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OPEN WATER 
 
BOOKS BY JAMES B. CONNOLLY 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S 
 
 SONS 
 
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° » • • * 
 
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Oh, papa, — papa — " she was saying, and believe me, I didn't 
 regret that finish 
 
OPEN WATER 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES BRENDAN CONNOLLY 
 
 AUTHOR OF " OUT OF GLOUCESTER," *' THE SEINERS," 
 "THE DEEP sea's TOLL," "THE CRESTED SEAS," ETC. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::::::::::i 9 io 
 
Copyright, iqio, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published October, ioio 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Emigrants i 
 
 Tshushima Straits 25 
 
 The Consuming Flame .... ... 61 
 
 Gree Gree Bush 101 
 
 The Venture of the "Flying Hind" . . . 143 
 
 The Cruise of the "Bounding Boy" ... 183 
 
 The Sea-Faker 213 
 
 Heroes 237 
 
 The Christmas Handicap .... . . 271 
 
 9&55T3 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "Oh, papa — papa — " she was saying, and, believe me, 
 
 I didn't regret that finish .... Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 He thought I meant it for him, and dropped, but 
 'twas over his head I threw it — at the other 
 lamp 134 
 
 I set the Chinamen to work, one gang bailing out — 
 
 another gang to the pumps 162 
 
 I saw Gillis striving like a hero 166 
 
 "And wurk fasht, b'y — wurk fasht" 246 
 
 They got the pair at last, taking first the little stow- 
 away 260 
 
 "Ho, Ho, with nine yards the devil from hell won't 
 
 get me" 310 
 
 I could feel the taunt in that yell, and into my soul it 
 
 came 320 
 
1 ' 
 
 ■ • > 
 
 
 THE EMIGRANTS 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 TO the waiting people in Poland there came 
 one day the most momentous package of 
 all, that which contained the money for their 
 tickets — this from far-away America, from Henry, 
 good husband to Esther, and more than a son to 
 Esther's mother, even from the day he had asked 
 her for Esther in marriage. 
 
 Then were there the most formidable details to 
 be attended to; for in the realm of the Czar the 
 matter of emigrating is of great moment. There 
 had to be faced the most terrifying of officials, 
 who asked the most searching questions, and gave 
 over the papers only after the most rigid formali- 
 ties, and also only after payments had been made 
 that seemed like mountains of expense to people 
 who for so long had been dwelling in the valley of 
 poverty. 
 
 And there was even more than that. When for 
 so many hundreds of years one's ancestors have 
 lived and died in a country — in so many cases 
 for that country — one does not, generally, make 
 ready to leave that country, forever most likely, 
 
 3 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 and for a far-away and unknown land most surely, 
 without noalqiig some little stir, without betraying 
 to the neighbors something of the inward agita- 
 GQiiy-lfiijrdly even, though that country be one long 
 ruled by people of a later creation and cruder civ- 
 ilization, by aliens who for some centuries now 
 had been denying all ancestral rights. 
 
 But the day of departure came at last, and with 
 the unnecessary household effects disposed of, the 
 little patch of land handed over, the passports ob- 
 tained — all that attended to — and the last-made 
 grave visited once again, Esther and Esther's 
 mother, with the four children, emerged from 
 beneath the shower of tears, kisses, embraces, 
 and blessings, and boarded the rough car on 
 which they were to be jolted to the frontier. 
 
 The frontier! They were near to it at length, 
 and nearing it were met by uniformed officials of 
 the country they were leaving, who peered into 
 their faces, shouted at them, examined their 
 papers, went away, came back, had another look, 
 another examination, shouted once more, and 
 finally allowed the train to pass beyond the line 
 of pacing soldiers, and thence to the servants of 
 the great steamship companies, more especially 
 the one in green livery with red trimmings, who 
 also shouted at them — everybody seemed to shout 
 at them, but this one could be heard a league — 
 
 4 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 "D'Auswanderer — Auswanderer!" And when he 
 made it clear that they were to rally to him, 
 and they had humbly assembled, turned them 
 over to a little old man, also in uniform, who re- 
 assembled them after his own fashion, and led 
 them like a band of conscripts to the company's 
 lodging-house and there assigned them quarters 
 for the night. The company, the little man made 
 them understand, was now responsible for them — 
 from now until they were aboard the steamer in 
 Hamburg; and though the company would be a 
 kind father to them, it would also see that none 
 strayed beyond the confines of its premises. 
 
 They were happy then; and Esther's mother, 
 who had not from the first moment of departure 
 ceased to worry for the children, above all for 
 little Michel, now in deep gratitude put them 
 away for the night, the eldest two in one berth, 
 the next with Esther. Michel, the youngest — 
 the baby — she took to herself. Never would she 
 part from little Michel — never — never — and told 
 him so between the lines of the song with which 
 she lulled him to sleep. 
 
 To the women, when the children were hushed, 
 there came from the next apartment the sound of 
 men's voices. One there was who seemed to have 
 come back from America for a holiday — a young 
 man, by the tone — recounting tales of the won- 
 
 5 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 derful land to which all were bound. Not longer 
 than two days was he in New York when some 
 one said, "Come," and set him to work at two 
 dollars — two dollars — four rubles, a day — yes. 
 
 In a berth opposite to Esther's mother, a young 
 woman breathed aloud at that. "You heard, old 
 mother ? Four rubles a day. You have no man, 
 but it is fine to think of, is it not?" 
 
 "Truly," answered Esther's mother, "it will be 
 fine for the young." 
 
 Esther's mother could then hear old Joseph 
 asking questions. Poor old Joseph! For him 
 there had been no need to come. He had, indeed, 
 saved enough to keep him, with prudence, all his 
 years at home. But he had come, and there was 
 no gainsaying him. To the frontier only — to the 
 control station, no further — he had said to the 
 neighbors, and even to themselves, before taking 
 the train; but to America it was to be, in truth, 
 as he had told them that afternoon in the cars, 
 and told them also how he had sold his little pos- 
 sessions privately, and drawn all his savings, and 
 changed all into large bills which, even at the 
 moment, were in a pouch under his vest. He 
 even showed them where, around his neck, under 
 his long white beard, lay the string of the pouch. 
 
 They slept well that night. The cooing and 
 gurgling of little Michel awoke Esther's mother, 
 
 6 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 as it had awakened her for many mornings now. 
 What a feeling that — the little fingers creeping 
 up over the face and trying to open one's eyes in 
 the morning! Oh, the little man! she cuddled 
 him and kept him by her until long after Esther 
 had the other children ready — until the com- 
 pany's man came to say that those who cared 
 might cook breakfast in the kitchen below where 
 were samovars and charcoal, and where cold water 
 was to be had of the pump in the yard outside. 
 After that they must be ready to go to the office, 
 there to get tickets, for which one must have the 
 money ready. 
 
