Part 10

Gantline stood irresolute a moment, looking at their shivering forms. Then he glanced sharply at the man on watch, who walked in the port gangway. It was too dark to see him distinctly, so trusting that he in turn had seen nothing of what had occurred forward, he started aft. The two figures I had noticed a few minutes before had now disappeared.

“Keep quiet,” I said to the naked men, whose teeth chattered in the cool night air. “Lie flat on deck until he comes back and perhaps we can do something. Haste! Not a word!”

The man Mike was about to make some reply, but at that moment the fellow on watch came close to the edge of the forecastle. I stepped quickly in front of the man, and in doing so trod on a projecting foot which cracked horribly, and, twisting, brought me down in a heap upon them. A deep groan told of the damage done, but I instantly regained myself and began to hum a song in a low bass voice.

The man on the main-deck stopped a moment and looked hard at me, but it was so dark he could see but little and my singing reassured him, so he turned again and went off.

In a short time Gantline returned with a bundle.

“Now, bear a hand there, you men, and put these clothes on in a quarter less no time,” he whispered. “Come, hurry up,” and he passed a shirt and a pair of dungaree trousers to each.

“Och! he has broken me toe clane off,” groaned Mike, slipping on the garments. His companion dressed rapidly in silence.

“Now then, up you go, both of you, into the foretop, and lie out of sight till we get to sea, and if I see a hair of your heads inside the next twenty-four hours I’ll turn you both over on the beach. Here, take a nip apiece before you go,” and he passed a small bottle to the man Collins.

The poor fellow’s eyes sparkled as he thrust the neck of it into his thick beard and tilted his head back in order to let the liquor have free way down his throat. Gantline suddenly jerked it out of his hand and passed it to the Irishman, who put it to his lips, gave a grunt of disgust, and threw the empty bottle over the side.

“Now wait till you see me go aft with the watch, and then aloft with you,” said Gantline, as he left us.

When he reached the man he started off with him to the quarter-deck, and as they disappeared together over the break of the poop the men crawled for the rigging. They were so weak from their exertions that it seemed as if they would never get over the futtock-shrouds, but finally the man Collins gained the top, and dragged his companion after him. Then I went into the forward cabin and took what salt-junk was left and carried it aloft before Gantline returned. By the time I reached the deck he had started forward again and joined me on the forecastle. His seamed and lined face wore an anxious look as he took his place beside me and acted as if nothing had happened to seriously interrupt our former conversation. We sat a few moments discussing our stowaways and then went aft to get a little sleep before clearing.

I turned in and lay awake thinking of the men in the foretop, hoping nothing would occur to make it necessary for more than one man to go aloft there. The sails were all loosed except the foreroyal, and this I would go aloft for myself.

It was past midnight before I lost consciousness, and it seemed almost instantly afterwards Gantline poked his head in my doorway and announced, “Eight bells, sir.” I turned out and found it was still dark, but a faint light in the east told of the approaching day. The men were getting their coffee from the galley, and the steward was on his way to the cabin with three large steaming cups for the skipper and passengers. A light air was ruffling the water and the tide was setting seaward, so if nothing unusual happened we would soon be standing out. The dark outlines of the Blanco Encalada began to take more definite shape, but all was quiet on board of her.

By the time the men finished their coffee Zachary Green came on deck, and then he gave the order to “heave short.”

In a few moments all was noise and bustle on the forecastle-head. The clanking of the windlass mingling with the hoarse cries of “Ho! the roarin’ river!” and “Heave down, Bullies,” broke the stillness of the quiet harbor.

“Anchor’s short, sir!” roared Gantline’s stentorian voice from the starboard cathead. This was followed by an order to sheet home the topsails. In a few minutes we broke clear and swung off to starboard with the fore-and main-yards aback. Then we came around and stood out with the ebb-tide, the light breeze sending us along with good steering way.

