as I stood alongside him in the very eyes of her.

I glanced up at the mast-head light, and what glow came to me blinded me still more. But the light was a kind of comfort. And so were the side lights. One could believe with the Chinese that a vessel might see with painted eyes on the bow. Neither of us spoke a word for full ten minutes.

'You've been a seaman, sir?' he asked presently.

'Twenty years ago.'

I went back twenty years, and was no more than a boy. Now was my 'Twenty Years After.' My old companions were dead or lost in the years.

'Twenty years you say, sir?'

There was something strange in his voice, an eagerness, a sharp pain.

'Full twenty,' I answered, dreaming.

'When I was young it seemed as if a man would forget anything in twenty years, sir.'

There were things one couldn't forget. I knew that, and I knew that here was an unforgetful heart of pain. My curiosity seemed most unworthy, and I was ashamed of it. But the old man spoke, and I knew he was not old.

'It's yesterday, sir,' he said in a low voice, 'and this very night in November—twenty years ago! A dark night enough, and yet a strange light in it. Did you ever play Jack-all-alone at sea, sir? was you ever by yourself at sea? That's the terror of the sea, sir. A sticky, wet, clammy terror. For we've mates in ships, even if we don't speak. Have you ever felt the big sea and the sky, sir, spread out and spread over for you alone?'

I had spent one night at sea alone in the English Channel in the fine but foolhardy game of single-handed sailing. He brought it back to me now, and I sat in a little fifteen-foot cutter-rigged open boat in a great and gorgeous calm to the south and east of Dungeness Point. At sunset the wind failed, and left me at the will of the tides. For a long hour the golden west was a wonder of fine colour, and the sky overhead a most heavenly pale blue. The low coast towards Romney was a faint dark line, submerged in the sea. Elms ashore looked like massed shipping; a church-tower was dark against the sunset. Dungeness light glared over me, and I drifted on the last of the north-west curve of the tide into its red sector shining like blood on the lip of the moving water. An infinite and most infinitely deep silence oppressed and purified me. This was the purification of the ancient and immortal tragedy of the sea. I sat in a red flood and the day died. The piety of the great darkness buried the earth. Till midnight came I was alone and was nothing; a mere fleck of foam; I was all things; I was the world itself. Then a great fishing-smack drifted to me. I spoke to a dim shadow in the heavy shadow of great sails that hung motionless. I lost that voice again in the drifting of the tide and in a faint light air. Then at last the dawn broke, and the winking lights of land died down and the day and the land arose, and I was no longer alone.

'I knew it for a night,' I said. It is the rarest thing for any seaman to know. In this was his disastrous story. 'How did it happen to you? Would it hurt you to tell me, or would it help?'

There was no more unworthy curiosity in me, and that I was purified of it he must have felt. For this was a man who could feel and remember. God's great gift of forgetfulness is mostly given to the highest and to the lowest only. I drifted for a moment on my own sea of memory, and when I came back I heard him speaking. Those who have been long silent come some day to an hour of strange and easy speech.

'I and my brothers——'

I heard his voice catch on the word and get over it with a bitter jar, as a vessel might slide over a shoal in uncharted waters. Yet he knew those waters of Marah well.

'We was in a rotten old steamer, sir, them and me. Jack was my elder, and a fine big chap, good as gold, and as brave and strong as a lion; a real seaman, such as one don't meet nowadays. He mostly sailed in windjammers, but he was one of those that like to see things, and he had a fancy to potter round the Mediterranean once in a way. He'd read a lot at sea one passage in a Green's ship that had a fair pile of books in her for the crowd for'ard, and he'd a fancy to see Italy and Greece. He'd talk by the hour of old Romans, and a strange character that was at Syracuse some time back; I disremember his name, but he was for science and arithmetic; and he knew the name of a score of Roman emperors quite pat; and he said once when we was at the port of Athens that a hill plain to be seen was the home of the gods in the days before Christianity came to the fore. He was a first-class man at whatever he took to, that he was, and might have been high up if he'd had a chance to be properly eddicated. And Billy, my young brother, was a fine boy of quite another guess sort. He cared for nothing but fun, and he was good-looking, and a rare youngster with his dooks. I've seen him down a Dutchman twice his weight, and do it laughing. He was bright as the day, sir, bright as sunlight, and there we was, the three of us, in this rotten old tramp, built in the year one of steamships, and much the shape and size of a biscuit-tin, and not much to her that was better material. And so we mucked about the Mediterranean looking for cargo, like the sea-tramps we was, and every time it blew a capful of wind we had to turn her nose to it and keep bobbing. For if there was any kind of a sea on the beam, she'd roll so cruel that our hearts was in our mouths. And Billy's joke was always the old sea-joke that she had rolled right over in the night, and done it so quick that no one knew it. But, I own, she put the fear of God into most of us, and some of us got that narvous, we couldn't sit quiet unless there was a flat calm, and her just joggin' on ahead like an old hay-wagon. We went down from Barcelona with some sort of truck to Constant, and there Jack did talk a lot about emperors, and he was pleased as Punch to see things, saying that history grew rank thereabouts; and he would ask the old skipper about things dead and gone thousands of years, so that the old man, never liking to own he wasn't chock-a-block with knowledge, used to fidget like one o'clock, and get that cross with dodging 'twas a game to hear him. And then we went humping up the Black Sea, and brought out wheat from Ibrail, and we got stuck down at Sulina, and lightered her clear and had a holy time, so that Jack said making history in the wheat trade was no joke. And we came out from Constant for home. But home we never got, sir, and to say the truth, I've never been home since, and never shall go. Do you know the Mediterranean, sir?'

Did I know it? Even as he talked I had been thinking of Crete on our starboard beam at night, and of Etna right ahead at dawn, and the white cities of the Straits, of lava-bound Catania, of old historic Syracuse, of the sickle-shaped harbour of Messina, of high Taormina, and the day breaking in the hollows of the grey Calabrian hills. Then smoking Stromboli, a cinder peak of the seas. And afterwards singing, roaring Naples and atmospheric Capri sunk in sweet blue air. Oh, did I know it?

'Ay, I know it.'

'We came up with Sicily, and went in by the Straits to drop some truck or another at Messina, and then out again to the north, and when we were near alongside Volcano, it was looking bad and grey and hard as it does when a levanter threatens. The sea got up, and it was short and steep and hard, sir. And for a while we battered among the islands and Volcano smoking and, I dessay, Stromboli too, but the smother of the weather was too thick to see it. And I was on the lookout, as I am now, and Jack he was relieved at the wheel as I came up on the fo'c'slehead. He laughed up at me, and said, "This top-heavy old hay-wagon will be doin' a roll directly." And just as he went below, the skipper, who was as afraid of her as he had a right to be, turned her about and put her nose into the wind. There she stayed, uneasy and sawin' with her 'ead like a swell carriage-'orse. And they just went ahead with the old scrap-engines, and stayed so, reckoning to ride the gale out. And she rode it right enough till night, and we three brothers 'ad supper and passed our jokes. And poor Billy was as bright a kid as ever—oh, I can think of things 'e said now.'

He stopped speaking for a moment and dashed his fist on the rail.

'By God, it's twenty years ago, sir,' he said choking. 'And old Volcano's smoking yet, like a giant's pipe in the dark, puff and glow, puff and glow. And that man-drowning tank we was in lies a thousand fathoms deep to the west of Volcano.'

He didn't speak for a while, and when he did his voice was calmer.

'Don't think, sir, that I'd ha' complained of the common fortunes of the sea. Men are drowned, they go overboard, silent it may be, or they drop from aloft howling awful, and in the smother of a wreck when the sea's a wild beast, it's the lot of men to go. I've seen fire at sea, sir, and death in many shapes, sudden and slow, killing and fever. But the way my brothers died—why, sir, I held their hands and couldn't save 'em, held their hands and could see their faces. Jack-all-alone, seamen say! I was Jack-all-alone, while they cried out to me!

'You can reckon, sir, that such a craft, such a rotten, shaky, scrap-heap hooker, such a thing that oughtn't to have been outside a river, wasn't over well found. And those that had the finding of 'er 'ad to make a bit of stealage. 'Alf the skippers and engineers of such takes their lives in their 'ands not for the pay, but for the bit of a make. And yet I'd not think it possible for the engineer to 'ave bin in the oil racket that came out that night. They was short of oil in Constant, and got some aboard from a rotten Levantine Greek with a Harmenian for partner, and it was bad oil enough, to be sure. But the worst was that some o' the drums was a quarter oil and the rest water. And I, being on deck after supper, caught on to what the chief engineer said to our skipper. He came up running, and went on the bridge.

'"Cap'en, most o' that oil was water, and the oil's that bad the bearin's are overwarm. Can't I stop 'er?"

'"Stop 'er!" says the old man. I knew that voice; 'e was that narvous of his old tank. "Why, man, if we stop 'er, she'll roll over!"

'The seas was 'eavy, my word, considering where we was. She plunged and shook and creaked like a kicked tin can.

'"I'm edgin' of 'er in under Volcano," says the skipper. "I want more steam, not less."

'"By God, you can't 'ave it," said the engineer, as desperate as you like.

'"Play the 'ose on your blasted bearin's," pipes the skipper, with a voice like a bosun's whistle.

'"I'm playin' it," says the other.

'"Then you know what to do," squeaks the old man.

'And the engineer comes down tearin' 'is very beard. And I was took with a kind of a shiver, which was curious seeing that mostly sailormen never gives a damn what 'appens till the worst opens its mouth for 'em. I went down into the fo'c'sle and looked at Jack fast asleep, and Billy under 'im. There was only four of us for'ard, and they two was the starboard watch. That was the last time I saw more of 'em than their 'ands. I went on deck again, never wakin' 'em. And then I 'eard the engineer on deck again.

'"I'll 'ave to stop my engines," he cried, "or if I don't they'll stop theirselves. There's three bearin's sizzling, and the white metal's running, and the engine-room's full o' steam from the 'ose playin' on 'em."

'"You can't stop," said the skipper. And the wind blew like a blast out of a pipe; it squealed, and she stopped a'most dead.

'"Give us a quarter of an hour," says the old man, and he puts the second mate alongside of him. "Call the 'ands, and rig up a sea-anchor."

