Chapter VI: Part 6

In less than a minute after the mate had called he was on deck gazing through his night glasses at the light ahead. He was almost in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and the light was bright, the headlight of some steamer. Her side lights had not yet appeared through the drift and spume of the gale, but the headlight was bright and it was not changing its bearings, which was the bad sign that had worried the mate.

Johnson knew he had the right of way. Every man who knows anything of the rules at sea knows the sailing ship has the right of way over a steamer, and Johnson knew he was hove-to under storm canvas and must not give way or change his course. For him to get out of the steamer's way would put the burden of blame for anything that might happen upon himself, for it might confuse the steamer, which would, of course, at the right time shift her course and go clear.

But the light ahead grew brighter, and the moments were flying like the gale. The light was right over the jibboom end when the ship fell downward into the sea. Then it would swing to leeward a little, and then as the next sea swung her head off it would appear on the weather bow. Yes, it bore almost dead ahead and it was not changing its bearings.

The mate was getting nervous.

"Shall we keep her off, sir?" he asked.

"No, hold your course," came the order.

Ten men of the watch on deck had their eyes upon the light. They gave it small attention, however, for they knew, of course, that the steamer would sheer clear of them. The watch below and the passengers were sleeping as well as the rolling and plunging of the vessel would permit, and they were concerned not at all with lights. Those below in a ship know nothing of the strenuous life of those on deck.

"I can see his red light, sir," came the voice of the mate, strained and hoarse with excitement, and raised to a loud cry.

But Johnson could see the green light also, and he saw they were equally distant on either side of and below the bright eye which was bearing down upon them. The vessel was now close aboard, and of a sudden he felt his heart give a great bound under his ribs.

"Hard up the wheel," he roared. "Hard up, hard up--quick," and as he roared out he sprang to the spanker sheet and cast it off, letting the sail go to leeward with a thundering thrashing. Sharp cries came from forward where the men on lookout saw the danger and passed the word aft. And then as he turned, Johnson saw the giant bulk of a liner showing dimly through the gloom of the stormy night. A hundred little lights showed in her upper works. He even saw a man on her forecastle head peering forward, and then the great black stem rose above him, and with a thundering crash and rushing roar it tore its way through his ship almost amidships.

For a moment which seemed an age, the great black side of the hull rose before his vision, grinding, smashing, tearing its irresistible way past. Then the great black demon of destruction drew away and faded into the gloom, leaving nothing but a boiling sea forward of where the mainmast had been. The next minute the wild sea of the Western Ocean closed over what had been a short time before a fine ship.

Johnson found himself facing a living hill which rose against the night sky. Above it a great comber roared and foamed down upon him as the top of the sea broke and fell downward along the slope. He was in the sea and the water was warm, warmer than the air had been when on deck. He had on his rubber boots and oilskins, and he wondered why he still floated. He had heard that men with boots on sank at once. He remembered this distinctly and he struck out strongly as the foaming crest of the comber swept over him and smothered him down into the blackness beneath. He kept struggling and his head came out into the night again. The wind swept over his face, driving the foam and spume so that he could not see or breathe, but he knew he was still upon the surface of the sea. He turned his back toward it and managed to get a little breath. Then, half blinded and strangling with the brine, he struck out again.

It suddenly occurred to him that the steamer would stop and try to pick up the wrecked crew, but then he knew it would be impossible to lower a boat that night, and the masters of liners seldom stopped for anything. Transatlantic express steamers hardly ever stopped in good weather for a man overboard in daylight. Never unless they could see him distinctly upon the surface. If those upon the steamer could not see a four-masted schooner under storm canvas with her lights burning brightly, they would hardly hope to see a floating man who could not be seen ten fathoms distant by the sharpest eyes in that wind and sea. He tried to raise himself to see if the hull of the vessel was still in view, or if she were burning lights, but not even a Coston flare was visible. There was nothing save the desolate storm-lashed sea.

He had kicked off his rubber boots in a few moments, as they were dragging him down, and being a powerful man he struggled steadily to rid himself of his oilskins. Death had not made his appearance yet. He could not come upon a strong man so quickly while that man had his powers still left him to fight with. The very thought of the ending made him exert more power and a sudden realization of his position caused him to tear off his coat in a frantic effort. The faces of those he had left at home came before his half-blinded vision. He knew he was facing almost certain death, and that it would come quickly if no one picked him up. He was apparently alone in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and the steamer had kept on her course after completing the destruction of his ship. The rest of his crew must also have gone overboard. There were twenty-five souls all told, and he cursed the men of the steamer who had caused their sudden end. It had been vile carelessness. It had been more than brutal disregard for life. Their callousness amazed him, and he had been to sea many years and knew its heartlessness.