 "Children under four years are free at the 
 steamship from Hamburg to New York, but only 
 those under ten months are free at the railway 
 from here to Hamburg. Be prepared ! " 
 
 "Oh, my little Michel! We shall have to pay 
 for him on the railway, think you, Esther ? — and 
 he but hardly weaned." 
 
 "And for Max on the steamer, mother. He is 
 five." 
 
 "Five — yes — but small for his age. Michel is 
 such a great fellow." 
 
 Just before Esther's mother in the line was the 
 young woman who had slept in the berth oppo- 
 site Esther's mother during the night. She held 
 a lusty baby boy in her arms. The weight of 
 
 7 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 him was sagging one hip and shoulder down and 
 around, but she would not set him down. 
 
 To her came the superintendent: a portly, 
 good-looking man in a thin silk coat, fine, frilled 
 linen, loose tie, and the softest of tanned kid 
 slippers, and a clerk at his elbow with pad and 
 pen. 
 
 "And this one — how old is he ?" 
 
 The young woman trembled. Esther's mother, 
 next in line, also trembled. 
 
 "How old, I say— how old ?" 
 
 "Ten months, Your Excellence." 
 
 "Ten months ? Ten months ? Set him down." 
 
 "But he cannot walk yet — he is too young, 
 Your Excellence." 
 
 "Pish — pish — for a moment, and let us see. 
 There — and he cannot walk, you say ?" 
 
 "Oh, but so little, Your Excellence." Fat, 
 curly, bow-legged, and black-eyed, the child 
 stamped about the room. 
 
 " But so little, you say, and only ten months ? 
 So. At ten years he will be a man already. Ten 
 months! and walks like a sailor. Ten months!" 
 
 "He was born so, Your Excellence — large and 
 strong for his age." 
 
 "So." The superintendent halted to wipe his 
 perspiring cheeks. "Ah, but it is warm. And 
 this other fat, curly one?" he pinched little Mi- 
 
 8 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 chel's cheek. "What age ? Ten months, also, 
 old mother?" 
 
 "Ten months, Your Excellence." 
 
 "And born large and strong also ? And his 
 name — Samson ? No ? Michel, you say ? Oh, 
 Michel! Ach! let them pass. Let them all pass. 
 What can one do with women — such lies! To the 
 doctor now." 
 
 To the first room in the control station went 
 Esther's party, and these, with many others, pa- 
 tiently awaited examination. 
 
 Laws! There were laws, it seemed. And had 
 they not left all troublesome laws behind them ? 
 And here, regulations also — such queer things 
 were in the world! which said that they must be 
 examined all, especially as to hair and eyes, before 
 they would be allowed on the railway which was 
 to take them, by and by, to the steamship and so 
 on to the great country beyond the great sea. 
 
 It was terrifying, this waiting in line; and then, 
 when the doctor said, "Now you — " to have to 
 march up the whole length of the long room and 
 stand before him, with his eyes and mouth that 
 did not smile, and have him look one over so — 
 such a look! and the looking-glass that was 
 strapped to his forehead! It could not be that 
 he knew how he frightened one when he studied 
 one out in that way — so — and shook his hands 
 
 9 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 slowly — so — and then stiff and stern — so! No, 
 surely he could not know. 
 
 Behind Esther was the old mother, holding little 
 Michel, dancing him up and down, sticking her 
 face into his face, saying boo! and boo! and boo! 
 again, and kissing him every time he crowed 
 aloud. This was her own darling — youngest of 
 all — little Michel. She held him high over her 
 shoulder that he might stroke old Joseph's beard, 
 and old Joseph, sad and patient, for a moment 
 tried to smile. 
 
 Esther faced the doctor, and, being passed, 
 came back to her place on the long bench. Es- 
 ther's mother should have been next, but she turned 
 to Joseph, and he, obedient as in the days of his 
 youth, stood before the doctor. The doctor took 
 up his paper. 
 
 "You are alone?" 
 
 "Yes, Herr Doctor." 
 
 "No wife, no child behind you ?" 
 
 "No wife, nor child — nor kin, Herr Doctor." 
 
 "And in America — no kin ?" 
 
 "Nobody — in all the world, nobody." 
 
 " But at your age — why do you go ? You like 
 to travel?" 
 
 "I ? Not I — old trees, fast roots." 
 
 " So ? But tell me — it is for myself, not the 
 law, that I ask — why do you go ?" 
 
 10 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 "I go because my friends go. Esther goes — 
 and so the children. The children go, so goes 
 Sarah; and where Sarah goes even there must I 
 
 "So? And which is Sarah?" 
 
 "She who is next." 
 
 "With the child ? H-m— she is old also." 
 
 "She has been younger, Herr Doctor." 
 
 "I meant no harm, old man. That you may 
 know her when she is yet older is my wish." 
 
 "May the Lord spare her, Herr Doctor. And 
 if I may say it — you will see for yourself — the child 
 is her life." 
 
 "'Tis not hard to see that. But if you will step 
 down now and tell her to come." 
 
 Sarah approached haltingly. She still carried 
 Michel. 
 
 "That child — is he not heavy, old mother?" 
 
 "Oh, no, Herr Doctor— not little Michel!" 
 
 "But you must set him down now." 
 
 "And I must, Herr Doctor?" 
 
 "Only for a little while. That is it. And now 
 the hair." 
 
 Down tumbled the hair. Old Joseph remem- 
 bered what that hair was once, and, remembering, 
 sighed. 
 
 "And now for the eyes. The head this way — 
 
 so." 
 
 II 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 The faded old eyes were turned toward the 
 light. They looked like eyes that had wept so 
 much they could weep no more. 
 
 " So — h-m — And now this way. And this way 
 once more. H-m-m — You have seen much 
 trouble, old mother ? " 
 
 "Trouble ? Every one has trouble." 
 
 "It is true. And your daughter — she is the 
 only child now ? " 
 
 "The only child." 
 
 "There were others ?" 
 
 "Five are buried, Herr Doctor — five and their 
 father." 
 
 "Ah! and your daughter's husband, is it not, 
 who sends the money for passage ?" 
 
 "Henry it is — yes. A fine boy, and who has 
 worked so hard that we might all come to him 
 together." 
 
 " So." Longer, and yet longer, the doctor looked 
 into the old eyes. Then he asked her further 
 questions. Afterward she could not remember 
 what the questions were — he asked so many — and 
 there was that fearful looking-glass on his head; 
 but she told him of the sickness with her eyes. 
 She had had that sickness with her eyes for a long 
 time now. But it mattered little. She could see 
 to sew in the long nights of winter and to make 
 all the clothes for the babies. And no one had 
 
 12 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 ever before said that her eyes were not as good 
 for that as any other eyes. The very clothes that 
 little Michel then had on — where was he, the 
 little imp? Oh, under the table — such a boy! 
 those clothes were the envy of every mother in the 
 village. And her own eyes had overlooked every 
 stitch, every single stitch. Look, the Herr Doator 
 could see for himself that the work was well done. 
 Not another child in the village had such clothes. 
 Children of the rich there were with clothes that 
 would not show finer stitching. 
 
