Dorothy changed the subject by asking about the women. There were two, it appeared, one old and one young. The older one, of whom the sailors spoke affectionately as Mother Joyce, was nearly sixty years old; she and her husband had been on the wrecks for fifteen years. The younger had been there only two years; she had been a widow, but had married one Gallegher, Forbes’s right-hand man, some time before. The only child in the community was hers.
“So you marry here, just as you do elsewhere?” interjected Dorothy, lightly, at this point. “Who performs the ceremonies?”
Joe hesitated. “Cap’n Forbes used to up to last year,” he answered at last. “Then Mr. Willoughby floated in on a wreck. He’s a regular gospel sharp, an’ he’s done it since.”
“Gallegher ain’t pretty,” continued Joe, thoughtfully. “An’ I guess Mrs. Strother that was wasn’t over-anxious to marry him. But women is awful skearce here, and they generally gits married right off.” He paused and looked from Dorothy to Howard. “Your wife, sir?” he questioned.
Dorothy flushed hotly, but Howard did not seem to notice it.
“No,” he said. “This is Miss Fairfax. I am Lieutenant Howard, of the navy. This is Mr. Jackson, of the New York police force.”
The men ducked their heads awkwardly. “We did have another lady here,” remarked Bill, abstractedly. “She was the cap’n’s wife, but she died a month or two ago. The cap’n is mighty anxious to marry again—mighty anxious.”
“Ah! indeed.” Howard rose from the table. “Come,” he continued, “let’s go on deck. I want you to point out something to me!”
As Dorothy led the way, followed by Bill and Joe, Howard turned to Jackson, who had been listening to the sailors in dazed silence.
“If you want to get away from here, Jackson,” he counselled hurriedly, “for God’s sake keep quiet about me. If you don’t, Forbes is likely to keep us here for the rest of our lives. The chances are he will try to do it anyway.”