Part 12

So conditioned, physically, mentally, and morally, the cumulative effect of the vicarious suffering of each brought them to the murder mind when, at nineteen, they fell in love with the same maiden. The episode need only be mentioned. They made love in the same way, and the maiden repulsed each with the same catholic impartiality. Neither might have won her alone; but both thought so, and in the furious battle with fists, stones, and clubs that followed they received injuries which, with the stepfatherly horse-whipping that came to them, laid them up for a week. Had they been endowed with a sense of humor, or had they been separated long enough to acquire one, they might have been spared the soul-consuming malignancy that now possessed them; as it was, each rose from bed while hardly able to walk, and, resolved to get away from the other, ran away from home, stowing away in the same ship, a three-skysail yarder bound to Sydney.

These things I learned from the maiden referred to, whose father commanded the big ship, and from later inquiry in their native village. From now on, however, they were more or less under my immediate attention; for I was second mate of that ship.

Mr. Butterell, the first mate, hauled Bill out of the paint locker about the same time that I found Tom in the lazarette, and we brought the two together under the break of the poop for the captain's inspection and decision. It was plain from their faces as they eyed each other that neither had expected to find the other on board; but, after glaring at each other for a moment, they assumed a moody indifference, which left them only for an instant when a low voice on the poop above said, "Why, Papa! The Landon boys!"

I was surprised myself--though agreeably so--for I did not know that Mabel was to make the voyage with us, and, looking up to where she stood with her father, I received a nod and a smile.

A little here, in parenthesis, about myself. I was twenty-four, and had sailed four voyages with Captain Merwin, the last two as second mate, mainly to keep in touch with this girl who, as a child of fourteen, had been my shipmate on the first. And because of this I felt a secret disappointment that the captain had not signed me first mate on this occasion instead of second; for I had entertained a youthful hope and ambition to present myself to her as her father's first officer when we met again. But the highly efficient, handsome, and self-confident Mr. Butterell had forestalled me in this; though I did not dream at the time that he would also forestall me with Mabel, or that the two loutish stowaways had attempted to.

They were tall, well built, and with a look of crafty intelligence in their faces, which, with their embarrassment and their ill-fitting clothes, bespoke the village loafer. Only by these clothes could they be told apart. They were exactly alike, each with the same red hair, high cheekbones, and squinting green eyes, and each chewed tobacco and spat on the deck in a way to bring disapproval to the face of the gray old skipper.

"You are stowaways," he said, "and, as my daughter informs me, brothers, from my own home town. Why have you done this?"

"To get away from him," grunted Tom, jerking his thumb toward Bill. "I hate him like so much pizen."

"And you?" asked the skipper of Bill.

"I didn't know I'd find him here," answered Bill with a vindictive squint at Tom, "or I wouldn't ha' come."

"Twin brothers," commented the captain, "and on bad terms! Well, you will have little time to quarrel aboard this ship, and plenty of time to make friends. It is too late to get rid of you; so you must work. Put them in separate watches, Mr. Butterell."

"Yes, sir," answered Mr. Butterell, reaching for Bill. "I choose you," he added, as his grip closed on Bill's collar. Then he swung him at arm's length aft toward the poop then forward with all his strength, hurling him, rolling and scrambling wildly, fully thirty feet along the deck. Then, with a quick, self-satisfied smirk up at those on the poop, he repeated the feat upon Tom.

Now a few words about Mr. Butterell. He was, all in all, the most efficient executive officer I had ever sailed with. He knew his business, from knotting a rope yarn up to masting a ship. In shortening sail he could get canvas in as though it obeyed an intelligent knowledge of his wish; but it was really because of his wonderful voice and vocabulary. He never missed or repeated an order, and could send his words against a gale from the poop to the weather fore earing as distinctly and articulately as he would read off morning sights to the skipper.

