Chapter IV (6)

His eyes gave one flash of recognition, and he said quietly, “I know that key. Come, let us see what we can find by its aid.”

Then, for the first time, I saw the inside of the skipper’s state-room. No wonder he kept it fast closed. It was honeycombed with lockers of every shape and size; but, strangest of all, there were three rings in the deck as if to lift up level-fitting hatches. These took my eye at once, and, upon my pointing them out, the Chinaman stooped and essayed to lift one. He had hardly taken hold of the ring, though, when he saw a keyhole at one edge, and muttering, “I didn’t know of this, though,” he tried my key in it. It fitted, unlocking the hatch at once. But neither he nor I was prepared for what we found. There, in a space not more than four feet square and five feet deep, was a white man, a stranger to me. The giant at my side reached down and lifted the prisoner out of his hole as if he had been a child, and, placing him gently on a settee, regarded him with incurious eyes. He was just alive, and moaning softly. I called Ah Toy, who evinced no surprise at seeing the stranger; but, after he had brought some water at my order, and given the sufferer some drink, he told me that this was the missing mate. Ah Toy assisted me to get the unfortunate man into my berth, where I left him to the ministrations of the steward, while I hurried back to the skipper’s state-room. When I reached it the calm searcher had laid bare almost all its secrets.

Boyesen, the second mate, was there, looking like a man just awaking from a furious debauch, and blinking at the light like a bat. And around him on the deck were heaped treasures beyond all my powers of assessment. But their glitter had no effect upon me; I suppose I must have been saturated with surprises, so that my clogged brain would absorb no more. I turned to Boyesen and offered him my hand, which he took, and, by assistance, crawled out of that infernal den, leaving the Chinaman to sort out his wealth.

I tried hard to get some explanation of the second mate’s strange disappearance from him, but, in addition to his habitual taciturnity, he was in no condition to talk; so, after a few minutes’ ineffectual effort, I left him and returned on deck. Ah, how delightful was the pure air. I drew in great draughts of it, as if to dispel the foulness of that place below; I looked up at the bright sky and down at the glittering sea, over which the Phrabayat was bounding at the rate of six or seven knots an hour, and blessed God that I was still alive, and for the moment forgot how great was the danger still remaining.

Far ahead I could see the loom of the China coast. By my reckoning she would be in touch with the land before nightfall if the present fresh breeze held--and what then? A sudden resolve came upon me to ask the evident master of my destinies; for, although I felt quite sure that any compunction for whatever sufferings we white men might endure would be impossible to him, there would be a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing his intentions. I turned to go and seek him, but he was standing by my side. Without waiting for me to speak to him, he said gravely--

“In a few hours I hope to reach the creek where my agents are waiting to tranship the cargo. What then will happen depends largely upon yourself. Should you persist in refusing to take command of this vessel it may be the easiest plan to cut your throat, as you would be greatly in the way. Of course, your two companions would be disposed of in the same manner. But for the present, if you will have the goodness to call the hands aft, there are some precautions to be taken with reference to the valuables you have seen, which represent the loot that Captain Klenck anticipated making off with presently. That reminds me----” And, disappearing from my side, he slid rather than walked below. I called the hands aft, walking to the break of the poop as I did so. As I stood looking down on to the main deck, my late companion appeared with the skipper’s body in his arms, which he cast over the lee-rail as if it had been a bundle of rags.

Then, turning to the waiting crew, he gave a few quiet orders, and at once they began preparing the two boats for lowering. Some of them dived below and brought up armfuls of small boxes, bags, and mats, within which coarse coverings I knew were concealed that mass of wealth lately exposed upon the deck of the state-room below.

Quite at a loss what to do, I stood listlessly watching the busy scene, until I suddenly remembered the two white men below, who had been so strangely rescued from an awful death. And as I was clearly not wanted on deck I went into the cabin, finding, with the first thrall of satisfaction I had felt for a long time, that they were both rapidly mending. It is hardly necessary to say that I soon found the stranger to be my predecessor, whose mysterious disappearance had worried me not a little. Neither he nor Boyesen were able to talk much, had they been willing; but I learned that they had both incurred the wrath of the skipper from having obtained too much knowledge of his proceedings, that they had both been drugged (at least, only in that way could they account for his being able to deal with them as he had done), and they had suffered all the torments of the lost until the yellow giant had let in the blessed daylight upon them again. But neither they nor I could understand why the skipper had not killed them offhand. That was a puzzle never likely to be unravelled now. Neither of them appeared to take a great deal of interest in the present state of affairs, certainly not enough to assist me in concerting my plans for our safety. I was quite satisfied that we were in no immediate danger, so that I was content, having established a bond of good-fellowship between us, to wait until they were more fit for active service.

We sat quietly smoking and dropping an occasional word, when a sudden hurried pattering of bare feet overhead startled me. I rushed on deck, roused at last into something like vigorous interest, to find that all hands were quitting the ship. We were now some twenty miles (by my estimate) from the land, and what this sudden manœuvre could mean was beyond me until, looking astern, I saw a long smoke-wreath lying like a soft pencil smudge along a low mass of cumulous cloud. Not one of the departing heathen took the slightest notice of me as they shoved off, so I darted out, snatched up the glasses, and focused them on the approaching steamer. I could not make her out, but I felt sure it was her advent that had rid us of our parti-coloured masters. Down I went and told the invalids what had happened, begging them, if they could, to come on deck and lend a hand to get her hove-to, so that the steamer might the more rapidly overhaul us. Boyesen managed to make a start, but the late mate was too feeble. And Ah Toy, to my surprise, also showed up. I had no time to ask him why he had not gone with the rest, but together we hurried on deck, finding that a thick column of smoke was rising from the main hatch--those animals had set her on fire! There were, of course, no boats, and unless that vessel astern got in some pretty good speed we stood no bad chance of being roasted alive. However, we rigged up an impromptu raft, after letting go all the halyards so that her way might be deadened--we knew better than to waste time trying to put out such a fire as was raging below.