What would his family do without him? He could see their amazed and terrified looks when the news would be brought to them. His poor wife who adored him and whose only thought had been for him and the little ones. No, he could not die. No, no, by God, he would not die. He shook the water from his face and dashed it out of his eyes with his hand, and raised his head again for a look. The snoring roar of a comber sounded near, but even as he noted it he thought he heard the surging wash of something floating heavily in the sea. He knew there might be pieces of wreck about him. It was a chance and he flung himself high out of the water to see. The next instant the bursting wave fell over him and bore him down again into the blackness below. It seemed a long time it held him down, and he was exhausted when he got his head out again and drew in a mixture of water and air. A few more heavy seas and he would be very weak. The knowledge of it caused a terror within him. His heart began to beat rapidly. The end was really approaching in spite of his struggles. He was beginning to realize it, to realize that death could win after all.

But the thought of those ashore still steadied him. He must do his utmost. Had he been alone in the world the futility of his exertions would have been instantly apparent. He would have made a slight, ordinary effort, the effort of the animal who instinctively fears death, but his reason would have quickly told him that the sooner he went under the better it would be for him. He would have died like the twenty-five souls who had been in his care half an hour before. But he, no, he could not go, he would swim on, and on, and on.

He had been in the water half an hour now and he saw nothing but the house where his family lived. The sun was shining bright and the grass was green near the front gate. His wife stood upon the front steps and smiled at him. He reached toward her, but she seemed to recede and smile at him, leading him on, and on, and on.

He was still swimming but did not know it. His breath had gone to little choking gasps which hardly reached his half-filled lungs. His jaws were working spasmodically, clinching under the strain and opening to gasp out the briny mixture which he was forced to breathe. But always before his vision, before his blinded eyes, was that picture of his home. The whirling, choking blackness around him seemed to close in upon him. He stopped time and again to drive the drowning spray and spume from his face. He was drowning. The wind and sea were too heavy for a man to face for any length of time. The great combing crests of the seas swept over him, and it was only by that dogged, persistent effort to reach the vision before him that he managed to keep himself upon the surface after the smothering foam held him under. Once he seemed to realize his hopeless surroundings and raised himself out to the shoulders to try to see. He happened to be upon the lee slope of a hill of water and he got a momentary glimpse of the turmoil about him. All around was the gloom of the night, lit here and there by the white flashes of foam. It dawned upon his fading senses that he had reached the limit, he was going under, there was no hope.

Like the lamp that flares up before it dies, the flame of his life rose again in one more desperate resolve. He would keep on fighting, he would not go.

The pitiful futility of his struggle roused his expiring senses to a strange fury. He struck out fiercely, driving himself ahead before the wind and raising himself with each stroke. He sank into the hollow of a great sea, the slopes on either hand raised high above him and he was in a sheltered spot for a second. The surging wash of some heavy floating thing again came to his half-filled ears, and as he rose upon the crest he made a mighty effort. He raised himself and shook the water from his face. Right alongside of him lay a black object outlined by a white fringe of foam which now and then showed phosphorescent flares. He had been swimming now for more than fifty minutes.

With failing brain and cramping muscles he strove for it, swimming, striking, reaching, the last expiring effort of a dying man who dies hard in the full powers of his manhood. His headway through the water was almost nothing. He was not a good swimmer. Few sailors can swim at all. A sea hurled him close to the object, and another swept him clear out of sight of it. Then one drove him against it heavily and he clutched frantically for a hand-hold.

When he set his fingers upon an edge about three feet above the surface he hung and rested. His senses were failing and he fought instinctively. Something within him seemed to tell him that he must get upon that object, that he must get clear of the water about him, and he rested before making the effort which must decide his fate. It was a high lift for an exhausted man and he set his strength slowly and persistently, hauling steadily with all his remaining energy. He managed to get his face level with the edge, but here he stopped. His head wobbled weakly with the surge of the sea. His eyes were closed and his jaws set. The sunshine seemed to play upon the green grass before him and the form of his wife stood beckoning. He sank an inch lower. A sea washed over him and he was slipping slowly back as it went past. He gave a choking cry, a strangling groan of despair and slipped down again into the sea just as a hand reached over the edge and closed upon his shirt collar.

The sun was shining and the wind-swept sea presented a beautiful aspect the following morning. The water broke over the lower edge of the deck-house upon which he lay, but only reached to his feet, foaming down the slant until it made a whirlpool in a mass of line which floated in a tangle. A line about his waist was made fast to a ring-bolt near him, and sitting alongside of him, with his head thrust forward peering out over the sea, was Garfunkle, his second mate.

An exclamation and their eyes met. Johnson raised himself to a sitting posture, though the pain in his cramped limbs made him groan.

"The forrad house, eh?" he said.

"Yessir," said the mate.

"You saved me?"

"Yessir, I just heard your call in time. You were done for, but were right within a foot of me. It was dark."

"No one else but us two?" asked the captain.

"All gone, sir, and it looks like we are going. There won't be another ship this way in a week. That was the West India liner, _Hammersea_, from Kingston to Liverpool, who ran us down. I saw the name on one of her boats that was torn off her. It was smashed up and floating close aboard us an hour ago."

