Part 3

The giant black scowled at him.

"Didn't ye git the money yet?"

"I ain't naterally quarrelsome," said Bill; "but if I hears any mo' erbout dat money, dere's likely toe be some daid men 'roun'."

III

The Mate of the "Sea-Horse"

He stalked in behind the captain of the _Caliban_ to the desk in the consul's office at Key West, where the clerk signed on the men. His six feet three inches of solid frame almost filled the doorway as he entered, and he scowled sourly at the group already there. His black face was lined and wrinkled and bore traces of a debauch, but in spite of his sinister expression his eyes told of a good-natured steadiness of temper. The bloodshot whites and heavy lids told plainly that he was a diver, and his peculiar accent, giant frame and general muscular development proclaimed him a Fortune Islander, a Conch of the Great Bahama Bank.

"Nationality?" droned the clerk, in a dull monotone, as he came forward.

"American," he answered, distinctly.

The captain looked at him.

"Where from?" droned the clerk, filling in the blank.

"Jacksonville," he answered, in a deep tone, fixing his eyes upon the man's face.

The clerk smiled a little, but said nothing. It was not his business to argue, and he knew the weakness of the reefer. He had signed the giant on to more than six different vessels within the past two years and each time he had solemnly sworn he was a native of a different country from the last one named. He had now become a citizen of the United States, having reserved this honor for the seventh and last time to sign.

The age of the giant fluctuated. Once he had had an indistinct remembrance of being about twenty-five; now he had leaped suddenly to forty. Something had evidently made him feel aged, and the clerk was amused, for he felt that it must indeed have been a heavy debauch to produce such an effect.

The Islander, or rather the American now, glanced uneasily at the ship's papers. He was signing on for a cruise in a yacht, and the United States articles with their red spread-eagle upon their edges attracted his attention. He could not read the announcement of the government "whack," or ration, as prescribed by law, and he had heretofore signed without looking. Now the papers interested him, and he bade the clerk read them. His voice was low and gentle, but it had nothing except command in each word, and this annoyed the clerk. He read slowly and with bad grace, looking up now and then at the captain, who stood waiting for his man and giving a glance which told plainly that here was a pirate who would probably make no end of trouble aboard his ship. But men like the Conch were extremely rare and he would have him, so he waited impatiently while the clerk read and the rest listened, hearing probably for the first time in their lives the contents of a set of articles which they had always treated with the high disdain existent in all sailors. When the clerk finished, the giant took the pen in his fingers and scrawled "Bahama Bill" in large, wabbly letters to his place on the list as second mate for a voyage to some port north of New York, three months and discharge.

"S'pose you write William Haskins under that?" said the clerk, sourly. The giant growled out something, but did as told. Then the papers were finished.

The captain led the crew down to the vessel, the mainsail was hoisted, and as the anchor broke clear and the head-sails were run up, the little gun upon her quarter crashed a salute which echoed and reechoed over the quiet harbour. Then the _Caliban_ stood out into the Gulf Stream and was off, leaving the loafing Cubans and listless Conches upon the docks, gazing after her over the heaving blue surface streaked and darkened by the breath of the trade-wind.

The _Caliban_ was a well-appointed yacht, and her master was a yacht-captain. That is, he was not a navigator, but simply a Norwegian sailor who had had the address to impress the owner favourably, and consequently, there being no examination for a license necessary, the owner had placed him in command in the usual manner. The chief mate was a square-head like the master, the owner allowing the captain the choice of officers, retaining only the cook and steward as his own protégés for the comfort of the cabin. Under a schooner rig, the vessel had cruised through the West Indian waters, and had lost her second mate and crew the day she touched at Key West, the party making the "pier-head" jump the day after being paid off. In disgust, the owner left her and took passage for the fashionable hotel at Miami, leaving his captain to find a crew and follow as soon as possible.

