“The law!” cried Mr. Perkins, in a voice of intense horror. “W’y, Sam, the law’s more to be dreaded than a woman. It’s an invention of the devil to keep poor mortals from becomin’ too happy in this ’ere vale o’ tears. My boy, if ye ever has to choose between the law an’ a woman, my advice is to commit suicide at once. It’s quicker an’ less painful.”
“But the law stands for justice,” I protested.
“That’s the bluff it puts up,” said Uncle Naboth, “but it ain’t so. An’ where’s your proof agin Mrs. Ranck, anyhow? Cap’n Steele foolishly put the house in her name. If she ain’t honest enough to give it up, no one can take it from her. An’ he kep’ secret about the fortune that was left in his room, so we can’t describe the things you’ve been robbed of. Altogether, it’s jest a hopeless case. The she-devil has made up her mind to inherit your fortune, an’ you can’t help yourself.”
As I stared into the little man’s face the tears came into my eyes and blurred my sight. He thrust the red handkerchief into my hand, and I quickly wiped away the traces of unmanly weakness. And when I could see plainly again my uncle was deeply involved in one of his fits of silent merriment, and his shoulders were shaking spasmodically. I waited for him to cough and choke, which he proceeded to do before regaining his gravity. The attack seemed to have done him good, for he smiled at my disturbed expression and laid a kindly hand on my shoulder.
“Run up to the house, my lad, an’ get your bundle of clothes,” he said. “I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t worry over what’s gone. I’ll take care o’ you, hereafter.”
I gave him a grateful glance and clasped his big, horny hands in both my own.
“Thank you, uncle,” said I; “I don’t know what would have become of me if you had not turned up just as you did.”
“Lucky; wasn’t it, Sam? But run along and get your traps.”
I obeyed, walking slowly and thoughtfully back to the house. When I tried to raise the latch I found the door locked.
“Mrs. Ranck!” I called. “Mrs. Ranck, let me in, please. I’ve come for my clothes.”
There was no answer. I rattled the latch, but all in vain. So I sat down upon the steps of the porch, wondering what I should do. It was a strange and unpleasant sensation, to find myself suddenly barred from the home in which I had been born and wherein I had lived all my boyhood days. It was only my indignation against this selfish and hard old woman that prevented me from bursting into another flood of tears, for my nerves were all unstrung by the events of the past few hours. However, anger held all other passion in check for the moment, and I was about to force an entrance through the side window, as I had done on several occasions before, when the sash of the window in my own attic room was pushed up and a bundle was projected from it with such good aim that it would have struck my head, had I not instinctively dodged it.
Mrs. Ranck’s head followed the bundle far enough to cast a cruel and triumphant glance into my upturned face.
“There’s your duds. Take ’em an’ go, you ongrateful wretch!” she yelled. “An’ don’t ye let me see your face again until you come to pay me the money you owes for your keepin’.”
“Please, Mrs. Ranck,” I asked, meekly, “can I have my father’s watch and ring?”
“No, no, no!” she screamed, in a fury. “Do ye want to rob me of everything? Ain’t you satisfied to owe me four hundred dollars a’ready?”
“I——I’d like some keepsake of father’s,” I persisted, well knowing this would be my last chance to procure it. “You may keep the watch, if you’ll give me the ring.”
“I’ll keep’m both,” she retorted. “You’ll get nothin’ more out’n me, now or never!”
Then she slammed down the window, and refused to answer by a word my further pleadings. So finally I picked up the bundle and, feeling miserable and sick at heart, followed the path back to the little grove.
“It didn’t take you very long, but that’s all the better,” said my uncle, shutting his clasp-knife with a click and then standing up to brush the chips from his lap. “We two’ll go to the tavern, an’ talk over our future plans.”
Silently I walked by the side of Naboth Perkins until we came to the village. I knew everyone in the little town, and several of the fishermen and sailors met me with words of honest sympathy for my loss. Captain Steele had been the big man of Batteraft, beloved by all who knew him despite his reserved nature, and these simple villagers, rude and uneducated but kindly hearted, felt that in his death they had lost a good friend and a neighbor of whom they had always been proud. Not one of them would have refused assistance to Captain Steele’s only son; but they were all very poor, and it was lucky for me that Uncle Naboth had arrived so opportunely to befriend me.
Having ordered a substantial dinner of the landlord of “The Rudder,” Mr. Perkins gravely invited me to his private room for a conference, and I climbed the rickety stairs in his wake.
