Part 12

It was water, always water. The liquid around them made the madness of thirst double. They had gazed down into the clear depths for hours, seeing visions of streams of fresh water, craving to plunge into them, the burning and all-consuming thirst in their throats waxing more and more intense. They had no longer any idea of hunger. The ship's bread they left untouched, for it was wet with salt water and the slightest bit of that liquid made them frantic. They could have just as well drunk pure alcohol.

Garfunkle was for starting off at once. He had become rational again, but his eyes held a certain light when they met the captain's that told of the madness in his brain. He always lowered them when Johnson looked at him, but he spoke always in a low, soft voice now, a sort of purring, and Johnson knew it was the purring of the famished tiger. Garfunkle was a big man and very powerful. He had risen to mate's berth as much by his physical abilities as mental. He was stripped to the waist, and his body, which he had kept wet, was burned to a bright red by the sun. The patch of hair on his broad chest showed in marked contrast to the surrounding skin. Johnson had kept his shirt on his back and saved himself the extra annoyance of the sun. He preferred to shiver a bit at night than to burn during the daytime.

When they had stepped the mast and made all ready for a start, they noticed some small fish swimming close to the edge of the float. The dorsal fin of a large shark lay twenty fathoms distant upon the surface of the sea, and they wondered at the carelessness of the fish who ignored it. They seemed quite tame, and Johnson took the piece of wood they had used to keep off the sharks, whittled the end into a fresh point and lay at full length upon the house, his idea being to spear a few of the small fry and take them along for food. He was quite weak and his brain was dizzy. The exertion of mending the boat was exhausting and he made many ineffectual attempts to strike the fish without looking up.

Suddenly he was aware of a feeling of danger. He turned and saw Garfunkle stealthily coming upon him with the upraised oar. There was a wild look in the mate's eyes, but he grinned when Johnson turned and began a soft speech, half incoherent. Johnson was lying down, but managed to draw the pistol he had kept in his belt. The mate smiled, put the oar back into the boat and suddenly shoved her clear of the house, springing into her and sitting down upon a thwart.

Johnson looked at him, dazed, half understanding, his brain reeling in the sunshine.

"Come back," he said calmly.

Garfunkle grinned at him and grasped the sheet, hauled it aft and put the oar over the stern for a rudder. There was no wind and the boat remained motionless. The mate began to scull away slowly.

"Come back," said Johnson in a low tone.

The mate turned his back upon him and as the boat's head payed off, kept her on her course to the westward.

"Come back," said Johnson again.

The boat drew slowly off. She was ten fathoms before Johnson realized that he was being deserted. Garfunkle sculled her slowly, the sail slatting with the roll of the sea.

Johnson still held the revolver. It came upon him suddenly that he was being left, that he was lost. The vision of the home ashore flashed before him, the green grass and white cottage, with his smiling wife and romping children. He was being left to die.

He drew the hammer of the revolver back and raised the weapon, letting the front sight stop full upon the middle of Garfunkle's back between the shoulders. He hesitated, and as he did so he remembered that the man had saved his life but a few days before. He would have drowned but for the rescuing grip which hauled him upon the house. He let the weapon sink until its muzzle touched the planks, and he put his left hand to his head to try to help his reeling brain to reason properly. No, he could not die. The vision of the home ashore came stronger to him. It was not for himself alone that he would live, but live he must, and would.

The sights of the pistol settled again upon the back of his mate. He was twenty fathoms distant and drifting slowly away. Johnson pressed the trigger.

The report jarred him. The puff of smoke disappeared at once into the air, and he saw Garfunkle look around and grin. Then the mate stood up, reeled, staggered, and plunged headlong overboard. He saw him no more.

Without waiting an instant Johnson swam toward the craft and managed to gain her. He had forgotten about the sharks, but nothing struck him. He took the oar the mate had dropped in the water alongside, and after he climbed aboard he trimmed the sheet and settled himself in the stern, making the oar fast in a becket. If he let go of it now he would not lose it. The sun was in the west and he headed away, steering as near as he could guess for the Bahamas.