Why enlarge upon the alternations of hope and fear until the Ly-ee-moon, Chinese gunboat, overhauled us? She did do so, but not until we were cowering on the taffrail watching the hungry flames licking up the mizen-rigging. And when rescued I would not have given a dozen “cash” for our lives, but that the gunboat had an Englishman in command, to whom I was able to tell my story. He put the coping-stone upon my experiences when he told me that he had been watching for the Phrabayat for the past six months, having received much information as to her doings. And he used language that made the air smell brimstone when he realized that, after all, his prize had escaped him. I told him all I could--it was not much--of the disappearance of the crew, but he was indifferent. He “didn’t expect to clap eyes on ’em any more,” he said. Nor did he. Where they landed, or whether they sank, no one but themselves knew. And we three unfortunate wretches were landed in Hong Kong three weeks afterwards almost as bare of belongings as when we began the world. Ah Toy fell on his feet, for he shipped in the gunboat as the commander’s servant upon my recommendation.

I had all the experience of the China coast I wanted, and shipped before the mast in a “blue-funnelled” boat for home two days after, glad to get away on any terms. The two Danes went their way, and I saw them no more.

THE COOK OF THE CORNUCOPIA

A square-set little Norwegian with a large head, puffy face, faded blue eyes, and a beard that, commencing just below them, flowed in wavy masses nearly to his waist; the “Doctor” had already achieved a reputation among us for taciturnity and gruffness quite out of keeping with his appearance.

As a cook he was no better or worse than the average, except in one particular, his cleanliness; and as the majority of sailors in British ships do not expect such a miracle as would be necessary in order to change the bad, scanty provisions supplied into tasty food by cooking, a clean cook is pretty certain of becoming a prime favourite for’ard.

But Olaf Olsen courted no man’s company or favour. To all such sociable advances as were made him by various members of the crew he returned the barest answer possible, letting it plainly be seen that he considered his own society amply sufficient for all his desires. One of the most difficult positions to maintain, however, on board ship is that of a misanthrope. Sooner or later the need of human fellowship always asserts itself, and the most sullen or reserved of men let fall their self-contained garment. Olsen was no exception to this rule.

Before we had been a month at sea, I was sitting on the spare spars opposite the galley door silently smoking during the last half-hour of the second dog-watch, in full enjoyment of the delicious evening freshness, when the cook suddenly leaned out over the half-door of his den and said--

“You looks fery quiet dis efening, ain’t id?”

I was so taken aback by his offering any remark that I let my pipe fall out of my mouth, but stooping to pick it up gave me time to collect myself and reply in a cheery word or two, feeling curiously anxious to draw him out. One word brought on another, as the common phrase has it, and five minutes after his first remark he was sitting by my side yarning away as if trying to make up for lost time. I let him talk, only just dropping a word or two at intervals so as to keep him going by showing him that I was paying attention. Presently he broke off some rambling remarks by saying abruptly--

“You efer bin t’ Callyo?”

“No, but I’ve heard a lot about it,” I replied. “Pretty hard citizens around there, ain’t they?”

“Id’s de las’ place Gott Allamitey efer made, my boy, an’ de deffel’s ben a dumpin’ all de leff-overs in de vorl’ down dere efer since,” grunted he. “I vas dere las’ voy’ge. You know a ship call de Panama--big wooden ship’bout fourteen hundred ton? Yell, I vas cook apoard her, ben out in her over two yere ven ve come ofer frum Melbun in ballas’. Ve schip a pooty hard crout in de Colonies, leas, dey fancy demsellufs a tough lot, but mie Gott! dey tidn’ know’ Capn Tunn. No, dey tidn’, ner yet de tree mates,’n’ leas’ of all dey tidn’ know _me_. I like de afterguard fus’-class, me an’ dem allvus ked along bully, an’ ve vas all lef’ of de fus’ crew ship’ in London.

“De Bosun, Chips, an’ Sails wa’nt any count; square-heads all tree ov’ em. P’raps you’se tinkin’ I’m a square-head, too? Yus, but I’m f’m Hammerfes’, an’ dey don’ breed no better men in de vorl, dan dere. Veil, I see how tings vas coin’ t’be, ’fore ve ked out of Bass’s Straits,’n I dells you, my poy, dere vas dimes pooty soon. De ole man vas a Kokney, but he looks so much like me as if he been my dvin broder. He speak fery low an’ soft--de mate alvus done de hollerin’; but de fus’ time one of de fellers gif him some slack, he pick him from de veel like he bin a crab, unt schling him forrut along de poop so he fall ofer de break onto de main-deck vere de mate vus standin’ ready ter kig him fur fallin’. De noise bring de vatch below out, an’ dey all rush af’, fur a plug mush. I come too, but I sail in an he’p de ole man, un’ I dell you id vas a crate fight, dere vas blut unt hair flyin’.