 The surgeon, shaking his head, turned to the 
 superintendent. She could not understand what 
 it was they said, the one to the other — they talked 
 in Polish no longer — but there was that in their 
 faces and gestures which troubled her. She put 
 her hand on the surgeon's arm even before he had 
 done speaking to the superintendent, and all in the 
 room trembled for her boldness. Her other hand 
 clasped little Michel's fingers. 
 
 Then the superintendent, who seemed to talk all 
 languages — and her own language as one born to 
 it — called Esther over and whispered to her. And 
 Esther mournfully told her mother that she would 
 have to wait for a time. 
 
 "Wait ? And why ?" It was plain she did not 
 understand. 
 
 "There is not money enough for all, His Excel- 
 
 *3 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 lence says. It is full fare for children over four 
 years of age, and half fare for children over 
 ten months. And Max is above four years, and 
 little Michel above ten months — they have de- 
 cided. And if the children are to go, some one 
 must stay behind — is it not so, Your Excellence ? " 
 
 "It is so, old mother," confirmed the superin- 
 tendent. 
 
 Esther's mother looked to her little Michel, and 
 from him around the room. Her eyes fastened 
 on the slim young woman with the fat baby 
 in arms, she who had been in the opposite berth 
 the night before, and just ahead of them in line 
 at the office. All had remarked that since leav- 
 ing the office that morning not once had she set 
 her baby down. She feared to have to buy a 
 ticket for him — 'twas not hard to see that. To 
 her Esther's mother rushed. "See, Herr Excel- 
 lence, see you, which is the larger ? Or, the Herr 
 Doctor, who understands such things better, see, 
 which is the older — this one or my little Michel. 
 Set him down — will you not set him down ? Ah, 
 she will not. Look again, Herr Doctor. This 
 one has been passed, has he not?" 
 
 "It is true," said the superintendent. 
 
 Then did Esther's mother force the young 
 woman to set the fat baby on the floor. In an 
 instant he was rolling toward the men. 
 
 H 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 "Ten months, and see him run! Ten months, 
 and free! But not little Michel ?" With her dry 
 eyes she faced the superintendent. "But not 
 little Michel, Heir Doctor?" 
 
 The surgeon shook his head. The soul was not 
 open to his knife. Then, suddenly, he wondered 
 why he was spending so much time over this case. 
 Again and again had such cases come before him 
 — not exactly alike always, but much alike. How 
 many he had passed by before! But here he was 
 this morning. It could not be merely that it was 
 a fair, warm, summer's morning — hardly that. 
 In his memory were a thousand other fair, warm 
 mornings, with trees nodding outside the door 
 and the blue sky beyond, and a voice as pleading 
 and eyes as sad as these — almost. Whatever it 
 was, this doctor, who examined a thousand immi- 
 grants a month, took a great deal of trouble to 
 make it clear to Esther why it was her mother 
 could not go. 
 
 "How can I tell her ?" said Esther. "She can- 
 not come, and yet we must go to Henry, who is 
 waiting for us." 
 
 It was on the superintendent's hint that she 
 told her mother that, though there was not money 
 enough for all at that moment, she need not de- 
 spair; for when they reached America she would 
 have Henry send her ticket-money back. 
 
 *5 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 "Oh, my heart!" said Esther's mother, "and 
 I must wait until that money comes again ? You 
 go now with the children, and not I ? And yet it 
 is right — it is right. Henry is impatient, and why 
 not ? The long time he has toiled for the tickets, 
 and now he wishes to see his own. Esther, you 
 are his own — and the children, little Michel and 
 all. But not his wife's old mother? He will 
 await every steamer now — go to the office and ask 
 for Esther and the babies. Ah, ah, it is not right. 
 No, I do not mean that. Esther, when you see 
 him you will tell him, and surely he will man- 
 age to send the money soon. And yet it is so 
 much to save — eighty rubles. One could live a 
 long time at home on so much. But he is 
 good, Henry, and he will not complain, and he 
 shall see how I will make it up in care of the 
 children. You and Henry, Esther, will have need 
 of me. I will be taking care of the little ones 
 when you help him at his work. But little 
 Michel " 
 
 Old Joseph stepped over. Timidly he plucked 
 the superintendent by the arm. "I have enough 
 — I will pay for Sarah's ticket." The pouch was 
 in his hand, the string from around his neck. 
 
 "Sh-h — " said the superintendent, and told him 
 how it was. 
 
 "Oh!" said old Joseph. 
 16 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 But Esther's mother had caught sight of old 
 Joseph, and divined what he had said. "Ah, 
 Joseph, you will pay, and I shall not have to wait." 
 
 And then they had to tell her, or partly tell her 
 — it was the sickness of the eyes. 
 
 "Even if we allowed you to leave here, old 
 mother, they would send you back from New 
 York. The American surgeons are very strict. ,, 
 
 It took her some time to understand it. Her 
 courage almost left her, and she had to sit down 
 for a while; but, presently gaining a little strength, 
 she inquired how long it would take the sickness 
 to leave her. If she took good care, stayed in the 
 darkened room, say, by the time Esther and her 
 children arrived in New York and could send a 
 letter back — would she be well then ? Three 
 weeks or more — four weeks it might be — five, pos- 
 sibly. Well, in five weeks — what a long time! but 
 in five weeks would the sickness be cured ? 
 
 Then it was that they told Esther the whole 
 truth. Her mother's eyes would never be better. 
 And Esther told Joseph, and Joseph led her away, 
 with her fingers still clinging to little Michel's 
 hand, and she still of the opinion that in a few 
 weeks her eyes might be well and she on her way 
 to join the children. 
 
 After that it was time for bathing. Every one 
 must get under the stream of water and get such 
 
 *7 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 a wash as he never got before. They told Esther's 
 mother that she could not go with the others, that 
 she would have to 'give up little Michel because 
 of the sickness of her eyes. In a little while, after 
 they had been through the bath, little Michel 
 would be brought back. 
 
 She protested at that. "So soon to lose him 
 for long weeks, and now not to see him while he 
 is washed?" So vehement was she that super- 
 intendent and surgeon threw up their hands 
 and allowed her to have her way. So she took 
 little Michel into the women's apartments 
 and gave him so fine a warm bath, with such 
 a plenty of soapsuds, that he crowed like a young 
 rooster. 
 
 "Such a boy!" said Esther's mother, and held 
 him up, rosy, for all to see, and later, with his 
 glowing face, confronted the superintendent tri- 
 umphant. 
 
