The Adventures of Captain O'Shea (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73510 ***

Copyright, 1913, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

Published September, 1913

THE CASTAWAYS

I

When the Cubans, led by Gomez and Maceo,were waging their final rebellion against the immemorialtyranny of Spain, it may be recalled thatthere was much filibustering out of American ports,and a lively demand for seafaring men of an intrepidtemper who could be relied on to keep their eyesopen and their mouths shut. Such a one was youngCaptain O’Shea, and, moreover, he was no amateurat this ticklish industry, having already “jolted onepresidente off his perch in Hayti, and set fire to thecoat-tails of another one in Honduras,” as he explainedto the swarthy gentlemen of the CubanJunta in New York, who passed on his credentials.

They gave him a sea-going tug called the Fearless,permitted him to pick his own crew, and toldhim where to find his cargo, in a fairly lonesomeinlet of the Florida coast. Thereafter he was towork out his own salvation. The programme waslikely to be anything else than monotonous. To4be nabbed by a Yankee cruiser in home waters forbreaking the laws of nations meant that CaptainO’Shea would cool his heels in a Federal jail, a mishapmost distasteful to a man of a roving disposition.To run afoul of the Spanish blockading fleetin Cuban waters was to be unceremoniously shotfull of holes and drowned in the bargain.

Such risks as these were incidental to his trade,and Captain O’Shea maintained his cheerful composureuntil the Fearless had taken her explosivecargo on board and was dropping the sandy coast-lineof Florida over her stern. Then he scrutinizedhis passengers and became annoyed. The Juntahad sent him a Cuban colonel and forty patriots,recruited from the cigar factories of Tampa andKey West, who ardently, even clamorously, desiredto return to their native land and fight for the gloriouscause of liberty.

Their organization was separate from that of theship’s company. It was not the business of CaptainO’Shea to enforce his hard-fisted discipline amongthem, nor did he have to feed them, for they hadbrought their own stores on board. Early in thevoyage he expressed his superheated opinion of theparty to the chief engineer. The twain stood on thelittle bridge above the wheel-house, the clean-built,youthful Irish-American skipper, and the beefy, gray-headedJohnny Kent, whose variegated career hadbegun among the Yankees of ’way down East.

The deep-laden Fearless was wallowing throughthe uneasy seas of the Gulf Stream. The Cuban5patriots were already sea-sick in squads, and theylay helpless amid an amazing disorder of weapons,blankets, haversacks, valises, and clothing. Nowand then the crest of a sea flicked merrily over thelow guard-rail and swashed across the pallid sufferers.

“Did ye ever see such a mess in all your borndays?” disgustedly observed Captain O’Shea. “Andwe will have to live with this menagerie for a weekor so, Johnny.”

“It’ll be a whole lot worse when all of ’em aretook sea-sick,” was the discouraging reply. “Doggone’em, they ain’t even stowed their kits away.They just flopped and died in their tracks. Whydon’t you make their colonel kick some savvey into’em, eh, Cap’n Mike?”

“Colonel Calvo?” and O’Shea spat to leewardwith a laugh. “He is curled up in the spare state-room,and his complexion is as green as a starboardlight. There is one American in the lot. Wait tillI fetch him up.”

A deck-hand was sent into the dismal chaos, andthere presently returned in his wake a lean, sandyman in khaki who clutched an old-fashioned Springfieldrifle. At a guess his years might have beenforty, and his visage had never a trace of humor init. Much drill had squared his shoulders and flattenedhis back, and he stiffly saluted Captain O’Shea.

“Who are you, and what are ye doing in suchamazin’ bad company?” asked the latter.

“My name is Jack Gorham, sir. I served fourenlistments in the Fifth Infantry, and I have medals6for marksmanship. The Cubans took me on as asharp-shooter. They promised me a thousand dollarsfor every Spanish officer I pick off with thisold gun of mine. I have a hundred and fifty rounds.You can figure it out for yourself, sir. I’ll be a richman.”

“Provided ye are not picked off first, me hopefulsharp-shooter. Are there any more good men inyour crowd?”

The old regular dubiously shook his head as heanswered:

“There’s a dozen or so that may qualify on dryland. The rest ain’t what you’d call reliable comrades-in-arms.”

“Oh, they may buck up,” exclaimed CaptainO’Shea. “Look here, Gorham, you can’t live ondeck with those sea-sick swine. Better go for’ardand bunk with my crew.”

Jack Gorham looked grateful, but firmly declared:

“Thank you, sir, I belong with the Cuban outfit,and I’ll take my medicine. It would make badfeeling if I was to quit ’em. They are as jealousand touchy as children. I have a tip for you.There is one ugly lad in the bunch, the big, blacknigg*r settin’ yonder on the hatch. They tell mehe comes from Colombia and left there two jumpsahead of the police.”

They gazed down at the powerful figure of thenegro, whose tattered shirt disclosed swelling ridgesof muscle and more than one long scar defined inpink against the shining black skin. Thick-lipped,7flat-nosed, he was the primitive African savage whoseancestors had survived the middle passage in thehold of a Spanish slaver. He was snarling andgrumbling to a group of Cubans, and Captain O’Sheapricked up his ears.

“Raising a row about the grub, is he? ’Tis apity he could not be sea-sick early and often.”

“Why don’t you crack him over the head with abelayin’-pin just for luck?” amiably suggested thechief engineer. “It would sweeten him up considerable.”

“I am carrying them as passengers, you blood-thirstyold buccaneer,” retorted O’Shea. “I mustkeep me hands off till they really mix things up.But I do not like the looks of the big nigg*r. Heis one of your born trouble-hunters.”

“You take my advice and beat him up good andplenty before he gets started,” was the sage farewellof Johnny Kent as he lumbered below to exhort hisoilers and stokers.

The night came down and obscured the hurryingtug whose course was laid for the Yucatan passagearound the western end of Cuba. The lights of amerchant-steamer twinkled far distant and CaptainO’Shea sheered off to give her a wide berth. He hadno desire to be sighted or reported.

To him, keeping lookout on the darkened bridge,came his cook, a peaceable mulatto who had a grievancewhich he aired as follows:

“Please, cap’n, them Cubans what ain’t sea-sick isactin’ powerful unreasonable. I lets ’em heat their8stuff and make coffee in my galley, but I ain’t’sponsible for th’ rations they all draws. That big,black nigg*h is stirrin’ ’em up. Jiminez, they callshim. At supper-time to-night, cap’n, he tried toswipe some of th’ crew’s bacon and hash, and Ihad to chase him outen th’ galley.”

“All right, George. I will keep an eye on him to-morrow,”said the skipper. “Between you and methe Cuban party did not bring enough provisionsaboard to run them on full allowance for the voyage.There was graft somewhere. But I’m hanged if theycan steal any of my stores. We may need everypound of them. I will see to it that your galleyisn’t raided. And if this big bucko Jiminez getsgay again, give him the tea-kettle and scald theblack hide off him—understand?”

“Yes, suh, cap’n; I’ll parboil him if you’ll lookout he don’t carve me when he’s done recuperated.”

The cook descended to his realm of pots and panswhile Captain O’Shea reflected that the voyagemight be even livelier than he had anticipated.With calm weather his forty passengers would recovertheir appetites and demand three meals perday. They might whine and grumble over theshortage, but without a leader they were fairlyharmless.

“I will have to lock horns with the big nigg*rbefore he gets any more headway,” soliloquizedCaptain O’Shea.

For once he heartily desired high winds and roughseas, but the following morning brought weather so9much smoother, that the pangs of hunger took holdof the reviving patriots, who arose from the coal-sacksand crowded to the galley windows. Thecook toiled with one eye warily lifted lest the formidablenegro from Colombia should board himunawares.

Captain O’Shea leaned over the rail of his bridgeand surveyed the scene. Black Jiminez was makingloud complaint in his guttural Spanish patois, buthis following was not eager to encounter the rough-and-tumbledeck-hands of the Fearless, besides whichthe prudent cook hovered within easy distance ofthe steaming tea-kettle.

To the amusem*nt of Captain O’Shea, it was thatlathy sharp-shooter of the serious countenance, JackGorham, who took it upon himself to read the riotact to the big negro. He regarded himself and hisduty with a profound, unshaken gravity. Jiminezovertopped him by a foot, but pride of race andself-respect would not permit him to knuckle underto the black bully.

“Will ye look at the Gorham man?” said CaptainO’Shea to the chief engineer who had joinedhim. “He is bristlin’ up to the nigg*r like a terrierpup. And Jiminez would make no more than twobites of him.”

“How can the soldier do anything else?” exclaimedJohnny Kent. “He’s the only white manin the bunch.”

“I may as well let him know that I am backin’his game,” observed the other. He sang out to10Gorham, and the veteran infantryman climbed tothe bridge, where he stood with heels together, hatin hand. His pensive, freckled countenance failedto respond to the captain’s greeting smile.

“Unless I am mistaken, Gorham, ye have it inmind to tackle a job that looks a couple of sizestoo large for you. Will ye start a ruction withJiminez?”

“Until the colonel gets on his legs I’m the manto take charge of the party, sir,” answered the soldier,reflectively rubbing the bald spot which shonethrough his thinning thatch of sandy hair.

“But I expect to take a hand,” petulantly declaredthe captain. “This is my ship.”

“Excuse me, sir,” and Gorham’s accents weremost apologetic. “This is your ship, but it ain’tyour party. The patriots are a separate command.The big nigg*r belongs to me. If I don’t discouragehim, I lose all chance of winnin’ promotion inthe Cuban army. If he downs me, I’ll be called ayellow dog from one end of the island to the other.I intend to earn my shoulder-straps.”

“And you will climb this big, black beggar, andthank nobody to interfere?” asked the admiringCaptain O’Shea.

“It is up to me, sir.”

“You strain me patience, Gorham. If ye haveany trinkets and messages to send to your friends,better give them to me now.”

Said the chief engineer when the soldier was outof ear-shot:

11

“Does he really mean it, Cap’n Mike? He’ll surebe a homely-lookin’ corpse.”

“Mean it? That lantern-jawed lunatic wouldn’tknow a joke if it hit him bows on.”

“Will you let him be murdered?”

“We will pry the big nigg*r off him before it goesas far as that. Have ye not learned, Johnny Kent,that it is poor business to come between a man andhis good intentions, even though they may be allwrong?”

Later in the day Captain O’Shea sought the state-roomof the prostrate Colonel Calvo. The sea wasa relentless foe and showed him no mercy. Feeblymoving his hands, he turned a ghastly face to thevisitor and croaked:

“I have no interes’ in my mens, in my country,in nothings at all. I am dreadful sick. I will notlive to see my Cuba. She will weep for me. Theship, she will sink pretty soon? I hope so.”

“Nonsense, colonel,” bluffly returned O’Shea.“The weather couldn’t be finer. A few days moreof this and ye will be wading in Spanish gore toyour boot-tops. I want to ask about your stores.Your men are growlin’. Who is in charge of thecommissary?”

“Talk to me nothings about eats,” moaned thesufferer. “Why do anybody want eats? Come to-morrow,nex’ day, nex’ week. Now I have the wishto die with peace.”

“The sooner, the better,” said the visitor, anddeparted.

12

The Fearless, with explosives in the hold and inflammablehumanity above-decks, pursued her hard-drivenway through another night and turned todouble Cape San Antonio and enter the storied watersof the Caribbean. Black Jiminez had failed to playthe rôle expected of him and the discontent of thepatriots focussed itself in no open outbreak. CaptainO’Shea was puzzled at this until the matecame to him and announced that the Cubans hadbroken through a bulkhead in the after-hold andwere stealing the ship’s stores. This accountedfor their good behavior on deck. The leader ofthe secret raiding party was the big negro fromColombia.

“It seems to me that this is my business,” softlyquoth the skipper, and his gray eyes danced whilehe pulled his belt a notch tighter. “But I mustplay fair and ask permission of the melancholysharp-shooter before I proceed to make a vacancyin the Jiminez family.”

The interview with Gorham was brief. The captainargued that by breaking through a bulkheadand pilfering the crew’s provisions, the large blackone had invaded the O’Shea domain. The soldierheld to it with the stubbornness of a wooden Indianthat his own self-respect was at stake. O’Shealost his temper and burst out:

“If ye are so damned anxious to commit suicide,go and get him and put him in irons. I will giveyou a decent burial at sea, though ye don’t deserveit, you pig-headed old ramrod.”

13

“The moral effect will be better if I get him,”mildly suggested the soldier.

The Cubans had learned that trouble was in thewind. Their stolen supplies were to be cut off andthis meant short rations again. Angry and rebellious,only a spark was needed to set them ablaze.When eight bells struck the noon hour they surgedtoward the galley, making a great noise, displayingtheir sea-rusted machetes and rifles. In the leadwas Jiminez, a half-clad, barbaric giant who waveda heavy blade over his head and shouted imprecations.The purpose of the mob was to rush thegalley and carry off all the food in sight.

The crew of the Fearless liked not the idea ofgoing dinnerless. When the excited patriots chargedforward, there quickly rallied in front of the deck-housefourteen earnest-looking men equipped withMauser rifles broken out of the cargo. In a wheel-housewindow appeared the head and shoulders ofCaptain O’Shea. His fist held a piece of artilleryknown as a Colt’s forty-five. In the background ofthe picture was the resourceful Johnny Kent, whowas coupling the brass nozzle of the fire-hose.

Jiminez had decided to declare war. He appealedto the patriots to use their weapons, but they showeda prudent reluctance to open the engagement. Oneof them, by way of locating the responsibility forthe dispute, pulled a revolver from a holster andtook a snap-shot at the cook.

“I guess I’d better turn loose this hose and wash’em aft, Cap’n Mike,” sung out the chief engineer.14“George is a darned good cook and it ain’t right tolet these black-and-tans pester him.”

Captain O’Shea bounded from the bridge to thedeck, and the crew of the Fearless welcomed himwith joyous yelps. Instead of giving them the expectedorder to charge the Cubans hammer-and-tongs,he made for Jiminez single-handed. His intentionwas thwarted. Between him and the burlynegro appeared the spare figure of Jack Gorham,who moved swiftly, quietly. With courteous intonationand no sign of heat he affirmed:

“This is my job, sir. It’s about time to put afew kinks in him.”

The manner of the man made Captain O’Sheahesitate and feel rebuked, as though he had beenproperly told to mind his own business. With aboyish grin he slapped Gorham on the back andsaid:

“I beg your pardon for intrudin’. ’Tis yourfuneral.”

Although the mob behind Jiminez failed to catchthe wording of this bit of dialogue, they comprehendedits import. The extraordinary composureof the two men impressed them. They felt morefear of them than of the embattled deck-hands.The tableau lasted only a moment, but a singularsilence fell upon the ship.

Big Jiminez nervously licked his lips and his bloodshoteyes roved uneasily. It was apparent that hehad been singled out as the leader, and that thesad-featured American soldier in the sea-stained15khaki viewed him as no more than an incident inthe day’s work.

Captain O’Shea had stepped back to join his ownmen. Jack Gorham stood alone in a small clearedspace of the deck, facing the truculent negro. TheCubans began to edge away from Jiminez as if comprehendingthat here was an issue between two men.The soldier had for a weapon that beloved old Springfieldrifle, but he made no motion to shoot.

Presently he sprang forward, with the heavy buttupraised. The negro swung his machete at thesame instant and the blade was parried by the steelbarrel. The mob had become an audience. It lostit* menacing solidarity and drifted a little way aftto make room for the combatants. Instead of riotor mutiny, the trouble on board the Fearless had defineditself as a duel.

The veteran regular handled the clubbed rifle withamazing ease and dexterity. The wicked machetecould not beat down his guard, and he stood hisground, shifting, ducking, weaving in and out,watching for an opening to smash the negro’s facewith a thrust of the butt. Once the blade nickedGorham’s shoulder and a red smear spread over thekhaki tunic.

Jiminez was forced back until he was crampedfor room to swing. His machete rang against ametal stanchion and the galley window was at hiselbow. His black skin shining with sweat, hisbreath labored, the splendid brute was beginningto realize that he had met his master. From the16tail of his eye he observed that the Cubans nolonger thronged the passageway between the deck-houseand guard-rail. He turned and ran towardthe stern.

Gorham was after him like a shot. In his wakescampered the crew of the Fearless intermingledwith the Cubans, all anxious to be in at the finish.Jiminez wheeled where the deck was wide. He wasnot as formidable as at first. Fear was in his heart.He had never fought such a man as this insignificant-lookingAmerican soldier, who was unterrified,unconquerable. Gorham ran at him without an instant’shesitation, the rifle gripped for a downwardswing. The machete grazed his head and chippedthe skin from the bald spot.

Before Jiminez could strike again, the butt smotehis thick skull and he staggered backward. Caughtoff his balance, his machete no longer dangerous,he was unable to avoid the next assault. Gorhammoved a step nearer and deftly tapped his adversarywith the rifle-butt. It was a knock-out blowdelivered with the measured precision of a prize-ringartist. The machete dropped from the negro’slimp fingers and he toppled across two sacks of coalwith a sighing grunt.

The crew of the Fearless broke into a cheer. Themate on duty in the wheel-house let the vessel steerherself and scrambled to the bridge, where hewas clumsily dancing a jig. The Cubans chatteredamong themselves in subdued accents, and from thestate-room door peered the wan countenance of Colonel17Calvo, who was wringing his hands and sputteringcommands to which nobody paid the slightestattention.

Jack Gorham stood swaying slightly, leaning uponhis Springfield, and wiped the blood from his eyeswith the back of his hand. A moment later CaptainO’Shea had both arms around him and wasbellowing in his ear:

“We will hoist ye into a bunk, Jack. Oh, butyou are the jewel of a fightin’ man! I hope ye werenot hurt bad.”

“Nothing to speak of, sir, but my wind isn’t whatit was,” panted Gorham. “Better look after thenigg*r first. I didn’t plan to kill him.”

The chief engineer was dragging the hose aft withthe praiseworthy intention of washing down the combatants,and the captain told him to turn the coolsalt-water on the prostrate bulk of the negro.

“I’ll play nurse to him if you haven’t spoiled himentirely,” said Johnny Kent. “I need more helpdown below and he’ll make a dandy hand with acoal-shovel when his head is mended.”

Just then the mate, who had returned to thewheel, yelled to Captain O’Shea and jerked thewhistle-cord. The skipper ran forward and boltedinto the wheel-house. With a flourish of his armthe mate indicated a small boat lifting and fallingon the azure swells no more than a few hundredyards beyond the bow of the tug. The occupantswere vigorously signalling by means of upraised oarsand articles of clothing.

18

The captain rang the engine-room bell to slackenspeed and stared at the boat-load of castaways whichhad none of the ear-marks of shipwreck and suffering.The white paint of the boat was unmarred bythe sea and the handsome brass fittings were bright.Two seamen in white clothes were at the oars, andin the stern-sheets were two women and a youngman who could not be mistaken for the ordinaryvoyagers of a trading-vessel’s cabin.

“I ought to have called you sooner, sir,” sheepishlyconfessed the mate of the Fearless, “but I waswatching the shindy on deck, same as all hands ofus. What do you make of it?”

“It looks like a pleasure party,” said CaptainO’Shea. “I am puzzled for fair.”

He ordered the engines stopped and the Fearlessdrifted slowly toward the boat. The ship’s companyflocked to the rail to see the castaways, whogazed in their turn at the picturesque throng oftwentieth-century buccaneers—the swarthy, unshavenCubans with their flapping straw hats, brighthandkerchiefs knotted at the throat, their waistsgirded with cartridge-belts, holsters, and machete-scabbards—andthe sunburnt, reckless rascals of thecrew.

There were symptoms of consternation in thesmall boat as it danced nearer the crowded rail ofthe Fearless, also perceptibly less eagerness to berescued. This was making a choice between thedevil and the deep sea. It was now possible to discernthat of the two women in the stern of the boat19one was elderly and the other girlishly youthful.Both wore white shirt-waists and duck skirts, andthe young man was smartly attired in a blue double-breastedcoat, of a nautical cut, and flannel trousers.One might have supposed that the party was beingset ashore from a yacht instead of tossing adrift in alonely stretch of the Caribbean beyond sight of land.

Captain O’Shea surveyed them with a dismayedair. He was not equipped for the business of rescuingshipwrecked people of such fashionable appearance;and as for taking two women on boardthe Fearless, here was a complication to vex thesoul of an industrious, single-minded filibuster.However, he was a sailor and an Irishman, and hishonest heart responded to the appeal of femininityin distress. The steps were hung over the tug’s sideto make the transfer from the boat as easy as possible,and a deck-hand stood ready with a coilof heaving-line. From the bridge Captain O’Sheahailed the derelicts.

“For the love of heaven, who are you and wheredo ye come from, so spick and span? What is itall about, anyhow?”

The young man in the stern answered in somewhatnettled tones:

“It seems more to the point to ask who you are.We are in a deucedly bad fix, and these ladies oughtto be taken aboard; but do you mind if I ask whetheryou intend to make us walk the plank? My word,but you are a frightfully hard-looking lot. Is CaptainKidd with you?”

20

It was O’Shea’s turn to be ruffled, and he flungback:

“You seem mighty particular about your company.’Tis a nuisance for me to bother with yeat all.”

“Oh, the ladies can’t drift about in this openboat any longer,” the young man hastened to exclaim.“I shall pay you handsomely to set usashore at the nearest port.”

“And what would I be doing in the nearest port?”the skipper muttered with a grin. “Well, there isno sense in slingin’ words to and fro. Let themcome aboard and find out for themselves.”

Running to the rail to assist these unwelcomeguests, he called to the self-possessed young man inthe boat:

“How long have ye been adrift?”

“Since midnight. Our yacht ran on a reef andbroke her back. Before daylight we lost sight ofthe other boats.”

Captain O’Shea said nothing more. His interestveered to the girl, who had been shielding her facefrom the blistering glare of sun and sea. Now, asshe looked up at the tug which towered above theboat, the impressionable skipper perceived that herface was fair to see, and that she smiled at him withfriendly confidence. Presently he was lending her asteadying hand as she clung to the swaying rail ofthe tug and found foothold on the steps over whichthe waves washed.

“You are a plucky one and no mistake!” exclaimed21Captain O’Shea. “A man might think ye enjoyedit.”

“I do,” said she, shaking the water from her skirtas she gained the deck. “Now please get my auntaboard as carefully as you can. She has a touch ofrheumatism.”

Without mishap the elderly lady was assisted toaccomplish the acrobatic feat of forsaking the bobbingboat, after which the young man and thesailors were allowed to shift for themselves. Leatherhand-bags, steamer-rugs, and canned provisions weretossed to the deck and the boat was turned adrift,for there was no room to stow it on board. Immediatelythe Fearless forged ahead and picked up hercourse at full speed.

To an elderly spinster of refinement whose yearshad been spent in a sheltered, effete civilization,mostly bounded by Massachusetts, the deck of theFearless was an environment shocking beyond words.The chief engineer had resumed his interrupted taskof playing the hose on the senseless, half-naked bulkof black Jiminez. Jack Gorham, more or less ensanguined,was stretched upon a hatch, where thesurgeon of the Cuban party had detained him tosponge and stitch his shoulder and bandage his head.Near by hovered the disreputable patriots, begrimedwith coal-dust and bristling with deadly weapons.

The elderly lady stared with eyes opened verywide. Her lips moved, but made no sound, and herdelicately wrinkled cheek grew pale. At length shemanaged to whisper to her niece that dread saying22familiar to many generations of New England spinsters:

“Mercy! We shall all be murdered in our beds.”

Captain O’Shea joined them, to speak his earnestreassurances.

“You are as safe as if you were in Sunday-school,ladies. This bunch of patriots is perfectly harmless.There was an argument just before we sighted ye,and the best man won.”

“And what is this voyage of yours, captain?”asked the girl.

“Oh, we are just romancin’ around the high-seas.’Tis nothing that would interest a lady.”

“Do you kill each other every day?”

“You mean the big nigg*r yonder?” and CaptainO’Shea looked a trifle embarrassed. “No, his mannershad to be corrected. But will you come for’ard,please, and make yourselves at home in my room?’Tis yours as long as ye are on board.”

“I am quite sure you have no intention of murderingus,” smilingly quoth the girl. “And we shallask you no more questions for the present. Comealong, Aunt Katharine.”

The young man of the castaways was fidgetingrather sulkily in the background. He wished to interviewthe captain at once, but the gallant O’Sheahad eyes only for the ladies. Overlooked and apparentlyforgotten, the shipwrecked young manpicked his way across the deck to accost JohnnyKent, whose first-aid-to-the-injured treatment witha hose-nozzle had proved efficacious. The vanquished23negro was rubbing his head and sputteringsalt-water and Spanish.

“There, you’re what I call recussitated in bang-upgood style,” cried the engineer, proud of his handiwork.“If you were a white man, your block ’udhave been knocked clean off. You ought to bethankful for your mercies.”

The castaway touched his arm and exclaimed:

“I say, my good man, I need something to eat,and a place to sleep. I was awake all night in anopen boat.”

The stout person in the greasy overalls turned tosurvey the speaker with mild amusem*nt on hisbroad, red face.

“By the look of your party you must have sufferedsomething awful. The skipper will attend toyou pretty soon and he’ll do his best to make youhappy. But this ain’t no gold-plated yacht, and itain’t no table dote hotel.”

“So I see, but I’ll pay for the best on board.Really, money is no object——”

Johnny Kent chuckled and turned to wave thenozzle at the negro, who was sitting up.

“You subside, Jiminez, or I’ll dent this over yourhead. It ain’t healthy for you to get well too darnedfast.”

He scrutinized the castaway with a tolerant, fatherlyair and answered him:

“Better stow that you-be-damned manner ofyours, young man. We’re outlaws, liable to beblown out of water any blessed minute. Those24tarriers for’ard had just as soon throw you overboardas not if they don’t like your style. Youain’t a shipwrecked hero. You’re an unavoidablenuisance aboard this hooker. We’ve got other fishto fry.”

The young man flushed angrily. He was pleasant-featured,fair-haired, of athletic build, his accentsuggesting that he had imported it from England.He was conscious of his own importance inthe world whose idols were money and social position.Grizzled old Johnny Kent, who had dicedwith fortune and looked death between the eyes onmany seas, knew only one distinction between men.They were “good stuff” or they were “quitters.”As for money, to have a dollar in one’s pocket aftera week ashore argued a prudence both stingy andunmanly. Wherefore he wholly failed to grasp theview-point of the young man who had been wreckedin a sea-going yacht.

Fortunately Captain O’Shea came back to divertthe chief engineer’s outspoken opinions. He calledthe castaway aside to say:

“Come to the galley with me and the cook willdo his best for ye. I will sit down there and hearyour yarn. If you want some clothes, maybe I canfit you out. My men are looking after your sailors.”

“This is a filibustering expedition, I take it,” exclaimedthe other as they went forward.

“I do not admit it,” judicially replied CaptainO’Shea. “I will not turn state’s evidence againstmeself.”

25

When they had perched themselves upon stoolsat the galley table the young man handed theskipper his card, which read:

“Mr. Gerald Ten Eyck Van Steen.”

The recipient eyed the card critically and commented:

“Dutch? I had a Dutchman as bos’n once and,saving your presence, he was an oakum-headedloafer. Now, how did ye come to be in these watersand whose yacht was it?”

Young Mr. Van Steen proceeded to explain.

“She was the Morning Star, owned by my father,the New York banker—the old house of Van Steen& Van Steen. You have heard of it, of course. Hedecided to take a winter holiday-trip and asked meto go along—that is to say, Miss Forbes and me.She is my fiancée——”

“You mean the young one. And she has signedon to marry you?” broke in Captain O’Shea withmarked interest.

“Yes. She invited her aunt, Miss Hollister, tomake the voyage as a sort of chaperon. We cruisedto Barbadoes, where my father was called home onbusiness and took a mail-steamer in a hurry. Wejogged along in the Morning Star until her captainlost his bearings, or something of the kind, and youknow the rest. We were ordered into a boat, butwhile waiting for an officer and more sailors a rain-squallcame along—a nasty blow it was—and ourboat broke loose, and we couldn’t get back to theyacht. The wind was dead against us.”

26

“The other boats will be picked up,” observedO’Shea. “You were lucky to have such an easytime of it. Now comes the rub. What am I goingto do with ye?”

“Chuck up your voyage,” cheerfully answeredMr. Van Steen. “We simply can’t go knockingabout with you and risking the ladies’ lives. Andthink of the hardships. My dear man, this tug isno place for a gentlewoman.”

“It is not,” agreed O’Shea, “nor was it meant tobe. ’Tis not ladies’ work I have on hand. I havepromised to deliver my cargo at a certain place ata certain time, and there are men waitin’ that needit bad. Shall I break me word to them?”

Van Steen made an impatient gesture. He wasused to dealing with men who had their price.

“But you are in this business for money,” criedhe. “And I fancy you must have been pretty hardup to take such a job and run all these risks. Nameyour figure. I can understand the situation. Rescuingus is deucedly awkward for you. You don’tknow what to do with us. How much do you standto make on the voyage, and what is the cargoworth?”

Captain Michael O’Shea leaned across the tableand his fist was clenched. He did not strike, butthe wrath that blazed in his eyes caused Van Steento draw back. The sailor was not much older inyears than the other man, but he had battered hisway, not merely sauntered through life, and virileexperiences had so strongly stamped his features27that Van Steen looked effeminate beside him. Itwas a masterful man that held himself steady underthe provocation and replied to the insulting propositionslowly and carefully, as though choosing hiswords:

“You heard me say I had given me word to landthis cargo as soon as ever I could, Mr. Van Steen.And on top of that ye try to buy me to leave goodmen in the lurch and break my word when this stuffof mine means life or death to them. All the moneyyour daddy has in his bank could not make me putthis ship one point off her course to set you ashoreuntil I am good and ready. Do I make meselfclear? You and your dirty money! This isn’tNew York.”

Van Steen was honestly amazed. This lowering,flinty-faced young skipper must be crazy. Professionalfilibusters were a kind of criminal recruitedfrom the roughest classes. They could have nomorals, no manners, none of the sentiments of agentleman. He ventured a final attempt and saidwith a nervous laugh:

“But what if I offer to buy the vessel outright,cargo and all, and absolutely protect you personallyagainst any loss whatever?”

“I do not like your company,” abruptly exclaimedO’Shea. “Ye fill me with sorrow for the rich. Icannot be rid of you, but we will not be on goodterms.”

His sense of humor saved the situation, and heconcluded with one of his sunny, mischievous smiles:

28

“’Tis terrible inconvenient for both of us. Herewe are, aboard a kind of a Flying Dutchman thatmust go dancin’ and dodgin’ about the high seaswith every man’s hand against her. And you areno more anxious to quit me than I am to see thelast of you.”

“But—but—it is absolutely impossible,” stammeredVan Steen. “Think of the ladies——”

“They have my room, and the bit of an upperdeck will be sacred to them.”

O’Shea stepped to the galley door, but Van Steendetained him with a question.

“What about me? Can I negotiate for a state-room?”

“Yes, indeed; it is on the overhang with two sacksof coal for a mattress, and ye should be thankful’tis soft coal and not anthracite. Ye may find thesuite a trifle crowded, but by kicking a few patriotsin the ribs you can make room for yourself.”

II

In the refuge of the captain’s room that distraughtspinster, Miss Hollister, was overcome by emotionsalmost hysterical. Her first impressions of the Fearlesshad been in the nature of a nervous shock moresevere than the episode of the shipwreck. Only thepresence of her niece restrained her from tears andlamentations. Nora Forbes, the young person inquestion, was behaving with so much courage and29self-possession as to set her aunt a most excellentexample.

“Oh, did you ever see anything so dreadful?”moaned Miss Hollister, glancing at the captain’sshaving-glass and absently smoothing her gray hair.“There was a dead negro stretched on deck, and awhite man all covered with blood, and the captainnot in the least excited, actually joking about it——”

Miss Nora Forbes artfully coaxed her aunt awayfrom the bit of mirror and proceeded to arrange herown disordered tresses as though this were moreimportant than damp skirts and wave-soaked stockings.With hairpins twain between her pretty lips,she replied, and her accents were by no means hopeless:

“It is just too tremendously romantic for words,Aunt Katharine. I am not the least bit afraid.The captain may be a desperate villain, but he carrieshimself like a rough-and-ready gentleman. Thisis a genuine adventure, so cheer up and enjoy it.”

“But the scenes of violence—the crew of cutthroats—thebloodshed,” unsteadily resumed MissHollister, unable to refrain from dabbing her eyeswith a handkerchief. “I don’t know what to say.My mind is a blank. I can only pray——”

“I should advise unpacking that bag and gettingout some clean clothes,” suggested Nora. “There isno reason why we should look like a pair of drownedfrights. It is an upsetting experience, Aunt Katharine,but life on shore is so tame!”

“I shall be content to be tame forevermore, Nora,30if I am permitted to survive this experience. I hopeGerald can persuade the captain to land us at once.”

“They didn’t want to rescue us, so we must makeourselves as agreeable as possible. I intend to beparticularly nice to the captain.”

Miss Hollister was recalled to her duty as chaperone.Her manner was reproving as she counselled:

“Be careful, Nora, you are a heedless girl at timesand Gerald is very sensitive. Our plight is too seriousfor jesting. Of course you must be civil to thecaptain, but he is a perfectly impossible person.Gerald will reward him for his trouble in our behalf.We are placing ourselves under no obligations whatever.”

They were quite trim and fresh in dry clotheswhen the cook brought up a tray laden with thebest fare the ship’s stores could provide and a potof coffee black and hot enough to revive the mostforlorn castaways that ever floated.

“Th’ cap’n’s compliments,” said George, enteringwith a cake-walk shuffle, “an’ he tells me to informyou that if th’ grub is burnt or don’t taste righthe’ll hang me up by mah thumbs an’ peel off mahno-’count hide with a rope’s end.”

Miss Hollister appeared so ready to believe theworst that the rascally George could not forbear toadd:

“Of cou’se, I’se jes’ fillin’ in till th’ regular cookgits well. Mebbe you seen him when you comeaboard. He was all spraddled out. It mighty neardone for big Jiminez, I’se a-tellin’ you.”

31

“What happened to him?” breathlessly demandedMiss Hollister, her hands clasped.

“He done fetch th’ cap’n a cup of cold coffee,ma’am.”

“How awful! And what was the matter with thewhite man in the khaki uniform?”

“He tried to say a good word for th’ cook. Andth’ cap’n done give him his. This is a lively ship,ma’am.”

He could not help grinning as he turned to leave,and Nora Forbes caught him in the act.

“You are an utterly shameless prevaricator,”cried she, “and I have a notion to report you to thecaptain.”

“No need of it,” exclaimed O’Shea himself, whoappeared in time to grasp the luckless George bythe neck and pitch him down the stairway to thelower deck.

“He is a good cook, but his imagination is toostrong for him at times,” explained O’Shea as hestood in the door-way, declining Nora’s invitation toenter. “The both of ye look as lovely as a Maymorning. It agrees with you to be shipwrecked.”

Miss Hollister thawed a trifle, although she wasstrongly inclined to accept the cook’s story as afterthe fact. But it was hard resisting the blarneyingsailor with the merry eyes.

“Is such severity necessary? I feel that I oughtto protest—” she began, spurred by the promptingof a New England conscience.

“And what was that slippery divil of a cook deludin’ye about?”

32

The spinster mustered courage to explain. CaptainO’Shea roared with glee, and turning to NoraForbes, as if recognizing a sympathetic listener, exclaimed:

“Would ye know the truth about the big nigg*r?Then I will introduce you to-morrow to the manthat laid him out, and a better one never stood ontwo feet than this same Jack Gorham, the melancholysharp-shooter who captures ’em alive with thebutt of his gun.”

Afraid of delaying their meal, he made an abruptbow and vanished on deck. Presently Mr. GeraldTen Eyck Van Steen stood gloomily regarding them.Nora made room for him on the cushioned lockerand cheerily asked:

“How are you getting on with the assorted pirates?Are they a rum lot and do they sing ‘Fifteen Menon the Dead Man’s Chest’?”

“I am not getting on at all,” sadly quoth he.“I have met only the chief engineer and the captain,and I should call them a very rum lot indeed.This is a floating mad-house. By Jove! I was neverso angry in my life.”

“I think I understand, Gerald,” soothingly observedMiss Hollister. “But I am sure you can extricateus from this alarming situation. You are ayoung man of courage and resources and the nameof Van Steen carries great weight everywhere.”

“This wild Irishman never heard of it,” saidGerald. “And when I talked money he almostcrawled across the table to assault me.”

“Then he refuses to put us on shore at once?”33tremulously cried the chaperon. “What do youmean, Gerald?”

“He doesn’t care a hang about us. I made noimpression on him at all. The more I argued thehotter he got. He intends to carry us about withhim until he has dumped his cargo of guns somewhereon the Cuban coast. And then I presumehe will make his way back to the United States, ifthe tug isn’t sunk with all hands in the meantime.”

“But the captain can’t afford to let us interferewith his plans,” protested Nora, who looked by nomeans so unhappy as the circ*mstances warranted.“Do be reasonable, Gerald. Aunt Katharine and Iare quite comfortable.”

“I am not,” vehemently exclaimed young Mr.Van Steen. “The brute of a skipper tells me I mustsleep on two sacks of coal. Fancy that!”

“I am afraid you were not tactful,” was Nora’smirthful comment.

“We are in the captain’s power,” sighed MissHollister.

“We are kidnapped. That’s what it amountsto,” strenuously affirmed Van Steen.

Later in the afternoon the trio sought the railedspace on the roof of the deck-house, just behind thesmall bridge which was Captain O’Shea’s particulardomain. The mate had found two battered woodenchairs and rigged an awning. Such considerationas this was bound to dull the edge of Miss Hollister’sfears and she gazed about her with flutteringinterest and reviving animation. Through an open34door they could see Captain O’Shea standing besidethe man at the wheel. He wore no coat, his shirt-sleeveswere rolled up and displayed his brown, sinewyforearms, and a shapeless straw hat was pulledover his eyes. His binoculars attentively swept theblue horizon ahead and abeam.

Presently he went on the bridge and searched theshimmering sea astern. His demeanor was not souneasy as vigilant and preoccupied. So long didhe stand in the one position with the glasses at hiseyes that Gerald Van Steen became curious andtried to descry whatever it was that had attractedthe captain’s notice. At length he was able to makeout a trailing wisp of brown vapor, like a bit ofcloud, where sea and sky met.

“There is some kind of a steamer astern of us,”said Van Steen to Nora Forbes. “Perhaps it is aGerman or English mail-boat. If so, I can see noobjection to transferring us aboard.”

Captain O’Shea overheard the remark and calledto them:

“No mail-steamer is due on this course. And itis not a cargo tramp or she would not be steamingfaster than we are.”

“Then what can it be?” asked Nora.

“I cannot tell ye, Miss Forbes, nor am I anxiousat all to let her come close enough to find out.”

On the lower deck the Cubans were flocking tothe overhang or climbing on the rail to gaze at thedistant smoke astern. They talked excitedly, withmany gestures. Evidently here was an event of35some importance. Little by little the other steamercut down the miles of intervening space until herfunnel was visible. The Fearless had been makingno unusual effort to increase her own speed, but nowCaptain O’Shea said a few words into the engine-roomspeaking-tube, and Johnny Kent came trundlingup from below, wiping his face with a bunch ofwaste.

The captain took him by the arm and imparted:

“I do not like the looks of her, Johnny; she is toofast to be healthy for us. I got the word in NewYork that two of the Almirante cruiser class werecoming out from Spain to join the blockadin’ fleetand make it hot for our business. There is nothingon the coast that can do over twelve knots, is there?”

“Only the Julio Sanchez, Cap’n Mike, and she’slaid up at Havana with her boilers in awful shape.I suppose you want me to hook up and burn mygood coal.”

“I think this is a poor place to loaf in, Johnny.There was something said about a reward of fiftythousand dollars to the Spanish navy vessel thatoverhauled the Fearless and sunk her at sea. Bettercrack on steam and maybe we can lose that fellowyonder after nightfall.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n Mike, I’ll put the clamps onthe safety-valves, and take care not to look at thegauges. I’ll need more help below.”

“Grab the deck-hands. Get to it.”

“And I was just crawlin’ into my bunk to finishthe most excitin’ novel you ever read,” mourned36Johnny Kent as he footed it down the ladder. “It’sall about adventures. The situations are hair-raisin’,Cap’n Mike.”

Young Mr. Van Steen had edged within ear-shotso that he heard part of this dialogue. Returningto the ladies, he thrust his hands in his pockets andtried to hide his perturbation. Nora questioned himeagerly, and he answered with a shrug and a laugh:

“We’re going to have a race with the steamerbehind us. I imagine they told a few whoppers formy benefit. The chief engineer remarked in themost casual way that he intended to put clamps onthe safety-valves. That is absurd, of course. Theboilers might blow up.”

“I am inclined to think he meant it,” said Nora,who was looking at Captain O’Shea. “This is not ayachting cruise, Gerald.”

“But if the silly old ass of an engineer reallymeant it, and we are pursued by a hostile man-of-war,”stubbornly persisted Van Steen, “why did hetalk about wanting to finish a novel because it wasfull of exciting adventures? Isn’t this excitingenough?”

“You are stupid,” impatiently exclaimed Nora.“These extraordinary men can’t see that they areliving the most thrilling adventures. It is all in theday’s work with them. I am going to ask CaptainO’Shea to tell me the truth.”

Her aunt objected, but with no great spirit. Herpoor, tired brain was bewildered by this new turnof events. She had begun to hope to survive the37voyage, but now she was beset by fresh alarms, fantasticand incredible. Imminent danger menacedthe lawless tug. It could be felt in the buzzing excitementwhich pervaded the crowded decks. Theonly calm place was the bridge, where Captain O’Sheawalked steadily to and fro, six paces to port and sixpaces to starboard, a ragged cigar between his teeth.Already the hull was vibrating to the increasingspeed of the engines and the smoke gushed thickand black from the hot funnel.

Nora Forbes had mounted the bridge before VanSteen could make angry protest. Clinging to thecanvas-screened rail, she paused to catch a bird’s-eyeglimpse of the swarming decks which spreadbeneath her from the sheering bow to the overhangthat seemed level with the following seas. CaptainO’Shea snatched a coat from the wheel-house andflung it over the girl’s head and shoulders, for thered cinders were pelting down from the funnel-toplike hail. For the life of him he could not keep thecaressing note out of his pleasant voice when he wastalking to a pretty woman.

“’Tis a bright day and a fine breeze, Miss Forbes,and the old Fearless is poundin’ through it at thirteenknots. Are ye enjoying yourself?”

“Every minute of it,” she replied, and the joyof living made her cheek glow. “Are you reallyafraid of that steamer behind us? Mr. Van Steenthought you were joking with the chief engineer.Really you can be frank with me. I promise not tomake a scene.”

38

He regarded her rather wistfully for an instant,felt unusually hesitant, and told her the truth becausehe could not bring himself to tell her anythingelse.

“If it is a Spanish cruiser yonder, as I mistrust,she may make short work of us. But she has tocatch us first. And if I was easy to catch I wouldnot be here at all. Sooner than risk a hair of yourhead, Miss Forbes, I would give up meself and myship. But a man’s duty comes first.”

“You are not to give me—to give us, one thought,”she warmly assured him, and her head was heldhigh. “Thank you for being honest with me, CaptainO’Shea. Do you wish us to stay on deck?”

Perplexed and unhappy, he answered:

“There is no safe place to stow you if the Spaniardgets within shooting range. The hold is full of cartridgesand dynamite and such skittish truck.”

The steamer astern was still slowly gaining on theFearless. Her forward mast was now discernible,and the tiny ring around it was unmistakably afighting-top. If the vessel belonged to any othernavy than that of Spain, she would be jogging alongat a cruising gait, instead of crowding in chase witha reckless consumption of coal. Captain O’Shearan below to see how matters fared in the sooty,stifling kingdom of Johnny Kent. The Fearlesscould not turn and fight. All hopes of safety werebound up in those clanking, throbbing, shining engines,in the hissing boilers, in the gang of half-naked,grimy men who fed the raging furnaces and wielded39the glowing slice-bars and shifted the coal from thecavernous bunkers.

The quivering needles of the gauges already recordedmore steam than the law allowed, and theywere creeping higher pound by pound. The heat inthe fire-room was so intense that the men had to berelieved at brief intervals. There was no forcedventilation, and the wind was following the ship.The deck-hands, unaccustomed to grilling alive,stood to it pluckily until they collapsed and werehauled out by the head and the heels. Back andforth, between the engine-room and this inferno,waddled Johnny Kent, raining perspiration, an oil-canin one hand, a heavy wrench in the other, andwith the latter he smote such faint-hearted wightsas would falter while there was strength in them.

“Hello, Cap’n Mike,” he roared as the skippersidled into the engine-room. “Is the other vesselstill gainin’ on us, and what does she look like?”

“She looks like trouble, Johnny. We are doingbetter. How are things with you?”

“I need a couple of husky men. No use sendin’me those limpsy patriots.”

“I will look for them, Johnny. Will your boilershold together? Can you get any more out ofher?”

“Of course I can. She’s licensed to carry a hundredand eighty pounds, and I aim to push her totwo hundred and fifty.”

Captain O’Shea hastened on deck, glanced forwardand aft, and grinned as he caught sight of Gerald40Ten Eyck Van Steen. To this pampered young manhe shouted:

“You are a well-built lad. Jump below, if youplease, and the chief will introduce ye to a shovel.”

“But I don’t want a shovel. I refuse to go below,”haughtily replied Van Steen. “It has occurred tome that if you will quit this silly race and let theother steamer come within signalling distance I canexplain the case to her commander, and he will beglad to take us on board. Van Steen & Van Steenhave influential banking connections with the Spanishgovernment.”

“’Tis no time to deliver orations,” swiftly spakeO’Shea. “The other steamer will shoot first andexplain afterward. Come along and work your passage.”

“Do not resist, Gerald,” quavered Miss Hollister.

“Be a good sport and play the game,” slangilyadvised Nora Forbes.

Captain O’Shea did not appear to use violence.He seemed to propel Van Steen with a careless waveof the arm, and the indignant young man movedrapidly in the direction of the stoke-hole ladder.Johnny Kent pounced on him with profane jubilation,instantly stripped him of coat and shirt, andshot him in to join the panting toilers. There wasa plucky streak in this victim of circ*mstances, andhe perceived that he must take his medicine. Thefire-room gang was reinforced by a strong pair ofarms, a stout back, and the stubborn endurance ofthe Dutch.

41

The afternoon was gone and the sun had slidunder the lovely western sea. The Spanish cruiserwas spurting desperately to overtake her quarry beforedarkness. The speed of the quivering, clangorousFearless had crept up to a shade better thanfifteen knots. The cruiser was in poor trim to showwhat she could do. Captain O’Shea knew the ratedspeed of every craft on the Spanish naval list andif his surmise was correct this particular cruisershould be doing eighteen knots. But he knew alsothat a foul bottom, slovenly discipline, and inferiorcoal counted against her, and that he had a fightingchance of escape.

It was immensely trying to watch and wait. Ofall the company on deck that stood and stared atthe small outline of the cruiser etched against theshining sea, only Captain O’Shea realized that thiswas the grimmest kind of a life-and-death tussle.He was your thoroughbred gambler who comprehendsthe odds and accepts them, but he wassorry for his crew, and much more so for the twowomen who were in his charge.

The chaperon had retired to her room in the gripof an acute nervous headache. She was mercifullyunable to understand that tragedy moved on theface of the waters, that whether or not the Fearlesswas to be obliterated depended on a certain numberof engine revolutions per minute.

The cook had prepared supper, observing to himselfas he rattled his pans:

“If we all is due to git bumped to glory, I reckon42we’ll take it more cheerful with a square meal underour briskets.”

He dutifully bore a tray to the captain’s room,but Miss Hollister had no appetite, and he betookhimself to the bridge, where Nora Forbes was standingbeside the captain.

“Set the supper on the chart-locker in the wheel-house,George,” said O’Shea. “The young lady willnot be wanting to go into her room and miss any ofthe show.”

In her twenty years Nora Forbes had never livedas intensely as now. The blood of an adventurousancestry was in her veins. She was thrilled, but notafraid. More than she was aware, the dominatingpersonality of Captain O’Shea was influencing andattracting her. Unconsciously she was sharing hissimple, clear-eyed courage, which accepted things ashe found them. There was singular comfort instanding beside him. They lingered for a momentin the wheel-house, where the tall young mate grippedthe spokes, his eyes fixed on the swaying compass-cardin the binnacle.

“You have never filibustered before, I take it,Miss Forbes,” said Captain O’Shea, “but ye are ascool as an old hand.”

“I never dreamed that men were living such livesas this nowadays,” she replied. “Tell me, doyou——”

Down the wind came the report of a heavy gun.O’Shea leaped to the bridge and the girl followed,her heart throbbing with a sudden, sickening fear.43Twilight was shutting down. The first star gleamedin the pale sky, but a curious after-glow lingered toflood the sea with tremulous illumination. Thecruiser showed like a gray shadow, a vague blur,from which shot a second flash of red. Again theboom of her gun was heard on the Fearless, and thistime the steel shell kicked up a water-spout far offto starboard.

“Johnny Kent has lost distance in the last halfhour,” muttered the skipper. “His men can’t standthe pace.”

“What does it mean?” implored Nora, and shecaught her breath with a sob. “Are they reallyand truly trying to kill us?”

“Those are the intentions, but the shooting ispretty bad, Miss Forbes. I will bet ye ten to onethey do not hit us.”

Unwittingly she moved closer to him. Her handwas upon the rail and he covered it with his hardpalm. At the firm, warm contact her fortitude returned.His tremendous vitality was like an electriccurrent. She smiled up at him gratefully, andhe said in a big, friendly way, to put her at ease:

“’Tis good to have somebody to hang onto in atight pinch, isn’t it? Look! There he goes again!A better shot. It struck the water within two hundredyards of us. If he keeps on improvin’ his targetpractice, I may lose me bet.”

Nora was silent. She could think of nothing tosay as she stared at the darkening horizon and theflashes of the cruiser’s guns. The after-glow died,44and night marched swiftly across the tropic sea.It curtained the cruiser and obscured the Fearless.Johnny Kent had won in the first act of thedrama.

Every light on board the tug was extinguished,and the word was carried below to close the draughtsand slacken the fires in order to show no sparks fromthe funnel. The Fearless swerved sharply from hercourse and ran straight away from the Cuban coast,heading to the southward across the Caribbean.To follow her was a game of blind-man’s-buff, andCaptain O’Shea knew every trick of shaking offpursuit.

Nora had withdrawn her imprisoned hand with aself-conscious little start. Already the episode ofthe chase seemed unreal, theatrical. It would nothave surprised her if the picturesque Cubans hadburst into a light-opera chorus. She hastened totell her aunt the good news, and presently therecame staggering up from the lower deck the wreckof Gerald Ten Eyck Van Steen. The merciful nighthid his grime and tatters. Leaning against the bulkheadof the tiny passageway, he addressed the invisibleladies in the state-room. His voice washusky and cracked, but, singularly enough, all itspetulance had fled.

“It was simply great,” he exclaimed. “We shovelledcoal like drunken devils, and between-timesthey dragged us on deck and turned the hose on us.My word, it was a sporty game, and we won. I ambruises from head to foot, but what’s the odds?”

45

Nora was instantly contrite. Here was an unexpectedhero, whom she had shamefully forgotten.

“You poor Gerald! Tell us all about it.”

He felt proud of himself. Nora shared the feeling,and yet her behavior lacked the warmth to be expectedof a girl whose engagement to Gerald VanSteen had been a notable society event on FifthAvenue. Wayward and shocking it was, no doubt,but she knew that she would rather talk to the rudeand unregenerate Captain Michael O’Shea.

She let Gerald tell her of the great fight for morespeed down among the roaring furnaces, of the faintingmen, the straining boilers, the furiously drivenengines, and of the bullying, cursing, jesting JohnnyKent who held the men and the machines unfalteringlyto their work.

“He is an awful brute,” said Van Steen, rubbinga welt on his shoulder, “but he has pluck—no endof it. A steam-pipe leading to a pump or somethingburst and scalded him, but he didn’t let up at all,and threatened us with more kinds of death anddamnation than ever.”

“He must be suffering dreadfully,” exclaimed theardently sympathetic Nora. “I thought he lookedso good-natured and jolly and easy-going.”

“You are a poor hand at reading character,” wasthe earnest comment. “Were you anxious aboutme, Nora?”

“Yes, I suppose so. It was so exciting ondeck that I couldn’t think of anything else but thatwicked Spanish cruiser.”

46

“Where were you all the time?”

“On the bridge with Captain O’Shea.”

“The deuce you were! I don’t like him at all,Nora. He is not the sort you should have anythingto do with.”

“I can’t very well help meeting him now andthen, Gerald. Don’t be a goose. Tell me somemore about your adventures with a shovel.”

Van Steen was ruffled and became a sulky companion.Nora let him kiss her good-night, and hewearily descended to find a resting-place on theopen deck. She found her aunt awake and told herof the heroic conduct of the scalded chief engineer.The stamp of Van Steen’s approval was apt to colorthe mental attitude of Miss Hollister and she exclaimedin an animated manner:

“Does Gerald really believe that this Mr. Kentis such a fine character, a diamond in therough?”

“Gerald certainly respects him, although he doesnot love him, Aunt Katharine.”

“Then I hope to meet Mr. Kent in the morning,Nora. I am given to understand that he saved ourlives, but I can’t realize that the cruiser was actuallyshooting at us with deadly intent.”

Miss Hollister was a woman of a certain kind ofdetermination whenever duty was concerned. Andbecause she had misjudged the chief engineer, it washer duty to make amends. After breakfast sheasked Van Steen if she might safely go to the lowerdeck and look into the engine-room.

47

“You are coming on remarkably well,” said he.“Aren’t you afraid of the brutes?”

“I wish to thank our preserver and to inspect theship,” she calmly answered.

“Very well. Will you come along, Nora?”

“Thanks, Gerald, but Captain O’Shea wants toshow me the chart of this coast and of the baywhere he will try to land the cargo.”

“Hang Captain O’Shea; he is making a confoundednuisance of himself,” muttered Van Steenas he reluctantly departed with Miss Hollister.They passed among the lounging patriots and cameupon their leader, Colonel Calvo, whom the flightfrom the cruiser had frightened, not out of his boots,but into them. As a cure for sea-sickness he hadfound the boom of an eight-inch gun extremely efficacious.He flourished his hat with flamboyantgallantry and bowed low as he addressed Miss Hollister.

“Ah, ha, Señora! To behol’ you is a pleasure forme an’ my braves’ of soldiers. Yesterday we wasready to fight the ship of Spain, to defen’ the ladieswith our lives.”

The dignified spinster looked confused. She resentedthe bold stare of the colonel’s black eyesand the smirking smile. With a stiff little nod shegrasped Gerald’s arm and told him, as they movedto another part of the deck:

“I hate that man. Is he really a brave officer?”

“Not yet, but perhaps, Miss Hollister. We shallhave to ask Johnny Kent about him.”

48

Pausing at the engine-room door, they found anassistant on duty. To their inquiry he replied:

“The chief is in his bunk, all bandaged up andusing language. His arm and chest were blisteredbad.”

“I should like very much to do something forhim,” timidly answered Miss Hollister. “Who isattending him?”

“The Cuban doctor has a medicine chest, ma’am,and we all try to soothe him. But he cusses us outand throws things at us.”

“I will look in his room and leave a message foryou, Miss Hollister,” said Gerald.

“He must be in great distress. And I am surehe is not getting proper care,” she murmured.

Van Steen cautiously advanced to an open doorbeyond the engine-room, Miss Hollister hovering inthe background. No sooner had the sufferer in thebunk caught sight of the young man than his bigvoice roared:

“Come to gloat, have you? I suppose you’reglad to see me on my beam ends after the awfulway I abused you. Get to hell out of here.”

“Miss Hollister came below to express her sympathy,”began Van Steen, ready to dodge a water-bottlethat stood beside the bunk.

“Holy mackerel! The lovely lady with the grayhair?” blurted Johnny Kent, his face redder thanordinary. “Did she, honestly? Is she out there?Did she hear me slip that cuss-word?”

“I am afraid so. Do you want to apologize?49She accepts my statement that you are a grandman in an emergency.”

“Fetch her in. No, wait a minute. Straightenout the bedclothes and see that my nightie is buttonedclear up to the neck. This is the da-darnedestthing that ever happened to me.”

It was also an unprecedented experience for MissKatharine Hollister, but one could not live twenty-fourhours on board the Fearless without losing one’sgrip on conventions, even though they were made inNew England. She halted at the brass-bound thresholdof the little room, and peered curiously at therecumbent figure of the chief engineer with his graymustache and mop of grizzled hair.

“Come in and take the chair by my desk, ma’am.What on earth made you want to see me?” was hishearty greeting.

She remained standing, and confessed, hesitatingnervously:

“I formed such a shocking opinion of you when Ifirst saw you—I thought you had killed that negro—andwhen Mr. Van Steen told me how you hadtoiled and suffered to save the ship—and were inpain—I knew my judgment was mistaken—and thatit was my duty——”

“Forget it, ma’am,” and Johnny Kent waved abandaged fist. “We ain’t pretty to look at, andour manners are violent, but when you talk aboutduty, I guess you and I believe in the same gospel.”

His gaze was so honestly, respectfully worshipfulthat Miss Hollister was conscious of an agreeable50sensation. She was a woman, and a charming one,but at fifty years she no longer dreamed of masculinehomage.

“Were you severely injured, Mr. Kent?”

“Not half as much as those poor old boilers. I’mafraid to guess how many tubes are leaky. I’ll quitsputterin’ and losin’ my temper when we get thoseCubans and guns ashore.”

“Their leader does not seem very capable,” venturedMiss Hollister. “I was not at all favorablyimpressed with him when he spoke to me just now.”

“Did that sea-sick tin soldier annoy you, ma’am?”heatedly ejacul*ted Johnny Kent as he raised himselfon his elbow and fixed a glittering eye on a holsterwhich hung on the wall. “I’ll surge out of here andlearn him a lesson that will do him a whole lot ofgood.”

“No more violence, I beg of you,” implored thespinster, dismayed and yet enjoyably thrilled. “Ishould not have mentioned it. If there is anythingthat can be done to make you more comfortable——”

“Pshaw, I’ll be up and doing before we try tomake a landing, ma’am. Your droppin’ in to see mehas made me chirk up. Blessed if it don’t make thishole of a room seem kind of sweetened and lit upand sanctified.”

Miss Hollister colored and concluded that she hadstayed quite long enough. With a gracious word offarewell, she hastened to the upper deck. NoraForbes had found a new companion, a lean, sandyman in faded khaki whose sad, freckled face had a51noticeable pallor and whose head was wound aboutwith a white bandage. He sat with his back proppedagainst a boat in the shade of the awning, and Noraannounced to her aunt:

“I want you to know Mr. Jack Gorham. He isthe man who conquered that giant of a negro.Captain O’Shea says it was one of the finest thingshe ever saw.”

Gorham, a modest, shrinking soul, looked acutelyuncomfortable and protested:

“I had to get him. He fetched me a couple ofclips, but I feel pretty spry. I’ll be ready to hopashore and perforate them Spanish officers at athousand per.”

Oddly enough, Miss Hollister was no longer terrifiedby the presence of these men of war. Sincemeeting Johnny Kent she had suffered a sea-change.In the face of the veteran soldier she was able toread that same quality of respectful admiration.She had been vouchsafed a glimpse of the realspirit of this singular voyage. It was pure romance,reincarnated from the age when the worldwas young. She had been permitted to sail withmen who were living an Odyssey, a saga, but theyknew it not. She thought of Johnny Kent in hisbunk, and now she looked at Jack Gorham, commonplace,unlettered, uncouth, and listened whileNora repeated the story of the fight with Jiminez.The soldier wriggled uneasily. His embarrassmentwas painful. When questioned he could only repeat:

52

“Well, I just had to get him. That’s all therewas to it.”

“But you did not have to risk your life,” persistedNora. “Captain O’Shea was ready with his wholecrew to overpower the man.”

“The captain wanted to tackle him, but of courseI couldn’t stand for that,” patiently explainedGorham.

“Why did you do it?” asked Miss Hollister.

“I guess it was what you might call a questionof duty,” he drawled.

“I have heard nothing else,” was the spinster’swondering comment. “And yet you are all breakingthe laws of your country. My standards ofright and wrong seem all topsy-turvy.”

“You sure did land in queer company this time,”seriously affirmed Gorham.

Miss Hollister’s excursion into the debatableground of conduct and ethics as applied to buccaneeringin the Caribbean was interrupted by CaptainO’Shea, who was in a mood of brisk action andcurt speech. Paying no attention to the ladies, hehalted in front of Gorham to say:

“We shall try to put the stuff ashore to-night.Will ye be fit to land with the Cubans, or will Icarry you back home with me?”

“Of course, I’ll land, sir. The nigg*r didn’t cutme deep,” was the dogged response. “What’s theprogramme?”

“The cargo will be hoisted out of the hold thisafternoon, convenient for droppin’ into the boats.53If you are able, will ye stand by to boss a gang ofCubans? Ye need not bear a hand yourself. Justtalk to them and make signs with the butt end ofthat old Springfield.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll manage to keep them busy.”

The news ran through the ship. By noon the patriotswere seething with excitement. They wereabout to set foot on the beloved soil of Cuba, tobe quit of the hateful, perfidious ocean. They becameincredibly valiant. These forty men wouldface a Spanish army. They talked of marching toattack fortified cities. Magically revived, theyscoured the rust from their weapons and brandishedthem with melodramatic gesticulation. They sangthe battle-hymns of the revolution and wept atsight of the blue, misty mountain range of thedistant coast. Jack Gorham regarded them critically.

One gang of Cubans went into the hold and anotherwas stationed on deck. The heavy cases ofrifles and cartridges were passed up through thehatchways and piled along the rail. Captain O’Sheasauntered hither and yon, once halting to remarkin chiding accents:

“Better not bang those square boxes about sofree and careless. ’Tis nitro-glycerine for makingdynamite ashore.”

“I’ll land it myself,” said Gorham. “It will comein handy for blowin’ up Spanish troop-trains.”

Toward nightfall the Fearless reduced speed andloafed along over a smooth sea at a distance of perhaps54thirty miles from the coast. The crisis of thevoyage had come. O’Shea must run his ship intoa trap and get her out again.

As soon as darkness was at hand the Fearlessbegan the final dash for the coast. Johnny Kenthad crawled from his bunk and wearily set himselfdown in the engine-room doorway to await orders.

“If anything goes wrong to-night, it’ll happen allof a sudden,” he grumbled to his first assistant.“Takin’ chances of getting bottled up in a bay don’tplease me a mite.”

“There is nothing in sight, chief. It looks like aneasy landing. The skipper knows his business.”

“But it would be just our fool luck to run intotrouble with these two ladies aboard. Women complicateevery game they draw cards in. But thatMiss Hollister is certainly a queen, ain’t she, Jim?”

“She’s old enough to be my mother,” ungallantlyobserved the youthful assistant.

“And I’m ’most old enough to be your grand-daddy,you godless, disrespectful sculpin,” was theangry retort of Johnny Kent. “And I’m manenough to break you in two across my knees.”

The rash young man wisely held his tongue, andthe chief engineer murmured to the world at large:

“Refinement and culture do make a heap of differencein folks. Now, if I had chased after refinementand culture when I was young, instead of incessantlypursuin’ rum, riot, and rebellion on thehigh seas—but what’s the use?”

Thereupon this pensive pirate turned to survey55his chanting engines and wondered what the nightmight bring forth. The Fearless maintained an evengait until the coast was no more than five miles distant.Then she drifted idly while Captain O’Sheaswept the horizon with his night-glasses. His eyesand ears were acutely alert, but there was neithersight nor sound of Spanish blockading craft cruisingto intercept him. Astern were piled six large flat-bottomedsurf-boats, in nests, as fishermen’s doriesare carried. These were now launched and towed,ready to be ranged alongside and filled with cargo.

