Chapter IV: Part 4

"Yes, ma'am, there's plenty of sailors get in, though they are no worse'n landsmen. It don't make much difference what callin' a man takes, there's bad ones in all."

Mrs. Holbrook glanced at her husband, who smiled his approval.

"Do you know Mr. Brown, the pastor in Beaufort?" asked the lady.

"He must be a very excellent man--I never heard of him," said her husband, with a touch of irony.

"I asked Mr. Jones," said Mrs. Holbrook, sweetly.

"No, ma'am, I never did," said the tall man, shooting his head upward and looking at his host. "He never did time."

"Never what?" asked the lady.

A sharp kick upon the shin bone from young Richard caused the sanctified man to raise a full foot higher in his seat.

"What's the matter?" he asked quickly.

"Aw, tumble," said the irreverent Richard.

Mrs. Holbrook looked at her son sharply.

"What did you do? Do you want to be sent from the table?" she said.

The young man dropped his gaze into his plate and looked abashed. His father smiled. The meal proceeded in silence until they had finished, when Mr. Holbrook led the way on deck with a handful of cigars.

"That wasn't a bad one on the country parson," ventured the yachtsman. "You fellows so seldom joke, a man never knows just when you will break out. Ha, ha, ha--'never did time'--Well, that wasn't half bad." And he quite warmed to the tall man as he offered him a perfecto.

"But you see----"

"Yes, I see well enough. I don't blame you for kicking about such men. Now _you_ can tail on to a sheet or pass a reef point like a _man_. Will you have a good nip of grog before Mrs. Holbrook comes on deck?"

The sanctified man thought he would. They repaired to the forehatch, where the steward passed up the spirits unseen.

The warmth of the liquor put new life in the tall man's great frame. He had eaten very little for days and the effects of good food and strong drink were very strengthening. The look of challenge took the place of alarm in his large expressive eyes and his great square jaw seemed to set firmer. Half of his cigar disappeared between his teeth, which closed upon it with the set of a vise.

They went aft again in time to meet Mrs. Holbrook coming on deck assisted by the Captain, who placed rugs for her in a steamer chair in the cockpit. It was getting thicker and the wind was now well to the eastward of north, but there was no harbour nearer than Cape Fear, and the Captain had many reasons for not wishing to stop there. He would run along close to the land and after passing would be in Long Bay, where he would have a fair wind to Charleston, one hundred and fifty miles ahead, making a run of more than two hundred miles from Beaufort. This would get the yacht well down the coast to where they might expect good weather.

"I think," said the tall Mr. Jones, during a break in the conversation, "I would head the vessel offshore a couple of points. You know the Frying Pan runs well off here. It will be breaking in three fathoms with this breeze. The ways o' Providence air un----

"Never mind about Providence, Mr. Jones," said Holbrook, with a wave of his hand. "The Captain will look out for the yacht. You needn't be scared. Tell us about the sailors you get in your flock. How you learned all about boats from them."

Mr. Jones drew himself up a good foot. His head went up in the air and the look of defiance came into his eyes.

"The only fellows that got sent up with me were Jack Elwell and Bill Haskins," said he.

"How do you mean sent up with you?" asked Mrs. Holbrook.

"Well, they were caught straight enough," said the tall man, sadly.

"You mean they had to be caught and sent to you for spiritual teaching?" asked Mrs. Holbrook with a smile.

"Well, er--not exactly," said the tall man, in a voice which died away to a whisper.

"Ha, ha, ha, a good one on you, Mr. Jones," said Holbrook.

"Well, you see," went on the tall man, slowly, "you don't seem to understand just what I am." He looked at the Captain, who stood near at the wheel, but whose face was like a mahogany mask.

"Why, you are a clergyman, are you not?" asked Mrs. Holbrook.

"A convict," said Mr. Jones, slowly. "I am Stormalong Journegan, sailor, navigator, and was sent up for fifteen years. Bahama Bill an' me got out."

There was a long silence. Holbrook rose and went to the farther side of the yacht. Mrs. Holbrook sat a few moments and looked out to sea. Then she motioned to the steward, who was at the companionway, to take her wraps below, and she disappeared down the steps without a word.

Holbrook saw something forward and made his way toward the bow followed by his son, who turned to look back at the tall man.

"Serves her bloomin' well right fer turnin' me out," growled the Captain into the ear of the helmsman. "Next time she'll be a bit more careful about takin' passengers."

Mr. Jones, or Journegan, sat looking out over the sea. The veil of mist that hung over the land held many images for him. He saw how it was aboard. His year of reformation had taught him many things, and the lesson he was learning was not entirely new. He gazed sadly at Holbrook. He had felt drawn toward the man, but after all, in spite of his assumed contempt for holy men, he was more of a hypocrite than the veriest village parson he had ever met.

He arose slowly, unkinking his long frame like the opening of a jack-knife. Then he tossed his cigar over the side and went to his room. He was an outcast aboard that yacht and he knew it. The privacy of his room was much better than the inhospitality of the deck.