“In den minnits ve hat it all ofer, de olt man vas de boss, unt eferybody know it. All de fellers get forrut like sheeps, un’ ven de ole man sing out, ‘Grog oh!’ presently, dey come aft so goot as a Suntay-school. Ve haf no more trouble mit dem, but ven ve ket ter Callyo de ole man say, ‘Py Gott! I ain’t coin ter keep dis crout loafin’ rount here fur two tree mont’ vile ve vaitin’ fur our turn at de Chinchees. Run’em out, Misder Short; ve ket plenty men here ven ve vant ’em quite so goot as dese, un some blut money too!’ So de mate, he vork ’em up, make ’em rouse de cable all ofer de ballas’, schling ’em alof’, tarrin’ un schrapin’ an’ slushin’ all day long frum coffee-time till eight bells at night, unt I feet ’em yoost de same as at sea.

“In tree day efery galoot ov ’em vas gone, unt den ve haf goot times, I dell you, de Bosun unt Chips unt Sails vashin’ decks unt keepin’ tings shipshape. Ve lay dere tree mont’, an’ den de olt man ket his per-mit fur de islan’s. He vent to Bucko Yoe, de Amerigan boarding-master dat kill so many men--you hear of him before, ain’t it?--unt he say, ‘Yoe, I vant fifteen men to-morrow. I ton’d care a tarn who dey vas s’long’s dey’s life sailormen, put py Gott, ef you schanghai me enny ’longshoremen, alla det men, I fills you so full of holes dat you mage a No. 1 flour tretger. Dat’s all I’m coin t’ say t’ you.’ Bucko Yoe he larf, but he know de olt man pefore, unt he pring us fifteen vite men, all blind, paralytic tronk, but anybody see dey vas sailormen mit von eye.”

Just at this juncture, Sandy McFee, my especial chum, came strolling out of the fo’c’sle, his freshly-loaded pipe glowing and casting a grateful odour upon the quiet evening air. He was, like the cook, a square-set, chunky man, but he was also, in addition, one of the smartest men I ever knew. He brought up all standing at the unusual sight of the Doctor and myself enjoying a friendly cuffer, so surprised that he allowed his pipe to go out. The cook froze up promptly, and stared at the intruder stonily. It was an uncomfortable silence that ensued, broken at last by the rasping voice of the Aberdonian, saying, “Man Tammas, hoo d’ye manach t’ open th’ lips o’ yon Dutch immuj? Ah’d a noshin’ ut he couldna speyk ony ceevil language. Ye micht tell ma hoo ye manached it.”

A certain quivering about the cook’s broad shoulders was the only visible sign that he had heard and understood the mocking little speech made by Scotty, but the latter had hardly finished when the Doctor rose to his feet, remarking with a yawn, as of a man who took no interest in the subject--

“I allvus t’ought Scossmen vas dam’ pigs, und now I knows it. But I nefer hear von crunt before. Vy tondt you co unt scradge yorselluf? You findt un olt proom forrut.”

Down went Sandy’s pipe, an articulate growl burst from his chest, and, with a spring like a grasshopper, he had clutched his insulter by the beard and belt. There was a confused whirl of legs and arms, a panting snarl deep down in the men’s throats, and suddenly, to my horror, I saw the cook go flying over the rail into space, striking the sea almost immediately afterwards with a tremendous splash. It was all so sudden that for the instant I was helpless. But the splash alongside started me into life, and, grabbing the coil of the fore-sheet behind me, I hurled it overside without looking. At the same moment Sandy, horror-struck at his mad action, sprang on to the pin-rail and dived after his victim.

The ship was just forging ahead through an oily smoothness of sea to a faint upper current of air, so that there was no great danger except from a prowling shark, but the short twilight was fading fast. As if intuitively, all hands had rushed on deck and aft to the quarter, while the helmsman jammed the wheel hard down. The vessel turned slowly to meet the wind, while we watched the man who had just hurled a fellow-creature to what might easily be his death, fighting like a lion to rescue him. The cook could not swim, that was evident, but it was still more evident that he had no thought of his own danger if only he might take his enemy along with him to death. He had, however, to deal with one who was equally at home in the water as on deck, and it was wonderful to see how warily, yet with what determination the little Scotchman manœuvred until he had the furious Norwegian firmly pinned by the arms at his back, and how coolly he dipped him again and again beneath the surface, until he had reduced him to quiescence.

Getting the boat out is usually in those ships a formidable task, and it was nearly half an hour before we had the two men safely on board again. The skipper was a quiet, amiable man, and this strange outbreak puzzled him greatly. Sandy, however, expressed his contrition, and promised to avoid the Doctor and his bitter tongue in future. So with that the skipper had to be content, especially as the cook recovered so rapidly from his ducking that we heard him in another half-hour’s time grinding coffee for the morning as if nothing had happened. But the strangest part of the affair to me was its outcome. Next morning, in our watch below, the Doctor came into the fo’c’sle, and, walking up to Sandy, put out his hand, saying--

“Santy, you vas a coot man, pedder as me, unt I tond vant any more row longer you. I ben coot man, too, bud I ain’t any longer, only I forkedd it somedimes. I cot my soup unter vay for dinner, unt if you likes I finish dot yarn I vas tellin’ Tom here lasd night.”