The chamber was very luxurious in my eyes, with its rag carpet and high-posted bed, its wash-stand and rocking-chair. I could not easily withhold my deference to the man who was able to hire it, and removing my cap I sat upon the edge of the bed while Uncle Naboth took possession of the rocking-chair and lighted a big briar pipe.
Having settled himself comfortably by putting his feet upon the sill of the open window, he remarked:
“Now, Sam, my lad, we’ll talk it all over.”
“Very well, sir,” I replied, much impressed.
“In the first place, I’m your father’s partner, as I said afore. Some years ago the Cap’n found he had more money’n he could use in his own business, an’ I’d saved up a bit myself, to match it. So we put both together an’ bought a schooner called the ‘Flipper’, w’ich I’m free to say is the best boat, fer its size an’ kind, that ever sailed the Pacific.”
“The Pacific!”
“Naterally. Cap’n Steele on the Atlantic, an’ Cap’n Perkins on the Pacific. In that way we divided up the world between us.” He stopped to wink, here, and began his silent chuckle; but fortunately he remembered the importance of the occasion and refrained from carrying it to the choking stage. “I s’pose your father never said naught to you about this deal o’ ours, any more’n he did to that she-bandit up at the house. An’ it’s lucky he didn’t, or the critter’d be claimin’ the ‘Flipper’, too, an’ then you an’ I’d be out of a job!”
He winked again; solemnly, this time; and I sat still and stared at him.
“Howsomever, the ‘Flipper’ is still in statute loo, an’ thank heaven fer that! I made sev’ral voyages in her to Australy, that turned out fairly profitably, an’ brought the Cap’n an’ me some good bits o’ money. So last year we thought we’d tackle the Japan trade, that seemed to be lookin’ up. It looked down agin as soon as I struck the pesky shores, an’ a month ago I returned to ’Frisco a sadder an’ a wiser man. Not that the losses was so great, Sam, you understand; but the earnin’s wasn’t enough to buy a shoe-string.
“So I sailed cross-lots to Batteraft to consult with my partner, which is Cap’n Steele, as to our next voyage, an’ the rest o’ the story you know as well as I do. Your father bein’ out o’ the firm, from no fault o’ his’n, his son is his nateral successor. So I take it that hereafter we’ll have to consult together.”
My amazed expression amused him exceedingly, but I found it impossible just then to utter a single word. Uncle Naboth did not seem to expect me to speak, for after lighting his pipe again he continued, with an air of great complacency:
“It mought be said that, as you’re a minor, I stands as your rightful guardeen, an’ have a right to act for you ’til you come of age. On the other hand, you mought claim that, bein’ a partner, your size an’ age don’t count, an’ you’ve a right to be heard. Howsomever, we won’t go to law about it, Sam. The law’s onreliable. Sometimes it’s right, an’ mostly it’s wrong; but it ain’t never to be trusted by an honest man. If you insist on dictatin’ what this partnership’s goin’ to do, you’ll probably run it on a rock in two jerks of a lamb’s tail, for you haven’t got the experience old Cap’n Steele had; but if you’re satisfied to let me take the tiller, an’ steer you into harbor, why, I’ll accept the job an’ do the best I can at it.”
“Uncle Naboth,” I replied, earnestly, “had you not been an honest man I would never have known you were my father’s partner, or that he had any interest in your business. But you’ve been more than honest. You’ve been kind to me; and I am only too glad to trust you in every way.”
“Well spoke, lad!” cried Mr. Perkins, slapping his knee delightedly. “It’s what I had a right to expect in poor Mary’s boy. We’re sure to get along, Sam, and even if I don’t make you rich, you’ll never need a stout friend while your Uncle Nabe is alive an’ kickin’!”
Then we both stood up, and shook hands with great solemnity, to seal the bargain. After which my friend and protector returned to his rocker and once more stretched his feet across the window sill.
“How much property belongs to me, Uncle?” I asked.
“We never drew up any papers. Cap’n Steele knew as he could trust me, an’ so papers wa’n’t necessary. He owned one-third interest in the ‘Flipper’, an’ supplied one half the money to carry on the trade. That made it mighty hard to figure out the profits, so we gen’ly lumped it, to save brain-work. Of course your father’s been paid all his earnin’s after each voyage was over, so accounts is settled up to the Japan trip. Probably the money I gave him was in the sea-chest, an’ that old she-pirate up to the house grabbed it with the other things. The Japan voyage was a failure, as I told you; but there’s about a thousand dollars still comin’ to the Cap’n—which means it’s comin’ to you, Sam—an’ the ship’s worth a good ten thousand besides.”