All the long afternoon he sat there thinking. He was not a strong man save for his great muscular frame. He had fallen before and he was now trying to do what he could to atone for it. The thought of the silver in the after-cabin came to him and his vacillating spirit could not quite get the glistening vision out of his brain, for after all, these people were his enemies. They could never be anything else as long as human vanity and conceit endured. Even the miserable little prig of an owner who ridiculed clergymen need not be spared. It might do his small soul good to have to part with some of his treasures. He pondered, while the light failed and the look of challenge came into his eyes. He had a powerful frame and had nothing to fear. And all the time the _Dartmoor_ ran to leeward with the lift of the northeast sea behind her.

It was just before eight bells, when a man who had gone forward on lookout hailed the Captain.

"Something white dead ahead, sir," he cried.

The sanctified man heard and thought of the untrue compass. The next instant there was a dull reverberating snore alongside as a giant breaker burst into a white smother and rolled away in the darkness. It was breaking in three fathoms, and the yacht was racing to her end.

There was a rush of feet on deck. Wild cries came from aft, where the Captain had rolled the wheel hard down and was struggling with the sailor to get the jigger on her and force her offshore. She had not touched yet, but as the yawl came to in the gale, she brought up broadside in a sea that burst upon her with the weight of an avalanche, heaving her on her lee beam and washing everything off her, fore and aft. The water poured down the companionway and flooded the cabin.

The sanctified man reached the deck by dint of a fierce struggle up through the forward companion. The men who were below followed as best they could; swashing, floundering through the flood and loosened fittings, and they managed to get aft in time to get a line to the sailor who had been at the wheel and who was now close alongside. The Captain was gone.

All the time the _Dartmoor_ was drifting to leeward and into the breakers. She had swung off again under the pressure of her jib, and just as the tall man seized the jigger halliards to get the after sail upon her, she struck on the Frying Pan Shoals. The next sea rolled over her and was the beginning of the end.

Mr. Holbrook had been below all this time, and he now appeared at the companion with his wife and boy. The sea that fell over the wrecked craft nearly drowned them and washed Richard back into the cabin. Mr. Jones roared out for the men to get the only small boat left alongside, and his voice rose to a deep sonorous yell. He led the way himself to the falls, where the small boat trailed to leeward, the davits having been torn out bodily with the weight of the breaking seas. The hauling part was still on deck and he handed in the line quickly, the three sailors and steward taking heart at his example and helping all they could. Mrs. Holbrook was placed in the small boat and her husband waited not for an invitation to follow, but floundered in after her. The three sailors sprang aboard. At that instant a giant sea rose to windward. It showed for a second in the ghastly phosphorescent glare of the surrounding foam. Then it thundered over the doomed yacht.

When the sanctified man came up from the blackness below, he was just aware of the vessel's outline some fifty feet away to windward, and he struck out strongly for her. In a few minutes he was alongside. A great sea broke over her again, but he held well under the rise of her bow and managed to cling to the trailing débris. Then he climbed on deck. There was nothing living left there. He looked for the boat, but it had disappeared. Then he was suddenly aware of a bright light and as he looked he remembered the Bald Head tower which marks the dreaded shoals of Cape Fear.

He knew he was a mile or more from the beach and all the way was the rolling surf. It was a desperate swim at any time, but in a northeast gale, with the sea rolling high, it was useless to think of anything human attempting it without artificial aid. He clung to the stump of the mainmast and tried to live through the torrents that swept over him by getting directly in its lee. This was the only way he could stay even a few moments aboard the vessel. She was lifting still with each succeeding sea and driving higher and higher upon the bank, but she had not broken up badly yet. Yachts like the _Dartmoor_ could stand a tremendous pounding before going to pieces, but he knew that nothing could stand the smashing long. Before daylight there would be not a stick to show that a fine ship had gone ashore in the night.

The cabin scuttle was open and he wondered if the cabin was full of water yet. The silver was still there and belonged to the man who could save it. There was a chance for him and he was already looking about in the blackness for a proper spar or piece of wood to float him for the struggle in. It might be just as well to try to take in a little extra weight along with him, for he would not start until he could get his float.

In a smooth between two seas he made a dash for the companion, springing along the coamings of the skylight to get a footing, for the deck was at a high angle. He reached it and clung under its lee for shelter. Then he peered down into the darkness below. The cabin was not quite full of water and he climbed down, feeling for the magnificent cup he had seen there the day before. His hand touched it, although he was now almost shoulder deep in the water. A mattress floated against him and he seized it. The cork within would float him and his prize. He tried to find something else that would float, but just then a torrent of sea water rushed below and he saw that if he would get away at all he must soon start. He lugged his prize to the steps and started to drag it clear. He reached down in the water to get a better grip of it and his great fingers closed upon a human hand. Then he made out the form of the boy with his head still above water, clinging to the topmost step of the ladder. He peered into the child's face and saw the frightened eyes open and look at him. Then he stopped and stood motionless upon the ladder.

In all his work he had only been a few minutes, but those few minutes had been minutes of his old life, the life of a sailor. The late past had been forgotten and he was now a shipwrecked mariner, getting ashore as best he could, saving what he might from a wreck. But the touch of the boy's hand brought him back again to the realization of his condition. The hand of an enemy's son, but the hand of one who had treated him kindly. The mattress would not hold all three. It would be between the boy and the cup. He swore savagely at the piece of silver, held it for an instant, then started to hurl it from him. In the precious seconds he was making a desperate fight. He gripped it again with both hands and held it before him. A sea roared over the wreck and half smothered him, pouring down the open companion.