"To run a man down is carelessness, but to leave him afterwards is murder," said Johnson with bitterness.

They were about six hundred miles from the Bahamas and to the eastward of the Stream. The water was warm and blue and the sea was going down. The easterly weather was dying out and the semi-tropical warmth was taking its place. Near them several dark objects showed now and again upon the slopes of the seas, and they knew they must be débris from the sunken ship.

Johnson had probably not swam over twenty fathoms in the whole desperate endeavour he had made the night before. The darkness had prevented him from making any definite course and he had swum with the drift of the house. Garfunkle had been swept overboard with the wreck of the mainmast; the stem of the steamer had torn its way through the forward house, knocking it overboard. It was the only thing that had floated clear, for the spars were all stayed with steel rigging and the lanyards of the lee rigging had held against the shock although the mainmast had been driven out of her. The great spar had been dragged down with the sinking ship, but the house had floated clear and was resting upon its side. In the open doorway they could see clothes and sea-chests which had remained in the forecastle and which had not been washed out with the force of the sea.

They were weak and exhausted from the night of effort, but they went to work at a chest and dragged it through the door and upon the slanting side of the house. It sent the float down a good foot in the sea, but they persisted in the hope of finding something of value. The chest was almost empty. It contained a few clothes, a Bible and a large revolver, the cartridges still intact within the chambers. Johnson stuck the weapon in his waist-band, and his mate placed the Bible and clothes clear of the sea. Then he kicked the chest adrift. It floated off, setting high upon the water and looking absurdly out of place.

"Nothing to eat--nothing to drink--looks pretty bad," said Garfunkle.

Johnson made no comment. He was grateful that he was still alive, and being a sailor he felt that it was a long way between that floating deck-house and drowning. He would get ashore again soon enough, and would not let his wife or children know how near he had come to passing. It would be simply a money loss. He had owned several shares in the schooner, and she had been a fine ship, paying twenty per cent., but he would get another and go on as before. If he ever caught up with the pilot of that steamer, he would see that the fellow gave an account of himself. His cargo had been insured fully, and the underwriters would make things hot for the rascal who had so ruthlessly run him down.

The first day passed without incident of importance. The pangs of hunger were beginning to be felt keenly by both men upon the float. Johnson was cheerful but Garfunkle was pessimistic and grumbled continually. He stood up every now and then to scan the horizon, but nothing broke the evenness of the dark blue rim.

The second day it was hot and calm. Both men took off their clothes and cooled themselves in the sea until a huge shadow rising alongside made them hasten up the slanting side of their float. A great tiger shark rose at the edge of the house, and taking a shove, sent his broad nose up the slanting side until it almost touched their feet. Then he slid back again into the sea and swam slowly around the house, coming back again to the side that sloped into the water for another effort to get his prey. The men were more amused than frightened at his attempts. Garfunkle stripped a plank off the edge where it had been shattered, and at the monster's third effort he drove the ragged sharpened point deep into its eye. He floundered back into the sea and remained motionless some ten fathoms distant upon the surface. A smaller denizen of the same species came up and tried the same method, but he was rapped sharply over the head and he kept away. But as the darkness came on, the men realized that they must not relax their vigilance, for the hungry fish made other attempts to get them.

The morning of the third day Garfunkle was delirious. He raved about water and stood up oftener to scan the sea. Johnson was very weak, but kept his senses. He noticed a floating object near at hand and soon made out the sunken small boat torn from the steamer's side. As the morning wore on it drifted nearer and finally came alongside. He grasped the painter and managed to get the mate to give him a hand. Together they managed to drag the boat's bow up the slope of the float, and they saw that the plank at the stem just below the water-line had been smashed in. Weakened as he was, Johnson determined to patch it and accordingly set to work. By placing a piece of the house planking on the outside and lashing it fast with the line, he managed to get the leak stopped sufficiently to allow the bailing of the craft. Then by getting into the stern, they kept the leak clear of the sea and the boat was safe enough. Searching through the locker aft, where the food for emergency was kept, they came upon the case of biscuit, water-soaked, to be sure, but still in partly solid shape. They ate some and felt better for a time, but their thirst was aggravated. The small water-breaker usually kept in lifeboats was missing. Under the thwarts was a sail, and one oar was still fast in her bottom. Johnson cut the lashings and drew the gear out. It would be of service to them for a rudder.

The hunger pains had died away by the fourth day, but their thirst was terrible. A man may go for days upon water alone, but without it he can last only a short time under a warm sun. By keeping their bodies wet they eased themselves a little, but not much. The absorption through the skin was insufficient to do them much good. Time and again, they seemed to see a ship bearing down upon them and one or the other would cry out, but after a while they desisted. The sea was a heaving plain as far as the sight could reach, unbroken by a single object. The deep blue turned to a deeper steel-gray nearer the horizon in the calm, meeting the almost cloudless sky in a haze. There was no wind, but they must get away. To remain any longer on the house was to invite a terrible death. It might be the same thing in the boat, but they would at least feel that they were going somewhere, getting nearer to help and water.

