Part 8

For half an hour the men aboard the wrecking-vessel worked heaving cargo overboard, and, as they went along, the long line of tiny specks marked their wake.

"Corks," said Flanagan; "I thought so."

"They better hurry up," said the preacher; "the cutter's rising fast." As he spoke, he looked toward the steamer, which was now coming along in plain view, her hull rising slowly above the horizon, and her funnel pouring out a black cloud, which hung over the sea.

"They'll get caught fair enough. Half an hour, an' the officers'll be aboard."

"Well, they won't find anything. They'll never see them corks--she's already heading out to get them clear of the wake. When they catch her, she'll be an innocent sponger--an' we'll----"

They looked at each other and smiled.

An hour later the _Sea-Horse_ and revenue-cutter were upon the northern horizon heading into Biscayne, and the keepers were lowering their boats.

It is an unwritten law of the reef that a man may steal as much as he can from the United States, but he must not touch property belonging to an individual. A smuggler is not by any means a common thief.

Flanagan's ideas were different. He held that it was well to steal whenever the opportunity offered without danger of getting caught; and upon this principle he had little difficulty in converting his pious assistant, whose thirst had not been slaked for three full months.

Together they loaded three of the kegs into the boats by simply pulling up the fishing-lines whose ends were floated by beer-bottle corks.

The lines anchoring the kegs were lying upon the bottom in six fathoms of water, out of sight, and the small cotton cords were amply strong enough to raise them. Once getting a grip of the anchoring-lines, they had no difficulty in hauling the liquor aboard their whale-boats.

The temptation to sample the goods was so strong that they desisted after the third keg, and made straight away for the lighthouse to enjoy the plunder. They could come back again and get the rest at their leisure, for the corks would be in plain view during the calm weather.

What transpired at the lighthouse during the next three days is somewhat hazy. No light appeared at night, and the Key West steamer almost ran ashore on her trip south. She reported the light out, and the tender was despatched to see what had happened.

The day was clear and bright, and the keepers were on the lookout, seeing the steamer when fully fifteen miles away. Their liquor was promptly put out of sight, and everything made snug to receive the inspector.

While there were evidences of drink in the faces of the men, they showed a properly kept light, and swore solemnly that they had not left the tower, and that the light had not failed at all.

They mildly suggested that the captain of the Key steamer may have been in a highly reprehensible condition to have accused two perfectly sober and diligent light-keepers of neglect of duty.

The pious one broke forth in prayer and exhortation for the delivery of deluded pilots from the wiles of the devil, and soon the inspector was glad to go aboard his vessel to return to Key West.

The _Sea-Horse_, having been searched at Miami and found to be clear of contraband, was allowed to go her way. She stood out to sea, and headed down the Hawk's Channel just as the keepers lit the lantern for the evening watch. Black Flanagan was just sober enough to do this, and then turn in to continue his debauch with a pannikin of rum at his bed.

The _Sea-Horse_ anchored near the light and waited for daylight to pick up the floats.

In the gray of early morning the black mate turned out the crew, leaving the captain below, and, taking the small boat, put off.

It was calm, and the corks were plainly visible. They were promptly hauled aboard, and the sunken kegs stowed until the end of the line was reached.

Here the mate found three floats missing, and, being in a suspicious frame of mind, he looked toward the light, which was still burning, although the rays of the rising sun were colouring the eastern horizon a rosy hue.

"They've got 'em, all right," said he. "If we're quick enough, we might catch 'em--give way hard."

The small boat with three men was headed for the tower; and the _Sea-Horse_, with her captain now thoroughly awake, lay by for developments.

The big mate lost no time gaining the tower. It was broad day now, and Flanagan had just staggered up the steps into the lantern when the small boat arrived alongside the piles below.

In his befuddled state Flanagan saw nothing, until, after putting the light out, he came stumbling back again. He arrived in the lower room just in time to see the black head and shoulders of the mate emerging upward through the trap-door in the floor.

The mate was not in a good humour; moreover, he had turned out early without eating his breakfast, and his great black head and giant arms seemed supernatural in both vindictiveness and size.