I tried to think what that meant to me.
“It isn’t a very big sum of money, is it, Uncle?” I asked, diffidently.
“That depends on how you look at it,” he answered. “Big oaks from little acorns grow, you know. If you leave the matter to me, I’ll try to make that thousand sprout considerable, before you come of age.”
“Of course I’ll leave it to you,” said I. “And I am very grateful for your kindness, sir.”
“Don’t you turn your gratitude loose too soon, Sam. I may land your fortunes high an’ dry on the rocks, afore I’ve got through with ’em. But if I do it won’t be on purpose, an’ we’ll sink or swim together. An’ now, that bein’ as good as settled, the next thing to argy is what you’re a-goin’ to do while I’m sailin’ the seas an’ makin’ money for you.”
“What would you suggest?” I asked.
“Well, some folks might think you ought to have more schoolin’. How old are you?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
“Can you read an’ write, an’ do figgers?”
“Oh, yes; I’ve finished the public school course,” I replied, smiling at the simple question.
“Then I guess you’ve had study enough, my lad, and are ready to go to work. I never had much schoolin’ myself, but I’ve managed to hold my own in the world, in spite of the way letters an’ figgers mix up when I look at ’em. Not but what eddication is a good thing; but all eddication don’t lay in schools. Rubbin’ against the world is what polishes up a man, an’ the feller that keeps his eyes open can learn somethin’ new every day. To be open with you, Sam, I need you pretty bad on the ‘Flipper’, to keep the books an’ look after the accounts, an’ do writin’ an’ spellin’ when letters has to be writ. On the last trip I put in four days hard work, writin’ a letter that was only three lines long. An’ I’m blamed if the landsman I sent it to didn’t telegraph me for a translation. So, if you’re willin’ to ship with the firm of Perkins & Steele, I’ll make you purser an’ chief clerk.”
“I should like that!” I answered, eagerly.
“Then the second p’int’s settled. There’s only one more. The ‘Flipper’ is lyin’ in the harbor at ’Frisco. When shall we join her, lad?”
“I’m ready now, sir.”
“Good. I’ve ordered a wagon to carry us over to the railroad station at four o’clock, so ye see I had a pretty good idea beforehand what sort o’ stuff Mary’s boy was made of. Now let’s go to dinner.”
CHAPTER IV.
I SHIP ABOARD THE “FLIPPER.”
When the two-seated spring wagon drew up before the tavern door quite a crowd of idle villagers assembled to see us off, and among them I noticed my father’s old sailor, Ned Britton. Uncle Naboth climbed aboard at once, but I stayed to shake the hands held out to me and to thank the Batteraft people for their hearty wishes for my future prosperity. I think they were sorry to see me go, and I know I felt a sudden pang of regret at parting from the place where I had lived so long and the simple villagers who had been my friends.
When at last I mounted to the rear seat of the wagon and sat beside my uncle, I was astonished to find Ned Britton established beside the driver.
“Are you going with us?” I asked.
The sailor nodded.
“It’s like this,” remarked Mr. Perkins, as we rolled away from the tavern, “this man belonged to my old partner, Cap’n Steele, an’ stuck to his ship ’til she went down. Also he’s put himself out to come here an’ tell us the news, and it ain’t every sailor as’ll take the trouble to do such a job. Therefore, Ned Britton bein’ at present without a ship, I’ve asked him to take a berth aboard the ‘Flipper.’”
“That was kind of you, Uncle,” I said, pleased at this evidence of my relative’s kindly nature.
“An honest sailor ain’t to be sneezed at,” continued Uncle Naboth, with one of his quaint winks. “If Ned Britton were faithful to the ‘Saracen’ he’ll be faithful to the ‘Flipper.’ An’ that’s the sort o’ man we want.”
Britton doubtless overheard every word of this eulogy, but he gazed stolidly ahead and paid no attention to my uncle’s words of praise.
We reached the railway station in ample time for the train, and soon were whirling away on our long journey into the golden West.
No incident worthy of note occurred on our way across the continent, although I might record a bit of diplomacy on the part of Uncle Naboth that illustrates the peculiar shrewdness I have always found coupled with his native simplicity.
Just before our train drew into Chicago, where we were to change cars and spend the best part of a day, my uncle slipped into my hand a long, fat pocket-book, saying:
“Hide that in your pocket, Sam, and button it up tight.”
“What’s your idea, Uncle Nabe?” I asked.