It was water, always water. The liquid around them made the madness of thirst double. They had gazed down into the clear depths for hours, seeing visions of streams of fresh water, craving to plunge into them, the burning and all-consuming thirst in their throats waxing more and more intense. They had no longer any idea of hunger. The ship's bread they left untouched, for it was wet with salt water and the slightest bit of that liquid made them frantic. They could have just as well drunk pure alcohol.

Garfunkle was for starting off at once. He had become rational again, but his eyes held a certain light when they met the captain's that told of the madness in his brain. He always lowered them when Johnson looked at him, but he spoke always in a low, soft voice now, a sort of purring, and Johnson knew it was the purring of the famished tiger. Garfunkle was a big man and very powerful. He had risen to mate's berth as much by his physical abilities as mental. He was stripped to the waist, and his body, which he had kept wet, was burned to a bright red by the sun. The patch of hair on his broad chest showed in marked contrast to the surrounding skin. Johnson had kept his shirt on his back and saved himself the extra annoyance of the sun. He preferred to shiver a bit at night than to burn during the daytime.

When they had stepped the mast and made all ready for a start, they noticed some small fish swimming close to the edge of the float. The dorsal fin of a large shark lay twenty fathoms distant upon the surface of the sea, and they wondered at the carelessness of the fish who ignored it. They seemed quite tame, and Johnson took the piece of wood they had used to keep off the sharks, whittled the end into a fresh point and lay at full length upon the house, his idea being to spear a few of the small fry and take them along for food. He was quite weak and his brain was dizzy. The exertion of mending the boat was exhausting and he made many ineffectual attempts to strike the fish without looking up.

Suddenly he was aware of a feeling of danger. He turned and saw Garfunkle stealthily coming upon him with the upraised oar. There was a wild look in the mate's eyes, but he grinned when Johnson turned and began a soft speech, half incoherent. Johnson was lying down, but managed to draw the pistol he had kept in his belt. The mate smiled, put the oar back into the boat and suddenly shoved her clear of the house, springing into her and sitting down upon a thwart.

Johnson looked at him, dazed, half understanding, his brain reeling in the sunshine.

"Come back," he said calmly.

Garfunkle grinned at him and grasped the sheet, hauled it aft and put the oar over the stern for a rudder. There was no wind and the boat remained motionless. The mate began to scull away slowly.

"Come back," said Johnson in a low tone.

The mate turned his back upon him and as the boat's head payed off, kept her on her course to the westward.

"Come back," said Johnson again.

The boat drew slowly off. She was ten fathoms before Johnson realized that he was being deserted. Garfunkle sculled her slowly, the sail slatting with the roll of the sea.

Johnson still held the revolver. It came upon him suddenly that he was being left, that he was lost. The vision of the home ashore flashed before him, the green grass and white cottage, with his smiling wife and romping children. He was being left to die.

He drew the hammer of the revolver back and raised the weapon, letting the front sight stop full upon the middle of Garfunkle's back between the shoulders. He hesitated, and as he did so he remembered that the man had saved his life but a few days before. He would have drowned but for the rescuing grip which hauled him upon the house. He let the weapon sink until its muzzle touched the planks, and he put his left hand to his head to try to help his reeling brain to reason properly. No, he could not die. The vision of the home ashore came stronger to him. It was not for himself alone that he would live, but live he must, and would.

The sights of the pistol settled again upon the back of his mate. He was twenty fathoms distant and drifting slowly away. Johnson pressed the trigger.

The report jarred him. The puff of smoke disappeared at once into the air, and he saw Garfunkle look around and grin. Then the mate stood up, reeled, staggered, and plunged headlong overboard. He saw him no more.

Without waiting an instant Johnson swam toward the craft and managed to gain her. He had forgotten about the sharks, but nothing struck him. He took the oar the mate had dropped in the water alongside, and after he climbed aboard he trimmed the sheet and settled himself in the stern, making the oar fast in a becket. If he let go of it now he would not lose it. The sun was in the west and he headed away, steering as near as he could guess for the Bahamas.

The wrecking sloop _Sea-Horse_ was coming along up the coast and the captain, Sanders, of Key West, noticed something floating upon the broad stretch of sea which looked like a small white boat. Boats were not met with so far off shore, and the object sat so low in the water and appeared without control that the skipper of the wrecker called his mate.

"What d'ye make of that, Bill?" said he, pointing to the white speck.

Bahama Bill, the huge negro diver and wrecker, looked long and intently at it.

"'Pears to me like it was er wrack, cap--what? Looks to be a stove-in boat, an' I reckon we might as well pick her up--maybe we kin fix her to be ob use wid a little paint and putty. Ennyways, we kin sell her to some dub in Miami en clar enough fo' de trouble--what yo' say, cap?"

"Oh, let her head up to it if you want to," said Sanders. "I don't like running out of my line when I'm in a hurry, but if you want her, get her. I reckon we might pass her off for a few dollars--stand by the main sheet."

