Part 8

Day after day life grew quieter on board the Northern Light. There was no help for it. And while life grew quieter, so likewise did Jimmy Breeze, the skipper. He was just “losing his tone,” as Mr. McCloud expressed it. He sometimes burst forth at odd moments, but the presence of his stewardess usually ended the flare into deep mutterings.

One morning he came on the poop and joined his passengers.

“There’s no use denyin’ it,” he said, “cussin’s wrong, and that young gurl shan’t be exposed to it no more. She’s a-tryin’ not to mind the rough words; but, sink me, any one can tell how they effects her, young and innercent as she is. Things is goin’ much better this v’yage, and blast me if I allows any d--d swab to shoot off his bazoo in my hearing. No, sir; if there’s any cussin’ to be done, I’ll do it. Yes, sir, I’ll do it; and I’ll whang the lights out of any d--d junk-eating son of a sea-cook aboard here I catches,--an’ I don’t make no exceptions for passengers.”

Here he glared at Mr. O’Hara, but that gentleman appeared absorbed in the weather-leach of the main-top-sail.

“An’ I don’t make no exceptions for passengers,” repeated the skipper, still glaring at the small and inoffensive O’Hara, who stared vacantly aloft. Then the skipper went aft to the wheel and noted the ship’s course.

Within another week after this speech of Captain Breeze’s a change had come over the ship’s company almost equal to that which had physically come over Mr. Garnett, whose long, flowing jet-black mustaches had now given place to a natural growth of stubbly, grizzly beard and whiskers. But of course the change of ships’ morals did not cause as much comment after the skipper had repeated his remarks in regard to swearing to the mates. Mr. Garnett’s private affairs were always of a nature that caused inquisitive and evil-disposed persons much interest, whereas the ship’s company interested no one, unless it was the stewardess.

As there was war on the West Coast of South America between Chile and Peru, the Northern Light carried her specie in the captain’s safe, as drafts and exchanges were difficult to negotiate. Captain Breeze was a careful and determined skipper and he had the confidence of the owners. He was a bachelor, but he debauched in moderation,--that is, in moderation for a deep-water sailor. Therefore it was something over ten thousand dollars in negotiable form that he carried in the small steel safe lashed to the deck beside his capacious bunk.

On the days he opened his “slop-chest” to sell nigger-head tobacco which cost him seven cents a pound for ninety, and shoes which cost him thirty cents a pair for two dollars and a half, he took pride in opening the steel doors and displaying his wealth to the stupid gaze of the men. The men were not forced to pay the prices he asked for his stores, but it was a case of monopoly. They could go without tobacco or shoes for all he cared. When they had done so for a short time they usually accepted matters as they were and signed on for both at any price he had the hardihood to demand. Oil-skins and sou’westers usually took a whole month’s pay, but that was no affair of his. If the men wished to go wet they could do so. He had no fear that they would attempt to crack his safe or steal his stores, for behind the safe and within easy reach of his strong hand stood his Winchester rifle loaded full of cartridges.

Mr. McCloud and Mr. O’Hara often had the pleasure of viewing the ship’s wealth, for there were occasions when the skipper’s temper was sufficiently mellow to allow them in his room that they might marvel at his power. He seldom failed to impress them. When the Northern Light had crossed the line he had impressed them into such a state of high respect for himself, and had subdued their own spirits so far, that he actually began to make their acquaintance. He would now hold conversation with them, but always in a tone of immeasurable and hopeless superiority. During this period the moral tone of the crew had likewise risen accordingly.

Garnett marvelled greatly during his watch below, and at night when on deck he could be seen walking to and fro in the light of the tropic moon, mopping the dent in his bald head and sniffing hard at his little vial. The change was dreadful to the old sailor’s nerves.

Mr. Enlis went about his duties silently, muttering strange sounds when things went wrong. The skipper’s promise to “whang the lights out” of any one caught swearing had had its effect.

One warm morning, after breakfast, the skipper invited McCloud and O’Hara below to try some beer. This feeling of good fellowship, starting as it did under impressive surroundings, developed into one of real confidence within a very short time. Mr. O’Hara had pronounced the hot, flat beer the best he had ever tasted, and McCloud had affirmed without an oath that he told nothing but the truth.

