Part 21

A low murmur came from the sea. It seemed to come from some distant point, and rose and fell faintly. Then a flash of lightning lit the inky darkness to the southeast. He waited to hear the following thunder; but none came. Minutes afterward the murmur rose again.

In the sultry air even his breathing oppressed him, and he turned to fix his limbs in a more comfortable posture. He sat easily now and waited. Over the sea from the southeast came a low rushing sound, the sound of a mighty wind, and as he gazed toward it he felt the first puff in his face. The noise of the surf on the outside of the bank grew louder. A spurt of sand whistled up against the steel side beneath him. Then came a fiercer blast, and the storm burst over the reef with a wild, swirling roar of wind and rain.

He stood up and faced it. It relieved his feelings, this fury of the elements, and he seemed to be again upon his ship at sea facing the hurricane of the West Indies. The dry sand of the upper bank struck the sides of the wreck with great force, and flying over it cut his face so that he could not see any longer. He made his way to the lee of the deck-house and looked out over the water to see how his vessel stood the strain. The riding light was still showing in the same place; but a faint rattling told plainly that both anchors were now on the bottom, and that the mate, with the instinct of the true sailor, was giving them chain as fast as he could, with the hope of holding on. How it blew! The wind came in fierce gusts, rushing, tearing, over the lost ship.

The sails of the anchored schooner had been lowered just after dark. He had heard the creaking of the halliards. There would be no great sea where she lay, but enough to test the strength of the ground tackle she possessed. He wished vaguely that he had gone aboard. It was the place for him, upon the deck of his ship.

He watched the riding light for some minutes. It was jumping now with the rise and fall of the schooner. It was a desperate undertaking to row a small boat out to her; but the struggle appealed to him strongly. He should have gone aboard. He would go, and let himself down over the side of the wreck, with no concern save for the safety of the schooner and the crew aboard her. If he failed to make her, it was of no particular matter.

The small boat was made fast on the shore, and he reached her easily. The oars were in her, and she was all ready to row out, for the inside of the bank was partly sheltered, and there was no sea there yet. It would be a row across the wind with it a little astern, and he was a strong man. The wildness of the night seemed to stir something within him, and he grasped the oars eagerly for the struggle. He sent the small boat's head out into the night and across that hurricane swept reef with a feeling of something akin to exhilaration. A blast of wind flung a sea over her, and the salt sea flew in his face, taking his breath for the instant; but he spat out the brine and drove the boat ahead.

The riding light appeared to get nearer. He was making good headway, although the water was flying over the boat and tossing her about like a cork. All around and about him the sea was white with a phosphorescent light from the breaking seas; but it failed to outline the hull of his vessel. He headed for the riding light, and he must make it, or--

He turned his head now and again to keep the course. The light did not draw closer very fast, and he knew he was rowing furiously. Then he noticed that it drew more and more to leeward. He was rowing with the wind now well aft. He knew what it meant: that his vessel was dragging her anchors and that there was little or no hope that he would board her. She might strike, or she might make the open sea. The mate was an able seaman and would get some canvas on her if he could to try to fight her off. Out on the wild, storm-swept ocean there might be safety. To leeward lay certain death.

He rowed now with increased vigour. He would endeavour to get close enough to hail her at least, even though he could not board her. Over the tops of the breaking seas the small boat fairly flew. She was gaining upon the receding light. The Captain turned his head and saw he was almost alongside. He made out the voices of the men calling to each other as they close reefed the mainsail. He could hear the mate's orders, howled into a shriek, sounding faintly but unintelligible above the roar of the wind and sea. He now made out the hull of the vessel. He was close aboard. Then the riding light went out.

He knew he had seen the ending; for they had put the forestaysail on her and were driving her out to sea. As for himself, he was a lost man. He was so close to her now that he stood up and hailed.

"Keep her east southeast!" he roared out.

A questioning hail came through the night, a wild, terrified cry.

"Keep her east southeast! Good-bye!" he answered.

"Ay, ay, sir! Good-bye, sir!" came the voice of the mate booming hoarsely above the gale.