He dropped the heavy cup, seized the half-fainting Richard and quickly passed a lashing about him. Then he seized the cork mattress and boy and plunged to leeward.

In the dim gray of the early morning, the keeper of the Bald Head Lighthouse saw the tall form of a man staggering up the beach carrying something in his arms. He ran down the steps of the tower and met the tall stranger and relieved him of his burden of a still living but half-drowned boy.

"His mother and father are crazy with grief," said the keeper. "The woman is crying all the time that it was the will o' God, because she had a convict aboard her yacht. If you are the Captain, you had better bring the lad to her yourself. I reckon she'll be careful what kind o' passengers she takes aboard again, and take your word for things aboard her boats."

"Does she think it was because a convict was aboard, the vessel went ashore?" asked the tall man, drawing his half-naked figure up to its full height.

"Sure, she says the Captain didn't want him. A mighty fine religious woman she is, too," said the keeper.

"I reckon I won't bother her just now," said the tall man, in a voice hardly above a whisper. "You take the little fellow to her--I'll go and get some clothes on."

The light-keeper strode away with the boy in his arms. The tall man stood still for several minutes, looking after him. When the keeper reached the dwelling he turned and saw the tall man still standing there in his soaking trousers, his giant torso looking like the statue of a sea-god. "The ways o' Providence air mighty strange," muttered the sanctified man, slowly to himself----"But somehow I feel that I won."

VII

When the Light Failed at Carysfort

The United States Lighthouse Establishment organized by Thornton Jenkins, Rear-Admiral, United States Navy, had built many important lighthouses upon the coast of the States. The appropriations admitted the lighting of the dangerous coral banks of the Florida Reef, which rose from the blue Gulf Stream many miles offshore and stretched away from Cape Florida to Tortugas.

From Fowey Rocks to Sand Key the high, long-legged towers, built of iron piling driven into the rock and braced with rods, rose above the shoal water, and at night their huge lenses flashed forth a warning gleam for twenty miles or more over the sea.

Carysfort was the second from the beginning the reef: a tall iron structure, the lantern or lens mounted atop of a wooden house built upon the platform at the end of the piling.

Inside of the house were the two bedrooms of the keepers, the oil-room, storerooms, and kitchen. Large tanks of iron held hundreds of gallons of water caught from the roof.

Outside the structure the platform extended six feet clear all around, making a comfortable porch or piazza, with a high rail which hung out over the sea at a height of about a hundred feet.

A long iron ladder extended from a trap-door in the flooring to the sea below, stopping at a landing about half-way, where the keepers had a small woodpile, a flower-bed, and a few things which would stand exposure to the weather. At the sides of the platform above were davits, on which the two whale-boats hung.

Altogether, the little house and platform offered some inducements to men who were not particular about being alone for a long time.

It was many miles to the nearest land, clear out of sight from even the top of the tower; and to those who lived there it was like being at sea upon a small vessel which neither pitched nor rolled in a seaway, nor yet changed position in any manner. It was almost like living in mid-air.

It was a healthy life for the keepers. No germs of any known disease ever reached the distant lighthouse, and no sickness had ever occurred there.

On shore, it was a well-established axiom that among the offshore keepers none died--and few retired.

Every few months each could get a leave of absence on full pay and spend the time in any manner he pleased. The supply-ship stopped off the reef twice each year, and the lighthouse tender traversed the district as high as Cape Canaveral if anything was wanted.

So at least three or four times a year the keepers would hold communication with the outside world and converse with their fellow men.

The ships passing up the Hawk's Channel from Key West went within a few miles of the reef, and steamers going north outside sometimes stood in close enough to be recognized: but the Carysfort and Alligator Reefs were good places to keep away from, and no vessels except the spongers remained long in sight.

The spongers consisted of small sloops and schooners, which hailed from Key West whose owners were the wreckers of the reef, and who spent the best part of the good weather in summer hunting the growths upon the coral which brought such good prices in the Northern drug-stores.

Few wreckers are piously inclined, some less so than others, but the outlying light was safe from thieves, for by hauling up the iron ladder the keepers were shut off completely from the world below. No one could, or would, climb those polished iron columns painted a dull red and as slippery as glass, unless something valuable was to be had at the top. So the keepers often left the trap-door open or unbolted, knowing their security.

Black Flanagan was the head keeper, a six-foot giant from Wisconsin, who had found his way to Florida while evading a Michigan sheriff. The work and confinement upon the light were not as irksome to him as might be expected.

His assistant was a preacher, a broken-down Methodist minister without a flock, whose religious tendencies were of an order which brooked solitude.

He had the reputation of being the most blasphemous man upon the Florida Reef, and his short sojourns ashore were marked by every excess capable of being committed by a human being within the law.

They called him "the howler," for, when he was drunk--which he invariably was an hour after he came ashore--he would stop at the village street corners and bellow for converts.