The wrecking sloop _Sea-Horse_ was coming along up the coast and the captain, Sanders, of Key West, noticed something floating upon the broad stretch of sea which looked like a small white boat. Boats were not met with so far off shore, and the object sat so low in the water and appeared without control that the skipper of the wrecker called his mate.

"What d'ye make of that, Bill?" said he, pointing to the white speck.

Bahama Bill, the huge negro diver and wrecker, looked long and intently at it.

"'Pears to me like it was er wrack, cap--what? Looks to be a stove-in boat, an' I reckon we might as well pick her up--maybe we kin fix her to be ob use wid a little paint and putty. Ennyways, we kin sell her to some dub in Miami en clar enough fo' de trouble--what yo' say, cap?"

"Oh, let her head up to it if you want to," said Sanders. "I don't like running out of my line when I'm in a hurry, but if you want her, get her. I reckon we might pass her off for a few dollars--stand by the main sheet."

"Ship's boat--yassir, dat's a ship's boat fo' shuah, cap," said the giant mate as the wrecking vessel drew nearer. "Must be some ob de wrack hereabouts--we better lay by en take a look eround, yassir."

"Let her luff a little," called Sanders to the man at the wheel. "Steady--so, let her go, jest so--steady--Good God! What--There's a man in her--"

"Stand by de jib sheet," roared Bahama Bill. "Yo' kin let her come to when yo' ready, sah--I'll stand by toe ketch him, sah."

The huge mate leaned far over the side of the _Sea-Horse_ and with a mighty grip seized the floating small craft by the gunwale. She was half full of water, but he sprang into her and passed up her painter to a man on deck while the wrecking sloop plunged and bucked into the sea, her sails slatting and switching as she lay right in the wind. In a moment the mate had lifted the body and passed it aboard and the half-sunken small boat was dropped astern.

They poured water between his sun-baked lips and upon his swollen, livid tongue. In a few hours the corpse showed signs of life, but the blue-black face was motionless for days, and they had reached Jacksonville before the man's features relaxed enough for him to speak. He could not make himself understood, and it was three weeks later, when he was able to sit up in the cot at the seaman's hospital, before he could tell of his affair.

He was discharged as cured and went to his home. He had heard nothing from his wife and supposed she had heard nothing concerning him. When he entered the gate he noticed that all was silent about the place. A neighbour accosted him and asked who he was, but he was put out at the delay and refused to tell his business. Then the man told him how the news had come in that he had gone down in his ship nearly a month ago and that his wife had failed and died within a week.

He listened silently, and when the man finished he went into the house.

They found him dead that evening with a bullet-hole between the eyes.

"Crazy with grief," said the neighbours who knew his home life. The doctor who examined him thought differently.

"There is absolutely nothing abnormal about him," said the physician. "He looks like a man who has gotten tired out--clean exhausted with the futility of some great effort--look at his face."

X

On the Great Bahama Bank

Stormalong Journegan was a Conch, a native of the Bahamas. He stood six feet four inches upon his thin spindle-shanks, and it is doubtful if he ever weighed more than one hundred pounds; no, not even when soaking wet. He was thin.

He lit up for the night, wiped the bar free from the gin and bitters spilled there by a drunken customer, and then turned to survey his room, waiting for the whistle of the liner. It was the night the ship was due, the giant New York mail liner, ten thousand tons and not less than three hundred passengers. All of these would be thirsty, for the weather is always warm in Key West in the early spring.

Journegan was a "spouter." That is, he had been with a religious bunch of reefers, and he was free to make use of the Scriptures--too free entirely to suit the orthodox ecclesiastics of Key West. Over the sign of "The Cayo Huesso" the legend ran thus: "As it was in the beginning, it is now," showing that Journegan was not a reformer at all, but believed in the Bible and the true creed. And the worst of it all was that he was accurate in his quotations; not only accurate, but invincible and gifted with that terrible weapon--an unfailing memory.

"Why do you use such blasphemy?" asked a divine, shocked at the sign and its motto.

"I was taught that there creed by a better man than you, suh, and he said: 'As it ware in the beginning, it is now, an' ever shall be, world without end. Amen.' I heard ye say them same words onct when I 'tended meetin'. What ye got agin' 'em, hey?"

