The Wind-Jammers

The rising sun shone upon the white topsails hanging in the buntlines and glittered upon the brass binnacle and companion-rail. In the bright light the hair of the young woman at the galley door looked like burnished copper or a deep red gold. The curve of her rosy cheek was perfect, and every now and then the skipper caught a glimpse of red lips and a gleam of white teeth.

“Wal, I swow!” he exclaimed again.

“Anchor’s short, sir!” came the hoarse cry of Mr. Enlis from the head of the top-gallant-forecastle.

“Sink me if that ain’t the all-aroundest, fore an’ aft, alow an’ aloft, three skysail-yard, close-sailin’ little clipper I——”

“Anchor’s short, sir!” came Garnett’s bawl from the capstan.

“——I ever see,” continued the skipper, completely deaf and lost to everything else.

“Stand by to take the line!” roared Mr. Enlis to the tow-boat.

He was a cool, collected, and extremely profane mate, and he saw in an instant that if the tug did not get the ship’s head she would swing around with the sea-breeze and be standing up the harbor with the tide.

As it was, she kept paying off so long that the natural sailorly instinct, alive in every true deep-water navigator as to a sudden change of bearings, asserted itself in the skipper and brought him out of his dream with a start. His vision faded, and in its place he saw his vessel swinging towards Staten Island, her topsails filling partly as they hung.

“What’s the matter for’ard?” he roared. “Wake up, you——,” and he let drive a volley of oaths which for descriptive power stood far and away above any of that extensive collection of words found in the English dictionary. Had Mr. Garnett been of a literary turn of mind he might have noted them down for future reference, but he apparently did not appreciate their depth and power, for he caught them up carelessly as they came and flung them into the faces of the crew with no concern whatever.

No one was affected much by this outburst, but after the skipper had taken pains to explain that his mates and crew were all sons of female dogs, and that they had inherited a hundred other bad things besides low descent from their ancestors, he subsided a little and another voice was heard from the main-deck.

“That’s right, old man; don’t mind me. Cuss them out, I shan’t pay any attention. I’ll get used to your tune, even if I don’t to your words,” cried the pretty girl from the galley door, smiling up at him.

Jimmy Breeze looked down upon the main-deck from the break of the poop. Then he scratched his head, first on one side and then on the other. Never before in the twenty years he had followed deep water had he ever heard of a stewardess addressing a captain like this. Had she been old and ugly a belaying-pin would have found itself flying through the air in the direction of her head. But this beautiful, gentle young girl!

It was too much for the skipper, so he turned slowly upon his heel and walked aft with the air of a much disturbed man, muttering incoherently to himself.

At three bells in the morning the female passengers had their breakfast served in the saloon. The skipper happened to be in his room adjoining and could hear the praise bestowed upon his stewardess by Mrs. O’Hara, the Misses O’Hara, and Mrs. McCloud.

“A perfect jewel,” affirmed the latter, while “Carrie” was forward getting her tea. “I really don’t think we could make a voyage without her.”

“And so beautiful and good,” said the Misses O’Hara.

“Faith, tu be sure, she’s a rale saint av a gurl,” added Mrs. O’Hara, just as she appeared with the tea things. “An’, Carrie, me gurl, d’ye like th’ sea that ye follow it alone, so to spake?” she continued, addressing the stewardess.

“Yes, indeed, ma’am. But it’s not alone I am entirely, for surely the captain is the finest I ever saw, and they told me he was a father to his crew. He’s a man after my own heart.”

“Humph!” growled Jimmy Breeze in the solitude of his state-room. He thought his stewardess was not only very pretty, but an extremely discerning young woman. It was, however, this very perfection in appearance and deportment that caused trouble this morning, for when “Bill,” the cabin boy, passed the stewardess in the alley-way he was quite overcome by the vision of loveliness. He had some of the dinner things for the officers’ mess, and when he turned suddenly at the door, a heavy lurch of the vessel sent him against the coamings. This had the effect of throwing the things scattering to leeward about the feet of Mr. Enlis.

“You holy son of Belial!” roared the mate. And he continued to curse him loudly until Mr. Garnett came up.

“Whang him!” grunted the second officer, shortly. “Whang the lights out of him, the burgoo-eating, lazy,” etc.

Mr. Enlis had seized the unfortunate “Bill” by the slack of his coat and had yanked him to the mast to “whang” him, when the form of the stewardess appeared at the door of the forward cabin.

The mate laid on one good whang, when he was interrupted by the remark, “Soak it to him; don’t mind me, I’ll get used to hearing him pipe.” And the pretty girl smiled pleasantly.

“Ye had better go below, missie, for there’s a-going to be a little hee-hawing for’ards. Come back again soon,” said Garnett, with a leer.

“Not exactly, while the fun lasts,” answered Miss Carrie.

But, somehow, the mate could not curse loud enough to keep his temper up before the young girl, and he ended matters by giving Bill a kick that sent him to leeward, where he landed in the mess-kit. Then the mate touched his forelock to Miss Carrie and went forward muttering something about there being no discipline aboard a boat with wimmen folks around. Garnett balanced himself upon his short bow-legs to the heave of the ship, which was now well off shore, and took his cap in his hand while he mopped a deep, greasy dent in the top of his bald head. Then he took out a vial of peppermint salts and sniffed loudly at it, looking out of the clew of his eye at the stewardess. “Holy smoke an’ blazes, but she’s a craft to sail with! To think of a tender-hearted young gurl like that wanting to see a man whanged.” And he went forward like a man in a dream.

Each time during the following days when the oaths flew thick and fast from poop or forecastle, Miss Carrie appeared upon the scene and cheered on the contestants. It was simply uncanny to see the fresh young girl telling the skipper or mates to “go ahead and cuss them out,” or “don’t mind me, boys, I’ll get used to it.” They could not go on while the young girl stood by. Once Enlis continued to use foul language before her, but two or three groans and hisses made his face flush for the very shame of it. He threatened to kill every man who uttered a sound, and seized a belaying-pin to carry out his design, but a laugh from the galley door drove him into a frenzy, and he sent the pin flying at the girl’s head. He was instantly reported to the skipper for his brutal conduct and had the satisfaction of being knocked down by that truculent commander, barely escaping forward with his life.

“He’s a real captain,” said Miss Carrie to the O’Haras, whenever she thought the skipper was in his state-room and could hear. She was a very pretty girl, and what she said was seldom lost entirely.

Day after day life grew quieter on board the Northern Light. There was no help for it. And while life grew quieter, so likewise did Jimmy Breeze, the skipper. He was just “losing his tone,” as Mr. McCloud expressed it. He sometimes burst forth at odd moments, but the presence of his stewardess usually ended the flare into deep mutterings.

