Chapter X: Part 10

"You heap sabbee work," said Sam. "Git busy, you dam' Chink." And he helped the truculent Tong leader to his feet with the toe of his sea-boot.

The fight was pretty well worked out of Wah Lee, for he obeyed as best he could, glancing with narrowing, wicked eyes at the sailor. Lines were coiled up at the direction of the two men, and in less than half an hour Sam and Heldron were lying at ease, hurling directions at the bunch of Celestials, who endeavoured to obey orders.

Bahama Bill washed his wounded head, which ached sorely. Then he sought clean clothes from the bundles brought from the laundry. By some chance Smart had gotten hold of nothing save female apparel, but one bundle happened to contain several pairs of pajamas; and, as the weather was quite warm, he donned a suit and came on deck. Bahama Bill had no recourse but to do likewise. He jammed his huge limbs into a pair of the loose trousers, which came to his knees. This appeared not so bad, for he was used to going barefooted. The loose coat covered him, the sleeves reaching to his elbows; and thus attired he, also, came on deck to take a look around.

The recalcitrant Wah Lee looked lugubriously at the black mate.

"Where you takee me?" he asked. "Where you go?"

"Toe China, toe de land ob Chinks," said Bahama Bill lugubriously, scowling at his former adversary. "Git out de shears, Sam; an' yo', Heldron, git out de line toe make de Chinks fast."

"What for you do?" asked Wah Lee.

"Me showee you, me showee you," snarled Bahama Bill. "Is yo' good barber, cap'n?"

"I reckon I can cut the hair fairly well," assented Smart.

"De razzer ob mine is in de locker, toe de right," suggested Bill.

Wah Lee was quickly tied fast and his hair cut close. Then a lather was made, and before many minutes his head was shaved as clean as a fairly good razor could shave it.

"Next!" called Bahama Bill, in the tone of a barber.

All went through the same operation, two of the pigtails being kept as souvenirs of the occasion. The débris was thrown overboard.

"Now yo' Chinks git out de soap an' de water--show 'em where dey is kept, Heldron--an' I wants toe see dishear ship washed fo' an' aft--see? Heap sabbee? I wants toe see dishear ship come inter Jacksonville lookin' like a yacht; lookin' like she was something toe be proud ob. Git toe work."

The wind held fair, and for two days the _Sea-Horse_ ran up the coast, making six or seven knots, raising the jetty off the bar the third day out. The sloop had been scrubbed alow and aloft, her decks rubbed white, her spare sails even scrubbed clean, and she looked good to a nautical eye as she rounded the sea-buoy and stood up the St. John's River for town.

The inhabitants of Mayport and Pilotown were treated to the novel sight of a heavily built sloop manned by a crew large enough for a four-master, the officers uniformed in bright-coloured pajamas, which fitted not at all, and the larger part of the hands distinctly Mongolian. The customs officer stopped her and boarded her without delay.

"Where do you come from--China?" asked the official, in amazement.

"Yo' surely ain't forgot de ole _Sea-Horse_, Marse Hennery," said Bahama Bill, coming on deck and recognizing an old acquaintance in the boarding officer. "We got a consignment ob ca'tridges--American ammunition--here's de papers, an' de crew we shipped in a hurry, without gittin' time toe sign 'em on in regular shape; but dey is all right; dey belongs right in dishear State."

As it is not necessary to sign on hands in small vessels coasting unless there is especial reason for it, the officer left without further remark, and the _Sea-Horse_ proceeded on her way.

The steamer for New York was at the dock, and would not sail until after dark. There was plenty of time to make the consignment and get the bill of sale through. The unruly crew were kept at work hoisting out cases of ammunition until all was aboard the steamer. Then the ship was washed down and gear put in place, and the _Sea-Horse_ looked almost like a pleasure craft.

"I will give you a thousand dollars for her," said a shipper who had been attracted by the strange uniforms and crew.

"Make it fifteen hundred," said Bahama Bill.

"She will never be in better condition to sell," cautioned Smart, who felt as though losing an old friend.

They finally compromised on twelve hundred, and, as Captain Sanders showed up before dark, dead broke and very thirsty, he was more than willing to get cash for his share. The deal was made, the money paid, and the Celestial crew were at last allowed to go ashore.

Wah Lee made for the depot with his followers. He had no thought for seeking redress by the aid of the authorities, for, with the Tong men, the foreign pigs are always dealt with personally. There were plenty of Chinese who ran laundries in Jacksonville who could be levied upon to produce the railroad fare to get him and his gang back to their place of business.

With new clothes and rigged out splendidly, all hands left the dock long before darkness set in. Smart had a receipt for his share of the salvaged ammunition, and the feeling that he had several thousand dollars was not distasteful to him. His cruise on the wrecking-sloop had been successful, and it was with a somewhat mixed feeling he said good-bye to the big black mate.

"Good-bye, cap," said Bahama Bill. "I shuah like yo', an' yo' shuah done well wif me--good-bye. Mebbe we kin make a new deal some day. Dere's plenty ob money wracking, ef yo' know how toe wrack right. Mebbe Sanders an' us kin go inter de business right, and git a bigger ship. Let me heah from yo'."