“Why, we’re comin’ to the wickedest city in all the world, accordin’ to the preachers; an’ if it ain’t that, it’s bad enough, in all conscience. There’s robbers an’ hold-up men by the thousands, an’ if one of ’em got hold of me I’d be busted in half a second. But none of ’em would think of holdin’ up a boy like you; so the money’s safe in your pocket, if you don’t go an’ lose it.”
“I’ll try not to do that, sir,” I returned; but all during the day the possession of the big pocket-book made me nervous and uneasy. I constantly felt of my breast to see that the money was still safe, and it is a wonder my actions did not betray to some sly thief the fact that I was concealing the combined wealth of our little party.
No attempt was made to rob us, however, either at Chicago or during the remainder of the journey to the Pacific coast, and we arrived at our destination safely and in good spirits.
Uncle Naboth seemed especially pleased to reach San Francisco again.
“This car travellin’,” he said, “is good enough for landsmen that don’t know of anything better; but I’d rather spend a month at sea than a night in one of them stuffy, dangerous cars, that are likely to run off’n the track any minute.”
Ned Britton and I accompanied Mr. Perkins to a modest but respectable lodging-house near the bay, where we secured rooms and partook of a hearty breakfast. Then we took a long walk, and I got my first sight of the famous “Golden Gate.” I was surprised at the great quantity of shipping in the bay, and as I looked over the hundreds of craft at anchor I wondered curiously which was the “Flipper,” of which I was part owner—the gallant ship whose praises Uncle Naboth had sung so persistently ever since we left Batteraft.
After luncheon we hired a small boat, and Ned Britton undertook to row us aboard the “Flipper,” which had been hidden from our view by a point of land. I own that after my uncle’s glowing descriptions of her I expected to see a most beautiful schooner, with lines even nobler than those of the grand old “Saracen,” which had been my father’s pride for so many years. So my disappointment may be imagined when we drew up to a grimy looking vessel of some six hundred tons, with discolored sails, weather-worn rigging and a glaring need of fresh paint.
Ned Britton, however, rested on his oars, studied the ship carefully, and then slowly nodded his head in approval.
“Well, what d’ye think o’ her?” asked Uncle Naboth, relapsing into one of his silent chuckles at the expression of my face.
“She looks rather dirty, sir,” I answered, honestly.
“The ‘Flipper’ ain’t quite as fresh as a lily in bloom, that’s a fact,” returned my uncle, in no ways discomfited by my remark. “She wasn’t no deebutantee when I bought her, an’ her clothes has got old, and darned and patched, bein’ as we haven’t been near to a Paris dressmaker. But I’ve sailed in her these ten years past, Sam, an’ we’re both as sound as a dollar.”
“She ought to be fast, sir,” remarked Britton, critically.
Mr. Perkins laughed—not aloud, but in his silent, distinctly humorous way.
“She is fast, my lad, w’ich is a virtue in a ship if it ain’t in a woman. And in some other ways, besides, the ‘Flipper’ ain’t to be sneezed at. As for her age, she’s too shy to tell it, but I guess it entitles her to full respect.”
We now drew alongside, and climbed upon the deck, where my uncle was greeted by a tall, lank man who appeared to my curious eyes to be a good example of a living skeleton. His clothes covered his bones like bags, and so thin and drawn was his face that his expression was one of constant pain.
“Morn’n’, Cap’n,” said Uncle Naboth, although it was afternoon.
“Morn’n’, Mr. Perkins,” returned the other, in a sad voice. “Glad to see you back.”
“Here’s my nevvy, Sam Steele, whose father were part owner but got lost in a storm awhile ago.”
“Glad to see you, sir,” said the Captain, giving my hand a melancholy shake.
“An’ here’s Ned Britton, who once sailed with Cap’n Steele,” continued my uncle. “He’ll sign with us, Cap’n Gay, and I guess you’ll find him A No. 1.”
“Glad to see you, Britton,” repeated the Captain, in his dismal voice. If the lanky Captain was as glad to see us all as his words indicated, his expression fully contradicted the fact.
Britton saluted and walked aft, where I noticed several sailors squatting upon the deck in careless attitudes. To my glance these seemed as solemn and joyless as their Captain; but I acknowledge that on this first visit everything about the ship was a disappointment to me, perhaps because I had had little experience with trading vessels and my mind was stored with recollections of the trim “Saracen.”
Below, however, was a comfortable cabin, well fitted up, and Uncle Naboth showed me a berth next to his own private room which was to be my future home. The place was little more than a closet, but I decided it would do very well.
“I thought you were the captain of the ‘Flipper,’ Uncle Naboth,” said I, when we were alone.