"Ship's boat--yassir, dat's a ship's boat fo' shuah, cap," said the giant mate as the wrecking vessel drew nearer. "Must be some ob de wrack hereabouts--we better lay by en take a look eround, yassir."

"Let her luff a little," called Sanders to the man at the wheel. "Steady--so, let her go, jest so--steady--Good God! What--There's a man in her--"

"Stand by de jib sheet," roared Bahama Bill. "Yo' kin let her come to when yo' ready, sah--I'll stand by toe ketch him, sah."

The huge mate leaned far over the side of the _Sea-Horse_ and with a mighty grip seized the floating small craft by the gunwale. She was half full of water, but he sprang into her and passed up her painter to a man on deck while the wrecking sloop plunged and bucked into the sea, her sails slatting and switching as she lay right in the wind. In a moment the mate had lifted the body and passed it aboard and the half-sunken small boat was dropped astern.

They poured water between his sun-baked lips and upon his swollen, livid tongue. In a few hours the corpse showed signs of life, but the blue-black face was motionless for days, and they had reached Jacksonville before the man's features relaxed enough for him to speak. He could not make himself understood, and it was three weeks later, when he was able to sit up in the cot at the seaman's hospital, before he could tell of his affair.

He was discharged as cured and went to his home. He had heard nothing from his wife and supposed she had heard nothing concerning him. When he entered the gate he noticed that all was silent about the place. A neighbour accosted him and asked who he was, but he was put out at the delay and refused to tell his business. Then the man told him how the news had come in that he had gone down in his ship nearly a month ago and that his wife had failed and died within a week.

He listened silently, and when the man finished he went into the house.

They found him dead that evening with a bullet-hole between the eyes.

"Crazy with grief," said the neighbours who knew his home life. The doctor who examined him thought differently.

"There is absolutely nothing abnormal about him," said the physician. "He looks like a man who has gotten tired out--clean exhausted with the futility of some great effort--look at his face."

X

On the Great Bahama Bank

Stormalong Journegan was a Conch, a native of the Bahamas. He stood six feet four inches upon his thin spindle-shanks, and it is doubtful if he ever weighed more than one hundred pounds; no, not even when soaking wet. He was thin.

He lit up for the night, wiped the bar free from the gin and bitters spilled there by a drunken customer, and then turned to survey his room, waiting for the whistle of the liner. It was the night the ship was due, the giant New York mail liner, ten thousand tons and not less than three hundred passengers. All of these would be thirsty, for the weather is always warm in Key West in the early spring.

Journegan was a "spouter." That is, he had been with a religious bunch of reefers, and he was free to make use of the Scriptures--too free entirely to suit the orthodox ecclesiastics of Key West. Over the sign of "The Cayo Huesso" the legend ran thus: "As it was in the beginning, it is now," showing that Journegan was not a reformer at all, but believed in the Bible and the true creed. And the worst of it all was that he was accurate in his quotations; not only accurate, but invincible and gifted with that terrible weapon--an unfailing memory.

"Why do you use such blasphemy?" asked a divine, shocked at the sign and its motto.

"I was taught that there creed by a better man than you, suh, and he said: 'As it ware in the beginning, it is now, an' ever shall be, world without end. Amen.' I heard ye say them same words onct when I 'tended meetin'. What ye got agin' 'em, hey?"

"Nothing at all--nothing at all."

"Then cl'ar out. Git erlong. Don't come makin' no trouble fer me. I don't ask ye to drink--git away."

"Yes, sir," went on Journegan, turning to an approaching customer. "It's the same now as it always ware--same as it ware in the beginning--always shall be just the same--human nature never changes, not at all. There'll always be the bad, and always be the good. The bad are the strong gone wrong. The good are the weak tryin' to make good; sometimes they're strong too, but very seldom. Strength and goodness don't go together except in rare cases, but when a good man's strong, he's sure nuff strong.

"Ye see, we've all got a livin' to make. We hire men to study religion for us and pay 'em to preach it out of pulpits--yes, sir, actually pay 'em to git up and preach about th' Gospel as if you or me couldn't read or write! What's the sense? What's the sense of paying a man for doing something you can do yourself just as well? If salvation depends on a fellow's ability to translate the Gospel, then it's a mighty poor Gospel for poor folk--but it don't. It's a good livin' they make preachin', and I for one don't take no offense at a feller chargin' for his talk; not that he knows any more than you or me--'cause he can't know a blame bit more--but we've all got to live, an' the feller what talks has to live, too. Let him live by talk. Let me live by sellin' things. I don't ask no favours, but I don't want no guy what jest talks an' talks fer money to come around an' bother me--that's all; yes, that's erbout all, I reckon."

You will see that Journegan was very popular with the strong men who worked and very unpopular with the men who preached.

"Your head is as long as your body," admitted Captain Smart, entering the gilded hall. "What you say goes, Stormalong--gimme a drink."

"Goin' to meet the ship?" asked Journegan.