“Th’ only wan av all th’ saints that cud come within a mile av it,” said O’Hara, “is that paragin av goodness and all the virtues, me own old woman, Molly. She kin make beer.”

“Ah, the blessings of a good lassie!” said McCloud, holding his mug at arm’s length. “Captain, ye have me pity, fra I weel ken ye need it, being as ye are a puir lonely sailor-man. I drink to ye, sir, with much feeling----”

“An’ hope as ye will not be always be sich,” interrupted O’Hara.

Jimmy Breeze sat silent and sullen upon his safe, glaring at his passengers over the rim of his mug each time he raised it to his lips. At the end of the sixth measure he dashed the mug upon the deck and swore loudly for nearly a minute, and his guests were wondering what had happened.

“I’ll not be any d--d sich any longer!” he roared. “I’ve stood it long enough, s’help me.”

O’Hara put down his mug and edged towards the cabin door, and McCloud was in the act of following his example when Breeze sprang forward and locked it, putting the key in his pocket.

“Sit down, you swabs, and give me your advice. You can’t leave here till you do; so take your time and lay me a straight course.”

“What’s--what’s the matter?” gasped O’Hara.

The skipper seated himself on top of his safe.

“It’s like this,” he said. “Here I’m bound for the West Coast in cargo and passengers, likely to be at sea four months or more, and here I am bound to get married even if I have to run the bleeding hooker clear back to Rio to have it done.”

“Whew!” said McCloud.

“Whew!” said O’Hara.

“What I wants is advice. Shall I lay a course back to the Brazils and cross the hawse of some shaved-headed priest, or put into the river Plate and have her own kind of sky-pilot do the job? She lays she won’t have no shave-head splice her, and it’s a good three weeks’ run to the river, to say nothing of the danger of the Pompero this time o’ year. Ain’t there any way to make her ’bout ship an’ head her on the right tack, or have I got to be slanting about this d--d ocean until I get to be an old man?”

“What wud ye loike us to do?” asked O’Hara.

“Do!” roared Breeze. “If I knew, do you suppose I’d ask you? I’d make you do it so infernal quick you----”

“Or whang yer lights out, ye insolent man,” said McCloud, turning upon him.

“Well, well, I’m no priest,” said the repentant O’Hara.

“No more ye ken, Mickey, me boy; na is it the likes o’ you as will be o’ service in this case. Now, ye know, Mickey, I knows law, and I always have told ye the skipper of a vessel is a law to himself. Ain’t that be the truth, sir?” he asked, turning to the captain.

Captain Breeze nodded.

“That being the case, I know a skipper can marry people, perform religious worship, and do all manner o’ things aboard ships off soundings, as the saying is.”

The skipper nodded encouragingly from the safe.

“That being the case,” says I, “there’s no reason or being or state as can keep him fra marrying this minute if--if he wants to.”

“I know that all right,” said Breeze; “but who’s to marry me?”

“I don’t happen to be able to guess the leddie’s name,” said McCloud.

“D--n the lady! Who’s to marry me? That’s what I want to know,” roared the skipper.

“Why, the leddie will marry you, and you will marry the leddie to yourself, I presume. We are both married, O’Hara and me.”

The skipper sat glaring at his passengers, while he repeatedly damned the lady, the priests, the passengers, and all else connected with the affair.

“You infernal cross-checkered sea-lawyer, how can I marry myself? How can I marry myself and the girl too? Answer me that, sir,” and he glared at McCloud.

“Sure, ’tis aisy enough, a little bit av a thing loike that, sur,” said O’Hara. “Mac is right, an’ he has the lure strong an’ fast in his books foreninst th’ state-room.”

“I’ll get the law and read it to ye so ye may ken it, ye hard-headed sailor-man,” said McCloud, somewhat ruffled, and he started for the door. The skipper unlocked it and let him out, holding O’Hara as hostage against his return.

In a few minutes McCloud came back with several leather-covered books, and, seating himself, opened one of them and began his search for authority.

“Here it is,” he said, at length, while the skipper sat and looked curiously at him. “Here’s law for ye, an’ good law at that. Just as binding as any law ever writ.”

O’Hara nodded at the skipper and smiled an “I told you so.”