“No; I’m jest super-cargo,” he replied, with his usual wink. “You see, I wasn’t eddicated as a sailor, Sam, an’ never cared to learn the trade. Cap’n Gay is one o’ the best seamen that ever laid a course, so I hire him to take the ship wherever I want to go. As fer the cargo, that’s my ’special look-out, an’ it keeps me busy enough, I can tell you. I’m a nat’ral born trader, and except fer that blamed Japan trip, I ain’t much ashamed of my record.”
“Will you go to Australia again?” I asked.
“Not jest now, Sam. My next venture’s goin’ to be a bit irregular—what you might call speculative, an’ extry-hazardous. But we’ll talk that over tonight, after supper.”
After making a cursory examination of the ship Uncle Naboth received the Captain’s report of what had transpired in his absence, and then we rowed back to town again.
We strolled through the city streets for an hour, had supper, and then my uncle took me to his room, carefully closed and locked the door, and announced that he was ready to “talk business.”
“Bein’ partners,” he said, “we’ve got to consult together; but I take it you won’t feel bad, Sam, if I do most of the consultin’. I went down East to Batteraft to talk my plans with your father, but he slipped his cable an’ I’ve got to talk ’em to you. If you see I’m wrong, anywhere, jest chip in an’ stop me; but otherwise the less you say the more good we’ll get out’n this ’ere conference.”
“Very well, sir.”
“To start in with, we’ve got a ship, an’ a crew, an’ plenty o’ loose money. So what’ll we do with ’em? Our business is to trade, an’ to invest our money so we’ll make more with it. What’s the best way to do that?”
He seemed to pause for an answer, so I said: “I don’t know sir.”
“Nobody knows, of course. But we can guess, and then find out afterward if we’ve guessed right. All business is a gamble; and, if it wasn’t, most men would quit an’ go fishin’. After I got back from Japan I met a lot o’ fellows that had been to Alaska huntin’ gold. Seems like Alaska’s full of gold, an’ before long the whole country’ll be flockin’ there like sheep. All ’Frisco’s gettin’ excited about the thing, so they tell me, and if fortunes is goin’ to be made in Alaska, we may as well speak for one ourselves.”
“But we are not miners, Uncle; and it’s bitter cold up there, they say.”
“Well put. We’ll let the crowds mine the gold, and then hand it over to us.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said I, weakly.
“No call for you to try, Sam. I’m your guardeen, an’ so I’ll do the understandin’ for us both. Folks has to eat, my lad, an’ gold hunters is usually too excited to make proper provisions fer their stomachs. They’re goin’ to be mighty hungry out in Alaska, before long, an’ when a man’s hungry he’ll pay liberal fer a square meal. Let’s give it to him, Sam, an’ take the consequences—which is gold dust an’ nuggets.”
“How will you do it, Uncle Nabe?”
“Load the ‘Flipper’ with grub an’ carry it to Kipnac, or up the Yukon as far as Fort Weare, or wherever the gold fields open up. Then, when the miners get hungry, they’ll come to us and trade their gold for our groceries. We’re sure to make big profits, Sam.”
“It looks like a reasonable proposition, sir,” I said. “But it seems to me rather dangerous. Suppose our ship gets frozen in the ice, and we can’t get away? And suppose about that time we’ve sold out our provisions. We can’t eat gold. And suppose——”
“S’pose the moon falls out’n the sky,” interrupted Uncle Naboth, “wouldn’t it be dark at night, though!”
“Well, sir?”
“If the gold-diggers can live in the ice fields, we can live in a good warm ship. And we’ll keep enough grub for ourselves, you may be sure of that.”
“When do we start?” I asked, feeling sure that no arguments would move my uncle to abandon the trip, once he had made up his mind to undertake it.
“As soon as we can get the cargo aboard. It’s coming on warmer weather, now, and this is the best time to make the voyage. A steamer left today with three hundred prospectors, an’ they’ll be goin’ in bunches every day, now. Already I estimate there’s over a thousand in the fields, so we won’t get there any too soon to do business. What do you say, Sam?”
“I’ve nothing to say, sir. Being my guardian, you’ve decided the matter for both the partners, as is right and proper. As your clerk and assistant, I’ll obey whatever orders you give me.”
“That’s the proper spirit, lad!” he cried, with enthusiasm. “We’ll go to work tomorrow morning; and if all goes well we’ll be afloat in ten days, with a full cargo!”
CHAPTER V.
“NUX” AND “BRYONIA.”
