Читать книгу Bahama Bill, Mate of the Wrecking Sloop Sea-Horse - T. Jenkins Hains - Страница 3

BAHAMA BILL

I

Beneath the "Bulldog's" Bilge

The brig lay in four fathoms of water on the edge of the Great Bahama Bank. She had been a solid little vessel, built for the fruit trade, and she was about two hundred tons register. Her master had tried to sight the "Isaacs," but owing to the darkness and the drift of the Gulf Stream, he had miscalculated his distance in trying for the New Providence channel. A "nigger-head," a sharp, projecting point of coral, had poked a hole about four feet in diameter through her bottom, and she had gone down before they could run her into the shoal water on the bank.

Down to the graveyard of good ships, Key West, the message was hurried, and the wreckers of Florida Reef heard the news. A heavily built sloop of thirty tons, manned by ten Spongers and Conchs, started up the Florida channel and arrived upon the scene two days later.

The Bulldog had settled evenly upon her keel, but as she was sharp, she had listed until her masts were leaning well to starboard, dipping her yardarms deep in the clear water. She was submerged as far up as her topsail yards.

The captain of the wrecker was a Conch. His mate was a giant negro of the Keys; young, powerful, and the best diver on the Florida Reef. His chest measured forty-eight inches in circumference over his lean pectoral muscles, and he often bent iron bars of one-half inch to show the set of his vise-like grip. He was almost black, with a sinister-looking leer upon his broad face, his eyes red and watery like most of the divers of the Bank. He could remain under four fathoms for at least three and a half minutes, and work with amazing force, and continue this terrific strain for six hours on a stretch, with but five minutes between dives. Half fish or alligator, and half human, he looked as he lounged naked in the hot sunshine upon the sloop's forecastle, his skin hard and callous as leather from long exposure to a tropic sun and salt water. He was ready for the work ahead, for it had been rumoured that the Bulldog had not less than fifty thousand dollars in silver aboard her. She was known to have been chartered by agents of the Venezuelan revolutionists, and to have arms and money aboard in abundance for their relief.

The day was well advanced when the spars of the brig showed above the sea. The sky was cloudless, and the little air there was stirring scarcely rippled the ocean; the swell rolling with that long, undulating sweep and peculiar slowness which characterizes calm weather in the Gulf Stream.

Far away the "Isaacs" showed above the horizon, and just the slightest glint of white told of the nearest cay miles away on the Great Bank. To the westward it was a trifle more than sixty miles to Florida Cape across the channel, with the deep ocean current sweeping to the northward between. The steady set of the Stream brought the wreckers rapidly nearer the brig in spite of the calm, and they let go their first anchor about fifty fathoms due south, and veered the cable to let the sloop drift slowly down upon the wreck. Then, lowering all canvas, they got out their kedges and moored the sloop just over the port rail of the Bulldog which could be distinctly seen about ten feet below the surface of the sea.

Three of the crew, all experienced divers, made ready while the mate went slowly to the rail and gazed fixedly down into the clear water. In calm weather the bottom on the Bank can be seen distinctly in five fathoms, and often at much greater depth. The weather was ideal now, and no one thought it necessary to use the "water-glass," the glass-bottomed bucket into which the diver usually sticks his head and gazes into the depths before making his plunge.

"I reckon ye might as well make a try," said the captain, coming to the mate's side. "Start here an' let the drift o' the current take ye th' whole length." And as he spoke he hove a life-line overboard for the men to grasp should the stream carry them too far. Coming to the surface they would be tired and not want to swim back. A man stood by to haul in and save the diver the exertion.

The mate raised his eyes. He looked over the smooth sea and tilted his nose into the air, sniffing the gentle breeze.

"It might be a wery good day, Cap, but I sho' smells shurk. I ain't much perticular about this smooth weather. It nearly always brings 'em along 'bout dis time o' year. De season am mighty nigh done on de Bank. Yo' knows dey is mighty peart when dey gits plentiful."

"Are you feared?" asked the captain, looking at him scornfully.

"Well, I smell him plain, an' dat's a fact," said the mate, "but here goes."

The giant mate fell slowly outboard, then putting his hands before him he dropped straight down into the sea with hardly a splash. The captain bent over the rail and watched him as he swam quickly down, his great black form looking not unlike a turtle as it struck out vigorously with both hands and feet. Down, down it went until the shimmering light made it distorted and monstrous as the distance increased. Then it disappeared under the bend of the Bulldog's bilge.

A second diver came to the side and looked out over the smooth swell.

There was nothing in sight as far as the eye could reach save the glint of white on the distant cay to the eastward. The Gulf Stream was undisturbed by even a ripple.

In a couple of minutes a loud snort astern told of the mate's reappearance. He seized the life-line and was quickly hauled alongside. He climbed leisurely to the deck.

All hands were now assembled and waited for his report.

"Tight as a drum. There ain't no way o' gettin' into her there," said the mate after two or three long breaths.

"Well, will you try the hatchway, then?" asked the captain.

"I ain't perticular about workin' down hatchways," said the giant, with a scowl.

"Nor me either," said the man who had come to make the second trip. "They said the stuff was aft under the cabin deck," said a tall man with aquiline features, known as Sam.

"Dynamite," whispered another, "what's the difference?"

"Plenty, if the underwriters come along and find her blown up. She ain't ours yet," said the captain sourly.

"An' who's to tell?" asked the mate with a fierce menace. "Who'll know what knocked a hole in her? They'll nebber float her. Bust her, says I."

The captain looked about him. There was nothing in sight, save the distant cay, ten miles or more to the eastward, which might harbour an inquisitive person. And then the light-keeper himself was a wrecker. He thought a moment while the mate stood looking at him, and then went slowly down into the cabin and brought up a box of cartridges. Sam immediately brought out some exploders and several fathoms of fuse.

In a moment a large package was wrapped up and lashed with spun-yarn. It contained five half-pound cartridges and an exploder, with a fathom of fuse. A piece of iron was made fast to the whole to keep it upon the bottom, and then the mate called for a match. The fuse would burn for at least two minutes under water before the exploder was reached, and give time for the diver to get clear.

