Part 3

Thereafter, the _Casco_ changed hands frequently, exploring the mysteries of seal-hunting, opium-smuggling, coast-trading and gold-adventure, among other things. In the early nineties, she was known, because of her swiftness, quickness and ease of handling at the wheel, to be the best of a hundred and twenty ships engaged in the extinction of the pelagic seal. But when, in 1898, the sealers found themselves impoverished by their own ruthlessness, the _Casco_, her decks disfigured with blood and her hold rotten from the drip of countless salty pelts, was discarded and left to rot on the mud flats of Victoria. Too much of the spirit of adventure, however, lurked in the tall masts of the _Casco_ to let her waste away to such an ugly ending. When the smuggling of Chinese and opium was at its height, up and down the coast there were whisperings of the daring work of the smuggler _Casco_. The revenue officers knew positively that she was laden with illicit Oriental cargo, and with Chinese immigrants; but she escaped them again and again, her old speed and lightness returning. Once, however, the wind failed her, and the revenue launch hauled alongside. Search for contraband was instituted; but not a Chinaman appeared, not a trace of opium. Fooled!--and they climbed down sheepishly into their launch. Later it developed that while the revenue men were still far astern, the crew had weighted the sixty Chinamen and dumped them overboard along with the opium!

From the swift romance of opium running the _Casco_ turned drudge. She carried junk between Victoria and Vancouver; she was a training ship for the Boy Sea Scouts of Vancouver; she was a coasting trader in 1917 when the shipping boom gave value to even her little hulk; and in between times she lay on mud flats.

In the spring of 1919 came the stories of gold in Northern Siberia. With high hopes of fortunes to be made, the Northern Mining and Trading Company sprang into existence, and the _Casco_ was chartered to dare the far Northern seas and icy gaps.

So she died at sea, as all good ships should, with the storm at her back and the mists over her, with snow as a shroud, and brooding icebergs to mourn. She lies cold and stately, with her memories of tropical splendor, high adventure, and light romance--this little ship whose cabin knew Stevenson.

PORTRAITS FROM STEVENSON

by

GEORGE STEELE SEYMOUR

TREASURE ISLAND

Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the treasure ship's a-sailing, The lure of life is calling us beyond the shining sea, The distant land of mystery her beauty is unveiling, And shall we then be lagging when there's work for you and me?

The pirate ship is on the main, Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, She flies the Jolly Roger and there's battle in her prow, Then shall we play the craven-heart and lurk ashore, Jim Hawkins, When fortune with a lavish turn is waiting for us now?

Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins, the pirate crew has landed, With guns and knives between their teeth they're stealing on the prey, Then let's afoot and follow them and catch them bloody-handed-- When life and joy are calling us, shall we bide long away? Jim Hawkins, Jim Hawkins!

ALAN BRECK

Is't you, Alan? You of the ready sword And nimble feet, and keen, courageous eye, Quick to affront, and yet more quick to spy Aught that might touch your own dear absent lord! Hero and clown! How it sets every chord Athrill to see your feathered hat draw nigh, And all your brave, fantastic finery! Romance no stranger picture doth afford.

For I have met you in the House of Fear, Have watched you cross the torrent of Glencoe And climbed with you the rugged mountain-side. We are old comrades, and I hold most dear This loyal friend and yet more loyal foe Who bore a kingly name with kingly pride.

ELLIS DUCKWORTH

Was there a rustle of the leafy bed? Heard you no footstep in the matted grass? Down the deep glade where fearsome shadows pass What is it lurks so still? What secret dread Troubles the tangled branches overhead? An ye be foe to this good man, alas! No art shall save you though ye walk in brass. Swift to your heart shall the Black Death be sped.

The woods are still--for that was years ago-- And now no baleful presence haunts the glade, No train-band rules the highway as of yore. Romance is dead. Adventure, too, lies low. Long in the grave is Duckworth's kingdom laid, And the black arrow speeds its way no more.

SAINT IVES

Viscomte, your health. Confusion to the foe. The noble lord your uncle--bless his name! And may your wicked captors die in shame. I kiss your hand; I kiss your forehead--so! The castle cliff is steep, but down below Both fortune and the lady Flora wait. Oh, you will meet them, I anticipate, Your hand upon your heart, and bowing low.

The stage-coach lumbers heavily tonight. Its wheels sound loudly on the stony flag. What's that! A chest of florins in the drag Gone! And the rascally postboy taken flight! Ah, well, God send him a dark night, and we ... Your health, Saint Ives, in sparkling Burgundy.

PRINCE FLORIZEL

Try these perfectos, gentlemen. The flavour I recommend. A smoke-royal. With white wines You'll find them fragrantest. That spicy savour Comes only in stock from the Isle of Pines. Here are cigarettes, Turkish and Egyptian, Such as no other merchant has to sell, And Trichinopoly of the same description I smoked when I was called Prince Florizel.

That was before I stooped to trade plebeian, Left my exalted home and wandered far, Emptied my plate at danger's feast Protean, Beside the well of wisdom broke my jar. Till Louis looked from out the empyrean And in the dust of Mayfair found a star.

THE EBB TIDE

Green palm-tops bending low by silent seas Like heads in prayer-- Life's turmoil nor its multiplicities Are there.

But only calms and potencies hold sway That will not be denied, Come with the surge of dawn and drift away With the ebb tide.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Lescaris was a Greek shepherd who discovered the secret of transmuting the baser metals to fine gold.

[B] Paua--Native name for the Tridacna Gigus, a huge clam. When it closes on any one, his only escape is by losing the limb.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been standardized.

End of Project Gutenberg's Stevenson at Manasquan, by Charlotte Eaton