In a short time we hauled our wind around the point, and, with everything drawing fore and aft to the puffs that came over the highlands, we started to make our offing, leaving the Blanco Encalada with her brass-work shining in the first rays of the rising sun. We had gone clear without mishap, but although we were making six knots an hour off the land, we knew the breeze would not hold after the sun rose. As we expected, it fell before the men had finished breakfast, and we lay becalmed a few miles off shore on a sea of oily smoothness.

The passengers came on deck to take a last look at the harbor astern, and their voices sounded pleasant to the ear as they held forth on the beauties of a morning in the South Pacific.

These passengers were both clerical-looking men, and were fair types of the missionaries who live on the islands of the South Sea. They had engaged passage to the States more than a week before we sailed, and since then were almost inseparable. Their clothes were of some dark material, much alike in cut, but their faces and head-gear were in marked contrast.

The younger one had a smooth, sallow face, without a sign of beard, and wore a low black hat with a broad rim. The other looked to be ten years older, apparently a little over fifty. His face was as brown as a sailor’s and an enormous beard covered it almost to the eyes, which sparkled merrily from under an old slouch hat. His hair was also long, and his figure was of gigantic build.

“I was speaking to those poor fellows in the prison there only yesterday,” the younger one was saying, as I came aft, “and I did my best to cheer them, but they were both much set against spiritual consolation; and the one, McManus, stole my pocket-knife with its saw blade, which I used to carry to cut cocoanuts.”

“How do you know it was he who took it? Might not you have lost it?” asked the big man, with a smile.

“Do you suppose I would bear false witness against any man?” replied the younger, in a tone of reproach. “I noticed he came close to me while I was praying for him, and felt his hand touch me, but did not know my loss until after I left the prison. It will do him little good, however, as he and his companion in crime are to be shot this morning. It is probably just as well, for I know that those sailor men are a wicked lot and much given to wine, women, and desperate deeds.”

“Ah!” said the big man in a deep voice, “it is probably true; but you are rather severe on sailor-men, for all that. These sailors are an intelligent lot for the most part. And think you, dear friend, that there is probably not one who would not rather marry a sweet, good woman and live a pleasant and pious life, even as we ourselves do. We do this because we have money to maintain our positions; but the sailor has our feelings and longings without the means to gratify them, and, as he is intelligent enough to see that his life is hopeless, he gets as much pleasure out of it as possible and hesitates not at a desperate deed for gain.”

“Charity is very good and noble, but it gives me great pain to hear you express such unsound views as that. If it were not for the many noble deeds you have done for the islanders, I should be tempted to shun you as a recreant I trust you only jest, but it is even ill to jest on such subjects,” answered the younger, with a flushed face and a voice vibrating with suppressed feeling.

The big man made no answer to this, but suddenly called his companion’s attention to several large “alberco” which had followed the ship until she lay becalmed, and then plunged and jumped like so many porpoises in the wake. We drifted slowly all the morning, and about noon the sea-breeze set in from the southward and sent us along at a comfortable rate. Nothing occurred to make it necessary for a man to go aloft in the foretop, and those who had gone up the main and mizzen in the early morning had noticed nothing unusual. The platform in the top was as large as that in a full-rigged ship, so the men who were hiding were not visible from the deck as long as they lay flat on their backs or faces.

Gantline had decided to tell the skipper the whole affair of the night before, but the old man was in such a bad humor that the mate delayed telling him until the prospect of a serious burst of anger was less apparent.

The day wore on and the bark held steadily on to the westward, making from eight to ten knots an hour. After supper the skipper came on deck with his passengers and they were soon joined by Miss Green. They sat aft around the taffrail and chatted, the men smoking and very much at their ease.

Miss Green was of an extremely religious disposition, but it was easy to see that it was not entirely the devoutness of the younger passenger that attracted her to him. There was a mysterious power about the man that was apparent to any one after being an hour in his company. Something in his deep, vibrating voice, when he was talking, appeared to hold the attention, and I, more than once, looked at him as he sat next to the skipper’s daughter, holding forth on matters of the church.

