Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

But his notable feats were performed later, and these were told me by his sister Grace, when I had finished my second year, and George was ready for college. My parents had died since my appointment, but I took my vacations at home, just to meet and be near her.

"He is brave as a lion," she said, with twelve-year-old enthusiasm. "Why, when Mr. Mills' big house burned down he went up a ladder to the third story, which hadn't caught fire yet, and went all through the building until he had found and brought out three servants who were unconscious from the smoke. Then he even went back for the dog, and saved him."

"That was good work," I responded, rather vacantly.

"And then," she went on, "when the big, new schoolhouse caught fire he happened to be right there to notice it from the outside, and after getting all the children out safely he entered the building at the head of his fire company and extinguished the fire. He went right into the blazing basement with a fire extinguisher and put it out himself. None of the rest wanted to go in, either."

I grunted my approval. I had never liked him, but evidently had misjudged him. The child continued:

"But the bravest thing he did was when the seminary caught fire at night. He was asleep when the alarm sounded and he rushed to the fire half clothed. The whole lower story was afire, and above were the dormitories with over a hundred girls fast asleep; but he went up, right through the flames coming from the windows, and wakened everybody. Then he pulled up ladders with a rope, and helped the girls down. He was the last to come out, and just in time, for the walls fell in a moment later."

"You have a fine brother," I responded, joining the girl in her enthusiasm, and willing to do him justice. "I never thought he had courage at all, but he certainly has proved it."

"Oh, he has," she rejoined. And then, with sisterly single-mindedness, she gave me this: "He isn't afraid of you any more, and says he is going to thrash you."

"Me--why?" I asked in amazement. "What for?"

"Oh, papa says the same, too. They say that a man of your age ought to be thrashed for talking to a girl of twelve. But I don't see why. I like to talk to _you_."

The disparity in our ages had not influenced me when younger, and as it was growing less each day that we lived I had not given it a thought. But this new attitude of her father and brother compelled me to, and in helpless anger and chagrin--for I was either the same bad boy of the village, or, still worse, a man playing the boy--I forswore her society and went back to my third term at the academy, resolved not to seek her again until she was of age. And with me on the train, as it pulled out of town, was George Morton, bound for college, but we did not speak.

I manfully held to my resolution until I had finished my course at the academy and my two years of sea service. Then I graduated, a commissioned officer of the United States Navy, and with this backing, and the heart hunger strong upon me, I returned to my old home, bound to see my boyhood divinity at any cost. But I did not see her; instead, I saw her brother at the door, and the stormy scene that followed assured me that conventional social relations with her were impossible. So, convinced that he had nursed the old antagonism through the years, I fumed and sulked while waiting for sea orders, and even half-heartedly planned unconventional relations--I sought to meet her outside her home. But before I had met with any success, orders came from Washington, sending me, not to a seagoing ship, but into retirement until possible war should make my services of value to my country.

With my career ended in the navy, and without friends, money, or influence, I did the next best thing in the way of a livelihood. I went to sea in the merchant service, beginning as third mate, and learned real seafaring, which is good for sulks and heartaches. In three years I was first mate, with the confidence of my skipper and owners, and the prospect of a command; which attainment, and my assured education and social position as a graduate of Annapolis, might give me hope and courage to again approach my goddess. But, gradually and imperceptibly--unknown to myself because there was none to tell me--the little niceties and refinements of speech, manner, and dress acquired at the academy, and which make a naval officer eligible to any society in the world, had worn away from me under the harder work and rougher associations of the merchant service; so that, when paid off at Philadelphia in my twenty-sixth year, I was as hardy a specimen of the typical "Yankee mate" as could be found on the water front. I shaved for comfort, not appearance, and wore my clothes for utility rather than beauty.

Thus arrayed and conditioned I killed time while waiting for word to join my ship, and one day ran over to Asbury Park, finding the huge resort half deserted, as it was in October; but there was enough of life there to suit me, the air was clean and salt as that at sea, and I decided to remain a few days.

I remained too long for my peace of mind and immediate welfare. The quiet and solitude brought back the old morbid melancholy, and in this mood I wandered about the beach and through the streets lined with deserted cottages, fighting with myself and reviling the fates that had made sport of my life and ideals. In this mood I was ripe for any adventure, and spying, late at night, a figure slinking by me in the darkness, that reminded me of George Morton, I softly followed, keeping him in sight, but not letting him see me. He entered a dark, two-story house in a row of other dark cottages, and I mechanically walked on, halting before the house, with a hazy idea that perhaps it _was_ George Morton, and that his family lived there. No light appeared from within, however, and I slowly retraced my steps, pausing at the next street lamp to fire up my pipe.

While puffing at the half-lit tobacco a dark figure darted from across the street and joined me in the lamplight. It was a girl, all but her face hidden by a hooded cloak, and this face was so white, drawn, and terror-haunted, that I could barely recognize in it some little resemblance to that of the child I had loved. Then she spoke, and before my brain had grasped the fact that Grace Morton must have grown up, I knew her voice. And the next moment, without leave or ceremony, I had her in my arms, and kissed the frightened face until she struggled free.