"I certainly will," said Smart. "Good-bye." And the giant fingers of the mate of the _Sea-Horse_ closed upon his own with their firm, solid grip.

Late that night a sheriff came rapidly down the dock to where the steamer was just pulling out.

"Seen anything of the sloop _Sea-Horse_?" he asked several bystanders.

"Thar she lays--right at the dock," said the watchman of the wharf.

"Ah!" He smiled grimly.

"You want the crew?" asked the watchman.

"I certainly do that," said the sheriff. "There's a bit of a charge of kidnapping against the mate and captain. Ran off with a whole lot of Chinks from below. They are aboard, I suppose?"

"That sloop was sold out hours ago, the crew gone, and the whole thing settled before five o'clock. It ain't likely you'll come up with the men you're after in this town. No, sir, they don't belong here--good night." And the watchman grinned as the sheriff, after gazing down at the deserted vessel, sadly went his way.

At the station Bahama Bill looked up to the window where Smart sat in the train. He felt the parting with the keenness often developed in the African character, and he was loath to leave until the train pulled out.

"Good-bye ag'in, cap; good-bye," he called up to him as the train gathered headway slowly.

Sanders stood near, and, not knowing the friendship between the two, was a little disconcerted at the mate's warmth.

"Come on, we take the train going the other way, Bill," he said, as the mate waved his hand.

"Shuah, shuah. Good-bye, cap----He was all right, Sanders; dat yacht feller was all toe de good. I ain't got but one t'ing agin' him."

"What's that?" asked Captain Sanders.

"Well--er--er, well, I cayn't hab de highest regyard fo' his--well, sah, I don't know jest how toe say it, but he sho' never ought toe been dun up by dem Chinks--dat's all."

He put his hand into his pocket and drew forth two handsomely braided queues.

"Yo' see dese heah? Well, I'se gwine toe make a nice dog-whip ob dem fo' mah little boy Will toe play wif." And he stroked their satin length approvingly as he boarded the cars for home.

XIV

The Edge of the Roncador

"The Canal needs men to dig," said Booker, the head of the firm of shippers at Kingston, "it's up to us to get 'em and it's up to you to take 'em to Colon--"

"But I'm not running a slaver, I'm a merchantman, by George, an' you can go to--"

"Hold on, Captain James," broke in the man of affairs, "if you can't run the _Enos_, a little five hundred ton steamer the way she should be run, it'll be about time for me to look for another skipper."

"But, Mr. Booker, she's as rotten as punk--there ain't a plate in her thicker'n a sheet of blotting paper, an' blame little stronger. She really ain't fit to run passengers even if you bribe the inspectors to let us. I ain't kickin' about the way you've treated me, it ain't that at all, but to ram that ship full o' niggers and send her out is mighty nigh murder, an', that's a fact."

Captain James was a shifty, fat and altogether sodden specimen of the tropical white islander. He had lost a fine vessel, and being unable to get another had drifted about the West Indies handling whatever he could command. Booker, Benson & Co. had found use for him in one of their old ships which had seen her best days running bananas to New Orleans. She had made money, paid for herself ten times over, and now she was just able to stagger along with leaky boilers and scaled plates to the tune of seven knots, heading, as James always thought, for the port of missing ships. Each voyage seemed to be her last, but she somehow drifted in to her port of destination with pumps working and crew mutinous, to discharge and stagger home again. James could not afford to give her up. To do so would have meant ruin for him, and as long as her owners paid him his seventy-five dollars per month--enough to pay for his rum and clothes--he stuck to her with the sullenness of a hungry bulldog gripping a dry bone. How he hated her. He cursed her daily, he swore at her free and fluently whenever she dipped her dull gray sides into the beautiful blue water of the Caribbean at each roll, and when he brought her to her dock, which he did with much care and concern, his exclamations at her perverseness to minding the helm were marvels of linguistic art. His mate, a tall, thin, saturnine Scotchman with bleary eyes from rum and cola, would sometimes deign to look at him with a languid interest during these moments of loud speech, and once--only once--he had allowed himself to be so absorbed in contemplating his master, that he forgot to cast the bowline from the drum of the donkey engine which was winding it in, and by so doing pulled and tore out an iron cleat upon the dock end. Then pandemonium had reigned and the silent mate soon retired to the privacy of his room to still his quaking conscience and steady his shaking nerves with potations of his favourite beverage, rum and cola.

"You will proceed to Boddertown, and then to Georgetown in the Great Cayman, and after seeing Jones there, who will see to clearing you all right, you will run the crowd to Colon, do you understand," said Mr. Booker to his ship-master.

"How many will there be?" asked James sullenly, after finding that his argument was of no avail.

"As many as she will carry--how many do you say, five hundred?"

"Good Lord, Mr. Booker--what? Five hundred niggers in that bit of a ship? Man, think a little."

"She has her ventilators--has both holds well-ventilated, a fruiter is as comfortable below as on deck, has as much ventilation with her blowers as a liner--"

"Make it three hundred at the limit," said James with more decision than his employer had ever given him credit for.