 It was against all the rules that Esther's mother 
 should go in the train for Hamburg. But she 
 hung onto little Michel, to whom she was so 
 soon to say good-by — hung on so tightly that 
 when the train started the superintendent said 
 something to the guard, and handed him a paper; 
 the guard in reply said, "Very good — Berlin"; 
 that and something else, and Esther's mother, 
 happy and smiling, stayed aboard. 
 
 18 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 Everybody in the car felt sorry for Esther's 
 mother, and smiled at her and the baby when 
 they saw that she had had her way. 
 
 All that night and all next morning they were 
 confined to the rickety car, on the side of which, 
 in large black letters, were the words, 
 
 RUSSISCHE AUSWANDERER 
 
 At times, along the way, there were stations 
 where, the guard's vigilance relaxing, they might 
 have had time to run out and procure needful 
 things; but if their own guard were careless, not 
 so the others, and they were soon rushed back. 
 Everybody seemed to think that whoever else were 
 accorded privileges, these lowly strangers at least 
 should be given no liberty. 
 
 The young fellow, Moishe, he who had been to 
 America before, explained how it was. "Some 
 years ago some people — not our people, but others 
 of Russia — carried the cholera into Hamburg and 
 so on to America; and since then none are allowed 
 to leave the cars until we are in Hamburg, and 
 there we leave them only for the Auswanderer- 
 hallen, and there it is lock and key also, until we 
 shall be on the steamer. I know, for it was so 
 when I went before also, although, upon my 
 word, it seems harder now. Next time, should I 
 come back again, I will return third class — no less." 
 
 *9 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 At Bromberg, which is well on toward Berlin, 
 a boy having grapes for sale halted under the 
 window of the car. "Ah!" sighed Esther, "if the 
 babies had but a handful!" Old Joseph, hearing, 
 leaned out, motioned for the full of his hat, and 
 handed down a ruble. The boy shook his head. 
 
 "He will have none of your Russian money," 
 said Moishe. "He wants German money. I re- 
 member that it was so before." 
 
 "But I have no German money," said poor 
 Joseph, and was drawing in his head disconsolate 
 when they were perceived by a young fellow 
 whom they had themselves already noticed as one 
 who seemed to have no other business than to 
 walk the platform and observe the people about 
 him. He was neither German nor Russian, they 
 saw at once. To him, when he came over, Moishe 
 handed Joseph's ruble and spoke some words in 
 the strange tongue with which he used to converse 
 with the superintendent at the control station when 
 he wished to show that he had been to America. 
 
 The young stranger nodded, and for Joseph's 
 ruble handed back German money. "Two marks 
 and fifteen pfennigs" — they knew that much of 
 German money; and then, stopping the fruit boy, 
 he purchased the platter of grapes and handed 
 it up to Esther's mother. Further, he ran off 
 and came back with a precious orange for each 
 
 20 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 of the children. Little Michel's hand was not 
 large enough to hold his. "There," said Moishe 
 proudly, "that is the American kind. Money, 
 they have it like dirt to spend — these rich Ameri- 
 cans. You will find them everywhere." 
 
 "Not many of them come to Poland," said old 
 Joseph; "or, if so, I never saw them in our vil- 
 lage." 
 
 Esther's mother fed the orange to little Michel. 
 Between mouthfuls she hugged him tight, and in 
 his ear whispered: "Ah, my little Michel, some 
 day — who can say — you will also be rich, with 
 money to spend like that; and with the money 
 there will also be horses and carriages and grand 
 houses and servants. And maybe I shall live to 
 see it, and if so it may be that I shall be allowed 
 there — in the grand house — in a little back room 
 up under the roof with nobody to see me, but 
 from where I can look and see all, knitting your 
 socks for the bad weather and putting the letters 
 on the fine linen you will have then. Is it not so, 
 my little Michel?" and little Michel held his 
 mouth up for more orange. 
 
 Not long after that it came to an end — at Ber- 
 lin, where the train made a long halt. Esther's 
 mother had almost forgotten that she was not to 
 go, and was beginning to believe that she would yet 
 be allowed to stay. But here was a new guard, 
 
 21 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 one with less kindness than the other. He pulled 
 out a paper and came through the car, calling 
 loudly her name. 
 
 "Sarah — I cannot read it — but Sarah Some- 
 thing, an old woman." She had no cause to an- 
 swer — the pitiful look that came to her worn old 
 face would have made her known out of a multi- 
 tude. 
 
 She pleaded with this one, even as she had with 
 the doctor and superintendent, and up to the last 
 moment hoped she might win him over. But this 
 was one who dared not or could not go beyond 
 orders — out of the car he lifted her as the train 
 moved, out and onto the platform. 
 
 And after her came old Joseph. He had stopped 
 not for bundles or boxes, but jumped off like a 
 youth of twenty. 
 
 "You must tell her all," called Esther after him. 
 
 "I will tell her." 
 
 It was a most unheard-of thing, this leaving 
 the car by one against whom no objection was 
 made; and the astounded guard, with no prece- 
 dent to help him out, was at a loss what to do. 
 He gesticulated in bewilderment, but the train 
 moved out. 
 
 Esther's mother did not see Joseph. She had 
 eyes only for little Michel, with his arms reach- 
 ing out of the window toward her, out over his 
 
 22 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 mother's shoulder, as though for something he 
 missed. 
 
 Long after the train was out of sight she stood 
 there, despairing. Only when fatigue compelled 
 her did she move to a bench, and then only to cast 
 her weary body down and hold a tight hand to 
 her aching eyes and head. Joseph, saying noth- 
 ing, sat on another bench. 
 
 By and by the train that was to take her back 
 to Russia came, and, arising, she saw him sitting 
 there. 
 
 "You, Joseph? And why? Why, O Joseph, 
 did you turn back, too ?" 
 
 "Why ? Why ? As if you did not know. You in 
 Poland and I stay in America ? I am old, Sarah." 
 
 "And I am old, too, Joseph — so old, and never 
 knew till now." 
 
 It was in the control station on the frontier 
 that she was told the worst. It had to be told 
 her. She had to be made to understand why it 
 was that she was not to be allowed to stay there 
 until the ticket should come from America — if 
 all the tickets in the world were to come, still she 
 could not go. 
 
 It was old Joseph who told her. 
 
 "So," she said, "so. Oh, you were a good 
 boy. And Max, Jacob, Joseph — good children, 
 all. And Esther, my daughter, you were good, 
 
 23 
 
The Emigrants 
 
 too — Esther, yes. But Michel, O my heart! Oh, 
 my little Michel " 
 
 Then it was the tears came. 
 
 "That is better," said the surgeon. "But she 
 will need care, old man, when she is back in Po- 
 land again — for all her days, it may be." 
 
 "She shall have care," said Joseph, "and for 
 all her days, if need be." 
 
 Between the control station and their old home 
 in Poland she spoke only once. Without lifting 
 her head she reached out her hand. 
 
 "Joseph?" 
 
 "I am here." 
 
 "When the letters come from America it may be 
 that my eyes — you heard what the doctor said ? — 
 my eyes — and in the letters may be things that are 
 not for others to see — But I do not mind you, 
 Joseph — and also there will be such things as 
 little Michel will write when he grows up — you 
 know, Joseph ? " 
 
 "I know, Sarah." 
 
 "And so I may need eyes, Joseph. It is hard 
 to say only that, to be only a burden to thee at 
 the last, but I may need eyes, Joseph." 
 
 "Thou shalt have eyes, Sarah." 
 
 24 
 
TSHUSHIMA STRAITS 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 IT was the Russian battle-fleet steaming north- 
 erly toward the Sea of Japan. Twenty ships 
 were in column and ten miles an hour the speed. 
 From the quarter-deck of the Kremlin the Ameri- 
 can could hear the crew of the big turret at drill. 
 By the clanking echo of the tumbling tray he 
 could guess their speed. 
 
 He shook his head to himself. "No doubt 
 you're brave and all that, but you could stand an 
 awful lot of practice." 
 
 By and by, the loading tray no longer sound- 
 ing, the form of a sailor emerged from the turret 
 hatch. A moment, as if to get his bearings, 
 another as if to take in the scene, and then in two 
 nervous bounds he made the deck. 
 
 The American knew him for his man, but he 
 finished his cigarette before stepping over to the 
 other's side. "Is not this Stephan Demetri Har- 
 lov so called, turret captain ?" 
 
 "So called," the other replied in English, "so 
 called?" And then in French, "You speak a 
 strange tongue, m'sieur." 
 
 27 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 "Etranger? Eh bien, have it so," the Ameri- 
 can retorted in French. "You do not recall me ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, you are the American quartermaster 
 we shipped at Hong-Kong." 
 
 "I am also an American naval officer on a 
 leave of absence. My name is Mannix. I am 
 that same young Mannix, the Annapolis cadet, 
 who spent most of his furloughs in coming to 
 see Her Grace's sister — before she became Her 
 Grace, that was. Does M'sieur Harlov recollect ?" 
 
 The Russian paused before answering, and 
 then he spoke in English. "I recollect — very 
 well. Ensign Mannix now, is it not? But you 
 have changed." 
 
 "Naturally, of course — in seven years." 
 
 "And how is the pretty little Madeleine ?" 
 
 "Quite well, thanks." 
 
 "Not Mrs. Mannix yet?" 
 
 "Not yet. And perhaps never. But she is 
 concerned, and I am concerned, and her sister is 
 concerned in what I have to say to you — if Ste- 
 phan Demetri Harlov, enlisted man in His Im- 
 perial Majesty's navy, has a short half-hour to 
 spare ? " 
 
 "Some matters, Mr. Mannix — is it not best to 
 let some matters rest ? " 
 
 "Not this matter, Your Grace. To-morrow you 
 
 fight, and to-morrow, possibly " 
 
 28 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 "—I die?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "And why not you die also ?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "And if I die and you die, how can it matter 
 then?" 
 
 "It will not matter to us. But Her Grace " 
 
 "Meaning?" There was a note of mockery in 
 the Russian's voice. 
 
 "Meaning" — there was a note of stubbornness 
 in the American's — "meaning Her Grace, Miss 
 Madeleine's sister — my sister-in-law, possibly, if 
 I return from my mission." 
 
 "Ah-h, a mission?" 
 
 "Exactly — a mission." 
 
 It was a night of drizzle with recurring fog, 
 and they had been peering into each other's faces 
 while talking. Now the Russian looked suddenly 
 away. "What a scene for a drama!" he ex- 
 claimed. "See that taffrail plunging. The drip- 
 ping deck beneath us — gleaming distantly. And 
 outboard " — he swept his arm in half a circle — 
 "profoundly dark, except where on the swirl of 
 the tidal waters the sweeping search-lights play." 
 
 The Russian pointed to where astern was a 
 towing spar on which three search-lights were 
 concentrated; and listening and looking, Mannix 
 began to appreciate the sensitive side of this man 
 
 29 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 who could see, weigh, believe, and judge in an 
 instant. "They make one think of mad porcu- 
 pines charging like that, do they not?" And 
 again the fog enveloping and the safety signal 
 whistles sounding, "We make so much noise 
 and display so many lights! But it will not come 
 to-night. No, not to-night. For what fleet could 
 preserve an effective battle-formation in this sea 
 and tide and gloom ? They would be shelling 
 each other before they were done. And to-mo- 
 row — to-morrow!" he laid a hand on the Ameri- 
 can's arm; "for to get through the straits without 
 meeting Togo's fleet, we cannot expect that — 
 nor wish it. No, no. And" — this under his 
 breath almost — "there can be but one outcome. 
 But let us go inside," and Mannix followed him 
 to the turret, where the other switched on an 
 electric light. 
 
 A short, hardy, immensely powerful-looking 
 sailor leaped to his feet and stood to attention. 
 "S-st!" hissed Harlov; but not until he had seen 
 the American did the sailor relax. 
 
 "And now?" queried the Russian. 
 
 "And now," began Mannix, and in the most 
 rapid and concise language of which he was master 
 made it clear how it was that his companion had 
 come to misunderstand. In this cause Mannix 
 could be eloquent. The Russian was quick to 
 
 30 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 see. His cynicism began to leave him. Man- 
 nix did not have to half explain things. "Yes, 
 yes, go on. Yes, yes," the Russian kept repeat- 
 ing. "But it is almost incredible, nevertheless — 
 a plot from the most dramatic stage almost. A 
 man that I know as a friend — it is almost incon- 
 ceivable." 
 
 "Yet it is true. I was with him when he died 
 — in his own cabin. He sent for me. Dying, 
 he wished to make amends. For years his wild 
 passion had goaded him to the most ingenious 
 schemes to win — pardon, but it is so — the love of 
 Her Grace. He considered the battle half won 
 when you doubted. But he did not know this 
 American girl — a thousand like him could not 
 have stirred her. Only he had to arrive at death's 
 door to learn that. But once convinced, he went 
 just as far the other way to make amends. It was 
 his own idea, the death-bed confession which I 
 drew up and he signed." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Yes, and before witnesses." 
 
 Two bells struck. Mannix stood up. "I must 
 go, for at nine o'clock I was to report to my di- 
 vision officer. But here is the confession. Read 
 it. And if you say, I will see you in the morning 
 — if all goes well." 
 
 "Yes, yes, in the morning. Adieu." 
 
 3 1 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 The division officer was detained, and so Man- 
 nix was told to wait in the passageway for him. 
 From where he stood he could look into the ward- 
 room. Several officers were lounging there. One 
 was ordering wine for himself and another, in- 
 structing the boy carefully as to the rare vin- 
 tage. "A pretty duty," he observed to his com- 
 panion, "an economic principle. If we do not 
 drink it to-night, it will probably rest on the 
 bottom of the sea to-morrow. And a pity that." 
 
 At this point an officer, a lieutenant, entered 
 the ward-room. "You seem pleased at the pros- 
 pect," he said reprovingly to the wine-drinker, 
 laying a bundle on the table. 
 
 "No, no, no." The other smiled and raised a 
 deprecating hand. "Not pleased, but the thought 
 of the excitement, it does relieve the strain. But 
 what have you there, Nicolas Osin ?" 
 
 " It is a suit of clothes, and I am looking for a 
 cord to tie them up." 
 
 "Clothes! Have you not your underclothes, 
 and will they not be enough to swim in when the 
 time comes ? " 
 
 "No, no, a suit of clothes to dress properly — 
 afterward. I shall stow these somewhere on the 
 gun-deck, and afterward " 
 
 "And how if there is no afterward ? How if 
 one of your guns blows up and you with it ?" 
 
 32 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 "Ah-h," and Nicolas Osin shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. "Then I shall will them to you." 
 
 Two or three laughed, and one by the pianola, 
 who had stopped his playing to catch the retort, 
 set the machine in motion again. It was a Ger- 
 man pianola, and Mendelssohn's "Spring Song" 
 that he was rolling out. 
 
 Three others were gathered at a table on the 
 starboard side, while a fourth was playing soli- 
 taire under the centre cluster of incandescent 
 lights. The officer with the bundle, by a gesture, 
 indicated the solitaire player. "Look at him 
 now!" 
 
 The solitaire player looked up. "Oh, well, it 
 is you, Nicolas Osin, Vice-Admiral Misanthrope, 
 cheer up." And fixing his eyes on the bundle of 
 clothing, "You are wise, too, Nicolas Osin. To- 
 morrow morning, when I go off watch, I will 
 envelop myself in the newest of underclothing, 
 even to new socks, all of silk. The doctor says 
 that if one is dressed in clean underclothing the 
 danger of blood-poisoning from a wound is much 
 lessened. I should not like to die that way — by 
 blood-poisoning." 
 
 "Doctors," said the officer at the pianola, 
 "doctors give useful advice — sometimes." 
 
 "As to that," began the solitaire player, "I 
 could tell you — " But did not, for just then one 
 
 33 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 of the three officers of the starboard side began 
 to unroll a plan of something. 
 
 "Ho there!" The solitaire player scooped his 
 cards into one pile. "What have you there, 
 Alexai Fatischeff? Plans of battle evolutions, 
 devolutions, revolutions ? " 
 
 " It is a plan of my estate." 
 
 "What a lucky man — to have an estate!" 
 
 "I shall be luckier if—" He did not finish. 
 
 "We shall all be lucky, my friend, if by this 
 time to-morrow night " 
 
 "You croaking frog you, shut up!" came from 
 the two companions of Alexai Fatischeff. " Shut 
 up and go to bed!" 
 
 An officer in dripping oil-clothes entered the 
 room. A half-dozen questions assailed him at 
 once. "Still (oggy — yes. And choppy — a little. 
 And the search-lights still playing ? Yes. Only 
 for the towing spars we should have run into each 
 other a dozen times to-night. And the enemy ? 
 No telling, but our wireless operator has been 
 picking up wireless messages regularly." 
 
 "Then to-morrow?" 
 
 "It looks like it," and he passed on. 
 
 Mannix's division officer came along then. 
 "Ah-h," he spied Mannix, gave him some rapid 
 instructions in the event of a battle on the mor- 
 row, and then dismissed him. 
 
 34 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 Mannix's way out led past the quarters of the 
 senior officers. Here some doors were opened, 
 some closed; but there was a light shining out 
 from all. And such occupants as he could see 
 seemed very much occupied, either writing or 
 overhauling the contents of their desks. On the 
 room door of one of these, that of Lieutenant 
 Pushkin, who had charge of the after-turret, Man- 
 nix knocked. Pushkin knew of Mannix's mission. 
 
 Following the invitation to enter, Mannix 
 looked in. Pushkin was at his desk. He was 
 writing furiously and did not look up. 
 
 "I came to wish you good luck in case there 
 should not be too much time to-morrow," said 
 Mannix. 
 
 "Thank you. It is good of you. And to you, 
 also, good luck." He regarded Mannix kindly. 
 "And is it all right with Stephan Demetri ?" 
 
 "I think it will be. On the eve of a battle a 
 man is more likely to forget his little ego. Only 
 now I am worrying for him in the battle. But 
 you are writing home ? " 
 
 "Yes," and Pushkin smiled absently. "To 
 my wife. And my little girl — fourteen years. A 
 hard world, and so a little word to her and advice 
 how to bring her up — in case, in case — you know." 
 
 "Of course. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 35 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 II 
 
 Next morning Mannix, walking the superstruc- 
 ture, heard a gentle, "My friend, I thank you." 
 It was the sailor, Stephan Demetri, saluting him. 
 "You have done me and mine a great service, 
 and at great peril to yourself. Yes, great risk; 
 for somewhere in that haze ahead of us an enemy, 
 a brave, fanatically brave enemy is waiting. And 
 has been waiting — for months, and not grown 
 weary in the waiting. So it may be I shall not 
 get another chance to speak with you. I have 
 done my wife a great wrong. And I ask, should I 
 die and you live, that you will tell her so." 
 
 "But you are not going to die. You will live 
 to tell her yourself." 
 
 "No, no. I know our captain. And all ships 
 which do not strike their colors will be sunk. We 
 are not properly prepared for battle. But those 
 of us who are to die will not regret it, if only our 
 example shall not be lost." 
 
 "You must live. There is the little fellow 
 also." 
 
 "Yes, yes, but all things must give way now 
 to — " he pointed to the flag at the peak. "And 
 now it is eight bells — battle stations in our turret. 
 Adieu." He gripped ManmYs hand, saluted 
 
 36 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 profoundly, and hurried down to the quarter- 
 deck. 
 
 All the morning a haze hung over the sea. The 
 wireless operator was still picking up cipher mes- 
 sages which, his judgment told him, could only 
 come from ships not many miles away. The 
 haze and these undecipherable messages bred a 
 feeling of uneasiness. 
 
 At noon Mannix was called to the bridge and 
 given the wheel; and no more than had hold of it 
 than there emerged from out of the haze a long, 
 fast-moving steamer. All the signal men in the 
 fleet jumped to their long glasses, but while they 
 were yet trying to distinguish her colors she dis- 
 appeared. She could not have been more than 
 four thousand yards away, and Mannix specu- 
 lated on what would have happened to her if his 
 own China squadron were involved. A challenge 
 it would have been, and at once an explanation, 
 or a seven-inch shell would then and there have 
 ended her cruising days. 
 
 The haze thinned, with Mannix still at the 
 wheel of the Kremlin, when they came into view. 
 Up to the northward they were, and for them 
 clearly no surprise. Almost before they were seen 
 from the Kremlin s bridge they were swung into 
 column, and headed westerly across the Russian 
 course. 
 
 37 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 The Russian flag-ship signalled a change of 
 course. Ere yet he had done putting his wheel 
 over, Mannix saw the enemy were changing to 
 meet it, and having greater speed were more 
 prompt in execution. Months on the way had 
 the Russian fleet been; with grass growing on 
 their bottoms and machinery not in the best of 
 condition, they were out-manoeuvred from the 
 first. 
 
 From his station on the open bridge of the 
 Kremlin, Mannix had a good view of everything 
 ahead. He thrilled as he read the signal that 
 broke the battle flags out. And out they floated. 
 Men's nerves strained to snapping at the sight. 
 They cheered with something of hysteria. The 
 enemy followed: The sunburst of Japan, but 
 nothing cheerful to that sun. 
 
 A shell came wide of the Russian battle-ship's 
 bows. Another — still wide. The careless sight- 
 ing shots of a confident foe they seemed. Another 
 and another — nearer. The next struck close to 
 the Kremlin s bow, throwing high a column of 
 water which drenched some sailors on the fore- 
 castle of the flag-ship. They ducked and ran back 
 laughing. The shell continued on, ricochetting, on 
 to the next in line without exploding. Another 
 came skipping by. A sailor threw a piece of coal 
 after it. All who witnessed this laughed, and the 
 
 38 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 laughter relieved the tension. Everybody on the 
 bridge had a word or two to say then. 
 
 "I see nothing wonderful in their shooting/' 
 said one. "Ho, ho, they boasted it would be like 
 breaking pipes in a shooting-gallery. " Mannix 
 recognized in him the officer of the pianola. He 
 turned on Mannix. "They are reported to have 
 some American gunners aboard some of their 
 ships. What of that, you American i" He said 
 it half in malice, half in fun. 
 
 "There was no American behind that, be sure 
 of that, sir. Our apprentice boys straight from 
 the training-ships could do better than that." 
 
 The Russian ships were painted black, the 
 Japanese gray, a war gray. Everything gray — 
 hulls, stacks, stays, tops, masts, bridges — every- 
 thing. And those gray silhouettes were in one 
 long single column, steaming, perhaps, fifteen 
 knots; and with the turmoil of their wakes and the 
 white masses at every bow, they gave one some- 
 thing to think about. Even in a peaceful evolu- 
 tion, a silent column of war-ships sliding rapidly 
 past without fuss or noise — the rapid sliding of 
 a score of great, grim, gray ships across the gray 
 seascape, it is wonderfully impressive. Even in 
 times of peace it is so, but now it was war! the 
 destiny of two nations, perhaps of two great races, 
 depending on the outcome. 
 
 39 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 What officers were on the bridge were viewing 
 matters most calmly; but down in his heart 
 Mannix, though he would not have uttered the 
 thought to these Russians nor listened if another 
 said as much to him, down in his heart the feel- 
 ing would not be dislodged — before even the 
 first shell burst that day these gray ships looked 
 the masters. And making up his mind to that, 
 Mannix breathed a prayer for Madeleine whom, 
 he made up his mind then, he was never to see 
 again. 
 
 After four hours at the wheel, and perhaps five 
 minutes after those first fighting shots, Mannix 
 was relieved, but with instructions to be within 
 call. He descended to the chart bridge, one deck 
 below, and there waited. 
 
 Now the Russians were capped. Every Japa- 
 nese ship lay ready, with a whole broadside to 
 the head of the Russian column. And at once the 
 Japanese opened up. Every ship in that long, 
 gray line opened up on the first four ships of the 
 Russian line. Only those first four ships were 
 within range of the Japanese. Mannix' s ship was 
 in that first four. It was a rain of metal. All 
 about the sea was white-capped with the rico- 
 chetting shells. Had but one-quarter of them 
 come aboard, the Russian leaders would all have 
 been sunk in that first twenty minutes. But in 
 
 40 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 that short time enough shells came aboard — with- 
 out leaving the chart bridge Mannix could see 
 that — enough to make a mess of steel partitions, 
 enough to make splinters of most of the wood- 
 work (which should long ago have been removed, 
 but wasn't), enough to dismount several guns, to 
 bowl over several gun crews. Mannix would 
 have liked to run about the ship to observe better 
 how the men were behaving, but he did not dare 
 to get too far away in case they should need him 
 at the wheel. But even from where he was he 
 caught characteristic touches of the fighting Slav. 
 Almost beneath him he saw a gunner stop, squint 
 out of a gun-port to see what was doing, suck in 
 his cheeks, say most thoughtfully, "Well, well, 
 but this cannot last long — they will soon have 
 no shells left at this rate, and then what will 
 they do?" 
 
 But mostly the men said nothing, except to 
 utter soft remarks to themselves. The work of 
 the guns, of lifting the wounded out of the way, 
 of making repairs, absorbed them. They looked 
 neither one way nor the other, saw litde except 
 the shell which they had to hoist into the breech, 
 or the breech-block which they had to crank 
 home, or the enemy's ships through the long- 
 sighting telescope. There were men who paused 
 helplessly in the very height of all this, probably 
 
 4* 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 peasants who at the last moment had been driven 
 aboard. Some of these had never seen a ship of 
 the kind until that day when they had come over 
 the gangplank at Libau. One of these looked up 
 and, seeing the eyes of Mannix fixed kindly on 
 him — a gun was disabled and the crew were trying 
 to make the necessary repairs — he paused to say, 
 "If yon was a horse, or a cow, or a sheep now, I 
 could show you how to doctor him." 
 
 An officer called down to Mannix and sent him 
 off with a message to the chief of the powder divi- 
 sion. From that Mannix guessed that the internal 
 communications had been shot away, and also 
 that many of the messenger boys had been killed 
 off. Down between decks he met with a few 
 skulkers in the passageways, waiting, no doubt, 
 for the battle to end. Some ugly stories had been 
 set afloat before the fight, and, no doubt of it, 
 there were many mutineers in that crew. Man- 
 nix found his powder-division officer. He was 
 the same who had been playing solitaire in the 
 ward-room the night before. When Mannix came 
 upon him he was calmly shooting down one of 
 these mutineers in an ammunition passageway. 
 The man did not even cry out as he crumpled up, 
 and the others there hardly looked at him. They 
 had not time, and besides, as one observed, he 
 deserved it. 
 