"Oh, Jack," she said brokenly, "and it is really you, after all! I saw you to-day from the parlor of the hotel, but I could not be sure--you have changed so much. Where have you been all these years? I have needed you so much, _so much_, and I could trust no one but you. You must help me to-night, Jack."

"Of course," I answered. "What is it?"

"My brother--you know him. Did you know?--no, you couldn't. Jack, he has gone into the house there--the house we have lived in all summer; and I think, I almost know, he is setting fire to it. You followed him. I saw you. Did you notice a bundle?"

"Setting fire!" I exclaimed in amazement. "Why, I thought--"

"Yes," she interrupted. "We all thought him a fire hater, because he did not fear it. But he loves it. He set fire to every house and building that he later helped put out; Mr. Mills' house--remember--and the school, and the seminary. He joined the church since then, and confessed to father and me. But father is dead now, and I am alone with him. Come, you must stop him. Stop him by force, before it is too late. Come! I am afraid of him alone. He is insane--at these times."

She seized my hand and hurried me back, puzzled and astounded at this new revelation of human nature.

"He carried a bundle under his arm," she whispered as we reached the door. "It is very likely a can of kerosene, purchased in Philadelphia, where he went this morning. I was to go to New York, but I suspected him and came back."

She opened the door with a key and we softly passed in. At once I detected a faint odor of kerosene, but there was no light, no sound. Grace led me through the lower rooms, but there was no sign of fire, smoke, or firebug. We opened the cellar door and peered down into the blackness, and the cool, odorless air told us that he was not there with his oil.

"Upstairs," she whispered.

"Why not sing out?" I asked, in her ear. "It'll stop him."

"Don't you see?" she answered. "I want to catch him in the act, to shock him, overwhelm him--and cure him."

I acquiesced, and we climbed the stairs, making no noise and sensing more strongly as we went the rank smell of kerosene. She led me into the front room, the door of which stood open. All was dark, and there was no significant odor.

"This is his room," she whispered. "He must be in mine, in the rear."

We passed into the hall and peeped into this room. From a lighted house on the next street a faint illumination showed up every corner in it; and there in the middle, stooping low over his work, was George Morton, laying a trail of oil from the nozzle of a can, back and forth across the carpet. This done, he made a neat pile of newspapers against the wall, emptied the can upon it, and applied a match. A nudge from the girl started me and I walked in upon him. He uttered one snarling yell as he glared into my face, then sprang upon me.

I was a strong, healthy man, large of frame, heavy, and well-trained in most forms of personal combat; but I soon realized that I was fighting a maniac. He writhed, twisted, and bent himself, forcing me again and again to change or renew my hold upon him. Even though I held him at arm's length, I could not retain my grip without help from the other hand, and then I would likely feel one or both of his feet on my chest. It was like wrestling with a panther. I shook him, and, flail-like, whirled him around me, but I could not conquer him without hurting him, and this I did not wish to do. As the fight resolved itself into a struggle of endurance, I heard a few broken words from Grace, barely distinguishable above the noise of the scuffle, and a later glance around told me that she was gone.

And still I fought on, endeavoring to master the firebug without hurting him--just why, I have never been able to explain to myself. Possibly, I dimly felt at the time that his sister would not like it, for I spared him the weight of my fist and the throttling clutch that would have ended the fight in a moment, even though his own hands had torn my coat to shreds, and my face was scorched and smeared with kerosene in one of my whirling lunges toward his bonfire. He, too, must have felt the heat, for his snarling utterances took on a note of pain, and for a few moments he struggled in my grasp more furiously than ever; then he paused, became limp in my hands, and seemed to sink down. It was a clever ruse, for no sooner had I relaxed my hold than he broke away and shot out of the room, down the stairs, and into the street. I let him go, but looked around; the room was in flames on two sides, while several trails of burning oil traversed the floor.

I believe that some men in my position would have followed him; but I know that any fireman, policeman, soldier, or sailor would have done exactly as I did--remain to put out the fire. I dragged the blankets from the bed, whipped the flames from the walls and windows as I could, and when they were burned beyond use threw the fragments on to the still burning bonfire to smother it. As I labored I heard shouts of "Fire!" in the streets, and welcomed the news that assistance was coming. Then I heard the clatter and clang of the engines and voices and footsteps on the stairs. I whipped away at the flames, and just as I laid the last damaged blanket on the now smouldering fire, a policeman burst into the room and seized me.

"Caught wi' the goods, hev! Stand still," he said. "Stand still, or I'll fan you."

I ceased my momentary struggle with him as firemen came in with hose and an extinguisher, and stopped myself in a half-uttered sentence of explanation. This was a matter of family honor that need not be made public.