"Er--er, well, let it go at that, then. You'll attend to stowing 'em, give 'em plenty of grub--it's only a couple of days with good weather, and they can stand on deck for that time."

"All right, then," said the sailor with a sigh. He was not a bad man, only weakened by misfortune. Had he lived a little differently, had better luck and governed his thirst, he would have compared favourably with many of the best skippers in the West India trade. He arose, clapped on his grass hat and mopped his red face, squared his fat shoulders under his dirty white linen coat, and strode forth into the glaring sunshine. He went down the street, stopped at a saloon, took several drinks, and after that went aboard, rousing the chief engineer and ordering steam for five o'clock that afternoon.

"We will get to sea before dark," said he to the mate Mr. McDuff. "Don't get too drunk, we've got a big job--I'll tell you later."

A week later the _Enos_ was steaming over the calm and beautiful Caribbean. The sky was a tropical blue dotted with the lumpy trade clouds, and the sea was that beautiful tint only seen during perfect weather. She was running along smoothly down past the Quita-suena Bank, between it and the Serrano Cays, and so far all had gone well. Jones had proved an agent worthy of Mr. Booker's best expectations. He had managed to get together three hundred and ten strapping fellows who were destined to dig for the good of maritime commerce, and he had held out inducements which, while models of veracity, were also works of art. He had made even the most sordid details of life upon the Isthmus appear in the garb of most attractive romance, and money--why, money was the thing the Canal cared less for than anything in the world. Three hundred and ten men were destined to be rich in this world's goods. He had convinced even the most skeptical of this, and the only thing that kept the rest of the population upon the Cayman was the size of the _Enos_. He wished to ship five hundred, but James was sturdy enough to stop him. Under the influence of six copious drinks of rum and cola, he had managed to put up a determined opposition. He finally threatened to go ashore and get very drunk if another man was sent him, and Jones knowing him to be quite capable of keeping his word in this respect, desisted at three hundred and ten.

"You fat sea-scutt, I'd fry the grease out o' you if I could get another man to take the ship," said Jones in a fury. "I get a dollar a head for those niggers, an' you've done me to the tune of two hundred--but you can bet I won't forget you, you lobster, you blamed fat lobster--"

Captain James contented himself with calling the agent every name he could remember that carried disgrace or disrespect along with it, and after that stood upon the bridge storming and fuming, every now and then bursting forth when some new and especially choice adjective happened to reach his memory.

By the time the _Enos_ reached the vicinity of Quita-suena Bank, the skipper had cooled both mentally and physically, the evaporation of the rum with which he supplied himself producing a revivifying effect only to be appreciated by one who is addicted to rum and cola. His wrath had subsided until he scarcely mumbled his disdain for the energetic Jones, and his face, always red and swollen from both the fierce sunshine and his diet, now took on a more natural hue.

"Let her go well to the westward of the Roncador," said he to McDuff as the mate came on the bridge that evening. "The current is very strong, and I ain't quite certain of the rate of our chronometer. Got a jolt last voyage and seems to be going wrong ever since. Get your lights burning brightly to-night--there'll be some ships passing and there's no use saving five cents' worth of oil for that buzzard, Booker--and tell the chief to hustle her along, toss in the coals, and if the second is drunk, turn the hose on him, for we'll have to drive her through. The niggers will have to go below at eight bells; can't have 'em lying about the deck all night getting in the way. It's cool enough with the blowers on--keep 'em turned to the wind, that's your business. South five east by Standard, and that'll be about south two by the binnacle--keep your eye peeled. That's all."

Captain James retired to his room while the _Enos_ rolled slowly down the Caribbean, dipping her gray sides alternately into the smooth sea which rolled lazily. The gathering darkness still showed the forms of many big coloured men lying upon the now silent deck, but when eight bells struck off they were told to go below, and after that the deck was deserted save by the men of the watch.

Below in the 'tween-decks, where the banana racks had been removed, the islanders were grouped in hot and uncomfortable groups. The blowers made ventilation sufficient, but the air was warm and the odour from three hundred hot bodies made it far from pleasant. The bo'sn who had herded the crowd below stood near the hatchway in conversation with a huge islander.

"Yes, I know it's yo' orders, but I don't see why the captain makes us stay below. I am a sailor man, sare, and I will not be in the way if yo' let me go on deck for the night," said the negro.

"I ain't got nothin' to do with it," answered the bo'sn, "my orders is you stay here below--an' here you stays."

"But if I give you my word as a sailor man to help on deck, don' yo' think yo' can allow me?" persisted the giant good-naturedly. "Look at me, sare, I very warm." And he showed his bare chest running water.

"Aw, you niggers ain't satisfied wid anything," said the bo'sn impatiently. "You'll get to a hotter place 'n this before you leave Panama. Get your crowd to sleep, fer I'm goin' to fasten the hatch--there's water a-plenty in them barrels, you kin drink all you want, an' if you get short holler for the second to start the donkey an' pump some more in."