The forty Cubans conversed in hushed tones.Every man had knapsack, blanket-roll, canteen,and loaded rifle. The Fearless again picked up fullspeed and moved straight for the coast. Soon themountains loomed like gigantic shadows blotting outthe stars. It was a bold, sheer coast, indented hereand there by small bays into which the rivers flowedfrom the passes and valleys. It was in a certainone of these bays that Captain O’Shea had beentold by the Junta to beach his cargo. A force ofCubans led by General Maximo Gomez himselfwould be waiting to receive the munitions. As hadbeen arranged, the Fearless now showed a whitemast-head light above a red. Captain O’Shea lookedat his watch. Three minutes later his signal-lightsflashed again. In the gloom of the mountain-side,a white light winked above a red.

“That looks good to me,” said O’Shea to themate. “If there was anything wrong, the answeringsignal would warn us to keep clear. But I do56not like this messin’ around in a bay. Give me theopen coast and plenty of sea-room.”

The Fearless had come so near the entrance ofthe bay that the shadowy headlands on either sidewere dimly discernible from the bridge. The speedof the tug diminished until she was cautiously movingahead with no more than steerage-way.

The silence was intense. No one spoke above awhisper. The engines were turning over so slowlythat their rhythmic clamor was no more than afaint, muffled throb, like the pulse-beat of the ship.Warily she slid into the quiet bay and made readyto drop anchor off a strip of white beach. The surf-boatswere hauled alongside and the cargo began totumble into them. It looked as though this gameof filibustering might not be so hazardous as reputed.The seamen were in the boats, detailed to handlethe oars and put the Cubans and the cargo ashore.

The deep-laden flotilla had not quit the Fearlessfor the first trip to the beach when the vigilantskipper fancied he saw a shadow steal from behinda headland at the mouth of the bay. For a long momenthe ceased to breathe, while his gaze followedthe illusive shadow which he was not sure that hecould distinguish from the darkened sea.

Then one or two sparks gleamed like fire-flies andwere gone. This was enough. Captain O’Shea instantlyconcluded that the sparks had dropped froma steamer’s funnel. He was caught inside the bay.Perhaps the steamer would pass without sightingthe Fearless. But the shadow halted midway between57the headlands, and O’Shea cursed the treacherywhich he presumed had betrayed his destination.The snare had been cleverly set for him. The Cubanforce in the mountains had failed to detect this Spanishvessel or they would not have signalled him thatthe coast was clear.

O’Shea had to make his choice. He could abandonhis ship and flee with his crew and passengers to thebeach and the jungle, or he could turn and try tosmash his way out to sea. The thought of desertingthe Fearless was so intolerable that he made his decisionwithout hesitating. Summoning the mateand Johnny Kent, he spoke hurriedly.

“’Tis bottled up we are. Look yonder and yecan see for yourself. Call the men aboard and cutthe boats adrift. Give it to her, Johnny, and holdon tight. There may be the divil and all of abump.”

“Goin’ to run her down?” asked the chief engineer.

“If she doesn’t get out of my way. ’Tis a smallgun-boat most likely.”

III

The patriots were unable to adjust themselves tothe sudden shift of events. One moment they wereabout to land, rejoicing and valorous, to be welcomedby the tattered legion of Maximo Gomez,and the next they were snatched away to surgehell-bent in the direction of the enemy and the detestablesea. Captain O’Shea might have delayed58to dump them into the boats and turn them adriftto flounder about the bay, but in all probability theSpanish gun-boat would overtake and slay manybefore they could reach the shore. He did not lovethem, but it was his duty to safeguard them alongwith the cargo.

Less than ten minutes after the shadow had movedacross the entrance of the bay, the Fearless wasswinging to point her nose seaward. As soon as thetug was fairly straightened out, O’Shea rang for fullspeed. It was no longer a silent ship. The patriotsraised a lamentable outcry of grief and indignation,unable to comprehend this slip between the cup andthe lip. They were unconvinced that the captainhad really seen a gun-boat. They accused him oftaking fright at phantoms.

Indeed, there was no such thing as slipping unperceivedpast the waiting enemy, for besides theloud protests of the Cubans, the engines of theFearless made a strident song that re-echoed fromthe wooded shores. No longer in ambush, theSpanish craft turned on a search-light whose streamingradiance picked the tug out of the gloom like alantern-slide projected on a screen. The two vesselswere perhaps four hundred yards apart. Straightinto the path of the search-light rushed the Fearless,veering neither to right nor left. Her tactics weredisconcerting, her insane temerity wholly unexpected.It was obvious that unless the gun-boat very hastilymoved out of the way there would occur an impressivecollision. And the tall steel-shod prow of an59ocean-going tug is apt to shatter the thin plates ofa light-draught, coastwise gun-boat.

Captain O’Shea himself held the wheel. TheSpanish gunners hurriedly opened fire, but sensationsof panic-smitten amazement spoiled their aim,and they might as well have been shooting at themoon.

“By Judas! ye are so gay with your search-light, Iwill just have a look at you,” muttered O’Shea as heswitched on the powerful light which was mountedupon the wheel-house roof. The handsome gun-boatwas sharply revealed, her sailors grouped at the quick-firepieces on the superstructure, the officers clusteredforward. Jack Gorham’s Springfield boomed like asmall cannon, and a man with gold stripes on hissleeves toppled from his station and sprawled on thedeck below.

The Cubans cheered and let fly a scattering, futilerifle fire, but the crew of the Fearless, convinced thatthey must fight for their skins, crouched behind theheavy bulwarks and handled their Mausers withmethodical earnestness. The Spanish officers andseamen took to cover. They were not used to beingshot at, and this filibustering tug was behavinglike a full-fledged pirate. The commander of thegun-boat made up his mind to dodge collision andsink the Fearless with his guns before she shouldflee beyond range outside the bay. His mental machinerywas not working swiftly, because this waswhat might be called his crowded hour. He triedto swing his vessel head on and to sheer to one sideof the channel.

60

Captain O’Shea climbed the spokes of his steering-wheeland swung the Fearless to meet the manœuvre.He was bent on crippling the gun-boat.With leaky boiler tubes, the tug was in no conditionfor another stern chase and the Spanish gunnerswould certainly hull her through and through andexplode the cargo before he could run clear of thehostile search-light.

A few seconds later, the foaming bow of theFearless struck the gun-boat a quartering, glancingblow that raked along her side. The Spanish commanderhad almost twisted his vessel out of theother’s path and O’Shea dared not swing to catchher broadside on, for fear of running aground. Theimpact was terrific. The Spanish craft had a lowfreeboard and the guns of her main-deck batteryprotruded their long muzzles only a few feet abovethe water. The steel stem of the Fearless, movingwith tremendous momentum, struck them one afterthe other, tore them from their mountings andstripped the starboard side clean. The tug’s headwaywas checked and a tangle of splintered stuffheld the two vessels interlocked. The Spanish gunnerson the upper deck could not sufficiently depressthe secondary battery to fire down into the Fearless,and on board the tug all hands had been knockedflat by the collision, so that for the moment therewas no hostile action on either side.

So close together were the two steamers whilethey hung together that cases of cargo, topplingover, spilled through the crushed bulwark of theFearless, and slid upon the gun-boat’s lower deck61where the side had been fairly ripped out of herabove the water-line. Then the tug very slowlyforged ahead, tearing herself free and grinding againstthe gun-boat’s cracked and twisted plates until thetwain parted company.

“We are still afloat, glory be, and the engines areturnin’ over,” cried O’Shea.

He spun the wheel hard over to pass out to seabetween the headlands, and steered where he thoughtdeep water ought to be. The gun-boat had notopened fire, and he began to hope that he mightwin the freedom of the sea. Nor was the hostilevessel making any effort to follow him, and insteadof blazing his trail with her search-light it had beenturned skyward to flash signals for assistance againstthe clouds.

“I jolted the ambition out of her,” joyfully exclaimedO’Shea. “I would not like to look at mypoor old hooker, but she must be an awful hash ondeck——”

The Fearless suddenly yawed to starboard andtook the bit in her teeth. The skipper tried to fetchher back on her course, but she failed to respond tothe wheel. He instantly knew that a rudder chainhad parted. He yelled down the tube to JohnnyKent to reverse his engines. The masterless tugwas heading out of the channel and the incomingtide caught her bow and swung her away from theseaward passage, over toward the nearest headlandand its submerged reef.

The Fearless felt the powerful backward drag of62her screw, but not in time. The disabled steering-gearwrought the mischief before the emergencytiller could be manned or an anchor dropped to holdher in the channel. Her keel scraped along the coralbottom and the hull trembled to the shock of stranding.The Fearless was hard and fast aground andthe tide lacked three hours of the flood.

Finding it useless to try to work her off, CaptainO’Shea had the engines stopped. The plight wassoon discovered by the gun-boat, which brought hersearch-light to bear on the tug. The Spanish commanderlaughed, no doubt, when he perceived thathe could train his remaining guns and smash theFearless to pieces at his leisure. It was point-blankrange at a conspicuous target, and the tables hadbeen turned.

Captain O’Shea comprehended the fate that wasabout to overtake his helpless ship. His boats hadbeen cut adrift and there was no means of conveyinghis people to the shore. They could only swim forit and try to find footing on the reef.

“’Tis no use showing a white flag and offering tosurrender,” he said to himself while the sweat randown his face. “We fired on them and we rammedtheir ship.”

There was a life-raft on the deck-house roof, andhe was about to order it shoved overside in orderto send Nora Forbes and Miss Hollister ashore incharge of Van Steen and the mate. It was a forlornhope, because the gun-boat would most likelyfire at anything seen afloat. Just then Jack Gorham63climbed to the bridge and respectfully saluted thecaptain.

“We are up against it, Jack,” said O’Shea. “TheSpaniard yonder is taking his time. He will anchorbow and stern and then shoot us to splinters. I willbe grateful if ye will lend the mate and youngVan Steen a hand with the ladies. If ye can fetchthe beach, take to the woods and try to find thecamp of General Gomez.”

“I have a proposition, sir,” returned the soldier,and for once his voice was unsteady with excitement.“When we were tangled alongside the gun-boat,some cases of cargo was jolted off our deck onto herdeck where the woodwork and plates was all toreaway. For God’s sake, put your search-light on herfor a minute, quick, before she swings her smashedside away from us. She’s still turnin’.”

“And for what?” queried O’Shea, but he leapedfor the lighting-switch, confident that the soldierknew what he was talking about.

“Two of them cases was nitro-glycerine, sir, andfor a wonder they slid so easy that they didn’t go off.I know them when I see ’em. Just give me onesight of them.”

The search-light of the Fearless swept across thegun-boat, which was slowly shifting her position tofind the middle of the channel and a safe anchorage.There was cramped room to manœuvre, and she wasswinging in a small arc which exposed for a littletime the shattered side that had been rammed bythe tug. A gaping hole above water disclosed the64main-deck forward, and the search-light of the Fearlessplayed and flickered in and out, white and brilliant.It illuminated the wreckage and the heap ofwooden cases which lay as they had slid across thefragments of bulwark that bridged the narrow gapbetween the interlocked vessels.

“Hold the light steady, sir,” said Jack Gorhamas he dropped to one knee, shoved the barrel of theSpringfield across the rail of the bridge, and laid hischeek against the stock. “It seems plumb ridiculous,but it’s worth tryin’.”

His wonderfully keen eyes had distinguished asquare wooden case which sat exposed and somewhatremoved from the others on the gun-boat’slittered deck. He had bragged of his marksmanship.Now was the supreme opportunity to makegood. The gun-boat was moving. Her shatteredside would be hidden from him before he couldshoot more than twice or thrice.

As the sights of his beloved old rifle came true onthe tiny target he pressed the trigger and the heavybullet went singing on its way.

“Missed, by Godfrey!” grunted Gorham as hereloaded. “If I score a bull’s-eye, you’ll know itall right.”

Annoyed by this impertinence, the gun-boat letdrive with a one-pounder which put a shell throughthe funnel of the Fearless and showered the deckwith soot. Gorham wiped his eyes and took aimfor the second shot. Good luck and good marksmanshipguided it. No need to wonder where this65bullet struck. The case of nitro-glycerine explodedwith a prodigious detonation that seemed to shakeearth and sea and sky. The forward part of thegun-boat was enveloped in a great sheet of flame.The people of the Fearless were stunned and deafenedand the hull rocked violently against the reef.Burning fragments rained everywhere, and fell hissinginto the bay. From the place where the gun-boatwas rapidly sinking came cries for help.

“She is gone entirely. God help their poor souls,”brokenly murmured Captain O’Shea.

He turned to shout to the mate:

“Pull yourself together and paddle over yonderwith the life-raft. Pick up all ye find of the poormen in the water and set them ashore. The Cubanarmy will take care of them as prisoners of war.And maybe you can find some of our boats. ’Tisan awful sight to see a fine vessel snuffed out like acandle.”

Jack Gorham sat on deck, his head in his hands,a disconsolate figure.

“I made a wonderful shot,” he muttered, “butI hope I’ll never have to make another one like it.”

“Bridge, ahoy!” roared Johnny Kent from thelower deck. “This is war. We beat ’em to it.Now let’s get this tug off the reef on the flood tide,if we rip the bottom out of her. This bay will befull of gun-boats and cruisers to-morrow.”

Going below for the first time since the Fearlesshad entered the bay, the skipper found the decksin chaotic confusion. Broken bulwarks, smashed66doors and windows, parted funnel-stays, twisteddeck-houses, and other signs of the collision werestrewn from bow to stern. Some twenty of thepatriots had dived overboard. Of those left onboard, several had been hurt, and the crew of theFearless were badly cut, bruised, and banged about.

O’Shea rallied all that were able to turn to, andset them to throwing cargo overboard. The gunsand ammunition were packed in water-proof casesand could be fished up by the Cuban army at lowtide. It was heavy material, and getting rid of twoor three hundred tons of it must considerably lightenthe stranded tug. At this back-breaking task doggedlylabored Gerald Van Steen without waiting foran order. Captain O’Shea stared at him by thelight of a lantern as though reminded of somethingimportant.

“The ladies!” cried he. “Are they safe andsound?”

“They are alive, thank you,” said Van Steen.“I stowed them in their room, and made them lieon the floor with the mattresses tucked against thewall to stop the bullets. I could think of nothingelse to do.”

“And how did they take it?”

“Very well, indeed. Miss Hollister has beenrather hysterical, but one can scarcely blame her.”

“Well, the worst may be over, and again it maynot,” thoughtfully explained O’Shea. “Now, ’tisthis way. I can set you people ashore, and ye cantake a chance that the Cuban army will be able to67send you inside the Spanish lines under a flag oftruce. But there may be weeks of hard living andfever and exposure before ye get anywhere at all.And it may be the death of the ladies. Or you canstay with me, if we get this vessel off, and I willcarry you back to the United States.”

“It isn’t a hilarious proposition either way,” repliedVan Steen. “I rather think, though, that wehad better stick to you.”

The mate returned aboard with the tidings thatmore than half the crew of the gun-boat had beenrescued by the life-raft and in boats which haddrifted to the beach.

“We ought to have those boats in case we needthem,” said the skipper; “but if the ship can beworked off this tide, and is fit to go to sea, I will notwait for them or anything else.”

The tide was rising fast and the company workedlike mad to heave the cargo overboard. At lengthJohnny Kent set his engines going hard astern andthe Fearless began to slide along her coral bed.Halting, bumping, grinding, she gradually movedinto the deeper water of the channel and rolled inthe swell that ran past the headlands. Collisionand stranding had fearfully racked and strained herhull, and the captain was not surprised when JohnnyKent bellowed from below:

“We’re leakin’, of course. I guess every rivet inher must have pulled loose. You’d better pray for aspell of good weather.”

“Would ye rather be shot or drowned decent in68a gale of wind, Johnny? ’Tis suicide to stay on thiscoast till daylight.”

The forlorn tug limped out to sea at her bestspeed, which was not much. The fire-room gangwas more or less disabled and the engines neededa deal of tinkering. Drop an able-bodied man froma third-story window and he may not break hisneck, but his gait is not apt to be brisk.

“By the holy poker!” ejacul*ted O’Shea to themate as they watched the shadowy mountains dropastern. “We delivered the cargo, though it is in afew feet of water, but I have some patriots left. Icould think of only one thing at a time. What willI do with them?”

“You can search me, sir. Dump ’em ashore atKey West, if we ever get that far.”

“I will not run into this coast again with a leakyold crab of a ship and no more than coal enough tocarry me to a friendly port.”

Men must sleep, and when the Fearless had leftthe coast twenty miles behind her Captain O’Sheaset the regular watches and curled up on the wheel-housetransom for a nap before daylight. JohnnyKent, after a sorrowful survey of his engines andboilers, crawled into his bunk and presently hissnores rose and fell with the cadenced beat of thesteam-pump that fought to keep the water from risingin the leaky hold. The sea was smooth, theclouds no longer obscured the stars, and the wearycrew was suffered to rest before clearing away thewreckage and patching the broken upper works.

69

When O’Shea awoke the dawn was bright and afresh breeze whipped across an empty sea. George,the cook, greeted him with melancholy demeanor.

“You-all suttinly did play th’ mischief with mahgalley when you kerbumped that gun-boat, cap’n.Every las’ dish is busted.”

“Where were you, George?”

“Hidin’ behind th’ range, please, suh. An’ whenthat there Spaniard blew up it broke all th’ galleywindows an’ filled me plumb full of glass. Ain’t wehad mos’ excitement enough?”

“I hope so. Did your friend, big Jiminez, swimashore last night?”

“No, suh. He’s in th’ galley helpin’ me straightenthings out. Him an’ me ain’t a mite hostile. MistahGorham suttinly did knock a heap o’ sense intothat nigg*h’s skull.”

The breeze blew with steadily increasing weightand began to kick up a choppy sea which rackedthe sluggish, laboring tug. Johnny Kent reportedthat the pump was not keeping the water downas easily as during the night. O’Shea chewed overthis disquieting news and was undecided whether toattempt the long passage around Cape San Antoniointo the Gulf of Mexico. The alternative was torun for Jamaica and take refuge in the nearest neutralport. The English government would probablyseize his ship, but her company would be safe againstarrest and condemnation as pirates by the Spanishauthorities.

While he was considering this grave problem his70eyes were gladdened by the sight of Nora Forbes,who came on deck and halted to gaze with amazementat the wrecked appearance of the vessel. Hersplendid color paled and she smiled rather tremulouslyat Captain O’Shea, who reassured her:

“We are still afloat, but we look like a junk heap.And how did ye pull through? And is your auntgetting the upper hand of that nervous prostration?”

“Miss Hollister was terribly frightened, and—and—sowas I. I would rather not hear about all thathappened last night—not just yet.”

“And I would rather not think of it, just now,Miss Forbes. Perhaps I ought to have set ye ashoreamong the Cubans. I hope you will not be worse offat sea again.”

“I am glad to be at sea again, with you, CaptainO’Shea,” said Nora, and she looked him in the eyeslike a true viking’s daughter who scorned subterfugeand spoke as her heart moved her.

It was perhaps as well that Gerald Van Steen decidedto join them just then.

“And are ye convinced that the Spanish are nota courteous people when ye meet them by night?”O’Shea cheerfully asked him.

“Do you know, I begin to like this filibustering,”answered the industrious young man, who looked astrampish as any of the crew. “One feels so wellpleased after he has pulled out of one of these scrapesthat it is almost worth while running into it.” Heturned to Nora and addressed her with a shade of71appeal in his voice: “Will you sit down with me fora while? I have no end of things to talk about.”

“Why, certainly, Gerald. Good-by, CaptainO’Shea. The top o’ the morning to ye.”

The captain bowed and raised his straw hat. Hisingenuous countenance wore a somewhat puzzledexpression, as if he beheld a new complication inthis tumultuous voyage of his.

It was well into the forenoon before Johnny Kentfound a breathing-spell and climbed above to conferwith the skipper. The indomitable engineer appearedaged and haggard. The pain of his burnsdistressed him and he was spent with worry andweariness. His hands trembled as he pulled himselfup the bridge stairway.

“I ain’t as young as I was, Cap’n Mike,” he huskilyexclaimed. “Blamed if I don’t feel kind ofstrained and shook up, same as the poor old Fearless.Looks like one of them fair-weather gales,don’t it? Bright sky and a big sea and wind to peelyour whiskers off before night.”

“’Tis a good guess,” soberly replied O’Shea.“Can we weather it, Johnny?”

“I don’t want to make the ladies nervous andfretty,” confided the chief, “but we ain’t keepin’the water down, Cap’n Mike. It will be in thefire-room before dark at this rate——”

“And then she will fall off into the trough of thesea and founder,” said O’Shea. “And we have noboats. Will your men stay on duty and keep hergoing?”

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“They will, Cap’n Mike. The big nigg*r feelsspry enough to turn to, and the gang is scared todeath of him. They believe he’ll murder ’em ifthey quit on me.”

“Well, Johnny, make steam as long as ye can,and if the weather will not moderate I can try tofetch up somewhere before she goes to the bottom.”

“I ain’t particularly anxious, Cap’n Mike. Inever saw you in a hole you couldn’t work yourway out of. Of course, there’s the ladies. Howare they, anyhow? The young one is on deck,lookin’ like a morning-glory. But what about MissHollister? She ain’t sick, is she?”

“Van Steen says the flurry last night gave hera sort of nervous prostration,” answered O’Shea.“She is up and dressed now and taking it easy inher room. Maybe ye would like to duck in and handher a few kind words.”

“I sure would,” and Johnny Kent beamed. “Ladieslike her are mighty refined and delicate and sensitive,and they’re liable to be took with this nervousprostration. I don’t blame her a bit, Cap’n Mike.Why, when we piled up on that reef and the gun-boatwas fixin’ to shoot us all to hell-and-gone, Ifelt nervous myself. Honest I did.”

“Go to it, Johnny, but don’t mention the factthat we are due to founder as the next act of thiscontinuous performance.”

It was really extraordinary to see how much animationcame into the face of Miss Hollister whenJohnny Kent poked his gray head inside the open73door and grinned a bashful greeting. Never did ahero wear a more unromantic aspect, but the spinsterhad selected him as her own particular hero,nevertheless. He was rugged, elemental, as shehad come to regard him, and, in fact, there wassomething uncommonly attractive to the discerningeye in the modest courage, inflexible devotion toduty, and simple kindliness of this grizzled old searover.

“I’m ashamed that we had to give you such a scarelast night, ma’am,” he began. “It’s a hoodooedvoyage, any way you look at it. Why, Cap’n Mikeand me ran a cargo into Hayti last summer andyou would have enjoyed it. Stuff on the beach inthree hours and a funny old stone fort bangin’ awayat us just enough to keep all hands amused.”

“But after this experience, you will not dream ofgoing filibustering again, will you?” Miss Hollisterasked him.

Johnny Kent tugged at his gray mustache andlooked rather blank as he ejacul*ted:

“Why not? I ain’t fit for anything else. Ofcourse, I get big wages for runnin’ these risks, andif I can ever save some money, I’m hopin’ to buy afarm down in Maine and raise chickens and suchtruck. That’s what I call really excitin’ and romantic.”

Miss Hollister responded eagerly:

“And a vegetable garden and cows, and——”

“Yes, ma’am. And flowers in the front yard—hollyhocks,and asters, and peonies, and a lilac bush74by the front door-step. I set and think about it alot.”

It did not appeal to the chief engineer as at allincongruous that the conversation should have takenthis turn while the ship was slowly sinking beneaththem.

“I have been very successful with flowers,”brightly returned Miss Hollister. “I shall be delightedto send you some seeds and cuttings wheneveryou return to New England to live on thatwonderful farm of yours.”

“Thank you. Now when it comes to chickens,for all-round service there ain’t a bird to beat thePlymouth Rock. I subscribe to the Poultry Journal,and always bring it to sea to read——”

The mate dodged out of the wheel-house to shout:

“You’re wanted below, chief. The assistant sendsup word that the loose coal is sucking into the pumpand she’s chokin’ up.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” gently spoke JohnnyKent as he ceremoniously shook Miss Hollister’shand. “Engines and pumps are provokin’ crittursand they’re always getting out of kilter.”

He paused outside to ask Captain O’Shea:

“What’s the answer? Do we win or lose? There’sbad news from below. The bunker coal is awash.The pump is liable to quit on me ’most any time.”

“I have overhauled the charts, Johnny, and thereis a bit of a coral key marked down thirty milesfrom our present position, bearing sou’-sou’west. Ihave changed me course to head for it.”

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“Thirty miles! Five hours or more at the speedwe’re makin’. It will be a close finish, Cap’n Mike.”

“Life seems to be a game of close finishes for youand me, Johnny.”

The Fearless wallowed sluggishly over a rolling,foamy, blue sea. Already the water in the holdshad diminished her natural buoyancy. The wavesleaped through her broken bulwarks and flung themselvesacross the deck. The crew and the remainingCubans had a listless, discouraged demeanor. Theirenergy was deadened by misfortune. The voyagewas ill-fated. Jack Gorham, by contrast, undertookwhatever duty came handiest with a kind of machine-like,routine fidelity, unhurried, efficient, hismelancholy countenance reflecting neither fear norimpatience. Now and then Jiminez emerged fromthe stoke-hole to sluice his huge body with pails ofsalt water. At such times Gorham crossed the deckto slap the negro on his bare back and speak wordsof approval in broken Spanish. The responsive grinof Jiminez showed every big, white tooth in his head.He had found a master whom he vastly respected,and there was no ill-will between them.

Long before the thirty miles had been run downCaptain O’Shea was searching the sea with his glassesto find the tiny coral islet where he hoped to findrefuge. It was out of the track of steamer traffic,and so far from the Cuban coast that the danger ofdiscovery by the Spanish navy seemed fairly remote.The chart failed to indicate any harbor, but O’Sheahad no expectation of saving his ship. He would76drive her ashore and try to put his people on thebeach.

At length he was able to descry a low, sandystrip almost level with the sea, along which thebreakers flashed white and green. It was the key,and as the Fearless moved nearer it was seen thatthe vegetation comprised only a few ragged bushes.Desolate, sun-baked, and wind-swept was the place,but it was dry land, and better than the deep seain a foundering ship.

Captain O’Shea laid down his glasses and calledVan Steen.

“’Tis not what I expected, but the Fearless isdone for,” said he. “We have fresh water andstores to last some time. And I have faith enoughin me luck to feel sure we will be picked off that bitof a key yonder. Please ask the ladies to packtheir traps, and you will put life-belts aroundthem.”

As the Fearless lurched drunkenly toward thebeach, it seemed as though every comber wouldstamp her under. The water in the hold had coveredthe fire-room floor, and was hissing and swashingunder the furnaces. The deck-hands were strungalong the ladder and hatch, bailing with buckets toaid the choking, sputtering steam-pump.

“I ain’t got any business to be drowned in thislump of a tug,” said Johnny Kent to the first assistant.“I’m thinkin’ about that farm with the hollyhocksand Plymouth Rocks.”

“If that pump stops, which it has symptoms of77doing, you’d better be thinking of your wicked oldsoul,” growled the assistant.

“I can’t swim a lick,” muttered the chief engineer.

“You’d better learn quick. There go the fires,”yelled the other as clouds of steam poured out ofthe engine-room, and the men below came up theladder, fighting, scrambling, swearing. Johnny Kentdodged the wild rush, glanced out to sea, and shouted,“Breakers ahead! There are a few more kicks inthe old packet and she’ll hit the beach yet.”

As the steam pressure rapidly ran down, the dyingengines turned over more and more feebly, but thepropeller continued to push the vessel very languidlyinto the shoal water. Presently she ceasedto move, there was a slight jar, and she heeled to starboard.The doomed tug rested upon a sandy bottom.

Now that she was inert, aground, lifting no moreto the heave and swing of the seas, the breakersshook her with an incessant bombardment. Sprayflew over the bridge and pelted into the cabin windows.The key was about three hundred yards distantfrom the tug. Between her and the dry landwas a strip of deeper water than the shoal on whichshe had stranded, and then the wide barrier of surfwhere the breakers tossed and tumbled in a thunderingtumult.

Captain O’Shea scanned the angry water and wonderedhow he could send his people through it. Theclumsy life-raft was all he had to put them on. Itwas buoyant enough, but unmanageable in such78boisterous weather as this, and would most likelybe blown out to sea and miss the key entirely. Toremain on board and hope for quieter weather onthe morrow was to risk pounding to pieces overnight.

Then O’Shea caught sight of the jagged timbers ofan ancient wreck half covered by the sand on theridge of the key. If a line could be carried from theship and made fast to one of those stout timbers,the life-raft might be hauled through the surf.

“’Tis a terrible swim to undertake,” he painfullyreflected. “I will try it meself, but if I go underthere is nobody to take charge of these people. Mymen are a rough lot, and it will be hard living onthis God-forsaken bit of a key.”

As if Jack Gorham had read what was in theskipper’s mind, he crawled across the sloping deckand shouted something in the ear of Jiminez. Thenegro nodded and waved an arm in the direction ofthe beach. The soldier was urging and explaining,the other eagerly assenting. Gorham shouted tothe bridge:

“This fine big nigg*r of mine will carry a ropeashore. He can swim like a duck, and there’s nobodyaboard with half his strength.”

“Aye, aye, Jack!” exclaimed O’Shea. “I will givehim a heaving-line, and when he hits the beach hecan haul a light hawser ashore and make it fast.”

Jiminez had no need to strip for active service,clad as he was only in tattered dungaree breecheschopped off above the knees. It was apparent thathe proposed risking his life because the soldier had79asked it of him. For the lives of the others he carednot a snap of his finger. Knotting an end of theheaving-line around his waist, he poised himself uponthe guard-rail, a herculean statue of ebony. Gorhamgrasped his hand and said in farewell:

“You keep on going, Jiminez, old boy, or I’ll cavein your cocoanut with the butt of my Springfield.”

The negro grinned and shot downward into thefoaming sea. His round head and gleaming shouldersemerged for an instant and then he dived againto pass under the toppling crest of a breaker. A fewoverhand strokes, and he was in the deeper waterwith a hundred yards of comparatively easy swimming.He ploughed through it with tremendous easeand power while Captain O’Shea paid out the heaving-linein his wake. Turning on his back, Jiminezrested before the final struggle with the surf on thebeach.

The people on the Fearless forgot their forlorn situation.They were absorbed in the picture of thebright, hot sand, the dazzling wall of surf, with thegulls dipping and screaming overhead, and the tossingfigure of the black swimmer. Jiminez vanishedin the outer line of breakers, bobbed into view foran instant, and was whirled over and over. Theundertow caught him and pulled him down, but hefought clear and came to the surface, now beatenseaward, now gaining a yard or so.

From the tug it looked as though he were beingbattered about like a piece of drifting wreckage, butthe sea could not drown him. More than once the80beholders were sure he had been conquered. Thenthey shouted as they saw him shoot landward onthe crested back of a rearing comber. He felt thesand with his feet. He was knocked down androlled back, but regained a foothold and resistedthe drag of the out-rushing waves. Wading powerfully,he stumbled into shallow water and fell on hisknees, too exhausted to walk, and crawled on allfours to the dry sand. There he sprawled on hisback like a dead man, while the hearts of those onboard the Fearless beat slow and heavy with suspense.A little while and Jiminez staggered to hisfeet, shook himself like a dog, and made for thetimbers of the old wreck. Making the end of theheaving-line fast, he threw his arms over his headas a signal.

Captain O’Shea bent to the other end of the linethe strong rope which he had used for towing thesurf-boats. Jiminez sat himself down, dug his heelsin the sand, and began to haul in like a human capstan.The rope trailed slowly through the surfwithout mishap, and the negro firmly belayed it toone of the embedded timbers. Having accomplishedwhat he had set out to do, Jiminez sensibly rolledover, pillowed his head on his arm, and let the othermen rescue themselves.

The life-raft was now shoved overboard and securedto the swaying rope by means of pulley blocks.Four picked men and the mate were detailed tomake the first trip, which was in the nature of anexperiment. They paddled the life-raft across the81strip of quieter water, the pulleys holding them closeto the fastened hawser. When the raft reached thesurf, they laid hold of the hawser and lustily hauledtheir careering craft shoreward, hand over hand.Drenched and breathless, they gained the beach andsought a few minutes’ rest before undertaking thereturn journey.

As soon as the raft had safely come back to theFearless Captain O’Shea shouted:

“Now for the ladies! ’Tis time they quit the poorold hooker.”

Nora Forbes was waiting, a lithe round arm aboutMiss Hollister’s waist. The spinster was white tothe lips, and her eyes sought, not the protecting careof Gerald Van Steen, but the bracing presence ofthat stout-hearted old pirate Johnny Kent, who wasprofanely wrestling with the fresh-water barrels.

“You will get wet, ladies,” said O’Shea, “but ’tisnot at all dangerous. The raft will take you throughthe surf like a toboggan. Mr. Van Steen will gowith you. Ye are a brave pair, and I would ask nobetter shipmates.”

The raft was pitching and bucking alongside, butthe lower deck of the vessel was now level with thesea. O’Shea caught Miss Hollister in his arms,waded to the rail with her and waited until VanSteen and the other men were ready to catch her.Then with a wrenching heave, O’Shea tossed herinto their outstretched arms. It was Nora Forbes’sturn to leave the vessel.

“You will pardon the liberty,” O’Shea whispered82in her ear, “but this is no small consolation for losingme ship.”

He swung her clear of the deck and her arms,perforce, had to cling around his neck while he balancedhimself with sailorly agility and waited forthe tug to right itself and the raft to rise on thenext wave. Perhaps he held her a moment longerthan was necessary. Captain Michael O’Shea was aman with a warm heart and red blood in him.Deftly and carefully he swung her over the rail, andthe men on the raft placed her beside Miss Hollister.Nora waved her hand in a blithe farewell. MissHollister had closed her eyes, but she opened themquickly enough when Johnny Kent came rolling aftto flourish his cap and shout:

“Sorry I can’t make the passage with you. We’llhave lots of time to talk flowers and hens on thatpatch of sand, but it looks like mighty poor soil forgardenin’ ma’am.”

Guided by the pulley-blocks that creaked alongthe hawser, the raft made the tempestuous passagethrough the surf. The shipwrecked ladies set themselvesdown on a sandy hummock in the hot sunshine.They were waterlogged and appeared quitecalm and collected because they lacked strength foranything else.

The raft plied to and fro in a race against time.Such stores as would be damaged by wetting werewrapped in tarpaulins. The precious water-barrelswere filled from the ship’s tank, and the wise JohnnyKent packed spare copper piping, a gasolene torch,83empty tin cases, and tools for making a condenser todistil salt water. Captain O’Shea took care to sendall the arms which had been served out to the crew,besides several boxes of rifles and ammunition thathad been overlooked in dumping the cargo. Alsohe saved a number of shovels and picks designed foruse as intrenching tools.

Before the last load of stuff had been hauled tothe beach, the Fearless was driven so far on the shoalthat she began to break amidships. O’Shea orderedColonel Calvo and his Cubans off the vessel, andthen sent his crew ashore. He was left on boardwith Johnny Kent, Jack Gorham, and the menneeded to help manage the life-raft. The littlegroup stood in the lee of the deck-house. Thetragedy of the ship oppressed them. They weremourners at the funeral of a faithful friend. SentimentalJohnny Kent exclaimed with a husky notein his voice:

“The Fearless did her best for us, Cap’n Mike.It’s a rotten finish for a respectable, God-fearin’tow-boat.”

“She was a good little vessel, Johnny,” softlyquoth O’Shea. “But those guns we dumped in thebay will come in mighty useful to old MaximoGomez, and maybe the voyage is worth while afterall.”

“I seem to be sort of side-tracked, but I ain’tcomplainin’,” murmured Jack Gorham. “I hopethe Cubans will keep the rebellion moving alonguntil I can get to ’em and help mix it up.”

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One by one they jumped to the raft and CaptainO’Shea was the last man to leave. With a shake ofthe head he turned to gaze no more at the Fearless,but at the disconsolate cluster of men on the key,who were waiting for him to take command.

IV

With ready resource and dynamic energy, O’Sheaproceeded to organize the refugees. The drearylittle sand-bank was no longer populated by discouragedloafers, but by busy, shouting toilers whomade a camp with the cheerful zest of children atplay. There were tarpaulins, storm-sails, and awningsto fashion shelters from the sun and rain. Thebeach was strewn with an accumulation of drift-woodwhich served to cut into uprights and cross-piecesthat were lashed together with bits of line. In thiswise a tent was built for the two women. It wasset apart from the other camps with an ingeniousamount of comfort and privacy.

The crew of the Fearless flocked together, whileColonel Calvo and his Cubans established themselvesin quarters of their own. All this was a two days’task, at the end of which the shipwrecked company,utterly fa*gged, slept and rested most earnestly andtook no thought of the morrow. The blessed respitefrom excitements and alarms lulled them like ananodyne.

When, at length, the camp came out of its trance,Captain O’Shea discovered that his work was cut85out for him to devise a daily routine which shouldmaintain obedience, discipline, and good-nature.His own men were accustomed to an active life,their energy was exuberant, and when not fightingthe sea they enjoyed fighting among themselves.On shipboard they obeyed by instinct because itwas the iron tradition of their calling, but on thekey these bonds were inevitably loosened.

While this was to be expected, the behavior ofthe surviving patriots was nothing short of phenomenal.They were rid of the curse of the seawhich had wilted them body and soul. The immovableland was under their feet. They laughedand displayed an astonishing vivacity. They struttedimportantly, soldiers unafraid. Even ColonelCalvo was reanimated. His sword clanked at hisside. Large silver spurs dashed on the heels of hisboots and he perceived nothing absurd in wearingthem. His attitude toward Captain O’Shea washaughty, even distant. It was apparent that thismiraculously revived warrior considered himself theranking officer of the island. He signified that hewould take entire charge of matters in his owncamp.

O’Shea was surprised. At sea the patriots hadbeen so much bothersome, unlovely freight.

“’Tis comical,” he said to himself. “I took itfor granted that I was the boss of the whole outfit.”

Common-sense and experience told Captain O’Sheathat he must keep all hands busy, if he had to inventwork for them. He therefore staked out a86rectangular space of considerable extent and setthem to throwing up sand to form four walls severalfeet thick within which the company might findshelter. It was a simple pattern of earthworks,but more efficient to resist bullet and shell thanstone or concrete.

“We may not need to scuttle into it,” he explainedto Jack Gorham, “but if one of those Spanishblockadin’ craft should accidentally cruise offshore, we will be in shape to stand her off. Anyhow,it will keep our tarriers occupied for a while.”

“How do you frame it up that we’re goin’ to getaway from this gob of sand?” asked the chief engineer.“Not that I’m fretty, Cap’n Mike, orfindin’ fault, but I’ve seen places that I liked better.”

“We will mark time a little longer, Johnny, andthen if a schooner or steamer doesn’t happen by, Iwill rig a sail on the life-raft, and send it to thesouth’ard. How are the ladies to-day? I have hadno time to pay a social call.”

“Miss Hollister don’t seem as droopin’ as she was.I dried out a pack of cards that was in my jumper,and we played some whist. If you want to set in,Cap’n Mike, I’ll drop out. I ain’t really gracefuland easy in a game where there’s more than fivecards dealt to a hand.”

“Thank you, but I am handicapped in the sameway, Johnny. I will stroll over and pay me respectsbefore supper.”

“Miss Forbes seemed a mite peevish that you87haven’t made more tracks toward their tent,” observedthe engineer.

“Pshaw, they are glad to have the chance to beby themselves.”

Nevertheless, Captain O’Shea appeared interestedwhen he spied Miss Forbes sauntering alone on thebeach, and at some distance from her tent.

“Miss Hollister is asleep and Mr. Van Steen istrying to mend his shoes with a piece of wire,” saidNora. “And I have done my week’s washing likean industrious girl, and now I’m looking for someoneto play with.”

“Would you like to walk to the far end of thekey, Miss Forbes? And then, perhaps, ye wouldcare to inspect the camps. We have a ship-shapelittle settlement, if I do say it meself.”

“An exploring expedition? I shall be delighted,”cried she, unconsciously glancing at the tent whichhid the chaperon and also Gerald Van Steen.

They strolled a little way without speaking.O’Shea halted to gaze at the wreck of the Fearless.With quick sympathy, the girl understood and madeno comment. He turned away with a sorrowfulsmile and broke the silence.

“’Tis strange how close a man’s ship is to hisheart. I wish I did not have to see her.”

“There will be other ships for a man like you,Captain O’Shea,” said Nora.

“But never a voyage like this one, Miss Forbes.”

“I was thinking the same thought. For me therewill never be a voyage like this, Captain O’Shea.”

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“For misfortune and bedivilment generally, do yemean?” he asked rather hastily.

“No, I do not mean that,” and she spoke in alow voice as if talking to herself. “I have enjoyedit. I suppose I am very queer and shocking, but Ishall look back to this experience all my life and beglad that it came to me.”

The shipmaster wondered how much she meant.Her intonations told him that it was something personaland intimate. Perhaps other women had madelove to Captain Michael O’Shea, but never one likeNora Forbes. Amid circ*mstances so strange andexotic, so utterly removed from the normal schemeof things, it was as natural as breathing that speechshould be sincere and emotions genuine.

O’Shea had a curiously delicate sense of honor.He could not forget Gerald Van Steen. Nora hadpromised to marry him. Steering the conversationaway from dangerous ground, he said:

“I have changed me opinion of Mr. Van Steen.He has behaved very well. He did not understandus at first.”

Nora was not as interested as before, and repliedrather carelessly:

“He has worked hard because you and Mr. Kentcompelled him to.”

“You are not fair to him,” warmly returnedO’Shea. “There is not a man in the crew that hasstood up to it any better. Nor am I warped in hisfavor, for I will own up that he rubbed me thewrong way at first.”

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“Of course, I have admired the way he handledhimself on board the Fearless,” admitted Nora, herconscience uneasy that she should be so laggard achampion. “But I hardly expected to hear yousing his praises, Captain O’Shea.”

“Why not? I would give me dearest enemy hisdeserts”—he hesitated and bluntly added—“andthen if he got in my way I would do me best towipe him off the map.”

“If he got in your way?” murmured Nora. “Ishould hate to be the man that stood in your way.”

“If there is to be straight talk between us,” demandedO’Shea, “tell me why ye show no morepleasure that this voyage has knocked the foolishnessout of Van Steen and made a two-fisted manof him? When he came aboard he was an imitationman that had been spoiled by his money.He is different now. Can ye not see it for yourself?”

“Yes, I see it,” replied Nora, regarding O’Sheawith a demeanor oddly perplexed. He was notplaying the game to her liking. The interview hadbeen twisted to lead her into a blind alley. With apetulant exclamation, she walked briskly toward thefarther end of the key. O’Shea followed, admiring,cogitating.

Overtaking her, he indicated a broken topmastwashed ashore from some tall sailing-ship, and theyfound seats upon it. The hypnotic spell of the seatook hold of them both until Nora turned and protestinglyexclaimed:

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“Aren’t you fearfully tired of seeing nothing butthis great, blue, empty expanse of salt water?”

“My eyes could never tire if I had you to lookat,” said he, not by way of making love to her, butas a simple statement of fact.

Nora appeared happier. This buccaneer of herswas becoming more tractable, but he perverselyhauled about on another tack and added:

“As long as there are ships to sail the sea, therewill be men to go in them, men that will never tireof salt water though it treats them cruel. They willhear the voices of sweethearts and wives on shore,but they will not listen. The hands of little childrenwill beckon, but they will not stay. ’Tis fineto be warm and dry in a house, and to see the greenthings grow, and men and women living like Christians,but if you are the seafarin’ kind, you must finda ship and put out of port again. I am one of thosethat will never tire of it, Miss Forbes. Poor oldJohnny Kent is different. He sits and sighs for hisfarm and will talk you deaf about it. My fatherwas a shipmaster before me, and his people werefishermen in the Western Islands.”

Nora sighed. O’Shea’s caressing voice rose andfell with a sort of melancholy rhythm, an inheritancefrom his Celtic forebears. It was as though he werechanting a farewell to her. Her lovely, luminouseyes were suffused. The wind was warm and soft,but she shivered slightly.

“We had better turn back to the camp,” said she.“My aunt will be looking for me.”

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They walked along the shining beach, thinkingmany things which could not find expression.O’Shea left her near her tent and was about to goto his own quarters when he overheard a stormymeeting between Nora and Gerald Van Steen. Hehastened on his way, ashamed that he should havebeen an unwitting eavesdropper. It was most emphaticallynone of his business. His cheek reddened,however, and he felt gusty anger that Norashould be taken to task for strolling to the end ofthe key with him.

“A jealous man is the most unreasonable workof God,” he said to himself. “’Twas a harmlesswalk we had.”

Duty diverted Captain O’Shea from consideringthe disturbed emotions of Gerald Van Steen. Rationsmust be measured out and inspected, themuster roll called, the sick visited, and the sentriesappointed for the night. He had finished thesetasks and was standing near his tent when VanSteen approached in a hurried, angry manner.Surmising the cause, O’Shea caught him by the armand led him in the direction of the beach, away fromthe curious eyes and ears of the camp.

Van Steen wrenched himself free with a threateninggesture. He had worked himself into a passionchildishly irrational. O’Shea was inwardly amused,but his face was grave as he inquired:

“Why these hostile symptoms? Do not shout itall over the place. Tell it to me easy and get itout of your system.”

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This casual reception rather stumped young Mr.Van Steen. He gulped, made a false start or two,and sullenly replied:

“You and I will have it out as man to man,O’Shea.”

“Captain O’Shea, if ye please, while I commandthis expedition,” softly spoke the other. “As manto man? You have been a man only since I tookcharge of your education. Are ye sure you areready to qualify?”

The shipmaster’s smile was frosty, and his glancewas exceedingly alert. Van Steen raised his voiceto an unsteady pitch as he cried:

“That is a cheap insult. It shows what you areunder the skin. Now, I don’t propose to bringher—to bring any one’s name into this—but youare to keep away, understand? It has to stop.”

“Did any one request ye to tell me to keep away,as ye put it in your tactful way?” blandly suggestedO’Shea.

“No; this is my affair. There has been enoughof this blarneying nonsense of yours, and watchingfor a chance when my back is turned. If you werea gentleman, there would be no necessity of tellingyou this.”

The veneer had been quite thoroughly removedfrom the conventional surfaces of Gerald Ten EyckVan Steen. He was the primitive man ready tofight for his woman. O’Shea was divided betweenrespect for him and a desire to swing a fist againsthis jaw.

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“We have no gentlemen in my trade, of course,”he retorted. “Now and then we pick up one of themadrift and do our best for him, and he turns to andblackguards us for our pains. Have ye more to say?”

“Considerably more. It is an awfully awkwardmatter to discuss, but it is my right, and—and——”

O’Shea interrupted vehemently:

“The hot sun has addled your brain. For heaven’ssake, stop where you are. If it was me intentionto make love to the girl and try to win her formyself, I would go straight to you. You would nothave to come to me.”

“You are a liar and a sneak, and I think you area coward unless you have your men at your back,”almost screamed Van Steen.

“Which I will take from no man,” returnedO’Shea, and he swung from the shoulder andstretched the young man flat on the sand. Severalseamen and Cubans beheld this episode and ranthither.

“Pick yourself up and keep your mouth shut,”exhorted O’Shea, “or ye will be draggin’ some one’sname into this after all.”

Van Steen was sobbing as he scrambled to hisfeet, let fly with his fists, and was again knockeddown by a buffet on the side of the head. O’Sheaturned to order the men back to camp, and thenquizzically surveyed the dazed champion.

“You will fight a duel with me or I’ll shoot you,”cried Van Steen. “At daylight to-morrow—withrevolvers—at the other end of the key.”

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“I will not!” curtly replied O’Shea. “Ye mightput a hole through me, and what good would thatdo? ’Tis my business to get these people away, andkeep them alive in the meantime. As for shootingme informally, if I catch you with a gun I will clapye in irons.”

“But you knocked me down twice,” protestedVan Steen.

“And ye called me hard names. We are quits.Now run along and wash off your face.”

The misguided young man marched sadly up thebeach to find solitude, and was seen no more untillong after night. O’Shea stared at his retreatingfigure and sagaciously reflected:

“He wants to fight a duel! ’Tis quite the properthing. He figures it out that he is a buccaneer ona desert island, and ’tis his duty to play the part.Consistency is a jewel.”

It seemed improbable that Van Steen had actedwholly on his own initiative. Then the provocationmust have come from Nora herself. And whatcould have aroused Van Steen to such a jealousfrenzy but her admission that she was fond of thecompany of Captain O’Shea?

“Right there is where I stop tryin’ to unravel it,”soliloquized the skipper. “’Tis not proper for a manto confess such thoughts. But I have no doubt atall that she stirred him up when he scolded her forwalking on the beach with me this afternoon.”

In the evening Johnny Kent became inquisitive.There was something on his mind, and he shifted95about uneasily and lighted his pipe several timesbefore venturing to observe:

“I sort of wandered down to the beach, Cap’nMike, when you and the millionaire coal-heaverwere quarrellin’. I didn’t mean to butt in and Ihung back as long as I could——”

“Forget whatever you heard, Johnny. It was atempest in a teapot.”

The engineer scratched another match, cleared histhroat, and diffidently resumed:

“Excuse me, but there was words about a duel.I was interested—personally interested, you understand.”

“How in blazes did it concern you?” laughedO’Shea.

“Never you mind,” darkly answered Johnny Kent.“Tell me, Cap’n Mike, ain’t you goin’ to inform theyoung lady that there came near being a duel foughtover her?”

“Of course not. And don’t you blab it.”

“But she’d feel terrible flattered. Women justdote on having duels fought over ’em, accordin’ toall I’ve read in story-books. Seems to me you oughtto stand up and swap a couple of shots with VanSteen just to please the girl.”

“I had not looked at it from just that angle,”amiably returned O’Shea. “You surely are athoughtful, soft-hearted old pirate.”

“Well, the girl will get wind of it, Cap’n Mike.She’s bound to. And maybe she’ll feel pleased, toa certain extent, that a duel was pretty near foughtover her.”

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“But what has all this to do with you personally?”O’Shea demanded. “’Tis none of your duel, Johnny.You would make a fine target. I could hit thatbroad-beamed carcass with me two eyes shut.”

“And maybe I could put a hole in your copperswith my eyes open,” was the tart rejoinder. “Anyhow,you agree with me, Cap’n Mike, don’t you,that there’s no solider compliment with more heftand ballast to it than to fight a duel over a lady?”

“I will take your word for it if ye will only explainwhat it is all about,” yawned O’Shea.

“A man don’t have to tell all he knows,” was theenigmatical reply.

Whereupon Johnny Kent rolled over on hisblanket, but he did not snore for some time. Staringat the canvas roof, or beyond it at the starlitnight, he revolved great thoughts.

Fortune occasionally favors the brave. Nextmorning the chief engineer trundled himself acrossthe intervening sand to pay his respects to MissHollister. The comparative calm of existence onthe key was mending her shattered nerves. Shefelt a singularly serene confidence that the partywould be rescued ere long, and the healthful outdoorlife hastened the process of recuperation. Withfeminine ingenuity she managed to make her scantywardrobe appear both fresh and attractive. Herfavorite diversion was to sit on the sand whileJohnny Kent traced patterns of his imaginary farmwith a bit of stick. Here was the pasture, therethe hay-field, yonder the brook, indicated by a wrigglingline. The house would be in this place, large97trees in front, a sailor’s hammock swung betweentwo of them. Miss Hollister had several timeschanged the location of the flower-beds and paths,and was particularly interested in the poultry-yards.

Just before Johnny Kent loomed athwart herplacid horizon on this momentous morning, the contentedspinster was tracing on the white carpet ofsand a tentative outline of the asparagus-bed to besubmitted to his critical eye. A shadow caused herto glance up, and her startled vision beheld not thecomfortable bulk and rubicund visage of the chiefengineer, but the martial figure and saturnine countenanceof Colonel Calvo. He was still arrayed inthe panoply of war. The front of his straw hat waspinned back by a tiny Cuban flag. His white uniform,somewhat dingy, was brave with medals andbrass buttons, and the tarnished spurs tinkled athis high heels. Unaware that he was Miss Hollister’spet aversion, the gallant colonel bowed low with hishand on his heart, smiled a smile warranted to bringthe most obdurate señorita fluttering from her perch,and affably exclaimed:

“I have the honor to ask, is your health prettygood? We have suffer’ together. I promise myselfto come before, but my brave mens have needme.”

“There is no reason why you should trouble yourselfon my account, I am sure,” crisply replied MissHollister. “Captain O’Shea is taking the best ofcare of us, thank you.”

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The colonel assumed a graceful pose, one hand onhis hip, the other toying with his jaunty mustache.How could any woman resist him?

“I will be so glad to have you inspec’ my camp,”said he, staring at her very boldly. “It is ver’ military.That Captain O’Shea”—an eloquent shrug—“heis good on the sea, but he is not a soldier, toknow camps like me.”

“Captain O’Shea has offered to show me thecamps. He is in command, I believe.”

“That fellow do not comman’ me. Will you cometo-night? My soldiers will sing for you the songsof Cuba Libre.”

“No, I thank you.” Miss Hollister was positivelydiscourteous.

“Ah, so beautiful a woman and so cruel,” sighedthe colonel, ogling her with his most fatal glances.

Miss Hollister spied Johnny Kent coming at topspeed, and she looked so radiant that Colonel Calvospun round to discover the reason. With a contemptuouslaugh he remarked:

“The greasy ol’ man of the engines! I do notlike him.”

Johnny Kent had read the meaning of the tableau.The colonel was making himself unpleasantto Miss Hollister. And the breeze carried to hisear the unflattering characterization of himself.

“He’s playing right into my hands. It couldn’thappen nicer if I had arranged it myself,” said thechief engineer under his breath. His mien was asfierce as that of an indignant walrus as he bore down99on the pair and, without deigning to notice ColonelCalvo, exclaimed to Miss Hollister:

“Was anybody makin’ himself unwelcome to youjust now? If so, I’ll be pleased to remove him somewhereelse.”

“You will min’ your own business,” grandly declaimedColonel Calvo.

“You needn’t answer my question, ma’am,” resumedJohnny Kent. “This pestiferous Cuban gentwanders over here without bein’ invited and makeshimself unpopular. It’s as plain as a picture on thewall.”

The spinster realized that it was her duty to interveneas a peace-maker between these belligerents,but she felt powerless to move from the spot, whichhappened to be in the middle of Johnny Kent’s imaginarypasture, between the brook and the hay-field.The proprietor thereof, advancing close toColonel Calvo, thundered, “Ha! Ha!” and firmlygrasped the warrior’s nose between a mighty thumband forefinger. The colonel yelled with rage andpain, and fumbled for the hilt of his sword. Withdignified deliberation the chief engineer released theimprisoned nose, turned the colonel squarely aroundby the shoulders, and kicked him until his spursjingled like little bells.

“There! I hope you’re real insulted, right downto the heels,” commented the avenger.

Colonel Calvo painfully straightened himself, managedto haul the sword clear of the scabbard, wavedit undecidedly and shrieked:

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“Mos’ likely you have the pistol in your pantsto kill me with. I will fight the duello with you.You have insult’ me in my mortal part. You refuseme to fight with pistols, quick, as soon as itcan be arrange’?”

“Bully for you,” cordially answered Johnny Kent.“Sure thing. I’ll be delighted.” He had one eyeon Miss Hollister as he continued in resonant tones:“We will duel to the death.”

“I will sen’ my frien’ to see your frien’, señor,”was the grandiloquent response of Colonel Calvo.“An’ I will kill you mos’ awful dead.”

“It will be a pleasure to turn up my toes in defenceof a lady,” fervently declaimed the engineer as ColonelCalvo limped in the direction of his own camp,filling the air with such explosive imprecations thatit was as though he left a string of cannon-crackersin his wake. Johnny Kent mopped his face, smiledcontentedly, and turned his attention to the dumfoundedspinster.

“But are you in earnest?” she gasped.

“Never more so, ma’am,” and he added, withseeming irrelevance, “I suppose you have heard thatCap’n O’Shea and Mr. Van Steen came near fightin’a duel yesterday afternoon.”

“Yes, Mr. Van Steen admitted as much. It wasa most inexplicable affair. What in the world has itto do with your terrible quarrel with Colonel Calvo?”

“You understand just why I am perpetratin’ theduel with the colonel, don’t you, ma’am?” askedJohnny Kent, showing some slight anxiety.

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“I—I imagine—” She blushed, looked distressed,and said with a confusion prettily girlish, “I amafraid I had something to do with it.”

“You had everything to do with it,” he heartilyassured her. “You don’t feel slighted now, do you?I thought you might take it to heart, you understand—beingsort of left out. Says I to myself last night,there’ll be no invidious distinctions in Miss Hollister’sneighborhood. She deserves a duel of herown, and I’ll hop in and get her one the first minutethat conceited jackass of a Colonel Calvo gives mea chance to pull his nose for him. That is strictlyaccordin’ to Hoyle, ma’am. Pullin’ the other fellow’snose is the most refined and elegant way ofstarting a duel. Kickin’ him was an afterthought,to make sure he was insulted a whole lot.”

“I appreciate your motive,” murmured Miss Hollister,“but, oh, dear, it wasn’t at all necessary. Youand I are too good friends to require a duel as aproof of esteem. And I did not feel in the leastslighted.”

“Perhaps not; but you are bound to feel sort ofgratified,” stubbornly argued the portly squire ofdames. “It’s the nature of women to like to haveduels fought over ’em. The colonel is as thin as ashad, and I suppose he’ll stand edgewise, but maybeI can wing him.”

“But what about you?” tremulously besought hislady fair, whose emotions were chaotic in the extreme.

“Me? Pooh! I’ve had too many narrow escapes102to be bagged by a google-eyed shrimp like this Calvoperson,” easily answered the knight-errant. “Nowyou just sit tight and don’t get fretty, ma’am. Youcan bank on me every time. I’m shy of culture, butmy heart is as big as a basket. And when I see myduty plain, I go to it in a hurry.”

Miss Hollister’s perturbed glance happened to fallon the half-obliterated plan of Johnny Kent’s farm,in the midst of which she still stood. It appealedto her with an indefinable pathos. She could notunderstand why, but she began to weep, although amoment before she had perceived the wild absurdityof Johnny’s Kent arguments.

“Why, you ain’t supposed to cry,” he exclaimedin great agitation; “I’m trying to please you.”

“I—I—can see your good intentions,” she tearfullyfaltered, “but I shall go to Captain O’Shea andbeg him to forbid this duel—to prevent bloodshed.I shall be perfectly happy without it.”

“Please don’t interfere in men’s affairs,” imploredthe alarmed hero. “Women are too delicate to goprancin’ in among us professional pirates. You’llfeel better after it’s over. I guess I had betterleave you.”

He fled from the sight of her tears, greatly distressed,wondering whether he might be mistakenin his theories concerning the operations of thefeminine mind. She had behaved as if she did notwant a duel, but he reflected:

“They’re all geared contrariwise. You can nevertell just what they do want. And it’s a good bet103that she’d feel worse if I disappointed her about thisduel.”

The first assistant engineer called him to repairthe condenser, which had been set up on the beach,and it was there that Captain O’Shea found himsome time later.

“For the love of heaven, Johnny,” exclaimed theskipper, “what infernal nonsense have you beenup to now? The Cuban colonel came surging intome tent, foaming and sputterin’ like a leaky boiler.He got all choked up with language, but I made outthat ye have handed him seventeen kinds of deadlyinsults, and agreed to fight him with revolvers.Are ye drunk? The Cuban crowd is hard enoughto handle as it is, and you have been me right-handman. Is it one of your bad jokes?”

“Not on your life, Cap’n Mike,” earnestly affirmedthe engineer. “He made himself unpleasant to afriend of mine—ladies’ names are barred. We fixedup this duel in perfectly gentlemanly style, and asa favor to me I ask you to keep your hands off.It won’t be a public ruction.”

“You butt-headed old fool, he may shoot you!”

“Well, Cap’n Mike, speakin’ seriously,” andJohnny’s face was genuinely sad, “just between youand me, I wouldn’t care a whole lot. I’ve lost myship, and I’ll never have money enough to buy afarm. And—well—she wouldn’t look at me twiceif we were in civilization among her own kind offolks. I didn’t mean to slop over this way, but youare a good friend of mine, Cap’n Mike.”

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O’Shea laid a hand upon his comrade’s shoulderand was moved to sympathy.

“You are making heavy weather of it, Johnny.Suppose I forbid this high-tragedy duel. I am stillin command, ye understand. It would give me nogreat sorrow to see Colonel Calvo wafted to a betterworld, but I will be hanged if I want to lose you.”

“I ask it as a favor, Cap’n Mike. I’ve done mybest for you, blow high, blow low,” doggedly persistedthe other.

“’Tis not fair to put it that way, Johnny. Cooloff a bit, and we will talk about it to-night.”

“You’re the boss, Cap’n Mike, and I’d hate tomutiny on you, but I’ve passed my word to thefinest lady in the world that this duel would befought. And a man that will break his word to alady ought to be strung to the yard-arm.”

O’Shea walked away and sat down in front of histent. The Cuban camp was buzzing with excitement,and a grumbling uneasiness was manifestamong the crew of the Fearless. The two factionscordially disliked each other. The story of the duelhad spread like a fire. If anything happened toJohnny Kent, the Fearless men were resolved to annihilatethe Cuban camp. Such intentions beingpromptly conveyed to the patriots, they swarmedabout Colonel Calvo and announced their readinessto avenge him with the last drop of theirblood.

O’Shea summoned Jack Gorham as his most dependableaid and counsellor. The melancholy sharp-shooter105listened respectfully. O’Shea waxed torridand his language was strong.

“Johnny Kent is a great engineer and I swear byhim,” he declared, “but he is full to the hatcheswith sentiment, and it makes him as cranky as awet hen. He is dead set on this comical duel, andI dislike to disgrace him by putting him under arrest.He would never sail with me again.”

“Better let them fight,” said Gorham.

“’Tis your trade,” replied O’Shea. “You arebiassed. I want ye to figure a way to make thisduel harmless. Let them shoot all they like, butdon’t let them hit each other. You know how I feelabout Johnny Kent, and little as I love ColonelCalvo, I am sort of bound to deliver him safe somewhere.”

“When is this pistol party scheduled to happen?”asked Gorham.

“Early to-morrow morning.”

“It will be easy enough to steal their revolverswhile they’re asleep, sir, and work the bullets outof the shells and spill most of the powder. Or Icould file down the front sights. Why not make’em postpone it for another twenty-four hours?The seconds will have a lot of pow-wowin’ to do,and perhaps we can work out a better scheme.”

“I agree with you, Gorham. A duel should beconducted with a great deal of etiquette and deliberation.’Tis not a rough-and-tumble scrap, butmore like a declaration of war. We will do it proper,even if we are ragged and shipwrecked.”

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Shortly thereafter Captain O’Shea issued his ultimatumto the combatants. They were to observea truce until the morning of the second day. Meanwhilenegotiations would be conducted in a dignifiedand befitting manner. Violation of this edictwould be punished by confinement under guard.Johnny Kent grumbled volubly until O’Shea convincedhim that the etiquette of the duelling codeforbade unseemly haste.

“I take your word for it, Cap’n Mike. I don’twant to make any breaks. This affair aims to bestrictly accordin’ to Hoyle.”

V

Shortly after sunrise next morning the sentries,the cook, and a few sailors and Cubans who wereearly astir discovered a faint smudge of smoke onthe horizon to the northward. They shouted thetidings, and Captain O’Shea tumbled out of his tent,rubbing his eyes. A long scrutiny convinced himthat the steamer was heading to pass within sightingdistance of the key. She was coming from thedirection of the Cuban coast. Possibly she mightbelong to the Spanish navy. On the other hand,she might be a cargo tramp bound to the southwardand seeking a South American port.

There is such a thing as becoming accustomed tothe unexpected. Those who dwell in the midst ofalarms acquire a certain philosophical temper whichviews life as a series of hazards. On this lonely key107in the Caribbean the daily routine of things had runalong without acute symptoms of worry and dread,although the peril of discovery by a Spanish war-vesselwas discussed by the evening camp-fires. Solong as Captain O’Shea appeared unruffled, his followerssaw no reason why they should lose sleep.To him it was like the toss of a coin. They wereto be rescued or they were to be found by the enemy.