Jimmy Breeze came over to his passenger and looked over his shoulder sheepishly. McCloud read, “And therefore be it enacted, that all such masters of vessels when upon the high seas on voyages lasting one month or more shall have authority to perform such services upon such members of the ship’s company as they may see fit; provided that notice of the consent of the contracting parties has been previously given, etc.”

“Wal, I swow!” said Breeze, after a short pause.

“Get married first,” suggested O’Hara, draining one of the mugs.

“Sink me if I don’t pull off the affair before eight bells, and if I find your infernal book is wrong, blast me if I don’t ram the insides of its law down your throat and whang your hide off with the leather cover,” said the skipper, hopefully.

“’Tis good, rale good lure,” muttered O’Hara, looking for more beer. “Who’s th’ leddy?”

Although no one had mentioned the name of the fair stewardess for fear of precipitating an outburst on the part of the skipper, no doubt was felt by the passengers that she was the object of the skipper’s affections. His contempt for the O’Haras in general precluded the possibility of a match with either of the young ladies of that prosperous family. Besides, they both had pug-noses and were exceedingly well freckled. The beauty of Miss Carrie had long been observed to have had its effect upon Captain Breeze; so his answer to O’Hara’s apparently hopeful question caused the latter little real disappointment, although he may have had secret ambitions.

“Seems to me ye might give the lassie some notion of your hurry, especially if it’s going to happen so soon. The puir child na kens your purpose, no doubt,” said McCloud.

“Faith, I think ye right, Mac. I gave th’ owld gal nigh six months tu git ready in----”

“Six thunder!” growled Breeze. “I mean to get married afore eight bells, at high noon, according to good English law, and if you fellows want to help you can get your wives and darters to bear a hand.” They went into the saloon, where they found Carrie fixing the table for dinner.

The skipper hitched up his trousers impressively while his passengers stood at either hand.

“Carrie,” said he, solemnly, “we’ll stand by to tack ship at seven bells,--an’--an’--and after that we’ll make the rest of the voyage in company. Hey? How does that strike you, my girl?”

“Mercy! What a man you are, Captain Breeze!” said Carrie, blushing crimson. “Sure it’s sort of sudden like.”

“You’ll have half an hour to get ready in,” said the skipper.

“Plenty of time,” chimed in McCloud.

“An’ an aisy toime iver afterwards as th’ capt’in’s leddy,” said O’Hara, with dignity.

“But who’s to marry us?” asked the maiden, shyly, glancing at the skipper.

“I’m to marry you,” said Jimmy Breeze. “It’s law and it’s all right. I’m master of this here hooker, and what I says goes aboard, or ashore either, for that matter. It’s put down in that yaller book, an’ it’s law.”

“Land sakes! I never could, Captain Breeze,--really, now, not before these people,--I never could in the world.” And Carrie blushed furiously.

“You passed your word last night, so I holds you in honor bound,” said Breeze, with great fervor. “You have half an hour, so I leaves you.” And he drew himself up and strode to the companion, and so up on the main-deck out of sight.

McCloud and O’Hara, seeing danger ahead, strove with all the power of their persuasive tongues to get the fair girl to listen to reason, or rather law. She was stubborn on the point, however, and the female portion of the O’Hara faction, together with Mrs. McCloud, was brought to bear. These ladies, after expressing their modest astonishment at the skipper’s unseemly haste, immediately, however, vied with each other to argue in his behalf. They were so persuasive in their appeals, and so adroit in painting the picture of Miss Carrie’s future happiness, that in less than a quarter of an hour that refractory young lady gave way in a flood of tears. After this she hastily prepared herself for the ordeal by reading over the marriage service with Miss O’Hara, and things looked propitious for the skipper.

At seven bells that truculent commander promptly put in an appearance, dressed in a tight-fitting coat and cap with gold braid. He was followed below by Mr. Enlis, who looked uncertain and sour. After a short preliminary speech the skipper called the blushing bride to his side as he stood at the head of the cabin table. The book lay open before him, and without further ado he plunged boldly into the marriage service, answering for himself in the most matter-of-fact manner possible. He placed a small gold ring upon the middle finger of his bride’s right hand, which she dexterously removed and transferred to her left, and after the ceremony was over he glared around at the assembled company as if inviting criticism.