"Very well, I reckon I must do as yo' say," and the giant negro settled himself among his followers, who gradually made the best of circumstances and went to sleep.

Midnight found the _Enos_ ploughing along over the smooth swell, a bright moon shining upon the sea and making it almost as light as day. McDuff on the bridge walked to and fro trying to keep awake, while the hiss and tinkle of the side-wash was the only sound that broke the stillness. The slight vibrations from the worn-out engines barely reached the forward part of the ship, and only the low noise of the foam told of the ship's headway. She might almost have been at anchor, rolling slowly from side to side as she took the long easy swell upon her beam. The chief mate was warm and dry. He had been without liquid refreshment for nearly four hours, and he saw a long vista ahead of him into which the nose of the old ship pointed. He speculated a few moments. He might go below for a drink, for there was nothing in sight, and although it was against even the orders of James to drink while on duty, there was no reason to suppose any one would be the wiser should he do so. He went down the steps from the bridge and entered his room, pouring forth from a bottle a good, nifty drink, and fizzing it well up with the sparkling cola--ah, was there ever such refreshment anywhere else in the world--what was that? Hark,--a jolt ran through the ship, a slight jar, causing her to tremble. It seemed to McDuff as if the engines stopped for a few moments--but no, they were going again, for he could feel the vibration. He hurried on deck.

When he reached the bridge he looked about the horizon, and for a few minutes saw nothing save the dim line where the night met the sea. Then he gradually took in an outline close aboard to port. It was white, and while he gazed he heard the low snore of the surf of the Roncador. Almost instantly the chief engineer called up from below through the tube.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Seemed to hit something an' knock the engine out a bit, but she's goin' all right now--if there's anything wrong let's have it."

"Nothin' the matter I know of--port, hard a port," he whispered to the man at the wheel--"nothing wrong here," he went on to the chief, speaking through the tube. "If the engine is all right let her go, ram the coal into her and wake her up." Then to the man at the wheel--"Steady, steady as she goes--how does she head now?"

"Sout' b' west, half west, sur," said the sleepy helmsman.

Five minutes later the chief called up the tube.

"Water comin' in by the jump--must have hit something--started both pumps, but she'll be over the fire-room floor in ten minutes--for God's sake tell me what has happened."

McDuff stood petrified, irresolute. Then he drew a deep breath and looked out over the sea and the ship. All was quiet, there was no sign of panic or trouble below. Gazing aft he saw the two small boats in their chocks with their canvas covers, and while he looked he knew it would be but a few moments before the struggle to take possession of them would begin. Three hundred and thirty men, or all hands, including the extra messmen, would have to take to the boats, which would hold at the most but forty of them. Nearly three hundred were doomed. Before dawn they would be in the sea unless he ran the _Enos_ upon the bank. But he could not do this without calling the captain. It was his ship, or rather his command, and he knew his duty. He went quickly to the master's room.

"What, hit the Roncador? How the--" but James was enough of a seaman to spring on deck without wasting words. He was a bit groggy, but the sight of the quiet ship steadied him. There was nothing to fear just yet. He rang off the engines and the dull boom of the gong sounded strangely loud through the quiet night, reverberating through the hull and making those awake curious.

"For God's sake don't waste any time. Call the chief and second from below--let 'em keep the pumps going, but we must get those small boats over and away before the niggers get wind of what is happening. Lord, if they knew we'd be goners--quick, get the watch quietly and lower away."

"But ain't we going to run her ashore, sir?" asked McDuff.

"Lord, yes, we'll start her fair for the surf, but we must get away if we want to live. She won't hold together half an hour, an' we'll be a good mile from solid land--man, man, hurry for your life--those niggers will take charge of everything--hurry--"

McDuff needed little urging. He called the watch quietly while the captain spoke down the tube to the chief, telling him to get his crowd up as quickly as he could. In less than two minutes men were working like mad in the moonlight. Straps were cut and lashings cut, while the low fierce oaths and half-whispered threats of the frantic men told of their furious haste. The selfish brute was in supreme control, and it showed in each strained face and trembling hand. The fire-crew came tumbling from below, cursing each other as they came out of the hatches, some vowing to take the lives of those who obstructed their path, all panting, gasping, rushing about with the wild panic of men who are suddenly forced to face their end. James swore fiercely at them and struck right and left with a belaying-pin, threatening, begging them not to alarm the cargo. It was their only chance.

The boats dropped noiselessly over the side, the men sliding down the tackles, clambering down along the lines, all getting into them as quickly as possible. The half-naked fire-crew with their bare bodies shoved and pushed for places, and if there had been even a little sea on they would have swamped the small craft.

James had run to the bridge intending to point the vessel for the edge of the reef. He ran the wheel over, but at that moment the second engineer, who had been told to start the ship ahead, not understanding, or caring for the cargo, shut off steam and climbed over the side into the boat below him. There was nothing for the captain to do but go or be left behind, and he hesitated not an instant, but followed the second over the side just as the men were pushing off. They rowed rapidly away from the horrible vicinity, heading due west. Few cared even to look back at what they felt must become a scene of slaughter, and only now and then did some conscience-smitten seaman fix his eyes upon the hull which now rolled silently upon the sea.