"It's a job all right, isn't it, Bill?" asked the officer of a fireman who was calmly playing a small stream from the extinguisher on the remaining flames.

"Surest job I ever saw," answered the man, turning for a look at me in the darkening light. "Pretty tough-looking customer. Don't belong to this town. Smell the kerosene?"

"I smell it all right. You can smell it a mile, and he's got it on his clothes, too. Come on wi' me, my jewel. You're good for a few years at Trenton."

Under a fictitious name I spent the night in jail, and in the morning, before the time for court to open, received a visit from Mr. George Morton.

"Want to get at the person higher up, Mr. Morton?" asked the jailer, as they appeared before my cell. "Well, I can give you about half an hour."

"Yes, yes," answered my visitor. "I want to talk with him privately; so, leave us alone, if you will. But don't get beyond call, please--not too far away."

"Right. I'll come if I hear from you."

He admitted Morton and locked him in with me, then left us alone. Morton was clean and well-dressed, with only a nervousness of speech and movement to indicate that a few hours before he had fought for liberty and honor with the man he was now facing. He took a seat at the end of my plank, while I sat at the other end, and took his measure; thinner and older, of course, than when I had known him at school, but with the same graceful figure, and handsome, though unpleasant, face.

"Well," I said, with what sarcasm I could command. "Are you here to get me to tell who hired me to set fire to your house?"

"Not exactly," he answered, eying me closely. "I'm here to find out what you mean to do."

"I'm waiting on you," I said sharply. "I've kept quiet on your sister's account, but I expect you to clear up this matter, in any way you can."

"How? By pleading guilty myself? I am also interested in my sister, and I do not think she would like it."

I looked at him.

"It lies between you and me," he went on. "The evidence at present is all against you, while there is nothing against me, and nothing in my record to indicate that I would set fire to the house I had lived in, but did not own."

"But if your record was known," I growled, "there would be indications bearing upon this."

"I see. You have listened to my sister. Do you think she would come into court and swear away the liberty of her brother?"

A chill passed through me at this, but I answered doggedly: "Don't know. It depends, I suppose, upon how much she thinks of her precious brother."

"And also," he said softly, "upon how much _you_ think of _her_. She took you--in my behalf, of course, though that might not be proved--into her home at midnight when I was supposed to be in Philadelphia. Do you care to have her cross-examined upon that point, first by the prosecuting attorney who will try you, and then by my lawyer in case I am tried?"

"Damn your wretched heart and soul!" I yelled. "Would you shield yourself behind your sister's good name? Would you permit it, even to save your miserable life?"

"Not so loud, please. I answer that question in kind. Would you?"

"No!" I thundered. "A thousand times no!"

"Then plead guilty. My sister, who is a very resourceful and self-possessed girl, turned in the fire alarm as the quickest way to end our little difficulty, and she is in New York this morning, believing that you and I walked out. But it was I who notified the policeman of my discovering a firebug at work in my deserted home. You have given a wrong name, and she will not be interested in the little noise your trial will make--unless, I suppose, you arouse that interest."

He got up to call the warden, and I was upon him as the words left his lips. But I did not harm him much; I had not the time. I dropped him at the muzzle of the warden's pistol, and cooled down at my leisure.

I did not plead guilty; I remained doggedly silent, however, and not even the efforts of the lawyer appointed to defend me availed to mitigate my sentence. I had been caught red-handed, had made a furious assault upon the kindly disposed tenant of the house I had fired, and this, indicating a deep, dark vengeance based upon some real or fancied wrong, brought me the swift, harsh decree of Jersey justice--five years in the Trenton penitentiary. And so not even notifying my captain, I sank out of sight as completely as though I had signed for a voyage and sailed.

Five years behind the bars will alter the character--yes, even the soul--of any man living. And I do not claim that mine was changed for the better. I began that five years with the faint hope that, somehow, Grace Morton would learn of my plight and devise means to free me. Then, as this hope left me with the passing of the months, a dull, apathetic inertia took possession of me, and I worked, ate, and slept as mechanically as an animal. Then came the meridian of my imprisonment, when two years and a half had expired, and I could look forward to release. With this prospect in view my mind woke to a keener activity than it had ever known under the spur of ambition; for that ambition was based upon a love for a girl that was now eclipsed by a hatred for her brother. I looked forward to freedom, not that I might win that girl, but that I might find that man--somewhere, and alone.

As for Grace Morton, the doubt often came to my mind as to whether I ever had loved her. I had really known her only as a prattling child; I had met her once, as a woman, and in the fervor of my sudden emotion had embraced and kissed her. Was that love? Was her acquiescence the sign of a mental invitation, or only the acceptance of a matter of course? Was the sister of such a brother worth loving?

Yet these unsettled doubts invariably crystallized unto the hope that she would so prove herself, and with this hope in mind my plans for vengeance never embraced the killing of my enemy, only the meeting with him, alone in some secluded place, where I could use my superior strength and skill and thrash him within an inch of his life.