Zachary Green was still in a bad humor because of his low freight money, and it was evident that he would ease his pent-up feelings on some one. He had listened to the talk of the missionaries with ill-concealed contempt, whenever they fell to discussing their ecclesiastical affairs, and now he asked the younger abruptly when he was to return.

“Ah,” replied he, “I shall return as soon as possible, for my flock will get along poorly without me. I have converted many chiefs, who wrangle among themselves, as has also my friend here.”

The skipper turned with a look of disdain at the big-bearded man who appeared to understand the implied interrogation and hastened to answer. “It is true, I have converted many to the Christian faith,” he said, in a low voice, “but I shall not return to the islands of the Pacific, for I think there is a better field nearer home. Not that I believe my labors wasted, for the converted natives never stole anything but ammunition and utensils, while the others stole everything from me they could lay hand to. Not that the effort was entirely vain, I say, but that better work can be done among our own people, such as sailors, for instance.”

“Eh! What’s that?” growled Zachary Green, as he listened to the last part of this sentence. “What do you mean by sailors?” and his eyes flashed ominously.

“Why, go among them, and see that they get the proper books in the libraries sent out on vessels for them to read, for instance.”

“Now, by Gorry! you are talking some sense. Instead of whining around among a lot of good-for-nothing niggers, like your friend here, you’ll really do something if you follow that up. Yes, sir, if you’ll only put something in these libraries besides ‘Two Years before the Mast,’ Bible dictionaries, and the like, and get some police reports nicely bound, along with some yarns like ‘Davy Crockett,’ you’ll be a blessing to sailors, and skippers, too, for that matter. No, sir, don’t play fool with those islanders any further. They were all right before they ever saw a Christian, and they’ve been all wrong ever since. Hang it, you talk like a man of sense, after all, and I hope what I’ve said won’t be lost on you.” And as he finished his peroration he stood up and looked astern.

“Hello!”

Before the astonished missionaries could say a word the skipper started for his glasses, and, seizing them, he looked steadily at a faint trail of smoke which rose above the horizon directly in the vessel’s wake.

“Now, by Gorry! That’s strange,” he muttered. “There’s no steamer bound out to-day, and yet that fellow seems to be standing right after us.”

“Mr. Gantline!” he called, as he turned towards where the mate stood. “Go aloft with the glass and see if you can make out that fellow astern of us.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Gantline. And he took the skipper’s glass and made his way leisurely up the main-ratlines.

From the lower top he could see nothing but a black funnel and masts without yards, so he went higher. On reaching the cross-trees he looked forward, and there, lying prone on their stomachs, were the two hiding men. Their eyes were straining at the vessel astern, and even if Gantline had not already made out who she was, one look at those faces would have told him. He came on deck and returned the skipper’s glasses without a word, and then started forward, but Zachary Green stopped him.

“Could you make her out?” he asked.

“Well, there isn’t much of her rising yet, but I suppose she’s the Blanco Encalada,” he answered.

“Seems to me it is hardly time for her to put to sea,” growled the skipper, “and she’s heading almost the same course as we are. It is generally the way with you, though, after you get ashore on the beach, and it will take a week to soak the liquor out of you so you can see enough to know a downhaul from a clew-line.” And the old man turned back to his passengers.

Before two bells in the first watch that evening it was blowing half a gale to the southward out of a clear sky, and the old bark flew along on her course with everything drawing below and aloft.

There was no sea running, so she heaved over and drove along at a rate that bade fair to keep the Blanco below the horizon for several hours. As it grew late the air became quite chilly, and the skipper went below with his passengers.

The moon rose and shone with great brilliancy, so that our towering main-skysail must have been visible a long distance, while the foam flaked and surged from the vessel’s black hull as white as a mass of liquid silver. All night we drove along with nothing visible astern, and at daylight the hull of the steamer was still below the horizon. At seven bells Zachary Green came on deck.

“Name o’ thunder! What’s he after?” he growled, as he gazed astern. “By Gorry! It is the Blanco, after all, Gantline; but what makes him hold on like this? We are going to the westward of Juan Fernandez, and that is more than a hundred miles out of his course.”