By daylight the boat in charge of McDuff sighted the liner bound for Colon, and in a few moments their hail was answered. Signals were made and within an hour the entire outfit was aboard the big ship and heading for their port of destination.

It was a terrible tale the men told, a tale of a foundering ship which had sprung a leak--how the crowd of negroes had fought for the boats and how the crew, after desperate efforts, had driven them back. There were many little deficiencies in the tales which their kind-hearted rescuers essayed to fill, allowing that the stress and excitement had made the imaginations of many quite acute. James landed the second day afterwards and reported his vessel lost in mid-ocean, having suddenly sprung a leak which all efforts failed to stop. She was somewhere in the vicinity of the Roncador Bank.

Two days later, while he was standing upon the clock at Colon waiting for passage on the steamer to Kingston, he noticed a strange-looking ship coming into the harbour. She was lying on one side until her deck was awash and she was slowly steaming at the rate of about four knots an hour. Deep she was in the water, so deep that her plimsoll mark was several feet under, but she was working slowly in. Upon her decks were a crowd of negroes. As the ship drew near he noticed a huge black fellow upon the bridge who walked athwart-ships with a determined stride. The ship was the _Enos_, there was no mistake about it, his ship afloat and coming to dock, and the man who walked the bridge and commanded her was the giant islander, the foreman of the working gang.

"Yes, Ah'm a sailor man," said the good-natured giant an hour later, after the tugs had gotten to work pumping the flooded bilge. "Ah'm a sailor man, an' I brought the Captain James his vessel. I sho'd like to know if he is still alive, fo' I've reason to think he must hab been lost in de small boats--has yo' heard anything about him? Yo' kin tell him Bahama Bill would like to see him!"

"Yes, he's here all right," announced the inspector.

"Well, I'd like to have a minute's talk with him, just a moment's little talk," said the man gently in his musical voice.

"I'll send for him at once," said the official, "but how did you save the ship? He said she foundered."

"Ah, yes, it was a small matter, a matter of a mattress and some lines--we drew it over the side and under the bilge whar she hit the edge of de Roncador--oh, yes, it soon stopped and wid the pumps we kep' her goin', hundreds of us, sare, passin' the water over the side in barrels and buckets,--yo' think I kin see de captain soon,--Ah'm very anxious toe speak with him; I sho' is--yo' reckon I kin?"

Before the ship was properly docked the steamer for Kingston had pulled out, and upon her decks a crowd of men gazed at the strange vessel which had just come in. Captain James and McDuff stood side by side at the rail, and as the ship passed they noticed the giant black man coming forth from the pilot-house of the _Enos_. He gazed at them long and intently.

"Come, it's all over with us," said McDuff sullenly, "let's go get a drink."

The islander stood long in the sunshine, shading his eyes with his hand, until the steamer was a mere speck out at sea.

"I sho'd like to hab spoken to Captain James," he said to an agent who had come to see him about the men to work on the Canal. "Yes, I sho' feel that he missed somethin'--My name is Bahama Bill."

"Well, well, never mind him now. Let's get down to business. Let's see what we can do with this gang. He'll be back after he has seen his owners and straightened out this affair. He says you acted pretty rough about trying to take his boats and he had to drive you off. He'll be back all right an' you can talk with him--"

"No, he will never come back. No sah. I shall miss dat little talk with him, but--well, as you say, I'll check off the cargo of men, they're all good fellows every one. Come--"

"They're a good gang," said the agent to the engineer of the local work that afternoon; "they're as good a set of men as we'll get. Lazy? Of course they're lazy, did you ever see a black man who wasn't lazy? Fight? No, they're not much on a fight, but I believe there is one fellow, the foreman, a Fortune Islander, who is set upon killing--he has a way of asking after a fellow, the captain of the ship that brought 'em here, that makes me a bit nervous, he's so blamed gentle and insistent about seein' him--but he never will, so what's the difference. I'll turn 'em to in the morning."

XV

The Wrecker

On the edge of the Great Bahama, near the turn of the Caicos bank, the hull of the _Stella Polare_ lay high on the coral reef. She was a passenger steamer, and had made the run many times between Havana and the Mediterranean ports. She had run with an easy company, and many passengers had changed their countries in her; for she had been a crack packet in her day; and her day had passed, joining the vast host in limitless time.

From a distance the black hull loomed large and sinister, a long iron mass standing out clearly in the surrounding whiteness of coral and foam. Closer observation showed the rusty plates, the paintless cabin houses, and the weather-worn woodwork that still remained. Her two rakish funnels stood slantwise, holding their places by the aid of rusty guys, the chains and all valuable metal work having long ago been stripped from her. And so she lay as the _Buccaneer_, a wrecking schooner from Nassau, came slowly across the bank.