"Yep, I'm goin' back in her if I get the chance," said Smart. "I've been on the beach here a week now. Dunn settled up his wrecking bill with that fellow 'Bahama Bill' and Captain Sanders and their gang, and that lets me out. I'm out a good berth. She was a fine yacht."

"'Twasn't your fault you lost her, I heard tell," said Journegan, with a leer.

"I did all I could," admitted Smart, "but I lost her, just the same. There is no excuse for the loser, you know."

"Yep, I knows well enough," said Journegan slowly, as if thinking over something. "'Peared to be leakin' badly all o' a sudden-like, hey?"

"Yes, started to leak during the blow, or just before it. A bit of hard luck you may say."

"Well, you'll know more about the reef if you stay here a while."

There was some strange meaning in Stormalong's tone, and it was not lost on Smart.

"You are the second man who has said something to that effect," said the seaman. "Now, what the devil do you mean by it?"

"Oh, nothing much. No use getting worked up by what I said. You don't know much about the ways of folk along the reef and bank. That's all--there goes the whistle of the liner."

A deep-toned siren roared out over the quiet waters of the reef, sounding far away to sea, and seemed to be coming from some distant point to the southward. Smart recognized it as the call of his ship, the ship he had left months before for the sake of a woman.

He drank off his liquor and started for the dock, making his way along the white roadway and joining the throng of Conchs who lazily walked toward the shore to see the great liner make her landing. She was a new ship, a ship of huge tonnage for a Southern liner, and it was a treat to watch her officers dock her. Slowly she came drifting in toward the land, her mighty engines sending the white coral water moving gently from her stern.

Her giant bows came near the landing. A tiny figure flung a filmy line through the air, a line so small in proportion to her great bulk that it seemed but a spider-web. But behind it followed a great hawser, and a dozen lazy black men hauled it ashore and threw the loop over a pile-end.

Then a shrill whistle sounded, and the deep rumble of the engines told of the backing strain. She swung alongside the wharf finally and made fast her stern and spring-lines. Then a gangway shot out, and the captain came quickly down, followed by a swarm of passengers.

As the ship was to stop only a half-hour at Key West, her commander had to make a quick clearance and entry, taking on some fifty passengers who were in the cigar business and who made Key West an important stop on that account. They were all through first-class to New York. Smart joined Captain Flanagan while he walked briskly toward the customhouse. The skipper shook his hand warmly, and asked how he came to be down there. Then followed the story of the wreck of a yacht, and the tale of an officer out of a berth, all of which Flanagan listened to with waning interest. The old, old story was uncommonly dull to him. He was powerless to do anything, and he spoke forth.

"It's no use of talking about it any more, Smart. You know the rules of the company as well as I do. You know there are other men waiting to step into berths, and when a man steps out like you did it's up to him to stay out and give the rest a chance. How would you like to have a man come back into a ship and block you for perhaps twenty years? No, it won't do, even if I could do it. You are out. Stay out, unless you want to start in again at the foot, as a third mate."

"No, I can't drop to that position at my age," said Smart sadly. "I'm holding a master's ticket, and if you can't take me on as a second at least, why, all right, I'll have to ship somewhere else."

"I'm mighty sorry, old man," said Flanagan, "but you know it's not my fault. It's the rules of the company, and if I took you on to New York you would be dropped as soon as we landed. I can give you a passage up, if you want it. Here's a key to the stateroom--take it."

"No, you don't. If I stay ashore, I stay right here. Don't worry about me. I'll try to make good. I know I was a fool, but sometimes we all play the fool. Good-bye, and good luck. How does the ship run?"

Flanagan was gone. The light of Stormalong's shone out brightly in the distance. Smart kept his eyes upon them for a long time, and wandered about the streets. The warning whistle of the liner blew for a farewell, and as the sound roared out upon the night the seaman turned away and went up the street.

II

Captain Smart was in a particularly uncomfortable mood. He had left the liner for a woman, a woman whom he desired and whom he thought worth any sacrifice. Later he discovered that she was selfish to the core. He had expected companionship, love, and sympathy. He had found cold, calculating animalism: a brutality all the more horrible for its refinement, for its servitude to wealth and position. Yes, she had told him plainly just how she felt about it, and had made it perfectly plain that she would mate only with some one who could place her in surroundings which she desired, not what she would get as the wife of a seaman, a captain of a ship. And he could not blame her. No, it was manifestly not her fault. It was the fault of the society in which she had been brought up. It had stifled the woman in her and developed the snob to an extent that would admit of no choice on the part of either.

He had seen his mistake, and the loss of the yacht upon which she was a guest had given him a chance to complete the affair, to get away from all the familiar surroundings. Now he was "on the beach."

"On the beach," to a sailor means without a ship and without money. Smart had neither ship nor money, but he had a strong constitution and high spirits, and the lights of Stormalong's were still burning brightly down the long, smooth road.