'And that was too late, for there was a crack below, and a man screamed, and the engineer bolted for his hole. But the engines stopped right there, and the nose of 'er paid off, and she lay in the trough of the sea, and rolled once, and rolled twice. And she went over to windward till you'd 'ear everything crack, and then she rolled to loo'ard. Would she ever stop! I see the old man slide away down the bridge, squealin', and the second mate pitched off his feet, and I gave a yell and climbed up on the weather rail, and old Volcano glared red over us to the nor'ard. And she was crank, and was never meant for the sea, and she 'ad 'eavy useless spars and derricks that overweighted 'er, and her grain was in bulk, and not too much of it. And the wind got hold of her, and she never stopped. I 'eard the old man yell again, and the sea rose up against him, and the sleeping mate was screamin' in his berth with a jammed door. And then I was Jack-all-alone, scramblin' with bleedin' fingers up a rotten wet iron slope, and I stopped when I 'ad 'old of 'er very keel. And then I 'eard an awful rip and a tearing, and a boom under my feet, and I reckoned the 'ole of 'er engines dropped through her deck, and may be the boilers exploded, for she gave a 'eave on the sea that made me sick, and I 'ung on with my nails, and I found myself cryin' out "Billy" and "Jack," and I was mad that hour. Ay, I was mad, and I beat upon the black and weedy iron of the plates underneath me. I was warm to think I was saved, and I was a coward, and I shook and trembled and nigh slipped off as the old scow wallowed. 'Twas most 'orrible to be 'earin' warm and livin' men speakin' one moment, to be among 'em, and them talkin', and to see the warm light, and to 'ear the thump, thump, of the engines, and the crackin' and creakin' of the old Red Star, and then to be all alone, Jack-all-alone, sailing 'and in 'and with death, 'ove up not on an 'alf tide rock as the thing beneath me looked, but a rotten old steamer turned turtle, and like to slip away from me any moment. And as I 'owled to myself, and saw the white water run up and lip at me like open-mouthed sharks, I saw the red light of Volcano away high up, and the light was like the wink of a light'ouse blinded in a fog. And the sight of the land, or where the land was, maddened me, and I cried like a child with weakness. 'Twas most 'orrible, sir, and weakness took me so, that I slipped and nigh lost 'old of the keel. But I climbed up again desperate, and findin' a bolt worked out, I 'itched my belt to it and 'ung on.

'And then I 'eard a sound that made my 'eart stop beatin'. 'Twas as if some one was usin' an 'ammer on iron, and I knew that there was some one alive inside of the Red Star, cooped up under 'er keel and shut into a tomb. And I cried, "You can't get out, you can't get out, mates!" so that my voice made me afraid. For 'twas a scream and like no voice I'd ever 'eard. But I scrambled along the keel and came to where the 'ammerin' was, and then I knew that they was Jack or Billy, or maybe both, and I beat with my fists on the plates, and I bled, but didn't know it, and I prayed all the plates was as rotten as we believed. But they wasn't that bad, and they was iron and iron bolted, and I'd nought but a knife, and what they was workin' with inside I couldn't tell. And they was in foul 'eavy air, and in the blackest dark. I prayed and I cursed, and I beat again, and some one 'eard, for they knocked three times regular and three times again, and to answer I beat with the 'eft of my knife. And then they worked awful, and there was bitter times when they rested, and in all the cold of the Levanter and the wetness of the flyin' spray I sweated like a bull, and then I was as cold as ice. And in an 'our or more, there was some sign that what they did was tellin' on the plate they worked on. For all of a sudden I 'eard a strange sound like the 'issing of steam blowin' off. 'Twas the compressed air inside that kept the wreck afloat comin' sharp out of a bit of a crack. And I knew that every second she'd sink more and more, and I seemed to see that unless the plate came off quick, they only die the quicker for tryin' to escape. And I called to 'em, but they 'eard nothin', only knowin' that a man was above 'em. And I got my knife under the plate and the blade broke. I worked sobbin', and all the time I was talkin'. 'Twas madness, plain and to be 'eard, and then I felt a smash into the iron, and the end of a splice bar came through it, and the air screamed up under me, and I knocked again three times, and they knocked three times, and I screamed out, "Billy! Jack!" and the poor chaps 'eard me. Jack's voice came to me like a voice out o' the grave, thin and eager, and all of a scream—

'"Tom—Tom!"

'That was me! Oh, the sea at my cold feet, and the sound of the wind and the red pulsin' of Volcano, and the round 'ump of the Red Star 'ove out o' the sea like the bulk of a dead whale, and under me my brothers. There's brothers don't love each other!

'I screamed—

'"Work—work!"

'And the sea crawled up to me, or so it seemed, and the thick air spurted up at me that was their life. And they broke out a bit more, and 'twas an 'ole a man's 'and could come through. And they stopped, so that I cried again to 'em. I 'eard Jack plain.

'"I'm about done, lad!"

'"Where's Billy?"

'I beat on cold and jagged iron.

'"He's here," said Jack, "but the air's too bad for him."

'I bade him give me the bar, and I worked outside like a mad one. But they'd struck the only rotten spot, and I couldn't get edge or claws of the bar under the plate. "The water's risin'," said Jack. He put 'is poor 'and out, and I took it. Sir, I didn't think there was a God then! And the sea lipped at me, and the Red Star wallowed, and there was red on the edge of the lipping waves from a big glare of Volcano.

'"I've no purchase to get an 'old out 'ere," I said. And still the 'ot thick air came up, foul as could be. And Jack took the bar and dropped it. There's a strange weakness comes over one breathin' such air. I 'eard 'is voice again—

'"The bar's deep in water, I can't feel it."

'Then 'e lifted Billy, and Billy put 'is 'and out.

"She's sinkin', Tom," said Billy. 'E spoke like a chap in a dream, and the water was to my feet as I sat across the keel. And I felt the boy's strength give, and I 'eld 'is 'and tight. But neither him nor Jack spoke again, and the boy struggled dreadful. And presently 'er bows was deeper than 'er stern, and I felt water inside of 'er, and I knew they was dead. And I 'ad an 'old of the boy's 'and, and me cryin' and shriekin' out I don't know what. Then 'e slipped away, and I was all awash, and I floated off and took 'old of a big bit of gratin', and the old Red Star 'eaved up 'er stern a bit and then went down. And I lay till dawn on the gratin', no sensible man, but crazy, and old Volcano winked at me like a red flare in a fog. And I dreamed of sailin' in a ship with Jack captain as 'e meant to be some day, being given to larnin', and at daybreak a fishin' craft took me into Messina.'

I walked the deck of the fo'c'slehead with him for many long silent minutes. Then some one struck two bells aft, and he struck it on the big bell at the break of the fo'c'slehead. Then he walked for'ard alone. He called to me after a minute.

'Do you see a light on the port bow, sir?' he asked me.

'I see it, Gilby.'

'That's Volcano, sir.'

He reported it to the officer on the bridge.

THE MUTINOUS CONDUCT OF MRS. RYDER

Although Watchett of the Battle-Axe, and Ryder of the Star of the South, were cousins, there was no great love lost between them, and all unprejudiced observers declared that this lack of mutual admiration was in no way due to Captain Ryder. That they remained friends at all was owing largely to his infinite good-nature and to the further fact that Mrs. Ryder pitied Mrs. Watchett.

'I wonder she goes to sea with him at all,' she said. 'If you were one-quarter as horrid as your cousin, Will, I should never go to sea till you came ashore.'

But she always went to sea with Will Ryder. It was their great delight to be together, and there were few men, married or single, who did not take a certain pleasure in seeing how fond they were of each other. He was a typical seaman of the best kind; he had a fine voice for singing, and for hailing the fore-topsail yard; his eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots, and his skin was as clear as the air on the Cordilleras, which peeped at them over the tops of the barren hills which surround the Bay of Valparaiso. And Mrs. Ryder was just the kind of wife for a man who was somewhat inclined to take things easily. If she was as pretty as a peach, she had, like the peach, something inside which was not altogether soft. Her brown eyes could turn black; she had resolution and courage.

'You shall not put up with it,' was a favourite expression on her tongue. And there were times, to use his own expression, when she made sail when he would have shortened it. In that sense she was certainly capable of 'carrying on.'

Both vessels were barques of about 1100 tons register, and if the Star of the South had about twenty tons to the good in size she was rather harder to work. It is the nature of ships to develop in certain ways, and though both of these barques were sister ships, it is always certain that sister ships are never quite alike. But as they belonged to the same port of London, and were owned by two branches of the same family, all of whose money was divided up in 64ths, according to the common rule with ships, they were rivals and rival beauties. But, unlike the more respectable ladies who owned them, both the vessels were fast, and it was a sore point of honour with Ryder and Watchett to prove their own the faster.

'If she only worked it a little easier I could lick his head off,' said Ryder sadly.

But there was the rub. The Star of the South needed more 'beef' in her than the Battle-Axe. She wasn't so quick in stays. By the time Ryder yelled, 'Let go and haul,' the Battle-Axe was gathering headway on a fresh tack.

'And instead of having two more hands than we are allowed, we are two short,' said his wife bitterly. 'If I were you, Will, I'd take these Greeks.'

'Not by an entire jugful,' replied Captain Ryder. 'I remember the Lennie and the Caswell, my dear. I never knew Valparaiso so bare of men.'

'And we're sailing to-morrow,' said Connie Ryder angrily, 'and you've betted him a hundred pounds we shall dock before him. It's too bad. I wonder whether he'd give us another day?'

But Ryder shook his head.

'And you've known him for years! He's spending that money in his mind.'

'But not on his wife, Will,' said Mrs. Ryder. 'If we win I'm to have it.'

'I'd give him twenty to let me off,' said Ryder.

But Connie Ryder went on board the Battle-Axe to see if she could not induce her husband's cousin to forgo the advantage he had already gained before sailing. She found him dark and grim, and as hard as adamant.

'A bet's a bet, and business is business,' said Watchett. 'We app'inted to-morrow, and bar lying out a gale from the north with two anchors down, and cables out to the bitter end, I'll sail.'

His wife, who was as meek as milk, suggested humbly that it would be more interesting if he waited.

'I ain't in this for interest. I'm in it for capital,' said Watchett, grinning gloomily. 'The more like a dead certainty it looks the better I shall be pleased.'

Mrs. Ryder darkened.

'I don't think you're a sportsman,' said she rather curtly.

'I ain't,' retorted Watchett, 'I'm a seaman, and him that'd go to sea for sport would go to hell for pastime. You can tell Bill I'll give him ten per cent. discount for cash now.'

As Mrs. Ryder knew that he never called her husband 'Bill' unless he desired to be more or less offensive, she showed unmistakable signs of temper.

'If I ever get half a chance to make you sorry, I will,' she said.

'Let it go at that,' said Watchett sulkily. 'I got on all right with Bill before you took to going to sea with him.'

'He was too soft with you,' said Bill's wife.

'And a deal softer with you than I'd be,' said Watchett.

'Oh, please, please don't,' cried Mary Watchett in great distress.

'I thought you were a gentleman,' said Connie Ryder.

'Not you,' replied Watchett, 'you never, and you know it. I'm not one, and never hankered to be. I'm rough and tough, and a seaman of the old school. I'm no sea dandy. I'm Jack Watchett, as plain as you like.'

'You're much plainer than I like,' retorted his cousin's wife; 'very much plainer.'