Now Sandy was all over man, and jumping up from his chest he gripped the Doctor’s paw, saying--

“Weel, Doctor, A’am as sorry as a maan can be ’at I lost ma temper wi’ ye. W’en Ah see ye i’ th’ watter Ah feelt like a cooard, and Ah’d a loupit owerboord afther ye, even ef Ah couldna ha soomt a stroak. Ah wisht we’d a bottle o’ fhuskey t’ drink t’ yin anither in; but never mind, we’ll hae two holl evenin’s thegither in Melburrun when we got thonder. But you an’ me’s chums fra this oot.”

This happy conclusion pleased us all, and, in order to profit by this loosening of the Doctor’s tongue, I said, passing over my plug of tobacco--

“Now then, Doctor, we’re all anxious to hear the rest of that cuffer you was tellin’ me last night. I’ve told the chaps all you told me, and they are just hungry for the rest, so fill up and go ahead.”

“Vell, poys, you nefer see a hantier crout dan dat lot Amerigan Yoe cot schanghaied abord of us in Callyo. How he ked ’em all so qviet I ton’t know. But dey vas all ofer blut, unt dere close vas tore to shakin’s, so I kess dey vas some pooty hart fightin’ pefore he put ’em to sleep so he could pring dem alonkside. De olt man unt his bucko crout of off’cers ton’t let ’em haf time to ked spry pefore dey pegin roustin’ ’em erroun’--dey know de ropes too vell fer dot. So as soon as de boardin’ marsder vas gone, oudt dey comes, unt aldough it vas keddin’ tark, I be tamt ef dey vasn’t sdarted holystonin’ de deck fore ’n aft. Dey vas haluf tedt mit knoggin’ about, dey hadn’t been fed, unt dey vas more as haluf poison mit bad yin, unt den to vork ’em oop like dat, I dells you vat, poys, id vas tough.

“Dey let oop on ’em ’bout twelluf o’clock unt told ’em to co below, but de poor dyfuls yoost ked into de fo’c’sle unt fall down--anyveres--unt dere dey schleep till coffee-dime. Perhaps you ton’d pelief me, but I dells you de trut, dem fellers come out ven de mate sinks oudt, ‘Turn-to’ like anoder crout altogeder. Efen de mate look mit all his eyes cos he don’t aspect to see ’em like dat. Dey ton’t do mooch till prekfuss-dime, unt den dey keds a coot feet; mags dem quite sassy.

“Unt so off ve goes to de Chinchees, unt from dat day out ve nefer done fightin’. You talk apout Yankee blood-poats unt plue-nose hell-afloats, dey wan’t in it ’longside de Panama. Dem fellers vas all kinds; but dey vas all on de fight, unt, if de could only haf hang togedder, dey’d haf murder de whole lot of us aft. But dey couldn’t; leas’, dey didn’t until long after ve lef de island, an slidin’ up troo de soud-east trades tords de line. Den one afternoon I ketch one of ’em diggin’ a lot er slush[A] outer one er my full casks. ’Course I vas mat, unt I dells him to get t’ hell out er dat, unt leave my slush alone. He don’t say nuthin’, but he schlings de pot at me. Den it vas me un him for it, un ve fight like two rhinosros.

[A] “Slush” in the merchant service is the name given to the
coarse dripping, lumps of waste fat, etc., which the
ship’s cook has over after preparing the men’s food. He
is entitled to this as his perquisite, and is naturally
careful to cask it down during the voyage for sale ashore,
after the voyage, to wholesale chandlers and soap-boilers,
or their middlemen.

“Ve fight so hardt ve don’t know dat all hants haf choin in, efen de man run from de veel un chip in. I bin dat mat ’bout my slush I fight like six men, unt ven de fight vas ofer I fall down on teck right vere I am, unt go to sleep. Ven I vake up aken de olt man haf got de hole crout in ierns. He say he be tam ef he coin’t t’ haf any mo’ fightin’ dis voy’ge; liddle’s all fery vell, but ’nough’s a plenty. So ve vork de ship home oursellufs--qvite ’nough t’ do, I tell you, t’ keep her coin ’n look after dat crout so vell.

“De olt man dell me he bin fery font of me,’n he coin’ t’ gif me dupple pay; but ven ve ket to Grafesent ’n sent all de crout ashore in ierns, I vant t’ sell my slush to a poatman--I haf fifteen parrels--unt de poatman offer me £25 for it. But de olt man he say he want haluf--haluf _my_ slush vat I ben safin fery near tree years! I say to him, ‘Look here, Cap’n Tunn, I luf you petter as mineselluf; but pefore I led you take away haluf my slush, I coin to see vich is de pest man, you alla me.’ He don’t say no more, but he valk up to me unt make a crab at my peard, unt den it vas us two for it. But he vasn’t a man, he vas ten deffels stuff into von liddle man’s body. I tondt know how long ve fight, I tondt know how ve fight; but ven I vake oop I ain’t any fightin’ man no more. My het is crack unt haluf my teet gone, unt I haf some arms unt legs break pesides. But he gomes to see me in de ’ospital, unt he ses, ‘Olsen, my poy, you bin a tam goot man, ’n I haf sell your slush for tirty poun’ unt pring you de money. You haf £120 to take, unt ven you come out, tondt you go to sea no more; you puy a cook-shop in de Highvay; you make your fortune.’ Den he go avay, unt I never see him any more.