"Nothing at all--nothing at all."

"Then cl'ar out. Git erlong. Don't come makin' no trouble fer me. I don't ask ye to drink--git away."

"Yes, sir," went on Journegan, turning to an approaching customer. "It's the same now as it always ware--same as it ware in the beginning--always shall be just the same--human nature never changes, not at all. There'll always be the bad, and always be the good. The bad are the strong gone wrong. The good are the weak tryin' to make good; sometimes they're strong too, but very seldom. Strength and goodness don't go together except in rare cases, but when a good man's strong, he's sure nuff strong.

"Ye see, we've all got a livin' to make. We hire men to study religion for us and pay 'em to preach it out of pulpits--yes, sir, actually pay 'em to git up and preach about th' Gospel as if you or me couldn't read or write! What's the sense? What's the sense of paying a man for doing something you can do yourself just as well? If salvation depends on a fellow's ability to translate the Gospel, then it's a mighty poor Gospel for poor folk--but it don't. It's a good livin' they make preachin', and I for one don't take no offense at a feller chargin' for his talk; not that he knows any more than you or me--'cause he can't know a blame bit more--but we've all got to live, an' the feller what talks has to live, too. Let him live by talk. Let me live by sellin' things. I don't ask no favours, but I don't want no guy what jest talks an' talks fer money to come around an' bother me--that's all; yes, that's erbout all, I reckon."

You will see that Journegan was very popular with the strong men who worked and very unpopular with the men who preached.

"Your head is as long as your body," admitted Captain Smart, entering the gilded hall. "What you say goes, Stormalong--gimme a drink."

"Goin' to meet the ship?" asked Journegan.

"Yep, I'm goin' back in her if I get the chance," said Smart. "I've been on the beach here a week now. Dunn settled up his wrecking bill with that fellow 'Bahama Bill' and Captain Sanders and their gang, and that lets me out. I'm out a good berth. She was a fine yacht."

"'Twasn't your fault you lost her, I heard tell," said Journegan, with a leer.

"I did all I could," admitted Smart, "but I lost her, just the same. There is no excuse for the loser, you know."

"Yep, I knows well enough," said Journegan slowly, as if thinking over something. "'Peared to be leakin' badly all o' a sudden-like, hey?"

"Yes, started to leak during the blow, or just before it. A bit of hard luck you may say."

"Well, you'll know more about the reef if you stay here a while."

There was some strange meaning in Stormalong's tone, and it was not lost on Smart.

"You are the second man who has said something to that effect," said the seaman. "Now, what the devil do you mean by it?"

"Oh, nothing much. No use getting worked up by what I said. You don't know much about the ways of folk along the reef and bank. That's all--there goes the whistle of the liner."

A deep-toned siren roared out over the quiet waters of the reef, sounding far away to sea, and seemed to be coming from some distant point to the southward. Smart recognized it as the call of his ship, the ship he had left months before for the sake of a woman.

He drank off his liquor and started for the dock, making his way along the white roadway and joining the throng of Conchs who lazily walked toward the shore to see the great liner make her landing. She was a new ship, a ship of huge tonnage for a Southern liner, and it was a treat to watch her officers dock her. Slowly she came drifting in toward the land, her mighty engines sending the white coral water moving gently from her stern.

Her giant bows came near the landing. A tiny figure flung a filmy line through the air, a line so small in proportion to her great bulk that it seemed but a spider-web. But behind it followed a great hawser, and a dozen lazy black men hauled it ashore and threw the loop over a pile-end.

Then a shrill whistle sounded, and the deep rumble of the engines told of the backing strain. She swung alongside the wharf finally and made fast her stern and spring-lines. Then a gangway shot out, and the captain came quickly down, followed by a swarm of passengers.