In one way my imprisonment had refined me, or rather, worn off the rough spots acquired at sea. Good behavior had brought no commutation of my five years' sentence, but it had brought me light tasks instead of hard ones, and one of these was the care of the prison library, which gave me communion with many good books.

So I emerged at last with none of the working sailor about me except in my mind, and none of the prisoner except the cropped hair and cell pallor. These last I got rid of in a short coasting voyage before the mast, and then, with my chest, money, and discharges replevined from the Philadelphia boarding master who had faithfully cared for them, I visited my old home. Here I learned that my imprisonment was not known and that George Morton and his sister were traveling in Europe for the shattered health of the former. Then, with the unregenerate hope that soon it would be given me to shatter that health still further, I went back to my battle of life, for in love, war, or work a man must live.

Luck was with me from the start. I signed before the mast and filled a sick second mate's place before the ship had reached the line. And at Hongkong found my old captain, who had a first mate's berth vacant, and was glad to get me back without asking questions. A few questions to him, however, brought out the reason of this delicacy.

"If you young fellows knew," he remarked dryly, "all that you surely learn later, you'd let the stuff alone. I'm part owner here, and when you went on that drunk and quit me I had made up my mind to put you in command. 'Tend to business, now, and you can take her out next voyage."

"I'll make good, sir," I answered, pleased with the prospect, and willing to be thought an ex-drunkard rather than an ex-convict.

"But keep still about it," he said. "The principal owner is on board for the trip home. Your job is to impress him before the proposition is put up to him. He's somewhat crotchety and queer."

I joined the ship--a big, black, skysail yarder, filled to the hatches with sugar and jute--as she was lifting her anchor. We went to sea in a gale, and for two days and two nights I had not time to unpack my chest, much less to take note of my surroundings and the impression I was creating as a first mate fitted to command. I saw the owner occasionally in the brief lulls of shortening down--a tall, spare figure, muffled to the nose in a hooded mackintosh--but I did not meet him until the morning of the third day out, when, after an hour or two of sleep, I turned out for a look around before going to breakfast, and there, in the forward companion, ran plump into him. The next moment I had him by the throat, position, prospects, honor, love, and liberty going down before the uprush of rage and hatred.

There flashed into my mind at that moment a memory from boyhood, forgotten through the years, of his father being largely interested in shipping, but it was futile, irrelevant, and left me as it came; then, while he sagged under my grip, there came to me the picture of Grace Morton's frightened face as she had turned it up to me in the lamplight. But I forced it from me. That love is dead, I thought, and I hissed the thought through my teeth with my curses. Then, thinking of the long, bitter years in prison, the suffering and the shame, the thwarted hopes and plans, the struggle to maintain my integrity for the sake of a girl that had forgotten me, and knowing only that the cause of it all was right here, in my hands, I felt what I had not felt before--the impulse, the desire, and the self-justification to kill.

But I did not kill him. I relaxed my hold and looked into the same frightened face that had appealed to me once before. Older now, with lines of care and trouble in it, but more womanly and commanding. She stood in the dining-room door, and had commanded me to stop; and I obeyed her. Her brother slunk past her into the dining-room. The second mate was on deck, the steward had not come aft with the breakfast. The captain had not come through from the after cabin. None but the girl had seen the assault.

"Go to your room, George," she called to him through the door. "Wait for me, and say nothing to the captain."

Then she turned, and calmly regarded me. On my part, I stood before her like a culprit, trembling, and with my tongue dry against the roof of my mouth.

"Jack," she said, "I have watched you through this window since we sailed, watched you in your strength and mastery of your calling. And I have listened to your voice, that roused me from sleep on the first night, and which I recognized as yours. And I said to myself that you were a man, that you must be a man, and that I may have misjudged you. But here, you assault an invalid for a quarrel over five years old, that began in my behalf, I admit, but which ended in your own."

"An invalid," I managed to say. "A quarrel--in my behalf? Go on, please, Miss Morton."

"In your own," she repeated. "Of course, I do not know how men feel, and what the best may say at times about--about a woman. But could you not let it drop, instead of resuming it here, on this ship, where I am a passenger?"

"Please explain. You let _me_ drop, Miss Morton, when I needed you; but I have not complained. It seems that the slightest inquiry must have apprised you of my extremity. It seems that something might have been done that would not compromise you."

It was her turn to be mystified. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Do you deny me dignity, self-respect, pride, or confidence in myself? Could I _inquire_ about a man who had taken advantage of my momentary weakness and boasted of it? Not only boasted, but threatened to a member of my family that he would follow up his advantage for revenge at a beating?"

"Boasted! Revenge at a beating! Grace, explain yourself. You are accusing me of something. What is it? Boasting that I kissed you?"

"That," she said, looking defiantly into my face, while two red spots came to her cheeks. "That, and threatening my brother, after your defeat at his hands, with making your mastery complete."

"The damnable scoundrel!" I said explosively. "Did he tell you that lie? Did he say that he defeated me?"