“Ven I come out I traw my 150 soffrins unt puy a pelt to carry dem rount me. Unt I pig up mit a nice liddle gal from de country, unt ve haf a yolly time. Ve make it oop to ked marrit righd off, unt dake dat cook-shop so soon as I haf yoost a liddle run rount. Den I sdart on de spree unt I keep it oop for tree veeks, until I ked bad in my het, allvus dirsty unt nefer can’t get any trinks dat seems vet. Afterwards I co vat you call oudt--off my het, unt I tond’t know vedder I isn’t back in de Panama agen, fightin’, fightin’ all day unt all night. Ven I ked vell agen, I got nuthin’, no money, no close, no vife. So I tink I petter go unt look for a ship, unt ven I ked dis von I ain’t eat anyting for tree days.”

Then, as abruptly as he had opened the conversation, he closed it by getting up and leaving us, having, I supposed, obeyed the uncontrollable impulse to tell his story that comes now and then upon every man.

A LESSON IN CHRISTMAS-KEEPING

Morning broke bleakly forbidding on the iron-bound coast of Kerguelen Island. Over the fantastic peaks, flung broadcast as if from the primeval cauldron of the world, hung a grim pall of low, grey-black cloud, so low, indeed, that the sea-birds drifting disconsolately to and fro between barren shore and gale-tossed sea were often hidden from view as if behind a fog-bank, and only their melancholy screams denoted their presence, until they glinted into sight again like huge snow-flakes hesitating to fall. Yet it was the Antarctic mid-summer, it was the breaking of Christmas Day.

As the pale dawn grew less weak, it revealed a tiny encampment, just a few odds and ends of drifting wreckage piled forlornly together, and yielding a dubious shelter to a huddled-up group of fourteen men, sleeping in spite of their surroundings. Presently, there were exposed, perched upon the snarling teeth of an outlying rock-cluster, the “ribs and trucks” of a small wooden ship, a barque-rigged craft of about four hundred tons. Her rigging hung in slovenly festoons from the drunkenly standing masts, the yards made more angles with their unstable supports than are known to Euclid, while through many a jagged gap in her topsides the mad sea rushed wantonly, as if elated with its opportunities of marring the handiwork of the daring sea-masters.

The outlook was certainly sufficiently discomforting; yet, as one by one the sleepers awakened, and with many a grunt and shiver crept forth from their lair, it would have been difficult to judge from the expressions upon their weather-beaten countenances how hopeless was the situation that they were in.

For they came of a breed that is strong to endure hardness, that takes its much bitter with little sweet as a matter of course, and, by dint of steady refusal to be dismayed at Fate’s fiercest frowns, has built up for itself a most gallantly earned reputation for pluck, endurance, and success throughout the civilized world. They were Scotch to a man, rugged and stern as the granite of their native Aberdeenshire.

They were the crew of the barque Jeanie Deans, of Peterhead, which, while outward bound from Aberdeen to Otago, New Zealand, had, after long striving against weather extraordinarily severe for the time of year, been hurled against that terrific coast during the previous afternoon. Their escape shoreward had been as miraculous as fifty per cent. of such escapes are, and, beyond their lives, they had saved nothing. So the prospect was unpromising. Nothing could be expected from the break-up of the ship. She was loaded with ironwork of various sorts, and her stores were not in any water-tight cases which might bring them ashore in an eatable condition. But the large-limbed, red-bearded skipper, after a keen look round, said--

“Ou, ay, ther isna ower muckle tae back an’ fill on, but A’am thenkin’ we’ll juist hae to bestir wersells an’ see if we canna get some breakfas’. Has ony ane got ony matches?”

It presently appeared that of these simple yet invaluable little adjuncts to civilization there was not one among the crowd. But even this grim discovery appeared to make no great impression, and presently the mate, a tall man from Auchtermuchty, with an expressionless face and a voice like “a coo’s,” as he was wont to say, remarked casually--

“If ye’ll scatther aboot an’ see fat ye can fine tae cuik, I’se warrant ye Aa’ll get ye some fire tae cuik it wi’.”

No one spoke another word, but silently they separated for their quest, leaving Mr. Lowrie, with his blank face, methodically rummaging among the _débris_. Presently he sat down quietly with a piece of flat board before him about two feet long by six inches wide. In his hand he held a piece of broomstick, which in some mysterious way had got included in the flotsam. This he whittled at one end into a blunt point, carefully saving the cuttings in his trousers pocket. Then with a steady movement of his stick he commenced to chafe a groove lengthways in the board, adding occasionally a pinch of grit from the ground to assist friction.

By-and-by there was quite a little heap of brown wood-dust collected at one end of the groove. Then getting on his knees and grasping his broom-stick-piece energetically in both hands, he pushed it to and fro in the groove with all his force and speed, until suddenly he flung away the stick, and stooping over the little pile of dust, he covered it tenderly with both hands hollowed, and bending his head over it breathed upon it most gently. And by imperceptible degrees there arose from it a slender spiral of smoke.

His right hand stole to his pocket, and fetched therefrom a few slivers of wood, which he coyly introduced under the shelter of his other hand, until suddenly the Red Flower blossomed--there was fire. Now it only needed feeding to rise gloriously into that gloomy air. To this end Mr. Lowrie worked like a Chinaman, until within an hour he had a pile of burning driftwood, four feet high and fully six feet round, sending up ruddy tongues of flame and a column of smoke like a palm tree.

One by one the adventurers returned with dour faces, empty-handed save for a sea-bird’s egg or two, a few fronds of seaweed which the bearers insisted was “dulse” (the edible fucus), and a brace of birds that looked scarcely enough to furnish an appetizer for one. But just as a stray sunbeam darted down upon the little gathering, while they huddled round the grateful warmth, there was a hoarse shout. All started, for it was the skipper’s voice roaring--

“C’way here an’ lend a han’, ye louns. Fat’r ye aal shtannin there toasting yer taes fur like a pickle o’ weans juist waitin’ on yer mithers tae cry on ye tae come ben fur yer breakfas’?”