Unlike myself, a graduate of the schoolship St. Mary, he had worked his way up from the forecastle; yet he had mastered more of navigation than do most merchant skippers, and could figure great circle sailing and take star and lunar sights. Besides, as I learned on further association with him, he possessed a conversational power rare in seafaring men, but developed in him by wide reading and wide-open eyes. Added to this, he had the build and strength of a giant, the agility of a panther, the fistic skill of a prize-fighter--and the vanity of a spoiled child.

He seemed unable to perform the most commonplace action without a half-involuntary and quick look around to notice some possible token of approval, and in the absence of his social or professional equals would seek it from the men, even from the Chinese cook. And with this weakness was allied another, still more incompatible with his assured mental and physical strength--an active hatred for the class of men from which he had risen. It was the first of these that had prompted that quick smirk toward the poop, and the second that impelled him to follow the two human projectiles and, with kicks, clouts, and forceful language, hasten their progress forward.

It was nearly four bells of the first dog-watch, or, more explicitly, about ten minutes to six in the evening, of the first day out, and though the watches had not yet been chosen half the crew had gone to supper at three bells, when the day's work was done, and now, having finished, had struggled out of the forecastle lighting their pipes. Also the captain, his daughter, and Mr. Butterell had eaten supper; but the rest of the men and myself would not have ours until four bells. Hence, for the time, all hands were on deck to witness the breaking in of the stowaways.

I could see no approval in the faces of the men as they watched the brutal spectacle, and in Mabel's, as I glanced upward, I saw horror and fright; but in Captain Merwin's face was nothing to indicate approval or disapproval. My own, however, must have reflected the strong disgust that I felt; for the captain, seizing his daughter's arm, said, "Come, Mabel," and led her aft.

"Afraid," I muttered bitterly, "to antagonize his fancy first mate!" For Captain Merwin was a kindly man, and I had often heard him correct his officers for assaulting the men.

The exhibition of prowess went merrily on, Mr. Butterell using the helpless youths like billiard balls, knocking one against the other and frequently making a carom against the rail. But at the main hatch, after a peculiarly successful fist play in which both brothers struck the rail and clung to it, Mr. Butterell turned his head quickly, looked aft with the smirking expectancy of his face, and, finding the audience for which he had performed no longer at the break of the poop, gave over the play, and started aft with his face as sober as my own.

And before he had taken three steps one of the brothers--I could not tell which at the distance--wrenched an iron belaying pin from the rail and hurled it at his head. It missed; but continued on a flat trajectory to the cabin, from which it rebounded after making an inch dent and whirled forward again and over the lee rail. Had Mr. Butterell's head stopped it, he would never have moved or spoken again.

He wheeled when the pin whizzed by him, and with a bound put himself between the two and the forecastle; for each had turned forward.

"Who threw that belaying pin?" he said quietly but menacingly.

"He throwed it; I didn't," answered one, pointing to the other.

"He lies!" retorted the accused one. "He throwed it himself."

"I lie, do I?"

"Yes, you lie!"

And then they were at each other's throats. Forgetting the common enemy, they clenched tightly and whirled about the deck, bending this way and that, striving to trip each other, striking with short uppercuts, and even attempting to bite. But at this the interested men forward crowed aft with sober faces, and Mr. Butterell, sensing their mood, stepped jauntily past the fighters and came aft with an amused smile on his face. Before he reached my vicinity I saw the men part the two and lead them forward.

"Did you," said Mr. Butterell to me, his smile leaving him as he looked at me, "did you, I say, see which one threw that pin?"

"I saw it thrown, sir," I answered; "but I could not tell which one threw it."

"And wouldn't tell me if you could!" he sneered. "I can see that in your face."

"Mr. Butterell," I said as calmly as was possible, "if I knew which one threw it, I should tell you; for their unbrotherly conduct just now destroyed what sympathy I may have felt for them."

"Sympathy for them!" he exploded. And now I knew the animus of his heckling of me--his audience was again looking down at us. "Sympathy for them!" He shook one finger under my nose. "Now I'll tell you, young fellow," he continued, "before we go any further, that I'm first mate of this craft and I'll dictate the sympathies of any man under me!"