And though she kissed Mary Watchett, she wondered greatly how any woman could kiss Mary Watchett's husband.

'If I ever get a chance,' she said. 'But there, how can I?'

She wept a little out of pure anger as she returned to the Star of the South. When she got on board she found the mate and second mate standing by the gangway.

'Is there no chance of those men, Mr. Semple?'

'No more than if it was the year '49, and this was San Francisco,' said the mate, who was a hoary-headed old sea-dog, a great deal more like the old school than 'plain Jack Watchett.'

'Why doesna' the captain take the Greeks, ma'am?' asked M'Gill, the second mate, who had been almost long enough out of Scotland to forget his own language.

'Because he doesn't like any but Englishmen,' said Connie Ryder.

'And Scotch, of course,' she added, as she saw M'Gill's jaw fall a little. 'I've been trying to get Captain Watchett to give us another day.'

'All our ship and cargo to a paper bag of beans, he didn't,' said Semple.

'I—I hate him,' cried Connie Ryder, as she entered the cabin.

'She's as keen as mustard, as red pepper,' said Semple. 'If she'd been a man she'd have made a seaman.'

'I've never sailed wi' a skeeper's wife before,' said M'Gill, who had shipped in the Star of the South a week before, in place of the second mate, who had been given his discharge for drunkenness; 'is she at all interferin', Mr. Semple?'

Old Semple nodded.

'She interferes some, and it would be an obstinate cook that disputed with her. She made a revolution in the galley, my word, when she first came on board. Some would say she cockered the crew over much, but I was long enough in the fo'c'sle not to forget that even a hog of a man don't do best on hog-wash,' which was a marvellous concession on the part of any of the afterguard of any ship, seeing how the notion persists among owners, and even among officers, that the worse men are treated the better they work.

'She seems a comfortable ship,' owned M'Gill.

And so every one on board of her allowed.

'Though she is a bit of a heart-breaker to handle,' said the men for'ard. 'But for that she be a daisy. And to think that the bally Battle-Axe goes about like a racing yacht.'

It made them sore to think of it. But it also made the men on board their rival sore to think how comfortable the Star of the South was in all other respects.

'The "old man" 'ere makes up for any ease wiv w'ich we ploughs the briny seas,' declared Bill Gribbs, who was a Cockney of the purest water, with a turn for reciting poetry and playing the concertina. 'For two pins I'd desert. I'm too merry for old Watchett. I'll make a new chanty for 'im speshul, exteree speshul, same as I did for the cook comin' out.'

'And it took the "doctor" the best part of a month to get over it and do the 'ash 'alf proper agin,' said the rest of the crowd sadly. 'Poetry and music will be your undoin', Gribbs. It don't pay us for'ard to guy them as is aft.'

'And didn't the "old man" stop my playin' my concertina on Sundays?' asked Gribbs. 'And all because I don't know no 'ymn tunes. As they says out 'ere, it tires me to think of it. I'll be gettin' even wiv 'im some day. I'll commit susancide and 'aunt 'im. 'Owsever, wot's the odds, for "it's 'ome, deary, 'ome; it's 'ome I wish to be," and we're sailin' in the mawnin'!'

Owing to the fact that the Battle-Axe's crowd was sulky, the Star of the South got her anchor out of the ground and stood to the north-west to round Point Angelos a good ten minutes before Watchett's vessel was under way.

'That's good,' said Connie Ryder. 'I know they're a sulky lot by now in the Battle-Axe. And our men work like dears.'

It was with difficulty she kept from tailing on to the braces as they jammed the Star close up to weather the Point. For the wind was drawing down the coast from the nor'ard, and Valparaiso harbour faces due north. She was glad when they rounded the Point and squared away, for if there was any real difference in the sailing qualities of the rival barques, the Star was best with the wind free and the Battle-Axe when she was on a bowline.

'And with any real luck,' said Mrs. Ryder, 'we may have a good, fair wind all the way till we cross the Line.'

It was so far ahead to consider the North-East Trades, which meant such mighty long stretches on a wind that she declined to think of them.

'We're doing very well, Will,' she said to her husband when the starboard watch went below, and the routine of the passage home commenced.

'It's early days,' replied Will Ryder. 'I fancy the Battle-Axe is in her best trim for a wind astern.'

But Mrs. Ryder didn't believe it.

'And if she is, she mayn't be so good when it comes to beating.'

She knew what she was talking about, and spoke good sense.

'It's going to be luck,' said Ryder. 'If either of us get a good slant that the other misses, the last will be out of it. But I wish I'd had those other two hands. The Star wants beef on the braces. Mr. Semple, as soon as possible see all the parrals greased and the blocks running as free as you can make 'em.'

And Semple did his best, as the crew did. But Mrs. Ryder had her doubts as to whether her husband was doing his. For once he seemed to think failure was a foregone conclusion.

'I think it must be his liver,' said Mrs. Ryder. 'I'll see to that at once.'

But instead of looking up the medicine-chest she came across the Pacific Directory.

'I never thought of that,' she said. 'He's never done it: now he shall.'

She took the big book down and read one part of it eagerly.

'I don't see why not,' she decided; and she went to her husband with the request that he should run through Magellan's Straits when he came to it.

'Not for dollars,' said Will Ryder. 'When I'm skipper of a Pacific Navigation boat I'll take you through, but not till then.'

'But look at all you cut off,' urged his wife, 'if you get through.'

'And how you are cut off if you don't,' retorted Ryder. 'When I was an apprentice I went through in fine weather for the Straits, and I'd rather drive a 'bus down Fleet Street in a fog than try it.'

She said he had very little enterprise, and pouted.

'Suppose the Battle-Axe does it?'

Ryder declined to suppose it.

'John wouldn't try it if you guarantee the weather. I know him.'

'You never take my advice,' said his wife.

'I love you too much,' replied Will Ryder. He put his arm about her, but she was cross, and pushed him away.

'This is mutiny,' said the captain, smiling.

'Well, I feel mutinous,' retorted Connie. 'I wanted you to steal two of your cousin's men and you wouldn't. I'm sure they would have come for what the Battle-Axe owed them. And you wouldn't. And now I want to go through the Straits and you won't. The very, very next time that I want to do anything I shall do it without asking you. Why did you bet a hundred pounds if you weren't prepared to try to win it?'

'We'll win yet,' said the skipper, cheerfully. 'We've only just started.'

The two vessels kept company right down to the Horn, and there, between Ildefonso Island and the Diego Ramirez Islands, the Star of the South lost sight of her sister and rival in a dark sou'westerly gale. With the wind astern when they squared away with Cape Horn frowning to the nor'west, the Star was a shooting star, as they said for'ard.

'If we could on'y carry a gale like this right to the Line we'd 'ave a pull over the Battle-Axe, ma'am,' said Silas Bagge, an old fo'c'sle-man, who was Mrs. Ryder's favourite among all the crew. He was a magnificent old chap, with a long white beard, which he wore tucked inside a guernsey, except in fine weather.

'But we can't; there'll be the Trades,' said the captain's wife dolorously.

'I've picked up the sou'east Trade blowin' a gale, ma'am, before now,' said Bagge; 'years ago, in '74 or thereabouts, I was in the Secunderabad, and we crossed the Line bound south, doing eleven close-'auled, and we carried 'em to 27° south latitude. There's times when it is difficult to say where the Trades begin south, too. Mebbe we'll be chased by such a gale as this nigh up to 30° south.'

'It's hoping too much,' said Mrs. Ryder.

'Hope till ye bust, ma'am,' said Silas Bagge. 'Nothin''s lost till it's won. If we can only get out of the doldrums without breakin' our hearts working the ship, there's no knowing what'll 'appen. 'Twas a pity we didn't get them other two 'ands, though.'

And there she agreed with him.

'Me and Bob Condy could 'ave got Gribbs and Tidewell out of the Battle-Axe as easy as eat,' said Silas regretfully. ''Twas a lost hopportunity, and there you are!'

The honourable conduct of his skipper in vetoing this little game seemed no more than foolishness to Bagge.

'When we comes to the Hequator, and it's "square away" and "brace up" every five minutes till one's 'ands are raw, 'twill be a grief to every mother's son aboard,' said Bagge, as he touched his cap and went for'ard.

But now the Star of the South went booming on the outside of the Falklands with a gale that drew into the sou'-sou'-west and howled after her. She scooped up the seas at times and dipped her nose into them, and threw them apart and wallowed. The men were happy, for the fo'c'sle didn't leak, and the galley-fire was kept going every night to dry their clothes. At midnight every man got a mug of cocoa, and those that rose up called Mrs. Ryder blessed, and those that lay down agreed with them. The Star was a happy ship. There was no rule against playing the concertina on a Sunday in her fo'c'sle, and the men were not reduced to playing 'blind swaps' with their oldest rags for amusement as they were in the Battle-Axe. And yet every man in the Star knew his time for growling was coming on with every pitch and scend of the sea.

''Oly sailor, buy a knife and 'ave a shackle to it,' said Bob Condy, who was the lightest-hearted of a happy crowd, 'but when we're p'intin' all round the compass in the doldrums, won't my pore 'ands suffer! I've a notion we'll go through the 'orse latitoods flyin'. We're carryin' a good gale, and she'll draw into the eastward by and by.'

And there he was right, for they picked up the Trades in nearly 30° south, with only a few days of a light and variable breeze, and the Trades were good.

'But where's the Battle-Axe?' asked Mrs. Ryder. She kept a bright look-out for her, and deeply regretted that her petticoats prevented her going aloft to search the horizon for John Watchett. She rubbed her hands in hope.

'I do believe, Will, that we must be ahead of him,' she declared after the South-East Trade had been steady on the Star's starboard beam for a week.

'Not much ahead,' replied Will.

And just then Bob Condy, who was aloft on the fore-t'gallant yard cutting off old seizings and putting on new ones, hailed the deck.

'There's a sail on the port beam, sir.'

'Take a glass aloft and have a look at her, Mr. M'Gill,' said the skipper. 'No, never mind; I'll go myself, as you've never seen the Battle-Axe at sea. I know the cut of her jib and no mistake.'

So Will Ryder went up on the main top-gallant yard, and with his leg astride of the yard took a squint to loo'ard. He shut up the glass so quick that his wife knew at once that the distant sail was the Battle-Axe. As he came down slowly he nodded to her.

'It is?'

'Rather,' said Ryder. 'I'm sorry we've no stunsails. We're carrying all we've got and all we can.'

'And to think he's as good as we were on our own point of sailing,' said his wife with the most visible vexation. 'Can't you do anything to make her go faster, Will?'

And when Will said he couldn't, unless he got out and pushed, Mrs. Ryder sat on a hen-coop and very nearly cried. For if the Battle-Axe had done so well up to this she would do better in the dead regions of the Line, and the Star would do much worse. There the want of a few more hands would tell. The Star was no good at catching 'cat's-paws' short-handed. She worked like an unoiled gate.