The _Buccaneer_ fought her way out that night. She lost her foresail and half her other canvas before the finish; but she went to sea safely.

Three days later she came in and anchored near the wreck of the steamer. The mate and two men went ashore and searched the reef for signs of their Captain. The boat was gone, and so was he. This told the story. Two hours later they were tearing up the rusted hulk of the _Stella Polare_, and they carried tons of her to Key West in the little schooner, with the mate in command.

XVI

The Barrators

Mr. Booker, of the firm of Booker, Benson & Co., closed the door of the inner office.

"Now, Captain Johns, let's have an understanding at once," said he in a low tone, "let's make no mistake about this thing. You know we represent the best there is in the shipping business. You know I've stood by you. You know how long you'd have been inspector of hulls if I hadn't fixed it for you with the commissioner. Now, we want James's certificate returned. He's been master of the _Enos_ for years, and we can't afford to lose him----"

"But he abandoned his ship in mid-ocean with passengers aboard," snapped Captain Johns. "How can we give him a certificate after that, hey? How'll I get around the fact---- What? I know what I owe you. I know I'm inspector, but I don't owe you any such rascality as that--no, sir. I'll lose my place if I do give it to him--you know that--and if I don't you threaten me----"

"I threaten no man," interrupted Mr. Booker solemnly. "I simply put it to you as a business proposition. Captain James is our man. We want him. Now will you give him back his certificate or not?"

The inspector thought a minute. He was a big man, big, strong, capable of filling the office of inspector of hulls perfectly. He had been to sea for more than twenty years and was a first-class navigator, a first-class seaman. He knew the duties of inspector, and he knew the law. Upon him rested the responsibility of issuing masters' and mates' certificates, and he had generally conducted the examinations without fear or favour. He prided himself upon this point, for it was generally understood that a Board of Trade license was good. It meant something. But he knew Mr. Booker and he knew his man, Captain James, who had abandoned his vessel in mid-ocean.

"As far as the taking his license away from him is concerned," said he, looking straight at the head of the firm, "I had no more to do with it than others. We did the only thing we could do under the evidence." He seated himself in a chair and crossed a leg, rubbing his knee as though to gain time for the struggle he knew would take place. Mr. Booker was a leading shipper and also a politician of note. It was he who had swung the party, he who had practically made the inspectors. It would not do to act hastily. Booker was an able and deadly foe to any one who blocked his trade. He was unscrupulous when it came to acting against an enemy of the firm.

"I don't want to tie your vessel up," he went on, "and if I can do anything in reason I'll do it. Why not let the mate come up? There's nothing that can't be argued away about him. He had to obey orders. I'll give him a ticket all right."

A strange light shone in Mr. Booker's eyes. He saw his man was weakening. It was what he wanted, this mate's ticket, but to state it openly would have meant ruin to his scheme. He held out strongly for his captain, but not strong enough to carry his point. If the inspector chose to promote his mate, it was not Mr. Booker's fault. That would lie entirely and healthily with others. After a futile struggle lasting half an hour he gave in.

"Very well, then. If you'll give Mr. McDuff a master's license and let him take the _Enos_ out, it'll have to go. I don't stand for him, you know, and I want that distinctly understood. But I'll compromise on that--and not a little bit less. You know what she's carrying?"

The inspector did not. It was not his business to keep track of all cargoes before they were shipped. He felt irritated. His victory had at first seemed a good thing, a fine thing to get out of the hole yawning before him. Now there seemed to be some complications.

"It's dynamite," went on Mr. Booker indulgently. "Dynamite for the Canal, and while it's all right, you want a man who's mighty careful to carry it through the tropics along with the mercury exploders. Climate affects mercury, and it don't need much to send the whole kit to kingdom come. But let it go. I'll pay a premium the underwriters can't refuse. We'll have to stand a heavy insurance with a man like McDuff--but of course, if you say so, let it go at that. James might go as mate. You won't take away his living, will you? You'll let him go as mate--on his old ticket? You know we've got to have men aboard a ship. A vessel won't run herself."