The men at once obeyed the familiar command, finding the skipper and the cook wrestling with a huge case, that was so stoutly built that not a plank of it had come adrift. When they had man-handled it over the rugged ground to within reach of the warmth the skipper said--

“Ah divna ken fats intilt, bit Ah min fine that Mester Broon, fan he shipped it, said it wis somethin’ Ah wis tae tak unco care o’. And so ’twis lasht under th’ s’loon table. C’wa, le’s open’t; please God ther may be somethin’ useful inside o’t.”

Willing hands, regardless of the loss of skin from knuckles and arms, wrought at the task; but so stoutly did the case resist their efforts that it was long before they had stripped off the stout planking and revealed an air-tight lining of thick tin. This was attacked with sheath-knives, and, after much hacking and breaking of cutlery, yielded and exposed a number of queer-looking parcels most carefully packed. On the top was a letter. It ran as follows:--

“DEAR JACK,

“In full recollection of your curious Scottish prejudice
against any celebration of Christmas, and also of that awful
time when you and I were stranded on the Campbells, and
compelled to suck raw sea-birds’ eggs for our Christmas fare, I
have sent you the materials for a good old-fashioned Christmas
dinner, as I understand it, being a Cockney of the Cockniest. I
also send you Dickens’s ‘Christmas Carol’ to read after dinner,
and if you don’t do justice to my loving Christmas Box, I
solemnly swear that I will never regard you as a chum again.
Here’s wishing you a Merry Christmas, and as jolly a Hogmanay
as ever you can get after.

“Most affectionately yours,
“JOHN BROWN.”

“Em, ehmm” (no written words can adequately represent the peculiar Scottish exclamation that stands for anything you like, being strictly non-committal), “that reads no sae bad. We’ll juist investigate. Fat hae we here? Et’s a duff, mahn, ou ay, bit et’s a boeny wan.”

And as he spoke he pulled out of its nest a gorgeous Christmas pudding weighing some twenty-five pounds. Next came an enormous oblong tin case, labelled, “Fortnum and Mason. Special Christmas turkey, stuffed with capon, tongue, and forcemeat,” upon reading which the skipper murmured again, “Ou ay, that’s no sae dusty, ye ken.” Next came a layer of bottles of green peas, alternated with bottles labelled “Turtle soup.” Other queer tin cases followed, bearing inscriptions such as “Special mince-pies,” “Scotch shortbread,” “American biscuits”--like foam-flakes--“Dessert fruits,” “York ham, best quality, ready cooked,” and “Boar’s head.” Finally, on the ground floor, as it were, was displayed a compact array of bottles, of which six were labelled, “Extra special Scotch whisky,” six “Special port, bin 50,” two corpulent ones bore the signature “D.O.M.,” and twelve had big-headed corks with gold foil adorning them. Followed at last two boxes of fat-looking cigars, and the book.

That grim assembly looked down upon this tempting array with their hard features perceptibly softening, while the skipper said--

“Weel a’weel. A’am no’ an advocate for specializin’ Chrismuss masel, altho’ Ah laik fine tae keep up Hogmanay. But A’am no a bigot, ye ken, an’ A’am thenkin’ that unner th’ circumstances ’twad juist be flytin’ Proeveedence no tae accept in a speerut o’ moderashun sichn a Chrismuss Boex as thon. Bit I’ll not coairce ony man. Them ’at disna approve o’ keepin’ Chrismuss ava can juist daunder awa’. ’S far as A’am consairned”--here he deftly knocked the top off one of the special Scotch bottles, and, looking round benignantly, said--“Here’s tae wersels, boys, a blessin’ on the giver o’ th’ feast, an’ a Merry Chrismuss tae us a’.”

Why particularize the proceedings that ensued? Should it not be sufficient to say that no conscientious scruples were entertained by any of those hard-grained men at this almost compulsory wrecking of their principles? Scarcely; yet passing notice may be given to the difficulties attendant upon drinking champagne out of bottle-necks, of eating concentrated turtle-soup warmed in the bottle like Pommard, of the total want of order and routine evidenced in dealing with the assorted provisions so providentially to hand--and mouth. Especially was this the case with the rotund bottles of Benedictine. One and all agreed that while the contents were “gey an’ oily-like,” they were “vara seductiv’,” and had the effect of making the partakers thereof curiously unreserved and open to conviction as to the general satisfactoriness of things in general.

When at last, with long-drawn sighs, the unwonted Christmas-keepers sank down upon their stony seats and lit up their aromatic smokes with brands passed from hand to hand, it evidently needed no keen judge of human nature to prophesy that a unanimous vote would be given if asked for as to the desirability of keeping up Christmas English fashion.

When all had quietly settled down to the soothing influence of nicotine in its best form, the skipper lifted up his voice and said--

“Weel, ma lads, A’am thenkin’ that we k’n dae nae less than gae through the haill reetual. This buik, ‘A Christmas Carol,’ is eevidently pairt o’ th’ programme, an’ as A’am nae that ongratefu’ I’ll juist read it, fativer it coasts ma.”

So he opened the volume, and read while the hard lines of the faces softened under the magic of the Master’s words, and in spite of the well-worn masks of indifference an occasional dewdrop of sympathy glittered like a diamond in the furrow of a bronzed visage.