The morning of the second day out, the yacht swung around Cape Florida, and stood into Biscayne Bay, rounding to on the edge of the channel near the large and fashionable hotel, and dropping her hook, the rattle of her anchor-chain was drowned in the crash of her six-pounder. The captain went ashore in full uniform, and the first officer turned in, leaving the second mate in charge leaning easily upon the rail and gazing after the vanishing form in gold braid.

The uniform of the second mate was a misfit. There were no clothes among the slops that would fit his frame, but he gloried in a cap with braid stuck rakishly on his head, and while his legs were incased in white ducks rolled to the knees, his huge torso was covered by no more than a course linen shirt. This he wore split up the back and open in front, and he was comfortably indifferent to the excellent ventilation it afforded.

It was early in the morning and few people were stirring near the great hotel. The captain disappeared in the direction of the town, and while the second mate gazed, he saw a boat pulling rapidly toward him from the hotel dock.

Soon a man, rowed by a boy, came alongside.

"Is the owner aboard?" he asked, nervously.

"No, sah," said Bill, squinting at him.

"Who's in command?" he inquired.

"Me, sah."

"Well, don't fire that gun again. You scare all the invalids in the hotel. We can't have our people frightened this way."

"She goes agin at eight bells," drawled Bill. "Have to raise de colours by him. If you don't like dat little gun, jest please move yer shack."

"Don't you dare to talk to me like that! Do you know who I am?" bawled the man, standing up.

"Naw, I don't know yer--an' de wust is, yo' clean forgot me. Now don't yo' git too noisy, Peter Snooks, er whatever yer name is--ef yer do, I'll set on yer. If yer don't like de noise, move yo' shack. I ain't got no orders to pull de hook."

The man swore and threatened, but the second mate smiled good-naturedly, until the man rowed away vowing vengeance.

"That's the dockmaster, sir," said a sailor standing near. "He'll make a lot o' trouble--I know him."

"Fergit him," said the second mate, in a low tone, but in a manner which closed the incident.

At eight bells the gun crashed a salute, and, either by chance or otherwise, it pointed directly at the windows of the huge edifice filled with the rich Northern guests. The glass fairly rattled with the shock.

The day wore on without incident, until the captain came aboard, a bit the worse for liquor and with the news that the owner had left for St. Augustine, leaving orders for the yacht to follow.

It was quiet, and the schooner rode at anchor in a bay of pond-like smoothness. The men lounged about the decks or gazed over the side at the bottom, which could be seen through the clear water. They would stand out at sunrise, but the captain told no one of this intention, and those ashore expected her to be a fixture of a week or more. The sun went down in a bank to the westward and the semi-tropical night came dark and quiet upon the sea.

Through the deepening gloom, a shadow came stealing around the wooded point of Cape Florida. With her mainsail well off to the gentle southerly breeze, the wrecking-sloop _Sea-Horse_ slipped noiselessly through the water, swinging around the channel buoy and standing like a black phantom for the mouth of the Miami. She came without a sound, not even a ripple gurgling from her forefoot; and not a ray of light showed either from her rigging or from her cabin-house. At the wheel, a figure stood silent in the night, a slight turn of the spokes now and then being the only movement to show that the image was that of a man steering. Strung along the deck-house and rail lay six other human forms, but they were as quiet as though made of wood. Not even the glow of a pipe relieved the silent gloom. The wrecker drew near the yacht. The man at the wheel leaned slightly forward over the spokes and peered long and searchingly at her from under the main-boom. Then she drifted past, and as she did so eight bells struck, sounding clear and musical from the forecastle. In the glare from her anchor-light, a giant form showed upon the yacht's forecastle-head--the black second mate, who was taking a look at the anchor-cable before settling himself for a smoke. The wrecker passed and disappeared around the point, and the second mate of the _Caliban_ stretched himself along the heel of the bowsprit and watched the distant loom of the keys whence the low, murmuring snore of the surf sounded. Two bells struck and aroused him for a moment. The man on lookout asked permission to go below for a bit of tobacco, and then after he had watched his figure vanish down the hatchway, the mate turned toward the shore where the lights sparkled over the bay.