If he had seemed inactive, it was because this wasan extraordinary shipwreck. To send the life-raftin search of succor was a forlorn hope, a desperateexpedient, but even this was denied him. The windwas blowing steadily from the southward, day afterday, and the raft would drift straight toward thecoast of Cuba where no mercy was to be looked for.Because of the destruction of the Spanish gun-boat,these refugees were something else than castaways.They were men without a country, and death awaitedthem wherever flew the red and yellow flag of Spain.

Captain O’Shea turned from gazing at the distantsmoke and awakened Johnny Kent.

“Rouse out, ye sleepy old duellist,” he called.“Take a look at this vessel.”

The engineer emerged from the tent and the twomen stood side by side, their emotions weighted withpoignant anxiety.

“We won’t be able to tell what she is for some timeyet,” said Johnny Kent. “The sea is hazy. Yes,she’s sure enough comin’ this way, Cap’n Mike.”

“’Tis best for us to be ready, whatever she is,”replied O’Shea.

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“I guess we’ll postpone the arrangements for myduel. What’s the orders?”

“All hands will move inside the earthworks rightafter breakfast,” briskly spoke O’Shea. “Takecharge of the men in your department, Johnny.See that the rifles are clean and serve out plentyof ammunition. And store all the fresh water yecan.”

“If it’s a Spanish vessel, can we stand her off atall, Cap’n Mike?”

“She will have a hard time shellin’ us out, Johnny.That four-sided refuge we piled up with our shovelsis nothing but a big sand-bank. Shells will bury init without explodin’. ’Tis the theory of modernfortifications. We can do our best, and maybe luckwill turn our way. Anyhow, ’tis more sensible thanto be shot by drum-head court-martial, which is whatwill happen to us if we throw up our hands andsurrender. If they find us a hard nut to crack, perhapswe can make terms of some kind.”

“What about the ladies? I was hopin’ theywouldn’t have to go up against any more excitement,”wistfully said Johnny Kent.

“I have delivered me cargo. It stands no longerbetween us and our guests, Johnny. And ’tis myopinion that you and I will not let them suffer forthe sake of saving our own skins.”

“Right you are, Cap’n Mike. I don’t care a cusswhat becomes of me if you can get Miss Hollister—Imean both of ’em, of course—on board a respectablevessel of some kind.”

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Soon the camp was in commotion. The methodsof the leaders were brutal and direct. This was notime for soft words. Jack Gorham moved quietly,in several places at once, and when a man wouldargue or expostulate he was threatened with the buttof that terrible Springfield. At his side, like a huge,black shadow, stalked Jiminez, a militant assistantwho jumped at the word of command.

Johnny Kent, no longer a sighing sentimentalist,bellowed at his engineers, oilers, and stokers, andthe discipline of shipboard took hold of them.There was the loudest uproar in the Cuban camp.Because of their race, the patriots had to be melodramatic,to defy the unknown steamer by runningto the beach and brandishing their rifles and machetesat the ribbon of smoke that trailed across theopalescent sea. But Colonel Calvo, very much moreof a man in this emergency than when he had beenafloat on the bounding billows, drove them back tocamp and got them well in hand.

The canvas shelters were hastily ripped down andset up inside the earthworks as a protection againstthe sun which blazed into this windless enclosurewith fierce intensity. Johnny Kent paused to sayto O’Shea:

“It’s goin’ to be hades in there for the women.They can’t stand it long.”

“They won’t have to, Johnny. This will be ashort performance. Ye can expect a show-down betweennow and sunset.”

The haze had vanished. The steamer was visible110beneath a far-flung banner of smoke. A tiny foremast,a ring around it, and O’Shea exclaimed:

“A fighting-top! It looks to me like the cruiserthat chased us down the coast.”

“That’s her, dollars to doughnuts, Cap’n Mike.She ain’t in such a hurry to-day.”

“No need of it. We can’t get away.”

“Do you think she’s really lookin’ for us?”

“’Tis not a bad guess, Johnny. As soon as wordwas telegraphed to Havana that the gun-boat wasdestroyed, the whole blockadin’ fleet must have beenordered to watch for us at both ends of Cuba. Theyknew we had to round Cape Maysi or San Antonioto get home. And when we were not seen or reportedanywhere they may have begun to look forus down here to the south’ard.”

“She can’t help sightin’ the wreck of the Fearless,”said the engineer.

“And then she will know who we are. ’Tis timefor all hands to take to cover.”

The Spanish man-of-war, gray, and slim, andvenomous, slowly lifted her hull above the sea-line,and was heading to pass to the eastward of the sandyislet. It was a fair conjecture that her captain wasroving away from his station on the coast in thehope of finding the Fearless disabled or short of coal.Some of the refugees surmised that she might passthem unobserved, but at a distance of two or threemiles she turned and laid a course to pick up thekey at closer range.

Captain O’Shea climbed the rampart and lashed111an American ensign to a spar thrust into the sand.The bright flag was neither half-masted nor reversedas a signal of distress. The breeze flaunted it as adefiance, a message from men who had forfeited itsprotection, who cheered the sight of it for sentimentalreasons which they could not have clearly explained.The governments of the United States and Spainwere at peace. This was not an affair between thetwo Powers. It was a little private war, a singularincident. And yet it was somehow fitting, after all,that these outlaws should prefer to see the stars andstripes waving over their heads.

Presently Colonel Calvo planted beside this ensignthe tricolor of the Cuban revolutionaries, with thelone star. It was done with a certain amount ofceremony which commanded respect and admiration.It signified that he, too, speaking for his men,was ready to make the last stand, to accept the decreeof fortune. Johnny Kent grasped his hand andapologized.

The cruiser moved cautiously nearer the key, takingfrequent soundings. The wreck of the Fearlesshad been discovered and must have been identified,for the cruiser cleared for action, and the buglestrilled on her decks. The huge, four-sided mound ofsand heaped upon the back of the key evidentlypuzzled the officers. After a long delay, the vessellet go an anchor a thousand yards from the beachand spitefully hurled several shells into the shatteredhulk of the Fearless.

Then a pair of eight-inch turret-guns were trained112at Captain O’Shea’s thick walls of sand. A stringof small flags fluttered from the cruiser’s signal-yard.O’Shea comprehended the message without consultingthe international code-book.

“She invites us to surrender,” he explained,“which I decline to do at present. Let her shootaway. Maybe she will tire of it and leave us.”

No white flag was displayed on the rampart, andthe cruiser lost her temper. A projectile passed overthe key with a noise like a derailed freight-train.Others followed until the sand was spurting in yellowgeysers. Such shells as struck the earthworkburrowed deep holes without causing appreciabledamage. The Spanish commander soon perceivedthat this impromptu fortification was costly to bombard.His gunners were merely burying shells in alarge heap of sand, and his government had not beenlavish in filling his magazines. A mortar battery wasneeded to discommode this insane crew of pirates.And undoubtedly, if a landing-party should be disembarkedon the open beach, these rascals of CaptainO’Shea would fight like devils. The cruiser had beenordered to fetch them back to Havana alive andthey would be formally executed in the Cabañasfortress as a warning to other hardy seafarers in thefilibustering trade. These men had not only firedon the Spanish flag, but they had also blown it outof water.

But how were they to be extracted from theirrefuge without sacrificing the lives of Spanish sailorsand marines? Carramba, here was a tough problem!

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It might be feasible to starve them out by meansof a siege, but the cruiser had no abundance of coaland stores. A storm would compel her to steam outto sea, or run for the coast. And if the key wereleft unguarded a merchant-vessel might happen alongand rescue O’Shea and his men. And for all thecommander knew, they had already sent a boat tosummon help.

The cruiser ceased firing. Thereupon CaptainO’Shea convened a council of war within his defences.The enclosure had been deluged with flyingsand, but there were no casualties.

“There will be no more bombardment,” he toldhis people. “The cruiser will do one of two things.She will lay off the key and wait for us to give in,or she will send her boats ashore to-night and tryto rush us in the dark.”

“We’ll make it unhealthy for ’em,” stoutly declaredJohnny Kent.

“Me and my men will die for Cuba Libre,” saidColonel Calvo, his theatrical manner fled, his wordsspoken with a fine simplicity.

“There don’t seem to be any way out,” observedJack Gorham.

O’Shea gazed at them in silence. There was noreproach in their speech or manner, no thought ofblaming him for this tragic predicament. And yetit was his responsibility and his alone. He mighthave abandoned the Fearless in the bay and takenthese people ashore where they could find refugewith the Cuban army of Gomez. If he had been114guilty of an error of judgment, then he should paythe price. There dawned upon him a clear conceptionof his own private duty.

“We will stick it out as we are till sunset,” he saidabruptly. “Nothing more can happen before then.How are the ladies, Johnny?”

“I’m afraid they’ll go under if we have manydays like this, Cap’n Mike. This is an infernal placeto be cooped up in.”

“I am ashamed to face them, Johnny. ’Tis allmy fault that they are in this mess with us. I shouldhave put them ashore when I had the chance. Buta sailor will think of his ship when he can save her,and ’tis his chronic notion that he is safer at sea thananywhere else.”

Through the long, long day the sun poured wickedlyinto the fortification. The cruiser rolled lazilyat her anchorage and made no sign of renewing theattack. O’Shea lay flat behind a small embrasureand vainly searched the sea for the sight of a merchant-steamerwhich might intervene in behalf ofthe castaways. This was his last hope.

With a weary sigh he watched the red sun slantlower and lower. His lucky star had failed him.He made his decision. Presently he beckoned GeraldVan Steen and asked him to go outside the fortification,where they could have speech in private.The young man was sullen, but O’Shea smiled withengaging friendliness and said:

“’Tis no time to nurse grudges, me lad. Let usshake hands and forget it.”

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“Oh, I’m not thinking of that row of ours,” wearilymuttered Van Steen. “It’s of no consequencenow. I’m not such a howling cad as to considermyself in any way. What do you propose to dowith Miss Forbes and Miss Hollister? I have keptmy mouth shut all day, waiting for the great CaptainMike O’Shea to do what would have occurred toany man with his wits about him.”

“May I ask what it is that ye would call so plainto see?” patiently queried the shipmaster.

“Signal to the cruiser that you have in your companythree persons who were picked up from theiryacht. Or you could have sent us off on the life-raft,and given me a chance to explain matters tothe commander and show him my credentials. Idon’t want to be a quitter, you know, but really thisis none of my affair, and my first duty is to get theseladies home in safety.”

“I grant ye that,” slowly replied O’Shea. “AndI think no less of you for wishing to leave us tostew in our own juice. You have behaved verywell, barring the one flare-up with me. Now I willexplain why what ye suggest is not so easy. Thecruiser would pay no heed to signals about you.’Twould be looked at as some kind of a trick. Canye not realize that the master of the navy vesselyonder is wild with rage to exterminate me and therest of the Fearless company? He sees red, man.As for sending ye on the life-raft, it means that severalof me own men must go with you to handlethe lubberly thing. And they would be dragged116aboard the cruiser and held there. I was willing togo meself, but I could not navigate the raft so short-handed.And I hoped the luck might turn beforenight.”

Van Steen had lost his hostile expression. Heregretted his hasty words of condemnation. Theintonations of O’Shea’s voice strangely moved him.And the sailor’s face, no longer bold and reckless,held a certain quality of gentleness, one might almostcall it sweetness.

“Oh, confound it!” cried Van Steen. “You putme in the wrong, as usual. And I’m damned if Ican feel square in trying to quit you and leavingyou to take your medicine. I am one of the crowd,don’t you see, and proud of it. They are a bullysort.”

“I have never been crowded into such a tightcorner,” said O’Shea with a smile, “but ’tis the wayof life that when a man is young and strong, andused to long chances, he thinks he will not be tripped.This is my affair, not yours, so trouble yourself nomore.”

“What do you propose to do, Captain O’Shea?You have made up your mind, I can see that.”

“The cruiser will be in a mood to hold communicationwith us now. ’Twould have been useless totry it this morning. But they have discovered that’tis not easy to smoke us out of our hole.”

Presently he unrolled a bundle of signal-flags savedfrom the Fearless, and selected those he wishedto use. Knotting them together, he hoisted the117string on the spar beneath the American ensign.The commander of the cruiser read the message requestingthat a boat be sent ashore in order to discussterms of surrender. He was in no mood to discussterms of any kind, but it appeared necessaryto parley with these unspeakable scoundrels on thekey. Perhaps they realized the hopelessness of theirobstinacy and their spirit was broken.

A cutter was manned, and as it skimmed over thecalm sea and drew near the breakers Captain O’Sheawalked to the beach, Colonel Calvo accompanyinghim as interpreter. Van Steen followed as a rightfulparticipant in the conference. The ladies wererequested to remain within the fortification. It wasnot to be taken for granted that the cruiser wouldrespect a truce. The seamen and the Cubans behindthe banks of sand were savage and desperate,as was to be expected of men for whom surrendermeant the firing-squad.

The crew of the cutter held her off the beach asthe part of caution. They were ready to pull outto sea at a moment’s notice. O’Shea and ColonelCalvo splashed into the water and stood beside theboat. The commander himself was in the stern-sheets,a corpulent, black-bearded man of an explosivetemper. He waited, glowering, for O’Sheato speak. He would waste no courtesy on pirates.

“You will play fair with me,” said the shipmaster,and Colonel Calvo translated as well as he was able.“I have ye covered with fifty rifles. I am CaptainMichael O’Shea. Ye may have heard tell of me.”

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The commander nodded and profanely repliedthat he knew nothing good of Captain O’Shea orthe Fearless. It was an act of God that they wouldmake no more voyages.

“Much obliged for your kind wishes,” resumedO’Shea. “I am sorry to have put you to so muchtrouble. I will waste no more words. I have in meparty the young man standing yonder on the beachand two ladies that I picked up adrift from a strandedAmerican yacht. ’Tis not right for them to sufferany longer. I want ye to carry them to port.”

The commander had heard of no wrecked yachtin these waters. As for the women, it was mostunfortunate for them. Captain O’Shea had only tosurrender his force and the women would be takenon board the cruiser and properly provided for.Then the story could be investigated.

O’Shea broke in angrily to say to Colonel Calvo:

“He is like a mad bull. There is no reason inhim at all. He will make us surrender sooner, hethinks, to save the ladies. He will use any weaponthat comes to hand.”

The Spanish commander raised an arm in an impassionedgesture. As if unable longer to restrainhimself, he shouted:

“My brother was the captain of the gun-boatthat perished in Santa Marta Bay, and he died withhis vessel. By the blood of God, shall I parley withyou?”

Gerald Van Steen waded out to the boat. Hewould speak for himself. That there should be any119question of rescuing Nora Forbes and Miss Hollisterfairly stunned him. His bearing was intrepid, buthis lip quivered as he imploringly exclaimed toColonel Calvo:

“Tell him that I don’t care a hang about whathappens to me if he will take the women off. Andif money will tempt him, I’ll pay down my lastdollar to save the lives of the whole party. He willbe a rich man.”

The Spanish officer laughed with a contemptuousshrug. His heavy visage was inflamed. He was ofthat type of his race which regarded Americans as“Yankee pigs.” Personal hatred and the desire ofprivate vengeance made him proof against bribery.Moreover, he had no faith in the protestations ofVan Steen. As O’Shea had put it, he was a manwho saw red. The futility of appealing to him wasso obvious that O’Shea interfered to play his trumpcard.

“If you land your sailors to-night and try to takeus,” said he, and his voice was hard and deliberate,“’twill be the toughest job ye ever tackled. We havenothing to lose, and we will be behind the earthworksyonder. You can gamble that there will be twodead Spaniards for every one of us ye wipe out.As for starving us, I have thought it over, and yewill not try it. You would be laughed at fromHavana to Madrid for not daring to attack a handfulof shipwrecked men. Ye have a dilemma bythe horns. And your rage has made ye blind as abat. You are all for giving us a short shrift, and no120doubt your hot-headed officials in Havana haveegged ye on to it. But it will make a big diplomaticrow, and when the smoke clears ye will be sorry.It will sound very rotten that ye had no mercy ona crew of castaways. And I will say, for your owninformation, that Uncle Sam has been very touchyabout these quick-action executions ever since theVirginius affair.”

The commander had ceased to fume. He wasdoing O’Shea the favor of listening to him. Thestronger personality had made an impression.O’Shea perceived this and he went on to say:

“What I am leading up to is this:—I am readyto surrender meself and face the consequences if youwill take my guests aboard and leave my men andthe Cubans on the key. They will take chances ofbeing found by a friendly vessel. You will lose nolives. I am the man your government wants. Youwill win the big reward offered for the capture ofCaptain Michael O’Shea. And there will be no complicationsbetween your government and mine. ’Tisme own fault that the party is stranded here. I willpay the price. ’Twill be easy enough for ye to explainit. You can keep your crew quiet, and thestory will go out that ye took me off the wreck ofmy steamer and the others got away.”

This was a proposal which took the commanderall aback. He considered it in silence and his gazewas less unfriendly. O’Shea concluded with doggedvehemence:

“You can take it or leave it. If you refuse, you121must come and take us, and, so help me, as I tellye, it will cost you a slather of men before ye wipeout my outfit.”

Here was a lawless castaway, a man beyond thepale, who insolently defied the arms and majesty ofSpain. But there was a certain plausible method inhis madness which caused the commander to waver.His implacable hostility had sensibly diminished. Itwould, without doubt, win him great distinction toreturn to Havana with the redoubtable CaptainMichael O’Shea a prisoner. As for the men of theoutlawed party, most of them had been invisiblefrom the cruiser, and their number was a mere matterof conjecture. It was therefore possible for thecommander to inform his officers that in acceptingthe surrender of Captain O’Shea he had capturedall of the expedition that was worth while seizing.He had served thirty years in the Spanish navywithout seeing a man slain by bullet or shell. Theprospect of a fierce and bloody engagement with menwho would fight like wolves failed to arouse his enthusiasm.

“I will signal my answer in one hour,” said he.“What you propose has surprised me. It is mostunusual. It was not expected.”

O’Shea waded ashore and Colonel Calvo offeredhis hand as they stood on the beach and watchedthe cutter dip its flashing oars in the ground-swell.

“I have dislike’ you sometimes,” said the colonel.“But now I tell you I have been much wrong. I122will be ver’ proud to go with you to Havana if itwill save the lives of my braves’ of soldiers.”

“You are a good man yourself when ye haveterra firma under you,” was the hearty response.

Johnny Kent came trotting to meet them, exclaimingbeseechingly:

“What was it all about, Cap’n Mike? Whycouldn’t you put me next before you flew the signals?”

O’Shea painstakingly retold the argument whichhe had unfolded to the Spanish commander, and thechief engineer listened with his chin propped in hishand. He breathed heavily and grunted disapproval.

“But what else was I to do?” impatiently demandedO’Shea. “I got you all into this, and Imust get you out. And maybe I have found away.”

“That ain’t what I’m growlin’ about,” strenuouslyprotested Johnny Kent. “Why didn’t youlet me in on this deal? Why not let me surrenderwith you? Doggone it, I’m no slouch of a piratemyself, with considerable of a reputation. Perhapsthe Spaniards might think I was worth bargainin’for, too.”

“I want to go it alone, Johnny. ’Tis the onlysquare thing to do.”

“But you and me have been playin’ the gametogether, Cap’n Mike. And you don’t ketch melayin’ down on you just because you’ve come tothe end of your rope.”

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“Not this time, Johnny. ’Tis only making usfeel bad to wrangle about it.”

The castaways had ceased to gaze at the encirclinghorizon for sight of smoke or sail. It came,therefore, as an incredible thing when a sentry at anembrasure yelled and capered like a lunatic. Everyone rushed out and beheld the black hull and toweringupper-works of a huge passenger steamer. Shewas coming up from the westward and had alteredher track as though curious to discover why theSpanish cruiser should be at anchor near the key.Would she halt or pass on her way? Captain O’Shea,unable to credit his vision, told his men to fire volleys,and ran up the signal-flags to read:

“Stand by. We need assistance.”

It was more than he dared hope that the steamerwould read his call for help, but she drew nearerand nearer the key, slowed speed, and rounded towithin a few hundred yards of the Spanish cruiser.

“It’s a British vessel, a White Star liner,” bawledJohnny Kent. “What is she doin’ in these waters?”

“One of those winter-excursion cruisers out ofNew York, I take it,” replied O’Shea. “She ismaking a short cut across from the Leeward Islandsor somewhere below us, running from port toport. I hope she will realize that this is no holidayexcursion for us.”

The refugees made little noise. They were nolonger actors but spectators. They saw the linerexchange signals with the cruiser. Apparently thismethod of communication was unsatisfactory, for124soon a boat passed between the two vessels. Therefollowed a heart-breaking delay. Dusk was obscuringthe sea when a yawl pulled by a dozen Britishseamen moved from the liner’s side and dancedtoward the key. The ramparts of sand were instantlydeserted. O’Shea’s men and the Cubansran wildly to the beach, no longer afraid, confidentthat salvation had come to them. They rushedinto the water and dragged the stout yawl high anddry.

There stepped ashore a stalwart, energetic man inthe smart uniform of a captain in the White Starservice. The crowd fell back as he brusquely demanded:

“What kind of a queer business is this? Whereis the chief pirate?”

“O’Shea is me name,” acknowledged the leader.“’Tis quite a yarn, if ye have time and patience tohear it.”

“So you are O’Shea,” and the skipper of theCaronic chuckled. “Take me inside that extraordinarysand-heap of yours, if you please, and talkas long as you like.”

He grasped O’Shea’s arm and they vanished withinthe empty defences.

“I have come ashore to get at the bottom of thisfantastical situation,” said Captain Henderson of theCaronic, whose smile was both friendly and humorous.“The commander of the Spanish cruiser toldme to keep my hands off and to go about my business.Cheeky, wasn’t it? He swore he had a nest125of bloody pirates cornered on this key, and he expectedto capture them to-night.”

“So he decided to turn down my proposition,”muttered O’Shea.

“He referred to it. But his officers were keen towin a bit of glory for themselves, and they arguedhim the other way round, as I figured it from hisheated remarks. He didn’t relish the job of sailinginto you chaps. In fact, the black-whiskered donwas in a state of mind. Are you, by any chance,a British subject?”

“No, Captain Henderson, but I might find ye aBritisher or two among me crew. I have an assortedcompany of gentlemen of fortune.”

O’Shea explained matters at some length, andCaptain Henderson vehemently interrupted to say:

“I don’t know that it makes a lot of differencewhether you are British subjects or not. Blood isthicker than water. Shall I steam away and leaveyou to be shot on the say-so of a raving Spanishskipper?”

“I should be disappointed in you if ye did,”gravely answered O’Shea. “’Tis not what I would dofor you.”

The master of the Caronic permitted O’Shea tofinish his narrative.

“So you picked up the Van Steen party?” herapped out. “We heard of the loss of the MorningStar. The Spanish skipper out yonder said I mighttake them off in my ship before he attacked you.”

“And what do ye propose to do about us?” wistfully126asked O’Shea. “Of course this is none of yourrow, and your ship is not a British navy vessel——”

“But I am a British seaman,” snapped CaptainHenderson. “And you are shipwrecked people whohave asked me for assistance. That is all I have toknow. And, by George, it’s all I want to know.”

“And ye will take us off?”

“At once. And I imagine I had better land youin a British port. What about Jamaica?”

“Jamaica will suit us, Captain Henderson. TheUnited States will not be salubrious for us until thispiracy charge blows over. And the Cubans candodge across to their native land. But what willye do if the Spanish cruiser objects?”

“She will not fire on my flag,” thundered themaster of the Caronic, “nor will she dare to takeshipwrecked men from my decks. Tell your peopleto be ready to go aboard. I will signal my chiefofficer to send more boats.”

Cheering and weeping, the company of the Fearlessabandoned their stronghold. It was an evacuationwith the honors of war, and the American ensignwas left flying above the huge heap of sand.

Disinclined to join the jubilation, Captain MichaelO’Shea wandered away from his seamen andstood gazing at the liner whose lights were blazinglike a great hotel. Nora Forbes walked along thebeach until she came to him. He waited for herto speak.

“I saw you leave the crowd,” said she, “and Ifollowed you. I wanted to talk to you this afternoon—to127tell you—to try to tell you—what I thoughtof the sacrifice you were prepared to make. Wereyou going away, to your death, without sayinggood-by to me?”

He took her hand in his as he answered:

“It was hard enough to face my finish withoutbidding farewell to you, Nora Forbes. But this isour good-by, here on the beach to-night.”

“What do you mean?” she exclaimed unsteadily.“Must I say it all—must I tell you in so manywords—are you afraid to—oh, can’t you understandwhat I want you to know?”

“Yes, I think I understand,” and his voice wasvery gentle. “Look at the liner yonder.” He raisedhis arm in an eloquent gesture. “You will beaboard soon, and ye will be among hundreds ofpeople that belong to your own world. And yewill sit at dinner with them in the grand saloon,and they will talk to you about the things you haveknown and lived with all your life. And ye willfind out that you belong with them.

“As the days go by, Nora Forbes, you will wondermore and more if this voyage of ours ever reallyhappened. ’Twill be like a dream of romance andadventure, and moonshine, that could not have beenat all.”

“But this is real and all the rest of my life hasbeen just make-believe,” she mournfully whispered.

“’Tis the magic of the sea and the strong winds,and the free life, but it will pass and you will begrateful to me that I could see clearly.”

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“Why are you so sure? Why do you speak forme?”

“Because I would have ye happy, Nora Forbes.’Tis what God made you for. Look at me, a roverand a rough one, and never will I be anything else.I am not fit to be in your company at all. Youhave talked very plain to me, for a girl like yourself.You thought to yourself that I was afraid of yoursocial station and your money and your friends, andso you would be telling me that I had a chance withyou because I would not say it for meself. ’Tiswonderful to have you step down from your throneand be kind to the likes of me. And it will makeyour memory sweet and fair to me as long as thebreath is in me. But you are dreaming dreams, andyou will awake when the liner has carried ye backto your own people.”

“But I can never again be happy there,” shefaltered.

“Ah, yes, you can, and you will. And you willthank me.”

She stayed to hear no more, but turned and hastenedback to her friends, angry, humiliated, unreconciled.The master of the Fearless pulled hisstraw hat over his eyes and turned in the directionof his hilarious sailors. He hated himself, but hehad no regrets.

“I had sooner be shot,” he said to himself, “thanto talk to her like that. But every word of it wastrue. And maybe she will find it out. ’Tis a strange,queer world, full of surprisin’ things, and ’tis hardto steer a course that will not fetch you on the rocks.129But I held true to me compass bearings this night,and the light that guided me was the right one.”

He mustered his men and held them ready forthe boats from the liner. An hour later the defenderswere welcomed on board the Caronic, which promptlysailed without consulting the Spanish cruiser. Theywere received as heroes and nothing was too goodfor them. But O’Shea refused to accept the first-cabinstate-room offered him.

“You have an officers’ mess-room,” he told CaptainHenderson, “and if ye don’t mind, I will staywith them and find a spare bunk for’ard.”

For once Johnny Kent refused to follow the leadof his skipper. He was graciously pleased to takethe quarters allotted him, and proposed to minglewith the passengers. Early next morning he wallowedin a tub, summoned the ship’s barber, andarrayed himself in clothes borrowed from the chiefengineer of the Caronic, who chanced to be a personof ample dimensions. Thus transformed, JohnnyKent was no longer a ruffian of the high-seas. Hehad an aspect of dignified, mellowed respectability.His brick-red countenance radiated kindly interestand benevolence. Small children ran to him and instantlybecame his friends. The blustering note hadgone from his voice. He checked his worst grammaticalblunders and his shrewd eyes were quickto observe the manners of his fellow-passengers,which he sedulously set himself to copy. Strollingforward after breakfast, he discovered CaptainO’Shea and confided:

“This touch of high life suits me down to the130heels, Cap’n Mike. And I’m not such a bull in achina-shop as you might think. The passengers arecrazy to meet you. They want to hear about youradventures.”

“I am comfortable right here, Johnny. You arewelcome to the bouquets. Have ye seen Miss Hollisterthis morning?”

“No, she’s still abed, but the ship’s doctor saysshe will come around all right. I’ll surprise hersome, won’t I? Honestly, Cap’n Mike, after I maketwo or three more voyages with you, if they’re riskyenough to pay big wages, I’m goin’ to pick out thatfarm down in Maine and hand over a first paymenton it.”

“Have ye consulted with Miss Hollister?”

“Of course. She’s my right bower when it comesto good advice. Not that she is personally interested—Iwas just dreamin’ dreams, you understand—butif I had the farm maybe I could see her againand talk about pigs and hens, and gardens andflowers.”

“You are not as down-hearted as when ye wereon the key, Johnny,” smilingly quoth CaptainO’Shea.

“It’s the clothes and the refined surroundin’s,Cap’n Mike. I take to ’em somehow more than Iever did before. I seem sort of changed.”

“’Tis likely a first-class marine engineer will bespoiled to make a lubber of a farmer,” returnedO’Shea.

“It’s a rough life we lead, Cap’n Mike, and a manof my age hadn’t ought to stick to it too long.”

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Jack Gorham joined them, looking even leanerand sadder than when he had been in the Fearless.

“And what will you be doing with yourself?”cordially inquired O’Shea.

“Mr. Van Steen offers me an easy job in NewYork, sir, and a salary, whether I work or not. ButI’m on nobody’s pension-roll. I shall get out ofJamaica in a sail-boat and sneak over to Cuba andjoin the rebels.”

“And will big Jiminez go with ye?”

“He is sort of tore up in his mind, sir, betweenfollowing you on the chance of another fancy voyageand duckin’ into the jungle with me.”

“Tell him to go with you, Jack.”

“Well, Captain O’Shea, I hope I’ll have the pleasureof sailing with you again. I’ve enjoyed it,” exclaimedthe soldier.

“If you need money, Jack, what I have is yours.I have a bit stowed away for emergencies.”

“You can stake Jiminez and me to a meal-ticketin Jamaica and the price of a little boat, sir, andI’ll pay the loan out of the first Spanish officer Ipot with the old Springfield.”

When the stately Caronic steamed into the harborof Kingston the passengers crowded her rail to admirethe verdure-clad mountains and the lovelyvales lush with palms and bananas. The excursionistsplanned to spend the day ashore, and afterthey had disembarked, the crew of the Fearless andColonel Calvo’s Cubans filed down the gangway.Miss Hollister, Nora Forbes, and Gerald Van Steenwere waiting to bid them farewell and God-speed.132They had lived and suffered so many things togetherthat it was difficult to realize that this wasthe journey’s end.

Gerald Van Steen spoke awkwardly and withmuch feeling.

“You have been very good to us, Captain O’Shea.I shall not make an ass of myself by offering youmoney. But perhaps I can help you to find anothership, and the house of Van Steen & Van Steen willalways be at your service.”

“I have me doubts that a highly respectablebanking-house will care to back my enterprises,”replied O’Shea. “But now that Johnny Kent hasviolent symptoms of mendin’ his ways there maybe hope for me. You were a good shipmate, Mr.Van Steen. If ever ye want a job, I will be gladto sign you on as a stoker.”

“Will you dine with us at the hotel to-day?”

“Thank you, but I must look after my men.”

The farewell between Nora Forbes and CaptainO’Shea had been said on the beach in the starlight.Now their glances met.

“Good-by and God bless ye,” said he. “Thevoyage seems like a dream, no doubt.”

“Perhaps it may some day, but not yet,” shetold him.

“My dear friends, that voyage was the realestthing that ever happened,” was the earnest declarationof Johnny Kent, and no dissent was heard fromthat shipwrecked and marooned spinster, MissKatharine Hollister.

Captain Michael O’Shea and Johnny Kent satby a window of the Jolly Mermaid tavern at Blackwallon the Thames below London. These two leisurelydrank mugs of bitter-beer and gazed withprofessional interest at the crowded shipping of thatgreat seaport thoroughfare which sailor-folk call LondonRiver.

The Jolly Mermaid was one of a jostling row ofancient buildings with bow-windows and balconiespainted in bright hues which overhung the tide atBlackwall, to remind one of the maritime London oftowering frigates and high-pooped galleons and stoutseamen of Devon. The near-by shore was filled withship-yards and weedy wharves, and a little waydown river was the entrance of the vast inland basincalled the East India Docks, where soared a wonderfulconfusion of spars and rigging, and the red funnelsof the Union Castle liners lay side by side.

On the turbid river moved in procession a singularvariety of craft: drifting Thames barges with dyedsails, square-riggers in tow, Norwegian tramps halfhidden beneath uncouth deck-loads of lumber, rustySpanish fruiters, coastwise schooners, spray-stained134steam-trawlers from the Dogger Bank, stubbyDutch eel-schuits, stately mail-boats homewardbound from the tropics, sooty colliers from Cardiff.

They slid past with an incessant din of whistleswhich, warning, expostulating, shouted the rules ofthe road in the language of the sea.

These familiar sights and sounds pleased CaptainO’Shea, and he was contented with his seat by thewindow of the Jolly Mermaid and the excellent brewdispensed by the apple-cheeked young woman behindthe bar. Amphibious loafers drifted in andout or cast anchor on the wharf alongside, riggers,watermen, dock-laborers, sailors, who seemed to havea world of time on their hands. Their gait wasslouching, their attire careless, and their conversationpeppered with sanguinary references to theireyes.

“’Tis a restful place, Johnny, and as diverting asa theatre,” observed O’Shea.

The chief engineer returned rather fretfully:

“I’m willing to be idle in this bit of slack-waterfor a while, and sort of pull myself together, Cap’nMike. But this don’t earn wages, and I ain’t makin’much headway toward buyin’ that farm downin the State o’ Maine.”

Whimsical amusem*nt lighted O’Shea’s bold,smooth-shaven features as he replied:

“I am not a man to seek a humdrum life afloator ashore, you impatient old pirate. There was alot of fuss kicked up at home about that Cubanvoyage of ours, as ye well know. And there was a135strong chance that we would be laid by the heelsin one of Uncle Sam’s jails for breaking the lawsbetween nations. We are better off where we are.”

“That Spanish gun-boat got in our way and her intentionswas plain blood-thirsty,” grumbled JohnnyKent. “What if we did ram her and then blowher up? She interfered with men who were tryin’to make an honest livin’ on the high-seas.”

“Argue as far as ye like, Johnny. It won’t alterthe fact that it was healthier for you and me tomake ourselves hard to find.”

“But it’s discouragin’ to look for another shiphere in England, Cap’n Mike. We’re fish out ofwater.”

“’Tis not easy to find our kind of a ship anywhere,”O’Shea reminded him. “There are no revolutionspoppin’ the lid off in Central or SouthAmerica, and we will sit tight and trust in me luckystar. I have a gold piece or two left in the toe ofthe sock where I stowed it against times like this.And we have not sunk so low that we must sign onfor a lawful voyage.”

Johnny Kent crooked a finger at the bar-maid andsought consolation in another mug of bitter, whileCaptain O’Shea turned to a morning newspaper andran his eye down the ship-news column to note thearrivals and departures. Then he cast a cursoryglance at the foreign despatches, which might, perchance,disclose some disturbance of the world’s peaceand an opportunity for venturesome men used toalarms and stratagems.

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Johnny Kent was moved to begin an aimless yarnabout a certain wicked skipper of Yankee clipperfame who fetched his second mate all the way homefrom Cape Town doubled up in a hen-coop as a punishmentfor impertinence. O’Shea listened politely,but with a manner slightly absent-minded, havingheard the tale of the unfortunate second mate andthe hen-coop in at least five different ports.

The yarn was cut short, and the two men screwedaround in their chairs to stare at a visitor whosepresence in the humble longshore tavern of the JollyMermaid was most extraordinary.

He was an elderly and very dignified gentleman,of a spare figure and the stiffly erect carriage of anarmy officer. His features, thin and rather refinedthan forceful, were given an air of distinction by awhite mustache and imperial. From the silk hatand frock-coat, with the ribbon of an order in thelapel, to the tan gaiters and patent-leather shoes,he was dressed with fastidious nicety. In the dingytap-room of the Jolly Mermaid he was startlinglyincongruous.

The stranger had the grand manner and it fittedhim like a glove. He was not offensively self-important,but one conjectured him to be a personagewho expected the world to show him deference.The bar-maid, who was no dunce at reading humannature, bobbed a courtesy and withheld the flippantpersiflage which was wont to delight the nauticalpatrons of the place.

A moment later there entered the tavern a brisk137young man with a sandy complexion and a rovingeye, who was smartly but showily attired, a keen,up-to-snuff young man who knew his way about.With a respectful bow he addressed the impressiveelderly gentleman.

“I told him to meet us here, if Your Majestypleases.”

The apple-cheeked bar-maid was threatened witha fainting spell at the intimation that royalty stoodwithin the tavern walls, but rallied bravely to suggestin a fluttered voice:

“There’s a tidy little back room, your royal ’ighness,where you can set down private-like withoutcommon folks starin’ and gawkin’ at your Worship.”

“Thanks. I am rather tired after tramping aboutthe docks,” amiably replied the personage in thepleasantly modulated accents of the cultivated Englishman.To the brisk young man he said:

“Let us sit down, my dear baron, and look oversome of the memoranda while we are waiting.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” quoth the youngman, and with this they passed into the little backroom and closed the door. A dock-laborer rippedout an oath of amazement and clattered from thebar to tell his friends that “one o’ them blighted,bleedin’ kings was in the Jolly Mermaid, large aslife, so ’elp me Gawd.”

That brace of exiled mariners, Captain O’Shea andJohnny Kent, gazed blankly at each other, andtacitly agreed to wait and try to fathom the riddle.They had dealt with presidents of uneasy republics138near the equator, but a real king, to be surveyed atclose range, was a fascinating novelty.

Johnny Kent had carefully adjusted his spectaclesto survey this rare object, and he now shoved themup beyond his bushy brows before he hoarsely confidedto his comrade:

“I thought they went about disguised, Cap’nMike, same as we run a blockade with no lightsand the steamer’s name-boards covered up. Is hethe real thing or is it just play-actin’?”

“Europe is full of kings that have been kickedout of their berths,” answered O’Shea. “Maybethis one is a has-been, but he doesn’t look to melike a counterfeit. And I would not set him downfor a lunatic out for a stroll with his keeper.”

“He handles himself as sane as you or me,” agreedthe chief engineer. “But this is surely a doggonedqueer place to find a stray king.”

“’Tis worth watching, Johnny. I’m on me beam-endsfor puzzlement.”

Ere long there appeared from the street a bow-legged,barrel-chested, hairy-fisted man with a rollinggait, whom a landlubber might have classifiedas a rough-and-hearty British seaman accustomedto command vessels in the merchant trade. A captiouscritic would have perhaps surmised that hehad been pickled in rum as well as in brine. Glancingat a card held between a grimy thumb and finger,he asked the bar-maid:

“Is Baron Frederick Martin Strothers hereabouts,my girl? Captain Handy’s compliments.”

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“If you mean the dashin’ young man with a redweskit, ’e is settin’ in yonder with His Majesty.”

“Right you are!” exclaimed Captain Handy.“My business is with His Majesty, but the baronhas charge of the arrangements as minister of finance.A nipper of Scotch whiskey, neat, miss,before I talk to ’em.”

“What sort of a king is ’e, and what’s his bloomin’handle?” she eagerly besought him. “Are youmakin’ gyme of me?”

The hearty British shipmaster looked inscrutable,tossed the whiskey into his heated coppers, andslowly assured her:

“Women’s curiosity is the fatal weakness of thesex, my dear. A king is a king wherever you findhim. And my advice to you is not to go braggin’about and telling all hands that His Majesty haspatronized the Jolly Mermaid.”

He trudged to the rear room, hat in hand, andtimidly knocked on the door. As it was opened,the quick ear of Captain O’Shea heard the mysteriouspersonage saying to the brisk young man:

“A steamer of the tonnage of this Tyneshire Glenis what I wish. If your investigation has satisfiedyou that she is thoroughly sea-worthy and ingood repair and Captain Handy also recommendsher——”

The door closed behind Captain Handy, andO’Shea, glancing in that direction, smiled cynicallyand observed to Johnny Kent:

“Did ye size up this Handy man? You know140the kind. Every big port has them: broken shipmasters,disrated mates, that aren’t fit to take ascow to sea.”

“Sure! They’ve borrowed money off me fromBaltimore to Singapore. This Captain Handy musthave sighted an easy mark in the offing.”

O’Shea pondered for a moment and asked:

“Did ye hear mention of the Tyneshire Glensteamer just now? Do you happen to know thevessel? I can’t place her.”

Johnny Kent grunted as if he had sat upon a tackand answered with heated emphasis:

“Maybe it’s the old Tyneshire Glen that was carryin’cotton out of Savannah years ago. I wentaboard to see her chief once and her plates wasrusted so thin that I could have thrown a wrenchthrough ’em.”

Captain Handy had left the door of the backroom unlatched and a gusty draught of sea-breezeblew it partly open. The watchful pair in the tap-roomhad a glimpse of Captain Handy standingstolidly between His Majesty and the minister offinance, and heard him huskily declaim:

“The Tyneshire Glen is a bargain at thirty thousandpounds, and you needn’t take my word for it.Baron Strothers here has interviewed the brokersthat have her for sale, and he knows the price theyput on her.”

“I have full confidence in the judgment of myminister of finance, with Captain Handy’s expertopinion to assist him,” easily replied His Majesty.

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“Most of my papers were lost at sea,” hastilyput in Captain Handy, as if to forestall an awkwardquestion. “They were tied up together, your Royal’ighness, when the Falls of Clyde steamer went downand I saved the lives of forty-seven passengers andwas the last man to leave her when she founderedunder my feet. The newspapers praised me so thata modest man ’ud blush to repeat it.”

“Baron Strothers has investigated your record,so he informs me, and he advises me that you areto be depended upon,” was the warm assurance.

In the tap-room O’Shea chuckled skeptically andsaid to Johnny Kent:

“’Tis likely enough he lost his papers, but I mistrusthis version of the story. What kind of a flim-flamis this, anyhow? The king and the ministerof finance are discussing a rotten ship and a rottenskipper as if the both of them were to be takenseriously.”

After more conversation which the listeners failedto catch, the trio in the back room ended the sessionand prepared to leave the tavern. As theywalked out past the bar Captain Handy was arguingwith awkward gestures, the elderly personagewas listening courteously, and the brisk young manalertly kept an eye on both, as though he hadan absorbing interest in the interview. In front ofthe tavern they parted, Captain Handy to turn inthe direction of the East India Docks, the puzzlingpair of notables to seek the railroad station toLondon.

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Upon O’Shea and Johnny Kent there fell a prolongedspell of silence. Each was piecing theoriestogether and discarding them as unsatisfactory. Ofone thing they were convinced. This royal visitationhad not been an elaborate hoax, and the explanationof lunacy was finally and emphatically dismissed.

“’Tis no case of barnacles on the intellect,” wasthe verdict of O’Shea, “barrin’ the fact that he oughtto have more sense than to listen to the palaver ofa rascal like this Captain Handy. Why didn’t wethink to follow them up and see where they went?”

“I’m too short-winded to make a good sleuth-hound,Cap’n Mike, and it ain’t dignified for a manof my years.”

“Well, then, who is this Captain Handy?” demandedO’Shea. “We’ll try another tack.”

He questioned the bar-maid, who was disappointing.

“The man never showed hisself in ’ere before,”said she. “You’re more likely to find out about’im at the docks.”

“Say, Cap’n Mike,” exclaimed Johnny Kent withpuckered brow, “ain’t there some kind of a bookwritten about kings, their habits and their names,and the various breeds of ’em? And where you’remost apt to find ’em? Do they generally run aroundloose?”

“I’m not personally acquainted with a whole lotof them, Johnny; but as a rule ’tis safe to bet theydon’t come wanderin’ into sailors’ taverns convoyedby the minister of finance.”

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“Suppose we take his word for it,” was the suggestion.“Call him a king. He’s lookin’ for a shipand a captain, ain’t he?”

“Now you talk hard sense, Johnny. That’s whereI pricked up my ears. Maybe we can cross his bowsagain if we look sharp.”

Next morning they carefully scrutinized the“Court Circular” of the London Times, and weremore at sea than ever at discovering that the onlyvisiting royalty comprised an unimportant cousin ofthe house of Hanover from a German duchy andthe dusky ruler of a native state of India. That afull-fledged king and a minister of his cabinet, bothindubitably Englishmen, could be strolling aboutLondon unnoticed by the newspapers and unknownto the public was fairly incredible, and yet no mentioncould anywhere be found of the illustrious patronsof the Jolly Mermaid, although O’Shea boughtthe morning journals by the fistful.

It occurred to him to pay a call at a ship-brokers’office down in Leadenhall Street, and Johnny Kentrode with him on top of a ’bus. They had madethe acquaintance of the managing partner of thefirm under the palms of a Venezuelan seaport, andhe cherished a strong friendship for this pair of adventurousrovers. He was anxious to find a shipfor O’Shea, and the latter dropped in now and thenin search of news.

The comrades twain were about to dodge throughthe traffic of Leadenhall Street and enter the officeof their friend when O’Shea plucked Johnny Kent144by the sleeve and pulled him back into an adjacentdoor-way. A brisk, sandy-haired young man wasalso doubling among the stream of vehicles whichroared from curb to curb and aiming his coursefor the ship-brokers’ office.

“’Tis the minister of finance, Johnny,” cautiouslyspoke O’Shea. “Look at him. There hegoes, right into Tavistock & Huntley’s, the samedestination as ours.”

“Why not go in and meet him, Cap’n Mike?Maybe George Huntley will introduce us and wecan slip in a few questions.”

“Because I do not like this sprightly right bowerof royalty, Johnny. I took a violent dislike to theBaron Frederick Martin Strothers at first sight.And me hunches about people are worth heedingwhen they take hold of me as strong as this onedid.”

They surmised that the brisk young man with thered waistcoat must have business to transact withTavistock & Huntley, for he remained inside agood half-hour. Then the watchers caught no morethan a farewell glimpse of him as he hastily emergedand popped into a passing hansom. Thereupon theysauntered into the ship-brokers’ office and were cordiallygreeted by George Huntley, managing partner,a stocky, bald-headed person who looked as substantialas a brick house. The spirit of romancewas in him, however, and he secretly envied O’Sheahis illogical pursuit of hazards for sheer love ofthem.

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Steering them into a small private room, heplumped himself into the chair at the desk, wavedthem to a leather-covered lounge, and inquired withmuch gusto:

“And how are my disreputable friends this morning?Anything in the wind?”

“’Tis still blowing dead calm for us, but theweather is suspicious in one quarter of the compass,”answered O’Shea. “Tell me, George, whatdo you know about the young man that just nowwhisked out of here—the fancy lad with the loudvest and the high-steppin’ manner?”

Huntley tilted his chair, clasped his hands acrossa comfortable waistband, and replied in his deliberateway:

“I have laid eyes on him only twice. His nameis Strothers, I believe, and he calls himself a baron.One of those Continental titles, I fancy. You buythem, you know. This day of last week he cameinto our place with Captain Handy, who used to sailin the Blue Anchor service.”

“Got into trouble with his owners, didn’t he?”interrupted O’Shea, at a guess.

“Yes. He lost a steamer in the Bay of Biscay,and the evidence went to show that he was drunkat the time. His certificate was taken away orsuspended; I forget the details. A rather shabbylot is Handy. As I was about to tell you, O’Shea, thepair of them, Captain Handy and this spruce youngman, Strothers, came in to ask our cash selling-pricefor the Tyneshire Glen, which is laid up in the East146India Docks. We have no interest in the vesselbeyond representing the owners, who want to getrid of her.”

“And did you give the precious pair of two-spotsa price on her?” blandly inquired O’Shea.

“I offered them the Tyneshire Glen for twenty-fourthousand pounds as she stands,” replied Huntley.“It’s all she’s worth. She is a big steamer,almost five thousand tons, but she will need a lotof repairs. Captain Handy claimed that he hadfound a possible buyer in whose interests youngStrothers was acting. Of course we were willingto pay Handy a decent commission if the deal wentthrough.”

O’Shea looked sidewise at Johnny Kent, who, onoccasions, was bright enough to see through a holein a grindstone. They kept their thoughts to themselves,and O’Shea commented non-committally:

“Of course Captain Handy is entitled to a commissionif he finds ye a customer for the steamer,George. ’Tis an honest chance for the poor divilto pick up a few dollars. And so the young man,Strothers, came back this morning? Do I show toomuch curiosity in asking what he had to say?”

“You are welcome to all I know. He told methat the gentleman whose interests he representedhad inspected the Tyneshire Glen yesterday andthought she would answer his purpose. The pricewas satisfactory and he would like a three-days’option, which I was very willing to give him.”

“And the price was still twenty-four thousand147pounds?” violently put in Johnny Kent with a snortas if his steam were rising.

“Precisely twenty-four thousand pounds, or onehundred and twenty thousand dollars of your Yankeecurrency or thereabouts. Are you thinking ofbuying her yourself, Johnny?” said Huntley with abroad smile.

“Not on your life,” was the fervent response.“I’d be afraid to sneeze on board of her in the docksfor fear her rivets would fly off.”

“Oh, she isn’t as bad as all that. A well-builtsteamer is the Tyneshire Glen, with lots of servicein her.”

“What she needs is a new hull, boilers, and engines,”grunted Johnny. “Say, George Huntley,did this young man, Strothers, mention anythingabout buyin’ the steamer for a king that is roamin’around London without any tag to him?”

“A king!” ejacul*ted the ship-broker, blinking likean astonished owl. “Are you chaps raggin’ me?”

“Maybe the joke is on us, George, or else Cap’nMike and me have been seein’ visions and hearin’things that ain’t so.”

Huntley cast an appealing glance at O’Shea, whosaid:

“’Tis evident that ye are not acquainted withour particular king, George. You do not move inroyal circles. We will tell ye the answer later.About this young man that calls himself a baron.Did he leave any address behind him?”

“Yes. He is staying at the Carleton. If the option148expires I shall take it for granted that hedoesn’t want the steamer. If he pays down thecash I shall be ready to make out the papers andgive Captain Handy his commission. Now youought to tell me why you are so keen on knowingall about the business. If you keep mum, you area pair of blighters and no friends of mine.”

O’Shea hauled Johnny Kent to his feet and remarked:

“We thank you kindly, George. You are a good-naturedman and we have made a nuisance of ourselves.’Tis the honest truth that we know verylittle more about this young man and the TyneshireGlen than ye know yourself. But what we do knowwe will first investigate.”

“You are conspirators born and bred,” laughedHuntley, rather pleased to have an ordinary businesstransaction wrapped in romantic mystery.“Come and dine with me as soon as you have unravelledthe plot.”

They straightway betook themselves to the nearestpublic-house, where in a quiet corner a council ofwar was convened. It was obvious that they hadrun athwart a scheme to defraud the confiding purchaserof the Tyneshire Glen. And their sympathieswent out strongly to the royal victim. Whether ornot he was a real king was beside the mark. Hewas very much the gentleman, and he had trustedtoo much in the loyalty and integrity of that enterprisingyoung man who was called the minister offinance.

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“’Tis as plain as the big nose on that red faceof yours, Johnny,” exclaimed O’Shea. “The twocrooks are standing in together. Captain Handyrecommends the ship as all right. This Baron FrederickMartin Strothers backs him up and advisesHis Majesty to buy her. The two blackguards geta price of twenty-four thousand pounds from GeorgeHuntley, and then tell this innocent potentate thatthe price is thirty thousand pounds. The differenceis six thousand pounds—thirty thousand dollars—whichthis pair of land-sharks will split up and stickin their own pockets. And they will doctor the billof sale so the poor deluded monarch will never knowwhat happened to him.”

“That was what we heard ’em say in the JollyMermaid, Cap’n Mike. The price was thirty thousandpounds.”

“’Tis me opinion that a minister of finance likethis could bankrupt a kingdom, give him timeenough,” said O’Shea. “He is working the gamefor all it’s worth. He will loot the treasury as longas it looks safe and easy, and then he will resign hiswhat-do-ye-call-it—his portfolio—and leave his buncoedMajesty to figure out the deficit.”

“That poor king deserves to be delivered from hislovin’ friends,” replied Johnny Kent. “What’s theorders now?”

“We will ring up full speed ahead and find thisking. If the minister of finance is at the CarletonHotel, ’tis a good bet that His Majesty is not faraway. That busy young man will not separatehimself from a good thing.”

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The fashionable Carleton was unfamiliar territoryto the inquisitive mariners, but they strolled boldlythrough the corridors until they fetched up in frontof a desk presided over by an immaculate clerkwith a languid manner who appeared indifferent totheir wants. After waiting several minutes for somerecognition, Captain Michael O’Shea sweetly remarked:

“Will ye answer a civil question or will I climbover the counter and jolt you wide-awake?”

The languid person looked attentively at the resolutefeatures of the speaker and hastily answered:

“Beg pardon—beg pardon—what can I do foryou, sir?”

“Tell me if a king is stopping in this hotel ofyours, and does he have a minister of finance calledBaron Strothers?”

“Ah, you mean His Majesty, King Osmond ofTrinadaro,” and the clerk delivered these resoundingsyllables with unction. “Yes, he is a guest of thehotel.”

“He is a real one, do you get that?” soberly whisperedO’Shea to his comrade before he again addressedthe clerk.

“We wish to see him on important business. Wewill write our names on a card.”

“Baron Strothers receives such callers as are personallyunknown to His Majesty,” the clerk explained.

“We do not wish to see the young man,” saidO’Shea.

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“My orders are to send all cards and messages tohim,” persisted the clerk.

The two visitors drew apart from the desk andput their heads together.

“The minister of finance will not let us get withina cable’s length of his boss if he thinks we are seafarin’men,” whispered O’Shea.

“The swindler may have took notice of us in theJolly Mermaid,” growled Johnny Kent. “We mightsend up a card and make headway as far as thisStrothers person. Then I could knock him downand sit on his head while you rummaged the royalapartments and found the king.”

“Your methods might strike these hotel peopleas violent, Johnny. You’re a good man at sea, butI would not call ye a diplomat. Anyhow, we willtake a chance of running the blockade that thiscrooked minister of finance has established to preventhonest men from talking to his employer.”

Returning to the desk, O’Shea picked up a penand wrote on a blank card:

“Captain Michael O’Shea and John Kent, Esq.,U.S.A., to see King Osmond on a matter that he willfind interesting.”

Promptly in answer to this message came wordthat Baron Strothers would see the gentlemen. Ahotel attendant conducted them to a suite on thesecond floor. At the threshold of a sort of anteroomthey were met by the brisk, self-possessed youngman, who gazed sharply at the sunburnt strangers,hesitated a trifle, and invited them to enter. Offering152them cigars, he bade them be seated, and againscrutinized them as if striving to recall where hemight have seen them elsewhere.

Captain O’Shea, at his ease in most circ*mstances,and particularly now when he held the whip-hand,asked at once:

“Are we to have the pleasure of paying our respectsto His Majesty?”

“You Americans are so delightfully informal,”smiled the minister of finance. “An audience isarranged beforehand if I consider it worth while.”

“But this king of yours takes a special interestin ships and sailors,” suggested O’Shea. “And wehave information that he will find useful.”

Baron Frederick Martin Strothers changed colorjust a trifle and his manner was perceptibly uneasyas he explained:

“I am awfully sorry, but he is not in at present.He will be disappointed, I’m sure. You are shipmastersor something of the sort, I take it.”

“You guess right,” was the dry comment ofO’Shea. “I have heard that ye are fond of talkingto seafaring men yourself.”

The shot went home. The young man moved inhis chair and looked painfully uncomfortable. Nervouslytwisting a cigar in his fingers, he replied:

“Ah, yes. Now I know. You must have seenme at the East India Docks.”

“There or thereabouts, but no matter,” saidO’Shea. “His Majesty is not in, you say. Andwhen will he be in the hotel again?”

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“Not for several hours. He went out with theminister of foreign affairs to keep an importantappointment. Will you state your business to me?That is the customary procedure.”

Johnny Kent was for denouncing the young manto his face, but O’Shea nudged him and smoothlymade answer:

“It would please us better to see the king himself.We can come again, or we can look for himon his way in and out of the hotel.”

The young man could not dissemble signs of impatienceto be rid of these pertinacious intruders.

“If you have a ship to sell, or you are lookingfor positions, this is only wasting time,” said he.“I presume you heard something of our errandamong the docks.”

“Yes, we have heard of it,” and O’Shea bit offthe words. “Well, Johnny, shall we go below andwait till His Majesty heaves in sight? This ministerof finance will give us no satisfaction. And Iam not used to dealing with understrappers.”

“You are impertinent!” cried the young man.“I have been as courteous as possible. You willleave at once, or I shall ask the hotel managementto put you out.”

Up from a chair rose the massive bulk of JohnnyKent, and his ample countenance was truculent ashe roared:

“You’ll throw us out, you impudent son of a sea-cook?No, Cap’n Mike, I won’t shut up. I ain’tbuilt that way. Diplomacy be doggoned. I’m liableto lose my temper.”

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“’Tis a large-sized temper to lose, and I herebyhoist storm-signals,” said O’Shea with a grin as heneatly tripped the minister of finance, who was endeavoringto reach an electric push-button.

The fervid declamation of Johnny Kent musthave echoed through the apartments. It sufficed toattract the notice of an erect, elderly gentleman inanother room who opened a door and stared curiouslyat the strenuous tableau. At sight of the kindly,refined face with the snowy mustache and imperial,O’Shea gleefully shouted:

“The king, God bless him! So this bright youngminister of finance was a liar as well as a thief!”

Comically abashed, Johnny Kent mumbled anapology for making such an uproar, at which theelderly gentleman bowed acknowledgment and saidto the perturbed and rumpled Strothers:

“My dear baron, will you be good enough toexplain?”

“These ruffians insisted on seeing you, Your Majesty,and when I tried to discover their businessthey called me names and assaulted me,” sputteredthe young man in a heat of virtuous indignation.

“He was afraid of the truth,” cried O’Shea. “Wecame to tell Your Majesty that he has cooked up ajob to cheat ye out of six thousand pounds, and wecan prove it up to the hilt. We caught him withthe goods.”

“That sounds a whole lot better to me than diplomacy,”approvingly exclaimed Johnny Kent.

Bewildered by the vehemence of these outspoken155visitors, King Osmond I of Trinadaro turned to thesullen minister of finance and inquired, still withhis placid kindliness of manner:

“These men do not look like ruffians, my dearbaron. What are their names, and who are they?And what is the meaning of this grave charge theybring against your integrity?”

“I am O’Shea, shipmaster, hailing from the portof New York,” spoke up the one.

“I am Johnny Kent, chief engineer to CaptainMike O’Shea,” said the other, “and I hail from theState o’ Maine. And we can show you our papers.We didn’t lose ’em in the Bay of Biscay.”

Strothers stood biting his nails and shifting fromone foot to the other, for once stripped of his adroit,plausible demeanor, nor could he find, on the spurof the moment, the right word to say. The royalpersonage said it for him.

“I think you had better retire. I wish to hearwhat Captain O’Shea and Mr. Kent may have totell me.”

The amiable monarch was unconsciously swayedby the virile personality of Captain O’Shea, whodominated the scene as though he were on the deckof his own ship.

Baron Frederick Martin Strothers made a lastattempt to protest, but Johnny Kent glared at himso wickedly and O’Shea moved a step nearer withso icy a glint in his gray eye that there was a momentlater a vanished minister of finance.

The etiquette of courts troubled O’Shea not in156the least as he cheerily yet respectfully suggestedto the perplexed elderly gentleman:

“Now, King Osmond, if you will please sit downand let us talk things over with ye as man to man,we’ll tell you how it happened.”

The personage obediently did as he was told, norcould he feel offended by the shipmaster’s boyishcandor. O’Shea chewed on his cigar and his eyestwinkled as he glanced at the stubborn visage ofJohnny Kent, which was still flushed. His Majestybegan to get his wits together and to wonder whyhe had permitted this brace of total strangers totake him by storm. O’Shea broke into his cogitationsby explaining:

“You are surprised that ye chucked the trustedminister of finance out of the room and consentedto listen to us at all. In the first place, we are notaskin’ anything of you. What I mean is, we feltbound to put you next to the dirty deal that wasframed up to rob ye.”

“We saw you in the Jolly Mermaid tavern, andwe liked your looks,” ingenuously added JohnnyKent. “We decided to do you a good turn, whetherwe ever saw the color of your money or not.”

“And we didn’t like the cut of the jib of yourminister of finance,” resumed O’Shea. “And wewere dead sure that Captain Handy was rotten.”

King Osmond earnestly interrupted:

“But I have had all the confidence in the worldin Baron Strothers, and as a British sailor of thetarry breed, Captain Handy——”

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“The two of them are tarred with the same brush,”exclaimed O’Shea. “They fixed it up between themto pay twenty-four thousand pounds for the TyneshireGlen and sell her to you for thirty thousand.’Tis a simple matter to produce the evidence. Senda messenger to Tavistock & Huntley in LeadenhallStreet. They named the price to CaptainHandy and your precious minister of finance.’Tis a clear case.”

“You can buy her yourself from George Huntley,and he’ll be darn glad to get his price,” chimed inJohnny Kent. “That ought to prove it. But ifyou’ll listen to me, you’ll have nothin’ to do withthe Tyneshire Glen.”

King Osmond’s faith in human nature had beenseverely jarred, but somehow he could not doubtthe statements of these rugged men who drovetheir words home as with a sledge-hammer. Towardthe graceless minister of finance he felt moresorrow than anger as he wove together in his mindthis and that circ*mstance of previous transactionswhich should have made him more vigilant. Butthe culprit was the son of a dear friend, and hiscredentials had been impeccable.

“I shall obtain from Tavistock & Huntley confirmationof your story, as you suggest,” he slowlyreplied to O’Shea. “In the meantime I wish youwould tell me about yourselves.”

“We are looking for big risks and big wages,”said O’Shea with a smile. “Johnny Kent and Iare better known in the ports of the Spanish Main158than in London River. We have made voyages toHayti and Honduras and Cuba without the consentof the lawful governments, and we know our trade.”

King Osmond I reflectively stroked his white imperial,and his face assumed an expression of vividinterest. These men were different from CaptainHandy. They would neither cringe nor lie to him,and they looked him squarely between the eyes.

“Will you be good enough to come into my ownrooms?” said he. “We shall find more privacyand comfort. I should like to hear of your adventuresalong the Spanish Main.”

With a courteous gesture he showed them into amuch larger and more luxurious room which was usedas a library or private office, inasmuch as a largeflat-topped desk was strewn with books, pamphlets,and documents, and more of them were piled ontables and on shelves against the walls. As temporaryheadquarters for royalty at work, the roomsuggested industry and the administration of largeaffairs.

So friendly and unconventional was the receptiongranted them that Captain O’Shea and Johnny Kentwere made to feel that their intrusions demandedno more apologies. Their curiosity fairly tormentedthem. It was on the tips of their tongues to askthe host what kind of a kingdom was his, and whereit was situated, but this would be rudeness. O’Sheatook note of several admiralty charts on the desk,two of them unrolled with the corners pinned down,and a rule and dividers for measuring distances.

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While O’Shea talked, Johnny Kent let his eyeswander to a small table at his elbow. It was coveredwith magazines, government reports, and newspaperclippings. One of the latter was so placedthat he was able to read it from where he sat, andwith absorbed interest he perused the followingparagraphs:

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Slowly and carefully Johnny Kent possessed himselfof this information with never a flicker of asmile. The solution of the mystery of King OsmondI impressed him as neither grotesque nor curiouslymediæval. In all London the King of Trinadarocould not have found two men of readier mind tofall in with his project and pretensions. To playat being a king on a desert island, to have the meansto make it all come true—why, thought JohnnyKent, and he knew O’Shea must instantly agreewith him, any man worth his salt would jump atthe chance.

He was anxious to pass the tidings on to his comrade,and when the conversation slackened he edgedin:

“We must be on our way, Cap’n Mike. HisMajesty is good-hearted to listen to us, but it ain’tpolite to talk his ear off.”

With this speech went so elaborate a wink thatO’Shea comprehended that the engineer had somethingup his sleeve. Their host cordially declaredthat he must see them again, and made an appointmentfor ten o’clock of the next forenoon. Theytook their departure after friendly farewells andsteered a course for Blackwall and the tavern of theJolly Mermaid.