"I saw him getting the best of you," she said, with a little doubt in her face.

"Because I did not want to hurt your brother. Did you turn in an alarm?"

"Yes."

"Before the firemen came your brother had got away from me and ran. Then I, remaining to extinguish the fire, was arrested for causing it."

"Arrested?" Her eyes opened in wonder and alarm.

"And the best proof, Miss Morton," I said grimly, "that I am too much of a man to boast about a woman, is that I served five years in Trenton prison rather than call upon you to clear me."

"You did? Jack!"

Tears started to her eyes, but I went on relentlessly:

"The case was well outlined to me by your brother on the morning after my arrest. He had sent the policeman into the house after me, and having succeeded so far, called upon me in jail to carry it further. I was to plead guilty so as not to attract attention to him. The evidence was against me. I was caught adding fuel to the fire, and with my face and clothing smeared with oil. My only chance was that the girl that I loved would come forward. She did not, and I could not ask her. No doubt, your brother told you that lie to kill any interest or curiosity you may have felt concerning me."

For a moment I thought she was going to faint. She paled to the tips of her small ears, staggered back, and leaned against the bulkhead, her lips parted and her eyes staring at me in wonder and horror.

"Why--why," she gasped, "why did you not tell me?"

"To ask that you save me at your brother's expense?" I answered. "To place you on the stand, where the lawyers could bait you? To compromise you? To shield myself behind a woman's good name? No, Miss Morton, whatever I may have become under the influence of stripes and confinement, I was, at that time, a graduate of Annapolis--an officer and a gentleman."

She shrank away from me and seemed about to fall. Then, having spoken my mind, the bitterness left me, and I would have gone back to prison could I have unsaid my words. The old love replaced the hate, and I reached forward, just to touch her hand, if I might; but she drew it away.

"Don't," she whispered weakly. "Don't. I didn't know; I didn't know." She was not speaking to me, and for a moment I hesitated. Then I forcibly turned her face to mine and looked into her eyes, swimming with tears. "It's all right, Grace," I said huskily. "Never mind."

"I would have come," she said, in a firmer voice, "but I did not--"

I had my arms around her now, and for a moment she lay unresisting, her face close to mine; but the next moment she struggled free.

"The girl that you loved," she said softly, accenting the last word.

"And love now," I rejoined, seizing her again. Then I flung her from me and bolted into my room, on the port side of the passage.

The captain had appeared in the dining-room, and seven bells--breakfast time--rang on deck. When she reached the deck I went in to my breakfast.

That evening, in the last dog-watch, Grace came to me at the weather-mizzen rigging.

"I have questioned him, Jack, and at last he admitted it," she said. "He is a nervous wreck, has been so for a year, and now I know why. Your term was coming to an end and for fear of you he has dragged me all over Europe and the Orient. He had you watched and knew by cable that you had shipped for Hongkong, but did not imagine that you would join this ship, which he found here on our arrival. He did not expect you here for a month."

"We made a fast passage out," I answered. "But what about him? What is to be done with him? Is he still a pyromaniac?"

"I do not know. It is congenital, and may break out at any time. But at any rate, I am through with him. He has forfeited all my regard. When we get home I shall remain there."

"And I suppose you do not want the captain informed of his weakness for fire?"

"Not unless you think it necessary, Jack."

"I think not," I said. "He is very properly scared and subdued, and knows that I will be watching him."

There was little further intercourse between George Morton and myself. He appeared on deck occasionally, but usually in my watch below, and when we met he would turn his head away, much to the chagrin of the captain, who had no knowledge of conditions. He was pale, emaciated, and fidgety in his manner, evidently a very sick man, and beyond all thought of punishment; but I felt no regret at the loss of my vengeance--I had won something better, and was content.

His attitude toward his sister, however, was one of doglike devotion and apology, while hers was one of toleration and contempt. He would hasten to meet her at the companion, to help her to a seat, to bring rugs or books, satisfied if she murmured a mere word of thanks. Then he would banish himself and look at her hungrily, waiting to be called. There is no doubt that, up to the limits of his narrow soul, he loved his sister; but it was a love based upon possession--the property instinct, the love of a dog for a cached bone, a bird for its perch, a cat for those who have housed and fed her. He had lost something, and wanted it back; and as it was lost forever I feared for that other love that was part of his being--his love of fire.

I could not watch him when asleep, nor depute the task to others--all I could do was to overhaul the deck and force pumps, make up an extra supply of draw-buckets, and examine all approaches to the inflammable jute in the hold. In that last I found nothing to alarm me. It could not be reached except through the hatches, which were all battened down. And it was all in the lower hold; on top of the ballast tiers of sugar, and above it, stowed in the 'tween deck, was the rest of the sugar. He could not set fire to the sugar, even if he reached it.