Any one within a mile would know what was taking place, and many would stop to listen. Failure to get responses brought forth such a torrent of profanity that he would have to be locked up until sober--when he would repeat the effort until his leave was over.

Then, solemnly and with ponderous dignity, he would take himself back to his home in the air over the blue Gulf Stream, and no one would see him again for several months. Black Flanagan would greet him with a grunt, and the two would take up the even life of lighting the lantern and putting it out.

Men were not struggling for their positions, and they took some comfort from the fact. They would probably live so for a long time, drawing good pay, with nothing whatever to do except clean and light the lamp.

It was a hot and sultry morning in August, and the keepers were hanging lazily over the rail of the platform, when they saw the wrecking-sloop _Sea-Horse_ coming slowly up the Hawk's Channel.

Her main-boom was well off to port, and she was fanning along before a very light air from the southeast, going not more than two knots an hour.

Upon her deck lay the crew of half-naked Conchs, while at her wheel the giant form of "Bahama Bill," the mate, stood leaning against the shaft, smoking a short pipe.

The fact that the black man now and then looked astern at a thin trail of smoke caused Black Flanagan to notice him.

"There goes the _Sea-Horse_," said he to his assistant; and they both came to the side of the platform nearest the passing vessel.

"Never seen thet big feller show so much consarn about what was astern o' him, hey?" said the preacher. "Looks like they were from the east'ard." And he nodded significantly.

The sloop drew nearer, and the thin line of smoke rose blacker a dozen miles astern. Then there seemed to be signs of life aboard. Two men sprang up and began to drop large kegs overboard, making a great splashing. They kept this up for some minutes, and the keepers went inside the light for the telescope.

Astern of the sloop they made out small, black objects, which floated at intervals upon the swell, and were just discernible through the powerful glass.

For half an hour the men aboard the wrecking-vessel worked heaving cargo overboard, and, as they went along, the long line of tiny specks marked their wake.

"Corks," said Flanagan; "I thought so."

"They better hurry up," said the preacher; "the cutter's rising fast." As he spoke, he looked toward the steamer, which was now coming along in plain view, her hull rising slowly above the horizon, and her funnel pouring out a black cloud, which hung over the sea.

"They'll get caught fair enough. Half an hour, an' the officers'll be aboard."

"Well, they won't find anything. They'll never see them corks--she's already heading out to get them clear of the wake. When they catch her, she'll be an innocent sponger--an' we'll----"

They looked at each other and smiled.

An hour later the _Sea-Horse_ and revenue-cutter were upon the northern horizon heading into Biscayne, and the keepers were lowering their boats.

It is an unwritten law of the reef that a man may steal as much as he can from the United States, but he must not touch property belonging to an individual. A smuggler is not by any means a common thief.

Flanagan's ideas were different. He held that it was well to steal whenever the opportunity offered without danger of getting caught; and upon this principle he had little difficulty in converting his pious assistant, whose thirst had not been slaked for three full months.

Together they loaded three of the kegs into the boats by simply pulling up the fishing-lines whose ends were floated by beer-bottle corks.

The lines anchoring the kegs were lying upon the bottom in six fathoms of water, out of sight, and the small cotton cords were amply strong enough to raise them. Once getting a grip of the anchoring-lines, they had no difficulty in hauling the liquor aboard their whale-boats.

The temptation to sample the goods was so strong that they desisted after the third keg, and made straight away for the lighthouse to enjoy the plunder. They could come back again and get the rest at their leisure, for the corks would be in plain view during the calm weather.

What transpired at the lighthouse during the next three days is somewhat hazy. No light appeared at night, and the Key West steamer almost ran ashore on her trip south. She reported the light out, and the tender was despatched to see what had happened.

The day was clear and bright, and the keepers were on the lookout, seeing the steamer when fully fifteen miles away. Their liquor was promptly put out of sight, and everything made snug to receive the inspector.

While there were evidences of drink in the faces of the men, they showed a properly kept light, and swore solemnly that they had not left the tower, and that the light had not failed at all.

They mildly suggested that the captain of the Key steamer may have been in a highly reprehensible condition to have accused two perfectly sober and diligent light-keepers of neglect of duty.

The pious one broke forth in prayer and exhortation for the delivery of deluded pilots from the wiles of the devil, and soon the inspector was glad to go aboard his vessel to return to Key West.

The _Sea-Horse_, having been searched at Miami and found to be clear of contraband, was allowed to go her way. She stood out to sea, and headed down the Hawk's Channel just as the keepers lit the lantern for the evening watch. Black Flanagan was just sober enough to do this, and then turn in to continue his debauch with a pannikin of rum at his bed.

The _Sea-Horse_ anchored near the light and waited for daylight to pick up the floats.

In the gray of early morning the black mate turned out the crew, leaving the captain below, and, taking the small boat, put off.

It was calm, and the corks were plainly visible. They were promptly hauled aboard, and the sunken kegs stowed until the end of the line was reached.

Here the mate found three floats missing, and, being in a suspicious frame of mind, he looked toward the light, which was still burning, although the rays of the rising sun were colouring the eastern horizon a rosy hue.

"They've got 'em, all right," said he. "If we're quick enough, we might catch 'em--give way hard."