* * * * *

“Ah wudna wuss tae interrup ye, sir,” suddenly interjected an ordinary seaman, “bit Ah thocht ye micht laik tae ken that thers a vessel juist lookin’ roun’ the point.”

“Man, ye’re richt, there is that. Weel, A’am neerly throu’, an’ as thon auld deevil Scrooge has been conveencit o’ th’ errour of’s ways (as we have), A’am of opingon we ma tak’ th’ lave o’ th’ storey as read. But ’twas a gey guid yarn, was’t no?”

By this time the ship of deliverance, having hove to, was getting a boat out. That laborious business over, the boat came at fair speed towards the only practicable landing-place, until the commiserating face of the officer in charge took on an expression of bewilderment as he noted the smug complacency on the countenances of the castaways.

It did not diminish when the skipper, gravely welcoming him with one hand, held out invitingly a decapitated bottle of extra special Scotch with the other, saying, with lingering sweetness in his voice--

“Mahn dear, here’s wussin’ ye a Merry Chrismuss.”

THE TERROR OF DARKNESS

“South 70° E., sir, weather’s a bit sulky and inclined to dirt before daylight, I should think. Lot of ships about. Bishop bore N. 20° W. fifteen miles off at eight bells (4 a.m.). Good morning.” And as he uttered the last words the second officer of the Kafirstan, 10,000-ton cargo steamer, London to Boston, U.S., swung his burly form down the lee-bridge ladder, and the darkness swallowed him up. The chief, who had just relieved him, mumbled out “G’mornin’” in the midst of a cavernous yawn, not because he was churlish or out of humour, but for the reason that be a man never so seasoned, the sudden transition from the cosy recesses of a warm bunk and sweet sleep to a narrow platform some forty feet above the sea, fully exposed to the wrathful edge of a winter gale at four o’clock in the morning, does not predispose him to cheerful conversation, or indeed any other of the amenities of life, until the wonderful adaptability of the human body has had time to adjust itself to the altered conditions.

No; John Furness, chief mate, was anything but a sulky man. Buffeted by the storms of Fate from his earliest youth in far fiercer fashion than ever the gales of winter had smitten him, he was now by way of esteeming himself one of the most fortunate of mankind, for, after serving as second mate for several years with a chief and master’s ticket, and never getting a better berth than some thousand-ton tramp could afford him, he had suddenly taken unto himself a wife--a dear girl, as poor and as friendless as himself--with the quaint remark that the best thing to do with two lonely people was to make ’em one, on the principle that like cures like. And with his marriage his luck seemed to have turned. On the second day of his honeymoon he was taking his young wife round the docks, and pointing out to her the various ships--like introducing her to old acquaintances--when suddenly, with a bound, he left her side and disappeared over the edge of a jetty. He had caught sight of an old gentleman who had tripped his foot in a coil of rope and tumbled over it and the edge of the pier at the same time. John’s promptitude cost him a wetting, but got him his present berth, the best he had ever held in his life, and his heart beat high with hope that at last he was on the high road to fortune.

Still, all these pleasant recollections didn’t prevent him feeling sleepy and chilly upon relieving his shipmate. Vigorously he called up his resources of energy, peering through the thick gloom ahead at the twinkling gleams showing here and there, betokening the presence of other ships. Far beneath him the untiring engines, with their Titanic thrust and recover, kept his lofty station a-quiver as they drove the huge mass of the Kafirstan steadily onward against the fierce and increasing storm. Again and again he answered cheerily to the look-out man’s taps on the bells announcing lights “All right,” and as often by a word to the helmsman behind him, altered his great vessel’s course a little to port or starboard in order to avoid collision with the passing ships. All this in the usual course of routine--it is what hundreds of men like him are doing this morning, thinking no more of the magnitude of the forces they control than a cabman who navigates the crowded London streets dwells upon what would happen if he should spill his fare under a passing waggon. It is, above all things, necessary at sea to refrain from dwelling upon what _may_ happen. The one thing needful is to be equal to each duty as it arises. And John Furness was undoubtedly that. But suddenly an awful crash flung him backwards; his head struck against a stanchion of the bridge, a myriad lights gleamed before his glazing eyes, and he knew no more--knew nothing, that is, of the short, stern agony through which his shipmates passed as the huge fabric beneath them admitted the supremacy of the ever-watchful sea. She had met--her mass of 10,000 tons or so being hurled along at the rate of twelve miles an hour--with the Terror of the Darkness, a derelict just awash, one of those ancient Norwegian timber-scows, the refuse of the sea, that crawl to and fro across the Atlantic on sufferance, until there comes a day when the half-frozen crew are swept from the top of the slippery deck-load, the sea pours in through a hundred openings, and she becomes one of the most awful dangers known to mariners--a water-logged derelict. Floating just awash at the will of ocean currents, she cannot be located with any degree of certainty, but solid almost as a rock she drifts silently across the great ocean highway invisible, unheard, a lier-in-wait for the lives of men.

