Chapter XI: Part 11

"Very well, then. If you'll give Mr. McDuff a master's license and let him take the _Enos_ out, it'll have to go. I don't stand for him, you know, and I want that distinctly understood. But I'll compromise on that--and not a little bit less. You know what she's carrying?"

The inspector did not. It was not his business to keep track of all cargoes before they were shipped. He felt irritated. His victory had at first seemed a good thing, a fine thing to get out of the hole yawning before him. Now there seemed to be some complications.

"It's dynamite," went on Mr. Booker indulgently. "Dynamite for the Canal, and while it's all right, you want a man who's mighty careful to carry it through the tropics along with the mercury exploders. Climate affects mercury, and it don't need much to send the whole kit to kingdom come. But let it go. I'll pay a premium the underwriters can't refuse. We'll have to stand a heavy insurance with a man like McDuff--but of course, if you say so, let it go at that. James might go as mate. You won't take away his living, will you? You'll let him go as mate--on his old ticket? You know we've got to have men aboard a ship. A vessel won't run herself."

He arose to show the inspector that further conversation meant a loss of valuable time to the head of the firm. Captain Johns knew it and put on his hat. He had certain misgivings about granting McDuff a certificate, but he had passed his word. To break it would mean almost loss of position to himself, for Mr. Booker would do what he could to make him trouble, and he knew that trouble with Booker was trouble indeed. The inspector before him had cause to know this. There was no necessity for history repeating itself.

"I'll send McDuff down to you--good morning," said Mr. Booker, bowing him out.

Captain James and Mr. McDuff were staying at St Lucia. It had been convenient for them both to keep well away from the curious gaze of the government officials after the supposed loss of the _Enos_, and St. Lucia was a beautiful, far-removed spot. Upon the crumbling ramparts of the fort near the entrance Mr. McDuff sat cogitating a few days after Mr. Booker had made his little deal with the inspector, and when a small black lad handed him an envelope bearing the firm's name in the corner the taciturn mate trembled. It was so beautiful, so far removed from modern business, so restful at St. Lucia. The trade-wind blew steadily across the point and the Caribbean sparkled in the sunshine. The harbour, devoid of shipping save when the week-end steamer from the States came to load bananas, lay like a deep azure pool unruffled by the lively breeze outside. It made a picture of quiet repose, and even the old dismounted guns used hundreds of years before to repel the buccaneers before Morgan's day seemed to have sunk into attitudes of profound peace. Then this letter from the world of business and strife. McDuff hesitated about opening it. It was probably a scouring, scathing, blistering sheet, edited in the cutting language of the head of the firm. "Ah, what's the use?" sighed McDuff. He held the missive in his hand and was about to fling it over the rock and watch it go fluttering to the sea beneath. Then curiosity came to his aid.

"Might as well open it; if there's any hot stuff in it, I don't have to read it," he muttered. "Here, boy--here's a tuppence--git out."

He tore the paper, pulled the letter out and read it carefully, and as he did so his fingers clinched and his back straightened. He was wanted to go as skipper of the old ship. Would he? Well, he would do almost anything except eat bananas. He walked swiftly to the town and stopped only long enough to drink three high-balls of rum and cola. Ah, the sparkling cola! He must have that. Then he took the train for Kingston.

"The _Enos_ is lying at the dock at Port Antonio," said Mr. Booker, after he had greeted his man coldly and formally. "You will proceed there and take command. Go down at once and see Johns. He'll give you your examination at once. Get your ticket and go. Then wait for further orders. James will be mate."

McDuff grinned.

"Ah, weel, I ken he'll be a noddy wan--ah, man, man, but I'll fair dress him down into shape," he said, shifting his watery gaze over the room.

"You can dress him all you want," said Mr. Booker. "If I were you, however, I would not tempt Providence too far. James will not stand too much foolishness. He can lick you."

"Ah, na fear, me laddie, na fear--do I fergit th' times he gie me? Na, na. Wait till I trim him--my mate--at last, at last," said McDuff with unction.

"Well, we'll let that go," said Booker; "you're carrying dynamite and it won't do to get too frivolous. Do you know anything about carrying dynamite?"

"Na, an' I'm that old to learn," said McDuff, eying the owner quizzically. All his Scotch canniness was alert.

"Oh, it's all right," said Booker; "only you don't want to make rough-house aboard your ship the first time you take her out as master. You're chartered for Colon again, carrying supplies for the Canal."

"Ah, weel," said the mate.

"I reckon that's about all, Captain McDuff. Do your duty like a man. If you do we'll forget some of your past--understand?"

"I ken it, I'll do it," said the man, dropping his eyes to the floor. His past was not a thing to speak lightly upon.

"Drink as much cola and good rum as you think you need. It doesn't hurt a man used to it, like yourself."