He arose to show the inspector that further conversation meant a loss of valuable time to the head of the firm. Captain Johns knew it and put on his hat. He had certain misgivings about granting McDuff a certificate, but he had passed his word. To break it would mean almost loss of position to himself, for Mr. Booker would do what he could to make him trouble, and he knew that trouble with Booker was trouble indeed. The inspector before him had cause to know this. There was no necessity for history repeating itself.

"I'll send McDuff down to you--good morning," said Mr. Booker, bowing him out.

Captain James and Mr. McDuff were staying at St Lucia. It had been convenient for them both to keep well away from the curious gaze of the government officials after the supposed loss of the _Enos_, and St. Lucia was a beautiful, far-removed spot. Upon the crumbling ramparts of the fort near the entrance Mr. McDuff sat cogitating a few days after Mr. Booker had made his little deal with the inspector, and when a small black lad handed him an envelope bearing the firm's name in the corner the taciturn mate trembled. It was so beautiful, so far removed from modern business, so restful at St. Lucia. The trade-wind blew steadily across the point and the Caribbean sparkled in the sunshine. The harbour, devoid of shipping save when the week-end steamer from the States came to load bananas, lay like a deep azure pool unruffled by the lively breeze outside. It made a picture of quiet repose, and even the old dismounted guns used hundreds of years before to repel the buccaneers before Morgan's day seemed to have sunk into attitudes of profound peace. Then this letter from the world of business and strife. McDuff hesitated about opening it. It was probably a scouring, scathing, blistering sheet, edited in the cutting language of the head of the firm. "Ah, what's the use?" sighed McDuff. He held the missive in his hand and was about to fling it over the rock and watch it go fluttering to the sea beneath. Then curiosity came to his aid.

"Might as well open it; if there's any hot stuff in it, I don't have to read it," he muttered. "Here, boy--here's a tuppence--git out."

He tore the paper, pulled the letter out and read it carefully, and as he did so his fingers clinched and his back straightened. He was wanted to go as skipper of the old ship. Would he? Well, he would do almost anything except eat bananas. He walked swiftly to the town and stopped only long enough to drink three high-balls of rum and cola. Ah, the sparkling cola! He must have that. Then he took the train for Kingston.

"The _Enos_ is lying at the dock at Port Antonio," said Mr. Booker, after he had greeted his man coldly and formally. "You will proceed there and take command. Go down at once and see Johns. He'll give you your examination at once. Get your ticket and go. Then wait for further orders. James will be mate."

McDuff grinned.

"Ah, weel, I ken he'll be a noddy wan--ah, man, man, but I'll fair dress him down into shape," he said, shifting his watery gaze over the room.

"You can dress him all you want," said Mr. Booker. "If I were you, however, I would not tempt Providence too far. James will not stand too much foolishness. He can lick you."

"Ah, na fear, me laddie, na fear--do I fergit th' times he gie me? Na, na. Wait till I trim him--my mate--at last, at last," said McDuff with unction.

"Well, we'll let that go," said Booker; "you're carrying dynamite and it won't do to get too frivolous. Do you know anything about carrying dynamite?"

"Na, an' I'm that old to learn," said McDuff, eying the owner quizzically. All his Scotch canniness was alert.

"Oh, it's all right," said Booker; "only you don't want to make rough-house aboard your ship the first time you take her out as master. You're chartered for Colon again, carrying supplies for the Canal."

"Ah, weel," said the mate.

"I reckon that's about all, Captain McDuff. Do your duty like a man. If you do we'll forget some of your past--understand?"

"I ken it, I'll do it," said the man, dropping his eyes to the floor. His past was not a thing to speak lightly upon.

"Drink as much cola and good rum as you think you need. It doesn't hurt a man used to it, like yourself."

McDuff gave the owner a long searching look. The idea tickled him. He threw back his head and laughed, showing his yellow fangs.

"Good day, Captain McDuff," said Booker, bowing him out.

The new master of the little cargo carrier _Enos_ had hardly arrived aboard his vessel when James came slinking into the office. He had been laying up at Montego Bay, well up the hills, where the natives took care of him for sixpence a day. Booker appeared to have expected the visit. He closed the door of the inner office as the former skipper of the ship entered and they were alone.