Flanagan thought he had taken too much, and that the horrors were upon him at last. With a yell, he launched himself upon the seaman, taking him at a disadvantage, and endeavoured to smash him back into the void below.

But the mate was strong. He had come to the light expecting trouble. With a mighty effort he forced the keeper upward, and, amid a fierce snarling and threshing about, he soon engaged in a desperate struggle.

The "howler," hearing the uproar, sprang to the rescue, and joined in the fray just as the sailors, following their trusty mate, climbed through the door. In less than five minutes the keepers were lashed fast, and were being lowered down through the door into the waiting boat below.

What remained of their spoil was also found and lowered after them; and in the bright light of the tropic sunrise the _Sea-Horse_ put to sea, leaving the great tower of the Carysfort light to the westward.

For nearly a week no light was shown from the tower. Strangely enough, no one reported the light out.

The sixth day a sponger, sailing past at dark, noticed the absence of light, and went to the tower to see what was wrong.

He found it deserted, and, being a very poor man, he made his boat fast to the piles and took possession, enjoying the fare and taking care of the lantern in proper style for several days.

All might have gone well with him for several months, but for the fact that the supply-steamer was due, and arrived before he thought it time to make a getaway.

Finding the keepers missing, and no account made for them by the inhabitant, the officers promptly accused him of murdering them, and forthwith took him aboard the vessel to be carried ashore and tried. He was promptly convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to imprisonment for life.

Meanwhile, the _Sea-Horse_, having made the Bahamas, put the thieving keepers ashore to shift for themselves. After vainly trying to get passage back to their home, they finally managed to get a small boat and put to sea, to make the two hundred miles or more to the lighthouse.

They had been absent more than a month, and they arrived at Carysfort one sunny morning in time to see the two new keepers who had been appointed in their place take their whale-boat and start fishing along the reef to the northward of the tower.

Seizing the opportunity, they promptly gained the lighthouse and climbed into the landing, dropping the trap-door fast behind them.

The new keepers, seeing the strangers in possession of the tower, hailed them lustily, and started back to inquire their business.

For answer Flanagan leaned over the railing and gazed calmly down upon them with a quizzical look.

"What d'ye want?" inquired the tall keeper, in response to a hail.

"What are you doing in that light?" asked the new keeper.

"I am the keeper, and when you address me say 'sir,'" roared the tall man in stentorian tones. "Tie that boat to the spiles and git away from here, or I'll fall on top o' ye."

But the new keepers were not made of easy stuff. They gained the lower landing, and held forth under threats and persuasion for a day and a half, when the "howler," getting tired of their proximity, began attacking them with hot water and other missiles, which he hove or dropped from the platform above.

The new keepers could not get up, but they determined that the men above should not get down, and they built a bomb-proof shelter to protect themselves until help should arrive.

After two days, they finally gave it up and started for Miami, where they arrived and reported the state of affairs.

The inspector came along, but found the two worthies sober, and attending strictly to their duties.

They explained how they had been attacked by a huge smuggling vessel bound for the North, and how, after a desperate fight, they finally had been overpowered, taken forcibly from their abode in the light, where they had been attending to their duties, and put ashore in the Bahamas.

They described how, after a tremendous exertion, they had managed to get back again, only to find two strangers in possession of the tower. Naturally, they treated them as trespassers and took charge. The light had been kept regularly ever since, and they had no fault to find with the job.

After listening to their tale, there was nothing to do but to leave them to their duties, for nothing could be found against them.

Their absence from the light would have enabled the inspector to give them their discharge, but they could prove they had not left of their own accord. The forepart of their story would necessarily remain in the dark, for they would not talk of it, and the crew of the _Sea-Horse_ would rather have it kept quiet. Besides, it would be more than useless to try to find the vessel from their description. The tender steamed away for Miami to inform the authorities of the existence of the keepers.

"Virtue is usually triumphant," said the inspector to the judge, who ordered the release of the convicted prisoner. "But in this case there seems to be an exception."

"There are exceptions to every rule," quoted the judge wisely. "Light-keepers are rare birds--trouble will probably not happen again--I would therefore sentence them to life imprisonment in--well, I reckon there is no worse place than the Carysfort light."