McDuff gave the owner a long searching look. The idea tickled him. He threw back his head and laughed, showing his yellow fangs.

"Good day, Captain McDuff," said Booker, bowing him out.

The new master of the little cargo carrier _Enos_ had hardly arrived aboard his vessel when James came slinking into the office. He had been laying up at Montego Bay, well up the hills, where the natives took care of him for sixpence a day. Booker appeared to have expected the visit. He closed the door of the inner office as the former skipper of the ship entered and they were alone.

"You know why I sent for you?" began Booker.

"I'm a good guesser," snarled the captain, his bloodshot eyes roving furtively about. "Make it short, don't cut in too deep. I'm here for orders."

"I haven't sent you up for life for desertion, have I?" asked the calm owner, eying him with a cold look.

"No, an' what's more you ain't going to," growled the captain.

"Lord, what a man!" sneered the owner. "You don't think I'm afraid to, do you?"

"There's mighty little you fear, Mr. Booker," said Captain James sourly, "but I understand you're not trading in morals--not yet. If you were, you might. If there's anything you've got to say, say it and let me go. I didn't come here for any lecture."

"How would you like to get your ticket back again--on some other vessel?" James eyed his former employer steadily. The effects of debauch made his swollen features seem grotesque in their red ugliness, but he was sober enough for business. He had dreaded the meeting. He knew his owner's moral tone, but he had not expected a reward where punishment was plainly indicated. He had given the ship a bad name.

"Let's have it fair and square--out with it," said the seaman.

"You know the ship is old--fit only to carry supplies," said Booker. "We're chartered to carry one hundred tons of blasting powder with exploders to Colon--enough to blow the whole Canal through. Can you see the point?"

"You don't want the stuff to get there--is that it?" asked James bluntly.

"If you can help us in the matter you shall be treated properly--your past forgotten," said Booker solemnly, eying him with a strangely insistent look.

"How much?" asked the practical navigator in a whisper.

"You'll get a thousand straight--my personal recommendation for any ship you wish. Perhaps in New York you'll find employment. We do a heavy business there----"

"Anything in writing?" asked James, without moving.

"Nothing," said Booker carelessly.

"Is McDuff wise?"

"He is not--some men you can't trust when drunk--some you can."

"How'll I manage? How'll I make him understand? I can't blow the ship under him--kill all hands for a paltry thousand dollars," hissed James.

There was a long silence. Booker lit a cigar with a steady hand and puffed slowly. He was in no hurry. James gazed at him fixedly for a long time. He shifted uneasily in his chair.

"Suppose I refuse?" he said.

"You know the consequences," said Booker quite calmly.

"Try to hang me for deserting my ship, hey?" snarled the seaman. "Want me to do a dirty job for the insurance--won't even tell me how you want it done."

"It's up to you. You are a seaman--a captain. That's what I've been hiring you for. If I were a sailor I might give you directions. I'm not. Will you do it or not? Let's have it."

"Yes, I'll do it, you devil," snarled James. "I'll do it--somehow. Good day."

"Good day, Captain--Mr. James," said Booker without enthusiasm. He opened the door and the fat form of the disreputable seaman slouched out. A clerk met him at the door and handed him a note. It was permission to draw a hundred dollars for travelling expenses. James took it to the cashier and handed it in.

"Thought you were in jail," sneered the cashier as he took the paper.

"You are a liar," murmured James smoothly.

The official made no further comment. The glare from the old seaman's eyes did not justify it. He handed the money through the window with the air of one handing a bone to a starving dog. James stuffed it away in his clothes and pulling his hat over his eyes, went his way down the street to his favourite haunt when in town. No one appeared to notice him. He was not recognized.

"You can get me a bottle of rum," said he to the waiter.

"What kind, sare--three or six?"

"I'll drink somethin' about ten shillin's a bottle," said James. "Wake up!"

The waiter brought a bottle and drew the cork. The odour filled the air. It caused James to smack his lips and he drained four glasses in as many minutes. Then he sat back in his chair and seemed to study the negro's face.

"Do you know whether Mr. Jackson--firm of Wells & Jackson, underwriters--is in town?" he asked.

"Yo' mean de insurance company, sare--yes, sare, he's here. Seen to-day on de street," answered the waiter. "He took a drink with Mr. Booker befo' closing time."

"Thank you, you can wrap up that bottle--I'll go along now," said the sailor.

It was plain to him that there had been a special deal, that Booker was carrying an extra heavy risk on his cargo. What if he should tackle Mr. Jackson? Jackson might listen to him, might even believe there was something in his warning, but he was a pariah and Mr. Booker was a gentleman. Then he had nothing whatever to offer as proof. His word against that of the owner? No, that wouldn't do at all.