A slight rippling sound attracted his attention, and he looked over the side. It sounded like a large fish of some kind making its way clumsily along near the surface. The black water flared in places, and a continuous flashing of phosphorus shone along the cheek of the bow when the tide was shoved aside. Something dark showed at a little distance, but it passed astern and the rippling sound died away. Haskins, who was half-fish from habit and as watchful as a shark, went to the taffrail and leaned over. The water seemed like ink in the gloom, but he scanned it steadily and patiently. Nothing showed upon the dark surface, and he smoked for half an hour, until his usually alert senses began to wander. He was getting sleepy. Then the rippling sound began again on the offshore side. He remained quiet and listened. This time the rippling sounded like a fish going against the current, and the glare of the disturbed water showed now and again as the body approached. Suddenly it seemed as if the creature passed under the yacht's bottom. The rippling died away, and the second mate stepped to the side to see if it would rise again. Nothing showed in the blackness under her counter, but from down there came a peculiar scraping sound. It continued, and he peered over to see the cause. The raking stopped instantly. He remained quiet and it began again, a peculiar scraping as though something were scratching against the vessel's bilge.

Suddenly a sound of heavy breathing came from the water. Haskins started, drew himself down upon the rail and listened intently. Yes, he recognized it now, distinctly. It was the breathing of a man.

While he lay upon the rail listening, he was thinking rapidly. There were few men who would swim out in the bay at night, and there was none who would swim out there without some sinister object. He thought of the dockmaster and his talk of revenge, but he knew the dockmaster was not a diver. There could be only one or two men on the Florida Reefs for wrecking, and these men were among the crew of the _Sea-Horse_, the sloop in which he had been mate for the past season. Then he remembered a phantom-like shadow which had drifted past in the earlier hours of the evening, and he was satisfied he knew his man. It was the captain of the wrecking-sloop, and his object was plain to the diver. It was an old game, a game he had indulged in many times himself in the days gone by. He knew the long, desperate swims through the dangerous waters of West Indian and Florida reefs; the fierce struggle alongside to hold the body silent in a tideway while with hook and bar the wrecker worked at the oakum in the seams just a strake or two below the water-line; then the inrushing flood and settling ship, and daylight finding a panic-stricken captain and mutinous and half-dead crew with swollen arms and aching backs from a night's hopeless work at the pump-brakes. He could picture the approaching wrecking-sloop, with her apparently amazed crew and the vulture-like descent upon the soon-abandoned vessel whose only damage was really the working out of several pounds of oakum from seams which were manifestly improperly calked. Then the investigation and salvage, for even when the marks showed plain of either bar or hook, there was never the slightest evidence against the wrecker.

Bahama Bill knew the game well, and he smiled a little as he listened. Then he took off his cap with the gold braid and laid it upon the deck, and leaned far out over the side. Suddenly, through the darkness, he made out a face looking up at him from the water. There was nothing said. He recognized the captain of the _Sea-Horse_, and he knew him to be a man who seldom wasted words. There was only the long, hard scrutiny, the study of man's mind by man; each trying to fathom the other's thought, for the sudden resolve which always comes quickly to men of action.

While they gazed, a sudden noise from aft attracted attention. It was the surly mutterings of the drunken yacht-captain, who had come on deck for a breath of air. The sight of him annoyed the second mate. It caused a revulsion of feeling within him he could not understand. The responsibility of his position became apparent for the first time. Among his kind the rigid law of superiority and control had always obtained while afloat. Ashore it was different. There restraint was cast to the winds, and he had often been one of the wildest and most dangerous men in the seamen's resorts between Key West and Panama. Here the sight of the drunken captain made him quiet and thoughtful. Whatever relations he had intended should exist between himself and the wrecker, it was now plain to him that he was an officer holding a responsible position. It came to him suddenly at the sight of the incapable commander. He would maintain his dignity and responsibility.

This feeling was upon him before he was half aware of it, and he turned again to the man overside.

"Get away quick," he said, in a low tone.

The wrecker knew his meaning, and his resolve was taken. He would follow the game out. He had swum a full half-mile, and the stake he was playing for was high.