On the seventh day of May, 1897, the “Flipper” weighed anchor and sailed before a light breeze through the Golden Gate and away on her voyage toward Alaska and its gold fields. Stored within her hold was a vast quantity of provisions of the sort that could be kept indefinitely without danger of spoiling. Flour, hams, bacon, sugar and coffee were represented; but canned meats and vegetables, tobacco and cheap cigars comprised by far the greater part of the cargo. Uncle Naboth had been seriously advised to carry a good supply of liquors, but refused positively to traffic in such merchandise.
Indeed, my uncle rose many degrees in my respect after I had watched for a time his preparations for our voyage. Simple, rough and uneducated he might be, but a shrewder man at a bargain I have never met in all my experience. And his reputation for honesty was so well established that his credit was practically unlimited among the wholesale grocers and notion jobbers of San Francisco. Everyone seemed ready and anxious to assist him, and the amount of consideration he met with on every hand was really wonderful.
“We’ve bought the right stuff, Sam,” he said to me, as we stood on the deck and watched the shore gradually recede, “and now we’ve got to sell it right. That’s the secret of good tradin’.”
I was glad enough to find myself at sea, where I could rest from my labors of the past two weeks. I had been upon the docks night and day, it seemed, checking off packages of goods as fast as they were loaded on the lighters, and being unaccustomed to work I tired very easily. But my books were all accurate and “ship-shape,” and I had found opportunity to fit up my little state-room with many comforts. In this I had been aided by Uncle Naboth, who was exceedingly liberal in allowing me money for whatever I required. At one time I said I would like to buy a few books, and the next day, to my surprise, he sent to my room a box containing the complete works of Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson, with a miscellaneous collection of volumes by standard authors.
“I don’t know much about books myself, Sam,” he said; “so I got a feller that does know to pick ’em out for me, an’ I guess you’ll find ’em the right sort.”
I did not tell him that I would have preferred to make my own selection, and afterward I frankly admitted to myself that the collection was an admirable one.
By this time I had come to know all the officers and crew, and found them a pretty good lot, taken altogether. The principle “characters” aboard were the dismal Captain Gay, who was really as contented a man as I ever knew, Acker, the ship’s doctor, and two queer black men called by everybody Nux and Bryonia. Acker was a big, burly Englishman, who, besides being doctor, served as mate. He was jolly and good natured as the day was long, and had a few good stories which he told over and over again, invariably laughing at them more heartily than his auditors did. Singularly enough, Captain Gay and “Doc” Acker were close friends and cronies, and lived together in perfect harmony.
The black men interested me greatly from the moment I first saw them. Bryonia, or “Bry,” as he was more frequently called, was the cook, and gave perfect satisfaction in that capacity. “Nux” was man-of-all-work, serving the cabin mess, assisting the cook, and acting as “able seaman” whenever required. He proved competent in nearly all ways, and was a prime favorite with officers and men.
They were natives of some small island of the Sulu archipelago, and their history was a strange one. In answer to my question as to why the blacks were so queerly named, Uncle Naboth related the following:
“It were six years ago, or thereabout, as we were homeward bound from our third Australy trip, that we sighted a native canoe in the neighborhood of the Caroline Islands. It was early in the mornin’, and at first the lookout thought the canoe was empty; but it happened to lay in our course, and as we overtook it we saw two niggers lyin’ bound in the bottom of the boat. So we lay to, an’ picked ’em up, an’ when they was histed aboard they were considerable more dead ner alive. Bill Acker was our mate then, as he is now, an’ in his early days he studied to be a hoss doctor. So he always carries a box of medicines with him, to fix up the men in case they gets the jaundice or the colic. Mostly they’s pills, an’ sugar coated, for Doc hates to tackle drugs as is very dangerous. An’ on account of a good deal of sickness among the crew that trip, an’ consequently a good deal of experimentin’ by Doc on the medicine chest, the pills an’ such like was nearly used up, though no one seemed much the worse for it.
“Well, after we’d cut the niggers’ bonds, an’ rubbed ’em good to restore the circulation, we come near decidin’ they was dead an’ heavin’ of ’em overboard agin. But Doc wouldn’t give up. He brought out the medicine box, an’ found that all the stuff he had left was two bottles of pills, one of ’em Nux Vomica, an’ the other Bryonia. I was workin’ over one of the niggers, an’ Doc he hands me one o’ the bottles an says: ‘Nux.’ So I emptied the bottle into the dead man’s mouth, an’ by Jinks, Sam, he come around all right, and is alive an’ kickin’ today. Cap’n Gay dosed the other one with the Bryonia, an’ it fetched him in no time. I won’t swear it were the pills, you know; but the fact is the niggers lived.