"I don't know but what you are right," said the inspector.

VIII

The Trimming of Mr. Dunn

Mrs. Dunn sat under the awning stretched over the quarter-deck of the yacht _Sayonara_ lying in the stream, off the government coal-dock, at Key West. It was winter, but the air was warm, and white linen duck was the most comfortable clothing. Even the six men who composed the crew of the trim little schooner showed nothing but white in their garments, save the black silk ties knotted rakishly, drawing together their wide sailor-collars. Phenix Dunn was a broker, a gambler in the productions of others, and because of this he was wealthy. He had bought and sold certain commodities known as stocks, and they had proved profitable--so profitable that he had decided to take a few months away from the excitement of the game and buy a yacht and cruise.

Mrs. Dunn was something of a beauty. That is, many men thought so. Some women differed in opinions, especially those women whom she counted as her friends. Anyhow, she possessed a dashing air, a figure beyond criticism, and clothes that made Phenix say many bad words when the bills came in. Also she had a disposition the gentle side of which had not been overdeveloped. She was not quarrelsome. Far from it. She had plenty of tact and ability, but the absence of children and household cares had given her more time than necessary for the contemplation of self, and this had not been satisfying. She worked it off by dint of much outdoor exercise.

Dunn joined her at the taffrail and flung himself into a chair with a show of wrath. Something had gone wrong, as it always does upon yachts of any size where the owner is not used to the sea or its peculiar people.

"The steward is gone, the cook is going, and here we are a thousand miles from anywhere at all--anywhere at all, I say; and the commandant of the yard will be aboard to-morrow with not less than twenty officers and their wives. What'll we do about it?" he rapped out.

"Why do you ask me?--I'm not good at riddles," answered his wife lazily.

"Well, we've got to take on a couple of blacks--niggers they call 'em here--and I don't like the idea of it. I've no use for 'em. What I want is Japanese servants. Japanese are good. Good fighters make good servants. You don't want a servant to think, and a good fighter never thinks. If he did he would see something else besides glory in walking up to a man with a gun. The Japs do that--and they are good servants. I don't want any of these black people aboard this vessel."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," grumbled Dunn, "but when in doubt, take a drink--I'll go and get one."

While he was below, a dingy-looking vessel came slowly in the northwest channel. She was a heavily built sloop, and upon her deck lounged a rather numerous crew. They were picturesque, half-clothed in nondescript rags, their bare arms and shoulders seeming impervious to the rays of the torrid sunshine, for along the Florida reef, even in winter, the sun is burning.

The craft dropped anchor about twenty fathoms astern of the yacht, and when Dunn came from below, bringing with him an odour of gin and bitters, the crew of the sloop regarded him silently.

"Hello, a wrecker!" exclaimed Dunn.

His sailing-master had come to the taffrail and was gazing at the stranger, while Mrs. Dunn, careless of nautical neighbours, read her magazine.

"Yes, seems like one of the wreckers," said Captain Smart; "an ugly-looking crew, for a fact. They say these spongers divide their time between wrecking and smuggling. Not that either's bad if indulged in moderately, but they are apt to get loose after awhile and do queer things."

"There ought to be plenty of good in a wrecker, if he plied his trade right--ought to save lives and property," said Dunn. "Let's have a look through the glass."

The men of the wrecking-sloop gazed back insolently at the yachtsman, and a giant black man among them rose up, placed his fingers in line, and applied the thumb of one hand to his big, flat nose, wiggling his huge digits in derision.

"That fellow is a corker," said Dunn, watching the wrecker good-humouredly.

"He's a big one, all right," assented Smart, "and I reckon they don't like us looking so hard at 'em."

"Lower a boat and send over for that fellow--I want him," said Dunn.

The captain looked at him for a moment. "I go ashore for Miss Marion Harsha in a few minutes," he said. "Mrs. Dunn gave the order. If you say so, I'll let the gig go for the wrecker afterward--go myself in her."