'If I'd only done what Silas Bagge wanted,' she said, 'we'd have been all right. To think that the want of a couple of hands should make all the difference!'

It was cruelly hard, but when vessels are under-manned at any time, less than their complement means 'pull devil pull baker,' with the devil best at the tug of war.

For days there was nothing to choose between the vessels, save that the unusual strength of the Trades gave the Star a trifling advantage. Every night Watchett took in his royals. This Ryder declined to do, though he often expected them to take themselves in.

'What did I say, ma'am,' said old Bagge. 'I told you it could blow quite 'eavy in its way in the South-East Trades.'

And thus it happened that what the Star lost by day she pulled up by night. And presently the Battle-Axe edged up closer, and at last was within hailing distance. Watchett stood on his poop with a speaking-trumpet, and roared in sombre triumph.

'I'm as good as you this trip on your best p'int, Ryder!'

'Tell him to go to—to—thunder,' said Mrs. Ryder angrily. Nevertheless, she waved her handkerchief to her enemy's wife, who was standing by 'plain Jack Watchett.'

'You've done mighty well,' said Ryder in his turn, 'but it isn't over yet.'

Jack Watchett intimated that he thought it was. He offered to double the bet. He also undertook to sail round the Star of the South in a light wind. He offered to tow her, and made himself so disagreeable that Mrs. Ryder, who knew what became a lady, went below to prevent herself snatching the speaking-trumpet from her husband and saying things for which she would be sorry afterwards. But Ryder, though he was by no means a saint, kept his temper, and only replied with chaff, which was much more offensive to Watchett than bad language.

'And don't be too sure,' he added. 'I may do you yet.'

'Not you,' said Watchett, 'I'm cocksure.'

They sailed in company for a week, and gradually as the Trade lessened in driving power the Battle-Axe drew ahead inch by inch. And as she did Mrs. Ryder's appetite failed; she looked thin and ill.

'Don't feel it so much, chickabiddy,' said her husband.

'I can't help it,' sobbed Connie. 'I hate your cousin. Oh Will, if you'd only let me entice those two men from him. Bagge was sure that Gribbs and Tidewell would have come.'

'It wouldn't have been fair,' said Ryder.

'I—I w—wanted to win,' replied Connie, 'and it'll be calm directly, and you know what that means.'

It was calm directly, and very soon every one knew what it meant. For it was a real fat streak of a calm that both vessels ran into. And as luck would have it, the Battle-Axe, which was by now almost hull down to the nor'ard, got into it first. The Star of the South carried the wind with her till she was within a mile of her rival. For a whole day they pointed their jibbooms alternately at Africa and South America, to the North Pole and the South. What little breeze there was after that day took them further still into an absolute area of no wind at all.

'This is the flattest calm I ever saw,' said Ryder. 'In such a calm as this he has no advantage.'

They boxed the compass for the best part of a week, and lay and cooked in a sun that made the deck seams bubble. At night the air was as hot as it had been by day. The men lay on deck, on the deck-house, on the fo'c'sle-head.

'This is a bally scorcher,' said the crews of both ships. 'Let's whistle!'

They whistled feebly, but the god of the winds had gone a journey, or was as fast asleep as Dagon. And day by day the two vessels drifted together. At last they had to lower the boats and tow them apart. Watchett was very sick with the whole meteorology of the universe, and being a whole-souled man incapable of more than one animosity at a time, he found no time to spare from damning a heaven of brass to damn Ryder. At the end of the week he even hailed the Star and offered to come on board and bring his wife.

'I don't want him,' said Connie Ryder. 'I won't have him.'

And as she said this she jumped as if a pin had been stuck into her.

'What's the matter?' asked her husband.

'Nothing,' said Connie. 'But let him come!'

She went for'ard to interview the cook, so she said. But she really went to interview Silas Bagge. When she came back she found Watchett and his wife on board. If she was a little stiff with Watchett he never noticed it. As a matter of fact the whims and fads and tempers of a woman were of no more account than the growling of the men for'ard. He was too much engaged in cursing the weather to pay her any attention.

'This licks me,' he said, 'in a week we ain't moved: we're stuck. 'Ow long will it last, Bill?'

'It looks as if it might last for ever,' replied Ryder. 'We've struck a bad streak.'

The women had tea and the men drank whisky and water. Although Watchett didn't know it, two of his hands left the boat and were given something to eat in the galley by Mrs. Ryder's orders. It was Bagge who conveyed the invitation with the connivance of the mate, for whom the word of the captain's wife was law.

''Ave some marmalade and butter,' said Bagge. 'Does they feed you good in the Battle-Axe, Gribbs?'

'Hog-wash,' said Gribbs with his mouth full. 'Ain't it, Tidewell?'

Tidewell, who was a youngster of a good middle-class family, who had gone to sea as an apprentice and run from his ship, agreed with many bitter words.

'As I told you, we lives like fightin'-cocks 'ere,' said Bagge. 'When you're full to the back teeth, we'll 'ave your mates up. We likes to feed the pore and 'ungry, don't we, doctor?'

The cook, to whom Bagge had confided something, said he did his best, his humble best.

'The Star's an 'appy ship,' he added. 'We know what your ship is.'

The other two men came up in their turn and were filled with tea and biscuit and butter and marmalade till they smiled.

'This is like home,' said Wat Crampe, who was from Newcastle.

'It wass petter, much petter,' said Evan Evans; 'and ass for the captain's wife, she iss a lady, whateffer.'

That evening Ryder and his wife returned the call, and were rowed to the Battle-Axe by Bagge, Bob Condy, and two more of the men. Bagge and Condy went into the fo'c'sle. They lost no time in blaspheming the Battle-Axe, and in lauding their own ship.

'This 'ere's a stinkin' 'ooker, mates,' said Silas Bagge; 'why, our fo'c'sle is a lady's droring-room compared with it. And as for the grub, ask them as came on board us this afternoon. What d 'ye say, Gribbs?'

'Toppin',' said Gribbs; 'it's spiled my happetite 'ere.'

'It wass good,' said the Welshman, 'it wass good, whateffer.'

Bagge took Billy Gribbs aside on the deck and had a talk with him.

'Oh Lord!' said Gribbs, 'eh, what?'

'Straight talk,' replied Silas, 'she said so.'

'Do you mean it?'

'Do I mean it?' returned Silas with unutterable scorn. 'In course I mean it. It will sarve them right as it sarves right.'

Gribbs held on to the rail and laughed till he ached.

'It's the rummest notion I ever 'eard tell on.'

'Not so rummy!'

'Wot!' cried Gribbs, 'not so rummy? Well, it ain't so rummy, I'm jiggered. I'll think of it.'

'Do it, and tell your mate Tidewell.'

'If I tell Ned, 'e'll do it for sure. 'E's the biggest joker 'ere!'

'Then tell him,' said Silas.

That evening Ned Tidewell and Billy Gribbs acted in a very strange way on board the Battle-Axe. Without any obvious reason they kept on bursting into violent fits of laughter.

'The poor blokes is gone dotty from the 'eat,' said the pitying crowd. 'We've 'eard of such before.'

'Why shouldn't I laugh?' asked Gribbs. 'I'm laughin' because I'm a pore silly sailorman, and my life ain't worth livin'. If I'd died early I'd ha' bin saved a pile o' trouble. I was thinkin' of my father's green fields as I looked over the side this afternoon.'

'Was you, really?' asked the oldest man on board, 'then you take my advice quick and go and ask the skipper for a real good workin' pill of the largest size.'

'Wot for?' asked Gribbs.

'Because you hobvus got a calentoor,' said the old fo'c'sleman. 'And chaps as gets a calentoor jumps overboard. Oh, but that's well known at sea by them as knows anythin'.'

But Gribbs laughed.

'The worst is as it's catchin',' said his adviser anxiously, 'it's fatally catchin'. 'I've 'eard of crews doin' it one hafter the hother till there warn't no one left. In 'eat it was and in calm.'

'Gammon,' said Gribbs. But he was observed to sigh.

'Are you 'ot in your 'ead?' asked the anxious and ancient one.

'I feels a little 'ot and rummy,' said Gribbs; 'but what I chiefly feels is a desire to eat grass.'

The old man groaned.

'Then it's got you. Mates, we ought to tie Gribbs up, or lock him in the sail-locker, or 'is clothes will be auctioned off before long.'

But Gribbs kicked at that, and just then eight bells struck.

'I'm turnin' in,' said Gribbs, 'and I'm all right.'

But at six bells in the first watch he was missing, as was discovered by old Brooks, the authority on calentures. He waked up Ned Tidewell, who was extraordinarily fast asleep.

'Where's Gribbs?'

'Not in my bunk,' returned Ned, who with Gribbs was one of the few who still dossed in the fo'c'sle.

'Then 'e's gone overboard for sartin,' said Brooks in great alarm; 'there was the look of it in 'is eye, and in yours, too, youngster. These long calms is fataler than scurvy. I'll go aft and report it.'

He reported it to Mr. Seleucus Thoms, the second mate, who came for'ard and roused the scattered watch below from the deck-house and t'gallant fo'c'sle. When all hands were mustered it was certain that Gribbs was missing.

'This is a terrible catastrophe,' said Seleucus Thoms, who had a weakness for fine language derived from his rare Christian name, of which he was extremely proud; 'my name is not Seleucus Thoms if he hasn't gone overboard.'

''E was most rampagious with laughter in the second dog-watch, sir,' put in old Brooks. 'And 'e talked of green fields, the which I 've 'eard is a werry fatal symptom of calentoor.'

'Humph,' said Mr. Thoms, 'there's something in that.'

And when he went for'ard old Brooks was 'as proud as a dog with two tails.' Though he usually spent the second dog-watch daily in proving that Thoms was no sailor, this endorsement of his theory flattered him greatly.

'I've been mistook in the second,' he said, as Thoms went aft. 'He's got 'orse sense, after all. I shouldn't be surprised if 'e'd make a sailor some day.'

And Thoms reported the catastrophe to Watchett.

'Drowned himself,' roared the captain; 'drowned himself. And who's responsible if you ain't?'

He came on deck in a great rage and scanty pyjamas and mustered the crew aft, and raved at them for full ten minutes as if it were their fault. When he had relieved his mind he asked if there was any one who could throw light on the matter, and old Brooks was shoved to the front. He explained his views on calentures.

'Never 'eard of 'em,' said Watchett.

'And I thinks, sir, as Tidewell 'ere 'as the symptoms.'

'I haven't,' said Tidewell indignantly.

'Wild laughin' is a known symptom, sir, and Tidewell was laughin' 'orrid in the second dog-watch,' insisted Brooks. 'I'd put 'im in irons, sir.'