One morning he came on the poop and joined his passengers.

“There’s no use denyin’ it,” he said, “cussin’s wrong, and that young gurl shan’t be exposed to it no more. She’s a-tryin’ not to mind the rough words; but, sink me, any one can tell how they effects her, young and innercent as she is. Things is goin’ much better this v’yage, and blast me if I allows any d—d swab to shoot off his bazoo in my hearing. No, sir; if there’s any cussin’ to be done, I’ll do it. Yes, sir, I’ll do it; and I’ll whang the lights out of any d—d junk-eating son of a sea-cook aboard here I catches,—an’ I don’t make no exceptions for passengers.”

Here he glared at Mr. O’Hara, but that gentleman appeared absorbed in the weather-leach of the main-top-sail.

“An’ I don’t make no exceptions for passengers,” repeated the skipper, still glaring at the small and inoffensive O’Hara, who stared vacantly aloft. Then the skipper went aft to the wheel and noted the ship’s course.

Within another week after this speech of Captain Breeze’s a change had come over the ship’s company almost equal to that which had physically come over Mr. Garnett, whose long, flowing jet-black mustaches had now given place to a natural growth of stubbly, grizzly beard and whiskers. But of course the change of ships’ morals did not cause as much comment after the skipper had repeated his remarks in regard to swearing to the mates. Mr. Garnett’s private affairs were always of a nature that caused inquisitive and evil-disposed persons much interest, whereas the ship’s company interested no one, unless it was the stewardess.

As there was war on the West Coast of South America between Chile and Peru, the Northern Light carried her specie in the captain’s safe, as drafts and exchanges were difficult to negotiate. Captain Breeze was a careful and determined skipper and he had the confidence of the owners. He was a bachelor, but he debauched in moderation,—that is, in moderation for a deep-water sailor. Therefore it was something over ten thousand dollars in negotiable form that he carried in the small steel safe lashed to the deck beside his capacious bunk.

On the days he opened his “slop-chest” to sell nigger-head tobacco which cost him seven cents a pound for ninety, and shoes which cost him thirty cents a pair for two dollars and a half, he took pride in opening the steel doors and displaying his wealth to the stupid gaze of the men. The men were not forced to pay the prices he asked for his stores, but it was a case of monopoly. They could go without tobacco or shoes for all he cared. When they had done so for a short time they usually accepted matters as they were and signed on for both at any price he had the hardihood to demand. Oil-skins and sou’westers usually took a whole month’s pay, but that was no affair of his. If the men wished to go wet they could do so. He had no fear that they would attempt to crack his safe or steal his stores, for behind the safe and within easy reach of his strong hand stood his Winchester rifle loaded full of cartridges.

Mr. McCloud and Mr. O’Hara often had the pleasure of viewing the ship’s wealth, for there were occasions when the skipper’s temper was sufficiently mellow to allow them in his room that they might marvel at his power. He seldom failed to impress them. When the Northern Light had crossed the line he had impressed them into such a state of high respect for himself, and had subdued their own spirits so far, that he actually began to make their acquaintance. He would now hold conversation with them, but always in a tone of immeasurable and hopeless superiority. During this period the moral tone of the crew had likewise risen accordingly.

Garnett marvelled greatly during his watch below, and at night when on deck he could be seen walking to and fro in the light of the tropic moon, mopping the dent in his bald head and sniffing hard at his little vial. The change was dreadful to the old sailor’s nerves.

Mr. Enlis went about his duties silently, muttering strange sounds when things went wrong. The skipper’s promise to “whang the lights out” of any one caught swearing had had its effect.

One warm morning, after breakfast, the skipper invited McCloud and O’Hara below to try some beer. This feeling of good fellowship, starting as it did under impressive surroundings, developed into one of real confidence within a very short time. Mr. O’Hara had pronounced the hot, flat beer the best he had ever tasted, and McCloud had affirmed without an oath that he told nothing but the truth.

“Th’ only wan av all th’ saints that cud come within a mile av it,” said O’Hara, “is that paragin av goodness and all the virtues, me own old woman, Molly. She kin make beer.”

“Ah, the blessings of a good lassie!” said McCloud, holding his mug at arm’s length. “Captain, ye have me pity, fra I weel ken ye need it, being as ye are a puir lonely sailor-man. I drink to ye, sir, with much feeling——”

“An’ hope as ye will not be always be sich,” interrupted O’Hara.

Jimmy Breeze sat silent and sullen upon his safe, glaring at his passengers over the rim of his mug each time he raised it to his lips. At the end of the sixth measure he dashed the mug upon the deck and swore loudly for nearly a minute, and his guests were wondering what had happened.

“I’ll not be any d—d sich any longer!” he roared. “I’ve stood it long enough, s’help me.”

O’Hara put down his mug and edged towards the cabin door, and McCloud was in the act of following his example when Breeze sprang forward and locked it, putting the key in his pocket.

“Sit down, you swabs, and give me your advice. You can’t leave here till you do; so take your time and lay me a straight course.”

“What’s—what’s the matter?” gasped O’Hara.

The skipper seated himself on top of his safe.

“It’s like this,” he said. “Here I’m bound for the West Coast in cargo and passengers, likely to be at sea four months or more, and here I am bound to get married even if I have to run the bleeding hooker clear back to Rio to have it done.”

“Whew!” said McCloud.

“Whew!” said O’Hara.

“What I wants is advice. Shall I lay a course back to the Brazils and cross the hawse of some shaved-headed priest, or put into the river Plate and have her own kind of sky-pilot do the job? She lays she won’t have no shave-head splice her, and it’s a good three weeks’ run to the river, to say nothing of the danger of the Pompero this time o’ year. Ain’t there any way to make her ’bout ship an’ head her on the right tack, or have I got to be slanting about this d—d ocean until I get to be an old man?”

“What wud ye loike us to do?” asked O’Hara.

“Do!” roared Breeze. “If I knew, do you suppose I’d ask you? I’d make you do it so infernal quick you——”

“Or whang yer lights out, ye insolent man,” said McCloud, turning upon him.

“Well, well, I’m no priest,” said the repentant O’Hara.

“No more ye ken, Mickey, me boy; na is it the likes o’ you as will be o’ service in this case. Now, ye know, Mickey, I knows law, and I always have told ye the skipper of a vessel is a law to himself. Ain’t that be the truth, sir?” he asked, turning to the captain.

Captain Breeze nodded.

“That being the case, I know a skipper can marry people, perform religious worship, and do all manner o’ things aboard ships off soundings, as the saying is.”

The skipper nodded encouragingly from the safe.