The yacht skipper was about forty, and slightly grizzled, his tanned face lined from work and exposure in more than one hard-run merchant vessel. But he made a rather good-looking yacht captain when dressed in his blue broadcloth coat with gold-braided cuffs, white duck trousers, and white canvas shoes. His cap bore the flag of Mr. Dunn upon its front, and was the only badge of dependence about him.

"All right, go ahead when you're ready; I'm in no hurry," said the owner. "Only I want to see that big nigger who was insolent enough to poke his fingers at me. Seems like he'd make a good man aboard here--steward, maybe, or even cook, if he knows how to do the work. They say these Southern darkies know how to cook like a French chef--and maybe his wife takes in washing. Get him, bring him in--there's some one waving on the dock now."

"Bring the gig to the starboard gangway," ordered Smart; and two men swung into her from the boom-end and dropped her aft. In a moment the captain was on his way to the dock.

Miss Harsha was young, stout, pug-nosed, and short-haired, but she dressed well and swung her parasol daintily as she walked down the dock end beside a uniformed marine officer from the yard. At the landing-steps the officer assisted her into the gig, talking so interestedly that she failed to notice the yacht captain until he took her hand and helped her into the cushions in the stern-sheets. She suddenly dropped his hand, started, and stared at him a moment.

"You--you--what are you doing here?" she stammered.

"I'm to bring you aboard--Mrs. Dunn's orders," said Smart.

"Er--yes, I suppose so. Oh, good-bye, Major Simson, we'll see you to-morrow; you must come aboard, you know. Nice little boat--so different from a ship, and Miss Jennings will be there. Good-bye."

The officer bowed low, waved his helmet, and started back as the small boat pulled away.

"I thought you were still aboard the liner--the _Ampersand_," said Miss Harsha casually, as she edged away to give the captain room to steer.

"No, I left the next voyage. I was taught that a ship's officer was not in the class I supposed him to be."

"Please don't," interrupted the girl. "You know, or ought to know, the difference between a common sailor--a mate of a transatlantic steamer--and a naval officer. I hoped to spare your feelings, but you would not listen to me. I am the daughter of a naval officer. You are very little different from Mr. Dunn's butler, socially speaking. You wear his livery----"

"A very pretty uniform it is," suggested the skipper, interrupting and smiling complacently at her.

"You must pardon me if I hurt your feelings, but it seems necessary for me to make myself plainly understood----"

"Oh, I understand you thoroughly," said Captain Smart gently. "You are away above me--high up. I know I'm only a sailor. So was my father. But I'm not a bit ashamed of it. I work for my living. I have no kind Uncle Sam to provide for me that I may loaf about in white duck and seek diversion among the fairer sex. You'll excuse me if I cannot hold a poorer opinion of myself than I do of many of those who wear the country's livery and draw pay for it. They are mostly good fellows--but there are others."

"But you won't understand. It isn't that. It's the--well, we won't discuss it any further. I know you are too much of a man to make me uncomfortable aboard the yacht. If you do, I shall have to speak to Mr. Dunn."

Captain Smart chuckled softly. He seemed to enjoy the situation very much, but he said no more, for the men rowing were beginning to listen to the conversation. He swung the boat alongside with precision, and assisted the girl up the companion.

Aboard the wrecker the crew watched these proceedings with interest. The big mate bit off a piece of tobacco and settled himself comfortably in the sun upon the deck, with his head just above the rail.

"Here comes the boat for us," grinned Captain Sanders, poking his head out of the cuddy. The rest grinned silently in turn.

Captain Smart came alongside, and the big mate rose to a sitting position at the rail, squirting a stream of tobacco over the side, barely missing the gig.

"Mr. Dunn, the owner of the _Sayonara_, would like to see you aboard the schooner," said Smart, addressing the black.

"What fur?" growled the giant.

"Oh, he has some business, I suppose--will you come?"

Sanders winked at his mate, and a Dutchman named Heldron nudged him in the ribs.

"Sho', I'll come," said the mate.

"Me, too," said Sanders, winking hard at the rest. "I'm the captain of the wreckin'-sloop _Sea-Horse_, an' it's no more'n proper for me to pay my respect to his nibs. This here little black boy"--pointing to the black giant--"is my first officer. They calls him Bahama Bill. He's a bad man to call out o' his name."