O’Shea was as delighted as a boy to learn thatOsmond I was about to found an island kingdom.It was a more attractive revelation than ifhe had been discovered to be the inconsequentialruler of some effete little domain of Europe. And161if one planned to set himself up in business as asovereign, it was proper to use all the pomp andtrappings and ceremony that belonged to the game.

“If he is to have a navy,” cried O’Shea as hepounded his friend on the back, “I know where hecan find an admiral and a fleet engineer.”

“Not so fast, Cap’n Mike. I have a notion thathe’ll have his own troubles gettin’ to his kingdom.Any man that can be buncoed as easy as he was isliable to have all his playthings taken away fromhim before he has a chance to use ’em. I’ll feel saferabout him when he gets clear of London River.”

Before seeking the royal audience next morningthey went to Leadenhall Street to see George Huntley.The ship-broker greeted them indignantly.

“You would try to hoodwink me, would you?”exclaimed he. “I have found out who your mysteriousking is. I received a letter from him lastnight, asking information about the price of theTyneshire Glen. I had no idea it was this crazyColonel Sydenham-Leach that calls himself ruler ofTrinadaro.”

“Own up like a man, George,” shouted O’Shea.“Ye would like nothing better than to be this kindof a king yourself.”

“You have read my thoughts like a wizard. But,confound you, you have spoiled the sale of a steamerfor me. How about that?”

“We have tried to keep an estimable king fromgoing to Davy Jones’s locker in a floating coffin thatye call the Tyneshire Glen,” severely retorted O’Shea.162“Have ye any steamers that will pass honest men’sinspection?”

“Plenty of them,” promptly answered Huntley.

“Then we will look at two or three of them to-day,after we have paid our respects to His Majesty.We will not let him be cheated out of his eye-teeth.We have decided to protect him. Isn’t that so,Johnny?”

“He needs us, Cap’n Mike.”

Huntley became serious and took them into therear office before he confided:

“I don’t know, I’m sure, whether you chaps arejoking or not. However, here is a bit of news foryou on the quiet. I met a friend of mine, a barrister,yesterday. We had luncheon at the Cheshire Cheeseand something or other set him to talking about thisSydenham-Leach affair. It seems that the lawyersare quite keen about it. The family relations areplanning to kick up a devil of a row, to bring proceedingsunder the lunacy act, and prevent thisKing Osmond from sailing off to his silly island ofTrinadaro. They hate to see a fortune thrown awayin this mad enterprise, as they call it.”

O’Shea was righteously wrathful as he flungout:

“Would they interfere with a gentleman and hisdiversions? Hasn’t he a right to spend his moneyas he pleases? Have ye ever seen him, George?He is a grand man to meet, and ’tis proud we areto be his friends.”

“Oh, I imagine they will have a job to prove he163is insane,” said Huntley. “But they may make apot of trouble for him.”

“I suppose they can pester him with all kinds oflegal foolishness and haul him before the courts, andso on,” agreed O’Shea. “It would break his heartand spoil all his fun. ’Tis an outrageous shame,George. What is the system in this country whenthey want to investigate a man’s top story?”

“I asked the barrister chap,” replied Huntley.“The friends of the person suspected of being dotty,usually his near relatives, lay the case before one ofthe judges in lunacy, and he orders an inquiry,which is held before a master in lunacy. Then ifthe alleged lunatic demands a trial by jury he getsit. If he can’t convince them that he is sound inthe thinker, his estate is put in charge of a committeeduly appointed by law.”

O’Shea listened glumly and glowered his intensedispleasure. If the law could interfere with a manwho wished to be king of an island which nobodyelse wanted, then the law was all wrong.

“And these indecent relatives who want his moneywill wait and spring a surprise on him,” said the aggrievedshipmaster. “They will take his ship awayfrom him and knock all his beautiful schemes into aco*cked hat.”

“I imagine he would not be allowed to leave Englandif the proceedings were started,” said Huntley.

Johnny Kent, who had been darkly meditating,aroused himself to observe explosively:

“We’ll get him to sea in his ship whenever he164wants to sail, and the relatives and the judges andthe masters in lunacy be darned. It ain’t the firsttime that you and me have broken laws in a goodcause, Cap’n Mike. You come along with us,George Huntley. We’re on our way to have a confabwith His Majesty, and maybe you can do somebusiness with him right off the reel. He ought toload his ship and head for blue water as quick asthe Lord will let him.”

II

Behold, then, the pair of exiled Yankee marinersstanchly enlisted on the side of King Osmond Iof Trinadaro, against the designs of all who wouldthwart his gorgeous and impracticable purposes.That his rank and title were self-assumed and hisrealm as yet unpeopled impressed these ingenuoussailormen as neither shadowy nor absurd.

King Osmond I was an elderly gentleman of asingularly guileless disposition, and the notoriety attendinghis unique project had caused him to besurrounded by persons who knew precisely what theywanted. Of these the vanished minister of finance,Baron Frederick Martin Strothers, of the brisk demeanorand the red waistcoat, had been a conspicuousexample. It was a rare piece of good fortunefor the amiable monarch that there should havecome to his aid two such hard-headed and honestadventurers as O’Shea and Johnny Kent.

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As the result of several interviews they were engagedto select a steamer and to take charge of herfor the voyage to Trinadaro. Their qualificationswere warmly indorsed by the well-known ship-brokingfirm of Tavistock & Huntley, of LeadenhallStreet. The managing partner, that solid manwith the romantic temperament, took the keenestinterest in every detail of the picturesque enterprise.It would have been a temptation not easyto resist if King Osmond had offered him the placeof minister of marine, with the bestowal of the insigniaof the Grand Cross of Trinadaro.

The august personage was prodigiously busy.Several secretaries and stenographers toiled likemad to handle the vast amount of clerical work andcorrespondence. The king planned to carry withhim a sort of vanguard of subjects, or colonists,who were to erect buildings, set up machinery, tillthe soil, prospect for mineral wealth, and otherwiselay the foundations of empire. These pioneers werelargely recruited from his own estates and villagesin Norfolk, and formed a sturdy company of Britishyeomanry.

Captain Michael O’Shea was never one to smotherhis opinions from motives of flattery or self-interest,and what information about Trinadaro he had beenable to pick up on his own account was not dyed inglowing colors.

“I have not seen the island meself, Your Majesty,”said he, “but the sailing directions set it down asmostly tall rocks with a difficult landing-place and166a dense population of hungry land-crabs as big asyour hat. And if it was any good, would not someone of these benevolent Powers have gobbled it uplong ago?”

King Osmond pleasantly made answer to suchobjections.

“Several years ago I made a long voyage in asailing-ship on account of my health, Captain O’Shea,and we touched at Trinadaro to get turtles and freshwater. It was then that I conceived the idea oftaking possession of the island as an independentprincipality. Although it has a most forbidding aspectfrom seaward, there is an inland plateau fit forcultivation and settlement. It contains the ruinedstone walls of an ancient town founded by the earlyPortuguese navigators. And it is well to remember,”concluded the monarch of Trinadaro with a whimsicalsmile, “that available domains are so scarcethat one should not be too particular. Trinadaroappears to have been overlooked.”

“’Tis a rule that the Christian nations will stealany territory that is not nailed down,” was the dubiouscomment of O’Shea. “They must have a pooropinion of Trinadaro, but, as ye say, ’tis about theonly chance that is left for a king to work at histrade with a brand-new sign over the door.”

Johnny Kent spent most his time down riveramong the London docks. Wherever sea-goingsteamers were for sale or charter his bulky figuremight have been seen trudging from deck to engine-room.

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At length, with the royal approval, O’Shea hadthe purchase papers made out for the fine steamerTarlington, which was berthed in a basin of the EastIndia Docks. She was a modern, well-equippedfreighter of four thousand tons which had been inthe Australian trade and could be fitted for sea at afew days’ notice. The transfer of ownership wasgiven no needless publicity. George Huntley attendedto that. He had another interview with hisfriend, the barrister, who hinted at forthcomingevents which gravely threatened the peace and welfareof Osmond I and the kingdom of Trinadaro.

O’Shea and Johnny Kent discussed this latest informationat supper in the Jolly Mermaid tavernwith a platter of fried sole between them.

“’Tis this way,” explained O’Shea. “There is nodoubt at all that this grand king of ours will figurein the lunacy proceedings that we heard was in thewind. His relatives are getting greedier and moreworried every day. And until the matter is decidedone way or another they will use every meansthe law allows to head him off from spending thegood money that belongs to him.”

“And how can they stop him from scatterin’ hiscoin for these wise and benevolent purposes of his?”demanded the engineer.

“Well, George Huntley says the law will permitthem to clap some kind of a restrainin’ order on theship and hold her in the dock with the judges’ officersaboard till the proceedings are over. And theycan serve the same kind of documents on King168Osmond to prevent his chasing himself beyond thejurisdiction of the court.”

“But all this infernal shindy can’t be started unlessthere’s proof positive that His Majesty intends tofly the coop, Cap’n Mike.”

“Right you are, Johnny, you old sea-lawyer.They can’t bother the king until he is actually onboard and the ship is cleared, so the barrister ladtells George.”

“Then they’ll be watchin’ the Tarlington like terriersat a rat-hole,” exclaimed the engineer.

“No, they won’t,” cried O’Shea with tremendousearnestness. “Do ye mind how we slipped out ofCharleston Harbor in the Hercules steamer, bound onthe filibusterin’ expedition to Honduras? ’Twas asuccessful stratagem, and it could be done in LondonRiver.”

“Sure it could,” and Johnny Kent chuckled joyously.“And the king needn’t know anythingabout it.”

“Of course we will keep it from him if we can,”agreed O’Shea. “I will do anything short of murderto keep him happy and undisturbed. And itwould upset him terribly to know that he must besmuggled out of England to dodge the rascals thatwould keep him at home as a suspected lunatic.”

“We’d better put George Huntley next to thisproposition of ours,” suggested Johnny. “He itchesto be a red-handed conspirator.”

The ship-broker admired the scheme when it wasexplained to him. Yes, the old Tyneshire Glen which169they had so scornfully declined to purchase was stillat her moorings, and they were welcome to use heras a dummy, or decoy, or whatever one might chooseto call it. O’Shea could pretend to load her, hecould send as many people on board as he liked,and put a gang of mechanics at work all over thebally old hooker, said Huntley. If the enemies ofKing Osmond I took it for granted that the TyneshireGlen was the ship selected to carry him off to Trinadaro,that was their own lookout. It was a regularYankee trick, by Jove!

O’Shea and Johnny Kent took great care to avoidbeing seen in the vicinity of the Tarlington. Suchinspection and supervision as were necessary theycontrived to attend to after dark. The king wasup to his ears in urgent business and was easily persuadedto leave the whole conduct of the ship’s affairsin their capable hands and to waive preliminaryvisits to the East India Docks.

O’Shea employed a Scotch engineer, who understoodthat his wages depended on his taciturnity, tooversee such repair work as the Tarlington needed,and to keep steam in the donkey-boilers.

All signs indicated that the Tarlington was preparingfor one of her customary voyages to Australia.Soon the cargo began to stream into her hatches.The ostensible destinations of the truck-loads ofcases and crates and bales of merchandise wereSydney, Melbourne, Wellington, Fremantle, and soon. One might read the names of the consigneesneatly stencilled on every package. This was done170under the eye of Captain O’Shea, who, in his time,had loaded hundreds of boxes of rifles and cartridgesinnocently labelled “Condensed Milk,” “Prime VirginiaHams,” and “Farming Tools.”

But the place to find roaring, ostentatious activitywas on board the old Tyneshire Glen. This rustysteamer fairly hummed. Captain O’Shea visitedher daily, and Johnny Kent hustled an engine-roomcrew with loud and bitter words. It appeared asthough the ship must be in a great hurry to go tosea. While they were stirring up as much pretendedindustry as possible, the question of a cargowas not overlooked. It was shoved on board asfast as the longshoremen in the holds could handleit. Nor did these brawny toilers know that all thesestout wooden boxes so plainly marked and consignedto Trinadaro “via S.S. Tyneshire Glen” containedonly bricks, sand, stones, and scrap-iron.

They were part of the theatrical properties ofCaptain O’Shea, who could readily produce a make-believecargo for a faked voyage in a steamer whichhad no intention of leaving port.

The London newspapers showed renewed interestin the schemes and dreams of King Osmond I ofTrinadaro. The Tyneshire Glen was visited by inquisitivejournalists with note-books and cameras.Captain O’Shea welcomed them right courteously,and gave them information, cigars, and excellentwhiskey. They returned to their several offices towrite breezy columns about the preparations for thesingular voyage of the Tyneshire Glen. So severe171are the English libel laws that never a hint wasprinted of the possible legal obstacles which mightbring the enterprise to naught. For purposes ofpublication, King Osmond I was as sane as a trivetunless a judge and jury should officially declare himotherwise.

Nevertheless, the intimation had reached the newspaperoffices that the relatives of Colonel Sydenham-Leachwere likely to take steps to prevent him fromleaving England. And reporters were assigned towatch the Tyneshire Glen up to the very momentof departure.

Now and then Johnny Kent quietly trundled himselfon board the Tarlington, usually after nightfall,and was gratified to find that progress was runningsmoothly in all departments. So nearly ready forsea was the big cargo-boat that the time had cometo devise the final details of the stratagem.

Accordingly, Captain O’Shea went boldly to thecustom house, and took out clearance papers notfor the Tarlington to Australia, but for the TyneshireGlen to the island of Trinadaro. The chief officerwhom he had selected to sail with him held a master’scertificate and the ship was cleared in hisname.

As for the Tarlington, which was really to sailwhile the Tyneshire Glen remained peacefully at hermoorings in the East India Docks, O’Shea decidedto omit the formality of clearances. As he explainedto Johnny Kent:

“The less attention called to the Tarlington the172better. Once at sea we will hoist the flag of Trinadaroover our ship, and His Majesty’s governmentwill give her a registry and us our certificates. ’Tishandy to be an independent sovereign with a merchantmarine of his own.”

The services of an employment agency enabledO’Shea to muster several score bogus colonists orsubjects of King Osmond, persons of respectable appearancewho were glad to earn ten shillings apieceby marching on board the Tyneshire Glen with bagsand bundles in their hands. There could be no roomfor doubt in the public mind that the eccentric,grandiose Colonel Sydenham-Leach was on the pointof leaving his native shores with his people and materialto found his island principality.

It seemed advisable to Captain O’Shea to takethe Tarlington out of the docks late in the afternoon,swing into the river, and anchor until King Osmondshould be brought aboard in a tug furnished byGeorge Huntley. There was much less risk of observationin having the royal passenger join the shipafter nightfall and away from the populous docks,in addition to which O’Shea preferred to get clear ofthe cramping stone basins and gates and hold hisship in the fair-way with room for a speedy departurein the event of a stern chase.

He artlessly explained that this arrangement wouldallow the king to spend several more hours ashorein winding up the final details of his business. Theunsuspecting Osmond I approved these plans andhad no idea that they were part of an elaborate173conspiracy to smuggle him out of England undercover of darkness.

As a crafty device to throw the enemy off the scent,O’Shea conceived what he viewed as a master-stroke.George Huntley was called into consultation andpromptly sent for a superannuated clerk of his officestaff who had been pensioned after many years offaithful service. He proved to be a slender, white-hairedman who carried himself with a great deal ofdignity, and at the first glimpse of him O’Shea exclaimeddelightedly:

“You couldn’t have done better, George, if youhad raked London with a comb. Put a snowymustache and chin whisker on him and he willpass for King Osmond of Trinadaro with no troubleat all.”

“I think we can turn him into a pretty fair counterfeit,”grinned Huntley. “And when he walksaboard the Tyneshire Glen at dusk and all thosebogus subjects at ten shillings each raise a loyalcheer, the hoax will be complete. This is the artistictouch to make the job perfect.”

“And what am I to do after that, Mr. Huntley,if you please?” timidly inquired the elderly clerk.“If it’s only a practical joke, I don’t mind——”

“Play the part, Thompson. Acknowledge thehomage of the ship’s company and go below at once.Dodge into a state-room. The ship will probably bewatched by persons keenly interested in your movements.If they poke a mess of legal documents atyou, accept them without argument. The meddlesome174gents will leave you alone after that. They willmerely keep close watch of the ship to make sure thatyou don’t run away with her. When you come backto London in the morning, pluck off the false whiskers,and be handsomely rewarded for your exertions.I’ll see that you get in no trouble.”

“It is a bit queer, Mr. Huntley, but you werealways a great hand for a lark,” said the clerk.“Thank you, I will do as you say.”

The genuine colonists of King Osmond stole onboard the Tarlington, singly, and by twos and threes,some before she pulled out of the docks, others byboat after she swung into the stream. At the sametime the imitation voyagers from the employmentagency were making as much noise and bustle aspossible as they trooped on board the TyneshireGlen.

Captain O’Shea intended to convey the king fromthe hotel to the Tarlington, but at the last momenthe was detained to quell a ruction in the forecastle.George Huntley had been unexpectedly summonedto the Hotel Cecil to see an American millionairewho was in a great hurry to charter a yacht. O’Sheatherefore sent a message to His Majesty directinghim to have his carriage driven to a certain landingon the river-front of the East India Docks, where hewould be met by the chief officer of the Tarlingtonand escorted aboard the ship.

Within the same hour, the dignified, elderly clerkby the name of Thompson might have been seen toenter a carriage close by the Hotel Carleton, and175those standing near heard him tell the driver to goto the steamer Tyneshire Glen.

The chief officer of the Tarlington, waiting nearan electric light at the landing-pier, abreast of whichthe steamer was anchored in the stream, felt a weightof responsibility for the safe delivery of King Osmond,and was easier in mind when he saw a carriage haltwithin a few yards of him. The window framed thekindly features, the white mustache and imperial,which the chief officer instantly identified. Hasteningto assist His Majesty from the carriage, he announcedapologetically:

“Captain O’Shea sends his compliments and regretsthat he is detained on board. The ship isready as soon as you are.”

The king murmured a word or two of thanks.The chief officer carefully assisted him to board thetug, which speedily moved away from the pier andturned to run alongside the Tarlington. The importantpassenger mounted the steamer’s gangway andstood upon the shadowy deck, whose row of lightshad been purposely turned off lest his figure mightbe discernible from shore.

Captain O’Shea was waiting to get the ship underway. It was no time for ceremony. The businessof the moment was to head for the open sea, andbeyond the reach of the British law and its officers.A few minutes later, Captain O’Shea hastened aftto greet His Majesty and explain his failure to welcomehim on board. Meeting the chief officer, hehalted to ask:

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“Everything all right, Mr. Arbuthnot? Did heask for me? Did he give you any orders?”

“All satisfactory, sir. The king said he was verytired and would go to his rooms at once.”

“I wonder should I disturb him?” said O’Shea tohimself, hesitating. “’Tis not etiquette to breakinto his rest. Well, I will go back to the bridge andwait a bit. Maybe he will be sending for me. Myplace is with the pilot till the ship has poked herway past Gravesend and is clear of this muck ofup-river shipping.”

The Tarlington found a less crowded reach of theThames as she passed below Greenwich and her enginesbegan to shove her along at a rapid gait. Shehad almost picked up full speed and was fairlyheaded for blue water when the noise of loud andgrievous protests arose from the saloon deck. Thecommotion was so startling that O’Shea boundeddown from the bridge and was confronted by asmooth-shaven, slender, elderly man who flourisheda false mustache and imperial in his fist as heindignantly cried:

“I say, this is all wrong as sure as my name isThompson. I never bargained with Mr. GeorgeHuntley to be kidnapped and taken to sea. I don’twant to go, I tell you. These people tell me thatthis steamer is bound to some island or other thousandsof miles from here. I stand on my rights asan Englishman. I demand that I be taken back toLondon at once.”

O’Shea glared stupidly at the irate clerk so long177in the employ of Tavistock & Huntley. For oncethe resourceful shipmaster was utterly taken aback.He managed to say in a sort of quavering stagewhisper:

“For the love of heaven, what has become of thereal king? Who mislaid him? Where is he now?”

“I don’t know and I’m sure I don’t care,” bitterlyreturned the affrighted Thompson. “I was an assto consent to this make-believe job.”

“But how did you two kings get mixed?” groanedO’Shea. “You’re in the wrong ship. Have ye notsense enough to fathom that much? You were supposedto go aboard the Tyneshire Glen, ye oldblunderer.”

“The man who drove the carriage told me thiswas the Tyneshire Glen. I had to take his word forit. How was I to know one ship from the other inthe dark? I was told to pretend I was the genuineking, wasn’t I? So I played the part as well as Icould.”

“Ye played it right up to the hilt. My chiefofficer will vouch for that,” and O’Shea held hishead between his hands. He sent for Johnny Kentand briefly announced:

“We are shy one king, Johnny. The deal hasbeen switched on us somehow. Our boss was leftbehind.”

“Great sufferin’ Cæsar’s ghost, Cap’n Mike!”gasped the other. “Say it slow. Spell it out.Make signs if you’re choked up so that you can’ttalk plain.”

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“The real king went in the discard, Johnny.We’ve fetched the dummy to sea. The one thatcame aboard was the other one.”

“Then what in blazes became of our belovedKing Osmond the First?” cried Johnny.

“You can search me. Maybe his affectionate relativeshave their hooks in him by now and havestarted him on the road to the brain college.”

“It ain’t reasonable for us to keep on our coursefor Trinadaro without the boss,” suggested the chiefengineer. “This is his ship and cargo.”

This was so self-evident that Captain O’Sheaanswered never a word, but gave orders to let goan anchor and hold the ship in the river until furthernotice. Then he turned to glower at an excitedgroup of passengers who had mustered at thefoot of the bridge ladder and were loudly demandingthat he come down and talk to them. Theywere loyal subjects of the vanished monarch, hissecretaries, artisans, foremen, laborers, who ardentlydesired an explanation. They became more andmore insistent and threatened to resort to violenceunless the steamer instantly returned to London tofind King Osmond.

O’Shea gave them his word that he would notproceed to sea without the missing sovereign, andduring a brief lull in the excitement he thrust thebewildered Thompson, the masquerader, into thechart-room and pelted him with questions. Thelatter was positive that he had directed the cabmanto drive to the Tyneshire Glen. And the fellow was179particular to stop and ask his way when just insidethe entrance to the docks. At least, he had haltedhis cab to talk to some one who was apparently givinghim information. Thompson was unable to overhearthe conversation.

“And did ye get a look at this second party?”sharply queried O’Shea.

“The carriage lamp showed me his face for amoment, and I saw him less distinctly as he movedaway. He was a young man, well dressed, rather asmart-looking chap, I should say. I think he hadon a fancy red waistcoat.”

“Sandy complected? A brisk walker?” roaredO’Shea in tremendous tones.

“I am inclined to say the description fits theyoung man,” said Thompson.

“’Twas the crooked minister of finance, BaronFrederick Martin Strothers, bad luck to him!” andO’Shea looked blood-thirsty. “I will bet the shipagainst a cigar that he sold out to the enemy. Hestands in with the king’s wicked relatives andschemin’ lawyers. And we never fooled him for aminute. ’Tis likely he switched the real king to theTyneshire Glen, where the poor monarch would haveno friends to help him out of a scrape. Strothersbribed the cabmen—that’s how the trick was turned.Just how they got next to our plans I can’t fathomat all.”

“Then it is hopeless to try to secure the kingand transfer him to this steamer?” asked Thompson,easier in mind now that he comprehended thathe had not been purposely kidnapped.

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“Hopeless? By me sainted grandmother, it isnot hopeless at all,” cried Captain O’Shea as hefled from the chart-room. Johnny Kent had madeanother journey from the lower regions to seek enlightenment.O’Shea thumped him between theshoulders and confidently declaimed:

“We’re done with all this childish play-acting andstratagems. ’Tis not our kind of game. ’Twasdevised to spare the sensitive feeling of King Osmond,and this wide-awake Strothers has made monkeysof us. Now we’re going to turn around and steamback to London and grab this genuine king of oursand take him to sea without any more delay at all.”

“I like your language,” beamingly quoth JohnnyKent. “We’re about due to have a little violence,Cap’n Mike.”

While the good ship Tarlington swings about andretraces her course there is time to discover whatbefell the genuine Osmond I after he entered a carriageat the Hotel Carleton and set out to join CaptainO’Shea’s steamer.

He was rapidly driven to the East India Docksand the carriage drew up alongside the TyneshireGlen. The royal occupant had been informed byCaptain O’Shea that the ship would be out of thedocks by now and a tug waiting to transfer him.In the darkness the shadowy outline of one steamerlooked very like another, and King Osmond thoughtthat perhaps the plan of sailing might have beenchanged at the last moment.

The cabman strenuously assured him that thiswas the Tarlington, and he decided that he had181better go aboard and look for Captain O’Shea. Ifa mistake had been made, it should be an easy matterto find the landing-pier and the waiting tug.

No sooner had the king reached the deck thanhe was convinced that he had been directed to thewrong steamer. The people who stared at him wereutter strangers. There was not a subject of Trinadaroamong them, nor did any of the officers of theship step forward to greet him. He was about toaccost the nearest spectator when an officious mandressed in seedy black confronted him, flourished aformidable-appearing document under the royal nose,and pompously affirmed:

“A writ from the judge duly appointed and authorizedby the Lord Chancellor to take cognizance ofsuch cases, distraining Colonel Osmond GeorgeSydenham-Leach from attempting to quit the jurisdictionof said court pending an inquisition delunatico inquirendo. Take it calm and easy, sir.This won’t interfere with your liberty as long as youobey the writ.”

Another minion of the law, a fat man with a well-oiledvoice, thereupon formally took possession ofthe steamer, explaining that because clearance papershad been issued for a voyage to Trinadaro, the courtheld that a departure from England was actually andspeedily contemplated. The presence of ColonelSydenham-Leach on board in person was also evidenceafter the fact.

The blow was staggering, humiliating, incrediblypainful. It shook the amiable gentleman’s presence182of mind to the very foundations. To be interferedwith as an alleged madman was enough to bewilderthe most sapient monarch that ever wielded sceptre.As a landed proprietor, a retired officer of the militia,a Conservative in politics, King Osmond hadprofound respect for the law and the constitutionof his native land. He was not one to defy a judicialwrit or to grapple with the situation in a high-handedmanner. In other words, he was ratherColonel Sydenham-Leach in this cruel crisis thanthe sovereign ruler of the independent principalityof Trinadaro.

No help or comfort was to be obtained from thecompany around him. These spurious voyagersfrom the employment agency were whispering uneasilyamong themselves and regarding the unfortunateOsmond with suspicious glances. They hadnot bargained to entangle themselves in the affairsof an alleged lunatic on board of a ship which hadbeen seized in the name of the law. Ten shillingswas not enough for this sort of thing.

“It don’t look right to me,” said one of them.“The job is on the queer. I say we hook it beforethe bloomin’ bobbies come and put the lot of us injail.”

This sentiment expressed the general view of thesituation, and the counterfeit subjects of Trinadarobegan to flock down the gangway and scatter in ahunted manner among the gloomy warehouses.Presently Colonel Sydenham-Leach was left alonewith the two court officers. Recovering somewhat183of his composure and dignity, he declared that hemust consult with his legal advisers before consentingto leave the ship. He clung to the hope thatdelay might enable Captain O’Shea to come to hisrescue, although he was unwilling to try to send amessage to the Tarlington. This might reveal tothe officers of the law that the wrong ship had beendetained, and put them on the track of the rightone.

There was no legal reason why the luckless kingshould not remain in the Tyneshire Glen until hislawyers could come and confer with him, whereforethe captors grumblingly sat themselves down inthe cabin to wait. The king had nothing to say tothem. He was absorbed in his own unhappy reflections.His dreams had turned to ashes. His islandempire would know him not. He felt very oldand helpless, and sad.

Thus he sat and brooded for some time. Atlength he heard the sound of men tramping acrossthe deck above his head. He roused himself to lookin the direction of the door-way. A moment laterit framed the well-knit, active figure of CaptainMichael O’Shea. Behind him puffed stout JohnnyKent.

“’Twas a good guess, Your Majesty,” criedO’Shea. “We thought you might have gone adriftand fetched up aboard this old steamer. Who areyour two friends?”

“Officers from the bench of one of the judges in lunacy,”reluctantly admitted King Osmond. “They184have served distraining papers on me and on myship.”

“On this ship?” exclaimed Johnny Kent. “Howridiculous! What’ll we do with this pair of bailiffs,or whatever you call ’em, Cap’n Mike? Make ’emeat their documents?”

“No; we will take the two meddlers along withus,” sweetly answered O’Shea. “We can’t affordto leave them behind to tell how it happened.”

“But they have all the power and authority ofthe British government behind them,” spoke upKing Osmond.

“And they have a long voyage ahead of them,”said O’Shea. “Your Majesty can give them jobsin your own judicial department and they will growup with the country.”

“I cannot countenance such actions,” began theking, but Johnny Kent interrupted to remark withmuch vehemence:

“Excuse us, Your Majesty, but this ain’t no timefor arguments about the British constitution. Cap’nMike and me agreed to take you and your ship toTrinadaro. It was a contract, and we propose toearn our wages. If you won’t come easy and willin’,then we’ll just have to call a couple of our men fromthe boat that’s waiting alongside and escort you,anyhow. We aim to live up to our agreements.”

O’Shea wasted no more words. Suddenly graspingone of the court officers by the back of the neckand the slack of his garments, he propelled him rapidlytoward the deck, fiercely admonishing him to185make no outcry unless he wished to be tossed overboard.

The other man had started to flee, but JohnnyKent caught him in a few heavy strides, tucked himunder one mighty arm, clapped a hand over hismouth, and waddled with his burden to the nearestcargo port.

“Drop them into the boat,” commanded O’Shea.“Ahoy, there, below! Catch these two lads, and letthem make no noise.”

The astonished King Osmond had followed theabductors out of the cabin. Before he could renewthe discussion Captain O’Shea, breathing hard, butcalm and smiling, faced him with the courteousinvitation:

“After you, Your Majesty. We are at your service.A few minutes in the boat and you will beaboard the Tarlington and heading for the open sea.”

It was obviously so futile to protest that theking meekly descended to the boat, steadied by thehelping hand of Johnny Kent. The seamen shovedoff and O’Shea steered for the long black hull of thesteamer visible a few hundred yards down-stream.Unable to voice his confused emotions, the king sufferedhimself to be conducted up the gangway ofthe Tarlington.

His loyal subjects, the real ones, cheered franticallyat sight of him. It was an ovation worthy ofhis station. He bowed and smiled and was himselfa*gain. Already the recollection of his detention asa madman seemed less distressing.

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He felt the ship tremble under his feet as her enginesbegan to drive her toward the blessed seaand the long road to wave-washed Trinadaro. Hadit not been for the bold and ready conduct of histwo faithful mariners, he would now be a broken-spiritedold man in London, a butt of public ridicule.He went below to the state-rooms which hadbeen suitably fitted for his comfort and privacy, anddiscovered that he was greatly wearied.

Before retiring he sent one of his secretaries torequest Captain O’Shea and Johnny Kent to givehim the pleasure of their company at breakfast nextmorning.

“That makes me feel a bit more cheerful,” saidO’Shea to himself. “Maybe he has decided to forgiveus. We were guilty of high treason, disobedience,and a few other things, in packing him off tosea while he was trying to tell us he couldn’t go atall.”

The Tarlington was in blue water next morningwhen the captain and the chief engineer bashfullyentered the private dining-room of His Majesty.The latter greeted them with marked affability, andsaid:

“I take great pleasure, my dear friends, in conferringon you the insignia of the Grand Cross ofTrinadaro as a recognition of your invaluable loyaltyand assistance. You will be entitled to call yourselvesbarons of my realm by royal warrant. WhileI must confess that I could not ordinarily approveof such summary methods as you made use of——”

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“It looks different now that old England is droppingastern,” suggested O’Shea. “The British constitutiondoesn’t loom as big as it did. Your ownflag is at the mast-head, Your Majesty, and you canmake treaties if ye like. I thank you with all myheart for the reward you have given me.”

“It pleases me a heap more to be a member of thenobility of Trinadaro than to earn big wages for thevoyage,” warmly assented Johnny Kent. “I’ll bethe only life-size baron in my neck of the woodswhen I settle down on that farm in the State o’Maine, eh, Cap’n Mike?”

Freed of all anxieties and besetments, the royalpassenger resumed his labor of planning the occupationsof his subjects. His enthusiasm was delightfulto behold. He seemed to grow youngerwith every day of the voyage southward. His wasto be a kingdom of peace and good-will, of a benevolentruler and a contented, industrious people. Hewas the stanchest kind of a royalist, and Trinadarowas to be a constitutional monarchy with an aristocracywhich should be recruited after the pioneeringwork had been accomplished.

The relations between the king and his marinerstwain became those of pleasant intimacy. Theycame to know him much better during the long weeksat sea, and felt toward him an affectionate, tolerantrespect.

The ship had crossed the equator and was ploughingthrough the long blue surges of the South Atlanticwhen Captain O’Shea, after working out thenoon observations, informed the king:

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“A couple of days more and we’ll begin to lookfor a sight of the peaks of Trinadaro. If the weatherholds calm, we can begin to put the people and thecargo ashore right after that.”

“The peaks of Trinadaro!” fondly echoed OsmondI. “Do you know, Captain O’Shea, I have wonderedif you considered me a crack-brained old fool. Manymen in England think so, I am sure. I know thatmy relatives do.”

“’Tis my opinion that ye wish to make folks happyand that you will do no harm with your money,”was the reply. “And there’s few rich men that cansay the same. No; ’tis not crack-brained to wantto be a king. Power is what men desire, and theywill trample on others to get it. I have heard yetalk here on board ship, and I have admired whatyou had to say. You will live your own life in yourown way, but ye will not forget to make this islandof yours a place for men and women to call homeand to be glad that they have found it.”

“I thank you, Captain O’Shea,” said the other.“I cannot help thinking now and then of what willbe the fate of my principality when death comes tome. If I am spared for ten or fifteen years longer,I shall have time to set my affairs in order, to makeTrinadaro self-sustaining, to win the recognition offoreign governments, to arrange for an administrationto succeed my reign.”

“May you live to be a king until you are a hundred!”cried O’Shea. “And a man who is as happyand contented as you are is pretty sure of a ripeold age.”

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“I hope that you and Mr. Kent will consent tosail under my flag as long as I live,” earnestly saidthe king. “I have learned to depend on you, andI need not tell you that the financial arrangementwill be more favorable than you could make elsewhere.”

“We have no notion of quitting your service,”replied O’Shea, with a smile. “’Tis up to us to seethe kingdom fairly under way before we turn roversagain.”

It was early in the morning of the second dayafter this when the officer on watch roused CaptainO’Shea with the news that land had been sightedon the starboard bow. The master of the Tarlingtonstared through his binoculars and saw a black, jaggedforeland of rock lifting from the sea. He sent wordto the passengers that Trinadaro lay ahead of them.

King Osmond had left word that he was to becalled whenever the first glimpse of his island shouldbe revealed. But he came not to the bridge in responseto the message from Captain O’Shea. In hisstead appeared his physician, with a demeanor terriblydistressed. His voice was unsteady as hesaid:

“It is my sad duty to inform you that His Majestypassed away some time during the night. His heartsimply ceased to beat. It had been somewhat feebleand irregular of late, but the symptoms were notalarming. His strength was overtaxed during thoselast weeks in London.”

O’Shea bared his head and stood silent. The announcement190was very hard to believe. Pulling himselftogether, he murmured to the chief officer:

“The king is dead. Please set the flag of Trinadaroat half-mast.”

As soon as the word was passed down to the engine-roomJohnny Kent sought the bridge and his eyesfilled with tears as he exclaimed:

“It don’t seem right, Cap’n Mike. I ain’t reconciledto it one mite. He deserved to have what hewanted.”

“Yes, he had slipped his cable, Johnny. Thereare cruel tricks in this game of life.”

“What will you do now?”

“I have had no time to think. But one thing iscertain. I will carry King Osmond to his island,and there we will bury him. ’Tis the one place inall the world where he would want to rest. Andthe peaks of Trinadaro will guard him, and the bigbreakers will sing anthems for him, and he will bethe king there till the Judgment Day.”

The Tarlington slowly approached the precipitouscoast-line and changed her course to pass around tothe lee of the island. As the deeply indented shoreopened to view, and one bold headland after anotherslid by, a comparatively sheltered anchoragewas disclosed.

There, to the amazement of Captain O’Shea, rodetwo small cruisers. One of them flew the red ensignof England, the other the green and yellow colors ofthe navy of Brazil. He guessed their errand beforea British lieutenant came alongside the Tarlington191in a steam-launch and climbed the gangway whichhad been dropped to receive him.

Gazing curiously at the silent company and thehalf-masted flag of Trinadaro, he was conducted intothe saloon, where Captain O’Shea waited for him tostate his business.

“This steamer belongs to Colonel Sydenham-Leach,I presume,” said the visitor. “I should liketo see him, if you please. Sorry, but I have unpleasantnews for him.”

“If it is King Osmond of Trinadaro ye mean, heis dead, God rest his soul! He went out last night.”

“You don’t say! Please express my sympathyto the ship’s company,” exclaimed the lieutenant.“How extraordinary! We received orders by cableat Rio to proceed to Trinadaro in time to interceptthis vessel of yours.”

“And what were the orders, and why is that Brazilianman-of-war anchored alongside of you?” askedO’Shea.

“It is all about the ownership of the island,” thelieutenant explained. “Nobody wanted it for centuries,and now everybody seems keen on gettinghold of it. The English government suddenly decided,after you sailed from London, that it mightneed Trinadaro as a landing-base for a new cablebetween South America and Africa, and sent us tohoist the flag over the place. Brazil heard of theaffair and sent a ship to set up a claim on the basis ofan early discovery. The Portuguese have presentedtheir evidence, I believe, because their people made192some kind of a settlement at Trinadaro once upona time.”

“And the forsaken island was totally forgottenuntil poor King Osmond got himself and his projectinto the newspapers,” slowly commented O’Shea.

“That is the truth of the matter, I fancy.” Thenaval lieutenant paused, and commiseration wasstrongly reflected in his manly face. “Tell me,”said he, “what was the opinion at home about thisKing of Trinadaro? He was a bit mad, I take it.”

“No more than you or me,” answered O’Shea.“He had a beautiful dream, and it made him veryhappy, but it was not his fate to see it come true.And no doubt it is better that he did not live toknow that the scheme was ruined. His island hasbeen taken away from him. It will be wrangled overby England and Brazil and the rest of them, andthere is no room for a king that hoped to enjoyhimself in his own way. The world has no placefor a man like Colonel Osmond George Sydenham-Leach,my dear sir.”

“Too bad!” sighed the lieutenant. “And whatare your plans, Captain O’Shea? Do you intend tomake any formal claim in behalf of the late king?”

“No. His dreams died with him. There is noheir to the throne. I’m thankful that his finishwas so bright and hopeful. There will be funeralservices and a burial to-morrow. I should take it asa great favor if detachments from the British cruiserand the Brazilian war-vessel could be present.”

“I will attend to it,” said the lieutenant.

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When the coffin of King Osmond I was carriedashore it was draped with the flag of Trinadaro,which he himself had designed. Launches from thetwo cruisers towed sailing-cutters filled with bluejackets,who splashed through the surf and formedin column led by the bugles and the muffled drums.The parade wound along the narrow valleys andclimbed to the plateau on which the ruler hadplanned to build his capital.

There the first and last King of Trinadaro was laidto rest, and the guns of the cruisers thundered arequiem. The British lieutenant counted the gunsand turned to Captain O’Shea to say:

“It is the salute given only to royalty, accordingto the navy regulations. It is the least we can do forhim.”

“And it is handsomely done,” muttered the gratefulO’Shea as he brushed his hand across his eyes.

“Will you take your ship back to England?”

“Yes. I can do nothing else. ’Twill be a sadvoyage, but God knows best. As it all turned out,this king of ours had to die to win his kingdom.”

When the mourners had returned to the Tarlington,Captain O’Shea and Johnny Kent went intothe chart-room and talked together for some time.At length the simple-hearted chief engineer saidwith a wistful smile:

“I’m glad we stood by and did what we could forhim, ain’t you, Cap’n Mike?”

“You bet I am, Johnny. He was a good man, andI loved him. Here’s to His Majesty, King Osmond194of Trinadaro! Even the pair of court officers wekidnapped had come to be fond of him and wishedhim no harm. There may be trouble waiting for usin London River on account of them and the shipthat took out no clearances. But we will face themusic. ’Tis not much to do for him that was sogood to us.”

“Right you are, Cap’n Mike; but do you supposewe’ll go to jail?”

“No; for the blame will be laid to poor KingOsmond, and the law will hold him responsible forthe acts of his agents. But we would not mindgoing to jail for him.”

“Well, anyhow, they can never take his kingdomaway from him,” softly quoth Johnny Kent.

Fifteen years ago the crack Atlantic liners wereno larger than ten thousand tons. Some of themare still in service, safe and comfortable ships, quitefast enough for the traveller who is not bitten withspeed madness. When the Alsatian of the InternationalLine was new she attracted as much attentionas one of the monsters of to-day with its length ofalmost a fifth of a mile and horse-power to staggerthe imagination.

As she rode at anchor in the Mersey on a certainsailing day in March, spick-and-span with freshpaint, brasswork sparkling in the sunshine, flagssnapping in the breeze, the Alsatian was a handsomepicture to greet the passengers who arrived inthe special train from London and were transferredon board in the paddle-wheel tender. There werefewer than a hundred of them in the first cabin, forthe season of the year was between high tides oftravel east and west.

It was a tradition of the International Line thatit* steamers should sail precisely on the stroke ofthe hour appointed. More than five minutes’ delaywas viewed by the port superintendents in Liverpooland New York as a nautical crime. Therefore196when noon came and there was none of the activityof departure, the passengers were curious. A loquaciousyoung man, of the noisy breed which makesthe English say unkind things about American tourists,ordered another co*cktail of the smoking-roomsteward and pettishly exclaimed:

“This right-on-the-minute business is all a bluff.The gangway hasn’t been hoisted and the tender isstill alongside. This ship is nowhere near ready tostart. Slow country—slow people, these Britishers.We can show ’em a few things, bet your life.”

A nervous, thin-faced gentleman who had beenfidgeting between the deck and the smoking-roomdoor chimed in to say:

“Confound it, I hate to be behind time! I can’tstand it! What’s the matter with this steamer?Why don’t the officers tell us something?”

Several passengers listened deferentially to thisjerky protest. The speaker was immensely, notoriouslyrich, and, although dyspepsia had playedhob with his internal workings, and his temper waschronically on edge, he was an enviable personagein the eyes of many American citizens. Whetherhe toiled or loafed, his millions were working nightand day to earn more millions for him. It couldmake no essential difference under heaven at whathour the Alsatian should carry him out of Liverpool,for he could not be happy anywhere; but the delaymade him acutely miserable.

An old man with kindly, scrutinizing eyes laiddown his cigar to comment:

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“My dear sir, I crossed the ocean in a sailing-packetsome forty-odd years ago, and we anchoredin the channel two weeks waiting for a fair wind,and were fifty-seven days to Sandy Hook.”

“Times have changed, thank God!” snapped thegreat Jenkins P. Chase, of the bankrupt digestion.

“And changed not altogether for the better whenit comes to all this fuss and clatter to get somewhereelse in a hurry, my friend. It is a national disease,”was the smiling, tolerant reply.

Jenkins P. Chase glanced at his watch, mutteredsomething, and darted on deck as if a bee had stunghim.

“Bet you the drinks he’s gone to find the captainand blow him up,” admiringly cried the loquaciousyoung man. “If Jenkins P. Chase gets his danderup he’s liable to buy the ship and the whole blamedline and run it to suit himself. He is the originallive-wire. Most wonderful man in the little oldUnited States.”

In a rather secluded corner of the smoking-roomsat two passengers who had taken no part in thegeneral conversation. One might have suspectedthat all this fuss over a belated sailing caused themmild amusem*nt. The younger was of a cast offeatures unmistakably Irish, with the combinationof pugnacity and humor so often discernible in menof that blood.

His companion was ruddy and big-bodied, hishair and mustache well frosted by time. Said thelatter, after due reflection:

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“Hurry has killed a whole lot of people, Cap’nMike. What’s the matter with these peevish gents,anyhow? The company is givin’ them their boardand they’re as comfortable as lords. I don’t careif the steamer lays in port a week.”

“That Jenkins P. Chase is a horrible example,Johnny,” quoth Captain Michael O’Shea. “’Tishis habit to go flyin’ about, and there is no rest forhim anywhere. If ye accumulate too much money,you may get that way yourself.”

“I ain’t got a symptom,” said improvident oldJohnny Kent. “I’ve learned, for one thing, thatit’s poor business to try to hurry the sea. A shipmust bide her time and sail when she’s ready.”

“But what ails this one, I wonder?” queriedCaptain O’Shea. “I mistrust something is wrong.The skipper of her, and a grand man he is, with hisgold buttons and all, he went below a while ago,Johnny, and he has not come back.”

They strolled outside, and being seafaring menof wide experience, found significance in trifles whichwould have meant little or nothing to a landsman.This was no ordinary delay. The whole complex organizationof the liner was disturbed.

“There is trouble amongst the crew,” observedO’Shea. Johnny Kent halted near an engine-roomskylight and co*cked his head to listen.

“The trouble is in this department,” said he.

Presently a tug-boat hastily cast off from thenearest quay and churned her way out to the Alsatian.A dozen Liverpool policemen scrambled199aboard the liner and vanished between-decks. Fromthe depths below the water-line arose a hubbub ofoaths and shouts.

A few minutes later two policemen reappeareddragging between them to the gangway a shock-headed,muscular fellow in blue dungarees. Althoughhe made no resistance, they handled him roughlyand he was expeditiously handcuffed to a stanchionon the deck of the tug. Immediately thereafter thesounds of disturbance down below increased inviolence, and swarming up ladders and throughpassageways came a sooty, greasy crowd of stokers,trimmers, and coal-passers.

Scrambling on board the tug, and taking her bystorm, they voiced their opinions of the Alsatian andthe International Line in language which caused thefeminine passengers to clap their hands to their earsand flee from the rail.

A junior officer with whom Captain O’Shea hadscraped acquaintance halted to explain, in passing:

“The blackguards went on strike for more payand recognition of their union. The companypatched up the trouble yesterday, but the beggarswere stirred up again this morning by the chap thebobbies put the irons on. He persuaded them tokick up a rumpus just before sailing-time.”

“If they have signed articles, ’tis more like amutiny than a strike,” observed O’Shea.

“They know that right enough,” said the officer,“but they don’t seem to care whether they arejugged for it or not. It’s an incident of the general200labor trouble in this port, I presume. The longshoremen’sstrike is not settled yet, you know.”

“And what will ye do for a fire-room gang?”O’Shea asked him. “There was near a hundred andfifty of them that quit just now.”

“Hanged if I know,” sighed the officer as he walkedaway.

The tug was black with the mob of strikers, whowere packed wherever they could find standing-room.The police could do nothing with them, and the distractedskipper of the tug decided to make for aquay and get rid of his riotous cargo. The passengersof the Alsatian surmised that sailing-day mightbe indefinitely postponed and they bombarded theofficers with excited demands for information. CaptainO’Shea and Johnny Kent, philosophers of sorts,viewed the situation with good-natured composure,and were more interested in the summons to thedining-saloon for luncheon than in the strike of thefire-room gang.

“As long as I get three square meals per day anda dry bunk I ain’t especially uneasy about anything,”remarked Johnny Kent as he fondly scannedthe elaborate menu card.

“Same here,” replied O’Shea. “But that jumpygentleman, Jenkins P. Chase, must be throwingassorted fits by this time.”

Facing them across the table was a blond, spectacledman with a small, pointed beard, his appearancenotably studious and precise. Although hespoke English with cultivated ease and fluency, the201ear detected certain shades and intonations to indicatethat he was a German by birth. He wasaffable to his neighbors at table and courteous tothe steward who waited on him. Garrulous, sociableJohnny Kent found him companionable, and venturedto inquire:

“Your first trip to America? Business or pleasure?”

“Both. I shall interest myself in studying scientificeducation in the United States. I am a chemistby profession, and also a lecturer on the subjectbefore the classes of a university. Yes, it is myfirst voyage to your wonderful country. Tell me,please, have you met the famous Professor Crittenden,of Baltimore?”

Johnny Kent was about to proclaim that as aseafaring man he was not in touch with scientists,but O’Shea, to prevent any such disclosure, kickedhim on the shin as a reminder that he was toeschew personalities. It was not discreet to advertisethemselves and their affairs in the mixed companyof the Atlantic liner. O’Shea was aware thatif Johnny Kent should once begin yarning about hisadventures it would be like pulling the cork from anoverturned jug.

The marine engineer blushed guiltily, bent overto rub his bruised shin, and briefly assured theblond scientist that he had not been lucky enoughto meet the distinguished Professor Crittenden, ofBaltimore.

“I was only last night reading his masterly paper202on ‘The Action of Diazobenzene Sulphonic Acid onThymine, Uracil, and Cytosine,’” politely returnedthe other. “It is as brilliant as his discussion ofimidechlorides.”

Johnny Kent threw up an arm as if to ward off ablow.

“If one of those words had hit me plumb andsquare, it would have jolted me out of my chair!”he exclaimed. “I could feel the wind of ’em.”

The studious stranger smiled and apologized fortalking shop.

“Those strikers—will the company be able tofill their places?” said he, addressing O’Shea.

“Perhaps a crew can be scraped up ashore. Ifnot, we will have to shift to another steamer. Firemenare an ugly, cross-tempered lot to handle, soI am told.”

“Have you been much on the ocean? Do youknow much about ships?”

“I have made a voyage or two as a passenger,”O’Shea assured him. “’Tis a hard life in the stoke-holeof a big steamer, I imagine.”

The scientist returned emphatically:

“I have no sympathy with them; none whatever.Lacking intelligence, fitness, they must labor forthose who have earned or won the right to rulethem.”

“’Tis your opinion that might makes right?” spokeup O’Shea.

“Always, everywhere!” declared the scientist.“The mind is the man. The founders of your203government proclaimed the fallacy that all men areequal, but your strong men know better, and theyride and exploit your masses.”

“It’s the best country God ever made,” criedJohnny Kent with some heat.

“I beg your pardon”; and the chemist bowed.“It was a rudeness for me to speak so.”

As they left the table he gave them his card witha touch of formality, and they discovered that hisname was Professor Ernst Wilhelm Vonderholtz.

Three hours later the passengers were notified thatthe Alsatian would be ready to sail next morning.It was learned that the company had been able torecruit an unexpectedly large number of unemployedfiremen among the boarding-houses and taverns ofthe Liverpool water-front. They were willing totake the places of the strikers, and it was hopedthat the liner could be sent to sea with a fairlycomplete complement of men. Apparently thestrikers had been poorly advised and led, for theywere beaten with no great inconvenience to themanagement of the company.

As soon as the Alsatian had lifted anchor and wassteaming out of the Mersey the passengers ceasedgrumbling, and settled into the comfortable, somnolentroutine of a modern transatlantic voyage. Aparty of poker-players mobilized in the smoking-room.The ladies reclined all in a row in theirsteamer-chairs on the lee side of the deck, like somany shawl-wrapped mummies. The spoiled Americanchild whanged the life out of the long-suffering204piano in the music-room. A few conscientious personsundertook to walk so many miles around thedeck each day. There was much random conversation,a spice of flirtation, and a vast deal of eatingand sleeping. That hectoring gentleman JenkinsP. Chase spent most of the time in his own rooms,where he was ministered to by his physician, hissecretary, and his valet.

Captain O’Shea and Johnny Kent enjoyed theluxury of such a voyage as this. There was noresponsibility to burden them on the bridge or inthe engine-room. No one guessed that they wereuncommonly capable mariners, accustomed to command.Professor Ernst Wilhelm Vonderholtz seemedto find their company congenial, and tried to makethem talk about themselves. His curiosity waspolitely dissembled, but O’Shea took note of it andbuilt up an elaborate fiction to the effect that hewas a pavement contractor in New York withfriends at Tammany Hall, while Johnny Kent foundgenuine satisfaction in posing as a retired farmerfrom the State of Maine. It occurred to O’Sheato remark to his comrade as they were undressingin their room on the second night at sea:

“The chemical professor suspects we are not whatwe seem. And he is anxious to fathom us.”

“Oh, pooh! He’s one of them high and loftythinkers that wouldn’t bother his head about ignorant,every-day cusses like us,” sleepily repliedJohnny Kent as he kicked off his shoes.

“You fool yourself,” and O’Shea spoke with decision.205“He is full of big words and things that Ido not pretend to understand at all, but he is notwrapped up in them entirely, like most of the professorsand such. There is a pair of keen eyes behindthose gold-rimmed spectacles of his, Johnny,and he is not missing anything that goes on.”

“I take notice that he ain’t overlookin’ that handsomeschool-teacher that’s been studyin’ abroad fora year. His eyes are sharp enough to sight herwhenever she comes on deck. And she ain’t hostileto him, either.”

“I grant ye that, you sentimental old pirate,”said O’Shea, “but I am not a match-maker, and’tis no concern of mine. What I am wonderingis whether the man is really a university professorbent on ‘investigating the scientific education of theUnited States.’”

“You’re welcome to sit up and hatch mysteriesby yourself,” grumbled the other. “I want to goto sleep. What’s the clew to all this, Cap’n Mike?What makes you so darned suspicious?”

“’Tis no more than a hunch, Johnny. I’m Irish,and my people feel things in the air. We don’t haveto be told. This Professor Ernst Wilhelm Vonderholtzdoes not ring true. There is a flaw in himsomewhere.”

“Well, we’re sort of travellers in disguise ourselves,ain’t we, Cap’n Mike? I feel plumb full of false pretences.The pot calls the kettle black. How aboutthat?”

“’Tis our own business,” snapped O’Shea.

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“So is his,” briefly concluded Johnny Kent as hecrawled into the bunk. No more than five minuteslater he was snoring with the rhythm and volumeof a whistling buoy in a swinging sea. O’Shea layawake for some time, trying to fit his uneasy surmisestogether, or to toss them aside as so muchrubbish. He had not heard the banshee cry, buta vague conjecture had fastened itself in his mindthat something was fated to go wrong with this voyageof the Alsatian. And without tangible cause orreason, he found this foreboding interwoven withthe presence on board of the affable, mild-mannered,studious Professor Ernst Wilhelm Vonderholtz.

Sailormen are notably superstitious, and O’Sheahad been schooled to beware of cross-eyed Finns inthe forecastle and black cats in the cabin. Butsurely no tradition of the sea held it an ill omen tohave on board a blond scientist with gold-rimmedspectacles and a well-cut beard who was seekinginformation among the technical schools and universitiesof the United States.

“He has it in his head that Johnny Kent and Iare seafarin’ men by trade, and he wants to makesure of it for some reason of his own,” reflectedO’Shea. “It has strained me imagination to lie tohim and get away with it. As for Johnny, he wouldrather talk farming than anything else in the world,so he will pass for a genuine hayseed in any company.”

They were deprived of the pleasant society ofProfessor Vonderholtz next day, for he boldly monopolized207the school-teacher, Miss Jenness, whoseemed not in the least bored by his assiduous attentions.Elderly ladies watched them with openinterest, and diagnosed it as one of those swift andabsorbing steamship romances.

For three days out of Liverpool the Alsatianmoved uneventfully over the face of the waters.The weather was bright, the sea smooth. Thescratch crew of firemen toiled faithfully in the torridcaverns far below, and the mighty engines throbbedunceasingly to whirl the twin screws that pushedthe foaming miles astern. On the bridge the captainand his officers went cheerfully about theirtasks, thankful for clear skies and a good day’srun.

It was after midnight, and the Alsatian was inmid-ocean, when a few of the first-cabin passengersheard what sounded to their drowsy ears like severalpistol shots. There are many noises aboard asteamship that are unfamiliar to the landsman.Excepting Captain O’Shea and Johnny Kent, suchof the passengers as had been awakened paid solittle heed to the sounds that they soon went tosleep again.

The two seafarers slumbered lightly, as is the habitof men used to turning out to stand watch. Andthey were not likely to mistake the report of a revolverfor any sound to be expected in the routineof things on shipboard. O’Shea leaned over fromthe upper berth and asked in low tones:

“Are ye awake, Johnny?”

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“Sure I am. Did you hear the rumpus?”

“Yes. At first I thought I was dreaming wewere aboard the old Fearless with Jiminez, the bigblack nigg*r from Venezuela, taking pot shots at me.What did ye make of it? It sounded like prettylively gun-play to me.”

“It wasn’t no ordinary sailors’ fracas,” hoarselywhispered Johnny Kent. “Several of those shotswas fired for’ard, and others came from below,about amidships. We heard ’em through the bulkheads.”

“And there was some running to and fro on deck,”said O’Shea, “by men with no shoes on. I heardtheir bare feet slapping the planks over me head.”

“We haven’t been boarded by pirates, and, anyhow,pirates are out of date in the Atlantic trade,Cap’n Mike. The ship hasn’t stopped. It wouldhave waked me in a jiffy if her engines had quitpoundin’ along, even for a minute.”

“I thought I heard yells, faint and far away, frommen in trouble, but ’tis all quiet now, Johnny.”

“Too darn quiet. The vessel has slowed down atrifle, by six or eight revolutions, but she’s joggin’along all serene. Shall we take a turn on deck andlook around?”

They moved quietly into the long passagewaywhich led to the main saloon staircase. Ascendingthis, they crossed the large lounging-hall to thenearest exit to the promenade deck. As was customary,the heavy storm-door had been closed forthe night. It was never locked in good weather,209however, and O’Shea turned the brass knob to thrustit open. The door withstood his effort, and he puthis shoulder against it in vain.

“’Tis fastened on the outside,” he muttered toJohnny Kent. “We are cooped up, and for what?”

“Try the door on the starboard side of the hall,”suggested the engineer. “Maybe this one gotjammed accidental.”

They crossed the hall and hammered against theother door with no better success. The situationdisturbed them. They gazed at each other in silence.O’Shea went to one of the bull’s-eye windows andpeered outside. The steamer was snoring steadilythrough the quiet sea, and he could discern thecrests of the waves as they broke, flashed white,and slid past. The electric lights on deck had beenextinguished, but presently a figure passed rapidlyand was visible for an instant in the shaft of lightfrom one of the saloon passageways. O’Shea hada glimpse of the blue uniform and gilt braid of aship’s officer.

“I wish I could ask him a question or two,” saidO’Shea. “Let us try to break out somewhere else.Now that we seem to be locked in, I am obstinateenough to keep on trying.”

They made a tour of the halls, bulkhead passages,and alleys, seeking every place of egress from thefirst-class quarters. Every door had been closedand fastened from the other side. A steward wassupposed to be on watch to answer the electric bellsin the state-rooms, but he could not be found.210There was no one to interview, no way of gaininginformation.

The cabin superstructure and partition walls wereof steel. The brass-bound ports or windows weretoo small for a grown man to wriggle through. Thepassengers were as effectually confined within theirown part of the ship as if they had been locked ina penitentiary. There was no means of communicatingwith the ship’s officers.

It seemed useless to awaken the other passengersand inform them of this singular discovery. Therewould be nothing but confusion, futile argument,and excitement.

“Maybe the skipper decided to lock us in everynight,” hopefully suggested Johnny Kent. “If someaddle-headed gent with a habit of walkin’ in hissleep should prance overboard, the company mightbe liable for heavy damages.”

“Nonsense! There are strange doings aboard thisfine, elegant steamer,” sharply returned O’Shea.“’Tis too big for me. We will roll into our bunkstill morning. I will lose me sleep for no man.”

When Johnny Kent awoke blinking and yawning,Captain O’Shea was standing in front of the openport through which the morning wind gushed cooland sweet. The sun had lifted above the horizonand the sea was bathed in rosy radiance. The aspectof the sunrise seemed to fascinate Captain O’Shea,but his emotion was rather amazement than admiration.With a strong ejacul*tion he whirled about toshout at his comrade:

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“Do ye notice it, you sleepy old grampus? Doesit look wrong to you?”

O’Shea was dancing with excitement as he turnedagain to stare at the cloudless sun and smiling sea.Johnny Kent thought to humor him and amiablymurmured:

“She always comes up in the mornin’ regular asa clock, Cap’n Mike, and I guess she always will.Ain’t she on time, or what’s the matter withher?”

“The sun is where it belongs,” cried O’Shea, “butthis ship is not. Her course has been shifted duringthe night. Man, we are not on the great circle courseto New York at all. The steamer has gone mad.We are running due south to fetch to the west’ard ofthe Azores.”

“You don’t say!” exclaimed the engineer. “Thatsounds perfectly ridiculous. I guess I’d better puton my breeches and take a promenade. I wonderdo we get any breakfast in this crazy packet?”

The first passenger encountered was Jenkins P.Chase, whose morning task it was to walk brisklyaround the deck, by order of his physician, beforethe other voyagers were astir. His steward hadfailed to appear with the dry toast and coffee requiredto fortify his system for this healthful exercise,and he was in a savage temper as he sputteredat O’Shea:

“What infernal nonsense is this? I can’t find asteward or an officer. The service is rotten, it’spositively damnable. And I can’t go on deck.212Every door is locked. I’ll make it hot for the captain.”

“’Tis my advice to sit tight and take it easy, Mr.Chase,” soothingly returned O’Shea. “I am afraidthe captain has troubles of his own this morning.”

“What do you mean? What do you know aboutit? Who the devil are you? Do you think I haveno influence with the management of this miserablesteamship company?”

“’Tis a long, wet walk from here to the company’soffices,” said O’Shea with an amused smile. “Youare a tremendous man ashore, no doubt. I haveread about ye in the newspapers. But unless Iguess wrong, you will take your medicine with therest of us.”

Mr. Jenkins P. Chase bolted down the staircaseinto the spacious dining-saloon. For lack of anythingbetter to do, O’Shea and Johnny Kent followedhim. The tables had been set overnight, butat this hour of the morning stewards should havebeen wiping down paint, cleaning brasswork, orgetting ready to serve breakfast. The room wassilent and deserted.

Jenkins P. Chase halted abruptly and his handswent out in a nervous, puzzled gesture. O’Sheabrushed past him and advanced along an aisle betweenthe tables to the galley or kitchen doors atthe farther end of the saloon. These, too, werelocked, but he could hear the rattle of pans and potsand a sound of voices, as if the cooks had begun theday’s work.

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“That is the first cheerful symptom,” he said tohimself. “The news will put heart into JohnnyKent, though I wish there were more indications ofcirculatin’ the grub among the passengers.”

The dictatorial manner of Jenkins P. Chase hadbecome oddly subdued.

“You said we must take our medicine?” he remarkedto O’Shea. “For God’s sake, what is wrongwith this ship?”

“I know very little, my dear man. We werelocked in during the night, clapped under hatches,as the saying is. And the course of the vessel wasaltered to head her for the South Atlantic insteadof the Newfoundland Banks.”

“But nothing of the sort could possibly happenon a steamer like the Alsatian,” protested Mr.Chase. “I mean to say there could be no blood-and-thunderbusiness on an Atlantic liner.”

“A lot of things have happened at sea that wereperfectly impossible,” gravely spoke Johnny Kent.

As if the mystery had communicated itself in somesubtle, telepathic fashion, the passengers began toappear from their state-rooms at an earlier hourthan usual. Unable to go on deck, they congregatedin the halls, the library, and the parlor. Rumorspread swiftly and intense uneasiness pervadedthe company. For some inscrutable reason they hadbeen made prisoners. This much was evident. Therealization inspired a feeling akin to panic. Angrydenunciation, with not a solitary member of theship’s crew discoverable, sounded rather foolish.214The men loudest in airing their opinions soon subsidedand eyed one another in a mood of glum bewilderment.One or two women laughed hysterically.

Captain O’Shea looked about to find that friendlyscientist Professor Ernst Wilhelm Vonderholtz, whowas usually ready with a cordial morning greeting.He was not among the assembled passengers.Presumably he was still in his state-room. A fewminutes after this O’Shea found occasion to strollpast the professor’s door, which stood open. Theroom was empty.