"You know why I sent for you?" began Booker.

"I'm a good guesser," snarled the captain, his bloodshot eyes roving furtively about. "Make it short, don't cut in too deep. I'm here for orders."

"I haven't sent you up for life for desertion, have I?" asked the calm owner, eying him with a cold look.

"No, an' what's more you ain't going to," growled the captain.

"Lord, what a man!" sneered the owner. "You don't think I'm afraid to, do you?"

"There's mighty little you fear, Mr. Booker," said Captain James sourly, "but I understand you're not trading in morals--not yet. If you were, you might. If there's anything you've got to say, say it and let me go. I didn't come here for any lecture."

"How would you like to get your ticket back again--on some other vessel?" James eyed his former employer steadily. The effects of debauch made his swollen features seem grotesque in their red ugliness, but he was sober enough for business. He had dreaded the meeting. He knew his owner's moral tone, but he had not expected a reward where punishment was plainly indicated. He had given the ship a bad name.

"Let's have it fair and square--out with it," said the seaman.

"You know the ship is old--fit only to carry supplies," said Booker. "We're chartered to carry one hundred tons of blasting powder with exploders to Colon--enough to blow the whole Canal through. Can you see the point?"

"You don't want the stuff to get there--is that it?" asked James bluntly.

"If you can help us in the matter you shall be treated properly--your past forgotten," said Booker solemnly, eying him with a strangely insistent look.

"How much?" asked the practical navigator in a whisper.

"You'll get a thousand straight--my personal recommendation for any ship you wish. Perhaps in New York you'll find employment. We do a heavy business there----"

"Anything in writing?" asked James, without moving.

"Nothing," said Booker carelessly.

"Is McDuff wise?"

"He is not--some men you can't trust when drunk--some you can."

"How'll I manage? How'll I make him understand? I can't blow the ship under him--kill all hands for a paltry thousand dollars," hissed James.

There was a long silence. Booker lit a cigar with a steady hand and puffed slowly. He was in no hurry. James gazed at him fixedly for a long time. He shifted uneasily in his chair.

"Suppose I refuse?" he said.

"You know the consequences," said Booker quite calmly.

"Try to hang me for deserting my ship, hey?" snarled the seaman. "Want me to do a dirty job for the insurance--won't even tell me how you want it done."

"It's up to you. You are a seaman--a captain. That's what I've been hiring you for. If I were a sailor I might give you directions. I'm not. Will you do it or not? Let's have it."

"Yes, I'll do it, you devil," snarled James. "I'll do it--somehow. Good day."

"Good day, Captain--Mr. James," said Booker without enthusiasm. He opened the door and the fat form of the disreputable seaman slouched out. A clerk met him at the door and handed him a note. It was permission to draw a hundred dollars for travelling expenses. James took it to the cashier and handed it in.

"Thought you were in jail," sneered the cashier as he took the paper.

"You are a liar," murmured James smoothly.

The official made no further comment. The glare from the old seaman's eyes did not justify it. He handed the money through the window with the air of one handing a bone to a starving dog. James stuffed it away in his clothes and pulling his hat over his eyes, went his way down the street to his favourite haunt when in town. No one appeared to notice him. He was not recognized.

"You can get me a bottle of rum," said he to the waiter.

"What kind, sare--three or six?"

"I'll drink somethin' about ten shillin's a bottle," said James. "Wake up!"

The waiter brought a bottle and drew the cork. The odour filled the air. It caused James to smack his lips and he drained four glasses in as many minutes. Then he sat back in his chair and seemed to study the negro's face.

"Do you know whether Mr. Jackson--firm of Wells & Jackson, underwriters--is in town?" he asked.

"Yo' mean de insurance company, sare--yes, sare, he's here. Seen to-day on de street," answered the waiter. "He took a drink with Mr. Booker befo' closing time."

"Thank you, you can wrap up that bottle--I'll go along now," said the sailor.