"And I'm second," I retorted hotly, "with a right to sympathize with whom I like! And take your hand away from my face, Mr. Butterell!"

* * * * *

Let me forestall any sympathy I may have aroused for myself. I am not the hero of this story. There is a heroine, but no hero; for neither the mild-natured Captain Merwin, half hypnotized by the dashing Mr. Butterell into a surrender of his principles, Mr. Butterell, actuated by the cheapest motives of vanity and self-love, nor myself, embittered by disappointment, jealousy, and other unworthy emotions--none of us, I say, acted a heroic part from beginning to end. Mr. Butterell took his hand away from my face, as I had demanded; but it became a fist and came back.

I parried the blow and struck back at his face; but it was like parrying a battering ram and striking a stone wall. It was the only blow I struck in that fight, if fight it may be called. He was larger, heavier, and quicker than myself, and soon I felt his fist crashing between my eyes, and my world went out in a blinding flash of light. I came to in a few moments, I think, and found myself in the lee scuppers with Mabel bending over me, her face all sympathy and kindliness. I could barely see it between my closing eyelids; but could also see Mr. Butterell standing up to windward with Captain Merwin, laughingly explaining his code of ethics. "Yes, sir," he was saying. "I consider that there's less difference between your second mate and the dubs I kicked forward than between myself and a captain. That goes, Captain Merwin, or you can put me aboard the first inbound ship!"

I struggled to my feet and, pushing past Mabel, approached the two as the captain answered, "Yes, yes, Mr. Butterell, I understand; but I am sorry, very sorry. I had hoped--I hope there will be no more fighting."

"No, sir," I broke in rather insanely, "there'll be no more fighting with fists, I promise you that. But let me say to you, sir," I faced Mr. Butterell, "that there's less difference between you and a dead man than there is between you and a captain. If you ever strike me again, I'll kill you, if I have to knife you through your window while you are asleep."

Then, as though it were a deathknell, four bells struck at the wheel.

I spoke loudly in my rage, and pain, and blindness--for I could not see them now--and I know my words rang through the ship from end to end, and must have been heard by the listening crew, for a few responsive whoops came from forward. But also came a shivery "Oh, oh!" from Mabel, and stern words from the captain.

"Tut, tut, Mr. Rogers!" he said. "That will do! You are setting a bad example to the men. Go to your room, bathe your eyes, and get your supper. If you cannot stand watch at eight bells, I will stand watch for you; but no more of this talk of killing! I did not think it of you!"

And, to the sound of Mr. Butterell's soft, derisive chuckling, he half led, half pushed me into the companion to my room on the starboard side of the passage. With the exception of the log desk in the mate's room, the two apartments were similar, each with a window looking out on the main deck, and another, over the berth opening into the alley. I could not eat, and as I crawled blindly into the berth, like a bad boy sent supperless to bed, and opened the window to let air in on my fevered face, I could not help thinking how easy it would be to carry out my threat. In imagination I did so; but I was not yet sane.

While few men pass through life without at least one sound thrashing from schoolmate or fellow man, still fewer, I think, receive that thrashing under such peculiarly humiliating conditions as those attending mine, and fewer yet, at my age, know that vengeance, properly disregarded, will take care of itself. So I fumed through the dog-watch, listening to the hateful sound of the mate's voice--now chatting with Mabel, again raised in a roaring behest to the men--and to the still more hateful sound of Mabel's musical laughter at his sallies, until seven bells, when he called the men to the pumps, which, whether the ship leaks or not, are manned at this time of day. Then the captain came with the steward, prescribed remedies from the medicine chest, and gave me such fatherly, grieved, and reprehensive admonishment as to irritate me past all silence and endurance.

"Look out, sir," I said at last, "that you don't get yours!"

"What do you mean, sir?" he asked sternly as he drew back from me. "Do you threaten me, Mr. Rogers?"

"No, captain, I do not," I answered. "I mean that he has practically threatened you. I heard him claim equality with you in your presence, after picking this quarrel with me and then likening me to the stowaways. I am your second mate. He will treat you the same, sir, when it suits him."