As the ship was to stop only a half-hour at Key West, her commander had to make a quick clearance and entry, taking on some fifty passengers who were in the cigar business and who made Key West an important stop on that account. They were all through first-class to New York. Smart joined Captain Flanagan while he walked briskly toward the customhouse. The skipper shook his hand warmly, and asked how he came to be down there. Then followed the story of the wreck of a yacht, and the tale of an officer out of a berth, all of which Flanagan listened to with waning interest. The old, old story was uncommonly dull to him. He was powerless to do anything, and he spoke forth.

"It's no use of talking about it any more, Smart. You know the rules of the company as well as I do. You know there are other men waiting to step into berths, and when a man steps out like you did it's up to him to stay out and give the rest a chance. How would you like to have a man come back into a ship and block you for perhaps twenty years? No, it won't do, even if I could do it. You are out. Stay out, unless you want to start in again at the foot, as a third mate."

"No, I can't drop to that position at my age," said Smart sadly. "I'm holding a master's ticket, and if you can't take me on as a second at least, why, all right, I'll have to ship somewhere else."

"I'm mighty sorry, old man," said Flanagan, "but you know it's not my fault. It's the rules of the company, and if I took you on to New York you would be dropped as soon as we landed. I can give you a passage up, if you want it. Here's a key to the stateroom--take it."

"No, you don't. If I stay ashore, I stay right here. Don't worry about me. I'll try to make good. I know I was a fool, but sometimes we all play the fool. Good-bye, and good luck. How does the ship run?"

Flanagan was gone. The light of Stormalong's shone out brightly in the distance. Smart kept his eyes upon them for a long time, and wandered about the streets. The warning whistle of the liner blew for a farewell, and as the sound roared out upon the night the seaman turned away and went up the street.

II

Captain Smart was in a particularly uncomfortable mood. He had left the liner for a woman, a woman whom he desired and whom he thought worth any sacrifice. Later he discovered that she was selfish to the core. He had expected companionship, love, and sympathy. He had found cold, calculating animalism: a brutality all the more horrible for its refinement, for its servitude to wealth and position. Yes, she had told him plainly just how she felt about it, and had made it perfectly plain that she would mate only with some one who could place her in surroundings which she desired, not what she would get as the wife of a seaman, a captain of a ship. And he could not blame her. No, it was manifestly not her fault. It was the fault of the society in which she had been brought up. It had stifled the woman in her and developed the snob to an extent that would admit of no choice on the part of either.

He had seen his mistake, and the loss of the yacht upon which she was a guest had given him a chance to complete the affair, to get away from all the familiar surroundings. Now he was "on the beach."

"On the beach," to a sailor means without a ship and without money. Smart had neither ship nor money, but he had a strong constitution and high spirits, and the lights of Stormalong's were still burning brightly down the long, smooth road.

He entered and noticed that the tables were full. A company of men were playing cards at the farthest end of the saloon, and he made his way toward them. A game of poker always fascinated him, and he hung over the back of a player, watching his cards and noting the manner he threw away a high pair to fill a flush.

"Would ye like to set in?" asked Stormalong, who had come over to get an order for drinks.

"I wouldn't mind setting in for a short time," Smart nodded. "No all-night séance for me, and quit when you want to."

"Gents," began the saloon-keeper, "this is Captain Smart, of the schooner--ah, well, never mind that, hey? Well, Smart was chief officer of the ship just gone out. He's got the dough, and kin play a keard or two, if you give him a chance."

"Set right in here, cap," said a thick-set, sunburnt man whose calling was manifest in his face. "I'm a reefer, an' run a sponger, but I reckon I kin play with yer."

"You make five--just right for luck," was the greeting of another, a thin, eagle-nosed fellow who declared that his name was Smith--Wilson Smith.

A man with a thick growth of beard nodded to him across the board, and a squat, twinkling-eyed little fellow, with the hue of the tobacco factory upon him, held out his hand. "My name's Jacobs--traveller for the Garcias'--glad to meet you."

The cards were dealt round afresh, and Smart took up his hand. For some time nothing occurred to distract the attention of the players from the game, but gradually their talk and the clink of money as they made change attracted the crowd.