No one had the hardihood to venture upon any. Then the paper which was to do duty as certificate was drawn up by the clerky McCloud and was duly signed by all present. It was afterwards transferred to the skipper’s safe. Whiskey and water was produced for the men and ale for the ladies, and before long even the sour mate was heard holding forth in full career by the envious Mr. Garnett, who was forced to stand watch while his superiors enjoyed themselves. It was a memorable affair for some and immemorable for others, for the next day O’Hara could remember nothing, and Mr. Enlis remembered that he had gotten exceedingly drunk. Much he related to Garnett during the dog-watch, and that worthy rubbed the top of his bald head and sniffed furiously at his vial, swearing softly that the “old man” had made a fool of himself, and that he was accordingly glad of it.

The cruise continued as a cruise should when a bride is aboard ship, and at the end of a fortnight the Northern Light was in the latitude of the river Plate. There had been never an oath uttered since the skipper’s marriage, and the mates had begun to chafe under the restraint. The bride was on deck nearly all the time, and was certain to make remarks and cheer on any attempt at a fracas.

One afternoon the carpenter sounded the well and was astonished to find a foot of water in the hold. The weather had been fine and the vessel steady, so he was at a loss to account for this phenomenon. He sounded again an hour later and found the water had gained six inches. Then he lost no time in reporting the condition of the ship to the captain.

With water gaining six inches an hour, the crew manned the pumps with set faces, appalled at the sudden danger in mid-ocean. Suddenly, however, the pumps “sucked.” An investigation showed the ship was rapidly becoming dry.

The water-tanks were examined and found to be empty, but no leaks in them could be discovered.

To be at sea without water to drink is most dreaded by deep-water sailors, so Jimmy Breeze started his condenser and headed his ship for Buenos Ayres, cursing the fates for the foul luck that would ruin his anticipated quick passage.

His wife consoled him as best she could and lamented her husband’s luck to the passengers. Whereat she received the sympathy of the O’Haras and Mrs. McCloud, and was looked upon as a very unfortunate woman.

“Ah, pore thing! to think av it happening on her honeymoon at that,” cried Mrs. O’Hara.

“The sweet child, trying all she can to help her husband to forget his lost chances for extra freight money. To think of it, and just married at that,” said Mrs. McCloud.

“Pore young sowl,” said Kate O’Hara.

“’Tis a good wife that sticks to her husband in disthress,” said O’Hara.

“Ye ken it’s a jewel he has to be na thinking of money losses,” said McCloud.

Finally the ship made port and anchored off the city to take in water and continue her voyage at the earliest opportunity.

Mrs. O’Hara and Mrs. McCloud insisted on being allowed ashore to see the sights. Captain Breeze would hear of no such thing, but finally, when his bride added her voice to the occasion, he relented, and the ladies went ashore together.

Mrs. Breeze pointed out many places of interest, as she admitted having been there before, and at one of the principal hotels she left the party. She told them not to wait for her, as she would stop and see a friend, but to go down to the landing, where the boat might wait for her after she was through her call.

The day passed gayly, but when the party assembled at the landing, Mrs. Breeze was not there. They never saw her again.

The next day Captain Breeze called Mr. Enlis aft and took him below. When he had him in the privacy of his state-room he pointed to his little safe, and asked him to look through it.

This operation took but a moment, for it was almost entirely empty, and when he was through he looked at the skipper.

“What would you do?” asked Jimmy Breeze, huskily.

“Me?” asked the mate, apparently amazed at the question.

“Yes, you.”

“About what?” asked Enlis, trying to look utterly lost.

“About that gal and the money, blast you!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Enlis, as if a sudden light had flooded the dark recesses of his brain. He remained silent.

“Well, what?” asked the skipper, in real anger.

“I dunno,” said Mr. Enlis, after a long pause. “’Pears to me I wouldn’t let on nothing about it. Mum’s the word, says I.”

“But the money, you swab?” growled the skipper.

“To be sure,” said Enlis. “The money.”

“Well?”

“Well, you might ask the police about the money on the quiet like,” ventured the mate.

“Suppose you and Garnett go ashore and see about it without making any fuss. Garnett is a good one for such matters. It would hardly do for me, seeing as how I stand in the matter of husband.”