"Nonsense, young man!"

"No nonsense about it, captain!" I raved. "There'll be trouble aboard this ship yet, trouble that'll be none o' my making. Why didn't you ship a Bengal tiger and be done with it? You could ha' got one cheaper than a mate's pay for the passage."

"I begin to think you resent my shipping any kind of mate, except yourself."

"Or why didn't you go to a drygoods store, if you wanted a ladykiller to fool your daughter," I continued, forgetting the "sir" in my anger and jealousy.

"My daughter? What do you mean, sir, by such reference to my daughter?"

"Oh, haven't you caught on yet, Captain Merwin?" I asked, as recklessly and sarcastically as an unlicked schoolboy. "Not twelve hours on board, and he not only knocks me out, but makes love over my window to the girl I've worked and waited for since I saw her as a child. What d'you s'pose, captain, that I've stuck to this ship for? To have everything taken by him, and then remain satisfied? Well, I s'pose I'll have to be satisfied. He's evidently just the kind of man she likes. Some women prefer a brute to a man."

I paused for lack of breath, and Captain Merwin remained silent for a moment or two; then he said quietly, "You are unfit to talk or to think, much less to work. I will choose your men and stand your watch until you are well. Meanwhile, go to sleep. I will apprise my daughter of your opinion of her."

But as he left my room I felt that he would not need to. Through my open window came Mr. Butterell's gleeful snicker and the soft murmur of Mabel's voice as they moved away.

I was able to see in three days, and returned to duty, first offering to Captain Merwin from my cooler and saner viewpoint an apology for my manner, which he graciously accepted. But I made no apology to Mr. Butterell, nor even a withdrawal of my threat, preferring to let it hang over him as a possible deterrent. As it was a "watch and watch" ship, we met only at eight bells, to report the course, distance run, and the happenings of the last four hours, so that our strained relations did not matter. And that these relations should not suffer further straining, Captain Merwin, seeing me hopeless, decreed that the mate's log desk be placed in the passage between our rooms, so that I could enter up the log slate at the end of my watch without trespassing upon his atmosphere.

As for Mabel, she had partaken of my blindness; she did not see me, even when she looked at me. But this gave me a larger opportunity to look at her, a dismal pleasure which I enjoyed to the utmost.

I cannot describe in detail the peculiar grace, and charm, and beauty with which this girl appealed to me. All men know, and all men at some time in their lives invest some one woman with such attributes, which, perhaps, others cannot see. As a child, with yellow hair and sea-blue eyes, Mabel Merwin had seemed to me a creature lent from Heaven to lead me upward; now matured to perfect womanhood, her sea-blue eyes the same, but her hair darkened to a golden bronze and her creamy complexion to an orange tint by sun and wind, she was more than ever one of another world, unable to descend to my own. For mine was a world of outer and under darkness, of watch and worry, of work and dirt, of profane, hateful, jealous, and murderous thought which, without knowing it, I shared with the twin brothers. I could understand the baleful glitter in their eyes when they looked at the mate; but, uninformed at the time, nothing of the hungry adoration with which they regarded the girl.

They were in separate watches, slept in separate forecastles, and did not meet except in the dog-watches, when the crew--an exceptionally fine and well-behaved body of men--policed them and kept them from fighting. In other respects they did well. Poorly educated, yet they were splendid material from which to develop the hardy, enduring deep-water sailor, and they advanced rapidly.

Tom was in my watch, and received some tutelage from me; but I am positive that Bill, in the other watch, got nothing from the mate but kicks, cuffs, and abuse. Yet he seemed to absorb something from his own brother; for, side by side, yet without speaking, they acquired proficiency; until, when each knew the ropes, could box the compass, steer, and go aloft to a skysail the captain called them aft, complimented them, and placed them on the articles under pay. Then they steered a regular trick, and drew clothing from the slop chest--also sheath knives, which every skipper will deny to a bad crew and accord to a good; for, worn outside all clothing, they are the handiest tools aboard ship. Tom and Bill wore theirs as proudly as the ablest seaman we had. But, with clothing alike, it was harder than ever to tell them apart.