"It's a half share if you keep your mouth shut," said the wrecker. "I thought you had some sense."

"De dock-marshal tol' yo' I was heah," said Bill, "but he forgot to tell yo' I ain't de mate o' de _Sea-Horse_. Yo' clean side-stepped dat."

"If anything happens to me, the boys know you are aboard. Your friend the dockmaster saw to that. They burnt a nigger to the stake last week," said the wrecker, meaningly.

"Yo' better go ashore, Cap'n. I ain't de mate o' de _Sea-Horse_." His tone was low and measured, and it left no further room for argument.

The tipsy yacht-master had gone below again, gurgling the words of a ribald song. He had seen nothing. The deck was deserted by all save the second mate.

"Swim out," said Bill, decisively.

"Well, I'll rest a minute first," said the wrecker. He made his way forward and climbed upon the bobstay, the second mate going on the forecastle to watch him. The man on the lookout had not come from below yet, and the wrecker noticed it. He was furious at his former mate, and his hand felt instinctively for the knife in his belt. The Conch dared not hurt him, for the crew of the _Sea-Horse_ would surely make him pay the penalty if he did. A call to the men aboard would put an end to wrecking operations, but the giant disdained any help. He would settle the matter quietly, as was best, and the men of the wrecking-sloop would have no real cause for revenge. The second mate had no desire to make unnecessary trouble for himself. He would have to return some day for the reckoning.

The legs of the wrecker shone white below his trunks, and were in sharp contrast against the black water in which they were half submerged. The man was thinking quickly, and waiting a few seconds before making the desperate attack with his knife. Once rid of the mate, all would be clear for action. Haskins knew his man and suspected something, but he sat silent upon the knightheads and waited.

Suddenly he saw a long flaming streak in the water. The man on the bobstay swore furiously. There was a great splash, a hoarse cry, and the second mate was forward alone.

It was all so sudden, he had hardly time to realize its meaning. Then, as the man who had gone below rushed up, he seized his sheathed knife and plunged into the blackness ahead. A thrashing of the water to starboard located the wrecker, who had been seized by a dog-shark and was cutting and struggling wildly for liberty. His white legs, lying motionless and half submerged, had tempted the fish to strike. In motion and under water, the danger had been slight. Now the scavenger, who was about five feet long, had seized hold, and with its natural bulldog tenacity was pulling the wrecker steadily seaward in spite of his struggles. He had used his knife freely, for the fish made no attempt to draw him under. The small shark of the reef, for some reason, fights upon the surface, sinking only after all resistance is over. It was to this peculiarity that the wrecker owed his life.

The big mate, Haskins, knew what had happened. He knew also the chances, and he drove ahead through the black water, leaving a flaming wake behind. The man on lookout, thinking the black giant had gone mad, dived below with the news that he had plunged overboard and committed suicide. At first, Haskins could only make out a slight disturbance in the water, which was rapidly moving toward the entrance. Then, as his eyes, long used to sea-water, made out the dark lump which was his former captain's head, he half rose from the sea and with tremendous overhand strokes fairly lifted himself forward, his knife grasped with point in front. In a few moments he was up with the fracas. The wrecker saw him coming, and called out. He seized him, and then all three went below the surface with the force of the fish's tug.

Reaching along the wrecker's leg, Haskins drove his knife with force just behind the shark's jaw-socket. The blow abated the scavenger's zeal, and they arose to the surface. A second lunge and the fish let go and disappeared. Then the wrecker's body relaxed, and Haskins was swimming upon the quiet surface of the bay, holding the sinking head above water.

Far away, the dark outlines of Virginia Key showed, a low black lump on the horizon. Beyond it, the dull snore of the surf came over the water. A good hundred yards against the tide, the anchor-light of the yacht shone. It would be almost impossible to drag the insensible man to her, even should he dare. There was only one way out of the scrape, and Haskins with resolute mind saw it and began the struggle at once. He headed for the mouth of the river, where he knew the _Sea-Horse_ lay waiting, just behind the point.