“Egg-zactly; we’ll do it right away;” and the mate hastened forward to take advantage of the opportunity.

Garnett and Enlis went ashore with what money they could get, and they entered a description of the missing stewardess with the police. “An old hag with side whiskers, having a wart under her left eye and all her teeth gone,” said Garnett, as he finished. “An’ I hopes you’ll soon find her,” he added, with a leer at the official. “Ye’ll know her by the way she swears.”

Several hours afterwards two exceedingly happy and drunken sailor-men staggered down the street towards the landing. A beggar accosted them, but after a search for coin, they protested they were cleaned out.

“Don’t make no difference. Give me clothes,” whined the mendicant.

“I’d give ye anything, me boy, for a weight is off my mind. Was ye ever married?” cried Garnett.

“Give the pore fellow clothes, Garnett, you swine!” roared Enlis.

Garnett staggered against a house and undid his belt. Then with much trouble he drew off his trousers and stood with his white legs glistening in the moonlight.

“Here, pore fellow. You are a long-shore swab, but I knows by your look ye are married. Take them, blast ye!” And he flung his trousers from him. “This bean-swillin’ mate is too mean to give ye anything.”

“Not I!” bawled Enlis, casting off his belt. “Here, you swivel-eyed land-crab;” and he drew off his trousers likewise and handed them to the beggar.

“Thanky,” hissed the creature, and ran away.

The men in the boat looked up the street towards where they heard singing, and they beheld two very drunken men in flowing jumpers staggering trouserless along, while their voices roared upon the quiet night,--

“A Bully sailed from Bristol town, Singing yo, ho, ho, oh, blow a man down; A Bully sailed, and made a tack, Hooray for the Yankee Jack, Waiting with his yard aback, Soo-aye! Hooray! Oh, knock a man down.”

_CAPTAIN CRAVEN’S COURAGE_

Every man develops during the period of his growth a certain amount of nerve-power. This energy or life in his system will usually last him, with ordinary care, twoscore or more years before it fails. Sometimes it is used prodigally, and the man suffers the consequence by becoming a debtor to nature. It is this that makes the ending of many overbold men out of keeping with their lives. Some religious enthusiasts would have it that they are repentant towards the end of their careers,--that is, if they have not led conventional lives,--and that accounts for their general break-down from the high courage shown during their prime. Among sailors, soldiers, hunters, and others who live hard lives of exposure, the strain is sometimes peculiarly apparent.

It is often the case that the man of hard life dies before his life-flame burns low, and then he is sometimes classed as a hero. For instance, the captain of the Penguin, who ran his ship ashore on the North Head of San Francisco Bay, was the most notorious desperado in the whole Cape Horn fleet. Many men who sailed with him never saw the land again. Their names appeared upon his log as “missing,” “lost overboard in heavy weather,” etc. Investigation of such matters resulted in nothing but expense to the courts and the development of the ruffian’s sinister character and reputation. Yet when he ran the Penguin ashore with the terrible southeast sea rolling behind her, he maintained his rigid discipline to the last and saved his passengers and part of his crew. He died as a brave man should, never flinching from his post until his life was crushed out.

There were some who said he dared not come ashore, as he had overrun his distance through carelessness, and that without the backing of his ship’s owners he would have been stranded in a bad way upon the beach. But the majority were willing to forget his record in his gallant end, and he will be known in the future by the men who follow deep-water as a hero.

Craven, the pirate, was a much bolder and desperate man, yet his end was different. He hailed from the same port as the skipper of the Penguin, and sailed with the Cape Horn fleet in its early days.

He retired from the sea at the age of thirty-five and settled on the southern coast of California, taking to farming with that peculiar zeal shown by all deep-water sailors. He fell desperately in love, married, and the following year shot and killed a man who was less pious than polite in his behavior towards Craven’s wife.

After this affair he fled. Nothing was heard of him again for several years, but as he was an expert navigator it was supposed he took to the sea for safety.

One day an American trader was standing in the Hoogla River, China, when a junk appeared heading for her under all sail. Behind the junk, about a mile to windward, came a trading schooner. The Chinese on the junk made desperate efforts to overtake the American ship. When they came within hailing distance they begged to be allowed alongside.