But Watchett was not prepared to go so far in prophylaxis.

'If any of you 'as any more symptoms, I'll flog 'im and take the consequences,' he declared. He went below again unhappily, for he wasn't quite a brute after all.

'This is a mighty unpleasant thing,' he said to poor Mrs. Watchett, who cried when she heard the news. 'It's a mighty unfortunate affair. Gribbs was the smartest man in the whole crowd, and worth two of the others.'

But still the great and terrible calm lasted and the morning was as hot as yesterday, and the sea shone like polished brass and lapped faintly like heavy oil against the glowing iron of the sister barques. At dawn, which came up like a swiftly opening flower out of the fertile east, the vessels were just too far apart for hailing, and Watchett signalled the news to the Star of the South.

'Lost a man overboard!' said Ryder, 'that's strange. I wish to heavens we'd found him.'

When he told his wife she seemed extraordinarily callous.

'Serves him right,' she said.

And it was wonderful how the crew of the Star took the news. They had never seemed so cheerful. They grinned when Watchett came aboard.

'This is an 'orrid circumstance,' said Watchett. 'I never lost a man before, not even when I was wrecked in the Violet. And this a dead calm!'

'Your men aren't happy,' said Mrs. Ryder. 'And you don't try to make 'em. If I give you three seven-pound tins of marmalade and some butter, will you serve it out to them?'

But Watchett shook his head angrily.

'I'll not cocker no men up,' he declared; 'not if they all goes overboard and leaves me and the missis to take 'er home. And what's marmalade against 'eat like this?'

He mopped a melancholy brow and sighed.

'It will help them to keep from gloomy thoughts,' said Mrs. Ryder. 'The Star of the South is a home for our men.'

'And two run in Valparaiso,' retorted Watchett, 'and I lost on'y one.'

He took a drink with his cousin, and went back on board the Battle-Axe, and put the horrid day through in getting a deal of unnecessary work done. And still no flaw of lightest air marred the mirror of the quiet seas. Early in the first watch the boats were lowered again to tow the vessels apart. At midnight, when the watch below came aft and answered to their names in the deep shadow of the moonless tropic night, Ned Tidewell did not answer to his name.

'Tidewell!' cried Thoms angrily and anxiously.

And still there was no answer but a groan from old Brooks.

'Wot did I tell you?' he demanded. 'I seed it in 'is eye.'

They searched the Battle-Axe from stem to stern; they overhauled the sails in the sail-locker; they hunted with a lantern in the fore-peak; they even went aloft to the fore- and main-tops, where once or twice some one who sought for coolness where no coolness could be found went up into what they jocosely called the 'attic.' But Ned had lost the number of his mess.

'More clothes for sale,' said the melancholy crew, as they looked at each other suspiciously. ''Oo'll be the next?'

Brooks declared to the other fo'c'sleman that the next would be Wat Crampe or Taffy, as they called the Welshman.

'There's an awful 'orrid look of the deep, dark knowledge o' death in their faces,' declared old Brooks. 'They thinks of the peace of it and the quiet, and smiles secret!'

Next morning Watchett hailed the Star and told the latest dreadful news. And at the end he added, in a truly pathetic roar: 'Send me them tins o' marmalade aboard. And the butter.'

And when Mrs. Ryder superintended the steward's work getting these stores out of the lazarette, she smiled very strangely. She said to her husband—

'If he loses another hand or two the Battle-Axe will be no easy ship to work, Will.'

'I wouldn't have believed the matter of a hundred pounds would have made you so hard,' said Ryder. And Connie Ryder pouted mutinously, and her pout ran off into a wicked and most charming smile.

'I'm not thinking so much of the money as of our ship being beaten,' she said.

And poor Watchett was now beginning to think the same of his ship. Like most vessels the Battle-Axe required a certain number of men to work her easily, and her luck lay in the number allowed being the number necessary. With two hands gone amissing she would not be much superior to the Star in easiness of handling, and if more went, a week of baffling winds now, or later when the North-East Trade died out, might give the Star a pull which nothing but an easterly wind from the chops of the Channel to Dover could hope to make up. He began to dance attendance on his crew as if they were patients and he their doctor. And the curious thing was that they all began to feel ill at once, so ill that they could not work in the sun. A certain uneasy terror got hold of them; they dreaded to look over the side lest in place of an oily sea they should look down on grass and daisies.

'Daisies draws a man, and buttercups draws a man,' said old Brooks.

'Don't,' said Crampe with a snigger, 'you make me feel that I must pick buttercups or die.'

'Do you now?' asked Brooks; 'do you now?'

And he sneaked aft to the skipper, who was turning all ways as if he were wondering where windward was.

'I'm very uneasy about Crampe, sir,' he said with a scrape as he crawled up the port poop-ladder. ''Is mind is set on buttercups.'

'The devil it is,' cried Watchett, and going down on the main-deck he called Crampe out.

'What's this I 'ears about you 'ankerin' after buttercups?' he demanded very anxiously.

'I did feel as if I'd like to see one, sir,' said Crampe.

'Don't let me 'ear of it again,' began Watchett angrily, but he pulled himself up with an ill grace, 'but there, go in and lie down, and you needn't come on deck in your watch. I can't afford to lose no more mad fools. And you shall 'ave butter instead of buttercups.'

'And marmalade, sir?' suggested Crampe. 'Marmalade is yellow too; yellow as buttercups.'

'Say the word agin and I'll knock you flat,' said the skipper. But nevertheless he sent the whole crowd marmalade and butter at four bells in the first dog-watch.

'Ho, but it iss fine,' said 'Efan Efans.' 'Thiss iss goot grup whateffer and moreover, yess!'

'They scoffs the like in the Star day in and day out,' said Crampe. 'If I can't roll on grass I'd like to be in her.'

And that night both Crampe and Evans disappeared.

'I believes I 'eard a splash soon after six bells,' said old Brooks. 'Mates, this is most 'orrid. I feels as if I should be drawed overboard by a mermaid in spite of myself.'

And Watchett went raving crazy. He blasphemed his mate till the man was ready to jump overboard too. He turned on Thoms and slanged him until the second greaser walked to the port rail of the poop and discharged a number of silent curses which would have done credit to the skipper of a barge, if they had been spoken aloud.

'At dark, lock the lot up in the fo'c'sle,' said Watchett, 'and not a soul comes out till daylight. If this goes on longer we'll stick in the doldrums till the Day of Judgment.'

Ryder came on board the Battle-Axe as soon as the latest news was signalled to him. Mrs. Ryder declined to go, but she gave him a timely piece of advice.

'Don't let him off the bet, Will, or I'll never forgive you.'

'I won't do that,' said her husband hastily, as if he hadn't been thinking of doing it.

'And if he asks for a man or two, you know we're short-handed already?'

'Tell me something I don't know,' said Ryder a trifle crossly. Even his sweet temper suffered in 115° in the shade.

'I dare say I could,' said his wife when he was in his boat. 'I dare say I could.'

Watchett received his cousin with an air of gloom that would have struck a damp on anything anywhere but the Equator.

'This is a terrible business,' he said. 'I never 'eard of anything like it. Every night a man, and last night two!'

Ryder was naturally very much cut up about it, and said so.

'Will you have some more marmalade?' he asked anxiously.

'Marmalade don't work,' said Watchett sadly. 'It don't work worth a cent, nor does butter. I'd give five pounds for some green cabbage.'

A brilliant idea struck Ryder.

'Why don't you paint her green, all the inside of the rail and the boats?'

'She'd be a holy show, like a blasted timber-droghing Swede,' said Watchett with great distaste. 'But d'ye think it'd work?'

'You might try,' replied Ryder.

'And now you've got the bulge on me,' sighed Watchett, 'with two 'ands missin' from both watches she'll be as 'ard in the mouth as your Star. You might let me off that bet, Bill.'

'No,' said Ryder, 'a bet's a bet.'

'But fairness is fairness,' urged Watchett. 'There should be a clause in a bet renderin' it void by the act of God or the Queen's enemies.'

'There isn't,' said his cousin. 'And you forget you wouldn't help me about those two hands I wanted.'

'Oh, if you talk like that——'

'That's the way I talk,' said Ryder remembering the wife he had left behind him. 'I'm sorry.'

'Damn your sorrow,' said Watchett. 'But I'll lose no more, and 'taint your money yet.'

'Will you and Mary come on board to tea?' asked Ryder.

'I won't tea with no unfair person with no sympathy,' returned Watchett savagely.

And when Ryder had gone he set the crowd painting his beautiful white paint a ripe grass green.

'Watch if it soothes 'em any,' he said to Seleucus Thoms. 'If it seems to work I'll paint 'er as green as a child's Noah's ark.'

And that night there was no decrease of the Battle-Axe's sad crowd, in spite of the fact that he did not keep his word and lock them up in the stuffy fo'c'sle. For soon after midnight the mate, Mr. Double, felt one side of his face cooler than the other as he stood staring at the motionless lights of the Star of the South, then lying stern on to the Battle-Axe's starboard beam.

'Eh, what? Jerusalem!' said Double. Then he let a joyous bellow out of him: 'Square the yards!'

For there was a breath of wind out of the south. Both vessels were alive in a moment, and while the Battle-Axe was squaring away the Star's foreyard was braced sharp up on the starboard tack till she fell off before the little breeze. Then she squared her yards too, and both vessels moved at least a mile towards home before they began fooling all round the compass again.

'Them hands missin' makes a difference,' said Watchett gloomily. 'Less than enough is starvation.'

As they fought through the night for the flaws of wind which came out of all quarters, the short watches of the Battle-Axe found that out and cursed accordingly. But it was a very curious thing that the Star of the South was never so easy to handle.

'That foreyard goes round now,' said old Semple, 'as if it was hung like a balance. This is very surprising so it is.'

He mentioned the remarkable fact to M'Gill when he came on deck at four in the morning, and so long as it was dark, as it was till nearly six, M'Gill found it so too. And both watches were in a surprisingly good temper. For nothing tries men so much as 'brace up' and 'square away' every five minutes as they work their ship through a belt of calm. But as soon as the sun was up the Star worked just as badly as she did before.

'It's maist amazin',' said M'Gill.

During the day the calm renewed itself and gave every one a rest. But once more the breeze came at night, and the amazing easiness of the Star showed itself when the darkness fell across the sea. Ryder and Semple and M'Gill were full of wonder and delight.

'The character of a ship will change sometimes,' said Semple. 'It's just like a collision that will alter her deviation. This calm has worked a revolution.'