The captain scratched a light upon his trousers and held it to the fuse. A spluttering fizzing followed. Then over the side went the mate with the charge in his hand, and the men on the deck could see him swimming furiously down through the clear depths, the dynamite held before him and a thin spurt of bubbles trailing out from the end of the burning fuse.

He had little enough time to spare after he disappeared under the curve of the bilge. Coming to the surface he was quickly dragged aboard by the life-line, and then all hands waited a moment, which seemed an hour, for the shock.

A dull crash below followed by a peculiar ringing sound told of the discharge. The water lifted a moment over the spot some twenty feet astern, and then a storm of foam and bubbles surged to the surface. The captain gazed apprehensively around the horizon again, and then smiled.

"I reckon that busted her," he said.

Over the side plunged the mate, followed by two more men, and as they went a great, dark shadow rose slowly to the surface in the disturbed water. It was the body of a giant shark.

The captain stood looking at it for a moment.

"The harpoon, quick," he yelled.

A man sprang for the iron, but the monster rolled slowly over upon his belly, and opened his jaws with spasmodic jerks. A great hole was torn in his side, and his dorsal fin was missing. He gave a few quick slaps with his tail, and then sank slowly down before the harpoon could be thrown.

"He's as dead as salt-fish," said a sailor, "clean busted wide open."

"He's a tiger," said the captain, "an' they never hunt alone. I c'ud see his stripes."

A diver called from the end of the life-line and was hauled up. One after another they came up, the mate last.

"What was the thing yo' dropped overboard?" he asked with a grin. "I seen him sinking an' thought he ware alive."

"It was a tiger," said the captain solemnly, looking askance at the big man.

"That settles it fer me," said one diver, "they always go in pairs."

"Me, too," went the chorus from the rest.

The mate said nothing. He had seen something below that made his eyes flash in spite of their salty rheum. The dynamite had done its work well, and with more daring than the others he had penetrated the hull far enough to catch a glimpse of the treasure. The explosion had scattered bright silver coins about the entrance of the hole, and he had seen what they had missed in the roiled water.

Here was a sore problem for the captain. He had the first chance at the wreck without observers, and here the carcass of a huge tiger-shark had upset everything. Within a few hours, the spars of other wreckers might show above the horizon, and then farewell to treasure-hunting. He could expect nothing but salvage at the most. If the owners decided to raise her he could do nothing more than sell his claim upon her, and probably lose most of that, for he was a poor man and dreaded the Admiralty courts. It would be much better if he could get what money there was in her, finding it in an abandoned hull. Having the whole of it in his possession was much better than trying to get back from the owners his share under the salvage law. Any delay for shark-hunting meant a heavy loss. He looked askance at the big mate, but said nothing, knowing full well that it lay with that black giant whether he would take the risk of going below again or not.

"I knew I smelt him plain enough," said the giant, sniffing the air again, "dem big shurks is mighty rank."

The shark which had met with the dynamite explosion was one of a pair of the great "carcharodon" variety. They had come in on the edge of the Bank at the beginning of the warm season, and one of them had slipped up along the bottom to the wreck not a minute after the mate had placed the charge. The package had attracted his attention, and it was while nosing it the charge had exploded, tearing him almost to pieces. His mate was but fifty fathoms away, and came slowly up to examine the place where the crash occurred.

The female was about twenty feet in length. She was lean and muscular from long cruising at sea, and her hide was as hard as the toughest leather. Vertical stripes upon her sides, black upon the dark gray of her body, gave her the name of "tiger." Her jaws were a good eighteen inches across, and her six rows of triangular teeth formed the most perfect cutting machine for anything made of flesh. The long tapering tail and huge fins told of enormous power, and her heavy frontal development proclaimed her of that somewhat rare species of pelagic monster which is very different in disposition to the thousands of sharks that infest all tropical seas.

She came upon the body of her mate as he sank slowly down, shattered and torn from the explosion. He lay motionless upon the clean coral bottom, and as she nosed him she came to the grisly wounds and knew he was dead. The feeling that the floating object above was responsible for his end took possession of her instinctively. He, her mate, had travelled with her for months and over thousands of miles of ocean. There was an attachment similar to that in evidence among the higher animals, and sullen fury at her loss grew against the thing above. It was like the implacable hatred of the cobra snake for the slayer of his mate, the snake who will follow the slayer's trail for miles to wreak vengeance. And as the monster's fury was growing, the black diver was preparing to make a plunge for the money within the brig's bilge.

"Gimme a line," said the black man. "If dere is another feller like de one we busted down dere, yo' kin pull me back ef he don't git a good hold o' my laig. De water is mighty roiled yit, en I'd like to see a bit o' the bottom. 'Pears to me I seen something movin' astern dere."

The captain passed a line, and he fastened it around his waist. The rest of the crew stood looking on. Then taking a bag rolled tight in one hand to open below and fill with the silver, he gazed anxiously around the surrounding sea again.

"Here goes," said the big mate, "but I reckon it's de debble himself dat's waitin' fer me, I feels it sho'."

He went down with a straight plunge without any splash, and they watched him until he disappeared under the bends.

The mate had his eyes in use as he swam swiftly towards the hole made by the explosion. He watched the shadows upon the coral bottom in the dim light that penetrated the depths. The huge shadow of the brig cast a gloom over the white rock, and at the depth of her keel objects were hard to distinguish, except out beyond where the sunshine filtered down. He knew the location of the hole, and headed straight for it until the black and ragged mouth of the opening showed before him. He had just reached for it when a form shut off the light behind him. At the same instant the dread of something horrible flashed through his brain. He turned instantly to see the giant mouth of a monstrous shark close aboard, the teeth showing white against the dark edge of the throat cavity.

There was but a moment to spare. He must get away in the fraction of a second, and his quick mind, used to emergencies, seized upon the only way possible.

The line about his waist was still slack, and he dove headlong into the black mouth of the hole in the brig's bilge. The opening was just large enough to let him through, the splintered edges raking his back sorely as he entered. Then he turned quickly, hoping to see the monster sweep past.