When John Furness returned to consciousness again, he became aware of acute pains all over his body. Also that he was not drowning, although at intervals waves washed over him. Gradually he realized that he was clinging desperately, mechanically, but with such force that he could hardly unbend the grip of his hands, to a slimy rope. But where? As his mind cleared, and the certainty of the awful tragedy that had just passed over him and left him still alive became borne in upon him, he felt his heart swell. He thought of the handful of brave men, of whom he had already got to know every one, suddenly hurled into oblivion with all the hopes and love of which each was the centre. And a few heavy drops rolled out from his brine-encrusted eyes. Then he thought of Mary--his Mary--and at the same moment realized his duty: to strive after life for her sake. The impulse was needed, because that lethargy that means a loss of the desire to live was fast stealing over him. With a great effort that sent racking pains through his stiffened body he turned his face upwards, passed one hand across his face, and saw where he was. Lying upon the slope of a bank thickly overgrown with dank green weed like fine hair, and with a strong fishy smell. With awakening interest he peered at the rope he held--it, too, was thickly draped with the same growth, but in addition, beneath the weed, it was encrusted with jagged little shells. More than this he could hardly discern for the present, because it was still dark; but as his senses resumed their normal keenness of apprehension, he knew that he was afloat, and guessed the truth--that by some mysterious means he had been preserved from drowning by laying hold of the same cause that had sent all his late shipmates to their sudden end. A low, sullen murmur smote upon his ears, for the wind had gone down, and the resentful sea still rolled its broken surface violently in the direction in which it had been so fiercely driven, making John’s holding-on place roll and heave in a heavy, lifeless manner. The grey, cheerless dawn struggled through the thick pall of clouds still draping the sky, and by the cold light the shivering man saw the full horror of his surroundings. He was clinging to the last rag of running-gear trailing from the short stump of the mainmast of a large ship--a ship that must, at least, have been of seventeen or eighteen hundred tons burden. She lay with one side of the deck well below the water, and the other some ten feet above it. Not a vestige of bulwarks, cabin, or fo’c’sle appeared on deck, all was flush as if mowed off by some gigantic scythe. Only a little forrard of where John lay was a gash cut into her side at right angles, revealing within sodden masses of timber also crushed and broken by the terrible impact of that blow. And as he looked at the wedge-shaped wound there came back to him, as if in a dream of some former life, the shock, the few seconds’ realization of that fatal blow dealt herself by the Kafirstan, before he had lost consciousness to resume it here. And knowing the build of the steamer as he did, he had not the faintest hope of her having survived for even an hour. His chief longing was that sufficient time had been allowed his shipmates to get into the boats and pull away from the frightful vortex of the sinking Kafirstan.

The light having become sufficiently strong for him to see thoroughly well, he made another heroic effort, and commenced to explore his prison. And as soon as he did so, he realized how long this dangerous obstruction had been drifting about the ocean. For she was literally undistinguishable, except to a seaman’s eye, from a worn and sea-beaten rock. Through the crevices in her deck and the gap made by the Kafirstan, he could see hosts of fish, legions of crabs of various kinds, and nowhere, except at the point where she had been run into, was there a square inch that was not thickly hidden by the sea-growth of weed and shells. He dragged himself up to the stump of the mainmast, and, bracing himself erect against it, looked long and earnestly around the lowering horizon; but he was quite alone. Not a gleam of sail or a wreath of smoke was to be seen. But he was a man who, while never very sanguine about his “luck,” had a wonderful fund of hope, and in spite of the dismal outlook, he felt no despair. Nevertheless, that he might not brood, he determined to be busy, and dragging himself aft with the utmost caution that he might not slide off that slimy slope into the cold sea to leeward, he reached the yawning cavity, where once the companion or entrance to the lower cabin had been. Peering down, the sight was not encouraging, although the dark water did not here come so close up to the deck as forward. But he was bound to explore, even if he had to swim, if only for the sake of employment; so crawling over the edge, he dropped below into water up to his waist, and immediately struggled to windward, where to his content he found he could move about above water. He entered what he took to be the skipper’s cabin, noticing with a queer feeling of sympathy the few remnants of clothing hanging from hooks like silent witnesses of the tragedy of long ago. To his surprise, he found that everything was left as if in the midst of ordinary life; the owner had been carried off without a moment in which to return for anything he might value. Even the bed-clothes, dank and sodden, lay as they had been jumped out of, well tucked in at the foot of the bunk by a careful steward. With a sense of sacrilege that he found it hard to shake off, John tried the drawers, and the woodwork fell away at his touch. Clothes, papers, photographs within lay in pulpy masses where the invading sea had so long drained through on to them. But the searcher turned all over, listlessly, mechanically, until the hot blood suddenly surged to his head as he heard a musical jingle. With feverish haste he pulled out the lumps of dank stuff until at the bottom of the drawer he found a heap of gold coins which he had evidently disturbed by twitching at the rotted bag which had contained them. Gathering them all together without counting, he shovelled them into the two inner pockets of his pea-coat, afterwards tearing open the lining and securing the necks of the pockets by a piece of roping twine, of which he was never without a small ball.

Then with almost frantic haste he scrambled on deck, feeling as if by being down there another minute he might be risking his chance of rescue. But when he again reached the mainmast and looked around only the same blank circle greeted him. And his mind, until then fairly calm, fiercely rebelled at the idea of being lost now, when the weight burdening him told him that should he reach home again, he would be able to secure a position for himself as captain of a ship by the hitherto impossible means of buying an interest in her. Had he waited to analyze his feelings, he would no doubt have wondered why the possession of a little gold should have the power to change his usually calm and philosophic behaviour into the fretful eager frame in which he now found himself; but at the time all his hopes, all his energies, were concentrated upon the one idea, how to save, not merely his life, but his newly gotten gold for the enjoyment of that dear one bravely waiting at home.