The rays of the setting sun shone strongly upon the iron hull, and the crew of the schooner gazed at her from various positions of ease and lassitude; for the day had been hot and sultry and the air filled with a brassy coloured humidity that was as thick as a heavy haze on the horizon. The master of the wrecker was an American named Sanders, formerly master of the _Sea-Horse_, and his mate was William Haskins, known as "Bahama Bill." He was a good-looking fellow, bronzed and fine featured, and his black hair was streaked with gray. Heavy lines in his face suggested suffering rather than exposure, although his vocation was rigorous enough.

The master had gazed for fully a quarter of an hour at the wreck as the vessel fanned along before the light breeze, when his mate addressed him.

"Shall we get the gear ready, cap? I got a box ob Atlas powder and twenty fathom of fuse with exploders. Dat's enough, hey?"

"Yes, get what you need in the small boat," said the master absently. "You can haul down the jib and let go when you're ready. Give her not more than four fathoms; for we won't stay here long--looks like it's coming on bad, and the glass is falling. The bank isn't safe this time of year. We ought to get into some pocket and tie up." The master spoke absently, still gazing at the wreck, and the mate noted it.

"She shuah don' look much like what she do when yo' had her, Cap," said Bahama Bill.

"What, the _Stella Polare_?"

"Yes, sare, an' it warn't so long ago neither. A few years on de reef make a lot o' difference in her. Seems like yesterday you run her into Havana fer de last voyage in de old charter. It shuah do, Cap."

"When you're ready with the small boat I'll go with you," said the Captain, still gazing at the black hull.

Anchoring with the fore and mainsails still up, the small boat went slowly into the bay. There was little or no surf on the lee of the bank, and the party landed without difficulty. Then they began carrying their outfit to the wreck. They would break her up, stripping the plates from her sides for old iron and tearing apart the most valuable portion of her engines to sell at Key West. It was a job that the men who had been there before them had declined as unprofitable, for it required considerable work to strip the plates, and the engines were well rusted in the half-submerged hull. At high water there was little of value uncovered in her hold; but the wrecking crew had not been successful that season, and it was a case of getting what they could. Wrecks had been few, and the sponging industry, which all wreckers of the bank usually follow during the summer and hurricane season, had paid small returns. Dynamite was expensive to use; but it was just as well to explode a part of it as to have it spoil on their hands. They could still keep enough for a few loads of fish, for the law of the reef and bank was never enforced in regard to high explosives, and they were far away from any prying eyes.

The crew carried sledges and hydraulic jacks, with a spare tackle or two, and the mate carried the explosive. They reached the high side where the dry sand had banked against it, and one by one mounted to the deck, the Captain going aft, still gazing at the old hulk in an absent manner. She was a long ship, and he walked the entire length of her deck until he reached the taffrail. Then he turned and looked at the cabin house. His mind was far away from the work he intended. He saw that deck as it had been in the days gone by, the days of his youth, and as he looked a strange feeling of loneliness came upon him.

The deck was there before him, and upon it he saw the faces of the people who had walked or sat upon it. Even a blistered bit of paint on the deck-house recalled a certain day in the time gone when he sat there with the one woman he had lived for, the wife of his youth. A soft voice called to him and spoke the words he remembered so well. He almost started, and a choking feeling came in his throat. Yes, he had sat near that particular spot many times and listened to that voice; now still, but which seemed to call again. There were the stitches in the canvas deck covering she used to rub with her foot while talking, sitting there as they used to do in the old days when the company allowed him to take his wife with him on the run across. The deck seemed to slant away and roll from side to side, and he balanced himself to meet the roll of the ship. The stillness about him was unbroken save by the distant murmur of the sea and the low voices of the men waiting forward for the work to begin; but he heard nothing save the voice of the past.

He went into the deck-house. There was the old settee, now without the red upholstered cushions. He remembered how many times he had sat there in the evenings after the voyage was run, and how for years they had chatted under the light of the saloon lamp when the passengers had all gone ashore and the ship was deserted by all save the crew. About him were the signs of wreck and ruin, and he stood for some minutes gazing about the cabin. A woman's shoe lay mouldy and green upon the floor near a stateroom door, and it brought a dull pain in his heart as he noted it. The owner was dead, long dead, probably lost in the hurricane when the vessel went into her last resting-place. Far away in Nassau was a mound, grass grown and storm swept, the resting-place of the one who had made life worth living for him. Soon the sand would bank up and cover the old hull, and the long beach grass would grow over it, blotting out all.

He looked into a deserted room. The door was broken and hung slantwise upon its one rusty hinge. Then he stepped softly back into the middle of the saloon and listened. A thousand little things brought back memories, and he raised his head. "Oh, God! the loneliness of it all!" he cried.

In the stillness he thought he heard the laughter of a woman's voice. No, it was the sobbing, and he started. A land crab scuttled across the floor of the cabin, making a disagreeable rattling as it went. In the ghastly stillness of the lost ship a thousand sounds seemed to fall upon his listening ears. He saw the table set and the people sitting about it, the stewards getting the dinner, and the old questions asked him of the day's run; but foremost and always was the form of one woman whose bright smile welcomed him from the table end. He stole forward and went into his room, the Captain's room of the liner. The wreck and confusion here were even greater than aft; but he saw nothing now save the time when they used to sit there, she sewing upon some piece of woman's work and he poring over the chart which held his course.