Inexplicably, persistently, the personality of theblond scientist had linked itself with O’Shea’sstrange sense of foreboding. He decided to investigatethe empty state-room, for he observed at oncethat the bedding had not been disarranged in eitherberth.

“Nobody slept in here last night,” said O’Sheato himself.

The room contained no luggage, and no personaleffects excepting several articles of discarded clothing.O’Shea picked up a coat and examined it curiously.The pockets were empty, but he made aninteresting discovery. The label stitched inside thecollar bore the name of a well-known ready-madeclothing firm of Broadway, New York.

“And he told us it was his first trip to our wonderfulcountry,” was O’Shea’s comment. “As aliar he has me beaten both ways from the jack.”

He resumed his careful investigation of the room,215and was rewarded by discovering a pair of gold-rimmedspectacles on the floor beneath the lowerberth, where they must have been purposely tossedaside. It was reasonable to conclude that the ownerhad no more use for them.

“The bird has flown,” soliloquized O’Shea, gazinghard at the spectacles and handling them rathergingerly, as if they might be bewitched. “He couldn’tfly overboard. Anyhow, he didn’t. I’ll bet me headon that. And he has not eloped with the black-eyedschool-teacher, for I saw her in the library justnow. And where would they elope to? He mustbe still in the ship.”

In a very thoughtful mood he returned to themain staircase, where Johnny Kent was hopefullypeering in the direction of the dining-saloon.

“There’s something doin’ down there,” announcedthe engineer. “The doors were shut and boltedfrom the inside a few minutes ago. Maybe they’llopen again pretty soon and the bell will ring forgrub.”

“Forget that awful appetite and listen to me,”exclaimed O’Shea. “The professor has vanishedentirely.”

“Committed suicide, you suppose? If he reallyfell in love with the school-teacher, it’s not unlikely,Cap’n Mike. It takes ’em that way sometimes.I’ve felt like it myself once or twice.”

“If he jumped overboard, he took his baggagewith him. And he had a couple of hand-bags whenhe came on board, for I saw them. ’Tis more likely216the divil flew away with him. Here’s his spectacles.He left them behind. I tell ye, Johnny Kent, andyou may laugh at me all ye like, for you are a mucholder man than me, and you ought to be wiser,which you are not—that chemical gentleman wasnot as mild and nice as he made out. His eye wasbad. And he has brought trouble to this ship.Where is he now? Can ye answer that?”

“One of those revolver bullets may have perforatedhim while he was strollin’ on deck andfigurin’ out some new problems in chemistry.”

“Your language is a clean waste of words,” admonishedO’Shea. “’Tis me rash intention to interviewthe school-teacher, Miss Jenness. She knowsmore about the professor than the rest of us. Thisis no joke of a predicament we are in, ye can takemy word for it.”

Miss Jenness was to be discerned, at a casualglance, as a young woman with a mind of her own.The bold O’Shea approached her timidly, his courageoozing. Her black eyes surveyed him coldlyand critically and made him feel as though his feetwere several sizes too large.

“I beg pardon,” he stammered, “but have yeheard that the professor is missing?”

Surprise and alarm drove the color from her face.Evidently the tidings came as a shock to her. Herperturbation failed wholly to convince O’Shea thatshe could furnish no clew to the mystery. One questionshould have leaped swiftly to her lips. It wasthe one question to ask. Was it supposed that217Professor Vonderholtz had committed suicide byleaping overboard? Captain O’Shea waited for herto say something of the sort. She sat pale and silent.The dark, handsome, matured young woman baffledhim. He felt that he was no match for her.

“’Tis not a case of suicide, Miss Jenness,” said he.

“Then what is it, may I ask?” she replied in eventones.

O’Shea sat down beside her and spoke in thecaressing, blarneying way which he had used toadvantage in his time.

“As the most charming girl in the ship, ’twasquite natural for the professor to be nice to you,Miss Jenness. He is a man of taste and intelligence.Now ’tis apparent that something most extraordinaryhas happened aboard this liner. She is beingnavigated to parts unknown, and we are helpless toprevent it. ’Tis a wholesale abduction, as ye mightsay. Professor Vonderholtz disappears at the sametime, bag and baggage, leaving his gold spectaclesas a souvenir. What do you know about him, ifyou please? Did he drop any hints to you?”

The girl bit her lip and strove to hide an agitationwhich made her hands tremble so that she lockedthem in her lap.

“What should I know about him?” she demandedwith a sudden blaze of anger, as if resenting thequestions as grossly impertinent. “Why do youcome to me? As a travelling acquaintance, ProfessorVonderholtz did not take me into his confidence.Are you sure he is not in the steamer?”

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“I am quite sure he is still in the steamer, MissJenness. For my part, I wish he was overboard,”grimly answered O’Shea.

“Then why all this commotion about him?” sheasked.

“Are you sure he gave you no impression that hewas not a university professor at all, but anotherkind of man entirely?” stubbornly pursued O’Shea.

“I did not discuss his profession. Chemistrydoes not interest me,” was her icily dignified answer.“If you must know, we talked about books we hadread and places we had visited. Professor Vonderholtzis delightfully cosmopolitan and knows how tomake himself interesting.”

“I am not making much headway with you,”sighed O’Shea. “Never mind. It will astonish ye,no doubt, and you will be very angry if I make aguess that you and Professor Vonderholtz kneweach other before you met on the deck of the Alsatian.And ’tis more than a casual acquaintancethat exists between you. You are taken all aback tohear the news that he cannot be found this morning.I grant ye that, but you know more about him thanye will tell me. I have said me say, Miss Jenness.”

She paid no heed to him, but rose abruptlyand walked in the direction of her state-room.O’Shea watched her until she vanished, and thenhe murmured with an air of chagrin:

“I may be a pretty fair shipmaster, but as adetective ye can mark me down as a failure. ’Twasa random shot about their knowing each other ashore,219though I have a notion it landed somewhere nearthe bull’s-eye.”

Johnny Kent was still posted within strategic distanceof the dining-saloon entrance.

“What luck, Cap’n Mike?” he asked.

“Divil a bit.”

“Women move in mysterious ways. I can’thandle ’em myself. Say, are we goin’ to staycooped up in these cabins like a flock of sick chickens?I ain’t reconciled and I don’t intend to stand for it.”

“No more do I, Johnny. As the only two seafarin’men among all these landlubbers, ’tis up tous to twist the tail of this situation.”

“It surely ain’t right for us to knuckle under,Cap’n Mike, without putting up an almighty stiffargument. We’ve fought our way out of somepretty tight corners.”

From the dining-room entrance came the noise ofthe heavy bulkhead doors sliding on their bearings.Johnny Kent shouted joyfully and lumbered downthe staircase. A moment later he was bellowingto the other passengers:

“Grub’s on the table. Come along and help yourselves.The worst is over.”

The hungry company hastened down and jostledthrough the doorway to the tables, upon which hadbeen set dishes of oatmeal, potatoes, ham and eggs,and pots of coffee. The galley and pantry doorswere still closed. Not a steward was visible. Thepassengers must help themselves. They could eatthis simple fare or leave it alone.

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The dining-saloon seemed empty, uncanny. Exceptfor the steady vibration of the engines, it wasas though the ship had been deserted by her crew.Such talk as went on was in low tones. There wasin the air a feeling that hostile influences, unseen,unheard, but very menacing, were all around them.They ate to satisfy hunger, glancing often at theempty chairs of the commander and the chief officerof the Alsatian. O’Shea was more interested in thevacant chair of Professor Ernst Wilhelm Vonderholtz.

A few people carried trays and plates of food totheir rooms, as if to make sure of the next meal.Palpitant uncertainty and dread were the emotionscommon to all. And during this time the Alsatianwas steaming over the smooth sea, her bow pointingalmost due south, her altered course veering fartherand farther away from the transatlantic trade routesinto a region of ocean mostly frequented by sailing-vesselsand wandering tramp freighters. As CaptainO’Shea and Johnny Kent returned to the upperhall the latter said with a great, resonant laugh:

“Breakfast has made a new man of me. I ain’tworried a mite about anything. My gun is in mypants pocket, and I’m pretty spry and sudden foran old codger. What’s the orders, Cap’n Mike?”

“There are some good men among the passengers,Johnny, but we will have to show them what to do.’Tis time that the two of us held a council of war.”

They made a slow, painstaking tour of the first-cabinquarters and convinced themselves that every221exit from the steel deck-houses was still securelyfastened. Then they sought every window portwhich commanded a view of the upper decks orsuperstructures of the ship. They were unable tocatch a glimpse, from any angle, of the canvas-screenedbridge or to discover whether the captainand the navigating officers were on duty as usual.Upon the forward part of the ship they descriedseveral seamen at work. Down below the rumbleof an ash-hoist was heard. The essential businessof the ship was going on without interruption.

“One trifle ye will note,” said O’Shea. “Thedecks were not washed down this morning.”

“The vessel looks slack, come to look at herclose,” replied Johnny Kent. “A gang of sailorswas paintin’ the boats and awning-stanchions yesterday,but they’ve knocked off.”

“’Tis curious how the passengers of a big steamercan be cut off from what is going on,” observedO’Shea. “I never realized how easy it was. Andthere’s no choppin’ a way out of these steel houses.”

“If we do get out, Cap’n Mike, what in blazesare we apt to run into?” the engineer exclaimed,rumpling his mop of gray hair with both hands“Whoever it was that done the fancy pistol-shootin’last night ain’t likely to hesitate to do it again.And there’s only two of us with guns unless a fewof the passengers happen to have ’em in theirvalises.”

“I will be ashamed of myself and disgusted withyou if we don’t mix things up before this time to-morrow,222ye fat old reprobate,” severely spake CaptainMichael O’Shea, and the words were weighedwith finality. “The Lord gave us brains, didn’tHe? If we let ourselves be run away with aboardthis floating hotel we ought to beg admittance tothe nearest home for aged and decrepit seafarin’men.”

“It’s a perfectly ridiculous situation to be ketchedin, as I said before, Cap’n Mike.”

II

The passengers so mysteriously imprisoned in thefirst-cabin quarters were soon to meet again thatvanished scientist and fellow-voyager ProfessorErnst Wilhelm Vonderholtz. Shortly before noonone of the doors which had blocked exit to thepromenade-deck was opened from the outside. Analert, blond man stepped upon the brass thresholdand stood gazing at the huddled, wondering passengers.The expression of his keenly intelligent facereflected easy confidence and half-smiling contempt.

He wore the blue uniform cap and blouse of aship’s officer, obviously purloined from the lawfulowner, for the insignia was that of the InternationalLine. The gold-rimmed spectacles and the precise,studious manner discarded, it was painfully apparentthat he was something very different from a harmlessprofessor of chemistry.

Behind him, and filling the doorway, stood four223other men in the grimy garments of the stoke-hole.The smears of coal-dust which blackened their featuresgave them a forbidding, sinister appearance.They were openly armed with revolvers. Theirleader motioned them to remain where they were.He moved just inside the hall and addressed thepassengers in his clean-cut English with its Teutonicshades and intonations. The audience wasflatteringly attentive. The sight of the four grimstokers in the background compelled absorbed attention.

“This steamer is in my control,” crisply beganthe singularly transformed university professor. “Itis useless for you to wax indignant, to weep, to protest.The thing has been most carefully planned.I will explain a little in order that you may knowwhy it is best for you to do as you are ordered. Thestrike of those firemen in Liverpool? It was fomentedby my agents. They caused the strike tooccur on the day of sailing. It was necessary toget rid of that crew of firemen. In their places wereshipped my own—our own men. The company wassurprised to find a new crew so easily. The stupidmanagement suspected nothing. Many months,much money it had taken to select these men ofmine, to have them all together in Liverpool preparedfor the opportunity.”

The vanity of the man showed itself in this frankpraise of his own adroit and masterly leadership.His ego could not help asserting itself. Now his easydemeanor stiffened and his face became hard and224cold as he went on to say with more vehemence andan occasional gesture:

“Who are we? You wonder and you are afraid.It is the Communal Brotherhood, powerful and secret,which seizes this steamer. This is a bold skirmishin the war against capital, against privilege,against the parasitic class which must be utterlydestroyed. Labor is the only wealth; but does laborown the factories, the steamships, the land? No, it isenslaved. This stroke will be talked about all overthe world. Wealth is always cowardly. It willtremble and——”

From the fringe of the silent company rose theshrill, rasping accents of Jenkins P. Chase. TheAmerican multimillionaire was fragile, dyspeptic,and nervous, a mere shred of a man physically, but,given sufficient provocation, he had aggressive couragein abundance. Nor had his enemies in the worldof commerce and finance ever called him a coward.This situation exasperated him beyond words.

“You’re a fuddle-headed liar, you bragging, anarchisticscoundrel!” he cried, shaking his fist at thespeaker. “Cut out all that hot air and balderdash.We can read it in books. Get down to business.What do you propose to do with us? Hold me forransom?”

The eyes of the bogus Professor Ernst WilhelmVonderholtz were unpleasantly malevolent as hecalmly answered:

“It is an accident that you yourself are on board.You were not included in our plans. I do not intend225to hold you for ransom. It will be doing agreat service to mankind if I throw you into thesea.”

Quite undaunted, for his blood was up, Jenkins P.Chase flung back at him:

“You’re a lunatic. I presume you are after thetwo millions in gold, consigned to New York bankers,which is in the ship’s treasure-room. You have theupper hand? Why don’t you take the plunder andleave us alone?”

“We require no advice from you,” and the captorshowed his teeth in a mirthless smile. “I wishto inform the passengers that they will be fed aslong as they shall behave themselves. They alsohave permission to use a part of the promenade deckwhich will be roped off and guarded. Any personattempting to reach other parts of the ship will beshot. It is possible that you will suffer no harm.What to do with you has not yet been decided.”

That interested observer, Captain Michael O’Shea,swiftly whispered to Johnny Kent:

“Tuck your gun under the cushion of the setteebehind us. The passengers will be searched forarms. The professor knows his business.”

The acute mind of Jenkins P. Chase had alreadyconcluded that these two men were ready-witted andunafraid. He marked their bearing, and he was impressedwith the fact that O’Shea had been awareof trouble aboard the ship before the other passengerssuspected it. Inviting them into his luxuriousrooms, he brusquely demanded:

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“What’s your opinion? Have you any suggestions?”

“I am a shipmaster by trade and me large friendhere has been chief engineer of a good many steamers,”answered O’Shea. “We have knocked someholes in the laws of the high seas ourselves, but yecan set us down as amateurs alongside this rampageouschemical professor. ’Tis the biggest thingof the kind that was ever pulled off. This Vonderholtzhas brains and nerve. And he is as cold-bloodedas a fish. The man is bad clear through.And he is crammed full of conceit, which is his oneweak point, the flaw in his system.”

“Call him all the names you please, but how doesthat help us?” snapped Jenkins P. Chase.

“Go easy, my dear man. ’Twill do no good tohop about like an agitated flea. What I am gettingat is this. Vonderholtz is so well pleased with hisplans that he thinks they cannot be upset. Wemay catch him off his guard.”

“But what if we do?” demanded Mr. Chase.“These villains have captured the whole crew of thesteamer—officers, sailors, stewards.”

“’Twas not hard to take them by surprise in thenight and lock them in their quarters under guard,sir,” explained O’Shea. “Half of them were offwatch and asleep, ye must remember. Vonderholtzhas near a hundred and fifty men, and no doubtevery one of them came aboard with a gun in hisclothes. There are enough of them to work theship and to spare, and I suppose there are navigatorsand engineers amongst them.”

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“I can believe all that,” irritably interruptedJenkins P. Chase. “Now that the damnable piracyhas succeeded, it is easy enough to see how a gangwith a capable leader can take possession of anyAtlantic liner. Do you think these scoundrels canbe bribed?”

“’Tis not probable. Vonderholtz is a fanatic withhis wild ideas about society, and he has recruitedmen of his own stamp. Besides, they have the twomillions in gold in the strong-room to divide ‘for thegood of humanity.’”

“How will they get away with the gold? Thewhole thing is preposterous,” snorted the millionaire.

“I have read in the newspapers that Mr. JenkinsP. Chase once stole a railroad,” pleasantly returnedO’Shea. “Maybe you can figure it out better thanus two sailormen how Vonderholtz stole a steamship.”

“A good hit! You’re not so slow yourself,” criedthe other, not in the least offended.

“The steamer is steering into southern waters,”resumed O’Shea, “and ’tis likely that it was arrangedbeforehand for another vessel to meet herand take the treasure and the men aboard. Whatwill they do with the Alsatian? I misdoubt theywill sink her with all hands of us, though Vonderholtzwould lose no sleep over it, but he will wantthe world to know about his great blow against thecapitalists and the parasites and the likes of us. Itis a joke to class Johnny Kent and me as enemiesof the poor, could ye look into our pockets.”

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“It certainly makes me swell up and feel rich tobe lumped with the plutocrats,” cheerfully observedJohnny Kent.

Jenkins P. Chase let his small bright eyes rove fora moment, and his wise, wizened features were sardonicallyamused as he said:

“We’re in a floating lunatic asylum, where mymoney is no good. God knows what the crack-brainedanarchist in command will do with the ship.He has handed out a jolt to capital, all right. Ofcourse, if you two men can concoct any scheme towin, you’re welcome to fill in a blank check for anysum you like and I’ll see that it is cashed the daywe land in New York.”

Captain O’Shea clapped a strong hand on the richman’s bony little shoulder and exclaimed, as thoughadmonishing a foolish child:

“Tut, tut! ’Tis nonsense ye talk. We are all inthe same boat, and there are women and childrenamongst us. You must put it out of your head thatyour life has any special gilt-edged value out hereat sea. We sink or swim together. And I am notanxious to chop off me own existence to please thismadman of a Professor Ernst Wilhelm Vonderholtz.”

“He said something about chucking me overboard,”sighed Jenkins P. Chase.

“And he looked as if he meant it,” amiably observedJohnny Kent.

With this, the twain bade the millionaire takeheart and left him to his unhappy meditations. An229idea had come to Johnny Kent and he wished tothrash it over with his comrade in the seclusion oftheir own room. For a long time they argued it,testing every detail, O’Shea dissuading, but convincedagainst his will that the thing should be attempted.It was a desperate hazard, a forlorn hope, and gray-haired,honest old Johnny Kent must stake his life.Success meant the recapture of the ship, and the engineerwas obstinately determined to undertake it.

“You will have to go it alone, Johnny,” saidO’Shea, “and I cannot help if things break wrongfor you. It will worry the heart out of me to let yedo it.”

“Pshaw, Cap’n Mike! A battered old sot likeme ain’t worth much to anybody. If I slip up,and they put out my lights, I want to ask one favorof you. Shoot that blankety-blank chemical sonof a sea-cook for me, will you? It’ll be my lastwish.”

“I promise to fill him full of holes, if his gang potsme next minute,” simply replied O’Shea, and theyshook hands on it.

After dark that night Johnny Kent rummaged inhis steamer trunk and fished out an oil-stained suitof blue overalls, his working uniform when in activeservice. From another bundle he selected two powerfuladjustable wrenches which could be concealedin his clothing. While he was thus engaged O’Sheasqueezed into the room, affectionately punched himin the ribs, and exclaimed:

“To look the part ye must blacken your face and230hands. We have no coal-dust, but there are twolong drinks in that bottle of Scotch yonder. Letus hurl them into our systems, and I will make gooduse of the cork.”

“And burnt-cork me same as I used to do when weboys played nigg*r minstrels, Cap’n Mike? You’rewiser than Daniel Webster.”

When the job was finished, Johnny Kent wouldhave passed anywhere as the grimiest, most unrecognizablestoker that ever handled slice-bar or shovel.Peering into the small mirror, he chuckled:

“I feel like cussin’ myself from force of habit.Well, I’ll just sit here and wait for you to give methe word.”

“Aye, aye, Johnny. I will start things movingright away. This is au revoir. Good-luck and Godbless ye!”

“’Til we meet again, Cap’n Mike. Don’t fretabout me.”

Leaving the stout-hearted old adventurer to poreover a dog-eared copy of the American Poultry Journalby way of passing the time, Captain O’Sheareturned to the library and called together a dozen ofthe men passengers whom he knew to be dependable.He had already explained what they were to do, andwithout attracting the notice of the sentries postedat the outside doorways, they heaped in a corner ofthe library all the combustible material they couldlay their hands on, mostly newspapers and magazines.Several contributed empty cigar boxes, anothera crate in which fruit had been brought aboard,231and Jenkins P. Chase appeared with a large bottleof alcohol used for massage.

The stuff was placed close to the wooden bookshelves,which, with their contents, were likely toblaze and smoulder and make a great deal of smoke.

While the men were thus engaged Captain O’Sheachanced to notice the school-teacher, Miss Jenness,who halted while passing the library door. Shemoved nearer, listened intently to the talk, and thenturned away to walk rapidly in the direction of thestarboard exit to the deck.

Suspecting her purpose, O’Shea followed and overtookher. Between her and Vonderholtz some sortof an understanding existed, some relation more intimatethan she was willing to reveal. O’Shea wasalert to prevent her from spoiling his plans. Shemight not intend to play the part of a spy, but herbehavior had been mysterious and she was not tobe trusted.

O’Shea called her name sharply, and the girlpaused. He moved to her side and said in low tones:

“Are you going on deck, Miss Jenness? I adviseye not to just now.”

“Why? I—I—yes. I am going on deck.”

She was manifestly startled, unable to hold herselfin hand.

“You will give me your word of honor that yepropose to hold no communication with Vonderholtzand to send him no message?”

She hesitated, at a loss for words, and O’Shea feltcertain that he had guessed her motive aright. His232decision was instant and ruthless. Standing closeto her, he said:

“You will be good enough to go to your state-roomfor the rest of this night, Miss Jenness, and yewill go at once, moving no nearer the sentries or thedeck, and making no outcry. ’Tis a most impolitespeech to make to a handsome girl like yourself, butI have no time for courtesy.”

Miss Jenness glanced aside. Captain O’Sheastood between her and the passage to the deck.Then she looked at him, and knew that he meantwhat he said. Her lips parted, her breath was shortand quick, and she moved not for a long moment.It was a clash of strong wills, but the woman realizedthat she was beaten.

It meant death to O’Shea should he be discoveredin the act of setting fire to the ship, but he wasfighting for more than his own skin. The issue appealedto him as curiously impersonal. His ownsafety had become a trifling matter. He was merelyan instrument in the hands of fate, an agent commissionedto help thwart the tragic destiny thatoverhung the vessel and her people. The girl wasan episode; not so much a personality as a cog ofthe mysterious, evil mechanism devised by theblond beast Vonderholtz.

“I think I will go to my room,” said Miss Jenness.

“Thank you. ’Tis wiser,” softly replied O’Shea.

So fatuously confident was Vonderholtz that hisplans were invulnerable that he had taken no precautionsto have the first-cabin quarters patrolled233and inspected beyond the exits. He had herdedthe passengers like a flock of sheep and concernedhimself no further about them. They could start nouprising by themselves, and unarmed.

Captain O’Shea felt confident that the men inpossession of the ship could get the fire under control.At any rate, it must burn itself out within thesteel walls of the deck-house. State-rooms and hallsmight be gutted, but he quoted his favorite adagethat one cannot make an omelet without breakingeggs. For his part, he would rather burn and sinkthe ship than meekly to surrender to this mob ofpirates.

Thereupon he scratched a match and touched offthe fire. Wetted down with alcohol, the newspapersblazed up fiercely and the flames licked the paintworkof shelves and panels. Smoke drove into thehalls in thick gusts. The passengers, some of themgenuinely frightened, shouted lustily, and there wasmuch confusion.

O’Shea was delighted. His conflagration was asuccess. The sentries at the doorways and the menon deck ran in pell-mell and dashed out again tofind hose and buckets. They bawled orders to oneanother and were bewildered by the smoke whichbillowed into the passages.

Before the hose lines had been dragged in andwhile the fire was unchecked, a bulky figure in blueoveralls, his face blackened as with coal-dust,emerged from a state-room, peered cautiously intothe smoke, and with tread surprisingly agile for his234weight and years, ran straight toward the crowdof men in the large hall outside the blazing library.The smoke effectually curtained his dash for thedeck. The doorways had been left unguarded.Those whom he shoved out of his way mistook himfor one of Vonderholtz’s crew.

The stratagem of the fire enabled Johnny Kentto escape from the steel-walled prison and to runthe gauntlet of the guards on deck. At top speedhe clattered down a ladder to the next deck below,slowed his gait, and stood puffing to regain hisbreath, for he was a short-winded hero and ampleof girth.

In the printed matter advertising the InternationalLine he had discovered a plan of the Alsatian, drawnwith much detail. He knew it by heart, and wasconfident that he would not go astray in the labyrinthof her many decks and bulkhead passages.Moreover, he was a man with a lively interest inhis calling, and when the Alsatian was launched hehad studied the descriptions of her machinery andthe like with a keen professional eye.

Without hesitation he stepped nimbly through aniron door amidships and entered a narrow alleylighted by an electric bulb. A man, also clad inthe overalls of a fireman or machinist, brushed pasthim, and said, without looking up:

“Fire amount to anything?”

“A stream of water will douse it,” gruffly answeredJohnny Kent as he emerged from the alley into thegreat, clangorous open space above the engine-room.235Below him ran iron ladders and platforms, flightafter flight, past the huge, shining cylinders, down tothe toiling piston-rods and the whirling crank-shafts.Dynamos purred and auxiliary engines hummed inshadowy corners and the pumps beat time to thistitanic anthem.

Johnny Kent wiped the dripping sweat from hisface and the burnt cork smeared itself in grotesquestreaks and blotches. He had reasoned it out thatamong a hundred and fifty men sailing together forthe first time he could pass unchallenged long enoughto serve his purpose. And now that he had gainedthe engine-room his very presence there would safeguardhim against suspicion. Men were coming andgoing, and several of the fire-room gang chatted withthe engineers on watch. It would be easier to minglewith them because of this fraternal slackness of discipline.

His stout heart thumping against his ribs, but hisspirit undaunted, Johnny Kent stepped from thelowest ladder to the grating of the engine-room floor.Pulling the greasy black cap low over his eyes, hedodged behind a steam-pipe and made for the entranceto the nearest fire-room. Stripped to thewaist in the red glare, the stokers were rattling coalinto furnace doors. Johnny Kent said never a word,but picked up a shovel and took his station in frontof a boiler. An officer of some sort shouted at him:

“Who sent you down?”

“I was ordered to shift my watch,” bellowedJohnny Kent.

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“Good enough. We are short-handed,” was thereply.

The heat and the arduous exertion made JohnnyKent grunt, but he had been a mighty man with ashovel in his time, and he would show these scoundrelshow to feed a furnace. He observed that armedguards were stationed in this compartment, and concludedthat some of the steamer’s regular crew hadbeen set to work under compulsion.

Thus far he had made no blunders. There hadbeen no flaw in his plans. His greatest fear was thatVonderholtz might come below and recognize him.But the conflagration conducted by Captain O’Sheawas likely to keep the leader on deck.

Painstakingly Johnny Kent sought to recall everyscrap of information he had read in technical journalsconcerning the under-water specifications of theAlsatian. His memory was tenacious and he believedthat he could trust it now.

He had entered the fire-room in the middle of awatch, and therefore had not long to serve as a stokerbefore the men were relieved and another gang tooktheir places. When the next watch came troopingin, there was much passing to and fro, and as one ofthe crowd Johnny Kent felt much safer against discovery.He knew where to find dark corners andtortuous passageways in this complex, noisy partof the ship, far below the water-line.

When the firemen of his watch began to climb theladders to their living quarters, he was not amongthem. Two hours later, a bulky gray-headed person237in blue overalls might have been seen crawlingon hands and knees or wriggling on his stomach inthe bilge of the Alsatian’s hull, beneath the floor.

From the state-room wall he had unscrewed thesmall candle lamp provided for use when the electric-lightingsystem was turned off. With this feeblelight he was searching for the sea-co*cks, those massivevalves set into the bottom of a steamer’s hullfor the purpose of letting in the ocean and floodingher in the emergency of fire in the cargo holds andcoal-bunkers. A steamer is sometimes saved fromtotal destruction by beaching her in shoal water andopening the sea-co*cks.

To open these valves in the bottom of the Alsatianwas to admit a rush of water which would soonrise to the furnaces and engine-room in greater volumethan the steam-pumps could hold in check. Itwas not Johnny Kent’s mad intention to sink theliner in mid-ocean, although this was a possibleconsequence.

After prodigious exertion, he found what he soughtand bent his burly strength to releasing the gate-valvesconstructed to withstand the pressure of thesea. He heard the water pour in with sobbing gushand murmur and splash against the steel plates andbeams. With a healthy prejudice against beingdrowned in a cataract of his own devising, JohnnyKent scrambled in retreat and regained the engine-roomcompartment, bruised and exhausted.

Thus far he had succeeded because of the sheeraudacity of the enterprise. It was a seemingly impossible238thing to do, but the process of reasoningwhich inspired it was particularly sane and cool-headed.He had been unchallenged because it neverentered the minds of his foes that any one would daresuch a stratagem. They had gained the upper handby means of force. In a game of wits they wereout-manœuvred. Johnny Kent showed the superiorintelligence.

“It looks as if my job as Daniel in the lions’ denwas about done,” he said to himself.

He became a stowaway until the next watch waschanged in the fire-room. Then he mingled withthe crowd of sooty men who went off duty. Unmolested,he clambered up the ladders, slipped intoan alley-way, and came to the promenade deck withthe blessed open sky above him. Ostentatiouslyswinging a wrench, he ambled aft and reconnoitredthe entrance to the first-cabin quarters. Men weredragging out lines of hose, others chopping awaycharred woodwork and pitching it overboard. Oneof them paused to look at the large grimy person inoveralls, but he displayed the wrench and casuallyexplained:

“Orders from the engine-room. The heat warpedthe skylight fittings. Hot work, wasn’t it?”

Once inside the doorway, Johnny Kent made forhis state-room, which had been untouched by fire.O’Shea saw him pass, but made no sign of recognition.A few minutes later the comrades twain wereholding a glad reunion behind the bolted door.The engineer collapsed on the transom berth and239sat in a ponderous heap, holding his head in hishands.

“My legs are trembly and I feel all gone in thepit of my stummick, Cap’n Mike,” he huskilycroaked. “I was plumb near scared to death.This easy livin’ has made me soft, and I ain’t asyoung as I was. But I got away with it.”

“How? ’Tis a miracle ye have performed thisnight, Johnny, me boy.”

“I let in the water and she’ll flood herself,” wasthe weary reply. “It was easy after I once ran theblockade. What about your bonfire? She was acorker by the looks of things.”

“She was that,” laughed O’Shea. “Vonderholtzcame boilin’ in with his men and put it out after atussle. He suspected we touched it off, but he couldnot prove it. It was the stump of a cigar that somecareless gentleman tossed into the library waste-basket,ye understand. Let me help you get yourclothes off. Lie down and rest yourself.”

Kicking off the overalls, Johnny Kent lightedhis pipe, stretched himself in his bunk, and exclaimed:

“I’ll turn in with my duds on. We are liable tobe roused out between now and morning.”

“Are ye sure the ship will not go to the bottom?”anxiously asked O’Shea.

“I won’t swear to it, Cap’n Mike, but this is awell-built steamer, and she was new a year ago.Her bulkheads will stand up under a lot of pressure.The engine and fire room compartments will fill to240the water-line, but she’ll float, or I’ve made a darnbad blunder.”

“You know your business, Johnny. If the blackguardsthink she is sinking under them, ’tis all weask.”

“Tuck me in and wash my face,” murmured theengineer. “I’m too doggoned tired to worry aboutit.”

O’Shea made him comfortable and withdrew tokeep an eye on events. Order had been restored.The passengers were once more closely guarded, andas a new precaution sentries were stationed in thehalls. O’Shea waited until the men with revolverswere relieved at midnight and another squad tooktheir places. Then he heard one of them say toanother that there was serious trouble below. Theship had run over a bit of submerged wreckage orsomehow damaged her bottom plates. She wasleaking. The water was making into the midshipcompartments.

To O’Shea this was the best news in the world.With an easier mind, he went to his room. Thehateful inaction, the humiliating imprisonment, werealmost over. God helping him, he would whip thiscrew of outlaws on the morrow and win the masteryof the Alsatian.

Before daybreak Johnny Kent turned over in hisbunk and growled:

“She’s slowed down, Cap’n Mike. The enginesare no more than turnin’ over. That means thewater is almost up to the furnaces and the men are241desertin’ their posts. You can’t keep firemen belowwhen the black water is sloshin’ under their feet.It gets their nerve.”

“The whole crew will go to pieces if the panickyfeeling once takes hold of them, Johnny. They havenever worked together. A lot of them are no seamenat all. And Vonderholtz will not be able tohold them.”

The Alsatian moved more and more sluggishly,like a dying ship. The water was pouring into herfaster than the pumps could lift it overside. Itwas only a question of hours before the fires wouldbe extinguished, the machinery stilled, and the linerno more than a sodden hulk rolling aimlessly inthe Atlantic.

The passengers were no longer under guard. Theywalked the decks as they pleased. The communalbrethren, who had found it so easy to capture theship, were now at their wits’ ends. Once or twicetheir leader passed hastily between the bridge andthe engine-room. The confident, sneering egotismno longer marked the demeanor of the man. Nervouslytwisting his blond beard, he moved as onewithout definite purpose. His elaborate enterprisewas in a bad way. The war against society had sufferedan unexpected reverse.

O’Shea and Johnny Kent watched him gloatingly.The advantage was all theirs. They were waitingfor the right moment to strike, and to strike hard.They saw Vonderholtz halt to speak to Miss Jenness,who stood apart and alone. He argued with fiery242gestures. She protested earnestly, her face sad andtragic. It was as though they had come to theparting of the ways.

At length the Alsatian ceased to forge ahead.The water conquered her. The long, black hullrode low, sagging wearily to starboard. The bulkheadsstill held firm, but it seemed inevitable thatshe must shortly plunge to the bottom.

Vonderholtz and his men were between the deviland the deep sea in more ways than one. Theydared signal no passing vessel and ask assistance, forthe gallows awaited them ashore. Many of themwere for abandoning the liner at once. It was useless,they argued, to wait until she foundered undertheir feet. The Alsatian had become untenable.

Refusing to acknowledge that ruin had overtakenhis splendid conspiracy, Vonderholtz stormed like amadman at the cowards who would take to the boats.He swore he would stand by the ship until she wentdown. Were they to abandon the two millions ingold? It was impossible to save it in the boats.Castaways could not explain the possession of a fortunein treasure.

The mutineers, who had openly broken away fromtheir leader, replied that they would quit the shipand take chances of being picked up or of makinga landing at the Azores. Let the crew and passengersdrown in the ship, and good riddance to them.

The dissension increased, the bravest of the rascalsresolutely standing by Vonderholtz. Those whowere for deserting the liner began to crowd to the243boats and swing them out, ready for lowering. Disciplinehad vanished.

Captain Michael O’Shea said a word to JohnnyKent, who pulled his revolver from the breast of hisshirt. Twenty of the passengers were ready for theorder. Some had armed themselves with pieces ofsteel piping unscrewed from the frames of the state-roomberths. Others flourished clubs of scantlingsaved from the wreckage of the fire. They weremen unused to violence—lawyers, merchants, even aclergyman—but they were ready to risk their livesto win freedom from their shameful plight.

The compact little band swept out on deck likea cyclone. O’Shea and Johnny Kent opened fire,shooting to kill. The enemy was taken in flankand in rear. Those who were busied with the boatstumbled into them. Before the rush of the passengerscould be checked they had cleared a path forwardand gained the stairway to the bridge-deck.Scattering shots wounded one or two, but shelterwas found behind the wheel-house and chart-room.

O’Shea ran to the captain’s quarters and enteredwith fear in his heart. The room was empty, butthere was blood on the floor and signs of a struggle.

“They did away with him,” O’Shea cried, hisvoice choked. “He died like a brave sailor. Nowfor the officers.”

Snatching an axe from the rack in the wheel-house,he jumped for the row of cabins. The firstdoor was locked and he smashed it in with mighty244blows. The chief officer of the Alsatian was discoveredwithin, irons on his wrists, a nasty woundslanting across his forehead.

“Take me out of this and give me a gun,” sobbedthe stalwart Englishman.

“How about the rest of ye?” shouted O’Shea.

“They shot the old man and clubbed Hayden,second officer, to death. The others are alive.”

“Lay your hands on the rail yonder and holdsteady,” O’Shea commanded him. “I will shearthe links of those bracelets with the axe.”

This done they broke into the other rooms andreleased the surviving junior officers who had beensurprised while asleep. Raging and cursing, theycaught up axes and iron belaying-pins and joinedO’Shea in the sally to release the seamen locked upin the forecastle and the stewards penned below.Recognizing the grave danger, Vonderholtz tried torally his armed men and hold the boat-deck againstattack. But his force was divided and disorganizedand part of it was in the boats. His power hadcrumbled in a moment. He was on the defensive,fighting for life.

Now the crew of the Alsatian came swarmingagainst him, even the stewards no longer obsequiousslaves of the tray and napkin but yelping like wolves.Heedless of bullets, the large force led by O’Shea,Johnny Kent, and the chief officer of the Alsatiancharged with irresistible ferocity. They pennedforty of the Communal Brotherhood between the railand the deck-house amidships, and fairly hammered245and jammed them through the nearest doorwayand made them prisoners.

Vonderholtz comprehended that the ship was lostto him and that it was every man for himself andflight into the boats. He somehow got clear of thewhirling conflict, found room to turn, and stood withhis back to a derrick-mast while he let drive with hispistol and put a bullet through O’Shea’s arm.

Roaring vengeance, Johnny Kent would havekilled the blond leader in his tracks, but just thenMiss Jenness ran swiftly to Vonderholtz, caughthold of his hand, and urged him frantically towardthe nearest boat. Johnny Kent forbore to shoot.He could not hit his target without driving a bulletthrough the girl. Nor did any man hinder them,as Vonderholtz and Miss Jenness, dark, tragic, incomprehensible,moved quickly to the edge of theship and leaped into the crowded boat that hadjust swung clear. It descended from the overhangingdavits and plopped into the smooth sea.As the falls were unhooked at the bow and stern,the men on the thwarts set the long oars in thethole-pins and clumsily pushed away from the sideof the liner.

It would have been easy to shoot Vonderholtzfrom the deck above, but he crouched in the stern-sheetswith the girl clinging close at his side, so thatshe seemed to be trying to shield him. No one waswilling to risk killing the woman in order to dealretribution to the chief criminal.

“Blaze away at the other boats! Kill all you246can!” shouted the chief officer of the Alsatian.“Shoot into the thick of them before they pull outof range!”

“Let them go,” gravely counselled O’Shea, whowas trying to bandage his bleeding arm. “GodAlmighty will hand out justice to them. Thoseboats will not live through the first squall, for theyare overcrowded and there are few seamen amongstthem.”

The lawful crew of the Alsatian gathered togetherand watched the boats drift to leeward. There wasno more shooting by either side. It was as if atruce had been declared. Johnny Kent made atrumpet of his hands and shouted in tremendoustones to the boat in which Vonderholtz had escaped:

“We tricked you and we whipped you, you cowardlydogs. The ship will float and she’ll be towedto port. The laugh is on you, and you can put thatin your pipe and smoke it, my gay chemical professor.”

Cries of rage arose from the boats, but there wasno returning to the liner, no possible way of scalingher towering sides. Her own crew held possessionof her as securely as if they were in a fortress. Thewind freshened briskly and the boats drifted fartherand farther away to leeward. The men who filledthem must face the dreadful perils and sufferings ofcastaways in mid-ocean. At length the boats becameno more than white specks, and then they vanishedbeyond the misty horizon.

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“If Vonderholtz could have had his way he wouldhave destroyed the ship with every soul in her beforehe abandoned her,” said O’Shea.

“He had me on the list,” piped up Jenkins P.Chase, who strutted importantly, for he had knockeddown a foeman and clubbed him into submission.“Now, about that young woman, Miss Jenness.Hanged if she wasn’t a fine-looking proposition.There’s a romance for you, eh?”

“’Tis my guess that she loved him but could notstand for his violent doctrines,” said O’Shea. “Andshe was afraid to oppose him for fear she would losehim entirely. And maybe he persuaded her tomake this voyage with him and he would take heraway to live with him somewhere and be happy.’Twas an evil day for her when she met him, whereverit was, but she was ready to die for him. The loveof women!”

Four days later an unlovely little British cargotramp, wandering across from South America withan empty hold, sighted the Alsatian helpless andflying signals of distress. The humble skipper ofthis beggarly craft could not believe his eyes. Hiswildest, most fantastic dreams of salvage were aboutto come true. As he steamed alongside the chiefofficer of the liner shouted:

“Tow us to New York and settle with the owners.”

“Will I?” bawled the bewhiskered skipper, dancinga jig. “I’ll hang onto my end of the bloomin’hawser as long as this hooker of mine will float.Are you stove up inside? Broke a shaft?”

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“No. Engine-room full of water. We openedthe sea-co*cks on purpose.”

“You’re drunk or crazy,” cried the skipper; “butI will tow you to hades for the price that will beawarded for this job.”

It was a plucky undertaking for the under-engined,under-manned tramp, but the Alsatian sent extrahands aboard, and the two vessels crept slowly intoward the Atlantic coast, swung to the northward,and after a tedious voyage came in sight of SandyHook. The wild and tragic experience through whichshe had passed seemed incredible to those on board.So many days overdue was this crack liner of theInternational service that tugs had been sent tosearch for her. The newspapers reported her asmissing and probably lost.

“You and Johnny Kent will be grand-stand heroes,”said Jenkins P. Chase to Captain MichaelO’Shea. “You have done a tremendously big thing,you know. By jingo, nothing is too good for you.Of course, the company will treat you handsomelyand come down with the cash. But don’t forget myproposition. It still holds good. Come to my officeand fill out a blank check and I’ll sign it like a shot.That murderous scoundrel, Vonderholtz, intended tothrow me overboard. I saw it in his eyes.”

“About that check, Mr. Chase,” said O’Sheawith a friendly smile, “forget it. You are a greatlittle man, and we forgive you for being so rich,but ’twas not the kind of a job that seafarin’ mentake money for from a shipmate. Johnny and me249had to find a way out. It was a matter of professionalpride, as ye might say.”

The rubicund engineer beamed his indorsem*ntof this sentiment and added cheerily:

“What the company chooses to give us will beour lawful due, which we earned in savin’ propertyand treasure. And if my share amounts enough tobuy me a tidy little farm in the grand old State o’Maine, I won’t envy you and your millions onedarned solitary mite, Mr. Jenkins P. Chase. AndI won’t feel like joining any Communal Brotherhoodto take ’em away from you.”

An elderly man of ample girth was plying a hoein a very neat and tidy vegetable garden. His battered,good-natured visage reflected pleasure in thetask and contentment with existence. Blue overallswere hitched to his shoulders by a pair of straps.A lock of gray hair poked itself through a hole inhis ragged straw hat. His shirt-sleeves were rolledup to display a pair of ponderous, sunburnt armsupon which were tattooed an anchor and a pink-eyedmermaid. Ever and anon this bucolic personturned his attention to a boy who was weeding theonion bed on his hands and knees, and thunderedadmonitions at him in a voice that carried acrossthe pasture and startled the grazing cows.

The youth thus bombarded showed no signs ofterror. In fact, he grinned quite amiably as if hardenedto threats of being skinned alive or triced up bythe thumbs. Obviously, he considered his employer’sbark worse than his bite. At length the latter leanedon his hoe to remark with heated candor:

“Say, Bub, those weeds grow faster than you pull’em up. Is there anything slower than you in thispart of the country?”

The boy turned from watching a woodchuck251meander toward its hole and promptly answeredwith a touch of pride:

“It runs in the family, Mr. Kent. My pa is theslowest man in the village, an’ my grand-dad wasslower than he be, so ma says. Us Perkinses is allslower’n molasses in January.”

“Well, if I could find another boy, I’d lift you offthis farm by the slack of your pants,” snorted JohnnyKent. “You make me peevish in spots, and I aimto be the happiest man on earth.”

“You can’t find another boy,” was the unruffledreply. “They’re all off hayin’. Say, Mr. Kent,it’s a great day to go fishin’. An’ this garden is jes’full of fat, juicy angle-worms.”

“Doggone it, Bub, I’ll have to go you,” cried theelderly gardener with smiling animation. “You digthe bait and we’ll start right after dinner.”

He forsook the vegetables and moved at a leisurelygait in the direction of a small white cottage withgreen blinds, in front of which blazed a gorgeousprofusion of hollyhocks. At the porch he halted todrop into a canvas hammock, the ropes of whichwere spliced sailorwise, and sought his ease for afew minutes while he fondly contemplated his landedpossessions. The green fields, rolling and pleasantlydiversified by patches of woodland, were framed byancient stone-walls. In the foreground loomed thecapacious barn, flanked by the hen-house and wood-shed.To the right of the cottage extended an appleorchard whose gnarled trees were laden with fruit.

It was here that Johnny Kent had cast anchor, in252the haven of his dreams, and he roundly swore thatthe sea should know him no more. He was donewith nursing crippled engines and hammeringdrunken stokers. The hazards of his calling were foryounger men. A stroke of good fortune during hislast voyage with Captain Michael O’Shea, in theliner Alsatian, had given him the cash in hand topay for the longed-for “farm in the grand old Stateo’ Maine” and a surplus to stow in the bank.

“Here I am,” he said to himself as he swung hislegs in the hammock, “and it’s too blamed good tobe true, honest it is. Fightin’ potato-bugs is all theexcitement I pine for, and when the red cow letsgo her hind foot and capsizes me and the pailand the milkin’-stool, it’s positively thrilling. Nowatches to stand and nothing to pester me, barrin’that lazy, tow-headed Perkins boy. And I’m goingfishin’ with him this afternoon just to show myselfhow independent I am of skippers and owners andcharters and such foolishness.”

With this the retired chief engineer entered thecottage and passed into the kitchen. The floors hadbeen scrubbed white with sand and holy-stone. Thebrass door-knobs and andirons were polished like gold.The woodwork glistened with speckless white paint.What furniture there was consisted of solid, old-fashionedpieces, such as Windsor chairs, a highboy,a claw-footed table or two, and a desk of bird’s-eyemaple. No bric-a-brac cluttered them. Habit hadschooled this nautical housekeeper to dispense withloose stuff which might go adrift in a heavy sea-way.

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Kicking himself out of his overalls, he tied a whiteapron about his waist and bent his attention to thekitchen stove. The green peas were boiling merrily,the potatoes were almost baked, and it was time tofry the bacon and eggs. He cooked his own dinnerwith as hearty good-will as he had hoed the garden.It was all part of the game which he enjoyed withsuch boyish zest.

Stepping to the back door, he blew a blast on atin horn to summon the Perkins boy. That lazyurchin sped out of the onion bed as if he had wings,and Johnny Kent was moved to comment:

“Be careful, Bub, or your family’ll disown you.You came bowlin’ along to your vittles like you wereactually alive! Right after dinner you wash thedishes and scour them tins, and if you leave a spoton ’em no bigger than a flea’s whisker, I’ll nail yourhide to the barn door. Then we’ll hitch up the mareand jog along to East Pond with our fish-poles.”

“Folks in town think it kind o’ queer you don’thire a woman to keep house,” said the Perkins offspringas he took the wash-basin down from itshook.

“You can tell ’em with my compliments thatthey’re a gabby lot of gossips and ought to have astopper put on their jaw-tackle,” returned JohnnyKent with surprising heat and a perceptible blush.“I can look after myself without any advice fromthe village.”

Young Perkins snickered and thought it wise tochange the subject. When they sat down to table,254the host was in the best of humor as he declaimedwith tremendous gusto:

“Did you ever taste such peas? Raised ’em myself.Cooked in cream from my own cow. EarlyRose potatoes from my own garden. Eggs from myown hens. They lay ’em every day.”

“Hens have to lay or bust this time o’ year,”prosaically replied the youth. “An’ peas is peas.”

“Romance was plumb left out of your system,”sighed the mariner. “All the years I was wanderin’over the high seas seem tame and monotonous alongsidethis.”

Before the meal was ended there came an interruption.Johnny Kent dropped knife and fork andsuspiciously sniffed the breeze which drew throughthe open windows. “Bub” Perkins likewise showeduneasy symptoms and co*cked his freckled snub noseto sniff the air. It was a tableau evidently of someimportance. Presently they both arose without aword and hastened out of doors to scan the peacefullandscape far and near.

“I smelled wood smoke, sure as guns,” said JohnnyKent.

“So did I. I bet a cooky it’s another fire,” excitedlycried young Perkins. “I can’t see anything,can you?”

“Not yet. The woods have been afire seven timesin the last week, and it ain’t accidental, Bub. Thebuildings will begin to go next. My farm has beenspared so far.”

The boy was climbing into an apple-tree, from255which perch he was able to gaze over the hill beyondthe pasture. He could see a hazy cloud of smokedrifting among the pine growth of a neighboringfarm and in the undergrowth glowed little spurts offlame like crimson ribbons. The fire had gainedsmall headway, but unless speedily checked it mightsweep destructively over a large area.

“No fishin’ trip to-day,” sorrowfully mutteredJohnny Kent. “Pick up the shovels and hoes andsome empty grain sacks, Bub, while I put the marein the buggy. It’s a case of all hands turnin’ outagain.”

The call of duty had never found the stout-heartedmariner indifferent, and a few minutes later he wasdriving down the country road under forced draught,the vehicle bounding over rocks and ruts, and thePerkins boy hanging on with both hands. Alreadythe alarm had spread, and farmers were leaving theirmowing machines and hay-racks in the fields tohurry in the direction of the burning woodland.Wagons loaded with men came rattling out from thevillage. Two or three of the recent fires, so mysteriouslyfrequent, had done much damage, and theneighborhood was alert to respond.

Experience had taught the volunteer force howto operate. They dashed into the woodland andfought the fire at close range. Some wetted sacksin a near-by brook and beat out the flying embersand the blazing grass. Others shovelled sand andearth upon the creeping skirmish-line of the conflagration.The most agile climbed the trees, which256were just beginning to catch, and chopped off theflaming, sizzling branches. They toiled like heroes,regardless of the wilting heat and blinding, chokingsmoke.

Johnny Kent was not a man to spare himself, andhe raged in the fore-front of the embattled farmers,exerting himself prodigiously, shouting orders, takingcommand as a matter of habit. The others obeyedhim, being afraid to do anything else, although theyknew more about fighting forest fires than he. Theelderly marine engineer had grown unaccustomed tosuch violent endeavor, and he puffed and gruntedhugely and ran rivers of perspiration.

So promptly had the neighbors mustered that theflames were conquered before they could jump intothe thickest part of the woodland and swirl throughthe tops of the pines. Leaving a patrol to searchthe undergrowth in search of stray sparks, thefarmers withdrew from the blackened area and gatheredtogether to listen to the excited story of a youngman armed with a shot-gun.

“This ain’t the first fire that’s been set on myproperty,” said he. “My pasture was touched offin three places last Saturday night, but a heavyshower of rain come along and put it out. Nextmornin’, just before day, my corn-crib was burntto the ground. Since then I’ve been lookin’ aroundin the woods whenever I could spare the time——”

“It’s spite work or there’s a lunatic firebug roamin’the country,” put in the first selectman of thevillage.

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“The spite ain’t aimed at me in particular,” resumedthe young man with the gun. “Mark Wilson’swood lot has been set, and the Widow Morgan’sback field, and nobody knows where it will happennext. As I was about to say, when I fust seen thesmoke this afternoon I was on the other side of theyoung growth, and I put for it as hard as I could.And I saw a man sneakin’ away from the fire. I threwup my gun to give him a dose of buckshot, but hedodged among the trees and was over the hill anddown in the hollow before you could say Jack Robinson.I ain’t very speedy since I was throwed outof the dingle-cart and broke my leg, and the strangeman got away from me.”

“He’s the crittur that’s been settin’ all the fires,”exclaimed the first selectman. “What in thunderdid he look like, Harry? Give me a description, andI’ll call a special meeting of the board to-night, andwe’ll offer a reward, mebbe as much as twenty dollars.”

“I can’t say exactly. He was six feet tall, or five,anyhow, and light-complected, though he might havebeen dark, and he had on brown clothes, but I ain’tquite sure about the color. Anyhow, he’s the manwe’ve got to ketch before we can sleep easy in ourbeds.”

Johnny Kent was too weary to take much interestin a man-hunt, even with the magnificent largenessof twenty dollars in prospect. Summoning the Perkinsboy, who was heaving rocks at a small turtle onthe bank of the brook, he clambered heavily into the258buggy and turned the mare toward the road. Theafternoon had been spoiled and the worthy marinerwas in a disgruntled mood. A serpent had enteredhis Eden. Likely enough the scoundrel who wasstarting conflagrations all over the landscape wouldsoon give his attention to the beloved farm withthe white cottage and the very neat and tidy vegetablegarden.

The owner thereof ambled to the porch with thegait of one utterly exhausted and dumped himselfinto the nearest chair. His face was well blackenedwith smoke and soot. His raiment had been torn torags by the thickets through which he had so gallantlyplunged. He looked like an uncommonly large scarecrowin the last stages of disrepair. Moreover, hiseyes were reddened and smarted acutely, he had astitch in the side, and his stomach ached.

While he reposed in this state of ruin, there camebriskly walking through his front gate a ruddy, well-knitfigure of a man, young in years, whose suit ofblue serge became him jauntily. Halting to surveythe trimly ordered flower-beds and vine-covered portico,he ceased whistling a snatch of a sea chanteyand nodded approvingly. Following the path to theside of the cottage, he beheld the disreputable personseated in a state of collapse upon the porch. Insteadof expressing courteous sympathy, the visitor put hishands on his hips and laughed uproariously.

Stung by this rude levity, Johnny Kent heavedhimself to his feet and hurled the chair at the headof the heartless young man, who dodged it nimbly,259ducked the swing of a fist big enough to land himin the middle of next week, if not farther, and shovedthe engineer into the canvas hammock where hefloundered helplessly and sputtered:

“Howdy, Cap’n Mike! It’s a low-down Irishtrick to laugh at a man that’s all wore out and toreup the way I am.”

Captain Michael O’Shea strove to check his unseemlymirth and thumped his old comrade affectionatelyas he explained:

“So this is the happy, simple life that ye crackedon about for years. You look it, Johnny. Was itan explosion that wrecked you or have ye beencleaning boilers? And is every day like this on thedear old homestead?”

“Not by a darn sight. I had to take a turn ofextra duty. I’m the happiest man in the world,Cap’n Mike. And I’m tickled to death to clap eyeson you. Wait till I wash up and change my clothes.”

“Sure I’ll wait, Johnny. ’Tis a visit I have cometo pay. You are sensitive about the terrible conditionI find ye in, so I will say no more. But if I wassurveyin’ you for Lloyds, I would mark you downas a total loss. And how are the pigs and chickens?”

The portly farmer brightened instantly andwheeled in the door to exclaim:

“You just ought to see ’em! Now how did I getalong at sea all those years without ’em? Can youtell me that?”

“’Twas the lack of them that made ye so thin andmelancholy,” said O’Shea with a grin. “Clean yourself260up and fill the old pipe with the wicked brand ofcut plug that ye misname tobacco, and we will sitdown and talk it over.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n Mike. And there’s some bottlesof beer in the ice-box in the wood-shed. It’s justabaft the galley. Help yourself.”

The shipmaster enjoyed exploring the cottagewhile his host repaired damages and presently reappearedin a white-duck uniform, which he hadworn as chief engineer of the English steamer Tarlington.

“There now, you look more like a man and lesslike a fat coal-heaver that has blown all his wagesfor rum,” said Captain O’Shea. “And will yerummage in the lockers for a bite to eat? The trainthat fetched me had difficulty in finding this cutelittle town of yours. I mistrust ’twas not on thechart at all, and we wandered for hours and hourslooking for it and stopping to take soundings at tenmillion way-stations. Where is the cook?”

“I’m the whole crew,” replied Johnny Kent as heconvoyed his guest into the kitchen. “You see,Cap’n Mike, I found it wouldn’t do to have a womanworkin’ for me. All the old maids and widows in thetownship seemed anxious to get the berth. But asolid man like me, with money in the bank, has tobe careful. Confound it, they pestered me! I don’twant to talk about it.”

Until sunset the comrades yarned and laughed,sprawling in the shade of an apple-tree or ramblingarm-in-arm over the farm. Then the mariner had his261chores to do, which consisted mostly in bullying thePerkins boy, while O’Shea chuckled to think of thetempestuous scenes in which he had beheld JohnnyKent play a dominant part. The shipmaster hada purpose up his sleeve, but he had artfully delayeddisclosing it until he could discover how firmly theengineer was anchored to his pastoral existence.

After supper, which O’Shea helped prepare withthe handiness of a sailor, they walked slowly to andfro in the garden, falling into step by force of habit,for thus they had passed many an hour on bridgeand deck beneath the stars. The tranquillity of theplace, the sense of comfort and repose, soothed therestless temper of O’Shea and turned his mind tothoughts of a home and fireside of his own. But hewas well aware that this mood would pass.

“’Tis sad I am that I cannot tarry long with youand your intelligent pigs and hens, Johnny,” saidhe, “but I have a bit of business in hand.”

“What is it? Does it look good to you, Cap’nMike?” demanded the other. “We’ve been so busylivin’ our fights and frolics all over again that Ihaven’t had a chance to hurl questions at you.Why don’t you stay ashore and take it easy for awhile? You’ve got money; plenty of it. Blow itlike a gentleman.”

“And what would be the fun of that? I have acharter in mind. Would ye like to hear of it?”

The contented farmer co*cked his head alertly andstood in his tracks. The light in his eye was notinspired by his neat rows of beets, carrots, and cabbages.262O’Shea perceived that he was curious, andhastened to add, in the most winning accents:

“’Tis the kind of a game you used to like, Johnny.I have looked over the steamer, and she would pleaseyou. Politics are stewin’ in the Persian Gulf andintrigues are as thick as huckleberries. The Britishand the Russians have locked horns again, do yemind, and the poor deluded Persians will be proddedinto a revolution, and divil a bit of good it will dothem. When the smoke clears the two benevolentPowers will try to beat each other to the plunder.Just now they are manœuvrin’ for position.”

“Pshaw! Cap’n Mike, haven’t you recovered fromthem delusions about the Persian Gulf?” growled theengineer.

“’Tis no dream, Johnny. I have met a man inNew York. He came from Europe to find me.The proposition is copper-riveted. I take thesteamer and load her with arms and munitions ina Mediterranean port and deliver them to certainparties somewheres the other side of Aden. TheBritish gun-boats are patrollin’ the Gulf to put acrimp in this industry, so there will be a run forme money.”

Johnny Kent was silent while he meditated andlistened to the whisper of temptation. Then a piggrunted in its straw litter, a chicken chirped drowsilyon its perch, and the breeze rustled among the luxuriantpole-beans and tomatoes. And O’Shea hadcome to coax him away from this enchanted place.He would hear what the blarneying rascal had to say263and convince him of his folly. The shipmasterliked not the stolid silence of his companion. Heknew it of old for a stubbornness that nothing couldbudge. However, he went on with the argument:

“I need an engineer, Johnny. And will ye nottake one more fling with me? You are an old rover,and this messing about a farm will not content youfor long. ’Tis no place for a bold man that knowshis trade. Wait a bit and come back here when yehave seen the green seas tumbling over the bows oncemore and felt the swing of a good ship under you,and heard the trade-winds singing in your ears, andwatched the strange faces in ports that are newto ye.”

“I’ve heard you talk before, Cap’n Mike, andyour tongue never gets hung on a dead-centre,”was the deliberate reply. “You’ll have to dish upsomething more attractive than the blisterin’ PersianGulf to drag me from my moorings. Do I actrestless?”

“About as much so as that old barn yonder,” admittedthe other.

“See here, Cap’n Mike, the farm next to minecan be bought cheap. It cuts a hundred tons of hayand pastures forty head of stock. I meant to writeyou about it soon. Why don’t you buy it and settledown alongside of me?”

“You are the hopeless old barnacle,” laughedO’Shea. “’Tis plain that I waste me words. Ifmy seductive persuasions have missed fire entirelyI must bid ye farewell in the morning and lay acourse back to New York.”

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“I wish I could hold you longer,” sighed JohnnyKent. “The Grange picnic comes right after hayin’,and there’s other excitements to keep you busy.”

“And this is the talk I hear from a man that usedto enjoy risking his neck between the divil and thedeep sea. Maybe ye can offer me the mad intoxicationof a husking-bee.”

“They’re out of season just now,” seriously returnedthe agriculturist.

“Well, we will not quarrel, Johnny. I have takennotice that it made you fretty to ask why ye wereso mussed up and dirty when I strolled in this afternoon.Have you cooled off by now and do you mindexplaining yourself? You were an awful sight andI was near moved to tears.”

“You laughed at me like a darned hyena,” grumbledJohnny. “It wa’n’t friendly, Cap’n Mike. I’dbeen fightin’ a fire till I was wrecked fore and aft.And for all I know we may have to turn out againto-night and fight another one.”

“Then I will stand watch and watch with youand keep lookout. And why have ye turnedprophet? Can you predict them, same as you readthe weather signs?”

“Pretty near,” dolefully answered Johnny Kent.“Some miserable scoundrel has been settin’ the woodsafire to burn us all out. He was sighted to-day, butthe lunk-head that caught him in the act wasn’tquick enough to shoot him. Settin’ fires in a dryseason like this is as bad as murder.”

O’Shea had found something to interest him.There might be a spice of adventure in this drowsy265region. And his friend seemed so genuinely worriedthat he was eager to help him. With a thrill ofgratitude he recalled a certain night off a tropiccoast when Johnny Kent had led the gang that descendedinto a blazing hold and saved a ship frombeing blown to atoms.

“Maybe my business in New York can wait aday or so longer,” said he. “’Tis unmannerly ofme to leave you accumulating more white hairs inthat frosty old thatch of yours.”

“You’d sooner hunt trouble than a square meal,”gratefully exclaimed Johnny. “I ain’t so spry onmy feet as I was, and my wind is short, or I’d goafter this firebug and scupper him by myself. Ihaven’t felt real worried over it till to-day, but he’sworked nearer and nearer my place, and I’m blamedif I can set up all night watchin’ for him.”

“’Tis a tired man I know you are to-night, so Iwill tuck ye in, and then I will wander a bit andkeep an eye lifted. It would please me to run afoulof this unpleasant gentleman with the bonfire habit.”

“The fires have been coming in couples, Cap’nMike. If there’s one in the daytime, it’s a goodbet that another one will break loose the nextnight.”

The engineer yawned and confessed with an air ofapology: “I’m tuckered and no mistake. SupposeI turn in now and you rouse me out at eight bellsof the first watch.”

“Right enough. Where’s your old pair of night-glasses;and have ye a gun? If I find the disturber266I may want to bend it over his head. I would soonercatch him than kill him.”

“It ain’t a mite hospitable to treat you this way,Cap’n Mike.”

“Pooh, man. Ye do me a favor. ’Twould reconcileme to buying the next farm if there was a chanceof a ruction now and then.”

An hour later Captain Michael O’Shea was climbingthe long, easy slope of the barn roof. One end ofit supported a water-tank built upon a platform ofstout timbers. Here the enterprising lookout foundroom to sit and scrutinize the surrounding woodsand fields. The sky was starlit but the darknesshad a duskier, more impenetrable quality than on aclear night at sea. O’Shea’s keen vision, accustomedto sweep large and lonely horizons, was rather baffled,but the powerful glasses enabled him to distinguishthe vague outlines of the woodland and meadowand pasture boundaries.

In a blithe humor he smiled at the odd situationin which he found himself. Good old Johnny Kenthad actually achieved a farm, and here was his commanderperched on top of the barn like a weather-co*ck,and enjoying it, forsooth. His nimble witshad framed the most effective strategy possible. Itwould be futile to go blundering through the woodson a blind trail. From his elevated station he couldsee the first spark of fire to glow in any direction.The incendiary would linger to make sure that thefire had fairly caught, and O’Shea hoped to catchhim unawares and overpower him.