Yet in the hot, blistering heat of the Indian Ocean, when we had lain for days in a calm that was harder on our nerves than a hurricane, smoke filtered up through the seams in the cabin flooring--smoke with the pungent odor of burning jute; and the first man to notice it was George Morton.

"Done it, by heavens!" I growled, as I turned out in answer to the captain's quiet call.

There was a consultation in the cabin of the after-guard, to which were called the cook and steward, carpenter and sailmaker, and the two boatswains from the forecastles. All of these reported the smell of smoke in the compartments of the forward house, and the boatswain said that it was plainly noticeable at the fore and main hatches. Grace and her brother were listening; in Grace's face were uncertainty and apprehension, in her brother's, as he darted furtive glances at me, the deadly fear of immediate denunciation; but whether there was guilt or not I could not determine.

No one could guess how the fire had started, and only two points were elucidated from the discussion, both bearing upon the captain's opinion that nothing could be done at present but to keep the hatches on and smother it. The carpenter ventured the opinion that the fire could not be smothered. "For the ship is a sieve, captain," he said. "You know I told you so in Hongkong, and wanted you to calk her, topsides, deck, and all. There's millions of little holes to let the air in."

"And even so," added Morton, "the interstices between the barrels of sugar hold air that can be drawn upon."

"Right," said the captain impatiently, and a little sadly. "But it's too late to calk every seam in this ship, and if it don't smother out, and we can't make port, this ship is gone. All we can do is wait, for if we open hatches and jettison sugar to get at it, we'll only give it more draft."

So, we waited, but while waiting, headed the ship toward Calcutta, if not to save our lives, at least to meet with some craft that could deluge our jute with water--a large steamer, with power pumps and hose. But nothing came our way, and the days and weeks went on, with the deadening calm still engulfing us, and the deck growing hotter each hour. Soon the smoke became visible, curling up in countless little spirals, where the minute holes gave it egress.

Morton faced me one day, his eyes wide open and his face twitching. "I know what you think," he stammered. "You think I set fire to the cargo. But I swear by all I reverence that I did not. My sister believes in me."

"Mr. Morton," I answered, steadily as I could, for I never was my real self in his presence, "perhaps you did not. But all that makes me think so is my utter inability to comprehend how you could do it. A man who will fire a seminary will fire a ship at sea."

He slunk away from me, so pitiable and wretched an object that immediately I was sorry for my words. After that I spoke kindly to him whenever it was necessary to speak at all.

Work went on as usual; not that, in this doomed ship, painting and scrubbing were necessary, but to keep the crew's minds off the danger and the formulating of futile plans and suggestions--which always comes of idleness. But in spite of this, mutterings of discontent were heard, and in the interests of peace, I abolished all work except the continuous washing down of the hot deck, night and day. And at this monotonous work men would go to sleep in their tracks, waking when they fell over.

I had long noticed the peculiar mental effect of the jute smoke on myself, at first a tendency to day-dreams and a lazy, sleepy indifference to our danger; later a trancelike condition in which voices were not heard, or if heard not noticed, and the whole inner consciousness busy with serene contemplation of the past, the present, and the future, mingled with visions of green trees and flowers, sounds of tinkling water, and music that seemed not of earth.

All this brought no misgiving to my mind until I wakened, prone upon the blistering deck one night, with no recollection of my falling. Then I regarded it as serious, and in the morning spoke to the captain.

"Yes, we must quit," he said mournfully, "while we have our senses. It is the soporific principle of the jute, akin to that of hasheesh, which is made from Indian hemp. No one could sleep below without that continuous narcotic, and such sleep is dangerous. I had trouble waking you yesterday. Capsize the boats and provision them. The ship may burst into flames at any moment, and when she does, she'll go quickly. She's dry as a chip."

We numbered about thirty, all told, and to accommodate this many we had three good boats, upside down on the forward house. These I soon had over the side, floating light upon the smooth sea at the ends of their painters, and we provisioned them as heavily as was safe with our added weight. When all was ready I reported.

"And none too soon," answered the captain. "Look there!" He pointed forward, where the tarpaulin of the main hatch had lifted like a great bubble from the pressure of hot air and gases beneath. "There is dunnage under the hatch and it is afire, Mr. Morton," he said, turning to our passenger, "you and your sister will go in the boat with me. I will bring her up when I bring my papers."

I had no mind for this. I turned away, and while directing the manning of the boats, did some deep and desperate thinking. Put her in an open boat with a lunatic brother and a doddering old skipper, I fumed? Not much.

As the men swarmed down, Grace appeared in the forward companion. I beckoned to her, and she came. We had already rigged a whip from the fore yardarm, and in a "bosun's chair" at the end of this I quickly hoisted her over the side and into my boat. George, leaving his sister to the captain's care, had descended to his boat on the other side. When all were over but the captain and myself, the former appeared on deck.

"Where is Miss Morton?" he called. "I cannot find her."

"In the boat, captain," I truthfully yelled. "Hurry up, sir. There's no time to lose."