Bahama Bill frowned and his ugly face leered for a moment at the crew on deck. Then he swung easily over the side and dropped with a crash into the small boat. Some of the men sniggered, but Sanders gave them a look and followed.

"Shove off," said Smart, and in a moment the gig was heading for the yacht.

Upon the deck of the schooner the captain and mate of the _Sea-Horse_ seemed slightly out of place, but Bahama Bill swaggered aft with an air that had little retirement or modesty about it, and his skipper followed behind him.

The giant mate was much amused by the immaculate decks, the new rigging, and, above all, the spotless clothes of the crew. He knew a good ship, and this toy, this playship of the rich Northerner was much to his liking, for the _Sayonara_ was strongly built and had much valuable material in her building.

Dunn was sitting under the awning aft when the visitors were announced. Sanders, hat in hand, stood awkwardly smiling and smirking at the ladies, but his mate cocked his cap over his ear and leered savagely at the owner.

"You sent fur us, cap--an' here we is," said he.

Dunn had been watching them for several seconds.

"Yes, yes, my good man, I wanted to see you," he said. "Do you know of any one who wants a job cooking aboard here? I heard there were some good sea-cooks knocking about these keys, perhaps you're one--what?"

"Does I look like a cook?" said Bahama Bill, staring at him.

"Most certainly not, but appearances are sometimes deceptive. Maybe you know of one--what?"

"I does," said Bill.

"Can you get him aboard here to-day?" asked Dunn.

"I cayn't--nussur. I cayn't."

"Why not? I'll give good pay--fifty dollars. Steady job, if they make good."

"Well, de onliest good cook I knows is 'Scrappy Jule,' dey calls her----"

"Oh, no, she won't do; we don't want any disrep----"

"She's my wife," went on Bill, with a smoothness in his tone that made his captain smile broader than ever, "an' don't reckon she'll come abo'd no boat onless hit's me dat takes her."

"Perhaps she'll do some washing for us, then?"

Bill stared at the yachtsman for nearly a minute, and the smile died away from Sanders' face.

"Look here, yo' white man, did yo' send fur us to come ober heah to listen to a lot ob nonsense?" said Bill solemnly. "What yo' takes me fur, anyhow? We comes ober to take a drink an' pass de time o' day like ship's officer, an' yo' begins wid a lot o' foolishness 'bout cooks an' washerwomen. What yo' reckon I am?"

"Good heavens! Captain Smart, come here a minute," called Mr. Dunn, while the two ladies who were near enough to hear the last part of the conversation sat staring at the wreckers in amazement.

"Take these men forward and give 'em liquor," said Dunn, as his skipper came aft, "and then send them back aboard their craft. They won't suit us."

"You men come with me," said Smart, motioning to Sanders and Bahama Bill. His tone was quiet, but there was no mistaking its meaning. He had seen enough of them, and would put them back aboard their craft. He had known from the first that it was a mistake to have brought them. They were a rough, independent type who respected no one, a type that had furnished the worst class of buccaneers and pirates some generations before. The West Indies had been infested with them for years, and these wreckers, the descendants of the wild seamen of the Spanish Main, were not the kind of men for a yacht.

Bahama Bill glared sourly at the men forward as he made his way to the gangway followed by Sanders.

"I don't drink with no such po' white men as yo'," said the giant. "Yo' kin put me back abo'd the _Sea-Horse_--sorry I came."

"I'll take a pull afore I go," put in Sanders. "Bring out yer pizen an' let's have a try at it. I seen more onsociable fellers than your owner--but I can't quite call to mind jest where."

"You ought to know yachtsmen, captain," said Smart. "There's a difference between them and seamen. I'll drink with you, if you don't mind."

"Naw, yer needn't. I don't want nothin' more to do with yer--see? I drinks alone."

Smart took a bottle of liquor from the boy, who had brought it from the cabin and poured a tumblerful, handing it to Sanders.

"Drink, and make your getaway," he said.

Sanders tossed off the glassful, and looked hard at him.