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The silent hours wore on and drew near to midnightwhen he had promised to arouse Johnny Kent.Nothing suspicious had been descried. A whippoorwillsounded its call with such breathless, unflaggingpersistence that the sentinel amused himself countingthe sweet, monotonous notes and concluded thata vast deal of energy was going to waste.

“That bird is over-engined for its tonnage,” hereflected. “Well, I have stood me watch in worseplaces than this. ’Tis a shame to turn poor oldJohnny out of his bunk. I will stay up here awhileand listen to the long-winded bird and enjoy thepleasure of me own company.”

His back against the water-tank, he could notwalk to ward off the drowsiness that was borne onthe wings of the soft night wind all laden with thesmells of trees and earth and hay-fields. His vigilancerelaxed and his thoughts drifted away to otherclimes and places.

He came out of his revery with a sudden start,convinced that he had been caught napping, for hiseyes had failed to detect anything moving in thedirection of the barn. But he could hear some onegroping about close to the side of the building. Astick snapped, the bushes rustled, and there wereother sounds very small yet significant. CaptainMichael O’Shea gingerly forsook the little platformand began to slide down the roof, fairly digging hisfingers and toes into the shingles with the tenacityof a cat.

The overhanging eaves made it difficult to observe268what was going on below. In order to peepover the edge of the roof, the shipmaster was compelledto sprawl upon his stomach with his heelshigher than his head and with no purchase by whichto maintain his grip. It was a wide-angled roof orhe would have tobogganed off into space before hislaborious descent carried him as far as the eaves.However, in his trade a man who could not hangon by his eyelids was a lubber of a sailor, and thebold O’Shea wriggled into position an inch at a time.

The mysterious noises might have been made byJohnny Kent prowling in search of him, but O’Sheawas afraid to call out lest he might frighten awaythe object of his vigil. His trousers catching on anail and holding him fast for a moment, he ceasedhis precarious exertions long enough to listen. Thistime his ear caught the crackle of crumpling paperand a succession of sharper noises as if some onewere breaking dry wood over his knee. He smeltthe unmistakable odor of kerosene. Almost directlybeneath him, and not more than a dozen feet distant,an attempt was well under way to set fire to JohnnyKent’s barn.

With more speed and less caution O’Shea managedto poke his head over the edge of the roof,intending to get his bearings before launching theattack. He found himself directly above a shadowyfigure which flitted to the wood-pile and backagain with quick, furtive movements. CaptainO’Shea had never found himself in a more embarrassingsituation. He disliked the idea of letting269go and diving head first, which was the quickestmethod of coming to close quarters. And even ifhe should try to turn about and launch himselfright end to, he was likely to hit the earth with thedeuce and all of a thump and perhaps break his legon a stick of cord-wood. The ladder by which hehad climbed to the roof was on the other side ofthe building and he had no time to scramble insearch of it.

While he hesitated the man beneath him scratcheda match. Startled and flurried at sight of this imminentdanger, O’Shea let his grip loosen for an instantand the law of gravity solved the problem forhim. With a blood-curdling yell he slid over thebrink, his fingers clawing wildly at the shingles andthe wooden gutter. Head downward he plungedand by rights should have broken his neck. Hisown theory to explain his survival was that an Irishmanalways alights on his feet. The fact was thatthe incendiary stranger happened to be in a stoopingposture and O’Shea’s head smote him squarelybetween the shoulders.

Both men rolled over and over like shot rabbits.There followed an interval during which the onetook no thought of hostilities, and the other had nointerest in flight. O’Shea sat up at length, gruntedonce or twice, and rubbed his head in a dazed manner.The pile of kindling had been scattered, but afragment of newspaper was burning and he broughthis heel down on it. His quarry now began to realizethat his back was not broken and he showed signs270of life. The pair sat glaring at each other, speechless,endeavoring to regain the wind that had beenknocked out of them.

As tough as sole-leather was Captain O’Shea, andnot to be put out of commission by so trifling a mishapas this. His head was spinning like a top andhe felt sick and weak, but he had a job on hand andhe meant to finish it. The revolver was missingfrom his pocket. It had been dislodged by histumble and it was useless to grope for it in the darkness.By now the other man had found his feet andwas moving unsteadily toward the end of the barn.O’Shea made for him and they clinched in a clumpof burdocks.

Neither was in the best of condition to make aHomeric combat of it. To O’Shea’s dismay he discoveredthat he had caught a Tartar as collision-proofas himself. He tried to grip the fellow by thethroat and to throw him with a heave and a twist, buta pair of arms as muscular as his own flailed him inthe face and hammered his ribs. Then the brawnyyoung shipmaster let fly with his fists and brokehis knuckles against a jaw which seemed to be madeof oak.

“If the both of us was ship-shape we would makea grand fight of it,” panted O’Shea with the shadowof a grin. “’Tis no time for etiquette and I willstretch him before he does the same for me.”

“Wait till I set my teeth in you,” growled hisadversary, finding speech for the first time. “I’lltear your windpipe out,” and he followed the horrid271threat with a string of oaths that chilled O’Shea’sblood, although he had heard profanity over all theseven seas. The accents were so hoarse and savageas to be even more alarming than the words. Theshipmaster ceased to regard the fight in the light ofa diversion. He was convinced that he had a madmanto deal with. Keeping clear, he turned andmade for the wood-pile, a few yards distant. Gropingfor a moment, he was fortunate enough to catchup a four-foot length of hickory sapling, as handy abludgeon as he could desire.

As if at bay, the other man made no effort to escapeduring this respite, but lunged after O’Shea, whowheeled in the nick of time and found room to swinghis hickory club. It rose and fell only once. Themadman toppled over and collapsed among the burdocks.

“He will stay there for a while,” said the wearyO’Shea. “I caught him fair over the ear, and ’tisa safe bet that I put a dent in him.”

Thereupon he turned his lagging footsteps in thedirection of the cottage. A lantern came bobbingout of the wood-shed door, and its light revealed thelarge presence of Johnny Kent simply clad in a flowingnight-shirt and a pair of slippers. At discerningO’Shea advancing through the gloom, he shouted:

“Why didn’t you wake me up at eight bells? Ijust come to and turned out to look for you, Cap’nMike. All quiet, I suppose?”

“Yes. I made it quiet, you sleepy old terrapin,”returned O’Shea with a laugh before they had come272together. “Didn’t you hear me yell when I fell offthe barn roof?”

“Nary a yell. I do sleep sounder than when Iwas at sea,” and Johnny Kent waddled nearer andheld the lantern higher. “Gracious saints, whathave you been doin’ to yourself? Your nose is allbloodied up and one eye is bunged. What do youmean by falling off my barn roof? You must havetapped that barrel of hard cider in the cellar.”

“I tapped a harder customer than that, Johnny.It was a gorgeous shindy while it lasted, but I hadto wind it up. I caught your firebug and I laidhim out in the barn-yard. Ye can hold a wake overhim or send for the police.”

The engineer swung his lantern in excited circlesas he pranced toward the barn, unmindful of thechilly breeze that played about his bare shanks.

“You’re not jokin’, are you, Cap’n Mike? Thesituation is too blamed serious for that. You landedhim, honest? You’re the man to turn the trick.Where did you ketch him?”

“I got the drop on him, as ye might say, and itwas a divil of a drop. My neck is an inch shorterthan it was, but me collision bulkhead held fast.He is a broth of a boy, and he will be hard to holdwhen he comes out of the trance I put him in.”

“And I missed the fun,” mourned Johnny. “I’msurely getting old, Cap’n Mike. But I guess we canhandle him without sending for the village constableto-night.”

“I have seen you tame some pretty tough tarriers.273This is a bad one and no mistake. Fetch the lanterncloser and we will look him over.”

They ploughed through the burdocks, the pricklyburrs causing Johnny Kent to stride high and wide.The stranger lay as he had fallen. The light revealedhim as a powerfully built man of middle agewith reddish hair and a stubbled growth of beard.The dilapidated shirt and trousers were stained withearth and grass, and held together by a leather belt.His captors were about to scrutinize him more closelywhen he opened his eyes, groaned, and raised himselfupon his elbow with an unexpected display ofvitality. Bidding Johnny Kent stand by with thelantern, O’Shea caught up the hickory club andflourished it as a hint that unconditional surrenderwas advisable.

The prisoner blinked stupidly at the lantern andmade no effort to rise. His aspect was not in theleast ferocious. O’Shea could scarcely believe thatthis was the madman who had threatened to sinkhis teeth in him and discommode his windpipe.Rough-featured he was and unkempt beyond words,but he conveyed a most incongruous impression ofkindly and harmless simplicity, and O’Shea was themore amazed to hear him mutter in his hoarse, curiouslythickened accents:

“Can you spare a chew of tobacco, shipmate?”

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” exclaimed Johnny Kent,absently feeling for his trousers’ pockets which werenot there. “You certainly did tame him a wholelot, Cap’n Mike.”

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“’Tis a riddle I cannot fathom at all,” was thereply.

Indignation got the upper hand of the engineer’sgenerous impulse and he explosively demanded ofthe stranger:

“What do you mean by tryin’ to set fire to mybarn, you addle-headed, misbegotten, murderous sonof a sculpin? I wish Cap’n Mike had knocked theblock clean off you.”

The queer visitor showed no resentment, butsmiled in an amiable sort of fashion and rubbed alarge, red welt just above his right ear. Never aword did he say, although the twain plied him withquestions. His demeanor was as friendly as if theyhad done him some signal service.

“If you can’t talk, maybe ye can walk,” gustilyshouted O’Shea. “We will clap ye under hatchesfor to-night and investigate by daylight. We havecaught an odd fish this time, Johnny.”

“Prod him into the wood-shed and lock him up,”grumbled the other. “He’s plumb twistified in hismental works, and I can’t make head or tail ofhim.”

At a beckoning gesture the prisoner meekly tried toget on his feet, but he had been shorn of his strengthand he fell twice before O’Shea and Johnny Kentgrasped him by the arms and steered him in thepath that led to the cottage. He stumbled alonglike a drunken man and had to be half-dragged overthe low step at the wood-shed door. Calling himselfa soft-hearted old fool, the engineer bustled into the275house and dragged forth a spare mattress. O’Sheaobtained a lamp in the kitchen, also cold water anda towel to bathe the hurt that his hickory weaponhad inflicted.

The red-haired man sat forlornly upon the mattress,leaning against the coal-bin, his hands claspedover his knees. He had the dumb, wistful look of abeaten dog, and his eyes, remarkably blue of color,followed Captain O’Shea with no ill-will, but like onewho recognized his master. It was clear enoughthat he was to be dealt with as a man with a disorderedmind, and it was unmanly to hold him accountablefor his arson and violence. Attacked unawaresin the darkness, there had been provocationfor his bestial outbreak, and it was to be concludedthat his usual mood was harmless, excepting a fatalfondness for playing with fire.

“I have a strong notion that he is a seafarin’ man,”said O’Shea, as he gave the captive a stiff drink ofwhiskey from the bottle kept in the hall cupboard.“Maybe this will buck him up and set his tonguegoing. That’s a sailor’s belt he has on, Johnny.And he has the look of it.”

The engineer had put his spectacles on his nose andwas examining the litter of small objects he hadfished out of the man’s pockets. One of them waslike a leather thong thickened in the middle, andhe cried excitedly:

“You’re right, Cap’n Mike. Here’s a sailor’spalm—a sea thimble, and the cuss has mended hisclothes with it. See the patch on his shirt, and he276has stitched the holes in his shoes with bits of tarredtwine.”

“He called me shipmate when he asked for achew, but many a landlubber uses the word and Idid not lay much store by it.”

“It’s only twenty miles to the Maine coast,” saidJohnny Kent, “and he may have wandered inlandfrom one of the ports.”

“I have a hunch that he didn’t come out of acoasting schooner. The beggar has sailed deep waterin his time. I wonder if he is hungry. Betterintroduce him to some grub. He is rounding to, buthe has about as much conversation in him as anoyster.”

The engineer rummaged in the kitchen and broughtout a plate of biscuits, cold bacon, potatoes, andpickles, which the red-haired man ate with an aviditythat betokened starvation. The sight movedJohnny Kent almost to tears. The last spark ofhis animosity was quenched. There was no moreawful fate than to be separated from three squaremeals per day.

“We’ll swab the dirt off him and shuck thoseragged, rotten clothes before we batten him down forthe night,” said Johnny. “I can’t leave a sailor inthis fix, even if he is flighty in the main-top and hastried to smoke out the whole darn neighborhood.”

While he departed in search of a shift of raiment,Captain O’Shea removed the man’s shirt. At thefirst tug it tore and came away in his hands. Theprisoner had remained sitting in the same posture, but277now he moved and lazily stretched his length uponthe mattress, lying on his stomach, his face pillowedagainst his arm. His hunger satisfied, the desire ofsleep had overtaken him, and his heavy breathingtold O’Shea that the extraordinary guest had carriedhis riddle to dreamland.

Johnny Kent had taken the lamp into the house,and the lantern which had been left standing on thefloor cast a long, dusky shadow athwart the recumbentfigure. The shipmaster stood looking downat the massive shoulders and knotted, hairy arms ofthe stranger when his attention was fixed by somethingwhich caused him to stare as though startledand fascinated and perplexed. The man’s broadback bore some kind of a design, an uncouth, sprawlingpattern such as no artist in tattooing could everhave traced to please a sailor’s fancy.

It was a huge disfigurement composed of bold linesand angles which stood out in black projectionagainst the white skin. Even in the dim light, CaptainO’Shea could discern that these rude markingshad been done with a purpose, that they composedthemselves into a symbol of some sort. They lookedas if they had been laid on with a brush, in broad,sweeping strokes which ran the width of the back,and all the way down to the waist. The man couldnot have made them himself. They were mysterious,sinister.

O’Shea was neither timid nor apt to be caught offhis guard, but his pulse fluttered and his mouth feltdry. He was in the presence of something wholly278beyond his ken, baffling his experience. This red-hairedderelict, whose wits had forsaken him, broughta message hostile, alien, and remote. PresentlyO’Shea bethought himself of the lantern and madefor it with nervous haste. Holding it close to theback of the sleeping man, he stared with horrifiedattention and pitying wrath that a human beingshould have been so maltreated.

The great symbol or design had been slashed in theflesh with strokes of a sword or knife. The edges ofthe scars stood out in rough ridges. Into the woundshad been rubbed India-ink or some like substancewhich the process of healing held indelibly fixed.The pattern thus made permanent and conspicuouswas that of a character of the Chinese or Japaneselanguage.

Johnny Kent came out of the kitchen and beckonedhim. The engineer stood open-mouthed andgazed down at the tremendous ideograph that hadbeen so brutally hacked in human flesh. O’Sheahad nothing to say. What was there to say? Thething was there. It spoke for itself. What it meantwas an enigma which neither man could in thesmallest degree attempt to unravel. When JohnnyKent spoke it was only to voice the obvious fact ortwo that required no explanation.

“He was chopped and branded proper, wasn’t he,Cap’n Mike? And it was done for some devilishpurpose. I’ve knocked about most of the ports inthe Orient, but I never heard of anything likethis.”

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“They made a document of him, Johnny. ’TisChinese workmanship, I’m thinking. How could aman live through a thing like that? For the loveof heaven, look at those scars! They are as wideas me thumb, and some of them are better than afoot long. And they stand out so black and wickedthat it gives me the creeps.”

“It means something, Cap’n Mike. And it’s upto us to find the answer. One of them Chinese charactersmay tell a whole lot. Their heathen fashionof slingin’ a pen is more like drawin’ pictures. Afew lines and a couple of wriggles all bunched uptogether and it tells the story.”

“And what is this story, Johnny? Answer methat.”

“You can search me. It’s almighty queer businessto happen on my peaceful farm in the State o’Maine.”

“Let the poor beggar rest here till morning andthen we will consider him some more. I guesswe don’t want to turn him over to the constable,Johnny.”

“Not till we try our hand at translatin’ him. Iwish I had a Chinese dictionary. Say, Cap’n Mike,you’re as welcome as the flowers in spring, but assoon as you set foot on my farm things begin to happen.Trouble is a step-brother of yours. It’s likeharborin’ a stormy petrel.”

“’Tis not fair to blackguard me,” laughed O’Shea.“You and your neighbors can sleep easy in yourbeds for I have caught the bogie-man.”

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“I wish I knew what it is you’ve caught,” sighedthe engineer.

O’Shea bent over the sleeping man in order toraise his head and slip underneath it a rolled blanketto serve as a pillow. His fingers chanced to detecton the top of the skull a curious depression or grooveover which the red hair was rumpled in a sort ofcow-lick. Examination convinced him that this wasthe result of some violent blow which had fairlydented the bony structure and pressed it down uponthe brain.

“That is where he got it,” said O’Shea. “And’tis what made a lunatic of him.”

“It looks like they tried to kill him with an axebut he was too tough for ’em, Cap’n Mike. Nowonder that crack you gave him over the ear didn’tbother him much.”

“And whoever it was that put their mark on hisback was the same party who caved in his lid orI’m a liar,” was the conclusion of Michael O’Shea.

II

The only inmate of the cottage who slept soundlywas the vagabond in the wood-shed. His guardiansstood watch and watch as a matter of habit, butthe early morning found them both astir and drinkingmugs of coffee very hot and strong. Their guesthad not moved from his outstretched position on themattress. He slumbered like a man drugged or utterly281exhausted. O’Shea had spread a blanket overhis naked back and shoulders partly for warmth,but another motive also prompted him. He wishedto hide the cruel disfigurement. It seemed unfeelingto expose it.

Now by daylight he moved on tiptoe to the mattressand twitched the blanket aside. O’Shea hadlived among hard men and fought his way throughbattering circ*mstances in which physical brutalitystill survived to uphold the rude old traditions of thesea. But this sight made him wince and shiver, andhe did not like to look at it. Covering it with theblanket he fell to wondering, with an intensity ofinterest that gripped him more and more strongly,what tragedy was concealed behind the curtain ofthis luckless man’s past.

Johnny Kent had agreed that he must be harboredin the cottage for the present. Their surmisethat he was a seafarer made it seem a duty to befriendhim by all means in their power. To spreadthe tidings in the village that the pyromaniac hadbeen caught would arouse a storm of anger and resentment.Amid much clamor and disorder hewould be handcuffed and tied with ropes and triumphantlylugged to the county jail. The farmerswere in no mood to condone his misdeeds on thescore of mental irresponsibility. On the other hand,kindly treatment and association with those accustomedto follow the sea might awaken his dormantintelligence and prompt him to reveal something ofhis shrouded history.

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“It’s an awkward proposition,” sighed JohnnyKent, “but we’ll have to work it out somehow. Ofcourse I’m sorry for the poor lunatic that has beenman-handled so abominably, and so long as we don’tgive him matches to play with I guess he’s safe tohave around. But how can I keep him hid frommy neighbors? They’re as gossipy and curious as ahogshead of cats.”

“I mean to find out who branded him and why,”was the vehement assertion of Captain O’Shea.

Shortly after this the stalwart waif in the wood-shedawakened and his captors were pleased to notethat he was still tractable. Indeed, he greeted themwith his confiding, good-natured grin and sat pullingon his shoes. To their words of greeting, however,he made no reply. Apparently the plaintive requestfor a chew of tobacco had been the end ofhis conversation.

“He used up all the language in his system,”commented O’Shea. “Maybe he will not burst intospeech again unless I hit him another crack overthe ear.”

Johnny Kent filled a tub with water and indicatedthe clean clothes which he had left on the chair.The derelict nodded gratefully and the others withdrew.

“It wouldn’t do to trust him with a razor, Cap’nMike,” said the engineer.

“Pooh! Fetch me the tackle and I will shavehim meself. It will make him look saner anyhowand I want to see what he is like.”

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The guest seemed delighted with this thoughtfulattention and submitted to a dose of lather with allthe good grace in the world. Bathed, shaved, clad inone of Johnny Kent’s white suits, he was astonishinglytransformed. A strapping big man he was,and he held himself with the easy poise of one whosemuscles had been trained by hard work on rollingdecks. Strolling into the kitchen, he passed throughit and entered the other rooms, his guardians followingto see what he might do.

At sight of the scrubbed floors, the polished brasswork,the barometer on the wall, and the simplefurnishings so like the cabin of a ship, his blue eyesshowed a flicker of interest and he paused and absentlyshoved an inkstand back from the shelf of adesk lest it slide off. The trick was so significantof his calling that O’Shea needed no more proof. Atin box filled with matches caught his glance and heinstantly made for them. His demeanor was furtiveand cunning. He had become a different man in atwinkling.

Johnny Kent jumped for him and O’Shea was athis elbow ready for a tussle. But he permitted thematches to be taken from him without resistance, andforgot all about them in fingering the spliced hammockropes on the porch. A gesture from O’Shea andhe returned to the kitchen and took the chair assignedhim for breakfast. The prudent engineer kept aneye on the knife and fork which the stranger usedwith the manners rather of the cabin than the forecastle.O’Shea studied the rugged, honest features284of this red-headed mystery and earnestly expoundedvarious theories that wandered into blind alleysand led nowhere at all. The only conjecture whichseemed to hang together was that, in some way oranother, the man’s propensity for setting fires harkedback to the time and scene of the terrible blow overthe head which had benumbed his memory andjarred his wits. Before this disaster overtook himhe must have been a fellow ready and courageous,able to hold his own in the rough-and-tumble world.

“What shall we call him? It’ll be handy togive him some kind of a name,” suggested JohnnyKent.

“He reminds me of Big Bill Maguire, that wasmate of the Sea Bird bark, and fell through a hatchand broke his neck when he came aboard drunk atValparaiso. He was a rare seaman when sober.”

“Let’s call him Bill Maguire, then, Cap’n Mike.He likes us and I guess he intends to sign on withus and hang around.”

“Why don’t you try setting him to work, Johnny?He would make a jewel of a hired man.”

“Yes. On a fire-proof farm that was insured forall the underwriters would stand for,” dubiously returnedthe engineer. “I can’t watch him everyminute.”

Captain Michael O’Shea banged the table withhis fist and decisively exclaimed:

“’Tis in my mind to visit you a day or two longer,Johnny. Curiosity is fair consuming me. I cansee the ugly, wicked marks on this poor beggar’s285back whenever I shut me eyes. It haunts me likea nightmare that is too monstrous to talk about.”

“I’d give a thousand dollars to fathom it,” roaredJohnny Kent. “And Bill Maguire just sits acrossthe table and grins like a wooden figger-head.”

“I suppose ye have no Chinamen in your village,”ventured O’Shea.

“Nary a Chink. I’ll bet the children never sawone.”

“And where could we find the nearest one, Johnny?’Tis our business to dig up a co*ck-eyed lad that willimpart to us the meaning of the message that wascarved into the back of Bill Maguire. Nor will Iknow an easy minute till we have the information.”

Johnny pondered a little and then spoke up withsudden hopefulness:

“Once in a while I’m so sagacious that I surprisemyself. The Chinese ambassador spends his summerson the coast at Poplar Cove. It’s no morethan an hour from here by train. He’s a fat, sociableold party, so they tell me. And where could youfind a better man to solve the riddle of Bill Maguire?”

“You score a bull’s-eye,” cried O’Shea. “And hewill have secretaries and such, and we will let themall have a try at it.”

“But how will you show ’em Bill’s back? Drawit on paper, or get a photograph made?”

“Nonsense! Bill will take his back along with us.We will produce the original human document.”

The engineer was inclined to object to this, butthe edicts of Captain O’Shea were to be obeyed, and286to argue was to waste words. The Perkins boy wassummoned from the barn and instructed, by meansof thundering intonations, to stand guard over thefarm at peril of his life. He spent his nights at hisown home and had missed the excitement of thecapture of Bill Maguire, wherefore the secret wassafely hid from his inquisitive eyes and ears. Hegazed at the robust, silent stranger with rampantcuriosity, but learned nothing beyond the fact thathis employer proposed to be absent for the daywith his two guests.

The young Perkins drove them to the railroadstation in the two-seated democrat wagon, JohnnyKent sitting at his side and smothering his questions.The ticklish business of conveying Bill Maguirethrough the village was accomplished withoutthe slightest mishap. He behaved with flawless dignityand seemed contented with the society of hisescort. During the brief journey by train to PoplarCove he slouched in his seat as if half-asleepuntil the railroad swung across a wide belt of saltmarsh and turned in a northerly direction to followthe coast. There were glimpses of rocky headlandsfringed with surf, of wooded inlets and white beaches,and now and then a patch of blue ocean and a far-distantsky-line.

The red-haired man from nowhere was mightilymoved by the smell and sight of the sea. His heavy,listless manner vanished. His rugged face becamemore intelligent, more alert. It reflected tides ofemotion, poignant and profound. It was painful to287watch him as he scowled and chewed his lip orbrushed away tears that came brimming to his eyes.It was evident that he struggled with memories andassociations that came and fled like tormentingghosts before he could lay hold of them. Again, fora moment, he broke the bonds of his dumbness, andloudly uttered the words:

“Make for the boat. Don’t mind me. Theswine have done for me.”

To O’Shea and Johnny Kent the words were likea flash of lightning against the black backgroundof night. They revealed the man for what he hadbeen in his prime, in the full stature of heroic self-abnegation,thinking of others and not of himselfeven in the last extremity. They understood thiskind of manhood. It squared with their own creed.Aglow with sympathy, they plied the derelict witheager questions, but he only muttered, wearily shookhis head, and turned away to gaze at the sea.

At the Poplar Cove station they hired a carriageand were driven along the cliff road to the pretentioussummer-place occupied by His Excellency HaoSu Ting and his silk-robed retinue. To escort acrazy sailor into the august presence of the distinguisheddiplomat, and demand a translation of thebrand upon his naked back was an extraordinaryperformance, taking it by and large. However, thestout old engineer had no notion of hanging back.He had the fine quality of courage that is not afraidof ridicule.

As for Captain O’Shea, he was in a wicked temper,288and it would fare ill with the man that laughed athim. His smouldering indignation at the barbarityinflicted upon the seaman had been just now kindledby the words which leaped so vividly out of theclouded past and were winged with so much significance.“Bill Maguire” had unflinchingly playedthe cards as the fates dealt them and had paid aprice as bitter as death. The game was unfinished,the account had not been settled. At this momentO’Shea detested the entire Chinese race and wouldhave gladly choked the ambassador in a bight ofhis own pigtail.

The trio walked slowly across the wide lawn anddrew near to the rambling white house of a colonialdesign to which the Chinese dignitary had transferredhis exotic household. It was for O’Shea toexplain the fantastic errand and gain admittance,wherefore he prepared to dissemble his hostile emotionsand make use of that tact and suavity whichhad carried him over many rough places.

Alas for his plan of campaign! It was overturnedin a twinkling. The red-haired sailor followed obedientlyto the pillared portico which framed the entranceof the house. O’Shea rang the bell, and hisquick ear detected the soft shuffle of felt-soled shoes.The door was swung open and there confronted thema Chinese servant in the dress of his country. Atsight of the shaven head, the immobile, ivory-huedcountenance, and the flowing garments of white andblue, the demented sailor became instantly enraged.

Snarling, he leaped forward with clinched fists289and his face was black with hatred. The waryO’Shea was too quick for him and managed to thrusthim to one side so that his rush collided with thecasing of the door. The frightened servant squealedand scuttled back into the house. Instead of tryingto pursue him, the red-haired man was taken with aviolent fit of trembling, seemingly compounded ofweakness and terror. Before O’Shea and JohnnyKent could collect their wits in this extremely awkwardsituation, he wheeled about, dashed betweenthem, and made for the lawn as if the devil wereat his heels.

O’Shea was after him like a shot, the engineerpuffing along in the wake of the chase. The servant’soutcries had alarmed the household. Out ofthe front-door came spilling a surprising number ofsleek attachés, secretaries, domestics, and what not.Behind them waddled at a gait more leisurely noneother than His Excellency Hao Su Ting in all thegorgeous amplitude of his mandarin’s garb. In achattering group they paused to watch poor BillMaguire flee with tremendous strides in the directionof the roadway, the active figure of CaptainO’Shea steadily gaining on him. Far in the rearlabored the mighty bulk of Johnny Kent.

The fugitive was not in the best of trim for a sustainedeffort, and he tired rapidly, swaying from sideto side as he ran. Near the outermost boundary ofthe ambassador’s grounds, O’Shea was able to overtakeand trip him. Maguire fell headlong, ploughingup the turf, and was so dazed and breathless that290O’Shea was kneeling upon him and shoving a revolverin his face before he could pull himself together.Then Johnny Kent came up, and betweenthem they subdued the man’s struggles to renewhis flight.

He made no effort to harm either of them. Hisbefogged mind seemed to recognize them as hisfriends and protectors. The one impelling purposewas to escape from the Chinese. These latter gentlemennow came hurrying over the lawn to offeraid, evidently surmising that a madman had brokenaway from his keepers and possibly had soughtthe place to harm His Excellency. Poor Maguiregroaned pitifully and renewed his exertions to releasehimself, but the weight of two uncommonlystrong men pinioned him to the sod. At a wordfrom the ambassador several of his retinue hastenedto sit upon the captive’s arms and legs. A dapperyoung secretary acted as spokesman and inquiredin precise, cultivated English:

“May I trouble you to inform His Excellency whyyou make all this commotion on his premises? It isan insane person, or perhaps a burglar, that youhave in your custody?”

“It is an American seafarin’ man and he is afriend of ours,” gravely answered Captain O’Shea,still keeping a firm grip on the prostrate Maguire.“He has behaved himself very well till now, but heis impolite enough to dislike the Chinese.”

“He is not correct in the intellect? Then whyhave you brought him here?” asked the secretary.

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“To show him to His Excellency,” quoth O’Shea.“’Tis information we seek, and the man himself isthe document in the case.”

“He turned obstreperous most unexpected andsudden,” anxiously put in Johnny Kent, “and nowit’s blamed unhandy to show him to you. I’m kindof stumped. What about it, Cap’n Mike?”

The secretary might have looked puzzled had hebelonged to any other race, but his face remainedpolite and inscrutable as he smoothly protested:

“Your explanation is not clear. I advise you toremove all yourselves from the premises of His Excellency.He has no interest in you.”

O’Shea was oblivious of the absurd tableau inwhich he played the leading rôle. The red-hairedsailor was still stretched upon the grass, and hisbrace of stanch friends held him at anchor. Hewas quieter and the tempest of passion had passed.The Chinese servants who had been roosting on theoutlying parts of his frame withdrew from the sceneof war and rejoined their comrades. As soon asthey were beyond the range of his vision, Maguiresubsided and seemed as docile as of yore.

His Excellency Hao Su Ting showed his augustback to the turbulent intruders and paced slowlytoward the house. Several of the party turned tofollow him, but the secretary aforesaid, togetherwith a few of the staff, tarried in order to be surethat the trio of invaders left the place. CaptainMichael O’Shea was not to be thwarted by the disadvantageoussituation in which he found himself.292Hustling Maguire to his feet, he tried to drive it intohim with strong words and meaning gestures that hemust be obedient and no harm would come to him.The revolver was an eloquent argument in itself.

Sensible Johnny Kent turned the sailor about sothat he could see nothing of the Chinese and wasfacing the cliffs and the sea. In this position theengineer held him, while O’Shea, seizing the opportunemoment, fairly ripped the coat off the manand pulled up his shirt to bare his back. It wasdramatically done and the effect was instantaneous.Not a word was said in explanation. None wasneeded. The great Chinese character that spreadbetween the man’s shoulder-blades and down tohis waist, showed black and scarred and livid.

The secretary and the other Orientals stood gazingat it without moving so much as a finger. Theysaid nothing, but one heard their breath come quick.A kind of whistling sigh escaped the dapper secretary,and his eyes glittered like two buttons of jet.He was striving to maintain a composure which hadbeen racked to the foundations. His blood was ofa finer strain than that of the underlings who stoodnear him, and he held his ground while they beganto edge away in retreat. Presently one of thembroke into a run. The others took to their heels ina panic route and scampered toward the house, theirbaggy breeches fluttering, queues whipping the wind,felt shoes fairly twinkling. From one of them cameback a shrill, wailing, “Ai oh.”

They raced past His Excellency Hao Su Ting,293who stood aghast at the gross disregard of etiquetteand vainly commanded them to halt. Nor did themad pace slacken until the last of them had divedto cover. O’Shea forgot his business and grinnedwith honest enjoyment, but the face of the secretary,now haggard and parchment-like, recalled himto the task in hand. This lone Chinese who hadwithstood the desire to run away was moving nearerto examine the branded back of the red-hairedsailor.

“Ye have all the marks of a man that is sick tothe soul with fear,” grimly observed O’Shea, “butyou are too brave to give up to it, and I admireye for it. Tell me, have you ever seen a manscarred like that before?”

The secretary spoke with a visible effort, and hisvoice had the rasping edge of intense excitement.

“Yes, I have seen that character, symbol, whateveryou will call it—in my own country. It ismost shocking, amazing, to behold it in this way,inflicted upon an American.”

“Do you need to look at it any longer? Can yeremember it? Will I show it to His Excellency?”demanded O’Shea.

“I cannot forget it,” slowly replied the other.“No, it is not necessary to show it to the ambassador.I assure you it is not necessary. I shall inform himthat I have seen it. He will know what it is. Iwish very much that it may not be seen by his illustriousself.”

The words and manner of the secretary conveyed294the weightiest earnestness. He was in an agony ofdread lest Hao Su Ting should return and view thespectacle of the branded man. O’Shea pitied hisdistress and was shrewd enough to perceive thatnothing would be gained by opposing him. Maguirewas restless, and Johnny Kent had trouble in stickingfast to him.

“Walk him along toward the railroad station,”said O’Shea to his comrade. “He will give you nobother once he makes his offing and goes clear of thisChinese colony. Here’s the gun, if ye need to persuadehim a bit. Wait for me there, Johnny. Thisyoung man from Cathay will have a talk with me.”

“It looks as if you had sort of started things,Cap’n Mike. Aye, aye, I’ll take Bill in tow andrun to moorings with him till you throw up signalrockets.”

With this reply, which betokened excellent discipline,the engineer grasped the sailor-man by thearm, and marched him into the road. O’Shea andthe secretary were about to resume their conversationwhen the latter’s attention was caught by thebeckoning gesture of the Chinese ambassador, whoseemed impatient.

“His Excellency wishes to ask me why there wasso much unseemly excitement by his servants,” saidthe young man. “I would prefer first to talk withyou, but his command must be obeyed. Your name?Thank you. I shall have the pleasure of acquaintingCaptain O’Shea with the ambassador of Chinato the United States.”

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“’Tis no pleasure for any one concerned, to judgeby the symptoms,” replied the shipmaster.

“I agree with you, my dear sir. But it is somethingto have spared His Excellency the sight of thedisfigurement which is written on the back of yourmost unfortunate friend.”

“Maybe the ambassador could see it from wherehe stood,” suggested O’Shea.

“No. His eyes are not of the best without spectacles.He is not a young man and his health isinferior. To shock him by the sight of somethingdreadful to see might have unhappy consequences.”

“But what is the answer? Why was every manof you bowled off his feet?” exclaimed O’Shea.“’Tis not the way of your people to be afraid ofscars and wounds. Ye deal out some pretty toughpunishments to your criminals.”

“It is advisable that you should pay your respectsto His Excellency,” evasively returned the Chinese.

The ambassador regarded Captain O’Shea withan unfriendly stare until the secretary, with manylow bows, held rapid converse with the personagein his own language. The elderly statesman anddiplomat grunted incredulously, shook his head invehement contradiction, and O’Shea conjecturedthat he was roundly scolding the young man forbringing him such an impossible yarn. At lengthhe yielded with a frown of annoyance and brieflyaddressed the shipmaster.

“I speak not much English. Come into my house,please.”

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He preceded them into a large library with manylong windows screened by bamboo shades. Passingthrough this, he entered a smaller room more convenientfor privacy. The threshold was a boundarybetween the Occident and the Orient. The librarylooked, for the most part, as though it belonged ina handsome summer-place of the New Englandcoast, but this smaller room was as foreign as theambassador himself. The air was heavy with thesmell of sandal-wood. The massive table and chairswere of teak and ebony cunningly carved. Thewalls were hung with embroideries of crimson andgold, on which grotesque dragons writhed in intricateconvolutions. The pieces of porcelain, jade,and cloisonné were not many, but they had beenfashioned by the artists of dead dynasties and werealmost beyond price. Upon a long panel of silk wasdisplayed a row of Chinese characters cut from blackvelvet and sewn to the fabric. They were merelythe symbols of good fortune commonly to be foundin such an environment as this, a sort of equivalentof the old-fashioned motto, “God Bless Our Home,”but to Captain Michael O’Shea they carried an uncomfortablesuggestion of the handiwork done uponthe back of Bill Maguire.

His Excellency Hao Su Ting seated himself besidethe table, deliberately put on his round spectacleswith heavy tortoise-shell rims, and tucked his handsinside his flowing sleeves. The deferential secretarystood waiting for him to speak. O’Shea fidgetedand yearned to break the silence. The air297had turned chill with an east wind that blew strongand damp from the sea. Nevertheless the ambassadorfound it necessary to take a handkerchieffrom his sleeve and wipe the little beads of perspirationfrom his bald brow. O’Shea made note of it,and wondered what powerful emotion moved behindthe round spectacles and calm, benignant countenanceof the diplomat.

At length he spoke to the secretary in Chineseand indicated O’Shea with a slow wave of the hand.The young man translated with some unreadinessas though endeavoring to bring the words withinthe bounds of courtesy.

“His Excellency says that it is impossible, thatyou are mistaken. He is not convinced.”

“He calls me a liar?” and O’Shea’s sense of humorwas stirred. With his easy, boyish laugh he added:“’Tis your own reputation for veracity that needsoverhaulin’, me lad. Your own two eyes have seenthe thing. I had the proof, but ye would not letme take the two-legged document by the collar andfetch him to the house.”

The ambassador turned to the table at his elbow.Upon it was an ink box and a soft brush used forwriting his own language. From a drawer he withdrewa sheet of rice-paper. Shoving these towardO’Shea, he said something and the secretary explained:

“He wishes you to write what it is like, the thingthat I also have seen. Please be good enough tooblige.”

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The brand was etched in O’Shea’s memory. Withouthesitation he picked up the brush and blazonedthe character in broad, firm strokes. For perhapsa minute His Excellency gazed at it. Then he caughtup the sheet of rice-paper and tore it into smallfragments.

“He is now convinced that you and I speak truth,”the secretary murmured in O’Shea’s ear.

“Well and good. He looks as if it made him unwell.Now can we get down to business and tacklethe mystery of it? It is Chinese writing. Whatdoes it mean? That is me errand.”

His Excellency Hao Su Ting no longer resembleda round-faced Buddha seated in reposeful meditationupon a throne of teak-wood. The words camefrom him in a torrential flow, and the harsh, sing-songintonations were terribly in earnest. It wasa harangue that warned, expostulated, lamentedwith all the fervor of an issue that concerned lifeand death. It startled O’Shea to behold a man ofhis unemotional race, and one so hedged about withthe dignity of rank, in this stormy tide of feeling.It ceased abruptly. The old man sank into hischair and closed his eyes. The secretary rang agong for a servant and ordered tea. Presently theambassador signified that he wished to retire to acouch, and others of his staff attended him into thelibrary and thence to an upper floor of the house.

The secretary returned to join O’Shea and beganto explain in his measured, monotonous way:

“I will now inform you as much as it is permitted299to know. It disappoints you, I am aware, that hisExcellency is unable to translate the writing characterwhich has made so much disturbance. Norcan I translate it, either into Chinese or Englishwords. My language is what you call arbitrary,built up of symbols, not letters. This particularcharacter has been invented to signify some secretpurpose. It has the root-sign for man, and also thetwo curved lines which mean a sending, a message.The rest of it is hidden from us. His Excellency isa scholar of the highest grade among the literati ofChina. This character, as a whole, he has neverbeen able to find in the classics or the dictionaries.”

More puzzled than ever, O’Shea broke in to demand:

“But if nobody knows what it means, why doesthe sight of it start a full-sized panic?”

“Many men in China have been found dead, andupon their backs had been hacked with a sword thisstrange character. It was thus that the own brotherof His Excellency was discovered, in the court-yardof his house.”

“I begin to see daylight,” said O’Shea.

“Ah, there is only the blackest darkness,” gravelyreplied the secretary. “The branded men have notbeen coolies, but officials, merchants, people of station.No precautions avail. It smites them likethe lightning from the sky. The fear of it walkseverywhere. And now it has crossed the sea like anevil shadow.”

“That is not quite right,” was the matter-of-fact300comment. “Poor Bill Maguire got it in China andbrought it with him. ’Tis not likely to trouble you.”

“Never have we heard of a man who lived andwalked with this mark upon his back, Captain O’Shea.All those to whom this fate has happened were infalliblydead. When they beheld it this afternoon,some of our people believed they gazed upon a red-hairedghost. I am an educated man, a graduateof Oxford University, but I tell you my blood turnedto water and my heart was squeezed tight.”

“My friend Maguire is hard to kill,” said O’Shea.“I tried it meself. So he was put on the list by thisdamnable whatever-it-is, and the autograph wascarved on him, and he was left for dead! Can yetell me any more?”

“It is not in my power to enlighten you. I haveknown of men who found this character painted onthe posts of their gate-ways. They surroundedthemselves with soldiers and hired guards. Theymoved not from within their own walls. And theycould not save themselves. They died as I havedescribed it to you.”

“I have listened to pleasanter yarns. I am greatlyobliged to ye,” and O’Shea was ready to take hisdeparture. “I am afraid I will know no more unlessBill Maguire uncorks himself and confides the storyof his life.”

“When the time comes it will interest me greatlyto be informed of it,” said the secretary, offeringhis hand.

“Pass me kind regards to His Excellency and give301him my regrets that I jolted his nervous system. Heis a fine old gentleman.”

The shipmaster hastened on foot to the railroadstation, where Johnny Kent was patiently and peacefullyawaiting orders. The red-haired sailor was sittingon a baggage truck and munching peanuts. Atsight of O’Shea he grinned in recognition and waveda greeting hand. The engineer was eager for tidings,but a train was almost due and he was briefly assured:

“’Tis a bugaboo tale, Johnny, and we will digestit at our leisure. And how has Bill behaved himself?”

“As good as gold, Cap’n Mike. But there’s somethinggoin’ on inside him. His eye looks brighterand he has mumbled to himself several times. Idunno whether he’s primin’ himself for another explosionor kind of rememberin’ himself in spots.Anyhow, he has symptoms.”

“We will steer him home as soon as we can,Johnny. He has enjoyed an exciting afternoon.”

The locomotive whistled and a few minutes laterthey filed into the smoking-car. O’Shea fished outa black cigar and his comrade rammed a charge ofcut plug into his old clay pipe. No sooner had theylighted matches than their irresponsible protégéreached over and snatched them away. Instead oftrying to set fire to the car or to the abundantwhiskers of the old gentleman across the aisle heflung the matches on the floor and stamped themwith his heel. His guardians regarded him with puzzled302surprise, and were not quick enough to restrainhim before he surged among the passengers andplucked from their faces every lighted cigar, cigarette,and pipe. These he rudely made way with bygrinding them under his feet or tossing them throughthe windows.

The persons thus outraged were for assaultinghim until they perceived the width of his shoulders,the depth of his chest, and the color of his hair.The shipmaster and the engineer tackled him likea brace of foot-ball players, yanked him back tohis seat, and calmed the ruffled travellers withexplanations and offers to pay damages. The blueeye of Bill Maguire was alertly roving to detect thefirst sign of smoke, and during the remainder of hisjourney no one dared to burn the hazy incense oftobacco.

“You’re a great man for theories, Cap’n Mike,”quoth the bewildered engineer. “Can you figgerwhat’s happened to Bill?”

“I am on a lee shore this time, Johnny. I wouldcall him a firebug no longer. He has turned himselfinto a fire department.”

“That’s precisely it,” excitedly cried the other.“And here’s how I explain it. He’s had some mightyviolent experiences during the last twenty-four hours,what with your tryin’ to knock his head off andrunnin’ him afoul of those Chinamen which is hispet aversion. His intellect has jarred a mite loosefrom its dead centre, but one cog slipped into reversegear. In place of settin’ fires, he wants to put ’em303out. His machinery ain’t adjusted right, but it’smovin’. Instead of starting ahead on this conflagrationtheory of his, he goes full speed astern.”

“You are a knowing old barnacle,” admiringlyexclaimed O’Shea. “This ought to make Bill aneasier problem to handle. The strain of keepingup with him begins to tell on me.”

“Pshaw, Cap’n Mike, I’ll set him to work on thefarm if this latest spell sticks to him.”

They drove home from the village in the twilight.The Perkins boy had tarried to do the chores andkindle a fire for supper. He fled without his hatwhen the big, silent, red-haired stranger marchedinto the kitchen, halted to look at the blazing grate,and promptly caught up a pail of water from thesink and flooded the stove. Johnny Kent entereda moment later and gazed aghast at the dripping,sizzling embers. Then his common-sense got thebetter of his annoyance and he shouted to O’Shea:

“Bill’s gear is still reversed. Coax him out on theporch and hold him there while I get supper. Hejust put the stove awash.”

O’Shea laughed and took charge of the derelict,while Johnny locked the kitchen doors and windowsand rekindled the fire. Freed from the fear that thecottage and barn might go up in smoke, the comradesenjoyed a quiet evening. Maguire was disposedof in the attic bedroom and insisted on goingto bed in the dark.

“He will not wander away,” said O’Shea. “Hiswits are in a sad mess, but he knows he has founda friendly anchorage.”

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They felt the need of sleep, and Johnny Kent wasyawning before he had heard the end of the interviewwith His Excellency Hao Su Ting. It entertainedhim, but the edge of his interest was blunted.The hapless sailor in the attic had been struck downand mutilated by some secret organization of Chineseassassins, and there was no finding out the meaningof the brand upon his back. It was their trademark.This was explanation enough. It satisfiedthe engineer’s curiosity. He had no great amountof imagination, and although he was ready to sharehis last dollar with the helpless Maguire, he felt nofurther call to pursue the mystery of his wrongs.

Captain O’Shea was very differently affected. Hehad not forsaken the quest of adventure. His soulwas not content with cabbages and cows. The worldbeyond the horizon was always calling in his ears.As children are fond of fairy-stories, so his fancywas lured by the bizarre, the unexpected, the unknown.Your true adventurer is, after all, only aboy who has never grown up. His desires are whollyunreasonable and he sets a scandalous example. Ifyou had asked him the question, this rattle-headedshipmaster would have frankly answered that nothingcould give him more enjoyment than to sail forChina and try to discover how and why the brandhad been put on Maguire. Besides, he had anIrishman’s habit of taking over another man’squarrel.

“Poor Bill cannot square it himself,” reflectedO’Shea. “’Tis the duty of some one to undertake305it for him. It makes an honest man’s blood boilto think of the black wickedness that was done tohim. As long as the heathen are contented to murderone another ’tis no business of mine. But anAmerican sailorman—and maybe he is not the onlyone.”

When he went downstairs in the morning, JohnnyKent was in the barricaded kitchen and Maguirepaced the porch with the air of a man physicallyrefreshed. He paid no heed to O’Shea, who wasamazed to discover that he was talking to himself.The sounds he made were no longer inarticulate, butwords and fragments of sentences curiously jumbled.In the stress of great excitement he had previouslyspoken with brief coherence, only to lapse into dumbness.Now, however, with no sudden stimulus toflash a ray of light into his darkened mind, he wasbeginning to find himself, to grope for expressionlike a child painfully and clumsily learning to read.To the listening O’Shea it sounded like heapingphrases together in a basket and fishing them outat random.

The sailor’s voice had lost much of its harshness.Its tones were rather deep and pleasant. Swinginghis long arms as he walked, he kept repeating suchdisjointed ideas as these:

“Heave her short—eleven dollars Mex—no, PaddyBlake—a big wax doll—all clear forward, sir—stinkingriver—roll the dice—the painted joss—a yearfrom home—way enough—Wang Li Fu—die likerats—sampan, ahoy—no more drinks—good-by,306Mary dear—in the paint locker—the head-devil—fishand potatoes.”

It made O’Shea feel dizzy to listen to this interminablenonsense, but he followed it most attentively,and stole behind a lilac-bush lest Maguireshould spy him and be diverted from his mad soliloquy.For some time there was no catching holdof a clew, but at length the shrewd shipmaster beganto sift out certain phrases which were emphasizedby reiteration. They were, in a way, the motif ofthe jargon, hinting of impressions most clearlystamped on the man’s mind.

He mentioned again and again “the painted joss,”and occasionally coupled it with reference to “thestinking river.” Stress seemed to be laid also onthe proper name Wang Li Fu. Many of the otherfragments O’Shea discarded as worthless. Some ofthem related to routine duties on shipboard. Hehazarded a guess that the sailor was a married man.At any rate, he had left a “Mary dear,” and it was aplausible conjecture that he had promised to bringhome “a big wax doll.”

When Maguire became silent O’Shea made forthe kitchen and hammered on the door.

“Is that you, Cap’n Mike?” responded the perturbedaccents of Johnny Kent. “If it’s Bill, he canstay out till breakfast’s cooked. I don’t want mystove drownded again.”

Reassured, he cautiously admitted the shipmasterwho pounded him on the back and shouted:

“Bill has been leakin’ language from every pore.307’Tis all snarled up most comical, but I seem to gethold of a loose end now and then.”

“Hooray, Cap’n Mike! It’s just as I said.When you hit him over the ear it sort of jarredhis brain loose. It ain’t fetched clear yet, but he’sbegun to make steam in his crazy fashion. Whatdoes he say?”

“Wait till I tow him in to breakfast and maybe hewill start up again.”

But Maguire ate in silence and O’Shea could notpersuade him to pick up the rambling monologue.Johnny Kent therefore escorted the sailor to thegarden, gave him a hoe, and thriftily set him towork. He fell to with the greatest good-will andshowed an aptitude which betokened an earlier acquaintancewith this form of husbandry.

After a discussion of some length the engineerexclaimed:

“You’re a bright man, Cap’n Mike, but youhaven’t knocked around the Chinese ports as muchas I have. Bill mentioned one or two things thatI can elucidate. Paddy Blake, eh? So he knowsPaddy Blake. The blackguard runs a sailors’ rum-shopin Shanghai. It’s just off the Bund, as youturn up the street that’s next to the French Concession.I’ve rolled the dice for drinks there myselfand blown my wages and mixed up in some free-for-allfights that would have done your heart good.”

“’Tis a glimpse into the fog, Johnny. Maybethis rapscallion of a Paddy Blake would know poorold Bill if he had a description of him. We can guess308at some of the rest of it. Bill went up a Chineseriver somewhere and got in black trouble ashore.It had to do with a temple and a joss.”

“One of them big carved wooden idols, Cap’nMike, painted all red and yellow and white.”

“And it looks to me as if he stumbled into a headquartersof this bunch of thugs that has been dealingout sudden death to prominent Chinese citizens,Johnny. Anyhow, he ran afoul of some kind of a‘head-devil,’ as he calls it, and was left for dead.”

“Then it’s possible that Bill knows the secret ofthis organization of co*ck-eyed murderers,” excitedlycried the engineer.

“The same notion is in me own mind,” repliedO’Shea.

A dusty man just then rode a bicycle into thedoor-yard and dismounted to give the shipmaster ayellow envelope.

“I guess you’re Captain Michael O’Shea,” saidhe. “The station agent got this telegram for youand asked me to stop and deliver it, seein’ as I waspassin’ this way. How are you, Mr. Kent? Seenanything of that pesky firebug? I see you’ve got anew hired man in the garden.”

“I’m thankful to say the firebug is letting mealone,” gravely answered the engineer.

“I cal’late he heard the selectmen had offered areward for him and he lit out of this neighborhood.”

The messenger departed, and Captain O’Shea,glancing at the telegram, crumpled it in his fist andvouchsafed with a laugh:

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“’Tis from the man in New York, the agent incharge of that voyage to the Persian Gulf. Forpolitical reasons the job is postponed a matter ofsix months or so, and maybe it will be declared offaltogether. The charter is cancelled and my contractalong with it.”

“I suppose you’re disappointed,” sympatheticallybegan Johnny Kent.

“Not so I shed tears. Something else will turnup. And ’tis me chance to take a vacation, Johnny.Thanks to our salvage job with the Alsatian liner,I have more money than is good for me.”

“Now’s your chance to buy that next farm andget it under way,” and the portly mariner was elated.

O’Shea eyed his comrade as if suspecting that heshared the melancholy affliction of Bill Maguire.

“You mean well, Johnny,” said he, “but you aresubject to delusions. I will enjoy a vacation afterme own heart. With the money that burns holesin me pockets, I will go frolickin’ out to China anddo me best to find out what happened to Bill Maguire.I suppose I cannot coax ye to go with me.”

“Pshaw, Cap’n Mike!” and the honest farmerlooked surprised. “I’ve engaged a gang of men tobegin cuttin’ my hay next week. And who’s tolook after poor old Bill? I can’t seem to beat itinto your head that I’ve turned respectable. Thewilder the job, the better you like it.”

“I have taken quite a fancy to this one,” andO’Shea’s eyes were dancing. “It has been hauntingme, in a way, ever since I caught sight of the310cruel brand and listened to the yarn of those Chinesegentlemen. As one seafarin’ man to another, I willdo what I can to square the account of Bill Maguire.”

“It’s the first time I ever laid down on you,”sighed Johnny Kent.

“I do not hold it against ye,” warmly returnedCaptain O’Shea. “And maybe you ought to standwatch over Bill. It would be cruel to lug him outto China, for the sight of a pigtail gives him acutefits. And he would turn crazier than ever. Well,I will go it alone this time, Johnny. ’Tis a mostfoolish adventure, and by the same token it pleasesme a lot.”

III

Steamers flying the flags of many nations wereanchored in the Woosung River off the water-frontof Shanghai. High-pooped junks tacked past themand cargo lighters manned by half-naked cooliesdrifted with the muddy tide. In a handsome, solidlyfashioned perspective extended the Europeanquarter of the city, as unlike the real China asLondon or New York. Turbanned Sikh policemen,tall and dignified, in soldierly khaki and puttees,strolled through the clean, well-paved streets. English,French, and German merchants clad in whitewere spun around corners in ’rickshaws pulled bysweating natives muscled like race-horses. Touristslounged on the piazzas of the Astor House or exploredthe shops filled with things rare and curious.311Unseen and unperceived was the native city ofShanghai, incredibly filthy and overcrowded, containinga half-million souls within its lantern-hungstreets and paper-walled tenements.

Near the river, at the end of the English quarterfarthest removed from the parks and pretentioushotels, was a row of small, shabby brick buildingswhich might have belonged in Wapping or the RatcliffRoad. There was nothing picturesquely foreignabout them or their environment. Two orthree were sailors’ lodging-houses, and another wasthe tumultuous tavern ruled over by Paddy Blake.Here seafarers swore in many tongues and got drunkeach in his own fashion, but Paddy Blake treatedthem all alike. When their wages were gone hethrew them out or bundled them off to ships thatneeded men, and took his blood-money like thethorough-going crimp that he was.

On this night the place was well filled. A versatilecabin steward off a Pacific liner was lustilythumping the battered tin pan of a piano. Sixcouples of hairy seamen, British and Norwegian,were waltzing with so much earnestness that thefloor was cleared as by a hurricane. Cards anddice engaged the attention of several groups seatedabout the tables by the wall. In blurred outline,as discerned through the fog of tobacco smoke, ascore of patrons lined the bar and bought bad rumwith good coin. For the moment peace reigned andnever a fist was raised.

Captain Michael O’Shea sauntered in during this312calm between storms. The dingy room and its sordidamusem*nts had a familiar aspect. It was preciselylike the resorts of other seaports as he hadknown them during his wild young years before themast. The bar-tender was a pasty-faced youth whor*plied to O’Shea’s interrogation concerning PaddyBlake:

“The old man has stepped out for a couple ofhours. He had a bit of business aboard a vesselin the stream. Will you wait for him? If you’relookin’ for able seamen he can find ’em for you.”

“I have no doubt of it,” said O’Shea, “and he willbring them aboard feet first. Fetch me a bottle ofginger-ale to the table in the corner yonder and Iwill wait awhile.”

The wall of the room was broken by a small alcovewhich made a nook a little apart from the playfulmariners. Here O’Shea smoked his pipe andsipped his glass and was diverted by the noisy talkof ships and ports. At a small table near by sat aman, also alone, who appeared to be in a most melancholyframe of mind. Discouragement was writtenon his stolid, reddened face, in the wrinkles ofthe worn gray tweed clothes, in the battered shapeof the slouch hat.

O’Shea surmised that he was a beach-comber whohad seen better days, and surveyed him with somecuriosity, for the man wiped his eyes with the backof his hand, his lip quivered, and once he was unableto suppress an audible sob. To find a sturdily builtman of middle-age weeping alone in a corner of a313sailor’s grog-shop led one to conclude that alcoholhad made him maudlin. But he did not look intoxicated,although dissipation had left its marks onhim. O’Shea conjectured that he might be sufferingthe aftermath of a spree which had broken hisnerves and left him weak and womanish. In sucha pitiable plight, the contemplation of his own woeshad moved him to tears.

Tactfully waiting until the man had recovered hisself-control, O’Shea nodded with a cordial smile andindicated a chair at his own table. The strangershifted his place with a certain eagerness, as if hewere anxious to be rid of his own miserable company.His tremulous hands and the twitching musclesof his face prompted O’Shea to say:

“Will you have something with me? I dislikesitting by meself.”

“A small drink of brandy, if you please. I amtrying to taper off. God knows I welcome thechance to talk to somebody that is clean and sober.”

The man’s heavy, morose eyes regarded the shipmasterapprovingly. Presently he began to talkwith fluent coherence, in a kind of headlong manner.He felt that he had found a kindly listenerand seemed afraid that O’Shea might desert himbefore the tale was done.

“I am on the beach and all to pieces again, as youmay have guessed,” said he. “My name is McDougal,late of the American Trading Company,but I couldn’t hold the job. This time I went tosmash in Tientsin. It was queer how it happened.314I had been sober and making good for nearly sixmonths. Ever see a Chinese execution? Well, thiswas an extraordinary affair. A high official of theprovince had been condemned for treason, and thegovernment decided to make a spectacle of him asa sort of public warning. The place was the bigyard of the governor’s yamen. I joined the crowdthat looked on. First came a covered cart withblack curtains. A strapping big Manchu crawledout of it. He was the executioner, and a dingy aproncovered with dark-red blotches hung from his chinto his toes.

“Then came a second cart, and in it rode an oldgentleman who climbed out and walked alone tothe cleared space in the middle of the yard. He wasbent and feeble, but he never flinched, and his dignityand rank stood out as plain as print. A guard saidsomething to him, and he took off his long, fur-trimmedcoat and knelt on the filthy flagging andthe wind whirled the dust in his face. He kneltthere, waiting, for a long time, motionless exceptwhen he put his hand to his throat and pulled hiscollar around it to keep off the wind.

“A pompous official read the death sentence, butthat wrinkled old face showed never a trace of emotion.Then a pair of the executioner’s understrappersleaped on the old gentleman like wild-cats. Onejumped on his back and drove his knees into him,while the other tied a bit of cord to the end of thetrailing queue and yanked forward with all his might.It stretched the old man’s neck like a turtle’s. Then315the big Manchu with the bloody apron raised hisstraight-edged sword and it fell like a flash of light.The head flew off and bounced into the lap of thefellow that was tugging at the queue.”

McDougal paused for a gulp of brandy. Hisvoice was unsteady as he resumed:

“I guess my nerves were none too good. A mancan’t go boozing up and down the coast of the Orientfor a dozen years without paying the price. That sightwas too much for me. I had to take a drink, andthen some more, to forget it. The old man was sopatient and helpless, his head bounced off like anapple; and what broke me up worst of all was seeinghim pull that coat up around his throat so hewouldn’t catch cold—up around his throat, mindyou. It was a little thing, but, my God, what didit matter if he caught cold? And the way theyhauled and yanked him about before his neck was—well,I wish I hadn’t seen it.

“Once started, the old thirst took hold of me andI wandered down the coast until I came to, sick andbroke, in a dirty Chinese tea-house in Che-Foo. ThereI lay until one day there came from the street along, booming cry that crashed through the high-pitchedclatter of the crowd like surf on a graniteshore. By Jove! it stirred me like a battle-chant.It sounded again and again. I knew it must be apedler shouting his wares, you understand, but itsurged into my poor sick brain as if it was meantfor me. It was buoyant, big, telling me to takeheart in the last ditch. The words were Chinese, of316course, but the odd thing about it was that theycame to me precisely as though this great, deepvoice was booming in English: ‘Throw-w all-l regretsaway-y.’

“I presume I was a bit delirious at times, but thiswas what I heard very clearly, and it helped mewonderfully. As soon as I got on my legs I lookedfor the pedler until I found him, and followed himthrough the streets. Even at close range his callseemed to be telling me to throw all regrets away.It was summoning me to make a new start, do yousee? He was a giant of a fellow in ragged blueclothes, a yoke across his broad shoulders with manydangling flat baskets. When he swelled his chestand opened his mouth the air trembled with thattremendous call of his. I trailed him to his tinymud-walled house, and we got quite chummy. Icould speak his dialect fairly well. He earned tenor fifteen cents a day and supported a family of ninepeople by selling roasted watermelon seeds. Hesang loud because he had a big voice, he said, andbecause his heart was honest and he owed no mananything. He did a lot to help me get a grip on myself,and some day I mean to do something for him.

“I had somehow hung on to my watch, and I soldit and beat my way to Shanghai in a trading steamer,and here I am, shaky and no good to anybody, butI still hear that cheerful pedler thundering at me tothrow all regrets away. One has some curious experienceson this coast, and I have had many ofthem——”

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A hand gripped McDougal’s shoulder, and heturned, with a nervous start, to confront a hale, well-dressedmariner with a yellow beard, whose eyestwinkled merrily as he loudly exclaimed:

“It vas mein old pal what I haf last met at PortArthur. Ho, ho, McDougal, how goes it mit you?”

The speaker drew up a chair, pounded on thetable to summon a waiter, and told him:

“A bundle of trinks, schnell, or I bite you in two.”

“I’m delighted to see you again, Captain Spreckels,”stammered McDougal, at which O’Shea introducedhimself, and the mariner explained with ajolly laugh:

“McDougal vas a king among men. We haf metonly one hour in Port Arthur when I haf told himthings what was locked so deep in my bosom dotthey haf never before come up. Perhaps we vasnot so sober as now, so? What you do with yourself,McDougal? American Trading Company yetalready?”

“I am on the beach, Captain Spreckels, and notfit to work at anything for a while.”

The skipper appeared vastly disturbed. Strokinghis beard, he reflected for a moment and then shouted:

“My bark, Wilhelmina Augusta, sails for Hamburgto-morrow morning early. She is now at themouth of the river. I vas come up in a tug to findif Paddy Blake haf three more men for me. McDougal,you comes mit me. It vas the great idea,eh? The sea-voyage will do you so much good youwill not know yourself. I vish to haf your good318company. My cabin is as big as a house. It willcost you noddings. If you want to come out Eastagain, I can bring you back next voyage. Listen!Give me no arguments. You vas seedy and downon your luck.”

McDougal lacked the will power to resist thismasterful mandate. And perhaps here was a fightingchance providentially offered. On the sweet,clean sea, far from the dissolute ports which hadwrecked his manhood, he might build up health andstrength and throw all regrets away. A fit of nervousweakness made the tears spring to his eyes,and he faltered unevenly:

“You quite bowl me off my feet, Captain Spreckels.I haven’t thought of leaving the East. But Iwill go with you and I can never thank you enough.About clothes and an outfit, I——”

“I haf more clothes than a plenty for two of us,McDougal. There is beer but no whiskey in myvessel. I do not trink liquor at sea. Come.Paddy Blake haf left word mit his man here dot mysailors vas already sent to the landing mit a boarding-houserunner. We will go aboard the tug.”