I pointed, as he had done, to the main hatch. The bubble had burst, and up from the rent rose a column of smoke.

"Go ahead, sir," he answered. "I must be last."

I clambered down the side, and joined Grace in the sternsheets.

"Where is George?" she asked. "I thought he was coming, and the captain, too."

"Both in the starboard boat," I answered. "You're in here with me, where I can take care of you. Shove off!" I commanded. "Both boats shove off, and get away from here."

The second mate had charge of the other boat, and together we shot away from the ship, putting a hundred yards between us before pausing to wait for the captain's boat from the other side. But it did not appear at once. Instead, we heard loud shouts, and the name "Grace" in Morton's tremulous voice.

"Miss Morton is here," I sang out, but, if heard, I was not answered.

Then the shouts ceased, and Morton's figure appeared on the opposite rail.

"Grace!" he called. "Grace, where are you?"

"I'm here, George," she answered. "I'm safe. Save yourself."

"Here!" I bellowed. "Here with me! Get back into your boat."

But instead he jumped down on deck, out of our sight. We pulled back toward the ship, and waited, a fair swimming distance away. Then, as a box of matches bursts into fame, so did that huge ship. The main-hatch covers flew into air, tangible and visible; and as they fell, the black pillar of smoke increased in size and solidity, while each oaken rail became a line of fire, and even the masts, dried by the heat of weeks, turned to fiery red columns in a few minutes.

But the top of the cabin was still immune from the flames. And up the after steps by the side of the companion climbed Morton. He ran to the skylight, turned around, went part way back, and then retraced his steps, calling again for his sister.

"Jump overboard!" I shouted. "Jump, for your life!"

He did not jump. With his hands to his nostrils he shuffled forward toward the monkey-rail that overlooked the main deck, halting at moments, only to shuffle again. He turned around once and took a few steps backward, then wheeled suddenly and resumed his shuffling advance. I called again and again for him to jump, and Grace joined me in pleading screams, while I heard the captain calling from the other side. But to no avail; the god that he worshiped was calling the louder. He staggered now, reached the rail, and with arms extended as though in supplication, plunged into the inferno beneath.

Only once since then has anyone spoken of him to me. It was the gray old skipper, who, after our rescue, wanted to set me right.

"You thought he fired the ship," he said, "for he told me of your suspicions, and felt badly. But he did not. It was all my fault, for I should have calked the ship at Hongkong. That three-day gale that we met let the water down on the jute. It was spontaneous combustion."

But, in mercy to each other, Grace and I never mention his name.

THE BABY

It was Dartmoor who saw the chance. He was the son of a wealthy father, and perhaps the one man of that medical class to feel equal to the experiments given up by the old professor.

Physically, Dartmoor was exceptionally favored by nature, possessing one of the most winning personalities I have ever met, and the face and figure of a Greek god. And to this was added a mental development that was almost abnormal in its completeness. I had gone through school with him, and never saw him studying. He seemed to learn his lessons by a few glances at the page of a book.

He had courage of a high order, but never had a fight in his life, for he could make an adversary surrender without a fight. He could win any girl for sweetheart, or any boy for friend. He had his enemies, carefully chosen by himself, but when he so decided he would make these enemies his friends. I had been one.

Shortly after our diplomas were given us, Dartmoor secured legal possession of the freak, with a history of the case. The history was simple; its mother, a poor immigrant, had died at its birth, and its father was unknown.

The professor, a visiting physician of the hospital at the time, had taken it into his sanitarium and cared for it; but beyond keeping it alive had not helped it. It was a man that had never been conscious--a human being born without the five senses.

Dartmoor erected a pavilion on his grounds, installed in it the freak, together with the apparatus for massage and exercise, and gave himself up to the study of his charge. He had me around once to witness the experiments, but I was not enthusiastic.

The creature, who was about as old as Dartmoor and myself, lay in a reclining posture on the exercising frame, staring vacantly with wide-open, blue eyes. He was full grown, but with the features of an infant--pudgy nose and pursed-up lips.

Two hinged levers worked by a crank caught his wrists as they lay extended over his head, lifted him to a sitting position, and pulled him forward until his fingers touched his feet. Then back he went, to be again swung forward. When there had been enough of this, two other levers lifted him by the ankles and brought his feet over his head, then dropped them back.

Then there were massaging and vibrating apparatus and a portable shower-bath to finish him off. All this had been going on since his infancy, and now he was fairly well developed--about six feet tall, with the muscles of an athlete.

"Dartmoor," I said, when the job was over, "this is a problem for a college of physicians and surgeons, not for one man."

"But think of the credit," he answered enthusiastically. "Think of the world's applause if I succeed in giving consciousness to this poor, animated clay."

"It may be an idiot."

"Not necessarily--an infant, perhaps."

"Where do you think the trouble lies?"

"I do not know; neither does the professor. It is something that affects the sensory, motor, and sympathetic nerves as a whole. I shall try the different absorption treatments, and various forms of radio-activity and ultra-violet rays. Mental suggestion may do it."