“That being the case,” says I, “there’s no reason or being or state as can keep him fra marrying this minute if—if he wants to.”

“I know that all right,” said Breeze; “but who’s to marry me?”

“I don’t happen to be able to guess the leddie’s name,” said McCloud.

“D—n the lady! Who’s to marry me? That’s what I want to know,” roared the skipper.

“Why, the leddie will marry you, and you will marry the leddie to yourself, I presume. We are both married, O’Hara and me.”

The skipper sat glaring at his passengers, while he repeatedly damned the lady, the priests, the passengers, and all else connected with the affair.

“You infernal cross-checkered sea-lawyer, how can I marry myself? How can I marry myself and the girl too? Answer me that, sir,” and he glared at McCloud.

“Sure, ’tis aisy enough, a little bit av a thing loike that, sur,” said O’Hara. “Mac is right, an’ he has the lure strong an’ fast in his books foreninst th’ state-room.”

“I’ll get the law and read it to ye so ye may ken it, ye hard-headed sailor-man,” said McCloud, somewhat ruffled, and he started for the door. The skipper unlocked it and let him out, holding O’Hara as hostage against his return.

In a few minutes McCloud came back with several leather-covered books, and, seating himself, opened one of them and began his search for authority.

“Here it is,” he said, at length, while the skipper sat and looked curiously at him. “Here’s law for ye, an’ good law at that. Just as binding as any law ever writ.”

O’Hara nodded at the skipper and smiled an “I told you so.”

Jimmy Breeze came over to his passenger and looked over his shoulder sheepishly. McCloud read, “And therefore be it enacted, that all such masters of vessels when upon the high seas on voyages lasting one month or more shall have authority to perform such services upon such members of the ship’s company as they may see fit; provided that notice of the consent of the contracting parties has been previously given, etc.”

“Wal, I swow!” said Breeze, after a short pause.

“Get married first,” suggested O’Hara, draining one of the mugs.

“Sink me if I don’t pull off the affair before eight bells, and if I find your infernal book is wrong, blast me if I don’t ram the insides of its law down your throat and whang your hide off with the leather cover,” said the skipper, hopefully.

“’Tis good, rale good lure,” muttered O’Hara, looking for more beer. “Who’s th’ leddy?”

Although no one had mentioned the name of the fair stewardess for fear of precipitating an outburst on the part of the skipper, no doubt was felt by the passengers that she was the object of the skipper’s affections. His contempt for the O’Haras in general precluded the possibility of a match with either of the young ladies of that prosperous family. Besides, they both had pug-noses and were exceedingly well freckled. The beauty of Miss Carrie had long been observed to have had its effect upon Captain Breeze; so his answer to O’Hara’s apparently hopeful question caused the latter little real disappointment, although he may have had secret ambitions.

“Seems to me ye might give the lassie some notion of your hurry, especially if it’s going to happen so soon. The puir child na kens your purpose, no doubt,” said McCloud.

“Faith, I think ye right, Mac. I gave th’ owld gal nigh six months tu git ready in——”

“Six thunder!” growled Breeze. “I mean to get married afore eight bells, at high noon, according to good English law, and if you fellows want to help you can get your wives and darters to bear a hand.” They went into the saloon, where they found Carrie fixing the table for dinner.

The skipper hitched up his trousers impressively while his passengers stood at either hand.

“Carrie,” said he, solemnly, “we’ll stand by to tack ship at seven bells,—an’—an’—and after that we’ll make the rest of the voyage in company. Hey? How does that strike you, my girl?”

“Mercy! What a man you are, Captain Breeze!” said Carrie, blushing crimson. “Sure it’s sort of sudden like.”

“You’ll have half an hour to get ready in,” said the skipper.

“Plenty of time,” chimed in McCloud.

“An’ an aisy toime iver afterwards as th’ capt’in’s leddy,” said O’Hara, with dignity.

“But who’s to marry us?” asked the maiden, shyly, glancing at the skipper.

“I’m to marry you,” said Jimmy Breeze. “It’s law and it’s all right. I’m master of this here hooker, and what I says goes aboard, or ashore either, for that matter. It’s put down in that yaller book, an’ it’s law.”

“Land sakes! I never could, Captain Breeze,—really, now, not before these people,—I never could in the world.” And Carrie blushed furiously.

“You passed your word last night, so I holds you in honor bound,” said Breeze, with great fervor. “You have half an hour, so I leaves you.” And he drew himself up and strode to the companion, and so up on the main-deck out of sight.

McCloud and O’Hara, seeing danger ahead, strove with all the power of their persuasive tongues to get the fair girl to listen to reason, or rather law. She was stubborn on the point, however, and the female portion of the O’Hara faction, together with Mrs. McCloud, was brought to bear. These ladies, after expressing their modest astonishment at the skipper’s unseemly haste, immediately, however, vied with each other to argue in his behalf. They were so persuasive in their appeals, and so adroit in painting the picture of Miss Carrie’s future happiness, that in less than a quarter of an hour that refractory young lady gave way in a flood of tears. After this she hastily prepared herself for the ordeal by reading over the marriage service with Miss O’Hara, and things looked propitious for the skipper.

At seven bells that truculent commander promptly put in an appearance, dressed in a tight-fitting coat and cap with gold braid. He was followed below by Mr. Enlis, who looked uncertain and sour. After a short preliminary speech the skipper called the blushing bride to his side as he stood at the head of the cabin table. The book lay open before him, and without further ado he plunged boldly into the marriage service, answering for himself in the most matter-of-fact manner possible. He placed a small gold ring upon the middle finger of his bride’s right hand, which she dexterously removed and transferred to her left, and after the ceremony was over he glared around at the assembled company as if inviting criticism.

No one had the hardihood to venture upon any. Then the paper which was to do duty as certificate was drawn up by the clerky McCloud and was duly signed by all present. It was afterwards transferred to the skipper’s safe. Whiskey and water was produced for the men and ale for the ladies, and before long even the sour mate was heard holding forth in full career by the envious Mr. Garnett, who was forced to stand watch while his superiors enjoyed themselves. It was a memorable affair for some and immemorable for others, for the next day O’Hara could remember nothing, and Mr. Enlis remembered that he had gotten exceedingly drunk. Much he related to Garnett during the dog-watch, and that worthy rubbed the top of his bald head and sniffed furiously at his vial, swearing softly that the “old man” had made a fool of himself, and that he was accordingly glad of it.

The cruise continued as a cruise should when a bride is aboard ship, and at the end of a fortnight the Northern Light was in the latitude of the river Plate. There had been never an oath uttered since the skipper’s marriage, and the mates had begun to chafe under the restraint. The bride was on deck nearly all the time, and was certain to make remarks and cheer on any attempt at a fracas.