The mate made no answer, but went on with his work overseeing the washing down of the quarter-deck. “It’s just like those Dagoes to go running all over the Southern Ocean for no other purpose than to wear out their gear and burn coal,” continued the skipper. “If this wind keeps slacking up, he ought to be abreast of us before noon, though I never knew this old hooker to send the suds behind her at the rate she’s been doing all night. Breakfast! did you say? Well, steward, just give those sky-pilots a chance to shake off the odor of sanctity they’ve slept in and put on their natural one of hypocrisy and gin-and-bitters. Pshaw! there’s lots lazier men than missionaries in the world, though I can’t call to mind exactly where I’ve seen them. Mr. Gantline, you may let her head a point more to the north’ard.” Saying this, the skipper took a last look at the approaching steamer and then disappeared down the companion-way.

Although the vessel still raced along at a rate that sent the foam flying from her sharp clipper bows, she was no longer doing her utmost, and the Blanco rose rapidly in her wake with the black smoke pouring from her funnel.

Suddenly, while Gantline was watching her, she appeared to be enveloped in a white cloud of steam. Then there was a sharp, shrieking rush as something tore its way through the air close to the main-top-gallant-yard, and struck the smooth sea almost half a mile ahead, followed by the sullen boom of a heavy rifled gun.

The rush of the shot brought Captain Green on deck, closely followed by his passengers.

“Gorry! what’s the matter?” he bawled, as he rushed to the taffrail, while the younger passenger, who had followed close at his heels, smiled grimly.

The Blanco came driving heavily along a couple of miles astern. She was rapidly drawing up.

“Wants us to heave to, I suppose,” growled Gantline, and he eyed the skipper suspiciously.

“Man alive!” roared Green, “why in the name of thunder don’t you do it, then, before he cuts the spars out of us? Fore-and main-royals, there, quick! Let go by the run. Main-clew-garnets--all hands!” And the skipper bounded onto the poop and cast off everything he could lay hands on.

The bark was soon luffed and her main-yards backed. Then the Blanco came abreast, and all hands had a chance to look into the muzzles of her ten-inch rifles, which were trained towards us. A swarm of men crowded the deck of the ironclad while a boat shot out from her side and approached us rapidly, with a short, thick-set man in uniform sitting in the stern-sheets.

Zachary Green stood at the break of the poop, scowling at him as he swung himself lightly into the mizzen-channels and leaped onto the quarter-deck, followed by six men. Hardly had he done so when the younger of our two passengers drew a heavy revolver from somewhere about his back and fired point-blank at this officer.

The Chilian was in the act of drawing his sword and the hilt was across his breast at that instant. The bullet intended for him struck the hilt and flattened on the brass. The next instant there was a rapid fusillade, the six Chilians firing together, and the passenger with a six-shooting revolver in each hand, backing away behind a cloud of smoke.

It was all over in half a minute. Three of the blue-jackets were dead and their officer badly hurt when the firing ceased. The passenger tossed his empty pistols over the side and staggered aft, and not one of the survivors dared follow him. He gained the after companion-way, and as he did so the figure of the captain’s daughter appeared on deck. I could see her face pale as she caught the look in the passenger’s eyes, but she said no word. He went to her, kissed her lightly, and passed on to the starboard taffrail. The Chilians now recovered themselves and rushed for him. He climbed over with difficulty, but did not hesitate. Then he plunged headlong into the sea before any one could seize him; and as we rushed to the side we could see his body sink slowly down into the green depths until it finally vanished.

The skipper, Gantline, and the big missionary stood looking on in amazement, and then the wounded officer turned towards them.

“That was Señor José Huaticara; of course you did not know.” And he nodded to the skipper. Then the dead were placed in the boat, while a tourniquet was passed around the officer’s leg to stop the flow of blood until he could reach his ship. In a few moments he and his men were on their way back to the Blanco.

Zachary Green stood staring after them without a word. The name of the dead desperado was too well known to him to protest against the manner he was treated while on an American ship, but he desired some explanation.