It was plain to him that there had been a special deal, that Booker was carrying an extra heavy risk on his cargo. What if he should tackle Mr. Jackson? Jackson might listen to him, might even believe there was something in his warning, but he was a pariah and Mr. Booker was a gentleman. Then he had nothing whatever to offer as proof. His word against that of the owner? No, that wouldn't do at all.

He thought the matter over and finished off the bottle of rum while doing so. The more he drank the more he became convinced that the only thing to do was to follow Mr. Booker's wishes. The only thing was how would he do the job. How was it possible to sink a ship, blow her up, without killing all hands? He would not kill any one. No, he would not stoop to that. He must have time to think over the matter. It would require some nice adjustment to carry off the affair properly and not land in prison for life. He wondered whether McDuff knew anything of the deal. It was not likely; Mr. Booker had never made a confidant of the Scotchman, though the fellow had a close head and never talked, drunk or sober. James slept over it and took the train for Port Antonio, arriving there in the afternoon. He at once made his way to the docks and boarded the _Enos_ without being quizzed, though several persons seemed to show surprise at his presence. The story of his deserting his ship was now public property.

"I'm rare glad to see ye," said McDuff. "I'd na take ye for th' sneak they say ye are, Mr.--Mister James. I've been told ye wanted a place as mate wid the ould hooker. How is it?"

"Yes, I'll go as mate for you, Scotty," said James, thinking of the peculiar accent his former mate laid upon the word Mister. It was just as well to let the fellow know at once how much respect he felt for him. Then there would be no trouble in the future. He had served under him for several years, and it would swell his head, of course, to have command.

"I'm thinkin'--Mister--Meester James, that'll be about time ye took a reef in your tongue-lashin's. When ye have th' honour to speak to me, ye canna call me out of me name--that's Captain McDuff, sir--don't forget the SIR."

"No, Mack, I won't forgit it, an' don't you forgit who's talkin' to you either. If you do we'll have trouble--and Mr. Booker don't want any more of it in his ships--see? Let's have a drink, for the sake of old times?"

McDuff appeared to think a moment. It would hardly do to dress his mate now while at the dock. James would not stand it. He would drink--and wait.

"They handle that stuff mighty careless like," suggested James, gazing out of the stateroom door at the men loading cargo. "Seems to me if that's dynamite there's apt to be trouble--but then you only have it once," he added reflectively.

"That's the cargo, but not all dynamite. I dinna ken how much--but we pull out before dark. See to the gear aft--Meester James--an' remember the trouble I had with that old stern line last voyage. Ye wouldna gie me a new wan."

"Where do we go?" asked James.

"To New Orleans--git the cargo there, the rest of it. D'ye think, Meester James, that the British will furnish the powder? 'Tis good Yankee stuff we'll take wi' us, good New Orleans powder. Also we'll take a bit o' men, I'm thinkin', some o' that Dago gang for blasters. They make fine blasters, do Dagoes; an' if ye lift a few o' them to heaven, it makes little difference--there's plenty more. But they are an ugly lot to handle, all armed with pistols or knives, ready to shoot or stab any one."

"It's the Dago nature to go heeled," said James, drinking his rum and pondering over his scheme. The run to New Orleans offered nothing new in the way of developing his plans. He arose, went aft and made ready to get to sea. He was in an ugly mood, but all who knew him addressed him as "Captain," and the "Mister" was forgotten in the usual turmoil of getting the _Enos_ under weigh.

A few days later in New Orleans the dynamite was aboard and the gangs of labourers who were to mine came down to the dock. James had studied many ways of getting the ship into trouble, but each one seemed too dangerous. It would not do to kill the crew. He would not do that, but to fire the cargo without almost certain death to all aboard appeared impossible. Then a thing occurred which seemed to be like the hand of Fate helping him on his way.

"'Tis a light cargo--an' she'll sit high, roll like a log," quoth McDuff the day after the powder had been safely stowed. "We've cleared and the insurance agent has had his claim settled. We're all ready for sea--Meester James--and we'll gie along; but I must ha' a wee bit o' drink first. Will ye coom along up the town, or will ye bide here till I come back?"

It still gave him pleasure to address his former captain in a patronizing manner with an emphasis upon "Meester."

James looked at him sourly and declined.