The small boat with three men was headed for the tower; and the _Sea-Horse_, with her captain now thoroughly awake, lay by for developments.

The big mate lost no time gaining the tower. It was broad day now, and Flanagan had just staggered up the steps into the lantern when the small boat arrived alongside the piles below.

In his befuddled state Flanagan saw nothing, until, after putting the light out, he came stumbling back again. He arrived in the lower room just in time to see the black head and shoulders of the mate emerging upward through the trap-door in the floor.

The mate was not in a good humour; moreover, he had turned out early without eating his breakfast, and his great black head and giant arms seemed supernatural in both vindictiveness and size.

Flanagan thought he had taken too much, and that the horrors were upon him at last. With a yell, he launched himself upon the seaman, taking him at a disadvantage, and endeavoured to smash him back into the void below.

But the mate was strong. He had come to the light expecting trouble. With a mighty effort he forced the keeper upward, and, amid a fierce snarling and threshing about, he soon engaged in a desperate struggle.

The "howler," hearing the uproar, sprang to the rescue, and joined in the fray just as the sailors, following their trusty mate, climbed through the door. In less than five minutes the keepers were lashed fast, and were being lowered down through the door into the waiting boat below.

What remained of their spoil was also found and lowered after them; and in the bright light of the tropic sunrise the _Sea-Horse_ put to sea, leaving the great tower of the Carysfort light to the westward.

For nearly a week no light was shown from the tower. Strangely enough, no one reported the light out.

The sixth day a sponger, sailing past at dark, noticed the absence of light, and went to the tower to see what was wrong.

He found it deserted, and, being a very poor man, he made his boat fast to the piles and took possession, enjoying the fare and taking care of the lantern in proper style for several days.

All might have gone well with him for several months, but for the fact that the supply-steamer was due, and arrived before he thought it time to make a getaway.

Finding the keepers missing, and no account made for them by the inhabitant, the officers promptly accused him of murdering them, and forthwith took him aboard the vessel to be carried ashore and tried. He was promptly convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to imprisonment for life.

Meanwhile, the _Sea-Horse_, having made the Bahamas, put the thieving keepers ashore to shift for themselves. After vainly trying to get passage back to their home, they finally managed to get a small boat and put to sea, to make the two hundred miles or more to the lighthouse.

They had been absent more than a month, and they arrived at Carysfort one sunny morning in time to see the two new keepers who had been appointed in their place take their whale-boat and start fishing along the reef to the northward of the tower.

Seizing the opportunity, they promptly gained the lighthouse and climbed into the landing, dropping the trap-door fast behind them.

The new keepers, seeing the strangers in possession of the tower, hailed them lustily, and started back to inquire their business.

For answer Flanagan leaned over the railing and gazed calmly down upon them with a quizzical look.

"What d'ye want?" inquired the tall keeper, in response to a hail.

"What are you doing in that light?" asked the new keeper.

"I am the keeper, and when you address me say 'sir,'" roared the tall man in stentorian tones. "Tie that boat to the spiles and git away from here, or I'll fall on top o' ye."

But the new keepers were not made of easy stuff. They gained the lower landing, and held forth under threats and persuasion for a day and a half, when the "howler," getting tired of their proximity, began attacking them with hot water and other missiles, which he hove or dropped from the platform above.

The new keepers could not get up, but they determined that the men above should not get down, and they built a bomb-proof shelter to protect themselves until help should arrive.

After two days, they finally gave it up and started for Miami, where they arrived and reported the state of affairs.

The inspector came along, but found the two worthies sober, and attending strictly to their duties.

They explained how they had been attacked by a huge smuggling vessel bound for the North, and how, after a desperate fight, they finally had been overpowered, taken forcibly from their abode in the light, where they had been attending to their duties, and put ashore in the Bahamas.

They described how, after a tremendous exertion, they had managed to get back again, only to find two strangers in possession of the tower. Naturally, they treated them as trespassers and took charge. The light had been kept regularly ever since, and they had no fault to find with the job.

After listening to their tale, there was nothing to do but to leave them to their duties, for nothing could be found against them.

Their absence from the light would have enabled the inspector to give them their discharge, but they could prove they had not left of their own accord. The forepart of their story would necessarily remain in the dark, for they would not talk of it, and the crew of the _Sea-Horse_ would rather have it kept quiet. Besides, it would be more than useless to try to find the vessel from their description. The tender steamed away for Miami to inform the authorities of the existence of the keepers.

"Virtue is usually triumphant," said the inspector to the judge, who ordered the release of the convicted prisoner. "But in this case there seems to be an exception."

"There are exceptions to every rule," quoted the judge wisely. "Light-keepers are rare birds--trouble will probably not happen again--I would therefore sentence them to life imprisonment in--well, I reckon there is no worse place than the Carysfort light."

"I don't know but what you are right," said the inspector.

VIII

The Trimming of Mr. Dunn

Mrs. Dunn sat under the awning stretched over the quarter-deck of the yacht _Sayonara_ lying in the stream, off the government coal-dock, at Key West. It was winter, but the air was warm, and white linen duck was the most comfortable clothing. Even the six men who composed the crew of the trim little schooner showed nothing but white in their garments, save the black silk ties knotted rakishly, drawing together their wide sailor-collars. Phenix Dunn was a broker, a gambler in the productions of others, and because of this he was wealthy. He had bought and sold certain commodities known as stocks, and they had proved profitable--so profitable that he had decided to take a few months away from the excitement of the game and buy a yacht and cruise.