The outline of the hole showed dimly, a ragged green spot set in inky blackness. He was ready to make a dash outboard, and swam to hold himself close to it, for the tendency was to rise into the black depths of the submerged hull. Inside was total darkness, and the unknown, submerged passages to some possible open hatchway beneath his own vessel's bottom were not to be thought of for safety. He could hold his breath but for a very short time longer, and he was more than twenty feet below the surface of the ocean. Even as he swam his foot struck something solid above him. He watched the hole and had just about decided that the monster had passed when the hole disappeared from view.

He knew he had not moved, for he could feel the stillness of the water about him. With a growing feeling of horror he groped for the opening.

In the total darkness he thought he was losing the instinct of direction. The danger of his position was so deadly that, in spite of his iron nerves, a panic was taking possession of him. To be lost in the hold of a sunken wreck appalled him for an instant. He must act quickly and accurately if he would live. The precious moments were passing, and his heart already was sending the blood with ringing throbs through his head. He made a reach ahead, and as he did so the greenish light of the hole in the bilge came again before him. He struck out for it powerfully. Then it failed again, but as it did so he made out the form that was closing it. The great head of the shark was thrust into the opening, withdrawn again as though to try to get a better position to force its way in, and then came total blackness.

The mate was failing fast. He had been under water more than two minutes. He saw that it was certain death to force the entrance. Outside waited the monster who would cut him to pieces before he could reach the surface and help from his vessel. It was a horrible end. The thought of a mangled form being devoured into the bowels of such a creature decided him. Any death but that. He hesitated no longer, but with maddening haste he swam upward into the blackness, groping, struggling through doors and passages, wildly, aimlessly trying for a blind chance that he might at last come through the hatchway into the sea above.

He had cast off the line to his waist as soon as it came taut, and instantly it flashed upon him that he had severed the last link between himself and his men. On and on he struggled, the bright flashes of light which now began to appear before his eyes, caused by the strain and pressure, made him fight wildly forward, thinking that they came from the light outside. He knew he was lost. The picture flitted before him of the men hauling in the line. Then the silence of the deck in the sunshine and the looks of his shipmates, the case of "lost man." He had seen it before when he was upon the deck, and now it was his turn below. A bulkhead brought him to a sudden stop. He reached upward and found the solid deck. It was no use. He gave one last gigantic stroke forward along the obstruction and started to draw in his breath, which meant the end. Then his head suddenly came out of the water into air, and his pulses leaped again into action.

The pressure was not relieved upon his lungs, and it was some moments before he recovered. Then his great strength came back to him and he began to grope about in the blackness until his feet came in contact with a step. He felt along this and found that it was evidently a companionway leading to the deck above. He put forth his hands into the space overhead and found a solid roof but a foot or less above the surface of the water he was in. Then it dawned upon him that he was beneath the coamings of the hatchway, and the air was that which had been caught under the top as the brig had settled. She had only been sunk about fifty-five hours, and the air had not found its way through the tight cover overhead. It was compressed by the pressure of the water above it. It was only about twelve feet to the surface from where he now rested, and if he could get free he might yet get away safely. The shark was probably below under the bilge, trying to get in the hole and would not notice him if he came up through the hatchway. He could make a dash for the surface, and call for a line before the monster could locate him. The air within the small space was already getting used up while he waited to recover. There were not more than half a dozen cubic feet of it altogether, and he must work quickly if he would be free.

He now groped for the fastenings of the hatchway, hoping to seize them and force the slide back. The covering was of peculiar pattern, high-domed above the coamings, and it was for this reason that the air had failed to find its way through the front of the opening. He felt for the lock and finally found that the hasp was on the outside. He was locked below.

He had been away from the sloop for more than five minutes now, and the men aboard had hauled in the line. It came fast enough, and some leaned over the rail watching until the end came into view. Then they knew, or fancied they knew, the story.

"Gone, by God," came the exclamation from the captain—"he was right—they always travel in couples—" Then he stood there with the rest, all gazing steadfastly down into the clear water of the Gulf Stream that now went past crystal-like and undisturbed. The dim forms of the coral showed below, but nothing like the shape of either man or shark was visible. The disturbed water from the blast had all gone to the northward with the current, and they wondered. If there were a monster lurking in the depths, he must be well under the brig's bilge in the deep shadow. The line told the story the eye failed to reach. It was not new, the story of a lost diver on the Bahama Bank.

They hung over the side and spoke seldom: when they did, it was in a low tone. There was nothing to do, for no one had the hardihood to make the plunge to find out what had happened. They must wait for the wrecking crew. Diving was not to be thought of again for hours.

Meanwhile the mate was below in the dome of the hatchway.

Finding that the slide was fastened on the outside, he put forth all his giant strength to force it. Planting his feet upon the after end, he managed to keep his mouth out of the water and get a grip upon the hatch-carline. Then he strained away to burst the lock.

In the little bubble of compressed air the exertion caused him to pant for breath. He must hurry. The wood creaked dully. A jet of water spurted in his face. The slide was giving way, letting in the ocean from the outside, and in another moment the remaining space of air would be gone. With one tremendous shove he tore the carline loose. Then he clutched frantically at the splintering wood, and as the water closed over him he wrenched the slide loose and drove himself blindly through the opening. The next instant he shot upward, and in a moment he saw the light above. He came to the surface under the sloop's port quarter, bursting into the sunshine with a loud splash.

The captain heard the noise and hurried over to look. The mate's black head was just a fathom below him, and he quickly dropped him a line. Then willing hands reached over and he was dragged on deck. He had been below nearly a quarter of an hour.

Staggering like a drunken man the great mate lounged forward, his bloodshot eyes distended, and his breath coming in loud rasping gasps, a little thin trickle of blood running from his nose and mingling with the salt water pouring down his face. Men seized him and tried to hold him up, but he plunged headlong upon the deck and lay still.

It was nearly half an hour later before he opened his eyes and looked about him. All hands were around him, some rubbing his huge limbs and others standing looking on, waiting to do what the captain might direct. Then he came slowly to and rose unsteadily to his feet. There was a feeling of relief and the men talked. The captain asked questions and plied his mate with whiskey.