He thought the matter over and finished off the bottle of rum while doing so. The more he drank the more he became convinced that the only thing to do was to follow Mr. Booker's wishes. The only thing was how would he do the job. How was it possible to sink a ship, blow her up, without killing all hands? He would not kill any one. No, he would not stoop to that. He must have time to think over the matter. It would require some nice adjustment to carry off the affair properly and not land in prison for life. He wondered whether McDuff knew anything of the deal. It was not likely; Mr. Booker had never made a confidant of the Scotchman, though the fellow had a close head and never talked, drunk or sober. James slept over it and took the train for Port Antonio, arriving there in the afternoon. He at once made his way to the docks and boarded the _Enos_ without being quizzed, though several persons seemed to show surprise at his presence. The story of his deserting his ship was now public property.

"I'm rare glad to see ye," said McDuff. "I'd na take ye for th' sneak they say ye are, Mr.--Mister James. I've been told ye wanted a place as mate wid the ould hooker. How is it?"

"Yes, I'll go as mate for you, Scotty," said James, thinking of the peculiar accent his former mate laid upon the word Mister. It was just as well to let the fellow know at once how much respect he felt for him. Then there would be no trouble in the future. He had served under him for several years, and it would swell his head, of course, to have command.

"I'm thinkin'--Mister--Meester James, that'll be about time ye took a reef in your tongue-lashin's. When ye have th' honour to speak to me, ye canna call me out of me name--that's Captain McDuff, sir--don't forget the SIR."

"No, Mack, I won't forgit it, an' don't you forgit who's talkin' to you either. If you do we'll have trouble--and Mr. Booker don't want any more of it in his ships--see? Let's have a drink, for the sake of old times?"

McDuff appeared to think a moment. It would hardly do to dress his mate now while at the dock. James would not stand it. He would drink--and wait.

"They handle that stuff mighty careless like," suggested James, gazing out of the stateroom door at the men loading cargo. "Seems to me if that's dynamite there's apt to be trouble--but then you only have it once," he added reflectively.

"That's the cargo, but not all dynamite. I dinna ken how much--but we pull out before dark. See to the gear aft--Meester James--an' remember the trouble I had with that old stern line last voyage. Ye wouldna gie me a new wan."

"Where do we go?" asked James.

"To New Orleans--git the cargo there, the rest of it. D'ye think, Meester James, that the British will furnish the powder? 'Tis good Yankee stuff we'll take wi' us, good New Orleans powder. Also we'll take a bit o' men, I'm thinkin', some o' that Dago gang for blasters. They make fine blasters, do Dagoes; an' if ye lift a few o' them to heaven, it makes little difference--there's plenty more. But they are an ugly lot to handle, all armed with pistols or knives, ready to shoot or stab any one."

"It's the Dago nature to go heeled," said James, drinking his rum and pondering over his scheme. The run to New Orleans offered nothing new in the way of developing his plans. He arose, went aft and made ready to get to sea. He was in an ugly mood, but all who knew him addressed him as "Captain," and the "Mister" was forgotten in the usual turmoil of getting the _Enos_ under weigh.

A few days later in New Orleans the dynamite was aboard and the gangs of labourers who were to mine came down to the dock. James had studied many ways of getting the ship into trouble, but each one seemed too dangerous. It would not do to kill the crew. He would not do that, but to fire the cargo without almost certain death to all aboard appeared impossible. Then a thing occurred which seemed to be like the hand of Fate helping him on his way.

"'Tis a light cargo--an' she'll sit high, roll like a log," quoth McDuff the day after the powder had been safely stowed. "We've cleared and the insurance agent has had his claim settled. We're all ready for sea--Meester James--and we'll gie along; but I must ha' a wee bit o' drink first. Will ye coom along up the town, or will ye bide here till I come back?"

It still gave him pleasure to address his former captain in a patronizing manner with an emphasis upon "Meester."

James looked at him sourly and declined.

"Go on, Scotty," said he; "I'll stay by the ship. No drink for me until we get clear of this foul river. The stinks would spoil the taste of any kind of poison you'd put aboard ye."

"Weel, have a bit of a care, an' don't let them Dagoes get scuffling on the lower deck. There's a bit o' powder up there in them boxes," and McDuff went his way up the levee.

Sengali, the foreman of the gang, stood upon the string-piece of the wharf and glowered at the small ship. He was not a sailor, but he knew she would be a dirty and lively vessel in a blow. He had brought his wife with him, and together they surveyed the scene.

"We will go aboard and look--see," said he to his stout spouse, and they forthwith stepped upon the ship's deck. As nearly everybody had gone ashore as soon as McDuff's back had been seen upon the levee, they met no one and wandered over the _Enos_ at will. Finally Sengali sat upon the boxes of powder and, lighting his pipe, began to smoke placidly. He was aware of the contents of the cases, but being an old hand at the handling of dynamite, he had developed that serenity and carelessness which is one of their distinguishing qualities. He feared not either fire or shock.