Mrs. Dunn was something of a beauty. That is, many men thought so. Some women differed in opinions, especially those women whom she counted as her friends. Anyhow, she possessed a dashing air, a figure beyond criticism, and clothes that made Phenix say many bad words when the bills came in. Also she had a disposition the gentle side of which had not been overdeveloped. She was not quarrelsome. Far from it. She had plenty of tact and ability, but the absence of children and household cares had given her more time than necessary for the contemplation of self, and this had not been satisfying. She worked it off by dint of much outdoor exercise.

Dunn joined her at the taffrail and flung himself into a chair with a show of wrath. Something had gone wrong, as it always does upon yachts of any size where the owner is not used to the sea or its peculiar people.

"The steward is gone, the cook is going, and here we are a thousand miles from anywhere at all--anywhere at all, I say; and the commandant of the yard will be aboard to-morrow with not less than twenty officers and their wives. What'll we do about it?" he rapped out.

"Why do you ask me?--I'm not good at riddles," answered his wife lazily.

"Well, we've got to take on a couple of blacks--niggers they call 'em here--and I don't like the idea of it. I've no use for 'em. What I want is Japanese servants. Japanese are good. Good fighters make good servants. You don't want a servant to think, and a good fighter never thinks. If he did he would see something else besides glory in walking up to a man with a gun. The Japs do that--and they are good servants. I don't want any of these black people aboard this vessel."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," grumbled Dunn, "but when in doubt, take a drink--I'll go and get one."

While he was below, a dingy-looking vessel came slowly in the northwest channel. She was a heavily built sloop, and upon her deck lounged a rather numerous crew. They were picturesque, half-clothed in nondescript rags, their bare arms and shoulders seeming impervious to the rays of the torrid sunshine, for along the Florida reef, even in winter, the sun is burning.

The craft dropped anchor about twenty fathoms astern of the yacht, and when Dunn came from below, bringing with him an odour of gin and bitters, the crew of the sloop regarded him silently.

"Hello, a wrecker!" exclaimed Dunn.

His sailing-master had come to the taffrail and was gazing at the stranger, while Mrs. Dunn, careless of nautical neighbours, read her magazine.

"Yes, seems like one of the wreckers," said Captain Smart; "an ugly-looking crew, for a fact. They say these spongers divide their time between wrecking and smuggling. Not that either's bad if indulged in moderately, but they are apt to get loose after awhile and do queer things."

"There ought to be plenty of good in a wrecker, if he plied his trade right--ought to save lives and property," said Dunn. "Let's have a look through the glass."

The men of the wrecking-sloop gazed back insolently at the yachtsman, and a giant black man among them rose up, placed his fingers in line, and applied the thumb of one hand to his big, flat nose, wiggling his huge digits in derision.

"That fellow is a corker," said Dunn, watching the wrecker good-humouredly.

"He's a big one, all right," assented Smart, "and I reckon they don't like us looking so hard at 'em."

"Lower a boat and send over for that fellow--I want him," said Dunn.

The captain looked at him for a moment. "I go ashore for Miss Marion Harsha in a few minutes," he said. "Mrs. Dunn gave the order. If you say so, I'll let the gig go for the wrecker afterward--go myself in her."

The yacht skipper was about forty, and slightly grizzled, his tanned face lined from work and exposure in more than one hard-run merchant vessel. But he made a rather good-looking yacht captain when dressed in his blue broadcloth coat with gold-braided cuffs, white duck trousers, and white canvas shoes. His cap bore the flag of Mr. Dunn upon its front, and was the only badge of dependence about him.

"All right, go ahead when you're ready; I'm in no hurry," said the owner. "Only I want to see that big nigger who was insolent enough to poke his fingers at me. Seems like he'd make a good man aboard here--steward, maybe, or even cook, if he knows how to do the work. They say these Southern darkies know how to cook like a French chef--and maybe his wife takes in washing. Get him, bring him in--there's some one waving on the dock now."

"Bring the gig to the starboard gangway," ordered Smart; and two men swung into her from the boom-end and dropped her aft. In a moment the captain was on his way to the dock.

Miss Harsha was young, stout, pug-nosed, and short-haired, but she dressed well and swung her parasol daintily as she walked down the dock end beside a uniformed marine officer from the yard. At the landing-steps the officer assisted her into the gig, talking so interestedly that she failed to notice the yacht captain until he took her hand and helped her into the cushions in the stern-sheets. She suddenly dropped his hand, started, and stared at him a moment.

"You--you--what are you doing here?" she stammered.

"I'm to bring you aboard--Mrs. Dunn's orders," said Smart.

"Er--yes, I suppose so. Oh, good-bye, Major Simson, we'll see you to-morrow; you must come aboard, you know. Nice little boat--so different from a ship, and Miss Jennings will be there. Good-bye."

The officer bowed low, waved his helmet, and started back as the small boat pulled away.