His heart seemed bursting. The ghastly wreck was awful,--it was the wreck of his hopes,--and he bowed his head and covered his face with his hands as he sat upon the edge of the bunk. The light was fading; but he failed to note it. Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes he sat there, and the mate, who had returned with the rest of the gear left in the boat, was searching for him. The sun sank below the sea before that officer broke into the room and saw him sitting there.

"It's dun gitting too late toe do enny mo' this evenin', Cap," said he with a tone of complaint.

"All right. Go aboard, I'll stay here awhile," said Sanders.

There was something in the seaman's face that caused the big mate to forget his temper at the delay.

"De men want dere grub, sare," he said quietly, "but I reckon I ken wait. Shall I send de boat in fo' yo', sare?"

"Good Lord! let me alone!" he cried. "Go! Leave a boat for me. I'll row out aboard myself when I'm ready."

The mate went forward, and the men followed him in the small boat. They went aboard the schooner for the evening meal, and afterward turned in for the night. A small boat was towed in by a man in the craft they had used, and it was left upon the sand.

Comment was made forward at the Captain's absence. No one understood. Even the mate, who had an idea, did not think it of enough real importance to dwell upon it; and so the tropic night fell over the reef, the haze deepened, and the darkness grew intense.

In the dull, heated quiet of the early night the Captain sat upon the ship's rail. He could not stand the oppressive stillness of the blackness in the cabin. The outline of the surf upon the sea side of the wreck shone in a line of phosphorus, but the dull glare failed to outline the vast bulk of the hull. The wind had all died away and the warmth of the air was felt, being heavy with a moisture and sultriness that bespoke of a falling glass. But he sat and wandered through the memories of a past life which was all the more bitter because of the happiness that would never return.

"She will never come back--never!" he whispered into the void about him. "I'm so tired--tired of it all!" and he groaned aloud in his anguish. He would not break up the ship. In the morning he would find some excuse to tell the mate and crew. He could not tell them the real one. They would not understand. How could they--poor devils? What had they known of life, life as he had known it? No, he would weigh his anchor and sail away over the tropic seas to live out his existence as Fate had demanded of him. He might kill himself; but there were others dependent upon him for a living, and he would not do a cowardly thing, would not cause them suffering to alleviate his own. He must live on--just on and on to help the few who trusted in his strength to provide for them. It was no pleasure save to ease their burden. It would be to-morrow--and to-morrow--and to-morrow--a broken life of unending work and hardship.

"God grant I'll not have to make it too long! Let me go to a long--a long, an unending rest! I want to sleep, to sleep for ever; for I'm tired out!"

His voice was deep and vibrant; but it fell upon the empty air, and he more than ever noted the silence. He gazed to the southward. There was nothing upon the dark sea. To the eastward it seemed a little blacker; but over the desolate ocean there came no sound of even a breaking wave top. For several hours he sat there gazing out into the blackness, and then sometimes watching the riding light of his vessel as it flickered upon the oily sea. All was quiet upon the schooner. The tired men were sleeping, for they expected heavy work on the morrow.

A low murmur came from the sea. It seemed to come from some distant point, and rose and fell faintly. Then a flash of lightning lit the inky darkness to the southeast. He waited to hear the following thunder; but none came. Minutes afterward the murmur rose again.

In the sultry air even his breathing oppressed him, and he turned to fix his limbs in a more comfortable posture. He sat easily now and waited. Over the sea from the southeast came a low rushing sound, the sound of a mighty wind, and as he gazed toward it he felt the first puff in his face. The noise of the surf on the outside of the bank grew louder. A spurt of sand whistled up against the steel side beneath him. Then came a fiercer blast, and the storm burst over the reef with a wild, swirling roar of wind and rain.

He stood up and faced it. It relieved his feelings, this fury of the elements, and he seemed to be again upon his ship at sea facing the hurricane of the West Indies. The dry sand of the upper bank struck the sides of the wreck with great force, and flying over it cut his face so that he could not see any longer. He made his way to the lee of the deck-house and looked out over the water to see how his vessel stood the strain. The riding light was still showing in the same place; but a faint rattling told plainly that both anchors were now on the bottom, and that the mate, with the instinct of the true sailor, was giving them chain as fast as he could, with the hope of holding on. How it blew! The wind came in fierce gusts, rushing, tearing, over the lost ship.

The sails of the anchored schooner had been lowered just after dark. He had heard the creaking of the halliards. There would be no great sea where she lay, but enough to test the strength of the ground tackle she possessed. He wished vaguely that he had gone aboard. It was the place for him, upon the deck of his ship.

He watched the riding light for some minutes. It was jumping now with the rise and fall of the schooner. It was a desperate undertaking to row a small boat out to her; but the struggle appealed to him strongly. He should have gone aboard. He would go, and let himself down over the side of the wreck, with no concern save for the safety of the schooner and the crew aboard her. If he failed to make her, it was of no particular matter.