With this, the energetic master mariner tosseddown a gin rickey, said adieu to Captain O’Shea,and whisked McDougal out of the place with anarm across his shoulders. The episode made O’Sheafeel slightly bewildered. The unfortunate McDougalhad appeared and vanished with an abruptnessthat savored of unreality. His confession was thesort of thing that might come to a man in a nightmare.319McDougal had painted the scenes with afew broad strokes, and yet as O’Shea sat musing,they seemed astonishingly vivid: the aged Chineseofficial pulling his coat about his neck just beforehis head bounced off like a bloody ball—the raggedcolossus of a street pedler flinging afar his resonantcall—McDougal, wretched and forlorn, huddled inthe tea-house and fighting off the horrors. He hadopened the book of his life and let O’Shea read apage of it, but there must have been many moreworth knowing.

These reflections were interrupted by a violent dissensionin the vicinity of the bar. A British tarsmote a Scandinavian over the head with a bottleand stretched him on the floor. Somebody pluckedthe piano stool from under the musical cabin stewardand hurled it at the aggressor. The missile flew highand swept the bar-tender into his glassware with amost splendid crash. Then hostilities became general.

The combatants were too busy to observe the entranceof a wizened, clerical-looking little man in ablack frock-coat and a rusty tall hat. With a shrillwhoop, he pulled a slung-shot from his pocket andpranced into the thick of the scrimmage. He was asagile as a jumping-jack, his coat-tails seemed to beflying in a dozen places at once, and whenever hisweapon landed a seaman promptly lost all interestin the row and made for the street with his head tenderlyheld in his hands. In the wake of the activelittle man peace hovered like a dove.

320

With magical celerity the floor was cleared of disorder,and the promoter of harmony calmly assistedthe damaged bar-tender to clear away the wreckage.Captain O’Shea accosted him when the task wasfinished.

“Paddy Blake is me name,” the little man repliedin a jerky, rasping voice, co*cking his head to one side.“The boys will have their fun and I hope they didn’tannoy ye. The place will be quiet for a bit. Whatcan I do for ye?”

“’Tis a matter of private business,” answeredO’Shea.

“Then come into the back room, where we can besociable. I take ye for a shipmaster.”

“Right you are; but I have no ship at present.You might call me a tourist.”

Paddy Blake briskly led the way to a cubby-holeof a room with a very strong door, which he madefast with a bolt. There was a window whose shutterswere of iron. O’Shea suspected that fuddledseamen might be tucked in here for safe-keeping whenthe occasion required. The two Irishmen studiedeach other with a kind of cheerful, candid appraisem*nt.Each recognized in the other certain qualitiesto be admired. Paddy Blake was a hardened oldruffian, but he was a two-fisted little man with thecourage of a terrier.

“I have come a long way to find you,” said O’Shea.“And it was imparted to me that the business thathas brought me to China had best be discussed inwhispers. ’Tis a mighty queer yarn——”

321

“Ye need not fill and back. Steam ahead. I likeyour looks,” broke in Paddy Blake. “Whateverpasses bechune us stays inside the door. Are ye inthrouble?”

“Not me. This is about a friend of mine. Tellme, Paddy Blake, and think hard. Do ye recall astrappin’ big man with red hair and blue eyes and adeep voice that used to roll the dice in your place?Hold a minute; I have not done with him. Onefront tooth was broken so you would notice it whenhe talked. And he had a crooked little finger thatmust have stuck out when he held a glass or wavedhis hand about.”

Paddy Blake puckered his brows and pinched hislong upper lip between a grimy thumb and forefinger.

“What was he—a Yankee?” he asked, sittingstraighter in his chair and gazing at the shipmasterwith puzzled, groping interest.

“He was an American seafarin’ man—a mate mostlikely. You could not forget him if you cast eyeson him only once. Yankee sailors are scarce in deep-waterports. This one should stick out in your recollectionlike a light-house in a fog.”

“A whale of a man with a red head and an eyeas blue as a bit of the Inland Sea!” vehemently exclaimedPaddy Blake. “And when was he in meplace? How long ago was it?”

“’Tis yourself that must answer that question.At a guess, it was more than a year ago.”

The spry little man bounded to his feet and322clutched the tails of his coat with both hands as hebent forward with his face close to O’Shea’s andrasped out:

“He has popped into me head like a flash. Anda mushy-brained dunce I was not to know him atonce. Eldridge ye mean—Jim Eldridge, that wasmate in the China Navigation Company’s steamerTai Yan, chartered to run coastwise. A whoppin’big beggar he was, but mild-mannered and good-hearted,the quietest red-headed man that iver Isaw in me life.”

“Are you sure of that?” demanded O’Shea.“Could you swear to it?”

“I remimber him as plain as I see you,” testilyreturned Paddy Blake. “He was not in me placeoften. ’Twas too rough for him.”

“And did you ever chance to hear what had becomeof him?”

The little man tapped O’Shea’s arm with an eloquentfinger and replied in lower tones:

“It comes back to me that there was a yarn abouthim. ’Twas gossip, ye understand, nawthin’ thatye could put your finger on. Shanghai is a greatplace for wild stories. The Shanghai liar is aspecial breed, and he is famous all over the world.Annyhow, there was a voyage of the Tai Yansteamer when he didn’t come to port in her. Shortlyafter that she broke her back on a reef in the FormosaChannel and all hands was lost, so I never heardanny news from her people about this Jim Eldridge.”

“That was most unfortunate,” said O’Shea; “but323I am in great luck to get track of the man at all.And have you anybody in mind that might haveknown Eldridge when he was sailing on this coast?”

The volatile Paddy Blake who saw so many marinerspass through his place during the year wasmentally sifting his recollections which were manyand confusing. The big red-headed man had steeredclear of rum and riot and was no steady frequenterof this unholy resort. Obviously he had made nomore than a passing impression on Paddy Blake,but the old man was honestly anxious to splice thebroken ends of the story, and after painful cogitationhe broke out again:

“There is one man that ye should find by allmeans. He may be dead by now, for the liquorhad harrd hold of him. I have not seen or heard ofhim in a long while, but he wint north from here. Imind the last time he come in me place. Prettywell pickled he was, and some o’ the lads were yarnin’with him, and there was talk of this Jim Eldridge.Be gob! ’twas then I heard the queer gossip, in bits,d’ ye see? There had been a ruction somewheresup beyant”—and Paddy Blake waved a hand tothe northward—“and this man I mintion had beenmixed in it with Jim Eldridge. But when theywould urge him to unwind the story he would turnugly and shut up like an oyster, half-seas-overthough he was. He was a great one for messin’about among the Chinese, and could patter two orthree dialects. A scholar and gentleman was McDougal.”

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“McDougal!” roared O’Shea, taken all aback bythe coincidence. “Why, man alive, this same McDougalwas in your place to-night and left not anhour ago. He has just come down the coast, fromTientsin and Che-Foo.”

“’Tis a pity ye let him get away. If he wandersinto the Chinese city amongst some of thim nativefriends of his ’twill be the divil and all to find himagain. So he’s still alive!”

“I sat and talked with him and he discoursednightmares.”

“He has lived thim,” said Paddy Blake.

“I had him and I lost him,” was O’Shea’s melancholyexclamation. “An oakum-whiskered Dutchmanby the name of Spreckels breezed in underfull sail and welcomed this McDougal like a long-lostbrother, and carried him off to sea before yecould blink. It was comical. And I sat there likea wooden figure-head and let him go.”

“In the Wilhelmina Augusta—four-masted steelbark bound out to Hamburg. It was a lucky strokefor McDougal.”

“And most unlucky for me,” sighed O’Shea.Then he pulled himself together, and spoke in hishearty, masterful way. “Come along, Paddy Blake,and find me a tug. We will chase McDougal downriver for the sake of a conversation with him.”

“Captain Spreckels had the Arrow, and she’sfast,” said Paddy Blake. “He has a good start ofye, and his bark will be ready to sail as soon as heboards her.”

325

“Then we’ll chase him out to sea. I have cometoo far to lose McDougal by letting him slip throughme fingers,” and the demeanor of Captain MichaelO’Shea discouraged further argument.

Paddy Blake jammed the tall hat on the back ofhis head, unbolted the door, and whisked throughthe bar-room with such speed that the shipmaster’slong strides could hardly keep up with him. Theyturned into the street that led to the water-frontand hastened to a lighted corner of the bund wherestood several ’rickshaws. Paddy darted at thedrowsy coolies who were squatted on the pavement,cuffed a couple of them, and gave an order in pidginEnglish. They jumped into the shafts, the passengersclimbed aboard, and the vehicles went spinningalong the thoroughfare.

As they drew abreast of the lights of the anchoredshipping, Paddy Blake looked along the landing-berthsof the smaller steamers and exclaimed withan explosion of profane surprise:

“There’s a tug in the pocket where the Arrowties up. I can’t see to make her out in the dark,but we will stop and take a look. Something orother may have delayed Captain Spreckels. I hopeto blazes thim seamen I sint him has not hookedit before he got ’em safe aboard the bark.”

Leaving the ’rickshaws to wait orders, they footedit down to the wharf and were convinced that theyhad found the Arrow even before she could beclearly made out. The darkness was shattered bythe troubled accents of Captain Spreckels, who wasproclaiming to the skipper of the tug:

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“By Gott, I cannot wait for McDougal no longer.The tide ist turned already. My wessel must go tosea mit the morning flood. It gives me sadness tolose dot scalawag, but he has runned away mit himself.”

O’Shea climbed over the guard-rail and cried:

“How are you again, Captain Spreckels? What’sthis I hear about McDougal? I am after findinghim meself.”

The master of the Wilhelmina Augusta swung hisarms and made answer:

“McDougal was a slippery customer, so? I hafa immense fondness for him. By the landing herehe left me to go in a ’rickshaw, sehr schnell, to a roomwhat he haf hired for to-night und fetch some littlet’ings what belonged to him, mostly books und somepapers mit writings on ’em. He haf come to Shanghai,he tells me, mit a small bundle which he neverloses, drunk or sober. While the tug is makin’ steamund haulin’ her lines aboard he will do his errand.It vas an hour ago. I do not understand, but Imust not wait.”

“Changed his mind,” suggested Paddy Blake.“Sorry ye are shy a shipmate, but the news willplease me friend Captain O’Shea here. You lose.He wins.”

The hull of the Arrow was trembling to the threshof the screw, and her skipper was bawling the orderto cast off. Captain Spreckels shouted farewell asthe two visitors jumped ashore, and the tug movedastern into the fair-way. As they walked toward the’rickshaws O’Shea remarked:

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“’Tis no use to go rummagin’ around to-night insearch of McDougal, I suppose.”

“No, but I will find him for ye to-morrow,” repliedPaddy Blake. “If he has a room in the Englishquarter ye can gamble he will drop into myplace. If he don’t I will sind a bright lad to roundhim up. ’Tis easy findin’ him as long as he is notlivin’ in the native city. What do ye suppose becomeof him, annyhow?”

“Maybe he flinched from the notion of quittingthe East. When it gets in the blood of these tropicaltramps, the grip of it is not easy to break.”

“And he lost his nerve at the last minute,” saidPaddy Blake. “I’ve seen cases like it. I’m thatway meself.”

Declining a cordial invitation to have a “nightcap,”O’Shea told his ’rickshaw cooly to take himto the Astor House. It seemed extraordinary thathis quixotic pilgrimage should have so soon disclosedthe identity of the derelict who had drifted into thecomfortable haven of Johnny Kent’s farm. This,however, did not greatly astonish O’Shea, who knewthat the steps of sailormen in alien ports are not aptto stray far from the water-side. The singular featureof the business was that he should run acrossthe sodden beach-comber, McDougal, who was theneedle in a hay-stack of prodigious size. The handof destiny was in it.

At breakfast next morning Captain O’Shea enjoyedoverhearing the talk of a party of Americantourists at a near-by table. In their turn the328younger women did not fail to observe with interestthe clean-cut, resolute shipmaster smartly turnedout in fresh white clothes. After they had left thedining-room he picked up a copy of The ShanghaiMercury and carelessly turned to the shipping newswhere these lines caught his eye:

Bark Wilhelmina Augusta, Spreckels master, cleared forHamburg with general cargo. Sailed Woosung this A.M.

This turned his thoughts to McDougal and hewas impatient to find Paddy Blake and begin thesearch. He was about to toss the newspaper asidewhen a paragraph seemed to jump from the pageand hit him between the eyes. He read it slowly,his lips moving as if he were spelling out the words:

Captain O’Shea’s second cup of coffee stood coldand neglected while he continued to gaze abstractedly329at the front page of The Shanghai Mercury.He was reading between the printed lines. His sun-brownedface had paled a trifle. He was not afraid,but he was conscious of that same feeling of physicalabhorrence which had taken hold of him when hefirst beheld the scarred and branded back of theman dubbed Bill Maguire.

He was absolutely certain that he could identifythe “unknown European” found dead near a gate-wayof the native city. It was McDougal, and hehad been slain because in some manner, as yet unrevealed,he had played a part in the tragic mysteryof the red-haired sailor. Intuition welded the circ*mstancestogether. With this premise O’Sheaframed one swift conclusion after another. McDougalhad suddenly veered from his purpose of goingto sea with Captain Spreckels. With the morbidimpulse of a man whose nerves were shattered bydrink, he had been afraid lest the German skippermight find him and carry him off whether or no.Therefore he had fled to cover, making for thenative city where he doubtless had Chinese friends.Perhaps he had been watched and followed by hostileagents from the moment he landed in Shanghai.

“I have seen others like him,” said O’Shea tohimself. “They will run from their own shadows,and their friends can do nothing with them. And Imust be getting a bit flighty meself or I would notsit here and take for granted things that are nomore than guesswork. How do I know that the330dead man is McDougal? The answer is this: ’Tisone of me strong hunches, and they seldom gowrong.”

He passed out of the dining-room and delayed inthe office of the hotel to ask a question of the clerk.The atmosphere of the place was so wholly Europeanthat the China, with which O’Shea had comedarkly, gropingly in touch, seemed almost as faraway as when he had been on the farm in Maine.The clerk went to the porch and gave instructionsto a ’rickshaw cooly, and Captain O’Shea rattled offto the headquarters buildings of the English police.A Sikh orderly conducted him into the small roomwhere Inspector Burke sat at a desk scanning a fileof reports. He was a tall, dark, soldierly man ofabout forty. The slim-waisted khaki tunic, theriding-breeches, and the polished brown puttees gavehim the air of a dashing trooper of light-horse.Glancing at O’Shea’s card, he nodded pleasantly andsaid with a singularly winning smile:

“And what can I do for Captain Michael O’Shea,of New York? I am very much at your service.”

“’Tis about the man that was found murderedclose by the native city last night,” was the reply.

“Ah, by Jove!” exclaimed the inspector, and hispencil tapped the desk with a quick tattoo. “Anodd case, that! Most unusual. I was potterin’about on it a good part of the night. My men reportthat he was in Paddy Blake’s place during theevening, but the old rip denies knowing him, ofcourse. He wants to steer clear of the case. I’m331rather stumped so far. You are at the Astor House?I fancy I saw you there at dinner last night.”

“Right you are, sir. I am more than a little interestedin this dead man,” pursued O’Shea in astraightforward manner. “And I will first describehim to ye,” which he proceeded to do with the detailof an observer whose eye was keen and memoryretentive.

“That’s the Johnny, to a dot,” cried InspectorBurke, alertly interested. “And when did you lastsee him?”

“I talked with him last night, but before we gofurther I will prove an alibi,” hastily answeredO’Shea, suddenly realizing that his position in thematter might look compromising.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” was the easy assurance.“You are jolly well out of it and satisfactorily accountedfor. This was a native job, not a bit ofdoubt of it. Suppose we take a look at the body.It is packed in ice in the go-down just back of thisbuilding. Your identification must go on the records,you know. Then we can have a chin-chin, andI hope you’ll be good enough to stay for tiffin withme.”

O’Shea took from an inside pocket of his coat aleather bill-case and drew therefrom a sheet of heavypaper folded several times. Spread out, it coveredhalf the desk. Upon it he had drawn with a brushand stencilling ink a life-size reproduction of thegreat Chinese character that scarred and discoloredthe back of the red-haired sailor.

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Inspector Burke flung his cigarette aside with aquick gesture and stared first at the desk and thenat O’Shea. His pleasant composure was evidentlydisturbed, and he spoke abruptly.

“My word! You know a lot more about this jobthan I do. Where the deuce did you get that? Thepoor beggar that was butchered last night had themark on him.”

“I know he did, Inspector Burke. I was sure ofit when I read about the thing in the newspaperthis morning.”

They went into the shed and viewed what was leftof the ill-fated McDougal, who had tried, too late,to throw all regrets away and make a new startat the difficult business of existence. O’Shea waskeenly distressed. The man had won his sympathy.He would have liked to befriend him. InspectorBurke said kindly:

“Did you know him at all well? He must haveamounted to something once. Was he ever a chumof yours?”

“I never laid eyes on him till last evening in PaddyBlake’s,” answered O’Shea. “And now I will sitdown with ye and spin the yarn of the sailormanthat I called Bill Maguire for convenience.”

The inspector listened gravely, nodding comprehendinglynow and then as if his own experiencemight have crossed the trail of the same story.When O’Shea ceased talking, his comment was asfollows:

“Most extraordinary! I fancy we can help each333other a bit. But, mind you, I don’t pretend to knowmuch about this mysterious murder society that goesabout choppin’ people up. I have heard of it, ofcourse, but until now its activities have been confinedto the Chinese. We don’t pretend to policethe native city. The Chinese governor runs his ownshow. There are native detectives on my staff, buttheir work is mostly in the foreign municipality.The case of this McDougal is the first of its kind.And I rather think you have supplied the motive.He knew too much.”

“But what did he know?” demanded O’Shea.“There was this sailor by the right name of JimEldridge, ye understand. He got his in the sameway. They were mixed up together at one time oranother.”

Inspector Burke withdrew from a drawer of hisdesk a large envelope and emptied out several tornsheets and fragments of paper which looked asthough they had been trampled underfoot. Somewere covered with handwriting in English, whileothers held columns of Chinese characters. Theywere so mud-stained and crumpled, however, thatonly a few lines here and there were at all legible.O’Shea gazed at them eagerly, surmising what theywere before the inspector explained:

“My men picked them up in the street whereMcDougal’s body was found.”

“Yes. He must have had a bundle of books andpapers under his arm, for I heard mention of thesame,” cried O’Shea. “Like enough, it was ripped334apart in the scrimmage and the blood-thirsty heathenmade off with whatever they could lay their handson in a hurry. If they spied any Chinese writingthey would grab at it. What do ye say, InspectorBurke?”

“There are bits of some sort of a diary here, CaptainO’Shea, and odds and ends that only a nativecould make head or tail of. I looked them overearly this morning, and one of my Chinese did whathe could to help. It is impossible to arrange thefragments in any sequence, but the story you tellme dovetails rather curiously with some of thesentences.”

“There was many queer things stowed away inthat noddle of his,” said O’Shea, “and he was aneducated man, so he would be apt to make notes ofthem. And does he make any mention at all ofthis Jim Eldridge, alias Bill Maguire?”

Inspector Burke carefully smoothed a torn sheetof paper and laid a finger on a few lines scrawledin a shaky hand. They held no reference to thesailor, but several phrases were startlingly familiarto Captain O’Shea. The mutilated passage ranthus:

Very horrid dreams last night—brandy failed to drive themaway. Was in a steamer on the Stinking River—the PaintedJoss came through the cabin port-hole, squeezing itself small asif made of rubber, and then expanding to gigantic size. Itstrangled me slowly, making hideous faces. This is a warning—WhenI dream of the Painted Joss, I am on the edge of seeingthings while awake. The fear of violent death is....

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Captain O’Shea was vividly reminded of the disjointedmonologue of Bill Maguire, who had shownsymptoms of a similar antipathy to the “PaintedJoss.”

“McDougal wrote down the Stinking River as ifit was a real name,” he said to Inspector Burke. “Ithought Maguire called it that because it smelledbad. If it is on the map, can ye locate it, and isthere by any chance a town with the title of Wang-Li-Fuon the banks of the same?”

Inspector Burke summoned a fat, drowsy-lookinginterpreter and put several questions to him. Afterporing over an atlas for some time, this owlishChinese gentleman vouchsafed the information thata navigable stream known as the River of Ten ThousandEvil Smells did indeed flow through a coastwisepart of Kiangsu province, emptying into thewide estuary of the old mouth of the Yellow River.There was a city in that region which had beengreat and flourishing until the Tai-Ping Rebellionlaid it in ruins. It was now no more than a wretchedhamlet, although in local usage it had retained thename of Wang-Li-Fu, the last syllable of which signifieda chief city of a province.

“I say, this is interesting,” exclaimed InspectorBurke. “I am inclined to think that you and Ihave picked up a warm scent, Captain O’Shea.And here’s another bit of paper we can manage toread.”

They pored over a muddy page of McDougal’sdiary and discovered, alas! that it was no more than336a fragment of a little Chinese farce called “TheMender of Broken China-ware.” McDougal hadpicked it up from some troupe of strolling players andjotted down a rough translation of his own, beginning:

The two investigators laid this page aside andscanned the remaining scraps of paper. The Chinesewriting consisted almost wholly of quotations, linesfrom the classics, racy proverbs of the commonpeople, and so on. They contained nothing whateverthat might throw more light on the mystery ofMcDougal. In much the same way, what he hadwritten in English concerned itself with his wanderingsfrom port to port and his pitiful failures to holda position.

“What we want most was lost in the scuffle,” saidO’Shea. “The earlier part of this diary may havetold the story that you and I are anxious to know.”

“I fancy we know more than any other twowhite men in China,” drawled Inspector Burke.“If a chap is really keen to find out something aboutthis blackguardly organization, he will make a voyageto the River of Ten Thousand Evil Smells andgo pokin’ about the ruined town of Wang-Li-Fu.337It’s out of my bailiwick. Now, whether I ought tolay this information before the Chinese officials ofthe provincial government——”

“Excuse me for meddling,” O’Shea broke in witha boyish, eager smile, “but I have come a long wayto go rummagin’ about in this mess on me own hook.And do ye think the Chinese government could betrusted to go ahead and accomplish anything at all?This evidence of ours is no more than guesswork.”

“I have thought of that, Captain O’Shea. Andthe thing would not be done quietly. There wouldbe a lot of chin-chin and clumsy preparation, and agun-boat and pig-tailed soldiers, and Shanghai gettingwind of the expedition. It would be better todo the trick off one’s own bat.”

“My friend, the sailorman with the cracked top,remarked most emphatic about the ‘Head Devil’when he was spillin’ disconnected language,”thoughtfully observed O’Shea. “’Tis me strongopinion that he tangled himself with the main worksof this busy fraternity of man-killers.”

“What are your plans, may I ask? You are welcometo all the information my men may pick up inthe native city. What a lark! I wish I might get aleave of absence and go with you.”

“I would ask no better partner,” warmly returnedO’Shea. “Well, I will buy charts and study thecoast of this Kiangsu province and learn what I canabout the inland waters. And then I will find afew good men that will go to hell for wages, andfight for the love of it. And I will charter a steamer338that is fit to navigate rivers and we will be whatyou might call an expedition.”

Inspector Burke gripped the hard hand of CaptainO’Shea and exclaimed with a laugh:

“Here’s luck to you! My word, but you’re themost refreshin’ man I’ve met since I came off frontierservice in India! I will help you find your men.Nothing easier. Shanghai can furnish you gentlemanlyremittance men from England, strandedAmerican soldiers from Manila, time-expired bluejacketsfrom Hong-Kong, broken shipmasters fromGod knows where, and assorted scamps who will followany one that will buy the drinks.”

“’Tis cheerful news, Inspector Burke. I will havea council of war with you to-morrow at this time. Iwish that you would see that poor McDougal isburied decent in a Christian church-yard and I will beglad to pay the bills. He was a good man once.”

IV

That same evening Captain O’Shea remained inhis room at the hotel until after nine o’clock. Forone thing, he wrote a long letter to Johnny Kent,acquainting that doughty farmer with the encouragingprogress of the enterprise, which promised“to deal out enough trouble to satisfy any reasonableman.” Then he took his letter of credit fromthe leather bill-book and made sundry calculations.After leaving Inspector Burke he had rambled along339the water-front and made random inquiries concerningcharter prices. Freights were low and the rivertrade was dull. His funds could stand the strain.Fighting men of the kind he wanted were cheapand he would ship coolies as stokers and deck-hands.However, O’Shea was ready to see thething through if it took his last penny. What manwith blood in him wouldn’t be glad to pay the priceof such a picnic as this?

Having jotted down his estimates of the cost ofcoal, stores, wages, arms, and so on, he co*cked aneye at the total and said to himself:

“’Tis the first time I ever backed an expeditionof me own, and was not pulling some one else’s ironsout of the fire. I feel like the minister of war of arevolutionary government.”

Gathering up his papers, he was about to restorethem to the leather wallet when he caught sight ofthe folded sheet containing the great Chinese characterwhich he had displayed to Inspector Burke.It was not a thing to be carried about carelessly andperhaps exposed to view in the course of his businessdealings with banks or shops or shipping agents.Some association with this sinister symbol had costpoor McDougal his life. And Chinese were to befound everywhere in the European settlement. Withan unusually prudent impulse, Captain O’Sheathrust the folded paper between the layers of clothingin his trunk and put the key in his pocket.

The night was young, the air warm and closewithin doors, and he felt not in the least like turning340in. Strolling through the wide corridors, he passedinto the street and moved idly in the direction of theBund, attracted by the music of a band which wasplaying in the park near by. The place was like alovely garden with wide areas of lawn and a profusionof foliage. The large number of men andwomen who walked to and fro or chatted in groupswere, for the most part, English, American, and German;exiles of a fashionable and prosperous air whoappeared to find life in the Far East quite endurableand success in their commercial enterprises not harassinglydifficult.

Captain O’Shea found a seat on a rustic bench andwatched the passing show. Presently he smiled ashe descried the incongruous figure of a wizened littleelderly Irishman in a black frock-coat with a rustytall hat firmly jammed on the back of his head. Inthis smart company Paddy Blake was a fish out ofwater, but he had lost not a bit of his brisk, devil-may-caredemeanor which dared any one to tread onthe tail of the coat aforesaid. O’Shea hailed him,and he halted to cackle cordially:

“I was lookin’ for ye to drop into me place all day.There was a magnum on ice and a brace of coldroast Chinese pheasants that ’ud make a king lickhis chops. I had something important to impart toye in th’ back room.”

“’Twas about McDougal, no doubt,” said O’Shea.“I found him, and dead as a mackerel he was.”

“I had the same news this mornin’,” exclaimedPaddy Blake. “One of me Chinese bar-boys lives341in the native city forninst the French Gate. He wasbound home last night whin the body was found, butthe likes of him ’ud scuttle away and say nawthin’to the police.”

“Inspector Burke tells me that you were nottoo free with information yourself,” dryly observedO’Shea.

Paddy Blake vehemently thumped his knee withhis tall hat and returned:

“Me place has a bad enough reputation, Godknows, and the damned British police is biassed aginme. Would it do me anny good to be dragged intocourt as witness in a murder case and th’ inspectormakin’ out that the man got drunk on my booze?Which is wrong entirely, for McDougal was soberwhen he went off in tow of Captain Spreckels, as yewell know. But ’tis no use holdin’ post-mortems.Thim Chinese divils done for McDougal same as hewas afraid of. And are ye makin’ anny headwayin the matter of the big red-headed man that I informedye was Jim Eldridge, mate of the Tai Yansteamer?”

“I will not find easy weather of it without McDougal,”said O’Shea, who had no intention of showinghis hand to Paddy Blake.

An electric lamp illuminated the path in front ofthem, but a large tree cast a shadow past one end ofthe bench, which was why they did not sooner perceivea young man who stood scanning the crowd asif he had nothing more to do than listen to the music.Now he stepped into the light and was about to342move on when he caught sight of the tall hat of oldPaddy Blake. As though recognizing this ancientlandmark, he made a mock pass at it with his lacqueredstick and exclaimed in accents easily familiar:

“Hello, old sport! I was betting you the price ofa new hat on the arrival of the German mail-boat lastweek. You won, Paddy, but why do you not wearthe new hat?”

O’Shea was surveying the jocular young man withconsiderable interest. Here was a type new to him—thedapper, blasé, slangy Chinese of Shanghai,wearing European clothes and manners, ardent patronof the club and the race-track, and forsakinghis countrymen to live in a foreign-built villa on theBubbling Well Road. An English tailor and anEnglish haberdasher had adorned this young manregardless of expense, but O’Shea surmised that hewas something more than a gilded rounder. Helooked quick-witted and efficient and very wise inworldly knowledge. Moreover, there was an oddquality of respect in the manner of the unterrifiedPaddy Blake as he replied to the greeting.

“An’ what’s the good worrd, Charley? Can I doannything at all for ye? I am waitin’ to buy a hatwith your money whin this one wears out. ’Tis ashame to toss it away. I want ye to know CaptainO’Shea, a seafarin’ friend of mine from NewYork. Captain, this is Misther Charley Tong Sin,comprador for Jordan, Margetson & Co., an’ thesmartest comprador that ye will find between Tientsinand Singapore, if I do say it to his face.”

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O’Shea shook hands with the affable young man,who laughed and retorted:

“Paddy is a great chap for the blarney, a first-chopjollier, you bet. We do some business togetherwhen my firm wants sailors for its ships.Sometimes Paddy beats me; not so often I skin him.”

“Listen to him,” chuckled the old man. “If iverI got the best of him just once, it ’ud make me tooproud to live with. Well, I must be trottin’ along tome own dump. I wandered to th’ park on the chanceof pickin’ up a couple of stray sailors. If ye canbe of anny service to Captain O’Shea I will count itas a favor, Charley. He’s a stranger and he’s Irish,and he has made a hit with me.”

Paddy Blake departed in great haste, and CharleyTong Sin offered O’Shea a cigarette from an ornatelyjewelled case, remarking:

“You are in Shanghai for business or pleasure?It is a bully good town for fun; not as swift as NewYork, but not so slow either. I went to college inAmerica.”

“Which is more than I did,” confessed O’Shea.“Oh, I am just looking about Shanghai, not to findout how swift the town is, but to invest a bit ofmoney, maybe. Jordan, Margetson? That is a bigshipping house?”

“The same. I am in charge of the native business,”chirruped Charley Tong Sin. “Anything inthe shipping line you want, you come to see meand I will put you wise. You have done businessin these ports before, captain?”

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“No; mostly in the Atlantic trade. I was in theoffice of your firm this afternoon, asking some informationabout a possible charter.”

“Ah, but you did not see me. Too bad,” and thecomprador added with bland self-satisfaction: “Itmust have been after three o’clock. Then I am in theclub drinking gin co*cktails every day until I go hometo dinner. It is my custom. There is no man inShanghai that does more business and drinks moregin co*cktails, but I do not mix the two things. Iam the wise guy, eh? What tonnage do you wantto charter, and where to?”

“I am not quite ready to say,” replied O’Shea, whopreferred to keep his affairs to himself even whenoffered the assistance of so capable an adviser asCharley Tong Sin.

“I beg your pardon. Come to my office when youhave made up your mind, Captain O’Shea. For thesake of the jolly sprees I had in little old New York,I will see that you are not stung in Shanghai. Whatdo you say to a drive on the Bubbling Well Roadbefore you go back to your hotel? My carriage iswaiting a little way from here. I came to the parkto meet a friend but he has not arrived.”

The invitation was attractive and the acquaintanceof the comprador worth cultivating. O’Shea acceptedwith thanks, and presently they climbed intoa very shiny victoria with two Chinese grooms on thebox. The spirited little horses, admirably matched,danced through the paved streets of the settlementand out into the wider spaces of the countryside.345The shipmaster found pleasure in new places; withhim sight-seeing had never lost its zest, and the BubblingWell Road was one of the things that no voyagerto the Orient ought to miss. To view it bynight was rather unsatisfactory, but the air wasdeliciously sweet and cool, and the handsome emboweredresidences of merchants and diplomats andChinese officials appeared quite magnificent whenduskily discerned by the glimmer of the stars.

“You have seen the native city? No?” saidCharley Tong Sin. “It is very dirty, but picturesqueto beat the deuce. What you say? To-morrowmorning I go to have an appointment with His Excellency,the governor, at his yamen. It is on business.Perhaps you would like to meet me thereand have an audience. It is rather good fun, muchred-tape, a big bunch of officials, and plenty of kow-towing.Not many foreigners have admittance tohim in this way.”

It occurred to Captain O’Shea that he should verymuch like to learn what the government of the nativecity, or the police department thereof, had discoveredin connection with the murder of McDougal.And to gain an entrance in company with the influentialcomprador, himself a Chinese, was to makehis inquiries under the most favorable circ*mstances.

“I will jump at the chance,” he exclaimed. “Aman like me that may do business in China in a smallway should make himself solid with the powersthat be.”

“I am sorry that I cannot meet you at your hotel346and take you to the yamen,” explained Charley TongSin, “but to-morrow I must be very early at myoffice to make up the accounts of a ship that will sailfor Hankow, and then I will have to hurry into thenative city like the very devil. If you tell your’rickshaw man to carry you to the governor’s yamenI will be there and see you at eight o’clock.”

“I can find my way, and many thanks to you,”cordially returned O’Shea. “The native city isstrange water, but no doubt the ’rickshaw pilot willknow his course.”

It was drawing near to midnight when the shinyvictoria left Captain O’Shea at the Astor Houseand the obliging Charley Tong Sin bade him adieu.The shipmaster went yawning to his room, agreeablyrefreshed by the outing and ready for bed. Hewas a tidy man by habit, having stowed himself andhis belongings for much of his life in a space no largerthan a respectable closet. Even in a hotel room heleft nothing strewn about.

He had no more than pulled off his coat when heobserved that things were not arranged exactly ashe had left them. His eyes noted one trifle, and thisled him to look for others. The Chinese servant hadbeen in to turn down the bed, leave fresh towels,and pick up burnt matches and scraps of paper,but something other than this routine handwork hadbeen busy in the room. His things had been examinedhastily, but with careful endeavor to leavethem as they were. Opening one bureau drawerafter another, he found confirmation of this suspicion.347The articles therein had been not so muchpoked about in disorder as moved from their placesby exploring hands.

If a thief had been in the room he found no bootyfor his pains, for there was neither money nor jewelryto be looted. Captain O’Shea thoughtfully pickedup a leather hand-bag which was locked as he hadleft it. Inserting the key he looked inside. He hadbeen careful to slip a box of revolver cartridges into aleather flap-pocket because the pasteboard coveringwas broken and they were apt to spill loose in thebottom of the bag. Evidently it had been ransacked,for the box of cartridges was not in thepocket, but lodged in a fold of a rain-coat which halffilled the bag. O’Shea whistled softly and movedstraightway to his trunk. This also was locked.Flinging back the lid, he instantly searched betweenthe layers of clothing for the folded sheet of heavypaper on which he had drawn with a brush andstencilling ink the ominous Chinese character thatwas branded into the back of the red-haired sailor-man.

The paper was missing. Something had alreadytold him that he should find it missing. He made nofurther search, but sat himself down on the edge ofthe bed and stared very hard at the blank wall.The night was as warm as before, but he felt curiouslychilly.

“’Tis like as if some one had jammed an icicle intothe small of me back,” he reflected. “I will not crybefore I am hurt, but there’s more to this divertin’348adventure of mine than Johnny Kent and I everdreamed of on the farm.”

Certain conclusions were boldly obvious. Hisreal business in China had been discovered by thesame agency which had tried to slay the red-hairedsailor and which had murdered McDougal. Thepaper had been stolen because it was a clinchingproof of his active interest and interference, and perhapsalso to terrify and intimidate him with therealization that intelligences, hostile and secret, werespying on him. It was futile to try to guess how theknowledge of his purpose had been disclosed. McDougalmay have been watched and followed, asO’Shea had already surmised, and they had beenseen talking together in Paddy Blake’s place. Somelistener may have been unseen during the interviewat the headquarters of Inspector Burke.

To make complaint, either to the hotel managementor to the police, that his room had been enteredseemed a silly proceeding. To catch this kind of athief was as hopeless as chasing a phantom. It wasdecidedly unpleasant to think of going to sleep inthis room, for as Captain Michael O’Shea admittedto himself, with a very serious countenance:

“The lad that did that trick is likely to sift inthrough the key-hole if he takes the notion and chopthe brand into me back after slippin’ the knife intome before I can wake up to find out how dead I am.I would like to sleep in the same bed with InspectorBurke and a battery of the Royal Artillery this night,but if I lose me nerve Johnny Kent will disown meentirely.”

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With this he looked over his defences, like a seasonedcampaigner, and assembled the chairs, thecrockery, and the large tin bath-tub, together withthe heavier articles of his own kit. Two chairs heplaced against the door, one balanced on top of theother so that if dislodged they would topple overwith a good deal of noise. The cord of the mosquitocanopy he cut in twain, and so ingeniouslysuspended tub and crockery just inside the two windowsthat the wariest intruder must certainly set inmotion a clamorous little avalanche. Then, havingtucked his revolver under the pillow, he prudentlycommended his soul to his Maker and composed himselfto slumber of a hair-trigger kind.

The night passed without alarm and CaptainMichael O’Shea roused himself out soon after daybreakto smoke three strong Manila cigars and organizehimself as a strategy board, or one might havesaid that he was clearing for action. Convinced thatthe game he played was a genuinely dangerous one,he was in haste to get afloat where he belonged. Tododge the wiles of an ambushed foe was not whathe liked. At this kind of warfare the Chinese mindwas too nimble for him.

He decided that he would keep the appointmentto meet Charley Tong Sin at the yamen of the governorof the native city. No mischance was likelyto befall him in broad daylight, and, given the opportunity,he would seek a private interview with thatofficial. This business despatched, he proposed toshow the water-front of Shanghai how speedily ariver steamer could be manned and taken to sea.

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Having eaten breakfast early and with good appetite,Captain O’Shea went out to find a ’rickshaw.Only one of them happened to be standing in frontof the hotel and he had little trouble in making theswarthy, sturdy fellow in the shafts understand wherehe wished to go. The coolie set off at a racing trot,whisking the vehicle along with amazing ease. Thepassenger had not outgrown the idea that it wasrather absurd and unfair for an able-bodied personto be pulled along in this fashion by another manno stronger than himself. Therefore, he nodded approvalwhen the coolie slackened his gait and yelledat another stalwart Chinese squatted on the curbstonewho picked himself up and ran behind the’rickshaw as “push-man,” making a double team of it.

Moved by two-man power, the light vehicle madea speedy passage through the British settlement andturned into the French quarter to reach the nearestgate-way of the native city wall. Soon the orderand cleanliness and modernity of European territoryand dominion were left behind and the ’rickshaw hadspun into the swarming, filthy streets of the immemorialChina.

“The River of Ten Thousand Evil Smells can beno worse than this,” said O’Shea to himself, “andfor the love of heaven was there ever such a messof people jumbled together?”

No more than eight or ten feet wide, the alleyswere crowded with pedlers and street-merchantsselling cakes, fish, pork, vegetables, porcelain, furs,embroideries, pictures, bamboo pipes, their wares351displayed on little wooden stands or spread upon therutted flag-stones.

Jostling among them were laden mules, top-heavywheelbarrows, bawling coolies sweating beneath theburden of the shoulder-yokes, hordes of idlers,screaming children, until it was to wonder whytraffic was not wholly blockaded. Into this ruck ofhumanity, this immense confusion and noise, the two’rickshaw men hurled their vehicle like a projectile.They shouted incessantly, threatening and reviling,nor tried to pick a way through the press. Thesewho got in their path were knocked head over heels.Pedlers’ barrows were upset helter-skelter. The onwardcourse of Captain O’Shea was as destructiveas a typhoon.

He yelled at his headlong chargers to slow down.They were likely to cause a riot. Already a mobwas buzzing angrily in their wake and several missileswere hurled at the ’rickshaw. Captain O’Sheahad the sensations of a man who was being run awaywith. This brace of pig-tailed fiends had bolted hell-for-leather.He was of a mind to jump out and letthem go their own gait, but this enlarged baby-carriageof a ’rickshaw was awkward to disembarkfrom while under way, and he was reluctant to risklanding upon his head. If he menaced them with arevolver the mob would be apt to join forces withthem against the foreigner. Still, this might be thepeculiar fashion of conveying a gentleman to thegovernor’s yamen, and perhaps he had better sittight and hold hard until the ship struck a rock.

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Presently, however, he observed that several bigswarthy men in blue cotton blouses were runningalongside the coolie in the shafts and holding shoutedconverse with him. They appeared to be friends ofhis, and Captain O’Shea did not like their looks.They were hardier, more truculent of visage, thanthe pasty-faced Shanghai coolie class. The toughhas the same ear-marks the world over, and thesefellows were ruffians whom one would not care tomeet in the dark.

A few minutes after these had joined company the’rickshaw turned abruptly from one of the crowdedstreets and moved with undiminished speed into awider but much less frequented thoroughfare linedwith stables, straw-littered court-yards whose buildingswere in ruinous decay, and hovels used asslaughter-houses where mangy dogs prowled in searchof offal. The ’rickshaw tilted and veered sharply inthe direction of one of these disreputable court-yards,and Captain Michael O’Shea, quite certain that hewas not headed toward the governor’s yamen, acteddecisively and on the spur of the moment.

Things were going all wrong and very probablyhe would alight from the frying-pan into the fire, butthis was nothing less than an abduction. The cooliein the shafts had coiled his queue under his cap,possibly to guard against the very manœuvre thatO’Shea executed. But the wind and the rapid motionhad loosed the end of the thick black braid andit bobbed between his shoulders and whipped free ashe ran.

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Bending forward, O’Shea clutched the queue in atremendous grip and laid back as if he were haulingon a main-sheet. The rascal’s head was fetched upwith a dislocating jerk, his feet pawed the air for aninstant, and his hands lost their hold of the shafts.Then, as he came down and tried vainly to get afooting, the careering ’rickshaw rammed him frombehind and sent him sprawling on his face. Shotout from his seat went Captain O’Shea, his feet infront of him, a revolver in his fist, ready to bound upfrom the pavement and open the engagement on theinstant.

The “push-man” had been violently poked underthe chin by the back of the suddenly halted ’rickshaw,and he lay groaning and doubled up several feetaway. The ruffianly escort, taken by surprise, rana little distance before they could wheel and returnto the scene. Captain O’Shea had a moment inwhich to get his bearings and take stock of the situation.Darting for the nearest wall, he braced hisback against it and stood waiting. The big swarthyrascals in the blue blouses fiercely jabbered together,gazed up and down the almost deserted street, andwith no more delay drew knives from their baggybreeches and charged with heads down.

O’Shea threw up his revolver for a snap-shot atthe foremost of them. The hammer clicked. Therewas no report. He pulled the trigger again with thesame result. For the third time the hammer fellwith the same futile, sickening click. This was hisfinish. The thing was absurd, incredible. Raging,354he grasped the weapon by the barrel and ran forwardto swing the butt against the nearest shavenhead. A long knife ripped at him and slashed hissleeve. He cracked the man’s head, but the otherswere at him like wolves. He dodged and tried totake to his heels, but the two ’rickshaw men blockedhis path.

One of the assassins had worked around behindhim and was trying to trip and get him down sothat they could cut him to ribbons at their leisure.The knives hemmed him in. He slipped and fellupon one knee. The ruffians laughed.

Then, lo and behold! they were scampering franticallyaway, yelling in fear, scrambling over walls likemonkeys, diving into the stables and court-yards, flyingfor the lower end of the street. In a twinklingCaptain O’Shea was alone, magically snatched fromdeath. White and shaking, he stood and gazed ata near-by corner of the crooked thoroughfare. Filingpast it came a squad of British bluejackets in whiteclothes, and the sun winked brightly on the polishedmetal of their rifles and cutlasses. Beside the lieutenant,in front of them, strode a tall, slim-waistedman in khaki uniform whom O’Shea recognized asInspector Burke. O’Shea’s assailants had beenwarned in time to scurry to cover before the Britishparty had more than a flying glimpse of them. Ata quick order shouted by the lieutenant, the sailorsscattered into the yards and squalid buildings, but thefugitives had escaped by a dozen dark and deviousexits to vanish in the labyrinths of the teeming, mysterious355native city. Inspector Burke was poundingO’Shea on the back and exclaiming vigorously:

“My word, old chap! What sort of a bally rowis this? The beggars nearly did for you. Lucky wehappened along, wasn’t it?”

“Tis all of that,” earnestly replied the shipmaster.“And who are ye, anyhow? Is this a fairy story or aplay right out of the theatre? You came on the stageabout one second before the curtain rung down.”

“Leftenant Kempton-Shaw—ah, here he is—allowme to present him, Captain O’Shea—as I wasabout to say, he came ashore from the Warspite gun-boatthis mornin’ with a batch of Chinese pirates,the real thing, don’t you know. He took them outof a junk after a rather nice little shindy last week.He marched them to the Chinese prison just now,it’s in this quarter of the native city, and their headswill be cut off to-morrow. I’m awfully pleased thatwe were taking this short cut home. In close quarters,weren’t you?”

“I have never found them a closer fit,” saidO’Shea. “I was on me way for a chat with thegovernor, and a gang of bad citizens tried to wipeme out. I will walk along with you if ye don’tmind. There is enough Irish in me to waste nogreat love on the British flag, but I will say, LieutenantKempton-Shaw, that I never laid eyes on afiner, handsomer lot of men than these lads of yoursfrom the Warspite.”

“Thanks, and I fancy you mean it,” smiled thenaval officer. “This is extraordinary, by Jove.356Foreigners are fairly safe in the native city, as a rule,are they not, Burke? What do you make of it?”

“I shall have to hear Captain O’Shea’s report.”

“I have no long-winded report to offer,” incisivelydeclared the shipmaster. “I have me suspicions,and you can guess what they are, Inspector Burke.’Tis the same business that we talked about in youroffice. But I wish nothing to do with any policeinvestigations. You will report this row of mine tothe native government, I have no doubt, and I hopeye will try to collect an indemnity for me distressedemotions, but I have no time to dilly-dally about inShanghai. I will go to sea. Will you help me findthe men?”

“From the tone of your voice I infer that yourbusiness is not precisely pacific, my dear sir,” putin Lieutenant Kempton-Shaw. “Do you mind lettingthe Warspites in on this cruise of yours?”

“Thank you, but I have set out to handle it as anaffair of me own. I may have bit off more than Ican chew, but I will try to see it through.”

“Meet me at my office at noon and I’ll have somemen for you to look over,” said Inspector Burke.“I will pick up a crew for you if I have to make ageneral jail-delivery.”

As they trudged along Captain O’Shea becamesilent and abstracted. He was not in a mood forconversation. Conjecture pointed one way. He hadbeen a gullible fool who deserved to have a knifestuck in his ribs. It had been as easy to trap him asthough he were a lubber on his first voyage out from357home. It had been with design that only one ’rickshawstood in front of the hotel that morning whenhe was ready to go to the native city. And thepair of coolies were hired cutthroats who had steeredhim into the disgusting street among the slaughter-housesin order that he might be done away with,leaving never a trace of his fate behind him.

Reasoning back from this link to the next preceding,his room had been entered and ransacked whilehe was safely out of the way in a carriage on theBubbling Well Road. Some time had been requiredto make that careful examination and fit keys tohis hand-bag and trunk. Also, he had just now investigatedhis revolver and discovered that the firing-pinof the hammer had been filed, not enough for theeye to notice it, but sufficiently to cause the impactto fail to explode the primer of the cartridge.

The affable, gilded young gentleman who had invitedhim to drive on the Bubbling Well Road wasthe same kind acquaintance who had suggested thathe take a ’rickshaw and visit the native city in themorning. The finger of coincidence pointed in thedirection of that smartest of compradores, CharleyTong Sin.

“That kind of coincidence is unhealthier than thecholera,” said O’Shea to himself. “Maybe thissport with the college education and the taste forgin co*cktails is a good friend of mine, but I will givehim no chance to prove it again. I have been onthe jump ever since I met him. If he is not crookedhe is a hoodoo. And ’tis not impossible, after all,358that he is mixed up with this gang of murderersthat I am running after. The heart of him isChinese.”

He would keep these suspicions to himself. Theylacked tangible proof, and he held to the view thatthe business was entirely his own. He had plungedinto this befogged maze of circ*mstances like a boyon a holiday, and it was for him to extricate himselflike a man. With the warmest expressions of gratitudehe parted from Inspector Burke and the navallieutenant, and hastened in the direction of thewater-front.

Less than an hour later he was inspecting a light-draughtsteamer called the Whang Ho owned by theChina Navigation Company. She was old, sadly inneed of repairs, and about as sea-worthy for roughweather as a packing-box. But O’Shea felt confidentthat she could be nursed along to serve his purpose,and the larger, better vessels available for charterat short notice were not so handy for exploringmuddy rivers and strange corners. Having put tosea at one time and another in craft which were heldtogether only by their paint, Captain O’Shea askedno more of the Whang Ho than that her enginesshould turn over. He dared not examine the machinerytoo closely lest he might lose confidence inhis steamer, but the owners’ agent assured him thatshe was fit for service and he took his word for it.

“Start her fires going at once,” said O’Shea, “andif enough pressure shows on the gauges to turnher wheel as she lies at her moorings, I will sign the359charter-party and insurance papers and slap downthe two thousand dollars for a month’s use of thevenerable relic.”

“That is fair enough,” replied the agent. “And itis as good as done. You can go ahead with gettingyour supplies, Captain O’Shea. I take it that youwant to do a bit of exploration work for one of theAmerican syndicates? We have done quite a lot ofbusiness with your people and their concessions.”

“It may be something like that,” briefly returnedO’Shea. “And now will you be kind enough to tellme where to order a hundred and fifty tons of steamcoal to be put in the bunkers this very day?”

“Our company will be pleased to let you have it,and I can guarantee prompt delivery from lightersalongside the steamer. Or I presume that Jordan,Margetson will do the same for you.”

“I think I will not deal with Jordan, Margetson,”and O’Shea’s voice was smooth and pleasant. “Thecomprador is a very able young man.”

“Charley Tong Sin? Well, rather. A smartchap, that.”

“Yes, very. I wish I could keep my razor assharp.”

Captain O’Shea next visited a ship-chandler’s andsubmitted his list of stores, making it a condition ofpayment that the stuff should be in the steamerbefore sunset. The elderly German who served himhad the tact and discretion bred of long experiencewith the seafarers of the unexpected Orient. It washis business to sell them whatever they might want,360to take his profit and ask no questions. Yes, hecould find thirty service rifles and revolvers, alsocutlasses of the best steel. They were of patternsdiscarded by a certain European government, butexcellent weapons. He would be glad to sell thecaptain one, five, or ten thousand of them. Thecaptain was not a man to wag a foolish tongue; onecould see it at a glance.

“You and I might do business some day,” quothO’Shea, “but I am too busy to start a revolution atpresent.”

He sent a note to Paddy Blake asking him to finda dozen Chinese firemen and sailors and a river pilot,and to muster them ready for signing articles in theafternoon. He believed the old Irishman to be aripened scoundrel at his own trade, but suspectedhim of no complicity in the manœuvres of CharleyTong Sin. The comprador had merely used PaddyBlake as a means of making the acquaintance ofCaptain O’Shea.

Five minutes after noon the shipmaster (he hadtaken a decided dislike to riding in ’rickshaws)trudged into the headquarters building of InspectorBurke.

“I have a choice collection for you to look over,”said the latter. “They are waiting in another room,and I should call them a worried lot. I sent mymen out to pick them up, do you see, and they havenot been told the reason why.”

“I cannot afford to be particular, Inspector Burke.Let me at them and I will see whether I am safer361ashore among the Chinese or at sea with your exhibitof beach-combers.”

“Oh, they are not as bad as that,” the inspectorassured him. “I should scarcely call them desperatecharacters. However, while I wish you the best ofluck, old chap, I shall shed never a tear if you loseyour shipmates somewhere beyond Shanghai. Letus call them soldiers of misfortune, if you like.”

He led the way into the large drill-room, where ascore or more of men stood in uneasy attitudes andappeared not at all comfortable in this environment.O’Shea let his glance rove in swift, appraising scrutinyand smiled to himself as he recognized one familiartype after another. He had recruited such menas these for unostentatious ventures in the waters ofthe Spanish Main. Here was the red-faced, burlyshipmaster ready with a glib speech and fluent cursesto explain how he happened to be without his papers;the shambling ne’er-do-well with the slack mouthand the weak chin who had fled from a scrape athome to lose himself in foreign ports; the tanned adventurer,brave and resourceful, who was fit fornothing else than the life of a rover; the battered oldseaman, worn out by the hardships of the forecastle,who had been cast adrift from the hospital; the cashieredarmy officer with the hall-mark of his casteblurred but still visible; the sharp-featured youngman with the furtive eye who lived by his wits andfound it very hard living indeed; the bleary tropicaltramp who would sell his soul for a drink of brandy.

These and the rest of them were seedy in various362ways. They conveyed a sense of failure, of havinglost their grip. Their clothes did not signify thisso much as what life had written in their faces.Several, in fact, were dressed in clean white duck andlinen. They were fighting hard to preserve the guiseof self-respect. And yet every man of them hadmarched to police headquarters at a word from InspectorBurke with the sick fear in his heart thathis past had overtaken him, or that he was to bedeported for the good of the community, or that hewas to be locked up as a vagrant.

Inspector Burke felt pity for them. It was heartlessto keep the poor devils in this painful suspense.With a curt nod he addressed them in a group, forthey had unwittingly drifted together as if findingsome small comfort in solidarity.

“This is not police business,” said he. “I sentfor you to oblige my friend Captain O’Shea. Hewill explain what he wants, and I advise you to playsquare with him and I’m quite sure he will make itworth while.”

At this the company brightened and looked immenselyrelieved. The hang-dog manner fled. Shoulderswere braced, heads held erect. They were likedifferent men. O’Shea had a less pessimistic opinionof them. He had already concluded to show nofinicky taste by picking and choosing. He wouldtake them in a lump, good, bad, and indifferent.Those who were really competent would soon discloseit on shipboard and they could help him hammerthe others into shape.

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“My speech to you will be short and sweet,” saidhe. “I need men for a voyage coastwise and mesteamer will be ready to sail to-night. You will livewell and I expect ye to obey orders. ’Tis notsailors’ work or I should not take on your kind.The fewer questions ye ask the more popular yewill be with me. The pay will be at the rate offive dollars a day gold, but I will give no advances.I want ye to come aboard sober. If you handleyourselves like men I will pay ye a bonus at theend of the voyage. Those that want to go will giveme their names.”

Not a man hung back or asked a question. Theywhispered softly among themselves, as if afraid tomake a slip that might break the spell. CaptainO’Shea had one thing more to say and they listenedwith the most devout attention.

“I took note of the small Hotel London down bythe water-side. ’Tis a clean, decent place and I havehad a word with the landlord. I will give everyman me card. If you show it to him he will bepleased to entertain ye at dinner at once, andhe will hand ye out cigars and three drinks apiece,no more. And I will meet you there for supper atsix o’clock to-night.”

“Excellent strategy,” murmured Inspector Burke.

“By the way,” cried O’Shea to his pleased followers,“I overlooked something. I need a chiefengineer. Can any one of you qualify?”

It appeared that none of them was sufficiently acquaintedwith the internal works of a steamer to pass364as an expert, although a young man of a very co*ckneyaccent thought he might do as an assistant.

Inspector Burke made haste to remark:

“I say, let me give you the very man for the job.Kittridge is his name. It’s rather awkward, for heis in clink at present, the British jail. But his timeexpires to-morrow—he was given thirty days—andI dare say the magistrate will be willing to sign releasepapers if I explain the situation.”

“I am not asking me men for references,” observedO’Shea, “but, as a matter of mild curiosity,what did ye put this Kittridge away for?”

“He tried to whip my entire Sikh police force, andhe made a jolly good beginning. Then his shipsailed away and left him in quod. He was engineerin a Cardiff tramp. A very good man, I understand.”

“He sounds like it. His references are most satisfactory,especially what he did to your turbannedcops,” O’Shea cordially affirmed. “Send this Kittridgeto the Hotel London, if ye please, and givehim this card of mine, and tell him to wait for methere.”

Through the afternoon Captain Michael O’Shea,now master of the aged river steamer Whang Ho, wasthe busiest and most energetic of men. A hundredand one things presented themselves as necessaryto be done. When at length he hurried into theHotel London shortly before the supper-hour hismen were waiting, hopeful, expectant, cheerful,smoking his cigars and with the three drinks apiece365tucked under their belts. Among them was a lanky,solemn person with a pair of gray side-whiskers anda leathery complexion crisscrossed by a net-work offine wrinkles. His whole appearance was eminentlydecorous and respectable and he seemed to havestrayed into the wrong company. It was not far-fetchedto conjecture that he might be a missionaryfrom some station in the Chinese hinterland whohad kindly concerned himself with the souls of thiscongregation of black sheep.

Captain O’Shea bowed to him with a puzzled,respectful air, at which the pious stranger remarked:

“Inspector Burke told me to report here and bedamn quick about it. I am Kittridge, and I hearyou are wanting an engineer.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Kittridge. I came near mistakin’you for a sky-pilot. And so your favoritepastime is beating up Sikh policemen! I have a jobfor ye at double the wages you got in your trampsteamer, whatever they were. Are you willing?”

“I would sign on with the devil himself to getclear of this blankety-blank pig-hole of a blisteringShanghai,” promptly exclaimed Mr. Kittridge.“Where’s your ship? Shall I go aboard at once?”

“Please take a look at the engine-room and reportto me here. She is the Whang Ho, tied up at theChina Navigation Company’s wharf. Don’t be toocritical, but if there’s work that is absolutely necessaryI will send ye machinists to work all night.”

“I know the condemned little hooker by sight,”bitterly quoth Mr. Kittridge with a tug at his starboard366whisker. “Very well, sir. I will take a squintat her and make out my list of engine-room stores.Can you get them to-night?”

“The ship-chandler is waiting to hear from me,and I have sent word to the machine-shop,” brieflyanswered O’Shea.

Paddy Blake had very promptly raked up the requirednumber of Chinese hands and was ready todeliver them on board whenever required. To theHotel London he came, towing by the arm a mostextraordinarily bent and shrivelled anatomy with awisp of a white queue, whom he turned over toCaptain O’Shea with the explanation:

“Here is a river and coastwise pilot for ye that isas wise as Confucius. And by the same token, Ihave no doubt that he was once pilot aboard thejunk of that grand old philosopher himself. Ormaybe he was shipmates with Noah.”

The ancient mariner croaked a phrase or two in agrating, rusty voice, and O’Shea dubiously observed:

“If he talks no English at all how will I tell himwhere I want to go?”

“I have sent ye a Chinese bos’n that can sling th’pidgin,” said Paddy Blake. “Dearly would I loveto know where ye are bound and what bobbery yeare up to, Captain Mike O’Shea, but a man in mybusiness has learned to ask no more silly questionsthan he can help.”

“Keep that magnum on ice till I come back toShanghai and I will spin ye the yarn in the littleback room of yours, Paddy.”

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“May ye come back right side up,” warmly exclaimedthe old man. “By th’ look of the friends yehave mustered to go wid you, I wud say that yeare bound out on what th’ Shanghai diplomats calla policy of binivolint assimilation.”

The report of the aggrieved Mr. Kittridge was tothe effect that while the engines of the Whang Howould probably take her to sea without breakingdown, a night’s work on the condenser, not to mentiona leaky cylinder, would considerably improveher health. Captain O’Shea told him to drive aheadwith these repairs; nor was the delay worth frettingabout. Things had gone amazingly well thus farand the Whang Ho would be ready to sail in themorning. He had no desire to spend another nightashore, and he would take his company on board atonce, assign them to quarters, and make a tentativeorganization for sea duty.

The Whang Ho had been fitted for passenger serviceon the Yang-tse, and there were state-rooms onthe upper deck to hold twice the number of O’Shea’srecruits. In the Chinese draft sent aboard by PaddyBlake were a cook and a steward trained to theirbusiness, and they put things to rights in their quiet,deft way. The mood of Captain O’Shea becamenormally cheerful and confident. He had a deckunder his feet, his word was law, and it was good tohear the lap of salt water and the swirl of the tideagainst a vessel’s side.

He was awake and about until midnight. Thework in the engine-room was progressing rapidly under368the vehement direction of Mr. Kittridge. Feelingthe need of sleep, for the preceding night hadbeen a broken one, Captain O’Shea set a watch incharge of the burly shipmaster of his company whomhe appointed first mate and went to his bunk in thecabin just abaft the wheel-house. At three o’clockMr. Kittridge, very hot and grimy, rapped on thedoor and gruffly announced that the machinists hadgone ashore and he proposed to turn in and sleepuntil sailing-time.

At six o’clock Captain O’Shea went on deck in hispajamas to order the steward to fetch him a cup ofcoffee. He saw no reason why the steamer shouldnot get under way at once. The Chinese stewardcame not at his call and he betook himself to thegalley. A fire was burning in the range, rice andpotatoes were cooking in the pots, bacon sliced onthe table ready for frying, but there was no cook.O’Shea looked puzzled and started for the forecastle.On the way he met his first mate whose demeanorwas distressed and excited.

“I was about to call you, sir,” he exclaimed, hisred face working with emotion. “You will thinkI’ve made a hash of my first night on duty, but thisinsane business happened like a shot out of a gun,sir. Not ten minutes ago the Chinamen, every lastone of ’em, came boiling on deck and went over theside to the wharf like so many rats. And they neverdid stop running. They were scared; it was a panic;but they didn’t stop to jabber. They just flew, andmost of ’em left their dunnage behind.”

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“The divil you say,” muttered O’Shea, and herubbed his head in slightly bewildered fashion.“That must have been just before I stepped on deck,Mr. Parkinson. And ye have no idea at all what itwas about?”

“Not the slightest, sir. I hope you don’t blameme. I’d have sailed into the thick of them withmy fists, but it was like chasing so many greasedpigs. They vanished before you could more thanwink.”

“What about the fires?” snapped the captain.“Have you been below?”

“Yes, sir. The first thing I did was to find Mr.Kittridge. He is in the engine-room, and he toldme to send down half a dozen of our white men tokeep up steam.”

“Good enough! Now sing out for a volunteercook, and I will investigate this comical performance.Did anybody get aboard to talk to these Chinamen?”

“Not a soul, sir. I’m sure of it. I had a reliableman at the gangway, and another on the wharf.”

“I believe you. While I look around a bit, getthe ship ready to go to sea, Mr. Parkinson. ’Tis notin me mind to be hung up in port very long.”

A sailing junk was attempting to reach with themorning breeze across the wide stretch of river.Hauling close to the wharf at which the Whang Howas moored, the junk attempted to come about, butmissed stays in lubberly fashion and hung in thewind as she slowly drifted past the steamer’s stern.The Chinese who clung to the long tiller, and the370others who stood upon the poop or hauled on thecordage, were gazing with signs of excitement at theWhang Ho. Several of them gesticulated, and theirfingers were aimed at the rounded, overhanging sternof Captain O’Shea’s vessel. He caught sight ofthose antics and walked aft.

There was no good reason why the crew of thepassing junk should make such a fuss over this commonplaceriver steamer. Their singular interest inher might be worth trying to fathom. Without delayingto seek the gangway, he threw his leg arounda tautened hawser and slid down to the wharf. Runningout to the end of it, he commanded a clear viewof the stern of the Whang Ho. Upon the white woodwork,just above the counter, was painted in broadstrokes of bright vermilion the sprawling Chinesecharacter which had been gashed in the back of thesailor named Jim Eldridge.

Captain O’Shea hastily returned on board andclimbed over the after rail, belaying a loose end ofheaving-line and resting his foot in the loop so thathe was able to let himself down until he could touchthe uppermost smear of vermilion paint. It rubbedoff on his hand, fresh and wet, and must have beenapplied during the night. His Chinese crew had discoveredit there. Perhaps some one had sung outthe information from a passing junk or sampan.At any rate, this was what had made them quit thesteamer. A charge of dynamite could have madetheir exodus no more expeditious. The word hadflown from mouth to mouth, and they fled from the371ship as from the plague. Even the incredibly agedpilot had hobbled away with the rest of them, fearrestoring an agility long since departed.

“The hoodoo again!” reflectively exclaimedO’Shea. “I thought I had got clear of it. ’Tis notso much to frighten me this time as to delay thevoyage. Somebody is anxious to send word up thecoast ahead of me to let some one else know I amcoming. That is a guess, and ’tis as good as thenext one.”