"I thought you were still aboard the liner--the _Ampersand_," said Miss Harsha casually, as she edged away to give the captain room to steer.

"No, I left the next voyage. I was taught that a ship's officer was not in the class I supposed him to be."

"Please don't," interrupted the girl. "You know, or ought to know, the difference between a common sailor--a mate of a transatlantic steamer--and a naval officer. I hoped to spare your feelings, but you would not listen to me. I am the daughter of a naval officer. You are very little different from Mr. Dunn's butler, socially speaking. You wear his livery----"

"A very pretty uniform it is," suggested the skipper, interrupting and smiling complacently at her.

"You must pardon me if I hurt your feelings, but it seems necessary for me to make myself plainly understood----"

"Oh, I understand you thoroughly," said Captain Smart gently. "You are away above me--high up. I know I'm only a sailor. So was my father. But I'm not a bit ashamed of it. I work for my living. I have no kind Uncle Sam to provide for me that I may loaf about in white duck and seek diversion among the fairer sex. You'll excuse me if I cannot hold a poorer opinion of myself than I do of many of those who wear the country's livery and draw pay for it. They are mostly good fellows--but there are others."

"But you won't understand. It isn't that. It's the--well, we won't discuss it any further. I know you are too much of a man to make me uncomfortable aboard the yacht. If you do, I shall have to speak to Mr. Dunn."

Captain Smart chuckled softly. He seemed to enjoy the situation very much, but he said no more, for the men rowing were beginning to listen to the conversation. He swung the boat alongside with precision, and assisted the girl up the companion.

Aboard the wrecker the crew watched these proceedings with interest. The big mate bit off a piece of tobacco and settled himself comfortably in the sun upon the deck, with his head just above the rail.

"Here comes the boat for us," grinned Captain Sanders, poking his head out of the cuddy. The rest grinned silently in turn.

Captain Smart came alongside, and the big mate rose to a sitting position at the rail, squirting a stream of tobacco over the side, barely missing the gig.

"Mr. Dunn, the owner of the _Sayonara_, would like to see you aboard the schooner," said Smart, addressing the black.

"What fur?" growled the giant.

"Oh, he has some business, I suppose--will you come?"

Sanders winked at his mate, and a Dutchman named Heldron nudged him in the ribs.

"Sho', I'll come," said the mate.

"Me, too," said Sanders, winking hard at the rest. "I'm the captain of the wreckin'-sloop _Sea-Horse_, an' it's no more'n proper for me to pay my respect to his nibs. This here little black boy"--pointing to the black giant--"is my first officer. They calls him Bahama Bill. He's a bad man to call out o' his name."

Bahama Bill frowned and his ugly face leered for a moment at the crew on deck. Then he swung easily over the side and dropped with a crash into the small boat. Some of the men sniggered, but Sanders gave them a look and followed.

"Shove off," said Smart, and in a moment the gig was heading for the yacht.

Upon the deck of the schooner the captain and mate of the _Sea-Horse_ seemed slightly out of place, but Bahama Bill swaggered aft with an air that had little retirement or modesty about it, and his skipper followed behind him.

The giant mate was much amused by the immaculate decks, the new rigging, and, above all, the spotless clothes of the crew. He knew a good ship, and this toy, this playship of the rich Northerner was much to his liking, for the _Sayonara_ was strongly built and had much valuable material in her building.

Dunn was sitting under the awning aft when the visitors were announced. Sanders, hat in hand, stood awkwardly smiling and smirking at the ladies, but his mate cocked his cap over his ear and leered savagely at the owner.

"You sent fur us, cap--an' here we is," said he.

Dunn had been watching them for several seconds.

"Yes, yes, my good man, I wanted to see you," he said. "Do you know of any one who wants a job cooking aboard here? I heard there were some good sea-cooks knocking about these keys, perhaps you're one--what?"

"Does I look like a cook?" said Bahama Bill, staring at him.

"Most certainly not, but appearances are sometimes deceptive. Maybe you know of one--what?"

"I does," said Bill.

"Can you get him aboard here to-day?" asked Dunn.

"I cayn't--nussur. I cayn't."

"Why not? I'll give good pay--fifty dollars. Steady job, if they make good."

"Well, de onliest good cook I knows is 'Scrappy Jule,' dey calls her----"

"Oh, no, she won't do; we don't want any disrep----"

"She's my wife," went on Bill, with a smoothness in his tone that made his captain smile broader than ever, "an' don't reckon she'll come abo'd no boat onless hit's me dat takes her."

"Perhaps she'll do some washing for us, then?"

Bill stared at the yachtsman for nearly a minute, and the smile died away from Sanders' face.

"Look here, yo' white man, did yo' send fur us to come ober heah to listen to a lot ob nonsense?" said Bill solemnly. "What yo' takes me fur, anyhow? We comes ober to take a drink an' pass de time o' day like ship's officer, an' yo' begins wid a lot o' foolishness 'bout cooks an' washerwomen. What yo' reckon I am?"

"Good heavens! Captain Smart, come here a minute," called Mr. Dunn, while the two ladies who were near enough to hear the last part of the conversation sat staring at the wreckers in amazement.