Because of this revolution the Star got ahead of the Battle-Axe every change and chance of the wind. She got ahead with such effect that on the third day the Battle-Axe was hull down to the south'ard, and when the fourth dawn broke she was out of sight. This meant much more than may appear, for the Star picked up the North-East Trade nearly four days earlier than her rival, and a better Trade at that; for when the Battle-Axe crawled into its area it was half-sister to a calm, while the Star was doing eight knots an hour. And as there was now no need to touch tack or sheet, there was no solution of the mysterious ease with which she worked in the dark. How long the mystery might have remained such no one can say, but it was owing to Mrs. Ryder's curious behaviour that it came out. She laughed in the strangest manner till Ryder got quite nervous.

'Those chaps that jumped overboard from the Battle-Axe laughed like that,' he told her in great anxiety.

And she giggled more and more.

'Shall I try marmalade?' she asked. Then she sat down by him and went off into something so like hysterics that a mere man might be excused for thinking she was crazy.

'They're not dead,' she cried, 'they're not dead!'

'Who aren't dead?' asked her husband desperately. And remembering something which had been told him years before, he took her hands and slapped with such severity that she screamed and then cried, and finally put her head upon his shoulder and confessed.

'Was it mutiny of me to do it?' she asked penitently.

Will Ryder tried to look severe, and then laughed until he cried. 'Whatever made you think of it?'

'It wasn't a what, it was a who,' said his wife; 'it was Silas Bagge.'

'The devil it was,' said Will, and with that he went on deck.

'Call all hands, and let them muster aft,' he said to M'Gill, who, much wondering, did what he was told. The watch on deck dropped their jobs, and the watch below turned out.

'Call the names over,' said Ryder sternly.

'They're all here, sir,' said M'Gill.

The skipper looked down at the upturned faces of the men and singled out Silas Bagge as if he meant to speak to him. But he checked himself, and going down on the main deck, walked for'ard to the fo'c'sle. The men turned to look after him, and there was a grin on every face which would have been ample for two. Ryder walked quickly, and pushing aside the canvas door he came on a party playing poker. He heard strange voices.

'I go one petter, moreover,' said one of them.

'I see you, and go two better,' said a man with a Newcastle burr in his speech.

Then Ryder took a hand.

'And I see you,' he remarked. They dropped their cards and jumped to their feet.

'What are you doing here?' he demanded. And there wasn't a word from one of them: they looked as sheepish as four stowaways interviewing the skipper before a crowd of passengers.

'Get on deck,' said Ryder. And much to M'Gill's astonishment, the addition to the crew appeared with the captain behind them.

'Divide this lot among the watches,' said Ryder.

Leaving M'Gill 'to tumble to the racket,' he walked to the mate's berth and explained to him that henceforth the Star of the South would go about as easy by day as by night.

'Then they're not dead?' cried Semple.

'Not by a jugful,' said Ryder, nodding.

'This is very lucky, sir,' said the mate, smiling.

'It's devilish irregular too,' replied the skipper, as he rubbed his chin. 'Are you sure you knew nothing of it, Mr. Semple?'

'Me, sir? Why, I'd look on it as mutiny,' said Semple, 'rank mutiny!'

'It was Mrs. Ryder's notion, Semple.'

'You don't say so, sir! She's a woman to be proud of.'

'So she is,' replied Ryder, 'so she is.'

He went back to his wife.

'You'll win the hundred pounds now, Will?'

'I believe I shall,' said Ryder.

'And I'll spend it,' cried his wife, coming to him and kissing him.

'I believe you will,' said Ryder.

It was a happy ship.

THE COMEDY OF THE ORIANA

If the Oriana of Liverpool was a comfortable ship, and every one who was in her said so, Captain Joseph Ticehurst was no fool. He worked his 'crowd' reasonably, but saw that they did work; and if any of them shirked or malingered, the result was unpleasant for the one who tried such a game on with the quiet and gentlemanly skipper. And his mates took their time from him.

'To put it on no higher level,' said Captain Ticehurst, 'it pays to make a ship comfortable when she visits the Pacific coast of North America. For as things are now, if we lose the crew in Portland, we shall have to pay the boarding-house masters at least a hundred and fifty dollars a man. And as like as not every man we took will be worth two and a half dollars at the most. I know the Pacific, and you don't.'

For both his mate and second mate were with him for the first time.

'Is that the "blood-money" one hears of, sir?' asked Mr. Gregg, the second 'greaser.'

'That's it,' said Ticehurst, 'and last voyage I had to pay a hundred dollars each for six men to Healy the boarding-house master. And I own I lost my temper. I swore I'd never do it again. And Healy grinned in my face, and said that he'd see I paid more next time. The scoundrel seems to have the whole city in his hands, and half the newspapers. Oh, I tell you the Pacific coast is an eye-opener to a man who has never been on it, I tell you that.'

The Oriana was then running north, with a fine south-westerly breeze. The coast of Oregon showed up clearly. With good glasses it was possible to see Mount Shasta on the starboard quarter. Its snows gleamed in the westering sun; and to the north was the range of the Siskyous.

'We shall be off the mouth of the Columbia by noon to-morrow with any luck, and if the breeze holds,' said Ticehurst to himself. 'And in the morning, I'll have a talk to the men. If I could only knock a little sense into a sailor, I'd try to do it. As one can't, I'll try talk.'

He leant his back against the weather-rail, and took a broad view of Oregon.

'"Different ship, different fash," as the Dutchman said when he went aft to haul down the jib,' thought the captain, 'and it's the same with countries. I know I'm in for trouble with my friend Healy. He'll move heaven and earth and the other place to get the men out of my ship. I'll fight him to a finish this time; and rather than pay him for men, I'll take her to sea by myself and drift her home.'

He rubbed his smoothly-shaven chin and took a thoughtful pull at his port whiskers, as if he were checking in the weather braces.

'After all, the men would be crazy to quit; there's hardly one of them with less than fifteen pounds to take. I think I see how to manage it. I'll try anyhow.'

That night he had a long talk with the mate. He astonished Mr. Williams considerably. For Williams by nature belonged to the school which considers a sailor in the light of a punching-bag. It had required one or two private interviews with his skipper to induce him to relinquish practices to which he was wedded.

'Well, sir, this is a revolution,' he declared rather glumly.

'I'm a radical,' said Ticehurst, 'and believe in revolutions when required. I'll speak to the men to-morrow when they've had their breakfast. I'm no believer in coddling men, Mr. Williams, but if I have to ask you and Mr. Gregg to carry them hot shaving-water every morning while we are in Portland River, in order to do this Healy, I shall expect you to carry it.'

'Oh, very well, sir,' said Williams, and he retired to his cabin in some dudgeon.

'It's the principle I'm thinkin' of,' he declared, as he turned in.

The principle he believed in was that sailors should expect nothing, and that he was to see they got it. His prejudices broke through his discretion when he turned out at midnight to take the middle watch.

'Has the old man bin letten' you into his sailor-cockerin' scheme for doin' this Healy in the eye?' he asked.

'No,' replied Gregg.

'His notion is to feed 'em on the fat of Oregon, and give them hot whisky and water before they turn in. And you and I have got to tuck the dears up, and bring them shavin'-water in the mornin'!'

'Who are you getting at?' asked the incredulous second greaser.

'You'll see,' said the mate, 'it's as near that as a toucher. And there'll be a dance on board every night, and private theatricals every other day, and every day Sunday with no work in between.'

And though his imagination did run away with him, the skipper's notions as he expounded them to the assembled crowd next morning were certainly novel.

'I've sent for you, men, to tell you that to-night we shall be in Portland River,' he began.

The men stared at him eagerly. They wondered 'what kind of a game was up.'

And Ticehurst leant over the rail at the break of the poop.

'How many of you have been in Portland before?'

Five men held up their hands.

'And how many more in Pacific Coast ports, such as 'Frisco or Tacoma?'

Three more said that they had. The skipper nodded.

'I want to know how many of you left your ships there. Speak up and tell the truth.'

The eight men shuffled about a bit, and finally a seaman called Jacobs opened his mouth.

'Yes, Jacobs?' said Ticehurst.

'I reckon we all, more or less, skipped out, sir,' said Jacobs. And no one contradicted him.

'I thought so,' said the skipper. 'And I'll tell you what happened. You left a ship and left from ten to twenty pounds behind, and you went to Healy's or to Sant's at Tacoma, and were drunk on bad liquor for a week, and then found yourselves without any clothes to speak of in a homeward-bounder, with an advance of thirty dollars to work out, didn't you?'

'That's about it, sir,' said the shamefaced Jacobs.

'Yes, sir,' said the rest.

'And when you got home you had two months' pay or thereabouts to draw, less what you paid for clothes out of the slop chest. That is, you spent six months at sea and a week ashore for about ten pounds and a bad headache. Whereas if you had stayed by your ships you might have saved yourselves the headache, saved your clothes, and have got back to England with a pay-day of twenty pounds. Jacobs, what is the worst kind of a fool you know?'

And Jacobs answered promptly—

'If you please, sir, it's a sailor.'

'I don't say that it is always your fault if you desert,' went on Ticehurst, after he had drawn the reply which was the moral of his tale. 'I know some of you may have been run out of your ships; and I know that some captains are too careful about giving the men any of the money due to them. But this is a comfortable ship.'

'It is,' said the men with a unanimous hum.

'And I propose to keep it so,' said the 'old man.' 'And what I want is to keep you on board. I'm going to take no precautions against your skipping, I'm going to treat you like men. I'm going to allow you a pound a week each out of your wages for the month we shall be in Portland, and at six o'clock every man-jack of you not absolutely required can go ashore and stay ashore all night so long as you turn up in the morning.'

This was Williams's revolution. The mate gave a disgusted grunt and walked away to the lee rail. But the men raised a cheer. The skipper lifted his hand.

'I know this is going a long way beyond the custom of any ship,' he said, 'and I don't mind owning I'm doing it, partly to prevent the biggest boarding-house master in Portland getting hold of you. It's true that so far as I've worked it out your staying by the ship will save the owners in wages about five pounds a man. But that's not the reason I'm doing it. I'm on this lay because I shall have to pay Healy' (muffled groans from the men) 'a hundred and fifty dollars a head for every fresh man I ship. I had a row with him last voyage, and don't propose to put money in his pocket again. And if he gets so much from me, as you know, he'll get your advance note besides. Think it over. That'll do.'

And the watch below went forward.

'The old man talks sense,' said Jacobs. 'And as for Healy, he's a most notorious daylight robber, as lives on sailor-men and the p'isonin' of 'em. I stayed in 'is 'ouse for ten days, and was 'oofed, fair 'oofed, on board of a most notorious American ship where we lived on belayin' pin soup, and was tickled with 'and-spikes, tickled just to death. I'll stay by the old hooker. What d' ye say, mates?'

And they all swore that no enticements should prevent their sticking to the most comfortable ship that sailed the seas. A little after noon they picked up the pilot, and in a couple of hours were towing up the Columbia past Astoria. And word went on the wires to Portland that the Oriana, Captain Ticehurst, was on her way to the Willammette.

'That's all right,' said Mr. Healy. 'Now we'll see!'