We were now down off the Cape and had begun the long eastering on the fortieth parallel. Captain Merwin, as was usual with him when his officers and crew had settled into place, had retired to his world of books and study, leaving, except the working out of morning sights, the navigation, and the handling of the ship, to the mate. Also, it seemed, he had left to him the welfare of his daughter; for Mr. Butterell devoted to her all the time he could spare from his work, and would even remain up in his watch below to talk with her.

As for her, she seemed to enjoy his society, would talk with him by the hour, watch him with interest as he would stand at the break of the poop bellowing orders to the men, and respond to his inevitable smirk with the sweetest of smiles. She gave me never a look, and, as the captain seldom spoke to me now, and the mate not at all except in the way of work, my sense of isolation had so grown upon me that I resolved this passage would be my last with Captain Merwin.

In this rebellious mood I lay smoking in my berth one second dog-watch, waiting for eight bells and listening to the mate's sallies and Mabel's laughter through the open window of my room, and to an occasional sharp word of command to Bill, who, at the wheel, was making hard work of steering. Though it was southern summer and warm, a half-gale blew from the starboard quarter, and this, with the following sea, would have taxed the powers of a better helmsman than Bill. But, instead of sending such a better man to relieve Bill, Mr. Butterell chose to heckle the poor greenhorn until, as I could see by ranging the clouds through my window, the ship was yawing frightfully, two points each side of her course, and in danger of broaching to or going by the lee. Some skippers and mates never learn that bad steering is not improved by criticism, and when eight bells struck I went on deck, angry and disgusted with the purblind bully.

I found the ship staggering along under an unnecessary and unwise press of after canvas, the mate still berating Bill, who was desperately heaving on the wheel, and Mabel seated in a deck chair on the weather, or starboard, quarter. Following me along the lee alley came the twin brother Tom to relieve Bill at the wheel; but before allowing him to take the spokes I steadied the ship myself. Then I relinquished the spokes to Tom and turned officially to relieve the mate.

But he had other matters on his mind. Collaring Bill before he could give the course to his brother, he hurled him violently against the lee quarter rail, then followed and drove him, with kicks and punches, forward along the alley.

"Now, then, you long-jawed farmer," he shouted to the cowering man, "up aloft wi' you! Up the lee rigging you go, and over the lee futtock rigging, to the upper topsail yard, and out the lee yardarm! Hear me? The lee upper topsail yardarm, where you keep a lookout till four bells."

"Yes, sir," answered Bill in a curious throaty voice as he scrambled into the rigging.

"And when the bells strike, you answer them, d'you hear? You sing out, 'One bell--all's well! Two bells--all's well!' and so on. Hear?"

"I hear," snarled Bill, "and by Gawd I'll have your life for this!"

Mr. Butterell's life for a second time had been threatened on board that ship, and there was an explosiveness in the words, "I'll have your life for this!" that indicated their sincerity. Then followed a volley of village billingsgate as Bill made the hard climb on the slackened rigging, and Mabel rose from her seat; but the mate's answer silenced Bill, and she resumed it.

"Here!" he said, picking up Bill's knife, which had evidently jolted out of its sheath in the fracas. "This is what you want? I'll put it right here, on the house over my window. You can knife me when I'm asleep, and save your friend the trouble." Then he placed the knife carefully within the covering board of the house, and came aft with his smirk, strongly visible in the moonlight.

I was standing beside Tom watching his steering--for he was getting as nervous over it as his brother--and directly in front of Mabel's chair. But I was not yet in charge of the deck.

"Mr. Butterell," said the girl calmly as he approached, "I must ask you not to arouse the men to such language as I have just been compelled to listen to. I am not accustomed to it."

The smirk left his face and it took on a scowl as he realized my presence. "Why, Miss Merwin," he stammered. "I didn't suppose--"

"That is all, Mr. Butterell!" she interrupted. "I do not care to argue."

"Course due east," he growled, turning to me.

"Due east, sir," I answered.