One afternoon the carpenter sounded the well and was astonished to find a foot of water in the hold. The weather had been fine and the vessel steady, so he was at a loss to account for this phenomenon. He sounded again an hour later and found the water had gained six inches. Then he lost no time in reporting the condition of the ship to the captain.

With water gaining six inches an hour, the crew manned the pumps with set faces, appalled at the sudden danger in mid-ocean. Suddenly, however, the pumps “sucked.” An investigation showed the ship was rapidly becoming dry.

The water-tanks were examined and found to be empty, but no leaks in them could be discovered.

To be at sea without water to drink is most dreaded by deep-water sailors, so Jimmy Breeze started his condenser and headed his ship for Buenos Ayres, cursing the fates for the foul luck that would ruin his anticipated quick passage.

His wife consoled him as best she could and lamented her husband’s luck to the passengers. Whereat she received the sympathy of the O’Haras and Mrs. McCloud, and was looked upon as a very unfortunate woman.

“Ah, pore thing! to think av it happening on her honeymoon at that,” cried Mrs. O’Hara.

“The sweet child, trying all she can to help her husband to forget his lost chances for extra freight money. To think of it, and just married at that,” said Mrs. McCloud.

“Pore young sowl,” said Kate O’Hara.

“’Tis a good wife that sticks to her husband in disthress,” said O’Hara.

“Ye ken it’s a jewel he has to be na thinking of money losses,” said McCloud.

Finally the ship made port and anchored off the city to take in water and continue her voyage at the earliest opportunity.

Mrs. O’Hara and Mrs. McCloud insisted on being allowed ashore to see the sights. Captain Breeze would hear of no such thing, but finally, when his bride added her voice to the occasion, he relented, and the ladies went ashore together.

Mrs. Breeze pointed out many places of interest, as she admitted having been there before, and at one of the principal hotels she left the party. She told them not to wait for her, as she would stop and see a friend, but to go down to the landing, where the boat might wait for her after she was through her call.

The day passed gayly, but when the party assembled at the landing, Mrs. Breeze was not there. They never saw her again.

The next day Captain Breeze called Mr. Enlis aft and took him below. When he had him in the privacy of his state-room he pointed to his little safe, and asked him to look through it.

This operation took but a moment, for it was almost entirely empty, and when he was through he looked at the skipper.

“What would you do?” asked Jimmy Breeze, huskily.

“Me?” asked the mate, apparently amazed at the question.

“Yes, you.”

“About what?” asked Enlis, trying to look utterly lost.

“About that gal and the money, blast you!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Enlis, as if a sudden light had flooded the dark recesses of his brain. He remained silent.

“Well, what?” asked the skipper, in real anger.

“I dunno,” said Mr. Enlis, after a long pause. “’Pears to me I wouldn’t let on nothing about it. Mum’s the word, says I.”

“But the money, you swab?” growled the skipper.

“To be sure,” said Enlis. “The money.”

“Well?”

“Well, you might ask the police about the money on the quiet like,” ventured the mate.

“Suppose you and Garnett go ashore and see about it without making any fuss. Garnett is a good one for such matters. It would hardly do for me, seeing as how I stand in the matter of husband.”

“Egg-zactly; we’ll do it right away;” and the mate hastened forward to take advantage of the opportunity.

Garnett and Enlis went ashore with what money they could get, and they entered a description of the missing stewardess with the police. “An old hag with side whiskers, having a wart under her left eye and all her teeth gone,” said Garnett, as he finished. “An’ I hopes you’ll soon find her,” he added, with a leer at the official. “Ye’ll know her by the way she swears.”

Several hours afterwards two exceedingly happy and drunken sailor-men staggered down the street towards the landing. A beggar accosted them, but after a search for coin, they protested they were cleaned out.

“Don’t make no difference. Give me clothes,” whined the mendicant.

“I’d give ye anything, me boy, for a weight is off my mind. Was ye ever married?” cried Garnett.

“Give the pore fellow clothes, Garnett, you swine!” roared Enlis.

Garnett staggered against a house and undid his belt. Then with much trouble he drew off his trousers and stood with his white legs glistening in the moonlight.

“Here, pore fellow. You are a long-shore swab, but I knows by your look ye are married. Take them, blast ye!” And he flung his trousers from him. “This bean-swillin’ mate is too mean to give ye anything.”

“Not I!” bawled Enlis, casting off his belt. “Here, you swivel-eyed land-crab;” and he drew off his trousers likewise and handed them to the beggar.

“Thanky,” hissed the creature, and ran away.

The men in the boat looked up the street towards where they heard singing, and they beheld two very drunken men in flowing jumpers staggering trouserless along, while their voices roared upon the quiet night,—

CAPTAIN CRAVEN’S COURAGE

It is often the case that the man of hard life dies before his life-flame burns low, and then he is sometimes classed as a hero. For instance, the captain of the Penguin, who ran his ship ashore on the North Head of San Francisco Bay, was the most notorious desperado in the whole Cape Horn fleet. Many men who sailed with him never saw the land again. Their names appeared upon his log as “missing,” “lost overboard in heavy weather,” etc. Investigation of such matters resulted in nothing but expense to the courts and the development of the ruffian’s sinister character and reputation. Yet when he ran the Penguin ashore with the terrible southeast sea rolling behind her, he maintained his rigid discipline to the last and saved his passengers and part of his crew. He died as a brave man should, never flinching from his post until his life was crushed out.

There were some who said he dared not come ashore, as he had overrun his distance through carelessness, and that without the backing of his ship’s owners he would have been stranded in a bad way upon the beach. But the majority were willing to forget his record in his gallant end, and he will be known in the future by the men who follow deep-water as a hero.

Craven, the pirate, was a much bolder and desperate man, yet his end was different. He hailed from the same port as the skipper of the Penguin, and sailed with the Cape Horn fleet in its early days.

He retired from the sea at the age of thirty-five and settled on the southern coast of California, taking to farming with that peculiar zeal shown by all deep-water sailors. He fell desperately in love, married, and the following year shot and killed a man who was less pious than polite in his behavior towards Craven’s wife.

After this affair he fled. Nothing was heard of him again for several years, but as he was an expert navigator it was supposed he took to the sea for safety.

One day an American trader was standing in the Hoogla River, China, when a junk appeared heading for her under all sail. Behind the junk, about a mile to windward, came a trading schooner. The Chinese on the junk made desperate efforts to overtake the American ship. When they came within hailing distance they begged to be allowed alongside.

The skipper of the Yankee warned them off with his guns, and ten minutes later the schooner had laid the junk aboard. There was some sharp firing for a few minutes, and then the Americans saw the men from the schooner swarm over the junk’s deck. After that Chinamen were dropped overboard in twos and threes, and before they had drawn out of sight ahead the schooner was standing away again, leaving the junk a burning wreck. When the ship made harbor they learned that Craven had appeared on the coast. He had been there the preceding year and had been recognized. Altogether it was said he had taken over five hundred junks and put their crews overboard. The captain of the American ship reported the incident he had just witnessed to the English gunboat Sovereign, but no action was taken in the matter. There was no treaty between the United States and China, and, as Craven was an American, it was a case for the Chinese to settle.

Craven had been on the coast several times. He had a rendezvous to the eastward somewhere among the numerous coral reefs, and from this den he would sally forth in his schooner, armed with six twelve-pounders, and swoop down upon some unsuspecting Chinese town. His boldness was remarkable.

Once he held a whole village in check single-handed while his men carried a boat-load of young maidens aboard the schooner, and then returned for the rest of their booty left upon the sand. It was said that had the emperor himself been within a day’s journey of the coast, Craven would have had him aboard his vessel to gratify his sinister humor.

His cruelty was phenomenal. A favorite amusement of his being to tie two Chinamen together by their pigtails and sling them across a spring-stay. Then he would offer freedom to the one who would demolish the other the quicker. It was seldom that he failed to produce a horrible spectacle.

On one occasion when he captured a prominent mandarin he asked an enormous ransom. Not getting it within the time specified, he had the unfortunate man skinned and stuffed. Then he was carried ashore and left standing for his friends to greet.

Craven’s crew numbered less than twenty-five men, and they were all white, except two or three who acted as servants to the rest, taking a hand in the fracases only when ordered to.

It might be supposed that the pirate wasted much time and energy for little gain taking junks. He dared not touch a white trader, and the junks were the easiest to handle. There was little left for him to prey upon, so he went along the Chinese coast like a ravenous shark, leaving a smoking wake behind, strewn with the blackened timbers of burned junks and dotted with the corpses of murdered men. Everything Chinese was game for his crew, and what he lost in quality of plunder he made up in quantity.

While the American ship lay in the Hoogla an accident occurred aboard which delayed her departure. During the time spent in making some of the necessary repairs Craven appeared at the mouth of the river, and was so bold that the English gunboat was at last prevailed upon to drive him away. The Sovereign met him some twenty miles off shore in the act of scuttling a captured junk. This was too much for the Englishman, and he fired a shot to drive him off. To his surprise Craven returned the fire. That settled the matter. The heavy Blakely rifle on the gunboat’s forecastle was trained upon the schooner, and it sent a shell that cut both masts out of her and left her helpless. Craven returned the fire with vigor, landing several telling shots. A heavy shell from the rifle was then fired at half a mile range, and struck the schooner in the stern above the water-line. It ranged forward, raking her whole length, and left her a burning wreck. She began settling rapidly by the head, and the gunboat, firing a parting broadside, which destroyed the schooner’s two boats, drew slowly away. The Englishman waited within sight until the schooner disappeared beneath the sea, and then, thinking it would be more merciful to let the crew remain in the water than to bring them ashore, steamed away for the river.

A few weeks after this a Spanish brig came in. She was a trader bound south, and the mate of the American ship made arrangements to take passage on her as far as Singapore to get some necessary supplies for his vessel.

The first person he met on rowing over to the brig to secure a passage was a small, peculiarly yellow man with a Spanish cast of features, who met him at the gangway and asked him his business before allowing him to come aboard. On telling his desire to secure a passage to the southward, he was peremptorily refused; but when he explained his business was urgent and that he had many necessary supplies to secure, the man at the gangway reconsidered the matter, and bade him wait alongside until he could consult his skipper, who was below suffering from an attack of gout in his leg.

In a little while he reappeared at the brig’s side and announced gruffly that he might bring his things aboard the following morning, as that was the time set for the brig’s sailing.

The next day the mate, Mr. Camp, came aboard the brig, and soon afterwards she was standing out to sea. There were two passengers besides himself aboard, Manila traders, who had come over from the Philippines and who wished to get to the southward.

When the brig had made an offing, Camp was surprised at the appearance of a most peculiar looking colored man, who limped up the companion-way to the poop. His skin was an orange-yellow, and appeared dry and dark in spots. His right leg was swathed in bloody rags, and he limped as if in some pain. He had an eye that glinted strangely as the mate came within its range of vision, and his face wore the determined look of a fighter who is making a desperate stand against heavy odds. In a quiet voice he addressed the man who had made the arrangement with the mate, Mr. Camp.

“Collins,” said he, “get me the glass. I believe I see a couple of birds making in along the beach for the harbor.” This he said in good English, with a slight Yankee accent, and Camp turned in astonishment to look at him more closely.

The man Collins, who was the mate of the brig, handed him the glass, and after a moment Craven laid it down with an oath.

“The two fellows we missed last week. They’ll loose off at having seen us, and that gunboat will be hard in our wake before night. You might send a few men aft to get to work on our passengers. They are poor whelps.”

Camp went towards him.

“I don’t understand what you mean by that last remark,” said he. “I am an American and wish a certain amount of civility aboard here.”

The skipper smiled grimly at him and sat upon the poop-rail.

“You’ll get the best the coast affords, my boy,” said he. “You’ll be a gentleman of leisure after you quit this hooker. This is the brig Cristobal, Captain Craven; and now you can make up your mind whether you will be a member of the ship’s company or try and float a twelve-pound shot. It’s piracy, says you? Well, it’s swim, then, says we, and good luck to you,” and he chuckled hoarsely, while several men came aft and stood by the mate for further orders.

Camp saw that it was death in a hideous form to disobey. Both he and the two Manila men were led below, where they swore allegiance to Craven and joined his crew. In a crisis of this nature a man even of strong mould is apt to think twice before accepting the inevitable. Time is valuable when one has but a few moments to live, and to gain it these three innocent men were glad to accept any terms. They were sent forward with the men and joined the crew, which now numbered fourteen hands. Here they learned how Craven and four men had clung to some of the wreck of his schooner for two days. Then the brig Cristobal picked them up in an exhausted state. Two days later Craven and his fellows quietly dropped the skipper overboard and announced to the crew their intention of taking charge of the brig. All who wished to could join. There were six unarmed men against five desperadoes armed to the teeth, and in a short time matters were settled satisfactorily. Craven was in command of a vessel and crew bound for China from the Philippines, and it was his humor to keep her on her course and have a look at things in the harbor. This he did to his satisfaction, and no opportunity offering for him to revenge himself upon the gunboat there, he took on some supplies and put to sea. When he met Camp at the break of the poop after the latter had joined, he became more communicative than usual.

“This color we have will soon wear off, my boy,” said he. “Collins there thought he knew something about medicine, and he broke open the medicine chest to get this iodine to paint us with. He’s a clown. The infernal stuff burned half the skin off, and that accounts for his looks. Where’s the skipper of this hooker, says you? Well, that depends somewhat on his morals. I don’t call to mind any island trader as will go to the heaven some old women pray for. A trader’s life is always a hard one, so I don’t think we did any harm in helping the fellow to something different, although he did struggle mighty hard to stay. Some religious people would call it bad to put yellow-skinned heathen overboard, but we don’t look at it that way. Most of these junk-men are no better than animals, and we do them a clean favor by ending their sufferings. Yes, sir, that’s the way to look at the matter, my son. There isn’t a man alive who can look back and see anything in his life worth living for and suffering for. It’s all in his mind’s eye that something will be better in the future. We know that’s all blamed nonsense, for that something better never comes, so in helping him to what’s coming to all of us we just do him a favor. Now, you are a likely chap, Camp, and I hope you’ll see the reason of things. Go below and tell one of the girls we got yesterday to give you your grog. Collins has the key. Then you want to bear a hand and get our little battery in working order. We’ll raise half a dozen junks before night and we’ve got a little business with the first one.”

In a short time all hands were hard at work getting the brig’s twelve-pounders in working order. In the late afternoon a lateen-sail showed above the horizon, and everything was ready for action. By night the junk ahead was still out of range, and the watch was set, and half the men went below to get some rest.

At two in the morning Camp was turned out, and the smudge on the lee bow showed that the brig would soon have the wind of the unsuspecting Chinaman. In half an hour Craven had him under his lee, and he paid off gradually until he brought him fair on his lee broadside, not two hundred feet distant. Then he swung up his ports and let go his battery, serving it with remarkable accuracy and rapidity.

The astonished Chinaman let go everything in the way of running gear, and the junk, which was running free, broached to and lay helpless, wallowing in the swell, with her deck crowded with screaming men. Craven then brought the Cristobal to, and taking the boat with four men, carried a line to the junk, and soon had her alongside.

The Chinamen were bound hand and foot after several who showed fight were killed. Then Craven had them transferred to the Cristobal, and with untiring energy went to work to transfer his ammunition and guns to the junk. It was noon before this was accomplished, and then he told the Chinaman who was the junk’s captain that he really owed him much for swapping such a fine Spanish brig for his worthless old hulk. In consideration of this debt he requested him to keep the brig on her course to the Peninsula, and crowd on all sail if he saw an English gunboat in his wake. If he failed, and showed such ingratitude as to disobey this request during the next twenty-four hours, he hinted in a mild way that he would overhaul him, and then fry him in whale-oil and serve him to his shipmates. As Craven was never known to make an idle threat, the conversation had its desired effect. The Cristobal stood away on her course with a Chinese crew, and Craven, bracing his lateen-sail sharp on the wind, headed slowly back again over the course he had just run.

About eight bells in the afternoon the Sovereign was sighted dead ahead. She was driving along full speed with a bone in her teeth. That is, with the bow wave roaring off on either side in a snowy-white smother, looking like a great white streak against her dark cut-water.

She passed within hailing distance, and Craven kept below the rail and rubbed his wounded leg while he smiled grimly.

“I’ve a notion to let go at her,” said he to Camp. “We could slap a couple of twelves into her before she knew what was up. I’d like to see her skipper with a couple of shot through his teakettle before he knew where he was at. Jim, suppose you lay the port guns on her.”

But Collins had sense enough not to get the guns trained in time. In ten minutes the gunboat was a speck on the horizon.

Craven knew she would overhaul the brig in a few hours, but hoped his merciful attack on the junk’s crew would lessen the heat of the chase. He might have sunk her and escaped, but his fancy took a different turn, and he played his game out.

Before sundown he was rapidly nearing the China coast and several junks were made out ahead. All hands, tired as they were, turned out and stood by for a fracas. It was not long in coming.

The nearest junk was laid close under Craven’s lee and the Chinamen could be seen crowding about her decks. He was so close a conversation could be carried on with the men on the junk, and the rush of the foam under her forefoot sounded loud upon Camp’s ears.

Craven let go his port broadside into her without warning. In five minutes he had her alongside. Several of her crew were dead, but he lost no time in transferring the living to his junk and making them lend a hand to shift his guns again. Then he sailed away with his battery transferred for the second time.

Craven fought his way up the coast, shifting his guns and ammunition from vessel to vessel at every available opportunity. Towns that had been warned of his approach in a junk, would see a peaceful trading schooner come quietly into the harbor at dusk. Nothing would be thought of this until in the early hours of the morning a heavy cannonade would arouse his victims, and those who survived would see the finest vessel there standing out to sea in tow of a schooner that fairly disappeared in the smoke of her own guns. The pirate had ammunition in plenty within three days’ sail of Hong-Kong, and he dodged everything sent after him for nearly a year. He kept the sea with remarkable cunning, and his absolute fearlessness won him many recruits.

Once he was heard from far down the Straits of Malacca, where he engaged a Malay pirate for several hours whose crew outnumbered his ten to one. He finally sank her with all hands.

A few months after this he again fell in with the gunboat Sovereign. He was sailing a huge junk at this time, and under this disguise came near escaping again. He was recognized, however, and captured with his entire crew. They were taken to Hong-Kong. Here he was confined for nearly a year, an object of curiosity, until they were ready to cut off his head.

He and his men were led out every day or two and held in line while the swordsman walked along them with upraised blade. When this grim executioner had chosen a man, which he did at random, he would bring the weapon down suddenly upon the back of his neck. This was trying on the nerves of those of the crew who had to look on. No one knew just when his turn would come.

Craven, however, stood it well for a month or two and was apparently indifferent to the sight of death, but the long strain of hunting his fellow-men and of being hunted in turn by them had done its work. His nervous energy had been pretty well used up. One day a trader came into the harbor and brought a woman to the English consul’s. She claimed to be Craven’s wife. It took some time before she could get to see her husband, but through the consul’s influence she finally did. Then came the break in the man’s nerve.

From that time on he trembled when the sword struck. At the end of a week he was hysterical, and they had to hold him when they brought him out. His sole idea now was to live to see the woman who had caused his ruin. This he struggled and cried for, and the idea of separating from her again caused him more agony than one can well conceive.

The Chinese are always particular that great criminals of theirs shall get great punishments. Craven’s sufferings were prolonged as much as possible. There were forty men of his crew taken with him, and he had seen the heads of nearly all cut off. When his turn came, and it was next the last, he screamed shrilly as the swordsman swung up the blade two or three times over the victim’s head before giving the final stroke. Craven was trembling all over. He cried and begged for a little delay. His horror of death was terrible, and he pleaded to see his wife once more. The idea of separating from her now forever was more than he could stand, and it caused the greatest possible amusement to the on-lookers. They laughed and drew their long pigtails upward, meaningly, in derision. When the sword fell, Craven had gone entirely to pieces and died the death of a most pitiable coward.

Camp, who was the only man left, finally managed to get the English consul to intercede in his behalf. He was afterwards released, but his sufferings had been so great during his imprisonment that he died soon afterwards.

THE DEATH OF HUATICARA

It was quite late and our last boat had come aboard some time since, bringing our skipper, Zachary Green, his pretty daughter, and two passengers. At daylight we would clear with the ebb-tide and land-breeze of the early morning, and then, with good luck, we would make an offing and stand away for the States. We were sick of the war-ridden country, and even the town of Valparaiso itself offered no attraction for us. Our cargo hardly paid enough freight money to buy the vessel a suit of sails, and it was with a feeling of great relief that we steved in the last bale and closed the hatches.

While we sat on the rail we heard a slight rippling in the water ahead of the vessel. It sounded as if a large fish was making its way slowly across the bows. We listened in silence for some moments while the sounds came nearer. I looked aft and saw two figures in the light from the after companion-way, and I recognized Miss Green and the smaller of the two passengers standing close to the hatch. The sounds in the water interested me no longer, and I gazed rather hard at the figures aft. The two passengers, who were missionaries on their way home, had been aboard ship several times during the last week, but they had always been so pious and reserved in manner that I never once thought to see one of them talking to a young woman alone at such a late hour. But there are many things a sailor must learn not to see. Memory is not always a congenial friend of his.

Suddenly I heard a sound of some one breathing, followed by a smothered oath, coming from the direction of the rippling water which drew more and more beneath us.

“Ha! Voila, me gay sons, que voules vous—si padrone.—Hace bien tiempo, manana—hell-fire but the bloody lingo gets crossways of me gullet,” came a deep voice from the black water.

“Och! stow ye grandsons, ye blathering ijiot, an’ kape yer sinses. If them’s Dagoes on watch ’twill be all up with us. Whist, then! Ye men on the fo’c’stle!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Gantline and I in the same breath.

“Faith, an’ if yez have a drap av th’ milk av human pity in yer hearts, ye’ll give two poor divils a lift out av this haythen country. Say not er whurd, but let us come on deck quiet like. Ef ye don’t, th’ blood av two innocent men will be upon yer sowls fer ever an’ ever, amen. Spake aisy.”

“Now, Lord love ye, what kind of a man is this?” asked Gantline, as a naked man climbed slowly up the martingale-stays and crouched close to the starboard bow out of sight of the man-of-war.

“By th’ luck av Lyndon! Is this old Tom Gantline who talks? Gorry, man, we’ve just escaped from th’ prison on th’ beach. Don’t you remember me? I’m Mike McManus, own cousin to Reddy O’Toole who used to be mate with ye an’ owld man Crojack.”

“No, I don’t remember you,” answered Gantline; “but if you had said you were any one else you would have gone overboard again fast enough. No one but a chip of that devil’s limb, O’Toole, would have come out here in this tideway, right under the guns of that man-o’-war. Who’s with you?” and he peered over at the man who still clung to the bobstays as if uncertain whether to trust himself on board or again swim for it.

“That’s a man called Collins, a ’Frisco man, who got taken along with me, when we was smugglin’ in th’ rifles, up to th’ north’ard. Whist! below there; come up and make yerself known amongst friends. We’re safe.”

“I ain’t so almighty certain about that,” growled Gantline; “what am I to do with you but put you ashore? I can’t run the risk of having the vessel overhauled for such fellows as you. You may be some bloody cutthroats for all I know. What do you mean by smuggling rifles? Ain’t there enough on shore without bringing any more into this infernal country? I reckon a rifle won’t look as if it was worth so much when they stand you up against a wall and let you peep into the muzzle of a dozen or two.”

“Ah, shipmate, ye haven’t the heart to turn us over fer that, when all we’ve done was to try an’ land a few fer thim poor fellows, an’ this Dago with his ironclad overhauled us. Oh, me boy, ye haven’t seen th’ inside av one av thim black iron holes on th’ beach, to talk av puttin’ us ashore again. Gord! men, to sit ther fer six whole months behind them steel walls and never see th’ sun rise or set, an’ do nothing but kill lice and chintz-bugs all day long, an’ all night. No, ye may be in sympathy with Chilly, but ye have th’ look av a sailor-man for all that”

As he spoke he climbed to the catheads and drew himself gently onto the top of the top-gallant-forecastle. He was followed by the man Collins.

They crouched shivering behind the capstan, and I saw they were in a bad condition. They were wasted and gaunt, and their flesh had a soft, sickly look, as if they had spent a long time in close confinement. The hair of their heads was long and matted. How they swam so far in that tideway was strange, and told plainly of their desperate courage in attempting to escape from the terrors of the beach.

Gantline stood irresolute a moment, looking at their shivering forms. Then he glanced sharply at the man on watch, who walked in the port gangway. It was too dark to see him distinctly, so trusting that he in turn had seen nothing of what had occurred forward, he started aft. The two figures I had noticed a few minutes before had now disappeared.

“Keep quiet,” I said to the naked men, whose teeth chattered in the cool night air. “Lie flat on deck until he comes back and perhaps we can do something. Haste! Not a word!”

The man Mike was about to make some reply, but at that moment the fellow on watch came close to the edge of the forecastle. I stepped quickly in front of the man, and in doing so trod on a projecting foot which cracked horribly, and, twisting, brought me down in a heap upon them. A deep groan told of the damage done, but I instantly regained myself and began to hum a song in a low bass voice.

The man on the main-deck stopped a moment and looked hard at me, but it was so dark he could see but little and my singing reassured him, so he turned again and went off.

In a short time Gantline returned with a bundle.

“Now, bear a hand there, you men, and put these clothes on in a quarter less no time,” he whispered. “Come, hurry up,” and he passed a shirt and a pair of dungaree trousers to each.

“Och! he has broken me toe clane off,” groaned Mike, slipping on the garments. His companion dressed rapidly in silence.

“Now then, up you go, both of you, into the foretop, and lie out of sight till we get to sea, and if I see a hair of your heads inside the next twenty-four hours I’ll turn you both over on the beach. Here, take a nip apiece before you go,” and he passed a small bottle to the man Collins.

The poor fellow’s eyes sparkled as he thrust the neck of it into his thick beard and tilted his head back in order to let the liquor have free way down his throat. Gantline suddenly jerked it out of his hand and passed it to the Irishman, who put it to his lips, gave a grunt of disgust, and threw the empty bottle over the side.

“Now wait till you see me go aft with the watch, and then aloft with you,” said Gantline, as he left us.

When he reached the man he started off with him to the quarter-deck, and as they disappeared together over the break of the poop the men crawled for the rigging. They were so weak from their exertions that it seemed as if they would never get over the futtock-shrouds, but finally the man Collins gained the top, and dragged his companion after him. Then I went into the forward cabin and took what salt-junk was left and carried it aloft before Gantline returned. By the time I reached the deck he had started forward again and joined me on the forecastle. His seamed and lined face wore an anxious look as he took his place beside me and acted as if nothing had happened to seriously interrupt our former conversation. We sat a few moments discussing our stowaways and then went aft to get a little sleep before clearing.

I turned in and lay awake thinking of the men in the foretop, hoping nothing would occur to make it necessary for more than one man to go aloft there. The sails were all loosed except the foreroyal, and this I would go aloft for myself.

It was past midnight before I lost consciousness, and it seemed almost instantly afterwards Gantline poked his head in my doorway and announced, “Eight bells, sir.” I turned out and found it was still dark, but a faint light in the east told of the approaching day. The men were getting their coffee from the galley, and the steward was on his way to the cabin with three large steaming cups for the skipper and passengers. A light air was ruffling the water and the tide was setting seaward, so if nothing unusual happened we would soon be standing out. The dark outlines of the Blanco Encalada began to take more definite shape, but all was quiet on board of her.

By the time the men finished their coffee Zachary Green came on deck, and then he gave the order to “heave short.”

In a few moments all was noise and bustle on the forecastle-head. The clanking of the windlass mingling with the hoarse cries of “Ho! the roarin’ river!” and “Heave down, Bullies,” broke the stillness of the quiet harbor.

“Anchor’s short, sir!” roared Gantline’s stentorian voice from the starboard cathead. This was followed by an order to sheet home the topsails. In a few minutes we broke clear and swung off to starboard with the fore-and main-yards aback. Then we came around and stood out with the ebb-tide, the light breeze sending us along with good steering way.

In a short time we hauled our wind around the point, and, with everything drawing fore and aft to the puffs that came over the highlands, we started to make our offing, leaving the Blanco Encalada with her brass-work shining in the first rays of the rising sun. We had gone clear without mishap, but although we were making six knots an hour off the land, we knew the breeze would not hold after the sun rose. As we expected, it fell before the men had finished breakfast, and we lay becalmed a few miles off shore on a sea of oily smoothness.

The passengers came on deck to take a last look at the harbor astern, and their voices sounded pleasant to the ear as they held forth on the beauties of a morning in the South Pacific.

These passengers were both clerical-looking men, and were fair types of the missionaries who live on the islands of the South Sea. They had engaged passage to the States more than a week before we sailed, and since then were almost inseparable. Their clothes were of some dark material, much alike in cut, but their faces and head-gear were in marked contrast.

The younger one had a smooth, sallow face, without a sign of beard, and wore a low black hat with a broad rim. The other looked to be ten years older, apparently a little over fifty. His face was as brown as a sailor’s and an enormous beard covered it almost to the eyes, which sparkled merrily from under an old slouch hat. His hair was also long, and his figure was of gigantic build.

“I was speaking to those poor fellows in the prison there only yesterday,” the younger one was saying, as I came aft, “and I did my best to cheer them, but they were both much set against spiritual consolation; and the one, McManus, stole my pocket-knife with its saw blade, which I used to carry to cut cocoanuts.”

“How do you know it was he who took it? Might not you have lost it?” asked the big man, with a smile.

“Do you suppose I would bear false witness against any man?” replied the younger, in a tone of reproach. “I noticed he came close to me while I was praying for him, and felt his hand touch me, but did not know my loss until after I left the prison. It will do him little good, however, as he and his companion in crime are to be shot this morning. It is probably just as well, for I know that those sailor men are a wicked lot and much given to wine, women, and desperate deeds.”

“Ah!” said the big man in a deep voice, “it is probably true; but you are rather severe on sailor-men, for all that. These sailors are an intelligent lot for the most part. And think you, dear friend, that there is probably not one who would not rather marry a sweet, good woman and live a pleasant and pious life, even as we ourselves do. We do this because we have money to maintain our positions; but the sailor has our feelings and longings without the means to gratify them, and, as he is intelligent enough to see that his life is hopeless, he gets as much pleasure out of it as possible and hesitates not at a desperate deed for gain.”

“Charity is very good and noble, but it gives me great pain to hear you express such unsound views as that. If it were not for the many noble deeds you have done for the islanders, I should be tempted to shun you as a recreant I trust you only jest, but it is even ill to jest on such subjects,” answered the younger, with a flushed face and a voice vibrating with suppressed feeling.

The big man made no answer to this, but suddenly called his companion’s attention to several large “alberco” which had followed the ship until she lay becalmed, and then plunged and jumped like so many porpoises in the wake. We drifted slowly all the morning, and about noon the sea-breeze set in from the southward and sent us along at a comfortable rate. Nothing occurred to make it necessary for a man to go aloft in the foretop, and those who had gone up the main and mizzen in the early morning had noticed nothing unusual. The platform in the top was as large as that in a full-rigged ship, so the men who were hiding were not visible from the deck as long as they lay flat on their backs or faces.

Gantline had decided to tell the skipper the whole affair of the night before, but the old man was in such a bad humor that the mate delayed telling him until the prospect of a serious burst of anger was less apparent.

The day wore on and the bark held steadily on to the westward, making from eight to ten knots an hour. After supper the skipper came on deck with his passengers and they were soon joined by Miss Green. They sat aft around the taffrail and chatted, the men smoking and very much at their ease.

Miss Green was of an extremely religious disposition, but it was easy to see that it was not entirely the devoutness of the younger passenger that attracted her to him. There was a mysterious power about the man that was apparent to any one after being an hour in his company. Something in his deep, vibrating voice, when he was talking, appeared to hold the attention, and I, more than once, looked at him as he sat next to the skipper’s daughter, holding forth on matters of the church.

Zachary Green was still in a bad humor because of his low freight money, and it was evident that he would ease his pent-up feelings on some one. He had listened to the talk of the missionaries with ill-concealed contempt, whenever they fell to discussing their ecclesiastical affairs, and now he asked the younger abruptly when he was to return.