The small boat was made fast on the shore, and he reached her easily. The oars were in her, and she was all ready to row out, for the inside of the bank was partly sheltered, and there was no sea there yet. It would be a row across the wind with it a little astern, and he was a strong man. The wildness of the night seemed to stir something within him, and he grasped the oars eagerly for the struggle. He sent the small boat's head out into the night and across that hurricane swept reef with a feeling of something akin to exhilaration. A blast of wind flung a sea over her, and the salt sea flew in his face, taking his breath for the instant; but he spat out the brine and drove the boat ahead.

The riding light appeared to get nearer. He was making good headway, although the water was flying over the boat and tossing her about like a cork. All around and about him the sea was white with a phosphorescent light from the breaking seas; but it failed to outline the hull of his vessel. He headed for the riding light, and he must make it, or--

He turned his head now and again to keep the course. The light did not draw closer very fast, and he knew he was rowing furiously. Then he noticed that it drew more and more to leeward. He was rowing with the wind now well aft. He knew what it meant: that his vessel was dragging her anchors and that there was little or no hope that he would board her. She might strike, or she might make the open sea. The mate was an able seaman and would get some canvas on her if he could to try to fight her off. Out on the wild, storm-swept ocean there might be safety. To leeward lay certain death.

He rowed now with increased vigour. He would endeavour to get close enough to hail her at least, even though he could not board her. Over the tops of the breaking seas the small boat fairly flew. She was gaining upon the receding light. The Captain turned his head and saw he was almost alongside. He made out the voices of the men calling to each other as they close reefed the mainsail. He could hear the mate's orders, howled into a shriek, sounding faintly but unintelligible above the roar of the wind and sea. He now made out the hull of the vessel. He was close aboard. Then the riding light went out.

He knew he had seen the ending; for they had put the forestaysail on her and were driving her out to sea. As for himself, he was a lost man. He was so close to her now that he stood up and hailed.

"Keep her east southeast!" he roared out.

A questioning hail came through the night, a wild, terrified cry.

"Keep her east southeast! Good-bye!" he answered.

"Ay, ay, sir! Good-bye, sir!" came the voice of the mate booming hoarsely above the gale.

The _Buccaneer_ fought her way out that night. She lost her foresail and half her other canvas before the finish; but she went to sea safely.

Three days later she came in and anchored near the wreck of the steamer. The mate and two men went ashore and searched the reef for signs of their Captain. The boat was gone, and so was he. This told the story. Two hours later they were tearing up the rusted hulk of the _Stella Polare_, and they carried tons of her to Key West in the little schooner, with the mate in command.

XVI

The Barrators

Mr. Booker, of the firm of Booker, Benson & Co., closed the door of the inner office.

"Now, Captain Johns, let's have an understanding at once," said he in a low tone, "let's make no mistake about this thing. You know we represent the best there is in the shipping business. You know I've stood by you. You know how long you'd have been inspector of hulls if I hadn't fixed it for you with the commissioner. Now, we want James's certificate returned. He's been master of the _Enos_ for years, and we can't afford to lose him----"

"But he abandoned his ship in mid-ocean with passengers aboard," snapped Captain Johns. "How can we give him a certificate after that, hey? How'll I get around the fact---- What? I know what I owe you. I know I'm inspector, but I don't owe you any such rascality as that--no, sir. I'll lose my place if I do give it to him--you know that--and if I don't you threaten me----"

"I threaten no man," interrupted Mr. Booker solemnly. "I simply put it to you as a business proposition. Captain James is our man. We want him. Now will you give him back his certificate or not?"

The inspector thought a minute. He was a big man, big, strong, capable of filling the office of inspector of hulls perfectly. He had been to sea for more than twenty years and was a first-class navigator, a first-class seaman. He knew the duties of inspector, and he knew the law. Upon him rested the responsibility of issuing masters' and mates' certificates, and he had generally conducted the examinations without fear or favour. He prided himself upon this point, for it was generally understood that a Board of Trade license was good. It meant something. But he knew Mr. Booker and he knew his man, Captain James, who had abandoned his vessel in mid-ocean.

"As far as the taking his license away from him is concerned," said he, looking straight at the head of the firm, "I had no more to do with it than others. We did the only thing we could do under the evidence." He seated himself in a chair and crossed a leg, rubbing his knee as though to gain time for the struggle he knew would take place. Mr. Booker was a leading shipper and also a politician of note. It was he who had swung the party, he who had practically made the inspectors. It would not do to act hastily. Booker was an able and deadly foe to any one who blocked his trade. He was unscrupulous when it came to acting against an enemy of the firm.

"I don't want to tie your vessel up," he went on, "and if I can do anything in reason I'll do it. Why not let the mate come up? There's nothing that can't be argued away about him. He had to obey orders. I'll give him a ticket all right."

A strange light shone in Mr. Booker's eyes. He saw his man was weakening. It was what he wanted, this mate's ticket, but to state it openly would have meant ruin to his scheme. He held out strongly for his captain, but not strong enough to carry his point. If the inspector chose to promote his mate, it was not Mr. Booker's fault. That would lie entirely and healthily with others. After a futile struggle lasting half an hour he gave in.