A hoarse cry escaped him. Through the dreadful pall of the latter years, through bitterness, shame and inertia, burst in a blinding flood the memory and presence of other days. The shock passed instantaneously, and left him utterly changed. Facing his old ship, he became once more the man her master had been. Decision and authority returned to him, as they always did in a crisis; for they were intrinsic, in spite of life and destiny.
A rowboat was passing the steamer; he hailed it sharply. "Rowboat ahoy! Come alongside, and wait there for me" He crossed the bridge with strong steps, stood before the captain, gazed at him steadily, until the eyes of the other fell.
"I'll leave your dirty tramp immediately, sir. You can keep my wages—I don't want them. Take them and buy a book on seamanship. You'll need it the next time you get in shoal water"
"You insolent old devil...!"
"Don't touch me!" The old man's voice was level and hard; his hands swung at his sides. He advanced threateningly. "You didn't dare touch me at sea; don't do it now. I..." Speechlessness overcame him. Too much: it could never be put into words. "My God!" he murmured, turning away "I was master of a ship before he was born"
Ten minutes later, seated in the rowboat with all his worldly belongings stacked around him, he directed the boatman to row him aboard the Viking. As they passed under her stern, he looked up at the well-remembered letters. They were dim now; time and weather had worn off the gilt. An afternoon in Hong Kong harbour came back to him; he recalled it vividly. He had been coming off from shore in his sampan, full of news; the ship had been chartered for home. Grace would be delighted. Approaching the ship, he had overhauled her with a critical eye, and found no blemish in her; then, as they rounded the stern, had looked up at these same letters. His Frankie had called from the rail, running forward to meet him at the gangway. Time and weather—the awful dimming of life. He bowed his head in his hands, and wept like a child.
VI
A stroke of luck was about to befall Captain Bradley. When he gained the Viking's deck, he found no one in command of the barge. Four frightened sailors gathered around him, taking him for their new captain. Piecing together their incoherent stories, he learned that the captain of the barge had been killed that morning in an accident at the loading berth. A hopper had broken loose, and had brained him as he stood beside the hatch. The mate, a drunken rascal, had disappeared on shore the evening before, and the captain had not expected him to return. The moment the scene of the accident had been cleaned up, they had towed the barge into the stream, in order to free the loading berth. There she lay, waiting for a new set of officers to be sent off from shore.
When he had learned this much, a strange idea came to Captain Bradley. It seemed a slender chance; but a surprising energy and hope had taken possession of him. He got the address of the coal company's shipping office, the place where these men had found their jobs; left his things aboard the Viking, gave the boatman two dollars to hurry him ashore, and went at once to the number on West Street where he had been told to apply. Luck followed him. He found the shipping office in a quandary over the Viking's case; they had no waiting list of barge officers, the tow for Boston was to be made up that afternoon, and the barge could not be sent to sea without someone in command. Captain Bradley told his story simply, showing papers that covered a career of nearly fifty years on the sea. His dignified and authoritative presence bore out the tale.
"Well, Captain Bradley" said the shipping superintendent kindly "the job is yours. I guess you deserve it, sir"