He would find Paddy Blake at once and discussthe matter with him. Perhaps he could ship anothercrew and leave port before the news had time tospread among the Chinese seafarers. Telling Mr.Parkinson to see to it that the vermilion paint wasinstantly removed, he set out on foot along thewater-front. At this early hour, there was no stir ofbusiness among the foreign shipping-houses. Passinga substantial brick building, Captain O’Shea’s eyewas held for an instant by the brass sign on one ofthe doors, “Jordan, Margetson & Co.” He happenedto be thinking quite assiduously just then of thecourteous comprador, Charley Tong Sin. He haltedand stared hard at the door in front of him whichwas ajar.

It was too early for any of the clerks to be about.With an impulse which had no definite purpose behindit, Captain O’Shea pushed open the door andquietly stepped into the hallway and thence into themain office with its row of desks. The room wasempty, and he moved in the direction of the smaller,372detached offices in the rear, still treading softly.Yes, the shrewd and zealous comprador, so faithfulto his employers’ interests, was already at work.When the visitor caught sight of him he was bendingover a table littered with papers, intent on arrangingand filing them. Possibly his ears were as quick ashis wits and he had heard Captain O’Shea beforeseeing him. Unruffled and smiling, with an air ofdelighted surprise, the comprador exclaimed, advancingwith hand outstretched:

“How glad I am to see you again! The top of themorning! Were you looking to find me? Ah, I amthe early bird, you bet.”

“I expected to sail by now, but there has been abit of trouble with me native crew,” replied the shipmaster,wary as a hawk. “I saw your place wasopen and I dropped in on the chance of bidding yefarewell. You mentioned the other night that yousometimes came down early.”

“That is the deuce of my business, Captain,” easilyreturned Charley Tong Sin. “Trouble with yourcrew? Can I help you? Do you need men? I amsorry you didn’t come to me in the first place.”

“I wish I had. ’Twas old Paddy Blake I firstturned to as one Irishman to another. And maybeI was wrong in not asking your advice about thesteamer.”

If this were a fencing-match, then O’Shea hadscored the first point. His bold, ingenuous featuresexpressed not the slightest change of emotion, butin an instant he had discovered that which clinched373and drove home his suspicions of Charley Tong Sin.The comprador put a fresh cigarette to his lipsand held a lighted match between his fingers, unawarethat the flare conveyed a fleeting translucence.Underneath the beautifully polished nails ofhis thumb and forefinger there showed a line of vermilionwhich the most careful scrubbing had failedto eradicate. It was the color of the paint whichhad been smeared on the stern of the Whang Hoin the form of a sprawling Chinese character.

The luck of Captain Michael O’Shea so ordered itthat he should observe this phenomenon before theflare of the match died out. Thereupon he liedswiftly and plausibly, the purpose hot in his heartto find a pretext that should coax the comprador toaccompany him on board the Whang Ho. To asympathetic query Captain O’Shea smoothly madeanswer:

“I am the kind of a man that will own up to hisown mistakes. I thought I could go it alone whenI ought to have been glad and thankful for the helpof a man like yourself. Between us, I am notanxious to go to sea in this old tub that I havechartered from the China Navigation Company.And now that I am delayed for lack of a crew, maybeyou can show me a way to slip out of the bargain.My chief engineer finds the vessel is not at all whatshe was represented to be. I took her subject tocertain conditions and she cannot make good.”

“I told you you would be stung in Shanghaiwithout me,” laughed Charley Tong Sin in the374greatest good-humor. “Better chuck up the WhangHo and let me find you a steamer.”

“That I will do, and gladly,” affirmed O’Shea.“Have ye time to step aboard with me now and Iwill show you how I have been buncoed. Then yecan advise me how to break the charter. I have agood case.”

“Of course I will,” cried the comprador. “Pooh,we will bluff the China Navigation Company out ofits boots. I will make them look like thirty cents.”

“You are the smartest comprador between Tientsinand Singapore, according to Paddy Blake, andI have no doubt of it,” sweetly murmured CaptainO’Shea.

“That’s what everybody says,” affably rejoinedCharley Tong Sin as they walked into the street.“What is the trouble with your crew?”

“You can search me. I cannot find out for thelife of me. They up and jumped ship without warning.”

“I will get more men for you. Leave it to me.You have come to the right place this time, CaptainO’Shea.”

Chatting amiably, the twain came to the wharf andclimbed the gangway of the Whang Ho. That anxiousfirst mate, Mr. Parkinson, pitiably afraid lesthe lose his billet and be turned adrift because he hadfailed to prevent the desertion of the crew, brightenedperceptibly at sight of Charley Tong Sin andconcluded that this influential young man had beenpersuaded to mend the troubles.

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“Come to my room, if ye please,” said CaptainO’Shea to the smiling comprador, “and I will summonmy chief engineer. He will tell you that thesteamer is not fit to make three knots an hour, andthen we will go below.”

The shipmaster beckoned Mr. Parkinson to follow.The trio were passing through the wide hallof the main cabin when Captain O’Shea halted.Swinging on his heel, he stood facing Charley TongSin, who started slightly, for the visage of CaptainO’Shea was stern and lowering.

What followed was instantaneous. The shipmaster’sfist shot out and collided with the jaw ofthe comprador, who measured his length on the floorand appeared to be wrapped in slumber. Only thetoes of his neat patent-leather shoes oscillated gently.The expression of his face was singularly peaceful.The oblique eyelids were closed.

The aghast Mr. Parkinson sputtered in great dismay:

“My God, sir, what have you done? We’ll allgo to jail for this. This is Jordan, Margetson’sright-hand man.”

“I have given him a sleeping-powder,” said O’Shea.“Take him by the heels while I carry the other endof him and we will lock him in a spare state-room.Put a guard over him. If he squeals, hit him againand keep him quiet.”

The mate was about to renew his protests, but hisvoice died in his throat. Perceiving that he waveredmiserably, Captain O’Shea spoke once more,and his accents were hard:

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“You can make your choice, Mr. Parkinson. Yesail with me and you play my game or you can goashore to rot and starve on the beach, same as whenI picked ye out of the gutter. I have given thisdirty young Chinese blackguard a taste of what iscoming to him. Will ye fall to or shall I kick youout of the ship?”

“I—I will take your orders, sir,” stammered theother.

“Then help me get this steamer to sea. We willwait for no more Chinese sailors. Muster all handson the upper deck.”

They came piling up from the hold and the dining-roomabaft the galley, where most of them had beenat breakfast. The inanimate comprador was nolonger visible.

“Will you sail with me at once or lose the chanceof making the voyage?” demanded O’Shea. “Someof you will have to shovel coal and others wash dishesand do seamen’s duty on deck. But I will pay yeextra for it, and we will take this old box of a steamerto where we want to go.”

The response was hearty and unanimous. Theadventurers could think of no worse fate than to beonce more stranded in Shanghai. They were wellfed, they had slept in clean beds again, and their employerwas a man who could be trusted to deal withthem fairly. With a spirited cheer they scatteredto their various stations. The chief engineer spokebriefly, his gray whiskers standing out in the morningbreeze:

“Nobody but a wild Irishman would have the377nerve to take this painted coffin to sea with a gangof misbegotten greenhorns to man her. I havesteam enough to give her steerage-way wheneveryou’re ready to cast off, Captain O’Shea.”

“Then let go, fore and aft,” roared the master.“Are ye pilot enough to take her down the river,Mr. Parkinson?”

“I could do it with both eyes shut, but I’m not sofamiliar with the coast to the north’ard.”

“I have a pilot for the part of the coast and theriver we are bound for,” grimly returned O’Shea.“He is locked in a spare state-room just now. Hewill know that part of China very well, for ’tis meopinion that he has been there before.”

V

Over a mournful, muddy expanse of the ChinaSea wallowed a top-heavy river steamer whose enginesraised protesting clamor like an assemblage ofthreshing-machines. The gods of the air and waterwere in a kindly mood or else she would have openedup and foundered ere now. In the spray-sweptwheel-house stood Captain Michael O’Shea, swayingeasily to the crazy roll and lurch of the Whang Hoand scanning the low dim coast with a pair ofglasses. Clinging to the window ledge beside himwas a young man of a Chinese countenance whoseraiment, the handiwork of a fashionable Britishtailor, was sadly rumpled and soiled. The wholeaspect of the young man was rumpled, in fact, not378to say excessively forlorn, and now and then hepressed his hand against a painful jaw. It was difficultto imagine that he had been an ornament ofclubs, a pattern for the gilded youth, and the smartestcomprador between Tientsin and Singapore.

The plight of Charley Tong Sin was made poignantlydistressing by the fact that in the process ofacquiring the vices of the Occident he had lost hisgrip on the essential virtues of the Orient. His nativestoicism had been sapped and the fatalistic attitudeof mind which meets death without so much asthe flutter of an eyelid was eaten with dry-rot. Inother words, the comprador was willing to pay anyprice to save his own skin, although his father beforehim would have suffered himself to be sliced to deathby inches sooner than “lose face” in the presence of aforeigner.

Captain Michael O’Shea’s method of extractinginformation from this kidnapped passenger had beenbrutally simple and direct. Charley Tong Sin wasinformed that he could make a clean breast of it orbe thrown overboard. And the shipmaster, whenhe was thoroughly in earnest, had a way of conveyingthe impression that he meant what he said.He believed that he knew his man. The compradorwas strongly reluctant to have his head lopped off bythe sword of a native executioner, which was verylikely to happen if this terrible O’Shea should turnhim over to the Chinese authorities. Given thepromise of immunity in exchange for a confession, hecould flee to Japan or the Straits Settlements and379live handsomely in the society of other Chinese exileswith the funds that he had piled up during his briefand brilliant business career. Likewise there wouldbe opportunities in shipping and commerce for acomprador of his uncommon ability.

“I would honestly enjoy killing you, Charley,”said Captain O’Shea as they stood together in thewheel-house of the Whang Ho. “You are a smartlad, but ye got too gay with me, and you overplayedyour game when ye slipped under the counterof this steamer in a sampan in the dark of the nightand got busy with the red paint. That sort of sillyjugglery was the Chinese of it, I suppose. Now, Ihave tried to make it plain that your life is not wortha pinch of snuff to any one of us. There is not aman in the ship that wants to lay eyes on Shanghaiever again. They will be only too glad to quit thecountry if they have the price in their pockets, andI will give them the price. So ye must not hold tothe notion that we are afraid of getting in troubleon your account.”

“I am worth more to you alive than if I am dead,”sullenly muttered Charley Tong Sin. “Is it not so?You think I will be handy as a pilot, as an interpreter?I have been doing a deuce of a lot of thinking.I am no fool, Captain O’Shea. I know pretty wellwhen I am licked. I made a botch of it in Shanghai.You went blundering about like a buffalo, and Ithought it was a cinch to get you out of the way.”

“’Twas the luck of the Irish that pulled methrough,” said O’Shea. “Now we understand each380other, Charley, me lad. I am staking all I have—melife and me money—to get to the bottom of thisinfernal secret society you have mixed yourself upwith. ’Tis an instrument I am for the good ofhumanity. And if ye turn state’s evidence to enableme to make a clean, thorough job of it, I thinkI am justified in giving you a chance to hot-foot itout of China.”

“Let us call it a bargain, Captain O’Shea. As weused to say in New York, I am up against it goodand plenty. To commit suicide, as many Chinesewould do in a fix like this, is all tommy-rot. CharleyTong Sin could have no more gin co*cktails—what?”

“You can begin the confession right away,” exclaimedthe shipmaster.

“One thing at a time,” cheerfully replied the comprador.“I will take you to the River of TenThousand Evil Smells and the village of Wang-Li-Fu.Then you will find many very interesting things toask me to talk about.”

“And ye hope to give me the slip in the meantime,”and Captain O’Shea showed no ill-will.“Very well, Charley. One thing at a time. Nowtake these glasses and have a look at the coast. Bymy reckoning, we are far enough to the north’ardto begin to haul inshore.”

The Whang Ho was laboring abeam of a monotonousexpanse of marshy islands and ragged shoalsmade by the silt of river floods. The shifting channelswere poorly charted, for trade sought theinland water-ways. The fact that the Tai Yan381steamer, with McDougal and Jim Eldridge on board,had somehow found a passage leading from the seaconvinced Captain O’Shea that he could do likewisewith a considerably smaller vessel. Charley TongSin had admitted that he knew the way in, and hewas no more anxious to be drowned than the rest ofthe company.

“With good luck we can scrape over the sandbarson the afternoon tide,” said the comprador,“and anchor in deep water for the night. I cannotshow you where to go in the dark. There are nolights.”

The Whang Ho edged steadily nearer the coast.Her crew gazed ahead at the frothing breakers thattumbled over the far-extended shoals, and appearedunhappy. By a miracle their steamer was still underthem after struggling through rough winds and highseas, and now they were to be wrecked, so all signsindicated, in a God-forsaken region of sand andswamp and mud. However, there was no whimpering.Captain O’Shea, their overlord, had a trick ofknocking a man down and then listening to his complaints.And he was as ready with a word of commendationas he was with his disciplinary fists.

“Mr. Kittridge, if we hit bottom, put it to her andjam her over,” he remarked to the chief engineer.“A chum of mine by the name of Johnny Kent thatsailed with me and held your berth used to clamphis safety-valves when he had urgent need of steam.Did ye ever try it?”

“God forbid!” fervently ejacul*ted Mr. Kittridge;382“but in this crazy tub a man will do anything.If you find yourself flyin’ to glory with a section ofa boiler pokin’ in the small of your back, don’t layit against me, sir.”

“I like the way ye talk, Mr. Kittridge. Stand byyour engines, if ye please, for we will be in the whitewater before long.”

The Whang Ho sheered to one side and shoulderedpast the outermost shoals. O’Shea took the wheel,and Charley Tong Sin, cool and quick-witted, toldhim how to follow the turbid, twisting channel thatwound its course between the sea and the widemouth of the estuary. More than once the steamerscraped the oozy bottom, hung and shivered whilethe breakers pounded her, and then stubbornlyforged ahead, timbers groaning, boilers hissing, propellerkicking up clouds of mud astern. It was evidentthat the channel had shoaled in places sinceany other steamer had made the passage, and it wasnot at all certain that the Whang Ho could stand thestrain of forcing her way to sea again.

“I have not been here since two years ago,” saidthe comprador. “It is worse than I expected, youbet! Ai oh, a man that sails with you dies a dozendeaths, Captain O’Shea.”

“I find it more comfortable than living in the besthotel in Shanghai,” very pointedly returned the shipmasteras he climbed the spokes of the big woodenwheel with hands and feet and wrenched the WhangHo clear of a hungry sand-spit. By now she wasfairly in the midst of the marshy islands that extended383from the watery main-land. The violence ofthe surf was broken and the tide moved in broad,sluggish currents. Mr. Parkinson, who was swingingthe sounding lead, shouted that the channel haddeepened to five fathoms. The steamer had survivedthe passage.

Two miles farther inland she let go anchor in awide lagoon. The afternoon had waned. A cloudytwilight was closing down. On every hand stretcheda flat, unbroken region of swamp and creeks andrivers. No villages were visible nor groves of treesagainst the sky-line to mark the situation of a temple.A few small fishing-boats with ragged sails fled atsight of the foreign steamer. The comprador wavedhis hand to starboard and exclaimed:

“Yonder it is, the River of Ten Thousand EvilSmells, as you call it in English. Wait till the tidegoes down, and you will find out pretty quick whythe Chinese give it that funny name.”

“’Tis a filthy-looking country,” quoth CaptainO’Shea. “It looks like one great big sewer, with theyellow water and the sludge and the slime on thebanks.”

“It was all very well drained one time, long ago,”explained Charley Tong Sin. “Then there weremany people and towns. The Tai Pings destroyedthe canals and played the dickens with everything.And nothing has been repaired, so the people don’tlive here any more.”

“And where is this place called Wang-Li-Fu?” demandedO’Shea.

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“Six miles up that stinking river. You think youwill see the Painted Joss to-morrow, Captain?”

“The Stinking River and the Painted Joss! Youare loosening up, Charley. I am near the end of mejourney when you say things like that. I have heardof them before.”

“Two other foreign men—only two—have seen thePainted Joss, and it was unfortunate for them.”The comprador said this softly and with an evilgrin. He had overstepped the mark. CaptainO’Shea gripped him by the neck and shook himsavagely as he thundered in his ear:

“Any more of that, and I will forget the bargainwe made. One of those men was a friend of mine,and by rights I ought to drill ye with a bullet as afavor to him.”

Between chattering teeth Charley Tong Sin, suddenlyabject, begged for his life. Presently he movedrestlessly from one deck to another, but always a manfollowed and kept watch of him, as Captain O’Sheahad ordered. The ship’s company, most of them offduty and wearied with the stress and hardships ofthe voyage, gathered under an awning stretchedbetween the deck-houses and talked in low tones.This melancholy, empty landscape had a qualitycuriously depressing. With the falling tide theswamps and the muddy banks were laid bare and theair became foul and heavy with the smell of decayedvegetation, of ooze, of dead fish. The ebb and flowof salt-water failed to cleanse and sweeten thesesluggish streams and stagnant lagoons and abandonedcanals.

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The men who had followed Captain O’Shea to thisplace were no longer so many vagabonds and failuresstruggling for survival. They had been welded together,in a way. They were an organization withsomething like esprit de corps and could be dependedon to act as a unit. Such a feeling as thisbrings to life dead self-respect and shattered confidence.They knew not at all what the morrowmight bring forth, but every one of them was anxiousto play the man, to stand the test, to redeem himselfin his own sight, to justify Captain O’Shea’s faith inhim.

It was not a night to invite sleep. The adventurersfelt the immense loneliness of this loathsomeanchorage. It was unlike the populous China whichthey had hitherto known. One might believe, withthe natives, that ghosts and demons had power tocurse and blast a region in which some violation ofthe fung-shui, or sacred rites of wind and water, hadangered the supernatural influences. The breezedied to a dead calm. The lifeless air reeked with thestenches from the mouth of the River of Ten ThousandEvil Smells.

It was drawing toward midnight when Mr. Kittridgecame on deck and said to Captain O’Shea, whowas sitting with a group of his men:

“I shall have to start the pumps, sir. The vesselis leakin’ much worse than when I first reported it.”

“Um-m, I was hoping we could lay her on a beachafter we have finished our business up the river andcalk her plates,” replied the master of the Whang386Ho. “Is she making water faster than you canhandle it, Mr. Kittridge?”

“She acts to me as if a plate dropped clean out ofher a few minutes ago, sir. The pumps may help,but I have a notion that the whole rotten, blanketyriver is runnin’ into her.”

Captain O’Shea jumped below and was promptlyconvinced that the gloomy diagnosis of the chief engineerhad a large basis of fact. The water was fairlyrushing into the holds and gurgling over the ballast.Likely enough, the battering passage in from sea hadsheared and wrenched away enough rusty rivets toweaken the junction of two or more plates, and theyhad been unable any longer to withstand the pressure.It really made no difference whether or notthis theory was the correct one. The fact was thatthe venerable Whang Ho had suddenly decided tolay her bones in the mud with six fathoms of waterabove her keel. Mr. Kittridge pensively caressedhis gray whiskers and remarked with a sigh:

“I mentioned the pumps from force of habit. It’sreally ridiculous to stay below any longer, Captain.We gave the bloody old tub more than she couldstand, and she’s peacefully chucked it up. She’ssinkin’ very quiet and decent, I’ll say that for her.”

“’Tis time we said good-by to her,” quoth O’Shea.“Draw your fires, if you can, Mr. Kittridge, and Iwill get the boats ready.”

“I do seem to find trouble wherever I go,” sadlymurmured the chief engineer.

The men on deck took the news with no great387show of excitement. This was the kind of voyagewhich one could not reasonably expect to be commonplace.To have to escape from a sinking steamerwas an episode, not a disaster. In few words, CaptainO’Shea assured them that he had no intention ofletting this uncomfortable little happening interferewith the business for which he had employed them.The insurance underwriters would be out of pocket,but who cared a rap for them, anyhow? Thereuponhe issued orders, swiftly, intelligently, with masterfulvehemence. The two boats which appeared mostserviceable were swung outboard and held ready tolaunch. They would hold a dozen men each withoutcrowding. Water-kegs were filled, the galleyand store-room ransacked for tins of meat and biscuit,bags of potatoes and rice. The fire-arms andcutlasses were served out and the cases of ammunitiondivided between the two boats. Meanwhilethe Whang Ho continued to sink with a certaindignity and decorum. One could find nothing dramaticin this shipwreck. Every one moved withhaste, but there was no outcry.

Only one mischance marred the exodus from theWhang Ho. All hands were absorbed, and quitenaturally, in delaying their departure as little aspossible. Delay meant something worse than wetfeet. In fact, the main deck was almost level withthe water when the boats were ready to shove clear.For once the Whang Ho had moved rapidly, althoughin a lamentable direction. With so much to do inso short a time, it was not extraordinary that the388vigilant espionage which surrounded Charley TongSin should be relaxed, not to say forgotten, for amoment. Even Captain O’Shea neglected to keepan eye on him, the business of abandoning ship on adark night at excessively short notice being calculatedto tax the resources of the most capablecommander.

The comprador took advantage of these distractionsto erase himself from the scene. The boatswere held against the side of the steamer, while thecaptain took tally of the men in them, scramblingfrom one boat to the other with a globe lanternswinging in his fist. Charley Tong Sin was indubitablymissing. O’Shea leaped on board the moribundWhang Ho, which was now sobbing and gurglingtremendously, and made a flying search of thecabins and state-rooms. It was obvious that thiselusive young Chinese had not vanished below decks,where by now nothing but a fish could exist. Andunless Captain Michael O’Shea wished to join thefishes, it was time for him to go.

Chagrined and anxious, he returned to his boat,and the men frantically plied oars. A moment ortwo later the Whang Ho went under with very littlefuss, meeting her end with the calm of a Chinesephilosopher. The boats rocked in the waves thatrolled away from the place where she had been, andthe rays of the lanterns revealed many large andgreasy bubbles.

Captain O’Shea wasted no time in sentimental regrets.The Whang Ho was a dead issue. What389vitally concerned him was the whereabouts of thatvaluable passenger, Charley Tong Sin. It wasabsurd to suppose that he had fallen overboard andgiven up the ghost. A rascal of his kidney had asmany lives as a cat. It was much more plausible tosurmise that he had unostentatiously laid hold of alife-belt, slipped over the stern, and made for thenearest shore. The boats moved to and fro, lookingfor him, but the darkness, misty and opaque, madeit hopeless to discover the head of a swimmer whoby this time might have left the water and concealedhimself in the marsh.

“I misdoubt that me policy was sound,” saidCaptain O’Shea to Mr. Kittridge. “Maybe I oughtto have shot him, anyhow.”

“It would ha’ been a good job,” grunted thechief engineer. “And now he’ll streak it for thisvillage of Wang-Li-Fu and give an alarm.”

“Precisely that. But unless he can pick up asampan or a fishing-boat he will make slow headwayflounderin’ through the swamps and swimming thecreeks. ’Tis up to us to beat him to it.”

Mr. Parkinson, who was in command of the otherboat, was ordered to steer alongside for consultation.It was promptly agreed that the party should firstfind the mouth of the River of Ten Thousand EvilSmells and then move up-stream without delay.It would be slow and blundering navigation, but ifthree or four miles could be traversed before daylightthey might tie up to the bank and reconnoitre withinstriking distance of their goal.

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“I do not know what kind of a mess we will hopinto,” O’Shea told them before the boats separated.“We may have to fight our way, thanks to thatslippery divil of a comprador, and I am not askingye to go anywhere that I will not go meself. Someof you are not trained to use weapons, but if ye willcut loose and blaze away and not think too muchabout your own skins, we can make it uncomfortablefor a slather of Chinese. There is plenty ofammunition, so don’t scrimp yourselves.”

The boats slid slowly into the entrance of the wide,sluggish stream. The lanterns were extinguished.The only sound was the cadenced thump of thethole-pins. If any of the men felt the prickly chillof cowardice, they kept it to themselves. Now andthen the keels furrowed the mud, and when the boatsstranded hard and fast, the crews waded overboardand shoved them ahead. Thus the little flotillaprogressed until dawn flushed the eastern sky andthe vapors, streaming upward from the marshes,curled and drifted like filmy clouds. Higher groundand the green, checkered squares of tilled fields werediscernible a short distance beyond.

The boats turned into the mouth of a tiny creekwhere the tall rushes curtained them from observation.This was a favorable halting place, and a coldbreakfast was hastily eaten. O’Shea had a pooropinion of fighting on an empty stomach. He addressedhimself with marked deference to a veryneatly dressed man with iron-gray hair who hadsaid little during the voyage. His face was haggard391and his eyes were tired with weariness ofliving.

“You have seen service, sir, and ye have leddrilled men,” said O’Shea. “The cards are dealt,but from now on you can play them better than I.I will be obliged to ye for advice.”

The cashiered officer looked grateful. This kindof recognition had power to move him. With adiffident manner, as if his professional opinionhad long since ceased to interest any one, he replied:

“Most Chinese villages are walled. There will beat least one gate facing the river and two or threeon the inland side. It is often awkward to make alanding under fire from boats. I suggest we divideour force. If you approve, Captain, I will take tenof the most active men and disembark here. Wecan fetch a wide circuit of the town, and it will notbe difficult to make our way across the rice fieldsand ditches. You can put the rest of them in oneboat and row up in front of the town, waiting in thestream until we are in a position to make a rush.Then we will drive home a simultaneous attack infront and rear.”

“Napoleon could not beat it,” heartily exclaimedO’Shea. “And if ye shoot fast enough and kick upa terrible racket, they will think ye are an army.What will the signal be?”

“Three rifle shots.”

“Ay, ay, Mr. Bannister. ’Tis the sensible planthat ye take command of the army while I hoist the392rear-admiral’s pennant over the navy. We have noreserves, but many a famous victory would havebeen missing from history if the lads that won themhad waited for the reserves to come up.”

The chosen ten forsook the boats and tramped offbehind their soldierly leader. A few minutes laterthe expedition of Captain O’Shea got under way,his boat hugging the muddy shore and dodging behindits ragged indentations. It was not long beforea wide curve of the river disclosed to view the tiledroofs, the crumbling brick wall, and the toweredgate-ways of a village. In front of it were severalrickety wharfs, or stagings, built of bamboo poleslashed together. At the outer end of one of theselay a two-masted junk, her hawse-holes painted toresemble two huge eyes. The tide had begun toebb, and the junk was already heeled so that herdeck sloped toward the river. This craft appearedto be deserted. No pigtailed heads bobbed behindthe immensely heavy bulwarks. If the army officerhad been a Napoleon, Captain O’Shea showed himselfa Nelson.

“Pull like blazes for the junk yonder,” he shoutedto his men. “We will pile aboard her and takecover.”

The junk was directly in front of the gate-way inthe village wall, and perhaps a hundred yards distantfrom it. The intervening space was beach, a miryroadway, and a disorderly row of shanties made ofdrift-wood, with a few boats hauled out for repairs.The heavy timbers of the junk made her a nautical393fortress, and the high sides would be difficult of directassault.

The men swung lustily at the oars, and the boatshot out into the open river. O’Shea steered wideof the village until he could turn and make directlyfor the junk. It was an admirable bit of strategy,but wholly wasted on this sleepy, shabby Chinesevillage. There was never a sign of a hostile demonstration.As an anticlimax the thing was absurd.A crowd of men, women, and children streamed outthrough the gate in the wall and stared with muchexcited chatter at the foreign invaders. Apparentlytheir behavior meant no more than a harmless curiosity.Several garrulous old gentlemen squattedupon fragments of timber and pulled at their bamboopipes while they discussed the singular visitationwith the oracular demeanor of so many owls.

The bold O’Shea grinned sheepishly. His sensationswere those of a man who beheld a heroic enterprisesuddenly turned into low comedy. He glancedat the amused faces of his followers and said:

“’Tis not what ye might call a desperate resistance.Let us promenade ashore and look the townover.”

They quitted their fortress and moved along thenarrow, swaying staging of bamboo, their rifles readyfor use in the event of an ambuscade. The Chinesecrowd promptly retreated in noisy confusion. O’Sheaordered a halt. After some delay, three signal shotscame down the wind from Major Bannister’s force.He was about to attack the village from the landward394side. Now the shopkeepers and coolies scuttledmadly away from O’Shea’s party to seek shelterwithin the walls and discover what all this extraordinaryexcitement could mean.

Behind them tramped the naval brigade intostreets from which the inhabitants were vanishing asrapidly as possible. Somewhere near the centre ofthe town O’Shea and Major Bannister joined forces.This pair of valiant leaders eyed each other withmutually puzzled chagrin.

“We just walked in without the slightest trouble,”confessed the army man. “What do you make ofit?”

“I had the same experience,” observed O’Shea.“And I do not know what to make of it at all.’Twas me firm conviction that we were prancin’ intoa hornet’s nest. The information all pointed thatway. I would call it a funny kind of a surpriseparty.”

“The villagers have no intention of making itunpleasant for us. They have been giving mymen eggs and melons and chickens, to keep usgood-natured, I presume.”

“Well, we will find quarters and fetch our grubfrom the junk, and I will buy the drinks, if ye canlocate them, for the joke seems to be on me.”

They found the village tavern, consisting of severaldetached buildings set in a large court-yard.The agitated landlord kow-towed himself almostblack in the face, and in trembling accents expressedhis desire to bestow all his goods upon the warlike395foreigners if only his miserable life might be spared.He summarily ejected a few native guests of lowdegree, who fled without delaying to argue the matter.The invaders set the tavern coolies to sweepingand scrubbing the filthy buildings and took chargeof the kitchen with its row of earthen fire-pots.There was no lack of room for men to sleep three andfour in a row upon the k’angs, or brick platforms usedfor the purpose, and the ragged quilts were hungoutside to air. In short, the tavern was transformedinto a camp which had no serious discomforts.

Having taken care of his men, Captain O’Sheafound leisure to ponder over the situation, a processwhich left him with a headache. He rambledunmolested from one end of the village to the other,searching for clues that might link themselveswith the Painted Joss and the tragedy of Bill Maguire.There were two small, dilapidated temples,one of them inhabited by a few Buddhist priests inyellow robes. O’Shea was permitted to enter themand explore to his heart’s content. They were nothingmore than village shrines, however, in which theperfunctory rites were held and offerings made—suchplaces as might have been seen in a thousand Chinesetowns. Nor did the village itself, excepting for anair of general decay, differ from the hamlets of adozen provinces.

“I have a harrowing suspicion that Charley TongSin made a monkey of me,” ruefully sighed O’Shea,“or maybe I have been all wrong from the start.The Chinese proposition has too many twists in itfor a white man to fathom.”

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As a person of considerable confidence in his abilityto master difficulties, his self-esteem had been dealta hard blow. His imagination had pictured a large,stirring climax of his pilgrimage, and here he was alladrift in a wretched little village of no consequencewhatever, the last place in the world to find the headquartersof a secret organization so mysteriouslypowerful as to cast its sinister shadow throughoutChina, and even across the seas. And yet the evidencehad been by no means vague and misleading.Beginning with the fragmentary revelations of thedemented sailor, coming next to the disclosures ofpoor McDougal’s diary, he had been led straight tothe town of Wang-Li-Fu, on the River of Ten ThousandEvil Smells. He had felt that the hand of destinywas guiding him.

Returning to the tavern yard O’Shea found hismen cheerfully making friends of the villagers andaccepting the situation with the ready adaptabilityof true soldiers of fortune. They looked to the leaderfor orders, but he had none to give them. He hadbeen placed in the ridiculous position of providingwages and rations for a perfectly superfluous expeditionaryforce.

“Just what did you expect to turn up in thispigsty of a settlement?” gloomily inquired Mr. Kittridge,who seemed disappointed that he had notbroken a few heads. “Whatever it was, it fell flat.”

“It did that,” frankly admitted O’Shea. “’Tis apainful subject, Mr. Kittridge, and we will not discussit now. But I am not done with the riddle ofWang-Li-Fu.”

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Three days passed, and singly and in squads theinvaders ransacked the village and its suburbs, pokinginto shops, alleys, dwellings, and court-yardsand taking stock of the inmates thereof. That thepeople were very poor and very industrious was allthat one could say of them. And they were no moreto be suspected of plotting deeds of violence thanso many rabbits. Doggedly persistent, unwilling toconfess himself beaten, O’Shea shifted his quest tothe open country for miles outside of Wang-Li-Fu.It was a region of green fields gridironed with ditchesand rutted paths, and dotted with toilers in blue cottonblouses and straw hats, who tilled their cropsfrom dawn to dark.

It was obviously useless to extend the investigationany considerable distance away from this region.If the secret was not to be unearthed in thevicinity of Wang-Li-Fu, then his conclusions hadbeen all wrong. The villagers assured him that thiswas, in truth, none other than Wang-Li-Fu, and thebaffled, perplexed O’Shea could not let go of theopinion that the goal was somewhere near at hand.Otherwise, why all the elaborate stratagems in Shanghaito thwart his voyage to the River of Ten ThousandEvil Smells?

He had imagined himself attacking a strongholdof some sort, a headquarters of desperate criminalswho must be wiped out. But if that slippery compradorCharley Tong Sin had carried a warningto the men of the Painted Joss, he must have fledelsewhere than to this commonplace, harmless village.398At any rate, it seemed absurd to tarry muchlonger in Wang-Li-Fu with a force of armed retainers.

At the end of a fortnight, O’Shea was of the opinionthat his loyal legion had better seek to mend itsfortunes in some other quarter. He was ashamedto look them in the face. The fiasco cut him to thequick. He had been as mad as poor Bill Maguire.In future he would stick to his trade as a shipmaster.

Meanwhile, the malarial poison of the marshesfound its way into his blood. He failed to realizethat he was ill, and paid no attention to the littleflashes of fever that came by night and the creeping,chilly feeling that troubled him in the morning.

There came a day when he was unable to rise fromthe brick sleeping-platform. The fever increased,suddenly, violently. It caught him unprepared.His plan of retreat had not been announced, and nowhe was incapable of leadership. His mind alternatedbetween delirium and stupor. When he talked itwas of many inconsequential things. One mighthave said that the evil spirit of the Painted Josshad laid its spell of misfortune upon him. In thecourt-yard of the tavern his lieutenants held aconference.

“Can anybody make head or tail of this infernalsituation?” gloomily inquired Mr. Kittridge. “Whatin hades are we going to do about it?”

“Try to pull Captain O’Shea through this feverbefore we think of anything else,” stoutly affirmedMr. Parkinson. “We jammed into this crazy voyagewith our eyes shut. With all of us it was anything399to get clear of Shanghai. And it’s uselessbusiness to sit and growl about it as hard luck.What do you say, Major Bannister?”

The army man smiled at sight of their discouragedcountenances and quietly answered:

“What else can we chaps expect but hard luck?Really, I should be surprised to find anything else.I can tell you one thing, gentlemen. I have campaignedin the tropics, and I know something aboutthis swamp fever. We had best get out of here andtake Captain O’Shea with us. If we don’t, he willdie as sure as sunrise, and the rest of us will be downwith it before long. It caught him first because hewas fa*gged with worry.”

“We agree with you there,” said Mr. Parkinson.“But we seem to have overlooked a line of retreat.That was the Irish of it, I suppose. If we godown river in our two boats we’ll have to work ’emout to sea over those nasty shoals and then run thechance of being picked up adrift. We might getaway with it, but it would kill a man as sick asO’Shea.”

“Why not go up-river?” suggested Major Bannister.“By means of a few words of Chinese and agreat many gestures I have extracted from the villagehead-men the information that there is a Europeanmission station about a hundred and fifty milesnorthwest of here. We can make part of the journeyby boat and then hike overland. With a litter andcoolies to carry it, we may be able to take CaptainO’Shea through alive. It’s better than letting himdie in this pest-hole.”

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“That’s the most sensible speech I’ve heard sincewe signed on,” grunted Mr. Kittridge. “And youcan pull out of this rotten Wang-Li-Fu not a minutetoo soon to please me.”

The village head-men were summoned, and thesevenerable worthies declared themselves anxious to aidthe sick leader of the foreign soldiers. He had playedwith their children, paid the shopkeepers their priceswithout dispute, and sat with the old men in the tea-houses.Nor had his armed force committed anyabuses, although they held the village at their mercy.It was wisdom to try to carry Captain O’Shea to hisown people. The village would gladly furnish a guideand plenty of coolies, a covered litter, and a smallhouse-boat in which the sick man could be madecomfortable.

The evacuation of Wang-Li-Fu was a dismal business.The adventurers were oppressed by a sense offailure and discouragement. Their enterprise hadfizzled out like a dampened match. This final actwas inglorious. Their plight was worse than whenthey had been stranded as beach-combers in Shanghai.They carried Captain O’Shea to a sampan, orflat-bottomed boat, with a tiny cabin of bamboo andmatting, which could be towed against the sluggishcurrent of the river. The men disposed themselvesin the two boats saved from the Whang Ho steamer,and a squad of half-naked coolies strung themselvesalong a towing-rope to help track the sampan up-stream.

The sick man lay stretched upon his quilts andshowed little interest in the slow progress of the flotilla.401Between spells of heavy drowsiness he watchedthe slimy shore and fringing marsh slide past.Through the first day the wind was cool and the airbright, and the boats trailed up-river until after nightfallbefore they were pulled into the bank to moor.As the part of caution, no fires were made andconversation was hushed. The foreigners had anuncomfortable suspicion that this might be hostileterritory, although they had discovered nothing towarrant the conjecture. But O’Shea had been babblingabout the Painted Joss while flighty withfever, and Charley Tong Sin was still unaccountedfor.

Between midnight and morning the sick man cameout of his uneasy dreams. As it seemed to him, hewas clear-headed, his senses alert, his judgment normal.Just why he should be cooped up in this nativeboat was a bit difficult to comprehend, but why tryto understand it? There was only one problem ofreal importance. And now was the time to solve it.O’Shea laughed to think what a stupid, blunderingfool he had been to recruit an armed expedition andcome clattering into this corner of China with somuch fuss and noise.

If a man wanted to find the Painted Joss, all hehad to do was listen to the friendly, familiar voicesthat whispered in his ears. O’Shea could hear themnow. He accepted them as a matter of course. Hiseyes were very bright as he pulled on his shoes andfumbled for the revolver in its holster under thepillow. Curiously enough, he was no longer conscious402of great physical weakness. It was tremendouslyurgent that he should go to find the PaintedJoss without a moment’s delay. His men would notunderstand if he should tell them about the friendlyvoices that were offering to show him the way.They might try to restrain him. He must leave theboat quietly, unobserved.

Crawling from beneath the matting curtain, hegained the river bank. His knees were exceedinglyshaky and his hands trembled uncertainly, but hewas confident that he had found the trail of thePainted Joss and that his vigor would soon return.Charley Tong Sin outwit him? Nonsense! O’Sheawould have been startled beyond measure to knowthat he was wandering off in delirium. He wouldhave taken a shot at any one rash enough to tellhim so.

Undetected he moved along the shore, silent as ared Indian, and was presently lost in the darkness.It was muddy walking, and he turned into the tallmarsh grass, where a carpet of dead vegetation madefirmer footing. Frequently he was compelled to haltand regain his labored breath, but his purpose wasunwavering. The voices drove him on. He had nosense of fear. After some time his erratic progressled him back to the river. There he stumbled overa log and sat down to wait for daybreak, which hadbegun to flush the sky.

His head throbbed as though hammers were poundingit and waves of blurring dizziness troubled him.What was more disquieting, the guiding voices had403ceased to talk to him. He felt crushing disappointmentand sadness. His eyes filled with tears.

Dawn found him seated dejectedly with his backpropped against the log, his head drooping, while hestared at the muddy river. Here he would wait onthe chance that his friends might find him. As theday brightened, his aimless vision was caught bysomething which powerfully awakened his weary,befogged perceptions. It acted as a stimulant of tremendousforce. Sitting bolt upright he gazed at afootprint, cleanly outlined, which had become sun-driedand hardened in a stratum of clay.

It had been made by a leather sole and heel.The outline was pointed and narrow. Into O’Shea’squickened memory there flashed the picture ofCharley Tong Sin stretched upon the cabin floor ofthe Whang Ho steamer, his patent-leather shoes wavinggently as he went to sleep under the soporificinfluence of a knock-out blow. He felt absolutelycertain that this particular print had been left bythe fashionable footgear of the vanished comprador.The voices had guided him aright. It was here thatCharley Tong Sin had come ashore after making hisway up the River of Ten Thousand Evil Smells insome kind of a native boat.

There was one chance in a million that O’Sheashould have halted to wait in this precise spot wherehis eyes might see the thing. He dragged himself tohis feet and scanned the melancholy landscape.There were no villages in sight; only the marsh andfields and a vast mound of débris to mark the place404where once had stood a city. Even the walls surroundingit had been levelled. It was scarcely morethan a wide-spread excrescence of broken brick andtiling partly overgrown with vegetation. The landscapecould have held no more desolate reminder ofthe wreckage left in the wake of the Tai Ping rebels.

It was plausible to surmise that this was the realWang-Li-Fu, the city which O’Shea had set out tofind. The squalid village much lower down theriver might have been founded by refugees who gavethe same name to their new abode. And the villagershad been too ignorant to explain the blunder.To them there was only one Wang-Li-Fu. HowCharley Tong Sin must have laughed at leavingO’Shea and his men to waste themselves in a chasethat led nowhere.

It was a pallid, unshaven, tottering ghost of CaptainMichael O’Shea that mustered strength to walkvery slowly in the direction of the ruined city.Once he paused and became irresolute, but a littleway beyond he found the imprint of a narrow shoe ofEuropean workmanship on the soft bank of a ditch.His stumbling steps led him, as by an unerring divination,toward the highest part of the great moundof débris where tall trees grew from the crumblingmasonry. His painful advance became less difficultwhen he found a path from which the obstructionshad been removed.

Presently he stood looking across a cleared spacein the midst of the ruins, invisible from river or highway.In it were several small buildings and one405much larger. The timbers set into its walls werecarved and gilded, the curving roof of dull red tile.There was no living thing in sight. This isolatedcommunity was so situated that it was wholly concealedfrom strangers, and the natives of the regionwere apt to shun the blasted city as haunted bydemons. No watchers were posted to guard againstintrusion.

O’Shea crossed the open space and made for thelarge building, which had the aspect of a temple.Unhesitatingly he approached the massive woodendoors and found them ajar. He walked like a manin a trance, muttering to himself. Passing within, heentered a sort of anteroom partitioned by means ofscreens wonderfully embroidered. The stone pavementrang to the tread of his heels. The placeechoed with emptiness. He pressed on and cameinto a room of greater extent. Its corners were lostin shadow. Rows of pillars supported the duskyrafters upon which gilded dragons seemed to writhe.The windows were small and set close to the roofand the light of early morning had not dispelled thegloom.

In the centre of the floor was an altar. Behind ittowered an image of Buddha, and yet it was unlikethe images of the bland and contemplative Buddhacommonly to be found in the temples of the East.It was a monstrous thing. Only an artist with aninspiration from the devil could have so handledtools as to make those wooden features seem to lustafter all abominable wickedness. The color of this406seated statue was crimson. Amid the shadows itglowed like fire or blood. On the breast, above thefolded arms, stood out in broad, black strokes aChinese symbol or character which O’Shea recognizedwith a sensation of creeping repugnance.

“The Painted Joss!” he gasped.

His attention was so strongly caught and held bythis malevolent image that for the moment he hadeyes for nothing else. Presently, however, he becameaware that another figure confronted him, aliving presence. It was a man sitting in a massivechair of teak-wood, by the side of the Buddha. Thebulk of him was enormous. He was both fat andmighty of frame, and not even the towering amplitudeof the image could dwarf his proportions andbelittle the impression he conveyed. His face wasbroad and heavy-jowled, the mouth sensual and cruel.With folded arms he sat and gazed at the foreignintruder. This unflinching, scornful immobility hada certain distinction. He believed that he mustinstantly die at the hands of this European with thewhite, savage face and the blazing eyes who coveredhim with a revolver. It was futile to cry out andsummon help. As is customary with Chinese inpositions of authority, this high-priest of iniquityhad gone to the temple to have audience with hisservitors very early in the morning. They had notyet joined him and O’Shea was quick to read hisown advantage.

It was right and just that he should slay this hugeman in the crimson robe who ruled the temple of407the Painted Joss. He had come ten thousand milesto be judge and executioner. He was ready to killand be killed in his turn. But the revolver wasstrangely heavy and it wavered so that he was unableto hold it at arm’s length. A haze bothered hisvision and he could not brush it from his eyes.Something was the matter with his knees. Theywere giving way. With an incoherent exclamation,O’Shea fell unconscious upon the stone flagging andthe revolver clattered from his limp hand. He hadpaid the price of exertion beyond his strength.

When his senses returned there was in his mindonly the dimmest recollection of how he came to bein this dreadful place. The vagaries of fever nolonger possessed him. Clear-headed but wretchedlyweak and nerveless, he gazed about him and discoveredthat he was alone in the unholy temple.The shadows were not so heavy on the pillars, thegilded rafters, and the marble altar. The crimsonimage of the seated Buddha loomed flamboyant andportentous and the Chinese symbol painted on itsbreast was boldly outlined.

There was no way of escape. The building was amost effectual prison. His revolver had been takenfrom him. He could not even fight and die like aman. The fact was that this desperate extremitylacked the proper sense of reality. It was so contraryto reason and he had such shadowy, confusedideas of what had preceded, that this was more likenightmare or delirium. And it seemed impossiblethat he should not presently find himself awake.

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What most tenaciously persisted in his memorywas the image of the huge man in the teak-woodchair. He was a vision which could not be denied.Such a one as he had power to sway the wills ofothers to his desires, to create and direct great enterprisesand send his influence afar, but never forgood. If he ordered murder done in distant placeshis secret edicts would be obeyed, nor would hisagent dare to thwart him. If there was such anorganization as O’Shea had assumed, then he hadstood face to face with the dominant personality, thecompelling force from which radiated infernal activities.

“I saw him, whether I am meself or somebodyelse,” the prisoner muttered with a groan. “And hewill come back and the brand will be chopped intome, same as was done to poor Bill Maguire. ’Tis atough finish, if all this is really true. My God, Iwish I knew what had happened to me. YesterdayI was going up-river with me men, and now——”

He struggled to his feet. A supreme effort of willconquered physical weakness. A man condemned todie is capable of forgetting bodily ills. Just then ayoung man appeared from the direction of the door-way.He wore native garments, but O’Shea recognizedhim. It was Charley Tong Sin, whose smilewas unpleasant. In his hand was O’Shea’s revolver,which he was careful to hold ready for use. Thejaunty, affable manner of the comprador had returned.He appeared very well satisfied with himselfas he exclaimed, by way of greeting.

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“It is an unexpected pleasure, you bet, CaptainO’Shea. I have waited till you were gone fromWang-Li-Fu. It was reported that you were verysick and went up the river yesterday with your men.You decided to come and see us, to visit the PaintedJoss? You wished to make some trouble?”

“’Tis the last day I will make trouble for any one,by the looks of things,” replied O’Shea. “You win,Charley.”

“You are a smart man,” grinned the other.“But you had too much curiosity. I am a goodfellow. I will tell you what you want to know. Youwill not give it away. They are getting ready tocut your visit pretty short.”

There was the chatter of voices somewhere outsideand the brazen mutter of a gong. O’Shea keptsilence. He was not as resigned to his fate as CharleyTong Sin inferred. He was watching every motionof the gloating young man and his eyes measured thedistance between them.

“You will feel better if you know,” tauntinglycried the Chinese. “You have seen the PaintedJoss. You have seen a man sitting beside it, thegreat and terrible Chung himself, the ruler of thePih-lien-Kiao, the Sect of the Fatal Obligation.”

“Much obliged, Charley,” grimly interruptedO’Shea. “Tell me some more. I am sorry I couldnot have words with the terrible Chung. Andthe brand that ye chop into people, your trademark?”

“It is the mark that means The Dreadful Messenger410of Chung. It is a favor to tell you, Captain O’Shea.No other foreigner, no Chinese except the servantsof Chung, have heard it spoken. But you will notspeak it anywhere.”

“There’s more that I want to know,” said O’Shea,“though precious little good the information willdo me.”

“Ha! Why did you not have so much sense beforeand mind your own business?”

It was absurd to carry on such a dialogue as this,as O’Shea perceived, but Charley Tong Sin was enjoyingthis session with the rash shipmaster whohad formerly held the upper hand. Before the victimcould be subjected to further taunts he heard themassive doors opened and other sounds to indicatethat bars were sliding into place to fasten them onthe inside. The huge man in the crimson robe, thegreat and terrible Chung, lumbered into view andseated himself in the chair of teak-wood. CharleyTong Sin humbly bowed several times. The personagebeckoned the twain nearer and spoke briefly.He desired to conduct a cross-examination of his ownwith the comprador as interpreter.

“He wishes to know why you have come to thisplace?” was the first question addressed to O’Shea.

“Because ye butchered a friend of mine, a red-headedsailor by the name of Jim Eldridge,” was theunflinching reply. “He told me about your dirtydevilment as well as he could, and I saw what yedid to him.”

The huge man showed signs of consternation when411this was conveyed to him. He uttered a bellowinginterrogation.

“He is not alive? You have talked with hisghost?” shrilly demanded Charley Tong Sin.

“’Twas him that sent me here,” declared O’Shea.“Ye can impart it to the big ugly mug yonder thatI have had visits from the ghost of the red-headedsailor that he killed and branded.”

With an excited, heedless gesture, Charley TongSin raised the revolver. He had been long accustomedto wearing European clothes, and the flowingsleeves of his Chinese outer garment impeded hismotions. A fold of the silk fabric fell over the buttof the weapon, and he tried to brush it aside with hisleft hand. This other sleeve was caught and heldfor a moment by the sharp firing-pin of the co*ckedhammer.

This trifling mishap, gave O’Shea a desperateopportunity. With a flash of his normal agility heleaped across the intervening space. The compradorstrove frantically to free the weapon, but onlyentangled it the more. The episode was closedbefore the crimson-robed personage could play a part.O’Shea’s shoulder rammed Charley Tong Sin andsent him sprawling, and the revolver was instantlywrested from his grasp.

“The doors are locked,” panted O’Shea, “and beforeyour men break in, I will send the both of yeto hell. Sit where you are, ye terrible Chung. Youoverplayed your game, Charley.”

The comprador seemed to shrink within his412clothes. His mouth hung open and his face wasashen. He was eager to clutch at any straw whichmight give him the chance of life. Shrinking fromthe scowling presence in the chair, he began to talka sing-song babble of words that tumbled over eachother.

“I will help you get away alive if you do notkill me. Captain O’Shea, I will explain about JimEldridge; I will not lie to you. All the secrets I willtell you. There was a steamer, the Tai Yan, andshe came over the bar from the sea in a big storm,at the time of a flood. It was do this or go to thebottom because the engines had broke. A boat withsailors rowed up the river. They were foolish menwho believed the stories that gold and silver treasurewas hidden in the ruins of this old Wang-Li-Fu.And they found this temple, and they knew toomuch.

“All but two of the men were able to run quickto the river, but Eldridge and one named McDougalran into this place, trying to hide. They raninto the temple before they were captured. Therewas a little building, but now it is ashes and muchsticks of burnt wood. In that building those twomen were locked to be killed next day. The red-headedman was a demon, I tell you. Walls couldnot hold him. In the night he set fire to the building,and it was a great blaze. But he was caught andpunished.”

“Ye left him for dead, and he came to,” growledO’Shea. “And so McDougal got away!”

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“I can tell you more secrets,” wailed CharleyTong Sin, but his services as an informer were suddenlycut short. The huge man in the chair hadraised his voice in a tremendous call for help to hisfollowers without. Otherwise he had sat composed,glaring at O’Shea. It was his hand that slew CharleyTong Sin as a traitor. He was on his feet, the heavychair raised aloft. He swung it with amazing ease.It was no longer a massive article of furniture, buta missile in the hands of a man of gigantic strength.His movements were not clumsy.

The chair flew through the air. O’Shea dodged,but Charley Tong Sin flung up his arms, taken unawares.The impact would have brained an ox.The whirling mass of teak smote the terrified compradoron the head and chest and he crumpled tothe pavement. He was as dead as though he hadbeen caught beneath the hammer of a pile-driver.The tableau was an extraordinary one. O’Sheastood staring at the broken body of the youngChinese. The man in the crimson robe stirred notfrom his tracks. Implacable, unafraid, he had executedthe last sentence of The Sect of the FatalObligation.

The people outside were clamoring at the doors,and O’Shea heard the thud and crash of some kind ofan improvised battering-ram. He sighed and foundthe thought of death at their hands very bitter.But he would not go alone. He faced the great andterrible Chung and slowly raised the revolver.

The arch-assassin bade him wait with a gesture414so imperious, so mandatory, that O’Shea hesitated.The bearing of the man held some large significance.His dark, evil countenance expressed rather sadnessthan wrath. He slid a hand into the folds of his robeand raised the hand to his mouth. Whatever it wasthat he swallowed wrought its work with swift anddeadly virulence. Swaying like a tree about to fall,he strode to the marble altar and fell across it withhis head buried in his arms. In this posture he died,in front of the image of the glowing Buddha, whosegraven lineaments seemed to express the unholyambitions and emotions of his own soul.

O’Shea managed to walk to a corner of the templeand slumped down upon a marble bench where thePainted Joss cast its deepest shadow. His strengthhad ebbed again. Listlessly, almost inattentive, heheard the assault upon the doors renewed and thesplintering of plank. When the Chinese mob cametumbling in he could try to shoot straight and hit afew of them, and then they would close in on him.It was the end of the game.

A few minutes and the servitors of Chung camejostling and shouting through the anteroom. Thenthey halted abruptly. Their noise was hushed.The light that fell from the windows near the roofshowed them the lifeless figure in the crimson robe,doubled across the marble altar. In the foregroundlay the battered body of Charley Tong Sin, but theyhad eyes only for the tragedy of the altar. Theystood dumfounded, like men in the presence ofsomething incredible.

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At length the boldest shuffled forward. Theothers followed timidly. They appeared terrified inthe extreme. It was as though they had believedtheir master to be invulnerable. And he was dead.Possibly they conjectured that he had been slainby an agency more than mortal. The group ofChinese clustered about the altar, whispering, regardingthe body of Chung. Apparently they had notbethought themselves of the foreigner who was helda prisoner in the temple.

O’Shea rose in his shadowy corner and movedwearily past the Painted Joss. It was better tohave the thing finished. He came upon the Chineselike an apparition. Their wits were so fuddled thatthe sight of him had the effect of another shock. Ifhe had been powerful enough to slay the mightyChung, then the demons were his allies. Perceivingtheir dazed condition, he forebore to shoot, and advancedabreast of the altar. The path to the door-waywas clear, but he had not the strength to makea run for it. The hope of life, miraculously restoredto him, was in the possibility that they might standand gaze at him a little longer.

He had walked a half-dozen steps farther whenone of the crowd yelled. The spell was broken.They raced after him like wolves. He turned andsteadied himself and pulled trigger until the revolverwas empty. The onset was checked and throwninto bloody confusion. O’Shea had summarily convincedthem that whether or not the demons werein league with him, the devil was in this readyweapon of his.

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They were no longer massed between him and theexit, and for the moment the advantage undeniablybelonged to this mysterious, devastating foreigner.

He stumbled over the broken timbers of the doorsand was in the blessed daylight, the temple behindhim. He would be overtaken ere he could flee theruined city, but he reloaded the revolver as he followedthe path at a staggering trot. The mobpoured out of the temple, yelping in high-keyedchorus. As a foot-racer the hapless Captain MichaelO’Shea was in excessively poor condition. In fact,it promised to be the easiest kind of a matter toovertake him and leisurely pelt him to death withbricks as soon as he should have expended hisammunition.

He swerved from the rough path and crawled tothe top of a low ridge of débris. Standing erect fora moment, he pitched forward and fell against a bitof wall. His figure had been outlined against thesky, and it was discerned in a fleeting glimpse by ascattered band of men in khaki and linen clothes whowere tramping the marsh. They raised a shout andrushed toward the ruined city, converging until theforce was mobilized within a short distance of theprostrate O’Shea.

The Chinese mob, pursuing full-tilt, found itselfconfronting a score and more of rifles which enthusiasticallyopened fire until the air hummed with bullets.There was a hasty, unanimous retreat of thefollowers of Chung to the temple and the adjacentbuildings. Major Bannister halted to bend overO’Shea and say:

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“We thought you were drowned or bogged in themarsh. What sort of a rumpus is this?”

“The Painted Joss,” murmured O’Shea. “I foundit. Don’t bother with me. Go to it and clean outthe place.”

The adventurers, at last earning their wages, proceededto make things most unpleasant for the householdof Chung. The resistance was brief, and thosewho were not penned within the temple fled in panicand sought cover in the marsh. They were takenby surprise, for the community had found the visitof Captain O’Shea sufficient to engage its attention.To him returned Major Bannister, hot and dusty,his cheek bleeding from the cut of a Chinese sword,and smilingly announced:

“Bully good fun while it lasted. What shall I dowith the devils we cornered? Take them out andshoot them?”

“No. The boss of the works is dead. And I havea notion that The Sect of the Fatal Obligation diedwith him. Lug me to the temple, if ye please.I’m all in, but ’tis my wish to see the whole wickedbusiness go up in smoke.”

Before the torch was applied, that experienced manof war, Major Bannister, suggested that he had neverseen a more promising place in which to poke aboutfor loot. The search amounted to nothing until itoccurred to the major to pull the Painted Joss fromoff its pedestal. After much heaving and prying thegreat image fell crashing to the pavement of the temple.Investigation revealed that underneath it were418several compartments accessible by means of cunninglyfitted panels. Many papers or documentswere found, wrapped in silk, and it was assumed thatthese were the records of the black deeds of Chungand his organized murderers. They were thrownaside, to be bundled together and taken to the boats.

It was the astute Major Bannister who smashedthe bottom of one of these compartments with a rifle-buttand rammed his hand through the splinteredhole. His groping fingers came in contact withclosely packed rows of metal bars. In this mannerwas discovered the wealth of the temple, the blood-moneystored and treasured by the infamous Chung,the price of many assassinations.

The gold was in stamped ingots, the silver in thelumps or “shoes” of the clumsy Chinese currency,and there were baskets of English sovereigns, Mexicandollars, and a variety of the coinages which passover the counters of the money-changers of the Orient.Murder as a business had paid well. The Sectof the Fatal Obligation was a flourishing concern.The loot belonged to those who found it. They weretroubled by no scruples respecting the heirs of thedeparted Chung, nor did they consider it their dutyto surrender the spoils to the Chinese government.

That night a conflagration reddened the ruins ofthe dead city of Wang-Li-Fu. It was the pyre ofthe Painted Joss. And when the little flotilla againmoved up-river early next morning, a cloud ofsmoke rose lazily in the still air. Captain MichaelO’Shea was still alive, which was rather surprising,419for he had passed through experiences extremelydisturbing to a sick man. There was tonic, however,in the fact that he had redeemed his failure, the expeditionwas no longer a sorry jest, and the accountof Bill Maguire had been squared.

He slept with tremendous earnestness through anight and a day, and when he awoke it was to roar forfood and to display the peevish temper of a genuineconvalescent. When off duty his comrades becameabsorbed in the odd occupation of arranging piles ofgold bars, silver “shoes,” and minted coins on thedeck of the little house-boat, like children playingwith blocks. They smiled a great deal and talked tothemselves. Captain O’Shea looked on with an airof fatherly interest. After all, this happy family ofhis had made a prosperous voyage of it. Dreams ofrehabilitation cheered these broken wanderers. Theywould go home. No more for them the misery, theheartache, the humiliation of the tropical tramp.Their riches might slip through their fingers, but theywould make the most of golden opportunity. Likepoor McDougal, they had thrown all regrets away.

“’Tis share and share alike,” said O’Shea, “butthere is a red-headed sailor-man at anchor on a farmin Maine and I think he has a wife somewheres.With your permission we will deal him a share ofthe plunder. ’Twas poor Bill Maguire that gave usthe tip.”

Unmindful of labor and hardship, this contentedcompany slowly journeyed to the head of navigationon the River of Ten Thousand Evil Smells and then420trudged overland while O’Shea rode in a coveredchair and sang old sea-chanties in a mellow voice.When, at length, the English mission station wasreached it was stretching the truth to call him aninvalid. The senior missionary, a gentle, very wiseold man who had lived for thirty years in the backcountry, heard the tale told by these tanned, raggedtravellers and was horrified that such things shouldhave existed. But he had news for them, and it wasthus that he supplied a missing fragment of thepuzzle of Bill Maguire:

“The man came here and we took care of him.But there was no finding out how he had been sofrightfully hurt. He was dumb and stupid. LaterI met a native boatman who had found him on theriver-bank near Wang-Li-Fu. Evidently he had beenthrown into the water as an easy way to get rid ofthe body. Reviving a little, he splashed his wayashore or the tide left him there. He stayed withus until he was fairly strong and one morning he wasgone.”

“And did he set the house afire?” inquired O’Shea.

“Why, there were two accidental fires in the compoundat that time, but we laid it to the carelessnessof the kitchen coolies,” was the innocent reply.

“It was Bill Maguire, all right,” declared O’Shea.“Now, will ye be good enough to look over theChinese documents we found hid away under thePainted Joss?”

The missionary pored over the papers for severalhours. And his painstaking translation revealed all421that O’Shea cared to know concerning the operationsof The Sect of the Fatal Obligation. It had workedin secret to remove enemies for a price. If a merchantwished a business rival obliterated, if an officialfound others in his way, if it was advantageous tocreate a vacancy in some other quarter, the murderguild directed by the departed Chung would transactthe affair, smoothly, without bungling. Andthose who knew and would have disclosed the secretwere frightened into silence by the sight of the brandthat was called The Dreadful Messenger of Chung.

“It will interest you to learn, as an American,Captain O’Shea,” said the missionary, “that amongthese documents is a list of persons proscribed orsentenced to be slain. The most conspicuous nameI find to be that of the Chinese ambassador to theUnited States, His Excellency Hao Su Ting. It isprobable that this terrible fate would have awaitedhim upon his return to his own country.”

“They potted his brother,” exclaimed O’Shea.“And he was sick with fear of the thing, for I talkedit over with him meself. Well, he can thank BillMaguire for letting him die in his bed when hisproper time comes.”

Three weeks later Captain O’Shea sat at his easeupon the piazza of the Grand Hotel, that overlooksYokohama Bay. He was thinner than when he hadput to sea in the Whang Ho steamer, but he appearedto find the game of life quite worth while. It washis pleasure to enjoy the tame diversions of a touristbefore boarding a mail-boat for the long run home422to San Francisco. He smiled as he reread a letterwritten in the crabbed fist of that zealous agriculturist,Johnny Kent, who had this to say:

Captain O’Shea chuckled and then became thoughtful.Paddy Blake and McDougal. Charley TongSin and the wreck of the Whang Ho. Wang-Li-Fuand the terrible Chung. Much can happen withinthe space of a few weeks to a man that will seek thelong trail. Presently he took from his leather bill-bookseveral slips of paper which he had receivedfrom the Yokohama Specie Bank in exchange for hisgold bars and silver “shoes.” After making sundrycalculations with a pencil, he said to himself:

“The share of Jim Eldridge, alias Bill Maguire, isnine thousand eight hundred and sixty-two dollarsand eleven cents, and ’tis here all ship-shape in twodrafts on New York. My piece of the loot is thesame. But the red-headed sailorman will never bethe lad he was, and he should not be worried by thelack of money to live on. And could any moneypay for what he went through? ’Tis easy to knowwhat I should do. I will not take a cent of theplunder. My share I will give to Bill, and with hisbit of it he will be comfortably fixed.”

An expression of boyish satisfaction brightened hisresolute features as he added:

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“A man would be ashamed to take money for sucha pleasant vacation as this one has been. Now, Iwill send a cable message to Bill Maguire and it willcheer him a lot. His account is squared. And Ithink I have put a crimp in The Sect of the FatalObligation.”

THE END

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73510 ***