“Afterwards we found the critters couldn’t speak a word of English, ner tell us even what their names were. So we called one Nux, and the other Bryonia, accordin’ to the medicine that had saved their lives, an’ they’ve answered to those names ever since.”
The blacks were gentle and good natured, and being grateful for their rescue they had refused to leave the ship at the end of the voyage, and were now permanent fixtures of the “Flipper.”
“They are not slaves, are they?” I asked, when I had listened to this story.
“Mercy, no!” exclaimed Uncle Naboth. “They’re as free as any of us, an’ draw their wages reg’lar. Also they’re as faithful as the day is long, an’ never get drunk or mutinous. So it were a lucky day when we picked ’em up.”
Bryonia stood fully six feet in height, and was muscular and wonderfully strong. He had a fine face, too, and large and intelligent eyes. Nux was much shorter, and inclined to be fat. But he was not a bit lazy, for all that, and accomplished an immense amount of work in so cheerful a manner that never a complaint was laid at his door. Not a sailor could climb aloft with more agility or a surer foot, and both Nux and Bryonia were absolutely fearless in the face of danger.
Although these men were black they were not negroes, but belonged to a branch of the Malay race. Their hair was straight, their noses well formed and their eyes very expressive and intelligent. The English they had picked up from the crew, however, was spoken with an accent not unlike that peculiar to the African negroes, but with a softer and more sibilant tone.
Before I had been on the ship a week both Nux and Bry were my faithful friends and devoted followers, and in the days that were to come their friendship and faithfulness stood me in good stead.
A very interesting person to me was big Bill Acker, the mate, called by courtesy “Doc.” He seemed far above his mates in the matter of intelligence, and was evidently a well bred man in his youth. A shelf above his bunk bore a well-thumbed row of volumes on the world’s great religions, together with a Talmud, a Koran, a Bible, the works of Confucius and Max Müller’s translation of the Vedas. One seemed to have been as thoroughly read as the others, yet never have I heard Doc Acker say one word, good or bad, about religion. Whatever the result of his studies might be, he kept his opinions strictly to himself.
A stiff breeze sprang up during the first night, and the second day at sea found me miserably ill, and regretting that I had ever trusted myself to the mercies of cruel old ocean. Indeed, I lay in a most pitiable plight until the big Englishman came to me with doses of medicines from his chest. He might have been merely “a hoss doctor,” as Uncle Naboth had said; but certain it is that his remedies helped me, and within twenty-four hours I was again able to walk the deck in comfort.
Perhaps I had inherited some of my father’s fondness for salt water, for my new life soon became vastly interesting to me, and it was not long before I felt entirely at home on the dingy old “Flipper.”
One morning, after standing by the bulwarks for a time watching the water slip by, I climbed upon the rail and sat with my heels dangling over the side. Suddenly I felt a strong hand grasp my shoulder and draw me to the deck, and I turned around indignantly to find black Nux beside me.
“Bad place to sit, Mars Sam,” he said, coolly; “might tum’le ov’bode.”
Before I could reply, Uncle Naboth, who had witnessed the incident, strolled up to us and said:
“Nux is right, my lad. You never find a sailor sitting on the rail; they know too well how onreliable the motion of a ship is. If anybody drops overboard the chances o’ bein’ picked up alive is mighty slim, I tell you. Only fools put ’emselves into unnecessary danger, Sam. Take it on them orful railroad cars, for instance. Old travellers always wait ’till the train stops afore they gets on or off the cars. Them as don’t know the danger is the ones that gets hurt. Same way handlin’ a gun. An old hunter once told me he never p’inted a gun at anything he didn’t want to kill; but there’s a lot o’ folks killed ev’ry year that don’t know the blamed thing is loaded. It ain’t cowardly to be keerful, lad; but only fools an’ ignorant people is reckless enough to get careless.”
I am glad to say I took this lecture with good humor, admitting frankly that Uncle Naboth was right. At least once in the future a recollection of this caution saved me from hopeless disaster.
On the sixth day the breeze died away and the ship lay still. There was not a breath of air, and the heat was so intense that the interior of the ship was like a furnace. At night we slept upon the deck, and by day we lay gasping beneath the shade of the tarpaulins. Bryonia let the galley fire die out and served us cold lunches, but our appetites were small.