He gritted his teeth, twisted his ugly mouth, and gave a nod sideways as if he were bidding farewell to the finally discomfited skipper of the Oriana. For Ticehurst so far had been the only man with sufficient 'sand' in his composition to buck up against the most outrageous system of crimping and extortion which exists in any part of the world. San Francisco (called ''Frisco' by those who have not lived there) might be tough, and so might Shanghai Smith, whose name was cursed on all the seven seas, but Portland, O., the big wheat port in the smooth and deep Willammette, with mighty Mount Hood in the background, was the hardest and toughest and roughest city in the West. And Mr. Healy, Jim Healy, the sandy-headed Irish-American to whose native brutality a certain low cunning in diplomacy was added, stood out in blackguardism and general toughness far above his peers.

'We'll see,' said Healy. 'This will be a skin game, a real freeze-out. Bully for you, Mr. Ticehurst!'

He called a quiet informal meeting of the genial blood-suckers who regulate the price of sailors in a so-called civilised city; and the crimps assembled in his back parlour, where many scoundrelly schemes had been hatched.

'He's come to fight,' said Healy, 'and what I propose is to give him so much of it that he'll sicken and quit. The first thing right now is to put prices up. I vote we make it a hundred and sixty dollars a man.'

He proposed to charge the skipper of any merchant ship £32 a head for any man he shipped. He also proposed to take the entire Oriana's crew out of her, in which case he would have to supply eighteen men all told, when she was full of wheat and ready to sail. In other words, it was his idea, and on such ideas he lived, to charge £576 for a crew. And as men were scarce, they must of necessity be drawn from another ship, to which the crew of the Oriana would presently be sold. It was a great scheme, and much honour must assuredly be given to the men who originated so easy a manner of getting a living. It amounted to charging two shipmasters a fee of £1152 for swapping crews. This is the way the crimps of Portland live even unto this day, in the year of civilisation 1901. There are pickings besides, for as John Jacobs, A.B. in the Oriana, had said when his skipper asked him who was the biggest kind of a fool, 'If you please, sir, it's a sailor.' On consideration, however, it might appear that the State of Oregon, which allowed its trade to be hampered by such means, was collectively even a bigger fool than a sailor.

The proposal of the one hundred and sixty dollars price was carried unanimously. And Healy grinned sardonically as he spoke further to his friends.

'Last time this Ticehurst and me came mighty close to trouble, and I want to get even. And I mean to be. Now what I want is this. Any men you boys get off of her I want transferred to me. When I ship them I'll settle with you. And, moreover, if he comes to you for men, send him on to me. I'll talk to him, the low down swine! I'll talk to him like a father!'

The prospect of speaking to Ticehurst like a father fairly made him purr with joy. A pretty thing, was it not, to have one's honest business broken up by any infernal Englishman! He had a talk with his runner and laid his plans.

'Mebbe he'll give us trouble, but I rely on you, Tom,' said Jim Healy. 'Get 'em away at any price. Load 'em up with the best liquor. And give 'em as much pocket-money as they wants. All I ask is to get 'em.'

And Tom Gilson, who had a name for persuasion which would have made the reputation of a lawyer, stuck his tongue in his cheek.

'When did I fail?' asked Tom.

And when he went down to the wharf, he found to his utter surprise that Ticehurst greeted him quite amicably.

'You're Mr. Healy's runner, aren't you?'

'I am, sir,' said Tom.

'Please go on board my ship,' said the skipper. 'Have a look round. Where are your other friends? Oh, here they come. Now this is nice and kind of them.'

He greeted the runners from the other houses with equal cordiality and invited them on board. It was then almost six. When four bells struck Ticehurst told Williams to knock the men off. As soon as they were in the fo'c'sle Ticehurst went to the starboard door and called to Jacobs.

'Jacobs!'

'Yes, sir,' said Jacobs, coming out in a hurry.

The skipper pointed to the runners.

'These gentlemen have come down to see you,' said the captain. 'They are runners all of them, and want you to leave this ship in order to put money into their pockets and the pockets of Mr. Healy. They have another ship for you in about a week, probably a nice American ship. Don't forget what I said, and when you are ready come aft for some money. Good day, gentlemen. My compliments to Mr. Healy.'

'Damme, the old man is luny,' said Williams. 'If I had my way I'd have her boomed off into the stream and I'd kick the runners overboard.'

But with such methods Tom and his friends were familiar. The new tactics of the Oriana's skipper took them all aback. They stood close together and stared at each other.

'Say, what sort of a game is he playin'?' they asked each other.

'The derned ratty old hoosier,' said Tom; 'he's tryin' to go to windward of us at the start. This is quite a new thing, this is. The old galoot has been goin' in for bein' popular with his crowd. But if I know sailors, it won't work.'

He started for the fo'c'sle and put his head in.

'What cheer boys, and how goes it? What kind of a passage did you have?'

'Long, but easy,' said Jacobs coolly, as he pulled on a guernsey over his head. 'No work to speak of and fine weather.'

The other runners gathered round their prey. Grant's man went inside and sat down. He produced a bottle.

'Will you have a nip?'

'Just had a tot,' said Jacobs. 'The old man sarved it out when we came in sight of the city.'

'Well, who's for the shore, boys?' put in Tom Gilson. 'You'll be ready for a good time now, and Portland is a daisy of a place, I tell you. The best of grub and good liquor, and the prettiest gals running around here. Who's with me for Healy's? He gets up the best table in the city, and I don't care who sets up the next best.'

The second mate came for'ard.

'The captain is ready with your money, men.'

'Is he goin' to pay you off?' asked the runners.

'Lord bless you, no,' said Hillyer, who was Jacobs's chum. 'He's only ladling it out in easy goes just to let us have some fun here. Five dollars a week; think of that!'

It was certainly unusual, and the runners stared.

'Five dollars,' sneered Gilson. 'Why, every man of you that comes ashore with me shall have ten right off.'

'And a ship next week,' said Jacobs drily. 'I know; I've been there. I was in Portland and in your house, mister, three years ago.'

'But I wasn't here then, and things are changed. Sailors have it all their own way now, and we guarantee a month ashore and thirty dollars a month when you ship.'

Talk as he would, and he did talk, he had struck a crowd that for a time would have nothing to say to him. They were quiet and sober, and knew, in American parlance, that he was not on board the Oriana for his health. He was there for dollars. The men went aft one by one and the skipper talked to them.

'We shan't turn to till eight in the morning,' he said, 'and don't forget that the men I've let on board are not here for your good, it's for their own. Here's a dollar for you. I've made up my mind to let you have a dollar a night. If you sleep on board, it will be all the better for you.'

And the men went out feeling that for once they had a captain who understood men a little. There was not one of them who did not make up his mind to keep sober and stay by the Oriana. And as a crew is a crowd, and with the obstinate affections of a crowd, the initial direction given to their thoughts persisted long. The runners were given the cold shoulder, and every suggestion they made was looked on as a trap. The men followed Jacobs and Hillyer, who both had some knowledge of Portland.

'It's my belief this will work,' said Ticehurst, as he watched them go.

'Well, sir, if you find half of them here in the morning, I'll eat a cat-block,' said the mate.

'We'll see,' replied Ticehurst. And he interviewed the steward. 'While we're here,' he said, 'the men are to get soft bread and fresh meat and vegetables three times a day. If it costs what it will, it will be money in the owner's pockets.'

He went ashore himself, and found his way to the house of the British consul, whom he knew pretty well, for it was too late to go to the agents. Mr. Sedgwick was a bright man and sturdy, but he was rather pessimistic over the Oriana's prospects.

'This Healy is cunning as well as mean and venal and brutal,' he said, 'I know he has it laid up for you. Don't have anything to do with him personally. The law here is pretty much what it is made by the people who want to use it to make money. He'll bribe your men off.'

'I'll have them arrested,' said Ticehurst.

Sedgwick shrugged his shoulders.

'They'll have to be found. And judging by what happened to the Heather Bell, if the United States put them on board, the State of Oregon will take them off. There are two sets of laws here, and State law has the pull. And Healy has the pull on the State law as administered by elected judges.'

'We'll see,' said Ticehurst, who thought he knew a little. He was about to learn more. 'We'll see.'

'So you will,' said the consul.

'At any rate, four of my men are teetotalers,' said Ticehurst, 'and some of those who are not are not quite such fools as most sailors. I believe I've fixed Healy this time.'

But in the morning he was four men short, and the comedy began.

Yet Ticehurst did not lose his temper. He was as cool as the top of Mount Hood to the eastward.

'Work the men easy, Mr. Williams,' he said, 'work 'em easy. Just keep 'em going. Remember this is going to be a game, and the counters are men. A hard word may spoil me, and I want you to be popular. Do you understand?'

The mate sighed.

'To be sure, to be sure, sir, if you desire it.'

And the skipper went to see Mr. Sedgwick again.

'Sedgwick, I lost four men last night.'

'The devil you did!'

'So Healy scores first blood. What's to be my next move?'

'Then you mean to fight?'

'By the Lord, I do. And I want your help, if it's only to make such a row that the Board of Trade at home will hear of it.'

And Sedgwick said he'd do his best.

'Nevertheless——'

And he sighed, like the mate, though for different reasons. Together they went up-town and found the United States Marshal.

'You want a warrant to get the four arrested?' asked the marshal; 'and you shall have it. But you know the game they'll play?'

Sedgwick did, and Ticehurst didn't.

'They'll work the State of Oregon against me,' said the marshal, 'and it'll be a fight.'

'That's what I'm here for,' said the skipper of the Oriana. He quoted General Grant: "I'll fight it out in this line if it takes all the summer." How is it you let Healy and his gang run the port?'

'I can't help it,' replied the official of the United States. 'I don't think you Englishmen understand that being a United States official here is pretty much the same as being a foreigner. There's folks here that would rather do me up than drink. However, we'll get the warrant and arrest these men to-night, if they can be found.'

They tried to arrest them that night. And Healy got word, of course, about what was coming.

'All right,' said Healy. 'I'll fix you.'

He sent for Gilson.

'Take these men back to the Oriana!'

'Eh, what?' said Gilson, 'are you going to quit already?'

'Roll up a blanket or two of mine with their dunnage, you fool,' said Healy.

And the runner laughed.

'Well, you are a daisy.'

And when the marshal appeared, Healy interviewed him.

'Come right in and look for 'em. They're not here.'

And, of course, they weren't.

'They're back on their ship,' said Healy, with a grin.

'And what's your game?' asked the marshal.

'You'll know to-morrow,' said the boarding-house keeper, and the marshal went down to the Oriana to see Ticehurst.

'They came on board and swore they never meant to desert,' said Ticehurst; 'what's the meaning of it?'

'We'll have to wait.'

But they knew in the morning when the police of the State of Oregon came down on board.