He entered and noticed that the tables were full. A company of men were playing cards at the farthest end of the saloon, and he made his way toward them. A game of poker always fascinated him, and he hung over the back of a player, watching his cards and noting the manner he threw away a high pair to fill a flush.

"Would ye like to set in?" asked Stormalong, who had come over to get an order for drinks.

"I wouldn't mind setting in for a short time," Smart nodded. "No all-night séance for me, and quit when you want to."

"Gents," began the saloon-keeper, "this is Captain Smart, of the schooner--ah, well, never mind that, hey? Well, Smart was chief officer of the ship just gone out. He's got the dough, and kin play a keard or two, if you give him a chance."

"Set right in here, cap," said a thick-set, sunburnt man whose calling was manifest in his face. "I'm a reefer, an' run a sponger, but I reckon I kin play with yer."

"You make five--just right for luck," was the greeting of another, a thin, eagle-nosed fellow who declared that his name was Smith--Wilson Smith.

A man with a thick growth of beard nodded to him across the board, and a squat, twinkling-eyed little fellow, with the hue of the tobacco factory upon him, held out his hand. "My name's Jacobs--traveller for the Garcias'--glad to meet you."

The cards were dealt round afresh, and Smart took up his hand. For some time nothing occurred to distract the attention of the players from the game, but gradually their talk and the clink of money as they made change attracted the crowd.

Smart was aware of a huge form just behind him, and, glancing up, he looked right into the face of Bahama Bill, the black mate of the wrecking-sloop _Sea-Horse_. A huge grin was upon the black man's ugly face, and he laid his enormous hand upon Smart's shoulder. "Huh, how yo' is, cap? Thought you'd gone away fo' sho. Stopped to teach 'em how toe play de game, huh? Yah, yah, ya-a-a!"

"Stormalong," broke in Wilson Smith, "I don't want to appear rude, but I draw the colour line sometimes, especially at keards. If the big nigger standing behind us will sit down or move along, it'll facilitate the game some."

Bahama Bill heard the remarks, but, being in a white man's saloon, he said nothing. He showed his teeth in a mirthless smile, a smile which boded no good for the man who had spoken and who was evidently a stranger to him.

Stormalong motioned to the wrecker to sit down, and Bill did so without comment. He was well known and fairly well liked, and his record allowed him some privileges which were not accorded to men of his race. Being part owner as well as mate of the wrecking-sloop made him a person of more or less note. Therefore Stormalong furnished him with unlimited rum, which he paid for from a wad of bills which made the observers gaze with surprise. Mr. Dunn, the owner of the yacht which Smart had lost, had been trimmed very cleanly. The salvage on her had been large for so small a vessel, owing to the valuable silverware, furnishings, and other fittings.

III

The game progressed slowly, but Wilson Smith began to win little by little. Smart suddenly found he held three aces. He raised the limit before drawing, and discarded two cards, hoping to draw another ace. Jacobs, the cigar man, came in, and Smith raised it one better, which Smart made good, the other two men dropping out.

Bahama Bill had drunk several glasses of rum by this time, and he again appeared to fix his attention upon the game, but not so as to attract attention, standing well back of all but keeping his eyes fixed in a steady gaze upon the thin-faced man's cards.

The cards were dealt, and Smart drew a pair of queens, filling, and thus holding a strong hand. Jacobs drew one card, and quietly slipped it into his hand. His face was emotionless, and he puffed lazily at his cigar, complacently cocked up at a high angle in his jaws. Smith drew four cards, and, after conning his hand carefully, bet a dollar.

Jacobs raised, and Captain Smart came upon him for the limit. Wilson Smith, to the surprise of all, raised back the limit. The cigar man was game, and came again. Smart holding an ace-full, could not, of course, let it pass him, so he again raised it.

"We all bein' so mighty peart about our hands--let's throw the limit off," suggested Smith.

"I'm more'n willin'," agreed Jacobs. "What d'ye say, cap?"

"I haven't much money"--Smart hesitated--"and just came in the game to pass the time, but if the rest are willing, I'll stay."

Wilson Smith looked around approvingly. "I'll make it fifty dollars better than what there's in it." He drew a cigar from his pocket and lit it with an easy air.

"I'll have to make it two hundred better," Jacobs protested grimly. "I hate to gamble, but I can't let a hand like this pass me."

"Oh, I haven't any money like that." Captain Smart's brows were raised in surprise. "Fifty is all I can show."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," said Jacobs. "Of course we'll give you a show, but the limit was put off on purpose to let us play keards."

Smart was aware of a heavy hand upon his shoulder. He turned, and found Bahama Bill standing close to him.

"Take dis hear, cap." And Bill thrust an enormous roll of bills unto his pile upon the table. "I'll stand by toe see yo' through."

Wilson Smith looked up again, and then called for Stormalong Journegan.

"Journegan," said he, "this is the second time I have had to speak to you about being annoyed. If it happens again there'll be trouble."

"Play poker," came a voice from the crowd.

Smart gazed about him for a moment. It was evident that the mate of the _Sea-Horse_ had an object in putting up his cash. He was quick-witted enough to see that it was best to go ahead without making any comment. He could stop after this hand.

Bahama Bill drew back at a sign from Journegan, but still fixed his gaze upon Smith's hand. It seemed as though he had seen the hands of the men, and was betting upon the best. Smart could think of no other reason for the money being left him, and he felt certain that he would win. Bill was just backing the hand he had seen to be the winner.

As long as that was the case he would go the limit. He counted out five hundred dollars and laid it upon the table. Then he picked up his cards again and skimmed over the squeezers, waiting for the end.

Jacobs drew out the amount to make good, and the thin-faced man felt in his pocket for his roll. He bent over in doing this, and as he did so he held his cards close to his breast in his left hand. He was still fumbling in his trousers pocket with his right when a black hand suddenly reached over his shoulder and drew forth a complete "hold-out" from under his waistcoat where his hand pressed. The movement was so quick, so powerful, and so disconcerting, that for an instant there was a silence, and the fellow threw up his head. The next moment he had drawn his gun, a long, blue-barrelled revolver of heavy pattern, and had swung it up over his shoulder and fired like a flash of lightning into Bahama Bill.

Instantly there was an uproar, and above the noise of the struggling mass of men there sounded the bull-like bass of the mate of the _Sea-Horse_: "I got yo' fer sho, Skinny Ike--I got yo'."

IV

Captain Smart grabbed what money he could get hands upon, and while thus engaged the cigar man dealt him a powerful blow over the shoulders with a chair. It had been meant for his head, but instead it landed upon the heavy muscles Smart had earned by hard work hauling lines. He gave a yell, and sprang upon his assailant. Just then Stormalong Journegan opened with his gun, and the quick firing drowned all other sounds.

Through the smoke of the fight Smart saw his man, and smote him with all his power upon the jaw. The fellow went down and out. Many of the bystanders had been with the crooks, probably a gang of six or more, and these fell upon Smart and Bahama Bill.

Smart found himself fighting two quick, agile fellows who struck at him with weapons he could not distinguish. The rest piled upon the giant mate while Journegan fired upon the bunch, taking care not to hit any one, for he had no desire to ruin his business. His lead, however, went so close that one man got a clip that knocked him over. The room filled with smoke, and the uproar was loud enough, but suddenly Smart was aware of the giant Conch struggling to his feet and swinging out right and left with two mighty fists, sending men tumbling about like chips before a storm. Just beneath him the thin-faced man, Wilson Smith--dubbed "Skinny Ike" by Bill--lay in a heap.

"Come on, yo' muckers, come on an' git yo' medicine," he bawled. Then he picked up the prostrate man, and, taking him by the shoulders, used him as a flail, swinging him about his head and knocking every one in his path into a state of submission. The men around Smart fled in confusion, and in a moment Bahama Bill and the captain stood alone in the end of the room, the rest of the onlookers making good their escape to the street. Journegan stood behind his bar and grinned down the barrel of his empty gun.

"Air ye hurted much, Bill?" he asked.

"Hurt!" roared the giant mate. "What'd hurt me here, anyway, 'cept yo' blamed rum, hey?"

"Well, if you want to make a gitaway now's the time, I reckon, for this place'll be pulled to-night sure--an' that in a mighty few minutes."

Bahama Bill dropped the limp form of Wilson Smith. The man was not seriously hurt, only horribly bruised. The rest were either insensible from blows or unable to rise from the smash of the thin fellow's body upon them, for the mate had stove them hard enough to break ribs and arms with his human whip. Some of the gang essayed to sit up and take notice after the mate ceased to speak. One had the temerity to draw a gun, which Bill unceremoniously kicked out of his hand.

"I reckon we'd better be goin' 'long, cap," said the big black. "This place'll be pulled by the marshal inside o' ten minutes. Take up w'at dough you sees; I'll kerlect it off'n you later."

"Didn't you git a plug?" asked Journegan.

"Oh, yas; jest a little hole in de shoulder--dat's nothin'. Come on, cap."

Smart hesitated a minute. "Where do we go?" he asked.

"Aboa'd de _Sea-Horse_--an' to sea as fast as we kin git her movin'. Ought toe been gone befo' dis, but when I see dat Skinny settin' in to skin yo' I jest naterally had toe take a hand. Whatcher s'pose I handed yo' dat money fer?"

"But I haven't done anything wrong--nothing to run for," said Smart.

"Yo' try an' think straight a minute, cap. Yo' ain't got many friends here. Take my advice an' don't git pulled. De clink is mighty mean here. I don't know why I should take a shine toe yo' cap, but yo' shore did set in dat game ter win--an' yo' kin hit pretty straight, too."

"Gwan, before it's too late," said Journegan.

A rush of feet sounded in the street, followed by the hoarse voices of men nearing "The Cayo Huesso." The door of the saloon was suddenly burst open, and the marshal, with a posse of twenty men behind him, came into view.