Mrs. Sengali wandered over the apparently deserted ship and finally found her way into McDuff's room in the rear of the pilot-house. Here she made herself comfortable.

It happened that Cellini, a young and amorous Dago, saw her. He had been drinking heavily, and as the coast appeared clear he made his way to the forward part of the ship, hoping to entertain the stout and rosy Mrs. Sengali in a manner common to drunken Dagoes. He saw no one forward and made his way to the captain's room. Then he quickly entered and swiftly closed the door.

Sengali, smoking and pondering upon the future to be had in the world at Panama, was aroused from pleasant dreams by the shrill screams of his wife. He sprang up the companionway and rushed for the vicinity of the noise. The cries seemed to come from the captain's room, and he hesitated. It was a terrible crime to assault a captain upon his own ship. But his wife. She was in terrible danger, her shrieks were now being half muffled, showing that the person who had caused them was stifling them as best he could. The Dago waited no longer; he crashed against the door.

It gave way with the impact and Sengali landed in the room. Cellini was holding his wife, but let her go instantly, and drawing a revolver, fired at Sengali. The latter raced for the companionway, hoping to gain his bundle, in which reposed his trusty knife. The bundle was lying where he had sat smoking upon the cases of dynamite, and he tore it apart, seized his weapon and turned to mete out a just revenge upon his assailant.

"I keel you now," he roared and rushed at Cellini, who had come floundering down the stairs after him, but who, being drunk, had tripped and had thus lost valuable time.

Cellini, lying upon one elbow, took deliberate aim at the enraged husband. A fireman, who had seen the fracas, fled up the levee shouting for the police, and James, who had been drowsing in his room, rolled out of his bunk and went to the scene of the trouble, intending to quell it, as a mate should. Cellini's first shot from his position where he had fallen tore through Sengali's uplifted hand. He gave a yell and drew it down, staggering and flinging the blood about. Then he rushed again at his prostrate enemy, his knife upraised, ready for the finishing stroke.

James gained the vicinity just as Cellini raised his weapon for the last shot. Drunk and furious at the interruption of Sengali, he appeared not to care for the retribution the husband was going to wreak upon him. He aimed carefully at the foreman's head and pulled the trigger. Just then James kicked the pistol aside and it exploded.

A man on the levee at some distance vouched for this much of the final act. He saw James kick the weapon, saw it explode. The next instant the forward part of the _Enos_ disappeared in a mass of flame.

Men came running from all directions at the sound of the detonating thunder. The rolling roar reverberated along the river-front for miles. People at a distance saw a huge waterspout rise from where the ship had been a moment before. Splinters, ironwork, rigging, spars and a piece of her smoke-pipe rose to an appalling height. Then the scene settled itself under a pall of dust and smoke.

The levee was destroyed for a distance of fifty fathoms. The dock had melted into the surrounding air. Trees, fences, and houses, everything at a distance of a quarter of a mile was razed flat. Men were knocked stunned and senseless who had been within this radius and the whole place seemed to have been shaved as with a mighty razor. Only a bit of the ship's stern, a tiny piece of her turtle-back, floated awash to show that there had ever been anything like a ship in the vicinity. The _Enos_, loaded with dynamite, had blown up with all on board and had almost totally disappeared.

A few hours later McDuff came lurching down to his ship. He was comfortably drunk and was in high good humour.

"I'll trim Meester James--ah, yes, I'll trim him guid an' fine before we gie th' dock at Colon. 'Tis a fine thing to be th' boss---- What, am I drunk, or has the knave run away wid me ship? He has run away--yes, yes, he has run away. Ah, weel, what'll I do-- The rascal has stolen me ship," said McDuff, looking about him and seeing nothing to indicate the whereabouts of the _Enos_. "Ah, weel, it was not my ship--but I will have the police after him. I will have him in th' calaboose. I'm fair drunk, I'm fair drunk--but na sa drunk I canna see a ship."

Mr. Booker read the cable despatch and handed it to his partner.

"That man James was certainly a genius," said he. "I'm half sorry for him. I guess he must have been too zealous--'twasn't like him, yet he must have been too anxious to please me."

"He'll turn up in time," quoth his partner, the amiable Mr. Benson. "The fact that he was aboard of her does seem a bit out of the ordinary, but there's probably some mistake about it. It'll straighten itself out later. He'll be here to see you, or I'm clean disappointed in him."

"I reckon we might as well attend to the underwriters without waiting for any complications," suggested Mr. Booker.

"Oh, yes, get the insurance. We've had a bit of luck--that's all."

THE END.