There being no occasion to work, the crew gathered in little bunches and told a series of never-ending yarns that were very interesting to me, because most of them were of hair-breadth adventures and escapes that were positively wonderful—if one tried to believe them. One of the best of these story-tellers was Ned Britton, who had been appointed our boatswain and was already popular with his mates. As his yarns were all of the Atlantic, and most of the “Flipper’s” crew had sailed only on the Pacific, Britton opened to them a new field of adventures, which met with universal approval.
Nux and Bry, who bore the heat better than their white brethren, added to the general amusement by giving exhibitions of the Moro war dances, ending with desperate encounters, with sticks to represent spears, that were sure to arouse the entire crew to enthusiasm. They sometimes sang their native war songs, also—a series of monotonous, guttural chants. And then Dan Donnegan, a little, red-whiskered Irishman, would wind up with “Bryan O’Lynne” or some other comic ditty that set the forecastle roaring with laughter.
During this period of enforced idleness the dismal Captain Gay walked the deck with solemn patience and watched for signs of a breeze. Bill Acker, the mate, read his religious library all through—probably for the hundredth time. Uncle Nabe taught me cribbage, and we played for hours at a time, although I usually came out second best at the game. Also I learned the ropes of the ship and received many lessons in navigation from my friends the sailors, not one of whom knew anything about that abstruse problem.
“Thay ain’t a man o’ the lot as could take the ship back to ’Frisco, in case of emergency,” said my uncle; and I believe he was right. Common sailors are singularly ignorant of navigation, although they have a way of deceiving themselves into thinking they know all about it.
After being becalmed six days, the intense heat was at last relieved by a thin breeze, which sprung up during the night. The sails were at once trimmed, and within an hour the “Flipper” was skipping the little waves to the satisfaction of all on board.
But the wind steadily increased, and by morning all hands were called to shorten sail. By noon we encountered a stiff gale, which blew from the east, and soon lashed the waves into a mad frenzy.
As the storm gradually increased Captain Gay began to look anxious. There was a brief lull toward evening, during which a great hail-storm descended upon us, the icy bullets pelting the sailors unmercifully and driving all to shelter. Then the wind redoubled its fury, and the Captain put the ship before it, allowing the gale to bear us considerably out of our course.
Uncle Naboth growled considerably at this necessity, but he did not interfere in the least with Captain Gay’s management of the ship. Safety was more important to us than time, and Gay was not a man to take unnecessary chances.
The three wild days that followed have always seemed to me since like a horrible dream. I had no idea a ship could be so tossed and pounded and battered about, and still live. It was a mere chip on the great, angry ocean, and the water washed our decks almost continually. After one of these deluges, when every man strove to save himself by clinging to the life lines, two of our best sailors were missed, and we never saw them again. Uncle Nabe began to whistle, and every time he saw me he gave one of his humorous winks or fell to chuckling in his silent way; but my white face could not have been much encouragement to gaiety, and I believe he was not over merry himself, but merely trying to cheer me up.
But, although the danger was so imminent, not a man flinched or gave way to fear, and Nux and Bryonia performed their duties as calmly as if the sea were smooth. The vessel was staunch enough, so far; but it pitched and tossed so violently that even burly Doc Acker was obliged to crawl into the cabin on his hands and knees to get his meals.
We fled before the wind until the third night, when the rudder chain broke and the helmsman was thrown, crushed and bleeding, against the lee bulwarks. The “Flipper,” released from all control, swung quickly around, and the big mainmast snapped like a pipe-stem and came tumbling with its cordage to the decks, where our brave sailors rushed upon it and cut it clear. I thought the ship would never right again, after the careening given it by the fallen mast; but, somehow, it did, and morning found us still afloat, although badly crippled and at the mercy of the waves.
As if satisfied with the havoc it had wrought, the gale now abated; but the waves ran high for another forty-eight hours, and our crew could do nothing but cling to the remaining rigging and await calmer weather.
Fortunately our ballast and cargo held in place through all, and the hull showed no sign of a leak. When the sea grew calmer we floated upright upon the water and it was found our straits were not nearly so desperate as we had feared.
Yet our condition was serious enough to make me wonder what was to become of us. The rudder had been entirely washed away; the mainmast was gone; the mizzenmast had broken at the head and the foresail royals were in splinters. All the deck was cumbered with rigging; the starboard bulwarks had been stove in by the fallen mast, and our crew was lessened by three able seamen.
But Captain Gay, no less dismal than before, you may be sure, promptly began to issue orders, and the men fell to with a will to repair the damage as best they might. First they rigged up a temporary rudder and swung it astern. It was a poor makeshift, however, and only with good weather could we hope it would steer us to the nearest port.