The Blanco dipped her colors, and he came to his senses. “Hard up the wheel, there!” he bawled. “Stand by the lee-brace!” and the bark paid off again on her course.

The ironclad headed away to the northward and in a few minutes was a couple of miles away on the starboard quarter.

“I met him only a week ago,” explained the big missionary, in answer to the skipper’s look, “and I thought, of course, he was what he claimed to be.”

Zachary Green give a grunt of disgust and went aft.

“Mr. Gantline,” said he, as he met the mate, “are there any more missionaries aboard this ship, for if there are we will put them ashore on Mas-á-Fuera.”

“There are two more,” answered Gantline, looking the skipper in the eyes.

“Show them to me,” said the skipper.

Gantline went forward and looked aloft.

“Come down from there!” he bawled, and two lean figures stood in the foretop and then painfully descended the ratlines before the astonished gaze of the crew.

When they gained the deck they followed the mate aft to Zachary Green, who stared at them in amazement.

“We are off soundings and that fellow has no right to board me,” he said, “but if you belong to that José gang, I’ll signal for him to come back for you.”

“Faith, an’ if we did, Captain Green, it isn’t such a crowd av cutthroats as ye seem to belave,” said McManus. “The fact is we’re just broke away from bein’ shot fer no more than th’ carryin’ av a few Remingtons. I see ye remember me, so for th’ sake av auld times ye better give us a passage to th’ States an’ not make Crusoes av us on the Fernandez.”

Zachary Green looked at Gantline.

“It’s the truth,” said the mate.

“Truth be hanged! Who says it’s the truth? I’ll----”

At that moment a slight figure appeared at the companion-way, and the next instant Miss Green seized her father’s arm. He turned roughly, but there was something in the poor girl’s face that made him look to her. She led him below, and the escaped men stood staring after her.

“You fellows can turn to with the men forward,” said Gantline. And they went.

A little later Zachary Green came on deck again and stood looking silently over the bright Pacific. He stood there by the taffrail looking long at the eastern horizon. No one approached or spoke to him, for all knew Captain Green when his mind was full of unpleasant memories.

_A BLUNDER_

About three o’clock in the morning Garnett slid back the hatch-slide and bawled, “Cape Horn, sir!”

Captain Green was asleep, but the news brought him to his feet in an instant, and stopping just long enough to complete his toilet, which consisted of gulping down four fingers of stiff grog, he sprang up the companion-way and was on deck.

It was broad daylight, although the wind had shifted to the northward and brought with it a thick haze which partly obscured the light of the rising sun. Some miles away on the weather-beam rose a rocky hump, showing dimly through the mist; but its peculiar shape, not unlike that of a camel lying down with its head to the westward, told plainly that it was the dreaded Cape. Beyond it lay Tierra del Fuego, now almost invisible, and past it swept the high-rolling seas of the Antarctic Drift.

Captain Green stood blinking and winking in the crisp air of the early morning as Garnett walked up. It was January and daylight twenty hours out of twenty-four, but it was cold and the morning watch was a cheerless one. The old mate came up and pointed to the northward.

“It’s the Cape, I make it, though it don’t show up mighty high. We’ve been holding on like this most of my watch, but it’s been getting a dirty look to the west’ard,” and as he spoke he leaned over the weather-rail and spat into the foam, which drifted past at the rate of six knots an hour.

“It’s the Cape, right enough,” said Zack Green; “and if we can hold on a few hours longer we ought to weather the Ramirez and get clear. How’s she heading now?”

“Sou’west b’ sought,” answered the man at the wheel.

“Well,” said Green, “there’s almost four points easterly variation here, so that brings her head a little to the s’uth’ard of west b’ south. Let her go up all she will, Mr. Garnett, and call me when we make the Ramirez. I don’t believe much in that drift; it’s all in that big easterly variation. Watch the maint’gallant-sail if it begins to come down sharp from the north’ard,” and as he finished speaking the skipper disappeared down the companion-way.

Garnett sniffed the air hungrily as the odor of stiff grog disappeared also.