"Well, good luck to you. I've a living to make curing live people."

But I did not make a living by my profession. A girl who had said "yes" at the beginning of my studies now said "no," and it needed no deep investigation to discover the reason for the change. She had come under the sway of Dartmoor's personality, and my cause was hopeless.

What made it harder was that he seemed unaware of it. He evidently cared nothing for her, busying himself with his experiments and never seeking her. Otherwise I might have had it out with him.

However, the girl's "no" carried with it a denial of all else that I valued. I was young, unproven, much wrought up, and utterly irresponsible. For the next five years my life had better be glossed over. I went to sea, and found in the wandering life of a sailor the only relief for the aching drag at my breast.

At last, being more sane than insane, I turned over a new leaf and began to save money. A few years later I found myself owner and master of a fine little schooner, and, after a few exploring and trading trips around the South Sea Islands, came upon a pearl fishery which laid the foundations of a fortune.

This done, I took in a ballast load of guano, and, ten years from the time of my departure, sailed for the Golden Gate and home. I wanted to see that girl again, married or single.

It must have been intuition, for I arrived at San Francisco just before the date fixed for her marriage to Dartmoor. I saw him first, and it was he who told me. He was worn out with his unsolved problem, and about to abandon it.

There had been something lacking in his life, he said--something that lessened his powers, but now he had found it--the love of woman. He had awakened to the fact that he loved Miss Ewing, had always loved her, and was rejoiced to know that she had always loved him.

They were to be married in a week. His living dead man would then take second place in his thoughts, and perhaps new thoughts would come.

It was sad news for me, but I gritted my teeth and congratulated him.

"You're right," I said grimly. "A few years more of this business and no woman would have you. You look hunted. Your hair is turning."

"Yes," he sighed, "I'm getting gray and old. Perhaps, as you once said, it is too much of a task for one man. I have tried every scientific appliance, but I have not stirred a single sense perception.

"And I am being interfered with. A local society for the prevention of cruelty to children is getting active. I am charged with inhumanity, and in danger of arrest at any time. Why, he could not live a week without the care I am giving him."

"Why not let the society have him? Get him off your mind. Do you expect your wife to be happy with that monstrosity between you? Give it up, Dartmoor."

"I cannot. It is my life's work."

"Then you'd better take him down to my island, where I am the law and the lawmaker. Otherwise your life will be short and your wife a young widow."

I had made the suggestion at haphazard, but he became interested at once, asked me all about my pearl fishery, and the gang of coolies who obeyed me as a king, and said he would think it over. I left him then; and believing that even as a rejected lover I had a right to see my old sweetheart once in ten years, I called upon her.

It is hard for a man roughened as I have become to describe that girl; so I shall not try, except to say that all sense of fair play left me, and that I had not been in her presence five minutes before I was down on my knees, begging to be taken back.

I almost gained my point. There were tears in her eyes, and her hand trembled as I held it. She admitted that Dartmoor's long neglect had lessened his value in her eyes, now that she had won him. But he had done nothing culpable; her promise was given, and he seemed fond of her, and in need of her.

"Confound Dartmoor and his need of you!" I growled. "I need you more. He has his man-baby and his science. You will be second. You would be first with me, Ella. Give him up--for me."

She shook her head slowly, and more slowly, while I held tightly to her little hand. Then the doorbell rang, and we heard Dartmoor's voice.

"Curse him!" I cried hotly. "Ella, I won't have it. I won't give you up to him. I'm a man now, not a bewildered boy."

He came in before she could reply. He must have seen something out of the way in our faces, for he said jocularly:

"Talking about me, I'll wager. I wondered what made my ears burn. Do you know," he said, "that there is a scientific basis for that old fancy?"

As he took it scientifically and good-humoredly, I let it go; besides, as I remembered later, my anger had left me.

"Captain," he said seriously, "I have a proposition for you--that you take me and my phenomenon, with my attendants and apparatus, down to your island, where, I presume, we will be undisturbed. When I am alone with him I wish to try some experiments that I have long contemplated, but which have been interfered with by the people of this city. I will assume all expenses."

"Come along," I answered graciously. "I won't come within a mile of you, and the coolies will avoid you both."

"And, Ella," he said, turning to the girl he thought he loved, "it will necessitate a postponement of our wedding for a while. I cannot take you down into the South Pacific on an uncertainty. You will not mind, I know; we have waited long, and can wait a little longer. You agree with me, do you not, captain?"

"Of course, I do," I answered with a leaping heart, but trying to appear unconcerned. "It's no place for a woman."

She merely bowed her head and said nothing. What she thought I could not know. Nor can I remember much of what I thought myself. Mingled with my joy over the delay, there seemed to be vague imaginings of my holding Dartmoor by the heels over the taffrail and dropping him into the water. But I am not sure that these visions did not come later.

Wrong, of course; but I was an angry and jealous man.