Smart was aware of a huge form just behind him, and, glancing up, he looked right into the face of Bahama Bill, the black mate of the wrecking-sloop _Sea-Horse_. A huge grin was upon the black man's ugly face, and he laid his enormous hand upon Smart's shoulder. "Huh, how yo' is, cap? Thought you'd gone away fo' sho. Stopped to teach 'em how toe play de game, huh? Yah, yah, ya-a-a!"

"Stormalong," broke in Wilson Smith, "I don't want to appear rude, but I draw the colour line sometimes, especially at keards. If the big nigger standing behind us will sit down or move along, it'll facilitate the game some."

Bahama Bill heard the remarks, but, being in a white man's saloon, he said nothing. He showed his teeth in a mirthless smile, a smile which boded no good for the man who had spoken and who was evidently a stranger to him.

Stormalong motioned to the wrecker to sit down, and Bill did so without comment. He was well known and fairly well liked, and his record allowed him some privileges which were not accorded to men of his race. Being part owner as well as mate of the wrecking-sloop made him a person of more or less note. Therefore Stormalong furnished him with unlimited rum, which he paid for from a wad of bills which made the observers gaze with surprise. Mr. Dunn, the owner of the yacht which Smart had lost, had been trimmed very cleanly. The salvage on her had been large for so small a vessel, owing to the valuable silverware, furnishings, and other fittings.

III

The game progressed slowly, but Wilson Smith began to win little by little. Smart suddenly found he held three aces. He raised the limit before drawing, and discarded two cards, hoping to draw another ace. Jacobs, the cigar man, came in, and Smith raised it one better, which Smart made good, the other two men dropping out.

Bahama Bill had drunk several glasses of rum by this time, and he again appeared to fix his attention upon the game, but not so as to attract attention, standing well back of all but keeping his eyes fixed in a steady gaze upon the thin-faced man's cards.

The cards were dealt, and Smart drew a pair of queens, filling, and thus holding a strong hand. Jacobs drew one card, and quietly slipped it into his hand. His face was emotionless, and he puffed lazily at his cigar, complacently cocked up at a high angle in his jaws. Smith drew four cards, and, after conning his hand carefully, bet a dollar.

Jacobs raised, and Captain Smart came upon him for the limit. Wilson Smith, to the surprise of all, raised back the limit. The cigar man was game, and came again. Smart holding an ace-full, could not, of course, let it pass him, so he again raised it.

"We all bein' so mighty peart about our hands--let's throw the limit off," suggested Smith.

"I'm more'n willin'," agreed Jacobs. "What d'ye say, cap?"

"I haven't much money"--Smart hesitated--"and just came in the game to pass the time, but if the rest are willing, I'll stay."

Wilson Smith looked around approvingly. "I'll make it fifty dollars better than what there's in it." He drew a cigar from his pocket and lit it with an easy air.

"I'll have to make it two hundred better," Jacobs protested grimly. "I hate to gamble, but I can't let a hand like this pass me."

"Oh, I haven't any money like that." Captain Smart's brows were raised in surprise. "Fifty is all I can show."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," said Jacobs. "Of course we'll give you a show, but the limit was put off on purpose to let us play keards."

Smart was aware of a heavy hand upon his shoulder. He turned, and found Bahama Bill standing close to him.

"Take dis hear, cap." And Bill thrust an enormous roll of bills unto his pile upon the table. "I'll stand by toe see yo' through."

Wilson Smith looked up again, and then called for Stormalong Journegan.

"Journegan," said he, "this is the second time I have had to speak to you about being annoyed. If it happens again there'll be trouble."

"Play poker," came a voice from the crowd.

Smart gazed about him for a moment. It was evident that the mate of the _Sea-Horse_ had an object in putting up his cash. He was quick-witted enough to see that it was best to go ahead without making any comment. He could stop after this hand.

Bahama Bill drew back at a sign from Journegan, but still fixed his gaze upon Smith's hand. It seemed as though he had seen the hands of the men, and was betting upon the best. Smart could think of no other reason for the money being left him, and he felt certain that he would win. Bill was just backing the hand he had seen to be the winner.

As long as that was the case he would go the limit. He counted out five hundred dollars and laid it upon the table. Then he picked up his cards again and skimmed over the squeezers, waiting for the end.