'Well, what do you want?' asked Williams.

He knew when the four men were arrested for stealing blankets from Healy's house. They were taken away and clapped in gaol.

'By the Lord, this is a game,' said Ticehurst. 'That's a point to Healy.'

He went to Sedgwick and told him about the new move, and Sedgwick nodded.

'What he doesn't know isn't worth knowing. I'll come down to the court with you.'

And the judge, who happened not to be one of those in Healy's pocket, saw through the game when Ticehurst took the witness-stand.

'This is a conflict between me and Mr. Healy,' said Ticehurst; 'and I don't believe the men stole the blankets.'

'We didn't,' said the men unanimously. They looked very sorry for themselves. And Justice Smith smiled as he fined them twenty-five dollars. Smith said that he was inclined to be lenient, and later in the afternoon he remitted the fine on condition the men went on board. They agreed to this very humbly.

'Well, we score,' said Ticehurst.

Sedgwick shook his head.

'It's not over yet.'

And so it proved, for Ticehurst met Healy in Main Street that evening.

'You think you've bested me,' said Healy, 'but you haven't. Nor you can't say you have till you get to sea with your men.'

'There seems some law to be had here after all, Mr. Healy,' replied Ticehurst.

'Oh, Smith's no good. We'll have him out,' said Healy; 'if these judges won't do as we want them, we'll have others that will.'

He cocked his hat and marched on.

'By Jove!' said Ticehurst. 'I wonder now!'

He went after the boarding-house keeper.

'Oh, Mr. Healy!'

Healy turned round scowling.

'Let's fight fair,' said Ticehurst. 'I'd like to know if you consider this conversation private?'

'Private be damned,' said Healy, 'it's what you like.'

And Ticehurst smiled.

'I think I'll fix him,' he said.

But Healy grinned. He grinned more widely than ever when Ticehurst's letter in the Sunday Oregonian gave the whole conversation between himself and Healy. This was followed up next day by an interview in which Ticehurst expressed much more astonishment than he felt at the ways of Pacific Coast ports. One would have thought him quite a child in such matters.

But even Ticehurst, who had not consulted Sedgwick, was a little surprised the following morning. He was arrested by the deputy-sheriff at ten o'clock.

'It's for libel,' said the police officer. And he read the warrant.

The information on which the warrant of arrest was issued read most cheerfully—

'The said John Doe Ticehurst, on the 16th day of August 1899, in the City of Portland, County of Multnomah, State of Oregon, then and there being, did then and there maliciously and feloniously, by means other than words orally spoken, cause to be published of and concerning another, to wit John Healy, certain false and scandalous matter in the Sunday Oregonian, to wit "If we can't get these judges to do as we want, we will have judges that will," with intent then and there to injure and defame the said John Healy.'

'You'll come right along to Justice Hayne's Court, east side,' said the deputy-sheriff.

He was let out again at eleven o'clock on 'putting up' five hundred dollars cash bail.

'I reckon I've got him,' said Healy chuckling. 'We'll tie his old hooker up, and she getting ready for sea again, and we'll get the whole crowd out of her.'

'I have been coming to the conclusion of late years that going to sea was tolerably dull,' said Ticehurst to Sedgwick, as they walked through the crowd of loafers outside Hayne's Court. 'But Portland is not dull.'

'Even I don't find it so,' said the consul. 'But, of course, this is to keep you here. You're nearly ready for sea?'

'I shall be in three days.'

'And your crew?'

So far I've got them all.'

Sedgwick shook his head.

'They'd rather die than let you go like that. How in thunder have you kept them?'

And Ticehurst explained his wonderful theory.

'I've really tried to make them comfortable, and I've treated them like men. I give them all they earn while they're in port. But what am I to do?'

'I'll think of it,' said Sedgwick.

He thought to some purpose. For it was commonly stated in Portland that many masters of merchant ships paid the boarding-house masters to induce the men to desert, when the amount of wages due to them from the ship was more than the 'blood-money' which had to be paid for a new crew.

'I think that's the line,' said Sedgwick. He got a reporter to go and interview Mr. Healy, and Healy being more than half-seas over and in high delight at having held up Ticehurst and the Oriana, let himself go.

'Curse the lot of 'em,' said Healy; 'they talk as if a boarding-house master was necessary a scoundrel. Ay, they do, and there's them lying in the Willammette now as have come to me winking the eye, and saying, "Now, Mr. Healy, how much do you want to take my crew out of my ship?" Why, I've done it as low as ten dollars a head, and have had a hundred a head for putting a new crowd in, and then it's been money in the pockets of the ship-owners and the captain, as it stands to reason it would be if the ship owed the men more than a hundred and ten dollars, besides saving the grub for a time when the men are doing little.'

'But Ticehurst didn't do this?'

Healy smiled and was incautious.

'To be sure he didn't. But he would if it paid him. If he'd come in here after a long voyage instead of a short passage out from Liverpool, he'd have been in my back room with dollars.'

And next day this was in the papers. Sedgwick smiled and ran down to see Ticehurst, whose ship was lying in the stream with a United States marshal in charge of her to see the men stayed on board and were not taken off by Healy's pirates, and a Multnomah county official to see that Ticehurst stayed more or less in sight.

'Now,' said Ticehurst, 'haven't I got him?'

'You can try,' said Sedgwick.

So Ticehurst filed a complaint in the United States Circuit Court in 'a damage suit' against Healy, laying his damages at ten thousand dollars.

'It will make him sick,' said Sedgwick. And it did.

Healy fairly howled, and by way of immediate revenge sent one of his ruffians to catch the reporter who had caught him.

'Sock it to him good, Joe,' said Healy; 'don't leave him a feather to fly with. Stamp on his right hand and kick his ribs in. I'll teach him to come down here with a pencil and a note-book and lay traps for inoffending citizens, so I will.'

And Joe went off to 'do up' the reporter. As it happened (and it was unlucky for Joe) the reporter was a man of his hands, and not at all an unsuspecting person. It was Joe who went to the hospital, and not the man with the pencil and the note-book. Nevertheless, as he understood how things shaped themselves in Oregon and in Pacific ports generally, this particular reporter thought it healthy to go elsewhere. What Joe had failed in Jack might do, and Healy had a very long memory, as many injured men could tell.

'What I like about Oregon is its climate and its general uncertainty,' said Ticehurst. 'It makes me feel young again. Of course, I shan't push this libel suit, Sedgwick.'

'If you do, you'll be like Vanderdecken when it's finished,' said Sedgwick. 'To try to beat to the westward of the Cape Horn of Law here will make an ancient Flying Dutchman of you. I'd try to get to sea.'

'I'm going to try,' replied Ticehurst. 'It will be quite enough of a victory for me to have come into Portland and go out with the same men I brought in.'

'It's never been done yet,' said Sedgwick, 'and if you get through you'll make a record.'

And the next day Ticehurst shifted his quarters from the ship to the Oregon Hotel in the city. He explained that he did so because he understood it would take some time to finish the cross suits then in progress.

'The man's a fool,' said Healy, rejoicing. 'We'll keep the Oriana here till she goes to pieces like a rotten scow on a mud-bank.'

But Ticehurst was no fool. He sent the Oriana down to Astoria to wait until the suits were done with, and was seen to be much occupied with legal matters all day long. At night he sat in the hall of the hotel and denounced Healy with much severity.

'I'll stay till I get his scalp,' said Ticehurst. But if he meant what he said it is odd that he reckoned up what he owed the hotel, and put the requisite amount of dollars in an otherwise almost empty portmanteau. It might also have seemed strange to Healy if he knew that his enemy went for a walk late that night and got as far as St. John's on the railroad to the north. There he boarded the last train to Kalama, that deserted township which once had a boom of which the bottom fell out, and went down the Columbia in the Telephone.

But Healy tumbled to the whole thing in the morning when it was found that Ticehurst had not slept in the hotel. The Portland authorities, at Healy's request, went down to Astoria next day bright and early, and boarded the Oriana. Mr. Williams, the chief mate, received them at the gangway.

'Where is the captain?'

'In Portland,' said Williams sourly. Treating the men according to Ticehurst's prescription was getting on his nerves.

'He skipped from Portland last night, and we believe him to be on board,' said the marshal.

'You can look,' said Williams shortly. If, as is probable, he knew that Ticehurst was not in Portland, he also knew he was not on board the Oriana. The most careful search failed to find him.

'Why don't you take us alongside and discharge the wheat,' said Gregg savagely. 'Perhaps he's under two thousand tons of it.'

The second mate was almost as cross as Williams. As he said afterwards, the way the marshal acted, a full-sized English skipper might be concealed in a sextant case.

At last the intruders gave up and went ashore.

'You needn't trouble to come on board again,' said Williams. 'I'm skipper now and shall take her to sea.'

But if that was true it is odd that Ticehurst was not to be found in Astoria. He had disappeared. The United States Marshal, who was still on board the Oriana, laughed, for he had no great sympathy with the state officials of Oregon.

'I guess your skipper has a head,' he opined, as he lounged against the rail and ejected tobacco juice into the blue-grey waters of the great Columbia River. 'Tell me where he is. I won't give you away.'

But even Williams did not know. He went to sea next morning, and was towed across the bar by the tug Comet. The Oregon people came on board again and made another search.

'Oh, come to sea with me,' said Williams with a savage eye. He had a notion that if they did there would be part of the crew that Captain Ticehurst would leave at his mercy.

'Don't get rowdy, young fellow,' said the marshal; 'it's a waste of natural energy better used in learning how to be civil to your superiors.'

'But you're licked,' said Williams; 'you're fairly licked.'

'Life's a game,' said the state marshal philosophically, as he went over the side with his United States rival, 'and if we won always we should get swelled head.'

He looked up from the boat.

'Say!' he called.

'Yes,' said Williams.

'If we're licked, and I own it, where is the captain?'

'I'll send word from Europe,' said Williams.

But, as a matter of fact, he sent word by the skipper of the tug. For it was Captain Ticehurst who steered the old Comet over the bar with the Oriana behind.

'Now, what I want to know is,' said the captain to his mate, 'what I want to know is, whether it isn't better to treat men as men, and best that crowd in Portland?'

Williams looked melancholy.

'Well, sir, it may be on a pinch,' he owned; 'but it's the principle I'm thinkin' of.'

And his principle was, of course, that sailor-men were to expect nothing, while his duty was to see that they got it with any amount of suitable sauce.

THE END

Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press

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Table of Contents

- CAPTAIN BALAAM OF THE 'CORMORANT'
- THE OWNER OF THE PATRIARCH
- THE ORDER OF THE WOODEN GUN
- CAPTAIN BALAAM OF THE CORMORANT
- JACK-ALL-ALONE
- THE MUTINOUS CONDUCT OF MRS. RYDER
- THE COMEDY OF THE ORIANA
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE