The Chief Mate's Yarns: Twelve Tales of the Sea

by T. Jenkins Hains

IN THE HULL OF THE "HERALDINE"

"I understand that you did good work in the Prince Alfred in time of trouble," said Lord Hawkes, looking at me with approval. He was manager of the Prince Line, and, when he sent for any of us to tell us that we had done well, it was time to—well, he didn't often do that, and I must have shown some embarrassment.

I remained silent, holding my cap in my hands and looking at Boldwin, my skipper, who had done me the honor to report me favorably in the log book.

"I hear, also," continued Lord Hawkes, "that you are a good diver, a master workman under water——"

"Pardon me, your lordship," I interrupted, "I'm but a licensed ship's officer, and what I don't know about diving would fill a dozen empty log books."

"Well, at all events, you showed resource. Yes, my good Garnett, you are a man of infinite resource. There's no doubt about that, and that's what I'm coming to. You are also resolute in time of trouble, and the two qualities are what I need in the work I am going to send you to do."

Bill Boldwin looked scared. He didn't want to lose his mate. He had simply spoken for me that I might get in the good books of the company, not get away from his ship.

The manager of the Bay Line seemed to be studying some papers upon the desk before him while we two stood respectfully in front as became seamen in the presence of our mighty ruler. Boldwin was keen on lords. I hadn't associated with them to any great extent myself, but I was willing—no matter what might be said about them.

"The Princess Heraldine, our Cape liner, left port August the fifth," said Lord Hawkes. "She had aboard in her safe the famous Solander diamond, a stone nearly as large as the Cullinan and worth something like a round half-million dollars. Also she had about three million more in various stones uncut and consigned to the firm here. In running up the West African coast, she broke her crank shaft and drove it through her bottom, tearing the compartment to pieces, and forcing Captain Sumner to head for Lagos in the hope of beaching her before she sank. He managed to get her into ten fathoms on that low, sandy coast, and she went down about a mile or two offshore.

"All the passengers were saved, but by some oversight the combination of the safe was lost at the time they needed it, owing to the agent, Grimes, being either too frightened or too ill to remember it.

"Captain Sumner—the only other man aboard who knew the combination—was unable to either leave the bridge at the critical moment of her sinking, owing to the necessity of saving the passengers in the small boats, or tell any one before the Heraldine suddenly settled and went down, carrying five of the crew and the entire contents of the safe along with her."

Lord Hawkes looked up at me shrewdly as he finished and gazed into my eyes.

I saw no necessity for a reply. There was a few minutes' silence, then he went on:

"The wrecking company is now on the way there, but there has been some trouble experienced with them and with the underwriters. Therefore we've deemed it worth while to send a ship—one of our regular Cape boats on her lay-up voyage—to Lagos, and try for the safe.

"The ship is a total loss, and will be covered all right, but the diamonds are not insured, owing, as I have said, to some disagreement with the underwriters lately, and it has been just our luck to lose them this voyage.

"You are to take the Prince John, and go to Lagos. There you will find the wrecking crew waiting orders. You are to see that we get that safe intact—you understand? We want that safe just as it was before it went to the bottom. Your orders are here." And he handed me a folded document. "You will leave at once."

"Aye, aye, sir," I said, somewhat bewildered, but getting the lay of the thing straight enough. "Is that all, sir?"

"That's all. If you wish anything regarding details, you will see Mr. Smith of the main office. I wish again to impress you that this mission is important."

It struck me so at once. A few millions in diamonds in ten fathoms—in a ten-ton safe! Yes, that was something worth looking after. It was important, all right. Seemed easy enough. Any one who knows anything about wrecking, knows that ten fathoms isn't too deep to work, although it's some little ways down. It depends also upon other conditions, which might or might not prevail. I'd get that safe easy enough—yank it aboard all standing, as we say at sea.

Well, within two days I was standing on the bridge of the Prince John, and wondering how the poor fellows in Africa managed to keep a ship of her class afloat long enough to lay her up.

It was the company's policy to have their African steamers laid up at Cape Town—helped labor, local progress, and all that sort of thing. In reality they got the work done for about half what it would cost them in England.

The Prince John could make ten knots under most favorable circumstances, but as this was her lay-up voyage, she, as might be imagined, was not doing her best. I think she rammed along about eight, most of the way down; and McDougal, the chief engineer, was working like a machinist from daylight till dark to get her to do that.

We carried only the crew of six seamen and ten firemen, with two engineers, a donkeyman, a pair of mates, a cook, and galley boy. Just two dozen of us all told; and, while I had never commanded a ship of any size before, I was not suffering much from swelled cranium as I stood upon the bridge and gave orders.

Low-powered, black-sided, with the regulation Clyde bow and round stern, she was no better than a tramp. We carried extra diving and hoisting gear for the wrecking crew that had preceded us. Our winches were heavy, and built for working in the African trade where a ship must handle her own cargo. They would be useful in the work ahead.

My mates, Simpson and Dennison, were good men, and knew their little book all right. Simpson had a very red nose, and looked as if he liquored on the sly, but he never showed groggy on duty, so I had no chance to call him down. He would continue the voyage as captain after I got that safe up and on its way to England. Dennison was young and boyish. He was a good lad, and never slept in his watch on deck—at least I never caught him.

The run was uneventful, and we were sooner or later close to the West African coast, running through an oily sea, and pointing for Lagos.

One hot and stifling morning after I had worked the sight, I was sitting in a deck chair at the pilot-house door, thinking of Lucy Docking, and how I might make a saving of fifteen pounds a month out of a salary fixed at twelve. This mathematical problem was unfinished when Dennison hailed me from the bridge.

"Vessel right ahead, sir, anchored about a mile and a half offshore," he said.

It was our friends, the wrecking crew, and we had arrived.

The topmasts of the Heraldine stuck clear of the oily sea. She had been a three-masted ship with square rig forward and fore and aft upon the main and mizzen. She had sails upon her spars already bent after the old-time style of low-powered ships. She lay easily in about ten or twelve fathoms, and had a slight list to port owing to her settling a bit upon her bilge.

Being very flat and wide-bottomed, she looked almost ready to rise and continue her voyage lying as she did in that smooth sea, and being unhurt save for that gash in her bilge where the broken crank tore through, thrashing her life out before the engineer could shut off steam.

I pictured for a moment the huge flail, the piston with the broken crank attached, the pieces not less than half a ton, whirling up and down under the full pressure of her cylinders with nothing to stop it. There must have been a wild mess in that engine room with a crazy hammer going full tilt like that.

As in most single-screw ships, her crank must have thrown down when connected but a foot or two above her bilge, and when it tore loose it must have struck full power at each and every wild throw of the piston.

My business was not to raise her, however. She was not worth it, having insurance, and being better as a total loss. I was after getting into the treasure room situated just beneath the main deck forward of the boilers.

The room, from the drawings furnished by her builders, was an iron compartment ten by fifteen feet. At one end of it—the forward one—was built the huge safe. This was bolted down, and to the beams.

It was not a new affair, having done duty for years in the African trade, but it had a very effective combination lock of the usual kind, and, as one would have to open the strong-room door before being able to get to the combination of the safe, it was considered perfectly competent to carry any amount of treasure.

Mr. Haswell, of Haswell & Jones, submarine experts, came aboard from the powerful wrecking tug, which lay near us. He was a little man, but quite fat. Red hair and whiskers gave his pale face a peculiar sickly tint, but he was not a sickly man. He was reckoned one of the best deep-water workers in England, and could stand a very high pressure for a long time. Little pale eyes looked shrewdly at me as he presented his card, coming aboard as he did from a boat rowed by six sturdy blacks—"kroo boys," he called them. I met him at the side, and shook hands.

"We're ready to begin whenever you say," he said. "I got the firm's letter, and have only just arrived myself. They told me you had the gear aboard with you."

"Yes, I have plenty of gear, all right," I answered, "and you can commence work to-day if you want to. This place is too cold for me, and I'd just as soon get away from here the next day, if possible."

"It's some hot, all right, but one don't notice it below so much. I suppose those derricks you've got will hold all right—what?" And he gazed at our hoisting gear.

The thermometer was one hundred and six under the after awning, and not a breath of air stirring. The hot, sandy coast shone like a white band, fringing the blue water, and I wondered what kind of weather it was on that white, sandy shore.

We went over the gear together, and then sat sweating and panting for air, while the steward brought us something cool to drink—that is, as cool as could be procured. Then I went with Mr. Haswell aboard the wrecking tug, and was introduced to the working force.

Ten white men and twenty blacks were the outfit. This with what I had was enough to raise the ship had we so wished. Only two of the white men were divers—Williams, a sturdy fellow weighing nearly three hundred; and Mitchell, a short, powerful man, about two hundred and fifty. Both were under forty, and had done plenty of deep-water work. They looked upon the job as trifling.

"We'll blow the deck off to-morrow, and then tear out a side of the room," said Haswell. "After that we can disconnect the safe, and you can get your winches to do the rest. In three days we ought to cover the job."

The hot, oily calm continued. The night was something fierce to contemplate. The sun came out again like a molten ball of metal, and Haswell donned his suit lazily, while the air pumps, manned by four blacks, were started.

A ladder reaching a fathom down under the sea was fastened to the tug's side, and Haswell lowered himself over upon it, and waited for his helmet. This was fastened by Williams, and then the air was started.

As it whistled into the dome, the front glass was screwed on, and the little man was shut off from us. Slowly he went down and swung clear, dropping out of sight in a storm of bubbles which rose from his helmet.

I took out the water glass. This was a cylindrical bucket with a glass bottom. By jamming one's head into the bucket and sinking the bottom of the affair under the sea to a depth of three or four inches, objects could be seen about twice as distinctly as without it—this owing to the fact that in the open the reflection and motion of the light upon the always moving sea surface, prevent the gaze from following objects distinctly.

In order to use the water glass it was, of course, necessary to get close to the sea.

I dropped into the small boat lying alongside the wrecking tug, and leaned far over the gunwale, peering down. The long, easy swell, the sure sign of an immense calm area of sea, came slowly from the westward and rolled the boat gently but enough to keep me from getting a good look until I caught my balance. Then I managed to get the glass down firmly, and hold it about four inches under with my head in the bucket.

At first I could make out little or nothing. The sea was not very clear at the spot, owing to the close proximity of the low, sandy shore where the surf rolled incessantly, stirring up the bottom. Soon I could make out the outline of the deck below where the flying bridge rose within three fathoms of the surface.

The Heraldine was drawing about twenty-two feet when she sank, and her flying bridge was fully twenty-five to thirty above the sea. I tried to see farther, but could make out nothing at all.

The lines of the diver led toward the fore part of the ship, and moved slightly. Williams, who tended them, sat listlessly upon the rail of the tug, and gave or drew in as the occasion called. I kept looking to see things, but could make out nothing further in the way of the wreck.

A huge shadow passed under me—a long, dark shape. It was a gigantic shark nosing about the wreck.

I called out to Williams.

"No fear," he replied lazily; "they won't hurt him in that dress—might if he was naked."

The shark passed along forward, and sank down out of sight. Then Haswell signaled that he was coming up.

He came slowly, and I watched the lines coming in. Soon the metal helmet appeared, and then he climbed with seeming difficulty up the ladder, helped by Williams. When he came above the rail, he hung over it, and his front glass was unscrewed, the pumps stopped working, and we came close to hear the news.

"Located her all right," he said. "You can fix up about twenty pounds of number two gelatine—better put it in a tube, and be sure to make the wires fast—have to pull it through some wreckage down there."

"See anything of a big shark?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, I gave him a poke in the stomach with a stick—he won't bother me in this dress—but I did get nipped by one of those poisonous snakes—see?" And he held out his hand, where a small trickle of blood ran down from the second joint of his forefinger.

Williams gave an exclamation. The natives looked at him anxiously.

"I'll come aboard and rest a while before going down again," said Haswell. And he was helped aboard, and undressed.

His finger swelled while this was being done, and, by the time he stood in his flannels, he had a hand that was fast turning black. Williams said little. The poisonous water snakes that infest certain tropical seas close to the river mouths were known to him. Those in the Indian Ocean are especially dangerous.

Haswell gazed at the blackening finger, and shook his head.

"Better give me some whisky," he said. He drank, and sat down. Williams stood near, and Mitchell came up.

"That's a bad bite," said Mitchell.

"Well, I suppose there's no use waiting any longer—cut it off, and be quick," said Haswell.

Mitchell, iron-nerved and steady, cut the finger off close to the hand, and stopped the flow of blood with a strong bandage. The swelling continued, and the arm began to pain greatly.

"Cut away the hand," said Haswell, white and shaky, but showing an amazing coolness. He realized his danger. Mitchell performed another amputation.

Within an hour they had his arm off at the elbow, and Haswell was turning blue all over.

It was an uncanny thing—right there in that bright sunshine, a man done a mortal injury by some foul sea vermin that had attacked him in the depths. I had heard of the sea snakes that come down the African rivers and go well offshore, but had never seen one. Those in the Indian Ocean I had seen often, and remembered that they were about four or five feet long and a few inches in circumference.

Haswell, with remarkable nerve, faced his end unflinchingly. It was wonderful to see him sitting there, unafraid, with his arm three times its natural size at the shoulder where the last bandage of Mitchell had been fastened.

"I reckon I'll last about an hour longer," he finally said. "It's—no—use." His strength was leaving him, and he spoke haltingly, in hardly more than a whisper.

They gave him more whisky, and waited. Then Williams took down his last words in reference to his family affairs, and Haswell laid himself down on a transom. Two hours later he was stone dead.

That was a beginning that would have shaken the nerve of many men. Mitchell had his partner sewn up in canvas, and they buried him far out at sea, rowing off in the small boat.

The next day Williams started down. He found the location of the strong room, and was careful to wear heavy gloves while working. Then he placed the charge.

The crack that followed was not loud—deep down as it was. A storm of bubbles arose to the surface, and the sea lifted a few inches just over the place where the gelatine exploded. Then Mitchell prepared to go down and examine the result.

The oily sea heaved and sank with the long swell, and there was nothing to indicate that there would be any trouble. Nothing could move the wreck. Mitchell went under at eleven that morning, and, after he had been down half an hour, Williams signaled him. He received no answer. With some anxiety, the big man started to haul line, when, to the horror of all, the two lines—hose and life line—came in easily without anything at their end.

The hose showed a clean cut well down near the helmet, and the life line showed a ragged cut or break which stranded it out a full foot. Mitchell was left below, cut off from us as clean as if he had been left upon the moon.

Williams strove with all haste to get into another suit, but it was a good ten minutes before he did so. He went down with a man of his outfit holding line for him, and came back in ten minutes with a white face and staring eyes.

"Whole side of the room fell on him," he said; "cut his hose and—and left him there. Give me a line, I'll get him out."

"Dead?" I whispered.

He looked up at me from the circular hole in the helmet, and seemed to think me mad.

"Dead? Of course, he's dead—a ton or two of iron on top of him, and no air—sure he's dead. We'll have to put the line to the winch to haul him out from under it."

We buried Mitchell as we had Haswell, hauling him from under the wreckage by a line to our steam winch, and afterward carrying him well out to sea, where he was weighted and sunk. It was bitter work, and all the time that hot sun shone down upon us until the seams of the decks warped and the tar ran out of the lanyards.

Williams was shaken. The next day he refused to go down, and pleaded a rest necessary. His men were silent and awed. I could say nothing to urge them on, as I felt that they had endured enough for a few days, at least.

Then Williams was taken with the African fever, and there was no one left who would go below for any amount of money offered. The horror of the thing had shaken the nerves of the entire outfit. There might be millions below there, but no man of that crew would touch them just at present, and we were lying there in that oily sea, eating up the company's money and cursing at the strange chance that had made our expedition so fatal.

---

At the end of a week Williams was so bad that I gave him up as a factor to help us. At times he was delirious, and raved horribly. His men were for abandoning the work, and putting into Lagos, and from there clearing for home.

I refused to hear of such a thing, although I was a bit worked up at the outcome of what had at first appeared to be an easy job. To send North for more divers was to delay the work months. To await the coming of the next coast steamer meant delay of at least three weeks—and even then there was no certainty of help from her. She didn't carry divers, and, although she would naturally give me any aid in her power, belonging to our company as she did, I felt that I would rather not ask anything from her skipper until the last act.

A man named Rokeby of the tug's working crew offered to tend line for me if I chose to go down. He assured me that the pressure at fifty or even sixty feet would not injure me. I might suffer some from the splitting headache natural to the pressure, but that was all. I could blow open the safe or get chains fast to it, or cut it adrift somehow.

I thought over the matter while Williams raved and rolled in his sweltering bunk, and the sun shone down upon that dead ocean full of crawling life and hidden treasure.

"Gimme the gloves and plenty of air," I finally said, after waiting three days, hoping that some of the wrecking crew would get their nerve back.

They all showed willingness to work if I went down, and I was soon incased in the suit of Williams.

If you think I was not nervous, you should have had an inside photo of my mind as I stood there upon the rounds of the ladder waiting for Rokeby to screw fast the front glass. I would have given it up but for the looks of the men. They seemed to gaze upon me with a sort of awe and amazement, but they made no comment whatever.

The kroo boys swung the pump handles with a will, and when I heard the hiss of the air I must say my heart gave two jumps and came near landing overboard—at least, it felt that way; but I would have died rather than let those men see that I was afraid. Such is the ego, the vanity of us all.

"Shall I screw her on, sir?"

The voice was Rokeby's, and it aroused me from the contemplation of the thing to do. I tried to look bored and annoyed.

"Yes, screw it down—mind the lines tenderly, and pull me right up if I give the signal," I said.

"Aye, aye, sir," he answered, and he screwed in the front glass.

The air whistled into the helmet back of my head, and the noise aroused me to a sense of the danger should it suddenly cease. I put one foot and then another upon the ladder rungs, and went down until I swung off.

It seemed as if I was about to fly off into space, and for a few moments I almost lost my balance. Then my heavy leaden shoes sank me straight down, and I dropped slowly until my feet touched something.

The light had gradually faded as I left the surface, and where I now stood it seemed to be pitch dark. The pressure of the air appeared to swell my head, and a roaring was in my ears. Then I determined to do something, and bent forward to see if I could.

Gradually the dim outline of the ship's deck took form before the glass—that is, the deck in my immediate vicinity. I could make out the rail, and began pulling myself along by it. Soon I came to the pilot house forward, and recognized it by feeling the panels of the glass front with my hands.

I knew that I was just about right in regard to position, and started for the rail to get over the side and down to the place where the blow-out had been made. I carefully swung one leg over and then another, amazed at the ease with which I lifted the immense leaden shoes. Then guiding my air hose and line clear of the rail, I slipped off, and dropped down to the bottom far below.

In spite of the fact that I had now been under several minutes, I could not make out objects well enough to do anything; but determined to try to feel for the opening to the safe. After ten minutes spent groping about, I felt an immense hole in the ship's side, my fingers going carefully around the edges where the torn plates told of the force of the blast.

I entered and felt for the sides of the room within where the blast had torn out the iron and held it hanging to drop upon the unfortunate Mitchell. I now saw I could do nothing without more light, and carefully made my way out to the sea floor, where I signaled to haul me up.

I came slowly, and as I did so my brain appeared swelling until it seemed no longer possible to hold it within my skull. The pain was intense, and I hardly noticed the growing light until I was at the foot of the ladder. Then I climbed up, being dragged bodily by my life line. The front was taken off my helmet, and I spoke.

"It's all right," I panted, "get the lamp out, and stand by to send me down the tools I'll need."

Rokeby gave me a small drink of whisky, and the rest soon had the electric lamp ready. I went below again. This time I had no trouble in finding my way, for the light from the spark penetrated the sea for several feet about me.

In the watery darkness I made out the hole, and saw the damage done by the charge. The entire wall of the compartment had been blown in, and, in going into the room, Mitchell had gotten under it so that he had dislodged an immense piece of plate which had fallen upon him, and cut off his air and line.

I went forward cautiously, and poked the lamp ahead of me. It seemed a long way to the safe, but I finally came up against it, and made out its outline in the lamplight. Its edge stood out sharply. Beyond was the inky blackness of a tomb.

I saw that it would be necessary for me to blow it loose from the beams, as I was not good enough workman to cut or loosen the bolts. Making a hasty but pretty good examination of the bottom and sides, I determined to go back aboard and study it out. A little powder underneath would loosen the floor bolts, and then, with a stout chain about it, we might start the winches to haul it through the opening, which I saw would have to be enlarged at the bottom. I came up, and was satisfied for the day.

The next morning I had recovered my nerve to a great extent, and was eager to get to work. The men were also better pleased at the prospect. My head had bothered me all night, but now eased up, as I donned the rubber.

So far I had seen neither fish nor crawling reptile. The bottom was not very soft, however, and was so covered with weed and sea growths that it may have harbored many things not visible to the eye at that depth. I kept to the gloves, not daring to risk my hands after Haswell's fatal ending.

The first shot tore the bottom off the compartment, and left the safe hanging by the bolts against the bulkhead. The second shot broke away these, and, when I went down again, I found the safe had dropped down to the deck below, the powder, or rather nitrogelatine, having torn the deck away for the space of fifteen feet or more, leaving ragged splinters of deck planking sticking forth.

The electric lamp showed the mass below me as I stood at the edge of the hole, and I very carefully drew my line and air so that they would not foul when I dropped over. Then I went down and found the safe intact, but in a very difficult position to handle.

The next blast required a large charge, in order to blow the side out down to the lower deck, as it was impossible to drag that safe up through the hole. I placed fifty pounds of gelatine in two charges just abreast the safe on the outside of the hull, and blew away the plates until a trolley car could almost have entered the hole in the ship's side.

I was all ready now for getting slings upon the treasure, and I could hardly wait until the next day.

The wreck was in very bad shape below from the effects of the blasts, but I was nearly done now. Another day might find the diamonds upon the deck of the old ship above me. I managed to pass turns of a heavy chain around the safe, and stop them up so that they could be hocked to the fall. Then I got the tackle down, and by means of a whip to the tug started the mass of metal outboard.

It came along all right, and I thought it would go clear. Then something suddenly stopped it below, and I had to go down again to clear it. It was fast in the hole, having jammed against the edge so that no amount of pulling would break it clear.

I lost no time getting another tackle to it, and rigged it to lift it end up, and turn it over, then the first fall would pull it out and clear. I was getting pretty well used to being below by this time, and the headache was lessening. I found that I could remain under fully half an hour now, and work most of that time.

The last time I went below I had a premonition that all was not as it should be down there, and I went along very carefully. I made my way into the ship's hull, and was just getting the new tackle set up taut and ready, when the whole ship heeled suddenly to port. The safe slewed sideways and slid down the now slanting deck, blocking the hole entirely across, but leaving my lines and tackle clear.

I signaled to come up at once. Then my line jerked, hauled me close up to the opening, and there I jammed, stuck so I could not get back. I signaled frantically for help, and they pulled me with all their might. But they might as well have tried to lift the wreck itself. I was caught.

During the next few minutes I thought a great deal. The horror of my situation dawned upon me. I was fast below there—not a chance for getting out. There seemed nothing to do, but wait placidly for the end.

The next few minutes were hours to me. I could signal with the line, but that was all. They knew I was alive, and they knew something must have happened by the heeling of the sunken wreck.

The blasting had probably blown away the sandy bottom under her, and she had simply cast over and slid the stuff to leeward.

There was plenty of room to take that safe out endways, but it was now so fixed that some one would have to slew it around before that could be done. My lamp was still burning, and the blackness lost some of its terrors in that pitiful light.

I was in the hull of a lost ship, and I felt that I was indeed a lost man. Memories came and went with lightning-like rapidity. I thought of Lucy Docking, and wondered how she would take my death. Then I began to feel the effects of the pressure, and my head grew flighty.

I dreamed of beautiful blue skies and green fields, the shore, the mountains; and all the time Lucy was with me, going from place to place. I was not unhappy. There was a feeling of contentment with the woman I had chosen, and it was all real, so real that I only awoke under the vicious pulling upon my life line by the men above.

Then the horror of my situation came back to me, and the roaring in my ears told me of my predicament. I gazed out of the front glass into the dark medium about me, the rays of the lamp making sharp outlines and shadows.

I remembered the safe. It lay jammed across the hole, and, while I was too feeble to take great interest, I recall watching it with a sort of fascination. I felt its sides, its edges. Then the combination attracted me, shining as it did in the dim light, like a bit of white in the surrounding blackness. I lazily turned the knob, whirled it about. And all the time they were pumping air to me under the pressure of fifty feet of water.

I felt at the aperture above where the edge of the safe shut off the opening. There was nearly a foot of clear room, but this was not enough for my figure, incased as it was in the suit. It was ample for the life line and hose to pass through without any interruption at all, and all I had to do was to live long enough for them to get that safe away. Surely some one would come down, and try to sling it again properly.

I lay with my front glass to the opening, and held the lamp so that the rays would shine outside. There I watched and tried to control the thoughts that kept coming with a surging feeling of dread that made my heart thump all the harder. Drowsiness would come, and the whirling in my brain would get me back again to the land and beautiful dreams. Then the jerking and hauling, and trying to dislodge me would arouse me again, and I would come back to the present.

I remember watching through the opening, and seeing forms passing. These must have been fish, or denizens of the sea. They flitted through the range of the lamp like sudden ghosts, the light striking their bodies, and then disappearing into the blackness without.

The lamp suddenly went out.

I was seized with the wildest terror at the inky blackness about me. The full horror of it all now came with greater force. That tiny spark had kept me up wonderfully. It had seemed like a ray of hope. I put out my hands with muscles shaking and trembling, feeling that inexorable edge of iron that shut me off from life.

Would Rokeby try it? Would he try to save me?

That was the final thought. I tried to put myself in his place. I would do much for a man dying by inches—dying where he might be saved if one would take a little risk. He might get below in time yet. He might get a whip upon that safe, and, with the powerful wrecking tug working her winches, upset the huge square of steel, and drag it out of the way.

But if he was coming down, he should have come hours ago. As a matter of fact, I had already been down half an hour, and I could stand it for at least twice that long yet. But it seemed to me that I had been abandoned, that they were too cowardly to try to save me. My whirling brain and roaring ears told me a story of days of suffering, of interminable torture.

Would Rokeby try it?

I remembered how it struck me when Mitchell's line came up cut off from him. I knew what that poor fellow had gone through; what he had suffered, at least, for a few moments down there.

No, I would hardly blame Rokeby for not trying it. It was too dangerous for any one to try. And yet——

That latent hope, that feeling that there would be something at last, kept me from dying. The air was still coming down, and I was in no immediate danger.

I tried to make myself think that I was in no danger at all; that all would be well when Rokeby came down, and got a hold of the safe. But I knew in my heart that the men above, the whole general crew, were not the men to help.

As a record of fact, the men above were awed at the disaster, and only Rokeby's steadiness saved my life. He had the pumps kept going, and finally decided that he would have to take a chance down there, or let me die like a hooked fish. He was man enough to overcome the nerve-shaking dangers that had beset us, and he put on another suit. Then, with his breath fairly gone from fright, he went down to help me.

He had never gone below before, except under most favorable conditions and in very shallow water. Still, he knew what to do, and he managed to get a good man above to tend line for him. He found things in bad shape at the opening, but lost no more time than he could help getting a purchase to the end of that safe, and the winches started. In half an hour they had dragged it clear of the ship, and I was hauled aboard insensible, but still alive.

Before I had regained my senses, they had the safe fast aboard the old hooker, and I had the satisfaction of staggering on deck to view it.

There it was, all right, perfectly intact. I had saved the company several millions, and it had cost the lives of two men, and nearly my own.

There was not a moment lost in getting away from that hot, unhealthy coast. We got under way that very evening with Williams still stricken with the fever, and myself too weak to sit up, but I would not stop a minute.

"Get her under way at once," I said, and the mates needed no urging.

The wrecking tug, under full steam, came alongside, and the safe was slung carefully over to her deck, where it was bolted down and made as fast as a sailor could make it. I put a metal line about it, and sealed it up, not even willing to trust to the safe combination that had withstood the blasts and the sea.

"Good-by, and a pleasant voyage to the Cape for you," I said to my former shipmates. They steamed away to the southward to lay the old ship up for repairs, and we, in the mighty wrecker, Viking, under full power and making fifteen knots the hour, stood back for old England, where we arrived safe enough a short time later.

---

A TWO-STRANDED YARN
PART I.

"Captain Gantline?" The words escaped me like a shot from a gun.

"Sure as eggs—'n where did you come from?" said that stout seaman. He stood at the bar of Bill's place on Telegraph Hill, drinking rum. His eyes, crinkled up at the corners like the ripples of a ship's cutwater in a smooth sea, were bloodshot and liquor-soaked. Old man Gantline was broad of beam and shorter than myself—no real good seaman is tall—and he raised his empty glass and hammered upon the bar with it.

"Gimme another drink," said he to the barkeeper. Then he turned to me. "So it's you fer sure, old man—well, well, what a small world it is, after all! Take a nip—I'm sure glad to see you—an' how'd it happen?"

I saw that old Gantline was getting drunk. It was a shame. The old skipper was a crack packet skipper. I was amazed at him, for he was not a drinking man. I wondered what made him do it. The barkeeper was now opening another bottle, and I knew the old sailor had drunk much.

"I blew in from New York around the Cape last week," I said.

"Must 'a' been blowin' some, hey, then—kinder quick passage—what?"

"Oh, I don't mean I made the run in a week—we were one hundred and sixty days—but I've been here in Frisco a week. And I've spent all the money I saved from the munificent owners of the British ship Glenmar, who rated me as second mate at thirty per—or, rather, five pun ten a month. I tried to eat something since I came in to make up for what I didn't get at sea. Those Englishmen are sure on short commons, all right—but I haven't been drinking. I don't drink."

"I do," said Gantline.

"I see it," I answered; "but it don't seem to do you any good, though it isn't for me to tell you so, I know. A drink or two don't hurt any one much, but pour it in, and come with me, and listen to my tale of woe. I need some one who knows something to listen to me—I'm broke."

"Well, I dunno as I might jest as well," sighed Gantline. "I'll take a couple more noggins—then you can come down to the ship with me."

"Sure, that's just what we'll do—go down aboard—hurry up and poison yourself sufficiently," I said, and waited until he had soaked down a few more drafts of liquid fire. Then, as he was growing unsteady, I linked his arm in my own, and we went slowly down Market Street until we came to the water front.

"That's her layin' out there—Silas Tanner—four masts—or are they five? Sink me if I kin count 'em, Clew! You count 'em for me—seems like there's more'n half a dozen sticks risin' outen her—hey? Maybe Slade's stuck more in her, thinkin' four ain't enough——"

"What? A schooner? You in a schooner—how'd you come to go in a fore-and-after, Gantline? You, an old square-rigger!"

"That's hit, thash hit, Clew—me, an old seaman, in a coaster—for'n aft—Chinks for passengers—cabin, too—ladies aft—I'm clear drunk, Clew—an' I don't care 'f 'am—nuff to make a man drunk," mumbled Gantline.

It was high time to get him to his ship. I hailed a small boat, and got him aboard, and then we went out to the Tanner—four-masted schooner, now riding at anchor off Market Street, San Francisco, waiting for a tide and something I could not guess as yet.

She was heavily loaded, all right, and I wondered at the old man's conduct the more. The idea of him forgetting himself at the last minute! It was too much. And with a mate like Slade—Slade, who had sailed in several ships with me, the best mate I had known for many a year. We drew alongside.

"Lower down the side ladder—the skipper's coming up," I sang out, and a head came to the high rail. It was the mate's.

"Christopher Columbus! How'd this happen?" asked Slade. "And how—how'd you turn up? I'm glad to see you, old man—pass him up—look out he don't fall overboard."

We managed to get the skipper on deck, and then below to his bunk, Slade questioning me all the time, and asking about times gone by. Then, after we had the old man safely stowed, we came on deck together, and Slade told me the trouble.

"Bound out for Guam with cargo and fifty coolies—Chinks—for labor there. We got a passenger's license, and take out several first class to Manila, besides. Loaded down with general cargo, and two safes full of silver for circulation at Agaña—about ten thousand dollars."

"Well, what's the trouble?" I asked.

"The old man don't like the coolie idea," Slade went on. "He hates Chinks. We got all loaded up, and then the owners sent word that we must provide quarters for fifty men—Chinamen, too, at that—and the old man threw a fit. He'd have quit the ship, but he's bought into her, and can't do it. We had to clear out the alleyways under the poop, knock ports in the sides, and build up a line of shelves for 'em to sleep on—twenty-five on a side, and right next the after saloon—-couldn't get them below—see the doors we cut in the bulkhead? Lets 'em out on deck. It's a government contract, and it's good pay, all right—but them dirty coolies! It's a shame to make an old fellow like Gantline carry them—he hates' em so."

"Who's second under you?" I asked.

"Nobody—thought you'd come for it. Isn't that what you're here for?"

"Not that I know of," I answered. "But I'll take it if the old man says so, all right, all right. I've been ashore long enough—broke, too."

"Sure thing," said Slade. "You're as good as signed on right now—soon as he gets over it he'll ask you to go—never saw the old man like that before, and it's a pity, too. 'Never thought I'd run a slaver,' says he—and I don't much blame him, either."

"I'll send down my dunnage in the morning," I said. "How about the crew?"

"Well, we'll get them, all right. Whisky Bill's attended to it—we'll get ten men—all we need with the engine for handling line."

I hastened ashore to settle my affairs and get my dunnage down to the ship.

In payment for my last week's board I gave my landlord a whale's tooth, carved prettily—or, rather, I left it behind for him to accept gracefully, and before daylight in the morning I was aboard the Tanner. Gantline was so glad to see me come that he almost forgot his headache. I signed for the voyage and went on duty.

The decks of the schooner were somewhat disordered that morning she was to leave. Honolulu was her first stop, and there was much to go on deck for that shorter run. The crimp had just brought down the men, and we mates upset each seaman's bag of dunnage, and scattered the contents about the gangway. We searched for hidden liquor and firearms, well knowing a sailor's habits, and we knocked things about a little hunting for them. The poor, half-sober devils could separate their belongings afterward as best they might.

The result of the search was that, after the mate had confiscated a few bottles of stuff and a couple of out-of-date revolvers and ammunition, the general pile divided up among the men was enough to refill each bag again, the effort of sorting personal belongings at that moment being entirely too laborious to entertain.

Slade took two bottles, and managed to secrete them upon his person while the eye of the skipper was diverted to a passenger who had just appeared. Slade was slanting toward the forward cabin with the goods, closely followed by his emulating second officer, when the voice of the old man roared out orders for me to see to getting the baggage of the passengers below without delay. I turned, somewhat disappointed, just as Slade entered the door of the saloon and winked slowly and meaningly at me.

With some small encomiums pronounced upon the untimely work cut out for me, I turned to the gangway, and ordered up a few men in tones and language I should hate to repeat.

As I did so I suddenly came face to face with the passenger who had come from behind a cab and started down the gangway plank to the ship's deck. She put her lorgnette up to her eyes and gazed smilingly at me. Then she was joined by a younger woman, a girl about twenty, who took the older woman's arm, led her down the plank to the deck, and went right into the door of the forward cabin, leaving me staring as though I had seen a ghost.

"I don't got no good eyes, den, if dat ain't de purtiest gal I ever see," said a Dutchman who was waiting to hear further orders from me. Another man, with a loose lip, looked up and scratched his head.

"Get, you squareheads—get a move on before something happens to you," I growled.

"I do love to hear them swear so," said the elder lady, as she reached the door. "They're such romantic fellows—so bold—oh, dear, just hear what that man——"

"Come along, auntie, come back where the captain is. I never heard such language before, and I don't think it a bit romantic—no, not at all. It's all dreadfully vulgar, and all that—but that man—well, well, he does say some amusing things, even if they are not what they should be."

Miss Aline MacDonald led her aunt aft, and I breathed easier. That she had flung me a sort of compliment was certain. I knew it. I had more queer ways of cussing out a Dutchman than any Yankee mate afloat—I knew that—but——

Gantline met them as they entered, and extended his hand.

"Come aft, ladies, come aft, and I'll have the stewardess show you your rooms at once—hope they'll suit you—best in the ship. Of course, we don't compete with the steamers, but a voyage in this schooner will be worth two in a steamer as a health restorer. If things ain't the way you like them, sing out—I'll do the best I can." And he led the way aft to where a Kanaka woman took them in charge. Then I ducked into the mate's room, and joined Slade for a few minutes. He had already pulled a cork.

"Ain't adverse none to passengers," said he, pouring out the liquor, "but you may sink me if that old un don't come near the limit—you hear me?"

"Give me a drink and shut up about passengers," I grinned. "The old one's all right. She appreciated my education—sort of goo-gooed at me while I was laying out some language—quick with the booze, before the old man gets wise to it."

We hurried back on deck in time to take charge of things, and we were soon ready and waiting for the coolies, who were to come aboard from the tug that would tow us out to sea.

The tug Raven took our towline and we warped out, swung around, and were headed for the open sea within a few minutes. The engineer had steam up in the donkey, and the winches turned. Our crew were used to fore-and-aft canvas, and Slade took the turns as the halyards came to the revolving drums, being helped, as I may say, by his second mate, who held the peak as he held the throat.

We snatched stoppers upon them as the sails came to the mastheads, and in less time than it takes to tell we had all save the headsails on the Tanner, and were standing out. The tug dropped back, and came alongside, taking her lines.

"Stand by fer yore passengers," bawled a red-headed fellow, grinning from the pilot house.

I now saw a crowd of yellow-tails gathering on the tug's deck. Fifty-seven of them, all told, led by a giant yellow man in a skullcap and long, braided cue. A chattering babble of Chink talk, and the big fellow hustled the crowd to the rail, up the schooner's side, and on deck in less than a minute.

Bundles, packages, clothes, came with them, and Slade gave up the premeditated job of searching them in a few moments as he saw the yellow men gather up their belongings and crowd about the break of the poop, jamming in a mass right under the edge from where Gantline leaned over and gazed down at them in sour amazement and distrust.

"Me makee dem tlake-a down, down," cooed the giant leader in a sing-song voice, pointing with his hand at the crowd of Chinamen.

"Yes, git below—git out an' be quick about it," snarled the old man from above him. "You're blockin' the decks—slam 'em in the alleyways, git 'em out the way," he continued to Slade and myself.

"No lika men high, a-a-h, aye, makee down, down," sang the giant, with a glint in his little slits of eyes.

He was an ugly animal. Talk about your Oriental being a degenerate! Well, that fellow was nothing degenerate physically. He was six feet four, and about half as wide across the hulking shoulders. A thin-lipped mouth ran clear across his face; his nose was flat, like an African's. A whitish-blue scar had ripped his pleasing features from eye to chin on the starboard side, and his head was enormous.

The hair was shaved close up to the limits of that skullcap of black silk, and from under its lower end there dropped a cue about a fathom long, all done up with silk cords and stuff, until a pretty little black tassel was plaited into the end, surmounted by a Matthew Walker knot and a couple of Turks' heads.

He was something to notice, all right, and his voice was grand. Nothing of the nervous squeak of the coolie about it. It sang along with flutelike notes that bristled full of "I's" and "Ah's," until you thought he was singing it to his men in a sort of deep bass or baritone.

Understand him? Did you ever know any white man who could understand a Chink if that fellow didn't talk for him to understand it? No, we took it for granted that the "boss" coolie was on the level, and was arguing with the herd to corral them into the alleyways where they belonged. He understood the skipper right enough.

A stout yellow man edged from the press about the door of the forward house, and came to the big man's side. A soft gabble, then a yell, then the herd took the alleyways on the jump, and inside of ten seconds there was not a yellowskin on deck.

"Got 'em trained, all right enough," said Slade, with a grin. "The old man needn't worry about 'em if the big one goes at it that way."

"Fifty-seven Chinks on a dead man's chest—and I'll bet my month's pay they've a bottle of rum—maybe a hundred," I ventured. "What's the big cheese's name?"

"Sink me, if I know! The old man called him 'Yaller Dog,' and he's that, all solid. Let it go at that. I'd sure like to have him in my watch. What a man he'd make on a earing in a blow!"

"Shall we deal them their rice raw or cooked?" I asked. "I suppose they won't eat it if it's cooked in the galley, and then they'd be trying to build fires under the cabin or in the lazaret to boil it."

"No; let 'em eat it or throw it overboard. What do you care? Turn the men to, and choose the watch, and then I'll go below for a rest."

I did so, and soon the Farallones were disappearing in the east astern.

The first two days out there was so much to do aboard that I hardly had time to observe things. The decks were lumbered up with all kinds of gear, and a load of stuff for Honolulu, which took all our time to secure. The men were under the union scale of the West Coast—that is, thirty dollars per month—and there was nothing off on account of our going deep-water in her, for we were not by any means coasting at all, as our course lay directly across the Pacific Ocean, and the itinerary took in a voyage of seven thousand miles.

I hated the fore-and-aft canvas. I knew its value on short runs and in smooth seas, but when it comes to deep water and a rough old ocean, with a twenty-five-knot wind increasing to fifty, give me the square canvas with double topsails, that men can handle.

However, we were very fast. The Tanner could do fifteen knots free on a wind that would jam a square-rigger close and by. Her four masts were of the usual type, all the same, and her gaff-topsails were high on the hoist, giving her a tall appearance.

The first day under all sail, with the wind abeam, she rolled off thirteen and fourteen knots an hour, and kept her decks awash under a perfect torrent of foam, dragging her rail through a solid mass of suds. She simply ran, shoved her sharp nose out through it, and slipped over the long, smooth, rolling swell with a plunging lift that felt good.

The steam winches for handling line were good. With drums turning, all one had to do was to snatch the halyard in the deck block, grab a turn on the drum, and up went anything that could go. Then a stopper on the line, and to the belaying pin—and all was done. There was no hee-hawing, no singing of sailor's chanteys, no sailoring of the type we had known in our earlier days; but I am free to admit that I would rather have had the steam winches—especially when it came on to blow and we had to reef her down.

The Chinks were allowed on deck from eight bells in the morning until eight at night; and they were always getting in the way.

Miss MacDonald and her aunt came on deck most of the time, and sat wrapped in rugs near the wheel, where the old man entertained them with tales of the sea. They were greatly interested in the Chinamen.

I found my watch on the poop not at all disagreeable during daylight, for Miss Aline was good to look at. She was of medium height, with brown hair that curled in spite of the sea wind, and she was solidly and strongly built, her figure having lines that told of sturdiness rather than delicate beauty. But although she was not what one would call fat, or even stout, she was certainly not thin, and her rounded face was rosy with health.

Her mouth had a peculiar gentleness of expression, and when she showed her white teeth to me and flushed a bit upon recognizing the master handler of fluent oaths, I thought her about as good as they come. I was a bit embarrassed, but I was only second greaser, and as such could not sit at the table with her, so I said little.

I told Slade, however, that his hands were unfit to pass salt junk to a lady—and, for a wonder, he washed them in fresh water before going below! He was mate, and could sit in with the skipper, while I walked the deck above and made mental comments upon the irony of fate that shoved in a fellow like him to entertain a girl that he could not speak to without stammering like a drunken man, while I——-

It was in my watch during dinner that I had the first real chance to see our coolie boss. The second week, after things had settled themselves, and the routine of the ship took the place of the frantic scramble to get things shipshape, I stood at the break of the poop, which in the Tanner was very low—not more than four feet above the deck, as is the case in many schooners—and as I stood there up popped Yellow Dog, the giant Chink, from the door of the alleyway to starboard. The beggar was so tall that he was almost on a level with myself, in spite of the difference in the decks, and I found his eyes close to mine as he turned and saw me.

"Have any trouble in the passageway?" I asked him, thinking he might have been a bit mixed in straightening out that gang below in the narrow space.

He gave me a look, a slanting glance from the corners of his little, screwed-up eyes, and then he turned his back upon me as if I had been bilge water, and offended his senses.

"Hey, Yellow Dog! What's the matter with you? Are you tongue-tied? Don't you know enough of ship's etiquette to answer an officer when he speaks?" I spat at him.

"I tlakee captain man—not you," he sang, in his musical voice, and he forthwith strode to the galley, where a Kanaka cook was busy with the dinner.

"You great big Yellow——" But there is no use of telling what I remarked to him as he went along that deck. As the officer in command at the moment, I was not a little offended by this high-handed way of a common Chink, more especially as I was inquiring for the welfare of his men.

The cook heard my note of temper, and refused the giant admittance to his galley's sacred precincts, whereupon Yellow Dog seized him by the scruff of the neck, and tossed him into the lee scuppers. He was about to pitch a pot of hot water on top of him, but I interposed an objection to this action in the shape of a belaying pin which, flung by my right arm under full swing, struck Yellow Dog fairly upon the skull-cap, and, bounding off, flew overboard.

The giant staggered, caught himself from falling, then he stood very straight, and gave me a look that for cold fury expressed more than I had ever dreamed possible in a Chink.

"Killee you fo' that," he hissed.

"Go on, do your killing, Yellow Dog," I snapped. "But take care you don't get something yourself—and the next time I speak to you aboard here, if you don't answer at once you'll find something else bounding off your dome that you'll remember for a long time. Now send your mess kids to that galley, and the cook will hand you out your rice and long-lick."

The men of my watch stopped work where they were, and grinned at the big Chinaman. Their contempt for the race was more than my own, and I knew I had the hearty approval of the sailors. At the same time I was sorry that the thing had happened, for the Chinamen who were already on deck passed the word along, and by the time I had finished talking the whole gang of them were standing about, with looks upon their faces that told of trouble.

It was a bad beginning for a long voyage.

Gantline came on deck as soon as he could finish his dinner, and wanted to know what the trouble was about, but that was all he said. He found no fault with my remarks nor with my actions. A ship's officer must maintain discipline, and discipline cannot be maintained without respect.

Miss MacDonald came up with her aunt, and I went below to my dinner. As I passed the door of the forward house leading into the cabin, the stout Chink who seemed to be a close chum of the big leader glared at me. He had a sinister face, with little slits of eyes that looked slantwise, like the eyes of a wolf.

His moustaches were thin and straight along his lip, until they reached the corners of his wide mouth, then they suddenly dropped straight down, and hung like the tusks of a walrus, two thin, black points of hair about six inches long. They gave him the appearance of some carnivorous animal, fierce, saturnine and dangerous.

Instead of slamming him for his insolence, I pretended not to see him, and passed in, yet the look stayed with me, and I remembered it at intervals. He was a wolf, all right, a human wolf—but I was to find that out later.

"What do you think of our passengers—the coolies?" I asked Jack, the steward, who sat at my mess next the carpenter, Oleson.

"Watch them, Mr. Garnett, watch them," he warned. "I've seen some mighty bad Chinks leaving the coast lately. These men belong to tongs—hatchet men—and if you'll take my word for it you will find plenty of long, black-barreled guns tucked somewhere in their dunnage. But the hatchet is their game for those they have a grudge against—hatchets don't make a noise at night."

"They won't get about the decks in my watch, to use any hatchets, or guns, either, for that matter," I answered. "I'll tuck them in snug to bed at eight bells."

"Hatchet's a bad thing at night," put in Oleson. "I'll put a heavy staple on their door after they turn in."

In my watch below I read ancient magazines until I fell asleep. In my dreams I saw that stout Chinaman's face with the pointed whiskers and slant eyes peering down over me. In his hand was a little, thin-bladed hatchet, like a tomahawk, and as I reached up for him I awoke with a start, shivering in spite of the heat.

The door of my cabin was closed, and my window, or port, was but half open, sliding as it did upon sills about five feet above the main deck.

A shadow passed even as I looked up, but when I sprang out of my bunk and slammed the glass open, there was nothing near the opening.

Just twenty or thirty feet distant forward two of the crew were working on some gear, and the light was still strong enough to recognize them as Jim and Bill, of Slade's watch. Then the bells of the dogwatch struck, and I went on deck, swearing at myself for a nervous fool.

I refused to take a gun which hung over my bunk, hating the idea of doing such a thing, for guns always spelled trouble in all ships I had ever been in, and I hated the idea of using one. I went on the poop, and Miss MacDonald was sitting there with her aunt, chatting with the old man.

"Keep her steady as she goes—sou'west half west," said Gantline, as I came up.

"Aye, aye, sir," I answered, and was about to go aft to the wheel, when the young lady spoke to me.

"I have just asked the captain to allow me to read a chapter from the Bible to those Chinamen," she said, "and, if you will assist me, we will gather them close together on the deck there"—pointing to the main deck. "I can stand upon the edge and see them better. You don't know whether they can speak or understand English, do you?"

"I think they understand me at times," I ventured, "but I'm a bit doubtful about the kind of talk you will toss them."

"Toss them? What do you mean?" she asked.

"Why, I mean—well, they understand the kind of English we use at times—I don't know how to explain—it isn't a written language——"

"I should sincerely hope not," said Miss MacDonald meaningly.

"Yes, but, my dear, it is so expressive—I heard you talking to them during dinner to-day," interrupted her aunt.

I blushed a little. "Well, then, that's what I mean," I said. "I don't want to say that I think you are wasting time reading to them—you know they have a religion of their own—one that antedates ours—they won't take it right."

"That's a question we won't discuss at present," said Miss MacDonald. "There are many Christianized Chinamen at home, and they seem to appreciate it very much."

"Always, if there's a pretty woman to teach them," I snapped.

There was a silence after this. I had been rude, I suppose, but I was only telling the truth. I went to the break, or edge, of the schooner's poop, and called the watch, which had been mustering on deck.

"Get the coolies aft to the mast," I ordered.

The men passed the word along, and two or three Chinks who understood English as well as I did came slouching aft. Gradually about two dozen stood or congregated near enough to hear, but Yellow Dog and his slant-eyed chum of the walrus mustaches seemed to decline the invitation.

"Couldn't you get the large man, their leader, to come also?" asked the lady.

"Not without dragging him lashed fast," I protested.

"Very well," she said, with just a bit of temper in her voice.

Gantline had gone below, and I was in charge of the deck until supper was over. The reading would not take long, and the steward was already bringing the cabin mess aft along the gangway. The young lady read calmly, and with a peculiarly sweet voice, that attracted the attention of the men, but not of the coolies.

The Chinks stood about, and some gazed out over the sea, some grinned openly up at her, with a smile that told of tolerance for an imbecile. Miss MacDonald, senior, went below to prepare for supper.

Before the girl had finished, Yellow Dog came aft, and gazed at her in open admiration. He made some remark to his stout friend, and they both smiled sardonically, but their attitude was not particularly offensive.

I found some business at the spanker sheet, and when I came forward to where the girl stood, she was finishing.

"There is only one way to treat heathen, Mr. Garnett," she said, "and that is to be always kind, universally even-tempered, and gentle with them. They have had a hard road for many generations, and take to kindness, as all lower creatures do. They will only get stubborn if you use hard words and roughness. I know something about their habits, for I've taught the school at home, where we had twenty pupils, all grown men."

At this I protested. I confess I was hot.

"If you are kind to them they will think you're afraid of them," I declared. "If you mule-lick them, hog-strap them, and generally beat the devil out of them, they'll do as you tell them—not otherwise. I'm not running a school aboard here, if you please, and while I will give you any assistance you want or can get, I go on the log right now that as far as we handle these men, we must beat them and lick them into submission. There's no other way at sea. It's brutal, but the other way will turn out more brutal. I'm not responsible for them being in this ship—but I'll see they get to their port of discharge, all right, if I have to flay them alive!"

"I think you are perfectly horrible—perfectly, brutal to say such things," said Miss MacDonald. "Are all seamen brutes? Does the captain stand for such things aboard here?"

"There is only one way to do with cattle of this sort," I insisted. "I don't want the job—I'd rather run in a bunch of snakes. But a ship's bound to be run the way ships are run. There isn't any new way to run a ship, believe me. It's all been tried out hundreds of years before you were born. Perhaps some day, when we don't need ships, the brotherly-love racket will work all right; but not these days."

"I don't believe it, anyhow," said the lady, "and I'm amazed that a man of apparent intelligence should say such things. You should do unto others as you would have them do unto you—always."

"Quite so," I assented, somewhat nettled at the idea that a young lady should give me points on running a ship. "I always do, always do unto the crew or those coolies the same as I would expect them to do to me—if I was the same kind of rascal they are—and if our places were exchanged. There can be only one man in charge of the deck, the watch officer, and he's responsible for everything that happens. And if I would be so bold as to give you a bit of advice, I should say to you, for God's sake don't try any foolishness on those yellow-skins while they are under my charge. It'll only make trouble, and there'll be enough of that, anyhow, by the way things look."

"What do you mean?" asked Miss Aline.

"I mean that Yellow Dog, as the skipper calls him, that big Chink, is not liking ship's discipline already. If you will go near the door of the alleyway when they open it you will smell the fumes of opium strong enough to knock you down. They don't pretend to obey orders, and the company makes us carry them and take care of them like they were babies. We can't even search them or offer any kind of protest—they'd refuse to come if the contract was not drawn that way."

"Well, be kind to them, be always lenient with them," said Miss Aline, in a tone so different, so pleading that I gave up. "Don't yell at them like I heard you to-day. It isn't dignified, it isn't right—you will be good to them, now, won't you?—just try it and see if it don't work."

"Ho, well, I'll try to do the best I can, of course," I answered, thinking of the stout pirate with the hangers. "Yes, I'll try to be just as kind as I possibly can—of course, I'll promise you that—that's the skipper's orders, you know."

The steward had already brought the mess things for the cabin, and the lady went below to join her aunt and the old man—and Slade. The mate was not standing for my line of talk, as I could see by the way Miss Aline spoke, and it made me warm to think that a mate of Slade's attainments should be so mushy as to snicker and grin when I told him how things stood.

"'Keep solid with the passengers'—that's one of the old rules in the express steamers, you know—'keep right with the ladies,'" he said, grinning at me when I mentioned the missionary work the young lady had undertaken. "And, by the way, lend me a couple of your clean collars—you won't need them right away, and I do."

"I'll do nothing of the kind," I answered shortly.

"Oh, don't get rattled because I've got the inside route. Don't be mad, old man, because I've gained the weather of you. All's fair in the game. And between you and me, if the Chink gets gay with you, bang him on the nut for fair, and I'll slip in with you—if it's dark. But you don't want to queer me below. Now, be sane, and come across with those collars. I'm young and single—and mate, see?"

"Go to the devil!" I answered, but I knew Slade would go to my room, instead, and nail those white-laundered collars I had kept clean.

That night, when I turned in, I found that, indeed, Slade had been below, and had rummaged my things about most unkindly, taking my linen. I turned in with a feeling of resentment at his luck in position, but I dismissed the feeling quickly as the absurdity of the affair dawned upon me, for, after all, I was not thinking of women at all, and had no right to under the present high salary I was drawing.

Rolling into my bunk, I was instantly asleep. In my dreams I saw that walrus-looking Chink. His long black feelers hung down over me, the points piercing my vitals like tusks. I gave a yell and awoke!

The lamp was burning dimly, as it always did in my room at night, ready for the sudden call to the deck, and I could see everything distinctly the moment I opened my eyes. A face was just leaving the glass of my window. I sprang out of the bunk, and peered out through the glass. At that instant there was a heavy rat-tat-tat upon the door, and the voice of Jim Douglas, of Slade's watch, called to me that it was eight bells, and time to turn out. I threw open the door.

"Did you look in through my window?" I asked him.

"No, sir; I wouldn't do anything like that, sir," said the seaman.

He was a good-looking young Scotchman of twenty-four, tall and strong, with an honest face. I knew he was telling the truth.

"That's all," I said, and he went on his way.

I looked at the gun that hung over my shelf at the bunk head. It was one I took off a dago named Louis, of my watch, and it was a heavy gun, forty-five caliber, and long in the barrel.

"Perfectly absurd to think of it," I muttered to myself. I pulled on my coat, and started for the deck, when something, some instinct, told me to take the weapon.

"Sentiment be hanged!" I said out loud, and tucked the revolver in a rear pocket. Then I made the deck, and found Slade standing at the mizzen waiting for me.

"We'll raise the land before morning," said he. "She's been running like a scared rat all night. Keep a lookout, and when you sight anything sing out to the old man—he'll be on deck probably, but he's been acting queer lately, and you better watch him. We'll heave her to for a pilot, and you know the rest."

"All right," I answered.

The soft, damp air of the trade wind made the decks soaking wet. The low hum through the rigging added to the murmuring of the side wash. The creaking of sheet blocks and slight straining of the gear were the only noises that broke the stillness of the peaceful night. The schooner was running along rapidly, heeling gently to the wind, and everything drawing. The rolling motion was slight, for the wind was strong enough to hold her steady.

The voices of the watch forward sounded above the murmuring, and I could see the glow of a pipe belonging to some one who disregarded the ship's discipline sufficiently to smoke while on duty. I took my place at the mizzen rigging to con the vessel, and stood there silently for a long time watching the foam rushing past her, now and then gazing far ahead to see if I could raise the lights of Pearl Harbor. The wind was almost astern, and the headsails were consequently not doing much work. I listened to the slatting, and then sang out:

"Haul down the jib topsail and roll it up."

"Aye, aye, sir," came the response, and the men went to the forecastle head.

Aft at the wheel the shadow of a man holding the spokes was the only sign of life on deck. I took my place again at the weather rigging, and waited for the report from forward.

A heavier swell than usual rolled the schooner, and I turned to look aft. At that instant something whizzed past my ear, and struck with a chugging sound into the backstay. My ear stung sharply, and something warm ran down my neck. I saw a form vanish behind the mast, and called out.

I knew I had been struck, and drew my gun, springing toward the figure, which dashed silently across the deck as I gained the mast. I fired at it without hesitation, and the fellow let out a scream, gained the rail, and plunged over the side.

I was at the rail in an instant, but saw nothing in the foam. A moment's silence followed, and then a sound of steps and a rising murmur of voices told me of the alarm.

Gantline was on deck in less time than it takes to tell it, and he roared out: "What's the matter?"

Slade sprang from the door of the forward cabin, calling out that he was coming. Men from forward rushed aft. Then, from out of the doors of the alleyways, a stream of figures poured forth, flowing like a black tide onto the main deck. A sudden roar of voices followed, and I recognized the high-pitched tones of our coolies.

"All hands—help! All hands aft—quick!" I yelled, and fired into the black figures who swarmed up the poop and crowded upon me.

As I fired, I heard the shrill screams of the elder Miss MacDonald, and then there was indiscriminate firing. I yelled to Slade, and he answered once. The crowd surged over me, and I was down, with a dozen panting heathens on top of me. In a minute it was all over. Some one passed a line about my arms, and, kick as I might, they soon had me snug and fast. Gantline roared out orders from the wheel, and I heard the crack of a pistol at rapid intervals. Then a roaring, surging mob rolled over him—and there was the schooner luffing to under full sail, her head sheets thrashing and the canvas thundering in the stiff breeze.

They had taken her. We were overpowered, all right. The men forward stood it out but a moment longer, and surrendered.

When I could see again I noticed the giant form of Yellow Dog standing near the wheel, and two of his men at the wheel spokes. He sang out orders in his musical bass voice, and the sheets were quickly trimmed in. The schooner now headed well up with the wind abeam, and pointed away across the Pacific, far to the northward of Hawaii. Yellow Dog had taken her easily.

I was hauled below, and tossed into the forward cabin. Here I found Slade lashed fast, like myself. He was hurt by a bullet that had torn his thigh, and was bleeding. Upon a transom lay Gantline, trussed from head to foot in line, and the old skipper was swearing fiercely at the ill fortune that had overtaken his ship.

I noticed a few Chinks standing near the door of the after cabin, and they looked at us casually, seeming to regard us not at all. Then I heard the soft voice of Miss Aline pleading with Yellow Dog. But of course she might have pleaded with the sea with as much effect. Then the sounds died away, and we lay there, waiting for daylight and what might follow.

Daylight came, and the schooner still held her way under all sail except the jib topsail that I had hauled down before the fracas. She now lay at a sharp angle, and felt the trade wind upon her starboard beam.

Yellow Dog came into the forward cabin. He stopped a moment near me, then kicked me savagely, muttering strange sounds in his own language. I told him fluently in good seaman's English just what I thought of him, and if he did not understand me he was something dense, for I've had every kind of human under the sun on my ship's deck, and I have so far failed to notice any who could not understand me when I let off a few pieces of literature or oratory.

Yellow Dog seemed rather pleased than otherwise, for he called his man, the walrus-mustached one, and grinned while they held a confab. I took it that something choice would be handed me within a very short time.

When I had a chance to ask the skipper, he told us we were within forty miles of Pearl Harbor. From the way we nosed into the breeze, the schooner was now heading northwest across the ocean, giving the harbor a wide berth.

"What'll they do?" I asked him.

"Sink her, with us aboard—take the ten thousand dollars in the safe, and make a get-away with it. They'll turn up ashore in some deserted place, and that'll be about all. Then they'll divide the swag, separate, and Yellow Dog will go his way—probably back to China. It's not much money when you think of it for a white man, but it's a whole heap for a Chink."

After the day had well advanced we heard noises on deck. The foresail was lowered, or, rather, let go by the run, the noise of tearing gear sounding plainly. Topsails, staysails, and everything forward except the jib were cut away. Then the spanker was lowered, and left threshing about, half up, with the sheet hauled amidships. The jib was hauled to the mast, and the schooner lay hove to in the trade swell, riding easily upon the sea, and remaining very steady.

We heard them getting out the boats, and there was much noise from aft where the safe was fast to the deck in the captain's cabin. Finally a terrific explosion took place there, and after that the noises died away.

"Blew it," said Slade.

A smell of smoke now began to be apparently in the confined air of the cabin.

"Good Lord! Are they going to fire us?" asked the mate.

"Safest way, I suppose. Knock a hole in her bottom first, set her on fire, and then get out," I said.

"But the girl?" asked Slade.

"Oh, Yellow Dog will take care of her—probably take her along with him in the boats."

"Not if I know it. Man, do you know what that means?" he panted, straining at his wrist lashings.

"Well, it's a mighty bad outlook, but if you can stop it, sing out; I'll help," I said.

The smoke grew more dense in the confined space. The noise of hoisting gear died away, and the shouts of men from a distance told that they already had the small boats over, and were alongside.

Slade strained away at his lines, and I did, also, but we were fast. Gantline muttered on the transom, and began to choke with the smoke. Suddenly a form burst into the room. It was Oleson, the carpenter. He slashed at our lashings with a heavy knife, and in a moment we were free.

We dragged ourselves out on deck, crawling to keep below the rail, so that we could not be seen from the small boats. Two forms lay right in front of a door—two of our men who had been killed. Not a sign of a wounded Chink, or dead one, either. They had taken them along if there were any.

"I cut loose," said Oleson; "rubbed the lashings on a broken bottle they left on deck near me. They've knocked a few holes in her, and it's up to us to stop them up before the schooner sinks. She's on fire forward—whole barrel of oil poured over her decks and lit up before——"

"Looks like they have her either way, then," said Gantline. "But we'll try the fire first, and take a chance at her settling under us."

I peeped over the rail and saw the boats—three of them—about a mile distant. Then Slade and I ran below aft. The two passengers had apparently gone with them, and the cabin was empty. Gantline, with Oleson and six men left alive aboard, fought the fire, and we joined them.

Half an hour's work and we had the fire out, but it had played the mischief with the running gear, having burned up plenty of line that lay on the deck. Oleson and Slade went below forward, while Gantline and I went after to find where they had knocked holes in her bottom.

The sound of rushing water told us the position of the leak almost before we reached the lower deck. They had not done much of a job, having cut squarely into her just below the water line, trusting to the fire to finish their work for them.

Calling all hands, we jammed a mattress into the hole, and then passed a tarpaulin down on the outside. Oleson spiked planks over the wad, and we had a fair stopper on the place. Then we set to work to get the canvas on her.

Yellow Dog, finding that the schooner was not burning quickly, put back in his boat to see what the trouble was. We were then at the gear, and he soon saw us. His men sent the boat along with a will, and they drew close aboard in a few minutes.

We were now without arms, and he seemed to be satisfied that he would get us without trouble. It was blowing fresh, and the schooner was drifting bodily to leeward.

We crammed the oil-soaked stuff from her decks into the donkey boiler, and as the fire was already burning, and steam was almost up, we waited, while some of us hoisted the headsails and swung her head off before the wind. The mizzen was swayed up, and in a few minutes the schooner was under good headway, sliding along at four or five knots, and keeping the boat at a distance.

"Now, then, my hearty, we'll soon fix you," said Gantline.

Between moments of desperate work we had a chance to see that the other boats were also coming back after us. At the present rate we were holding our own, and Yellow Dog stood no chance to catch us, but he kept on, and managed to get within a couple of hundred yards.

From here he opened fire upon us with the heavy six-shooters, and we heard the spat of the lead in the canvas, but for ourselves we kept below the rail, and the power of a revolver was not enough to bother us exceedingly.

Soon Oleson announced that we could put the halyards to the winches, and we sent the foresail and mainsail up in no time. Then we set the spanker and had all the lower canvas on her.

The schooner lay well over under the pressure, and we sent her along a good ten knots, while we cleared up the gear and made things shipshape. The boats were soon black specks in the sunshine.

"Now, then, let's get to work on that yellow boy right," said the old man.

"No, don't let him get too far away from us," said Slade. "The two ladies are in that boat with the big Chink, and we better attend to it first."

We hauled our wind and began reaching back, the boat with Yellow Dog being kept right under the jibboom end.

"I reckon I'll take the wheel and you go forward, Mr. Garnett," said Gantline.

"Will you run him down?" I asked.

"Without any mistake at all—if you'll give me the course right when he gets in close," said the captain.

"But the ladies, the passengers?" said Slade.

"We'll do the best we can for them—just as well to get killed that way as to get away with those fellows, isn't it?"

The men took to the idea at once, and we grouped close under the shelter of the windlass, watching the schooner run. She was going a full ten, and rising and falling with a rhythmic motion, her side, where the patch was, being almost clear of the sea.

Yellow Dog saw us, and knew what we intended to do. He swung his boat around and pulled dead into the wind's eye, knowing that if we missed him we would not get a chance to strike again until we beat well up to windward of him. He would make it warm on deck as we came close, and Gantline took the precaution to place a few boards against the binnacle, so that he could crouch behind them when the firing began. I was to wave my hand which way he should steer, and he was to keep me in sight readily.

We drew rapidly up to the boat. Yellow Dog stood up in the stern, and held a long, black-barreled revolver in his hand.

We crouched lower, and the schooner bore down upon the boat. I waved my hand to starboard, and Gantline gave her a few spokes. Yellow Dog backed water, and the boat would have gone clear of the cutwater, but at that instant a heavier puff of wind heeled the schooner over, and she luffed to a trifle, her cutwater rising upon a swell.

Then, with the downward plunge, she shored through the small boat, striking it fairly amidships.

I was so taken up with the affair that I poked my head too far over the rail, and a bullet ripped my cheek open, knocking me head over heels with the shock.

I scrambled to my feet, furious with the pain and excitement. The fragments of the small boat drifted alongside, the after part going to leeward, and dragging along the channels. I saw Slade spring upon the rail for an instant, and then plunge overboard.

Holding my bleeding face with one hand, I ran to the forechannels, and saw Yellow Dog grasp the chains as they washed past. He had a mighty grip, and that hand hold of his was a wonder. He drew himself into the chains, and, without waiting, clambered up and over the rail, springing to the deck right in front of me as I backed away.

Oleson saw him coming, and so did a seaman named Wales. The three of us closed on him, and dragged him down, and we rolled in the lee scuppers, a fighting, snarling pile of humanity, while Gantline let the wheel go, and ran to help us.

Yellow Dog tossed the three of us off with the ease of a man throwing aside children, and would have taken charge in another moment, but Gantline, running up behind him with a handspike, swung the bar down with full force upon that little skullcap, and the giant Chink stretched out harmless. We had him trussed before the schooner had stopped her headway into the breeze.

Then we ran to the side, and looked for Slade. He was swimming easily about a hundred yards astern, holding the form of Miss Aline with one hand, and keeping her head clear of the water. All about were the forms of swimming Chinamen.

Quickly backing the headsails, we sent the schooner astern, drifting down upon the mate. I made a line fast to a life buoy, and flung it far out. After what seemed a long time, we finally had the mate fast to it, and were hauling him in. Soon he was taken aboard, and Miss MacDonald was carried below. Then we went to work trying to pick up the Chinks.

Many of these refused to come aboard, preferring to die in the sea. Some we caught and dragged up forcibly. We caught most of them, and then hauled our wind for the two boats that were now almost out of sight.

Within a couple of hours we had the first alongside, and she surrendered. In it was Miss Aline's aunt, and she was passed below insensible. The other boat took longer to get, but we finally got her alongside, and the men out of her. Forty-seven Chinks stood the muster. We had lost ten of them and two of our men in the fracas. Miss MacDonald came out of her faint, and from her room, where she had locked herself. She fell into the arms of her niece.

"Oh, the brave men, those romantic sailors, those heroes!" she cried, in an ecstasy of joy, and she gave me a look worth millions.

"Hush!" said Miss Aline. "Perhaps if those heroes had been a little more gentle there would have been no trouble—but I am glad we are saved. Mr. Slade risked his life for me."

The Kanaka cook crawled from the lower hold, where he had hidden at the first outcry, and the stewardess came from the lazaret. We came into Honolulu that evening with the police flag flying, and turned the big Chink over to the authorities for treatment. His lieutenant of the walrus mustaches was missing.

Miss Aline came on deck to look around. She saw Slade, and went to him. What she said to him was none of my business, but Slade was a good man and a good mate. Afterward she came to the mizzen where I stood like a bandaged soldier.

"I suppose you'll not make the rest of the voyage with us?" I asked.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Oh—er—I don't know; maybe you don't care so much for the heathen. Brotherly love and kindness—fine theory, all right, but we're not just ready to put it in practice—willing to wait, you know, until it comes our way—perhaps a bit afraid——"

"You are very much mistaken, sir," she broke in. "You will find out your error, too, I think, before we get through. I am firmly convinced that your own actions with that poor heathen are as much at fault as his, and that if you had not treated him so roughly he would never have done what he did."

I grinned. I couldn't help it. Slade was winking at me from the door of the forward house. Oh, well, here was a good woman gone wrong in her theories, and I would not be insolent enough to disagree with her. I let it go at that. I was willing to wait until she had finished the voyage—for Slade's sake. He was a sly dog, that Slade.

We found about two thousand dollars of the money taken among the men captured. The rest was a total loss, and Gantline bemoaned his fate, as it fell upon him to a certain extent.

We cleared, leaving the big Chinaman to stand trial with two others as accessories, and the police absolved me absolutely from all blame in the matter.