"Take these men forward and give 'em liquor," said Dunn, as his skipper came aft, "and then send them back aboard their craft. They won't suit us."

"You men come with me," said Smart, motioning to Sanders and Bahama Bill. His tone was quiet, but there was no mistaking its meaning. He had seen enough of them, and would put them back aboard their craft. He had known from the first that it was a mistake to have brought them. They were a rough, independent type who respected no one, a type that had furnished the worst class of buccaneers and pirates some generations before. The West Indies had been infested with them for years, and these wreckers, the descendants of the wild seamen of the Spanish Main, were not the kind of men for a yacht.

Bahama Bill glared sourly at the men forward as he made his way to the gangway followed by Sanders.

"I don't drink with no such po' white men as yo'," said the giant. "Yo' kin put me back abo'd the _Sea-Horse_--sorry I came."

"I'll take a pull afore I go," put in Sanders. "Bring out yer pizen an' let's have a try at it. I seen more onsociable fellers than your owner--but I can't quite call to mind jest where."

"You ought to know yachtsmen, captain," said Smart. "There's a difference between them and seamen. I'll drink with you, if you don't mind."

"Naw, yer needn't. I don't want nothin' more to do with yer--see? I drinks alone."

Smart took a bottle of liquor from the boy, who had brought it from the cabin and poured a tumblerful, handing it to Sanders.

"Drink, and make your getaway," he said.

Sanders tossed off the glassful, and looked hard at him.

"I'll go when I git good an' ready," he said. "Don't give me none o' your slack, or I'll take it out o' yer." Then he flung the dregs of the liquor into Smart's face.

The sting of the fiery stuff blinded the captain for an instant, but it also angered him enough to do a foolish thing. He brought the bottle down upon the wrecker's head and stretched him upon the deck. The next instant he was seized by the giant black man and flung like a coil of rope into the scuppers.

"Don't make no rough-house, or you'll be sorry. Put us abo'd the _Sea-Horse_," said the big mate.

Dunn had rushed for the cabin at the first signs of a fracas, and now came forward with a rifle held in readiness.

Smart saw that any further strain would result in bloodshed, and he was used to handling men. With strong self-control he sprang to his feet and held up his hand to Dunn. Then he called for the boat in a natural tone, and the men who had witnessed the trouble obeyed.

The yacht's deck was not the place for an affair of force. Captain Smart knew it at once and deplored his action. In a second he could precipitate a fight that would be fatal to at least one or more men, for Dunn was an excellent shot and exceedingly quick. The mate of the _Sea-Horse_ cared as little for the rifle as for a cane, if he once broke loose. Even Sanders would not hesitate to face any kind of weapon. The two wreckers were ushered over the side and rowed back to their craft.

Bahama Bill was sullenly silent all the afternoon. Something, an indefinable something of refinement, of an air above what he had been used to, had kept him from an outbreak aboard the yacht. He had many times gone forth on the beach and made rough-house for the sport of it, handling half a dozen tough longshoremen, armed and unarmed. On the _Sayonara_ the presence of the ladies had kept him in check. He could not quite understand it. Sanders had less control of himself, and growled out vengeance during the hours of daylight. When it grew dark he took his mate to one side.

"When the tide turns we'll rake her--hey?" he said.

"I dunno--I cayn't quite make up my mind," said Bill.

"Feared?"--with a sneer.

"Feared o' what?" asked the black man.

"Oh, I dunno. I reckon the captain, or the owner--hey?"

Bahama Bill spat disdainfully over the side into the dark water where the phosphorus shone in the ripples. He sat for an hour upon the rail, and the rest of the crew watched him, for they knew pretty well what was coming.

After supper the big mate went on deck. Heldron brought him a hook, a powerful instrument with a long tooth that would reach well into the seams of a vessel and pull out any calking that might be there. Sanders took out a fine steel bar, a regular jimmy, and joined them. The rest of the crew remained below and played checkers or cards, making no comment whatever.

The giant mate took the bar and hook and slid gently over the side, and the next instant they saw a thin line of fire, his wake, leading toward the yacht.

Aboard the yacht the incident of the afternoon was almost forgotten. Miss Harsha played the piano and Mrs. Dunn sang sea songs, while Dunn smoked and applauded alternately. The men were all below, and only Smart and his mate, a tall Yankee sailor from Maine, sat on deck, for the air was chill.

"Looks like we'll have a bit o' weather coming along soon," said the mate to Smart; "heavy bank makin' to th' north'ard."

The captain smoked in silence. He thought of the scene on deck that day, and he felt more than ever that Miss Harsha had reason to feel displeased at his attentions. He remembered the nights upon the liner when he had taken the girl for walks against the rules of the company, the usual ending of such affairs, and the cold-blooded manner in which she had sent him off. He was occupied intensely with his thoughts and keenly disgusted. In the dark water alongside a large fish seemed to make considerable disturbance and attracted his attention. He went to the rail and looked over, and instantly the creature, whatever it was, sank below the surface. Then he went back and smoked.

Bahama Bill, the wrecker, had reached the yacht and had started to work her seams about three strakes below the water-line. It was his business to drag out the oakum and spread the seam, leaving nothing but a bare thread to keep the water from coming into the hull.