On through the blackness he swam. The first mile seemed endless, and still the lifeless form of the wrecker dragged helplessly in his wake. Another, and his teeth were shut like a vise and his breath was panting loudly over the quiet water. He turned the point, and saw the loom of the _Sea-Horse_ as she rose at anchor beyond the shadow of the trees upon the banks.

Suddenly a man hailed in a low tone. The mate made no answer, but headed for the bobstays and grasped them. Then he rested. Half an hour later, the captain of the wrecker came to in his bunk and viewed his bandaged leg. A lamp burned dimly in the cabin, and he made out the form of the black mate lying in a bunk, snoring loudly. Several of the crew were sitting around waiting until he could give the details of the affair, and now they crowded forward. The plot was a failure owing to Haskins. He told of the huge mate's interference and of the stroke of the dog-shark. Then they burst forth with imprecations so loud that Haskins awoke. Knives glinted in the dim light and a half-dozen sinister faces formed a crescent above him, but he was very tired. He gazed for nearly a minute through half-closed lids at the threatening men. He thought he heard the captain calling weakly for the men to let him alone. What he had done for him was not entirely lost. Then he gave a snort of contempt and turned his back to them and slept.

Even the boldest held back. The conscious power of the man and his disdain for them all were too much even for the most desperate. They drew away sullenly and listened to their captain, and then as his words, whispered low, began to have effect, they left the cuddy. Silently they hoisted the mainsail and carefully drew in fathom after fathom of the cable. The jib was hoisted and the _Sea-Horse_ stood out and passed like a dark shadow from the harbour. As the sun rose and gave colour to the sea, the deep blue of the wind-broken surface told of the Gulf Stream. The land had disappeared astern.

In the early morning, the yacht-master put sail on the _Caliban_ and stood out for New York. He had a full crew lacking a second mate, and they carried the story North how they had shipped a black giant who had gone mad during the night and plunged to his death over the knightheads.

IV

Barnegat Macreary

"Put that fellow in the lee rigging and let him chuck the lead awhile," said Captain Sanders. "Sink me, but he is a queer one. Where did ye say he hailed from?"

"Hey, Peter, where did yo' hatch?" asked the big black mate in a voice deep and loud enough to be heard half a mile. The man he addressed was standing near the mast explaining to the wrecking crew gathered about him how he had once been quartermaster in a man-of-war. He looked aft at the hail.

"I'm from the Berhammers," said he.

"Born there?" asked the captain.

"No, I live on the Great Berhammer--I'm a sailor man, sir."

"Put him in the lee rigging an' let him sound across the Bank. If he knows half as much as he says he does, he'll see us across all right enough. It's getting mighty shoal now. Look at that nigger head pokin' up yander." And he pointed to a piece of coral that came within a few feet of the surface of the clear blue water. The bottom was plainly visible two fathoms below and the wrecking sloop, _Sea-Horse_, needed at least one to go clear with the rise and fall of the sea.

"Git to lor'ard there, quartermaster, an' heave the lead," bawled the mate, looking the man squarely in the eyes.

"But I shipped as a sailor----"

"Git thar quick an' sudden," roared the black giant, rising from the cuddy hatch coaming. He had heard the loud tone of the man forward telling his latest yarn.

A look of amazement and concern came over the face of the man from "Berhammer," but he hesitated no longer. Seizing the lead which lay always ready in a tub of line near the windlass, he made the lee side and hove it far ahead.

The _Sea-Horse_ was passing over the Great Bahama Bank near its extreme northern end, and at a part where even the mate had never been. She had stopped off the island a few hours before to take on the stranger for pilot and continue her way to a wreck reported on the eastern edge of the shoal water.

"Plenty o' water here," he yelled, as the lead-line came perpendicular.

"How much?" asked Sanders.

The man hove again.

"Not much water here," he cried, as the line suddenly stopped running out.

The mate started forward, looking over the side.

"Not much water here," called the man again.

There was a sudden jar, followed by a grinding, grating sound from below.