The giant black stood gazing out to sea, trying to realize what had happened, and while he looked he saw a thin trail of smoke rising upon the southern horizon. He pointed to it without saying anything, and all hands saw it and stopped in their work to stare.

"It's the wreckin' tug from Key West," said the captain. "No more divin' to-day. Jest our bloomin' luck. Nothin' to hinder us from doin' a bit o' bizness. No danged shurks nor nothin' to stop a man, an' here we lose our chance."

"I reckon it's all right, cap'n," said the big mate, speaking for the first time. "I done quit divin' fer this season, ennyways. 'N' when I says I smells shurk, I means shurk. 'N' the fust man what begs me toe go under ag'in when I says that, I gwine toe break his haid."

II

The Wrecker's Reward

"Ef I wassent er lady, I'd knock yo' blamed haid off, yo' black rascal!" cried Julia. The big mate smiled at her softly, and made another pass to seize her; but she struggled free, for he would not hold her fast enough. "Don't yo' come 'round heah no mo'; I don't want no dealin's wif no sailor man."

"What' the good o' gettin' mad over a little squeeze, Sugar-plum?" grinned the black giant. "I ain't done yo' no harm—an' wouldn't fo' nothing Jule. Yo' knows I ain't got no gal but yo'self."

"Youse a rascal, dat yo' is, 'n' ef I wassent a lady, I'd knock yo' cocoanut off'n yo' ugly haid!" said the indignant Julia, whose dignity had been ruffled by the sailor's amorous but powerful wooing. "I knows yo', comin' around dis house an' tryin' to fool a pore gal like me."

"No, Jule, I means everythin' I says, an' a lot mo' besides. I wants yo' to marry me, sho' 'nuff," said the big sailor earnestly.

Julia rapidly was soothing herself. There was something so strong and pleading in the man's voice that she almost forgot the liberties he had taken, and looked at him keenly. "Aw, gwine away, yo' black man; whar yo' got money to marry a gal like me?" She was now smiling at him; but edging away into the doorway of the little cabin which stood by the coral roadway in Key West. She really did not dislike the sailor; for Bahama Bill had a reputation for being a good money-getter and a most excellent spender. As mate of the wrecking sloop Sea-Horse, he often came in with a few English pounds sterling, or a pocketful of good American dollars, earned in his business along the Great Bahama Bank. Three days, however, always was the limit of his prosperity.

Now he had been ashore for a week, and consequently was the possessor of nothing more than a clasp-knife, a dirty pair of trousers and jumper, and an old clay pipe. Shoes he had left at some friend's house for a trivial debt for a handful of cigars, and head-gear he did not need. He was more or less contented, and was entirely willing to enter into the married state, feeling with the utmost confidence that money was a plentiful article and easy for a man of parts to procure. His wild excesses seemed vain in the sober light of the tropic sunshine, and it manifestly was the time for him to settle down to a state of quiet bliss with Julia.

"I kin get plenty o' money, Jule," said he softly.

"When yo' shows me, den yo' cain talk wif me, an' not befo'," said Julia. "I ain't doin' no washin' 'n' ironin' for no one. I'se near eighteen now, an' I ain't married no one yet."

"But, Jule, I kin get money easy enough. Come here now an' let me tell yo' how I kin."

"No, sah, no monkeyin'," said Julia, edging farther into the doorway. "Yo' get de money fust, 'n'—'n'—den—well, yo' knows—'bout—'bout—dat."

Then she softly but firmly shut the door. He caught a glimpse of her through the kitchen window, and she smiled and waved her hand so that he almost was tempted to force an entrance; but he remembered that the Cuban who owned the house would likely hear him and perhaps fill him with bird-shot. He gave one longing look, and strode toward the harbour. The wrecking sloop was to sail that day, sponging to the northward along the Keys.

The first few days were hard on him. He was solemn and lonesome in spite of himself, and his quiet behaviour was noticed by his shipmates. They made the remarks usual among rough men of the forecastle, but Bill took no notice.

"Here's a chance for a feller to make good," cried a Conch to a stout German sailor called Heldron: "Reward fer old man Sanches' boy who run off to sea in one o' them fruit-ships," and he read from an old paper as he lay in his bunk during the watch below.

"I know dot poy: he pad poy; but him fader big sight worse," said the German. "He make de worst seegar in Key West."

"Well, if I was a mate o' a ship I might make good on that, hey?" said Sam.

"Blamed sight easier'n spongin', to catch a little boy," said another; "but I hear the old man is going to the eastward—heard of something down Fortune Island way."

And the conversation turned to business, while the mate smoked on in silence. That night they were speeding across the Florida Channel in spite of the threatening weather and heavy sea. By morning they were many miles off shore, and gradually had been forced to slow down. The wind, while now slacking up and becoming heavy with moisture and warmth, had been strong enough during the night to make the Sea-Horse shorten down to keep from forcing too heavily into the high, rolling sea.

It was dirty weather in the Gulf Stream. The flying scud streamed away to the northwest in little whirling bits of vapour. They tore along with the speed of an express train in a direction which seemed at a sharp angle to the heavy, steel-blue bank which swept in a mighty and majestic semicircle across the southern sky. High overhead the sky had a distant appearance, something peculiar and weird, for the storm-centre was advancing northward and gathering all straying moisture in its grasp. It made dark streaks in the heavens at a distance above the sea, and rays of the morning sun shone upon them with a brassy glare, as though the whole universe was incased in a colossal dome which darkened near the horizon. It seemed to absorb the failing light less and less as the line of vision rose toward the zenith.

With a line of reef-points tied in from the second hoop on the mainsail to the cringle on the leach, which raised only a couple of fathoms in the air, the Sea-Horse lay upon the starboard tack. A bit of staysail forward hauled to the mast held her steady as she breasted the sea, staggering to leeward with the heave that, increasing, told of a mighty power behind it. The combing crests rolled white with a dull, rattling snore, and the beautiful blue colour of the warm stream was paling into a dark lead.

The sloop would throw her forefoot high in the air as the rolling crests would strike and sweep from under the now almost logy hulk. The brown of the copper-painted under-body showed in strong contrast to the dirty white above. Then she would drop with a sidewise, twisting motion, a little bow-foremost into the trough, and back her snub nose away from the onrushing hill before it, which sometimes would burst and smother her out of sight to the mast in a storm of flying water. Then she would drop again, sidewise and forward down the incline, the rush of foam on the decks sweeping through the side ports in the bulwarks, spurting and pouring over everything, and finally overboard, until the action was repeated.

Two men in their yellow oilskins were upon the quarter-deck; one lying prone abaft the rise of the cabin, gazed sullenly at the menacing sky. The other sat and held on the wheel, which was fast in a becket, with relieving tackles on the gear heaving it hard down, and he tried to get puffs of smoke from a pipe. The wind was getting too strong for smoking, and he went into the companionway and called the mate to relieve him. Bahama Bill came up, and the Captain went below.

The big mate sat there watching the weather, and his face bore a good-humoured expression. The conditions suited his frame of mind. Away from the temptations of the beach, he was a different man from the fracas-loving ruffian when full of cheap grog. Captain Bull Sanders turned in for a short rest, knowing that the vessel was in good hands.

Below in the bunks of the cuddy five men lay in all possible positions to keep from being flung out. One read, or tried to read, the paper which told of the running away to sea of the rich cigar-maker's son and of the reward offered for his safe delivery into the bosom of his family. Others lay and talked. Another slept, grasping even in his slumbers at the bunk-boards, and mechanically bracing his knee to hold himself during the wild plunges. The creaking and racking of the straining sloop blended with the droning roar overhead, punctuated now and then by a smashing crash as a sea would fall on deck; but the resting men paid little attention to either the noise or motion, until the Captain had finished his pipe.

He suddenly threw down the magazine he had been trying to read for some minutes, and glanced at the barometer on the bulkhead. "Goin' down all the time. I reckon we'll catch it," he said.

"Hurricane season began nigh a month ago," said a man significantly.

"It don't got here alretty yet, maybe," said Heldron.

"Must be," said a Swede.

There was a general movement. All hands reached for oilskins and without further orders followed the Captain on deck.

"How's the wind now, Bill?" bawled the Captain.

"Been easterly; but goin' toe th' s'uthard fast," said the mate. "Looks a bit dirty."

"Whew! Beginning to blow a bit, hey?" said the Captain, as a fierce squall struck them and roared past, sending a blinding cloud of spray and drift over them. The droning cry of the wind in the rigging increased, and the straining cloth stretched until the blast passing over it made a dull, booming, rushing sound of such volume that conversation was deadened in the noise.

It now was blowing with force. The sea was white under the steel-blue bank, which had risen until a twilight darkness was upon the ocean. The sky above was turning a dull gray, and the scud was darker against it, whirling along in torn masses before the squalls, which were becoming more frequent and violent. The wind was shifting southerly, and the shifts in the squalls told plainly of the danger of the approaching spot of low pressure, about which the squalls drew in with the spiral movement common to tropical hurricanes.

Bull Sanders looked anxiously at the lubber's mark. The sea was getting worse, and the sudden hot blasts of wind were more vicious. He was too old a sailor to be caught with loose gear. Everything already had been done to snug the sloop down; but there was a limit to the strength of spars and lines. The mainsail might hold; but some of those hurricane squalls would blow away anything made of canvas, and he decided to take no chances. He got out his sea-anchor, or drag, and let it go from the weather quarter, passing the line forward with difficulty to the windlass. Then, just after a squall, all hands handed in the bit of canvas, rolled it up, and made it fast. The Sea-Horse now was going astern fast, pulling the drag with her which kept her head to the sea. Nothing more could be done for the time, and Sanders crouched in the wake of the cabin, watching ahead for the shift which would come.

"What's that?" he bawled into the mate's ear, and pointed to the eastward.

Just as the sloop rose upon a high crest, a dark speck showed for a moment on the eastern horizon. It was not far away; for it was too thick to see any great distance.

"Steamer," bawled the mate, "hove-to and going to the north'ard like blazes!"

"We're right in th' stream—if the wind holds southeast, he'll be all right."

"But it won't. It's shifting—be southwest in an hour—he'll be close to the bank."

"Gun Key?"

"We ain't more'n twenty miles to the south'ard o' Gun Key—'bout sou'west-b'-south."

The squalls became fiercer and more frequent. They were like blasts from an explosion, the wind roaring past with incredible power. Between them it was blowing at the rate of sixty miles an hour; but when they struck it was nearly double that velocity. The wrecking sloop sagged away to leeward, and the dangerous sea swept upon her during those rushes in a way that shook every bolt and fastening in the frame. She was beginning to make water a little, and the bursting sea which struck now and again sought out every crack and seam in the companion doors and hatchway. The men on deck were submerged repeatedly. For an hour and more they watched her making bad weather of it, and then came a darker colour in the gray above. There was a sudden squall of tremendous power. The vessel was hove almost on her beam ends as it took her forward of the beam, and she swung up to the drag barely in time to take the sea bow on. The lubber's mark swung slowly from left to right until it reached southwest.

"It's goin' fast," bawled the mate to Sanders alongside him.

"See that feller now?" asked the Captain.

The mate pointed to the eastward.

The dark smudge of the steamer's hull showed through the flying drift. While they looked a flash of white told of a heavy sea boarding her. She disappeared in the foam.

"Must have trouble with her engines," said Sanders. "She's goin' to lor'ard as fast as we be."

Bahama Bill was staring astern into the gray blank where all things seemed to melt into chaos. Suddenly he called out, and all hands swung about and stared in the same direction.

"Gun Key light!" screamed Heldron, his eyes staring from their salt-burned lids.

"Will we go clear?" asked Sam, his voice steady, but his intense look telling of the tale of life or death he wanted to hear. They stared into the drift astern, and the squalls broke over them unheeded. The sea was quick and heavy, and to strike meant certain loss of the vessel. There was one chance in a thousand for any one to get ashore, should she fetch up on the coral bank. Yet there she was going to leeward fast in spite of the drag, and the tower of Gun Key light was rising under the lee. To the northward was the Beminis. She was getting jammed, and the chances were growing against her as the minutes flew by.

The steamer was farther to leeward. She had sighted the edge of the bank, and was trying to drive off into the Gulf Stream with the force of her crippled engines. A cross-head bolt had started, and under the terrific strain the starboard engine had broken down. She could not keep head to the sea with the port wheel, and had placed a tarpaulin in the mizzen-rigging to help hold; but it had forced her to leeward also, and she now was close to the edge of the Great Bahama Bank. The Sea-Horse still had between twelve and fifteen miles between her and the reef; but the ship had hardly ten, and was dropping back too fast for any hope to clear unless the wind eased up suddenly.

Squall after squall followed the shift. It blew harder, if anything, and the Captain of the steamer, seeing that he must go on the bank, made ready to pile his ship up as high as possible in the hope of saving some of the passengers and crew. To go upon the submerged part of the reef meant death to all hands. He must run upon the coral above the surf, and get as high up as he could. Then if the outer edge was steep, he might get his bow near enough to dry land to get the people ashore.

The crew of the Sea-Horse watched him as he went slowly in. In an hour after the westerly shift he was so close that the white coral showed through the blinding clouds of spray thrown up by the sea on the reef. Then, by hard work, he managed to get some head sail on the ship and start in for Gun Key.

She ran the half-mile between her and the beach at a tremendous pace. Lifting upon a sea, she rushed shoreward and struck, swung, lifted again, and then was hove solidly broadside into the surf. The men on the wrecker saw her strike. When she stopped a great burst of white told of a smashing sea going over. The slanting spars and funnel told how high she had hit, and the huge, bursting clouds of white water smothering her told of the rending power that she was exposed to in that surf. The hundred yards between the bow and the sand was a churning, boiling stretch of whiteness.

"That's the end of her," said the mate. "Looks like we're in fer the same thing."

In silence the rest watched the wreck. They were going in themselves; but the fate of the ship held their attention in spite of the death that they knew lay in the white line to leeward. It had been blowing now for four hours with hurricane force, and as they went in within a mile of the surf the shifting squalls swung more and more to the westward. Then it began to ease suddenly. Between gusts there was not more than a stiff gale. It was growing brighter, and they knew that they had missed the storm-centre, which must have passed to the eastward.

"Get the mainsail on her—we'll poke her to the s'uth'ard!" bawled Sanders.

Led by the mate, the men lay forward, and working for life raised the balance-reefed mainsail. Bahama Bill lay flat on his stomach, knife in hand, while they cleared the forestaysail and ran it up. Then he cut clear the drag. A wave of the hand, and Sanders filled the vessel off on the starboard tack, and as it went the dull booming thunder of the surf came up against the gale.

"If the wind keeps goin' we'll poke her off yet," said Sanders as the mate came aft.

"Ay, we'll poke her out to sea; but I could swim that surf good an' easy," said the mate quietly.

The Captain grinned, and looked at his giant form, its huge proportions made all the larger by the loose-fitting oilskins.

"Mebbe you'll git a chance yet," he said. "If it had blown half an hour longer, you cud ha' tried."

They worked off that afternoon, getting sail up as the wind slacked. At night they kept the light in sight, and the next morning were standing back for Gun Key under a single-reefed mainsail with a fine strong northerly wind and clear sky. The steamship lay over on her side in the surf, which broke over her in sheets of foam and spray. The sea had gone down; but there still was enough to tear up the craft. The masts and funnel and nearly all the superstructure had gone. Even the iron sides were smashed, twisted and bent, the plates starting and ripping clear of the rivets under the smashing blows of the sea. No sign of life showed aboard; but as she was high up on the bank there was no doubt that men could live. The Sea-Horse ran close enough to give the crew a chance to read the name Orion on the stern.

"One o' them new ships," said Bill. "She was in Key West last time we ran sponges."

They ran as close to the surf as they dared, and let go both anchors. Paying out cable, the sloop soon came within fifty fathoms, and then stopped; for the sea rose just under the stern, and burst a few fathoms farther in.

"Gimme a line," said the mate.

Sam and Heldron brought forth a coil of whale line, and the black man stripped for the plunge. He went over the side without a splash, and they paid out fathom after fathom until his black head showed close to the bow of the ship, which had settled inshore and lower. Then they saw him disappear around it, and they waited. Five, ten, minutes passed, and then a form showed upon the high stern. It was the mate, and he waved to haul line.

Heldron went over the taut line next, followed by a Swede and Sam. Then the line was slacked off, and the big mate, taking a new one, plunged to leeward and made his way ashore. Half-fish, the diver went through the surf without accident and joined the light-keeper and his assistant on the beach, where they were waiting to do what they could to save those on the wreck. A line they had sent in on a buoy had parted, and the man upon it had been drowned.

The mate went back aboard, and managed to get the ten passengers and rest of the crew ashore without accident. All had gone except an uncouth-looking lad, the ship's galley-boy, in whom no one took interest enough to care whether he got ashore or not. Dirty, dishevelled and frightened beyond words, the lad crawled out of his hiding-place and begged the big mate to take him in.

As he had been calling and looking through the ship for disabled men, the Captain having told him his crew, the mate seized the lad without further words and plunged over the side. The boy was the last person unaccounted for.

"Seems to me I seen yo' befo', sonny," said the mate as he drew him clear of the surf. "Don't yo' live in Key West?"

"Oh, yes, I know you," said the lad, grinning.

The mate held him out at arm's length. "Ain't yo' Jimmy Sanches?"

The grin died away from the lad's face. "You won't take me back, will you, Bill?" he said.

"I reckon I'll have toe, Jimmy."

The next day the Sea-Horse sailed for Key West with the first claim for salvage, and a small boy who tried to run away at the last minute, causing the mate a chase to the lighthouse before he recaptured him.

"You've hit it fair this trip," said Sanders. "I reckon as ye ain't thinkin' about whackin' up on thet reward, hey Bill?"

But the mate said nothing, his rheumy eyes looking far away toward the southern horizon, where he expected to see the spars of the shipping in Key West rise above the sea. He was thinking, and it caused his heavy and seamed jaws to set and line up into a deep scowl. Julia worked for the rich Sanches, and their reception of a ragged and half-sober seaman had not been hospitable. Yet here was his chance.

The next day the wrecking sloop rode at anchor close to the beach, and Sanders made ready to get his load of perishable goods ashore and notify the authorities of the disaster up the bank.

"Don't take me back!" whispered Jimmy as Bill swung him into the small boat, and the big mate was silent as the men rowed ashore.

On the way up the street the mate walked slowly, holding the boy by the hand.

"You know what a feller my stepfather is, Bill. Don't take me back!" pleaded Jimmy.

A steamer was clearing at the coal dock, and the mate stopped to look at it. Then he suddenly looked down at the boy. "Kin yo' make it, sonny?" he asked, and he let go of the boy's hand. Like a flash the lad ran to the string-piece, balanced a moment, and then sprang to the rail of the ship astern without those on board noticing him. It was gathering headway, and in a few moments was steaming out to sea, leaving the big mate staring after her, and the few men who had cast off her lines clearing up the rubbish in the wake of her gangway.

"I come back toe tell yo', Jule, dat I ain't in the money racket," said Bill, half an hour later. "I ain't no perliceman—I'm a sailor."

"Whatcher mean, Bill?" asked the damsel, keeping inside the door.

"Nothin'—only if yo' is sho' nuff goin' toe marry me, gal, yo'll have toe take yo' chances—same as me."

"Chances? Whatcher mean by chances, man?"

"What I says," said Bill, solemnly.

She saw that he was not in liquor. He sat silent and solemn for a long time, until finally she opened the door a little wider.

"I reckon I ain't scared o' takin'—usual risks—Bill."

"I would like to borrow five dollars from ye, Bill," said Sanders when the mate got back aboard.

The giant black scowled at him.

"Didn't ye git the money yet?"

"I ain't naterally quarrelsome," said Bill; "but if I hears any mo' erbout dat money, dere's likely toe be some daid men 'roun'."

III

The Mate of the "Sea-Horse"

He stalked in behind the captain of the Caliban to the desk in the consul's office at Key West, where the clerk signed on the men. His six feet three inches of solid frame almost filled the doorway as he entered, and he scowled sourly at the group already there. His black face was lined and wrinkled and bore traces of a debauch, but in spite of his sinister expression his eyes told of a good-natured steadiness of temper. The bloodshot whites and heavy lids told plainly that he was a diver, and his peculiar accent, giant frame and general muscular development proclaimed him a Fortune Islander, a Conch of the Great Bahama Bank.

"Nationality?" droned the clerk, in a dull monotone, as he came forward.

"American," he answered, distinctly.

The captain looked at him.

"Where from?" droned the clerk, filling in the blank.

"Jacksonville," he answered, in a deep tone, fixing his eyes upon the man's face.

The clerk smiled a little, but said nothing. It was not his business to argue, and he knew the weakness of the reefer. He had signed the giant on to more than six different vessels within the past two years and each time he had solemnly sworn he was a native of a different country from the last one named. He had now become a citizen of the United States, having reserved this honor for the seventh and last time to sign.

The age of the giant fluctuated. Once he had had an indistinct remembrance of being about twenty-five; now he had leaped suddenly to forty. Something had evidently made him feel aged, and the clerk was amused, for he felt that it must indeed have been a heavy debauch to produce such an effect.

The Islander, or rather the American now, glanced uneasily at the ship's papers. He was signing on for a cruise in a yacht, and the United States articles with their red spread-eagle upon their edges attracted his attention. He could not read the announcement of the government "whack," or ration, as prescribed by law, and he had heretofore signed without looking. Now the papers interested him, and he bade the clerk read them. His voice was low and gentle, but it had nothing except command in each word, and this annoyed the clerk. He read slowly and with bad grace, looking up now and then at the captain, who stood waiting for his man and giving a glance which told plainly that here was a pirate who would probably make no end of trouble aboard his ship. But men like the Conch were extremely rare and he would have him, so he waited impatiently while the clerk read and the rest listened, hearing probably for the first time in their lives the contents of a set of articles which they had always treated with the high disdain existent in all sailors. When the clerk finished, the giant took the pen in his fingers and scrawled "Bahama Bill" in large, wabbly letters to his place on the list as second mate for a voyage to some port north of New York, three months and discharge.

"S'pose you write William Haskins under that?" said the clerk, sourly. The giant growled out something, but did as told. Then the papers were finished.

The captain led the crew down to the vessel, the mainsail was hoisted, and as the anchor broke clear and the head-sails were run up, the little gun upon her quarter crashed a salute which echoed and reechoed over the quiet harbour. Then the Caliban stood out into the Gulf Stream and was off, leaving the loafing Cubans and listless Conches upon the docks, gazing after her over the heaving blue surface streaked and darkened by the breath of the trade-wind.

The Caliban was a well-appointed yacht, and her master was a yacht-captain. That is, he was not a navigator, but simply a Norwegian sailor who had had the address to impress the owner favourably, and consequently, there being no examination for a license necessary, the owner had placed him in command in the usual manner. The chief mate was a square-head like the master, the owner allowing the captain the choice of officers, retaining only the cook and steward as his own protégés for the comfort of the cabin. Under a schooner rig, the vessel had cruised through the West Indian waters, and had lost her second mate and crew the day she touched at Key West, the party making the "pier-head" jump the day after being paid off. In disgust, the owner left her and took passage for the fashionable hotel at Miami, leaving his captain to find a crew and follow as soon as possible.

The morning of the second day out, the yacht swung around Cape Florida, and stood into Biscayne Bay, rounding to on the edge of the channel near the large and fashionable hotel, and dropping her hook, the rattle of her anchor-chain was drowned in the crash of her six-pounder. The captain went ashore in full uniform, and the first officer turned in, leaving the second mate in charge leaning easily upon the rail and gazing after the vanishing form in gold braid.

The uniform of the second mate was a misfit. There were no clothes among the slops that would fit his frame, but he gloried in a cap with braid stuck rakishly on his head, and while his legs were incased in white ducks rolled to the knees, his huge torso was covered by no more than a course linen shirt. This he wore split up the back and open in front, and he was comfortably indifferent to the excellent ventilation it afforded.

It was early in the morning and few people were stirring near the great hotel. The captain disappeared in the direction of the town, and while the second mate gazed, he saw a boat pulling rapidly toward him from the hotel dock.

Soon a man, rowed by a boy, came alongside.

"Is the owner aboard?" he asked, nervously.

"No, sah," said Bill, squinting at him.

"Who's in command?" he inquired.

"Me, sah."

"Well, don't fire that gun again. You scare all the invalids in the hotel. We can't have our people frightened this way."

"She goes agin at eight bells," drawled Bill. "Have to raise de colours by him. If you don't like dat little gun, jest please move yer shack."

"Don't you dare to talk to me like that! Do you know who I am?" bawled the man, standing up.

"Naw, I don't know yer—an' de wust is, yo' clean forgot me. Now don't yo' git too noisy, Peter Snooks, er whatever yer name is—ef yer do, I'll set on yer. If yer don't like de noise, move yo' shack. I ain't got no orders to pull de hook."

The man swore and threatened, but the second mate smiled good-naturedly, until the man rowed away vowing vengeance.

"That's the dockmaster, sir," said a sailor standing near. "He'll make a lot o' trouble—I know him."

"Fergit him," said the second mate, in a low tone, but in a manner which closed the incident.

At eight bells the gun crashed a salute, and, either by chance or otherwise, it pointed directly at the windows of the huge edifice filled with the rich Northern guests. The glass fairly rattled with the shock.

The day wore on without incident, until the captain came aboard, a bit the worse for liquor and with the news that the owner had left for St. Augustine, leaving orders for the yacht to follow.

It was quiet, and the schooner rode at anchor in a bay of pond-like smoothness. The men lounged about the decks or gazed over the side at the bottom, which could be seen through the clear water. They would stand out at sunrise, but the captain told no one of this intention, and those ashore expected her to be a fixture of a week or more. The sun went down in a bank to the westward and the semi-tropical night came dark and quiet upon the sea.

Through the deepening gloom, a shadow came stealing around the wooded point of Cape Florida. With her mainsail well off to the gentle southerly breeze, the wrecking-sloop Sea-Horse slipped noiselessly through the water, swinging around the channel buoy and standing like a black phantom for the mouth of the Miami. She came without a sound, not even a ripple gurgling from her forefoot; and not a ray of light showed either from her rigging or from her cabin-house. At the wheel, a figure stood silent in the night, a slight turn of the spokes now and then being the only movement to show that the image was that of a man steering. Strung along the deck-house and rail lay six other human forms, but they were as quiet as though made of wood. Not even the glow of a pipe relieved the silent gloom. The wrecker drew near the yacht. The man at the wheel leaned slightly forward over the spokes and peered long and searchingly at her from under the main-boom. Then she drifted past, and as she did so eight bells struck, sounding clear and musical from the forecastle. In the glare from her anchor-light, a giant form showed upon the yacht's forecastle-head—the black second mate, who was taking a look at the anchor-cable before settling himself for a smoke. The wrecker passed and disappeared around the point, and the second mate of the Caliban stretched himself along the heel of the bowsprit and watched the distant loom of the keys whence the low, murmuring snore of the surf sounded. Two bells struck and aroused him for a moment. The man on lookout asked permission to go below for a bit of tobacco, and then after he had watched his figure vanish down the hatchway, the mate turned toward the shore where the lights sparkled over the bay.

A slight rippling sound attracted his attention, and he looked over the side. It sounded like a large fish of some kind making its way clumsily along near the surface. The black water flared in places, and a continuous flashing of phosphorus shone along the cheek of the bow when the tide was shoved aside. Something dark showed at a little distance, but it passed astern and the rippling sound died away. Haskins, who was half-fish from habit and as watchful as a shark, went to the taffrail and leaned over. The water seemed like ink in the gloom, but he scanned it steadily and patiently. Nothing showed upon the dark surface, and he smoked for half an hour, until his usually alert senses began to wander. He was getting sleepy. Then the rippling sound began again on the offshore side. He remained quiet and listened. This time the rippling sounded like a fish going against the current, and the glare of the disturbed water showed now and again as the body approached. Suddenly it seemed as if the creature passed under the yacht's bottom. The rippling died away, and the second mate stepped to the side to see if it would rise again. Nothing showed in the blackness under her counter, but from down there came a peculiar scraping sound. It continued, and he peered over to see the cause. The raking stopped instantly. He remained quiet and it began again, a peculiar scraping as though something were scratching against the vessel's bilge.

Suddenly a sound of heavy breathing came from the water. Haskins started, drew himself down upon the rail and listened intently. Yes, he recognized it now, distinctly. It was the breathing of a man.

While he lay upon the rail listening, he was thinking rapidly. There were few men who would swim out in the bay at night, and there was none who would swim out there without some sinister object. He thought of the dockmaster and his talk of revenge, but he knew the dockmaster was not a diver. There could be only one or two men on the Florida Reefs for wrecking, and these men were among the crew of the Sea-Horse, the sloop in which he had been mate for the past season. Then he remembered a phantom-like shadow which had drifted past in the earlier hours of the evening, and he was satisfied he knew his man. It was the captain of the wrecking-sloop, and his object was plain to the diver. It was an old game, a game he had indulged in many times himself in the days gone by. He knew the long, desperate swims through the dangerous waters of West Indian and Florida reefs; the fierce struggle alongside to hold the body silent in a tideway while with hook and bar the wrecker worked at the oakum in the seams just a strake or two below the water-line; then the inrushing flood and settling ship, and daylight finding a panic-stricken captain and mutinous and half-dead crew with swollen arms and aching backs from a night's hopeless work at the pump-brakes. He could picture the approaching wrecking-sloop, with her apparently amazed crew and the vulture-like descent upon the soon-abandoned vessel whose only damage was really the working out of several pounds of oakum from seams which were manifestly improperly calked. Then the investigation and salvage, for even when the marks showed plain of either bar or hook, there was never the slightest evidence against the wrecker.