 42 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 On his way back Mannix saw that it was going 
 hard with his ship. The gunners, they meant 
 well, but they did not know how. It was true 
 that most of the Jap shells went wide too, but 
 they were pumping them out so fast that if but 
 one in ten found a mark it was enough. Man- 
 nix saw that one shell was jammed in a port on 
 the gun-deck and two plates were torn away from 
 her forward; above the water-line, it was true, and 
 no great danger from that yet because of the 
 smoothness of the sea, but if the ship should list 
 toward that side! There were holes in smoke- 
 stacks — several; but as yet only one showed signs 
 of toppling over. 
 
 Mannix caught a flying rumor of a hole below 
 her water-line aft, and also of an explosion in 
 the after-turret magazine. This was the Duke's 
 turret. He wanted to rush aft to find out more 
 about it, but felt he might be needed on the 
 bridge. And he was. The helmsman had just 
 been killed. His blood was yet on the spokes, 
 making them difficult to grasp. Mannix was busy 
 for a few minutes rubbing first one hand and 
 then the other against his blouse, to clear them 
 of the blood. 
 
 The enemy, having successfully completed their 
 first manoeuvre, were now about to attempt a 
 loop about the entire Russian fleet. They went 
 
 43 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 about it in a superbly insolent manner, as if what 
 the Russians did could not matter. Mannix 
 said to himself, "God! there's a fleet I know of 
 that you couldn't try that on and get away with 
 it!" Possibly he said it aloud, or showed by his 
 expression what he was thinking of, for an officer, 
 the pianola-player, turned and smiled on him. 
 
 The next instant the entire port side of the 
 bridge caved in. Also the steering-gear was 
 parted. "You are out of a job," said the pia- 
 nola-player. An instant later he was struck 
 with a shell. "And I also!" he added, and lay 
 still. Mannix looked and saw that the stan- 
 chions supporting the bridge had been shot away 
 on one side. Shells were whistling through all 
 the free space on the bridge. "Some qualified 
 gun-pointer has got the range of this place," 
 thought Mannix, and was about to find a new 
 post when he felt a dull blow in the side. It was 
 not painful, and he could not understand why he 
 went down. He was puzzling that out when he 
 was almost overcome by a feeling of nausea. It 
 was difficult for him to keep from vomiting. And 
 the funny thing was that he had had nothing to 
 eat since breakfast. He may have lost conscious- 
 ness, or he may have merely lost track of time, 
 but certainly the next notice he took was of him- 
 self being on the forward end of the forecastle 
 
 44 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 head and looking up at the bridge-works, which 
 had collapsed and were burning. "Queer that," 
 thought Mannix, and, though he did not know 
 why he did it, climbed up on the forward turret 
 where was a man on his knees. He was gazing 
 down into the turret, that officer. Mannix knelt 
 beside him. "What do you think?" he said to 
 Mannix, and pointed inside. Mannix looked. 
 Every man there was dead. It must have been 
 instant incineration with all of them. Bodies 
 there that if a hand were but laid upon them would 
 have crumbled like the dust they were. Charred 
 to ashes these, but with the outlines of the forms 
 perfectly preserved. 
 
 Mannix took another look. On the casemate, 
 not a mark; of the guns, no displacement. This 
 was the only man of all that turret crew who had 
 been left alive. He had been sent off with a mes- 
 sage, and had only got his head into the under- 
 hatch on his return when the shell struck. He 
 seemed hard of hearing and very much aston- 
 ished. "Why, I felt nothing, Your Excellency, 
 absolutely nothing. But it was terribly — O ter- 
 ribly hot!" he added. "And what shall I do 
 now, I wonder?" He repeated that last, "What 
 shall I do?" several times. 
 
 Mannix suddenly found himself wondering why 
 it was he felt no horror. But so it was. He was 
 
 45 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 like a man on the side-lines watching some game, 
 but much less wrought up than if it were the — the 
 annual game between the army and the navy say. 
 Thinking to get word of the Duke, Mannix 
 went aft. Treading his way through the debris 
 of the gun-deck, he saw that half the port battery 
 had been put out of commission. "And the fight 
 not yet half over," he thought. Blood was not yet 
 everywhere, but there was already more than was 
 pleasant to see or smell. Wounded men were 
 being taken below to the hospital; but there were 
 too many for the hospital corps, and so here and 
 there were groups attending to themselves. Ban- 
 daging each other they were mostly. They were 
 rather serious, but not too much so. That it was 
 a great battle they were engaged in seemed not 
 to have any intellectual interest for them. They 
 were wounded, that was all. Some were gone 
 beyond hope and knew it. "Ah-h, if I had but 
 a samovar now, I would make me a fine last cup 
 of tea," said one in a wistful voice. Mannix saw 
 another with his back to a bulkhead, his legs 
 stretched out before him, rolling a cigarette. 
 Having only one arm left, he was having diffi- 
 culty. He hailed Mannix, otherwise Mannix 
 would never have known; for, bareheaded, black- 
 ened, stripped to his undershirt, there was no 
 mark or rank to distinguish him from any enlisted 
 
 4 6 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 man. Mannix turned back at the call, and saw 
 that it was the officer who had been tying up his 
 clothes the evening before, he who had been called 
 Nicolas Osin. "I shall not need them after all. 
 If you want them — we know of you — they are 
 there," and he nodded his head toward a wooden 
 chest which, in some way, had escaped demolition. 
 
 " But you are far from being dead," exclaimed 
 Mannix. "One arm, what is that?" 
 
 "One arm?" Nicolas Osin smiled, almost 
 proudly. "One arm, indeed. If you should turn 
 me over now, you would see a hole as big as 
 your whole head, so they tell me. A piece of 
 shell, yes, and a marvel it did not come clear 
 through. Most surprising, yes, how those shells 
 act." He puffed at his cigarette. 
 
 "And Sergei Herzar, he is gone, yes. Ps-s-t!" 
 — he made an upward movement of his arm — 
 "like that. And not so much as a button for a 
 souvenir. Only this morning at breakfast he was 
 speaking to me of a letter to his wife, and was 
 much worried that she might not get it. There 
 was a little estrangement before he left home, 
 and he was asking forgiveness now, and now 
 she will never know; for the mail-box, of course, 
 will sink with us. Oh, she will be sunk, there is 
 no doubt of it. Our captain is one who will never 
 strike his colors." 
 
 47 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 "The captain is dead," said Mannix. 
 
 "So? Too bad. But no matter, the Krem- 
 lins colors they will not be struck. But go on 
 about your business. Suffer? Oh, no, no! But 
 I am going, of course. Adieu." 
 
 Mannix rushed on to Pushkin's room, which 
 was on the deck below. In a hundred ways the 
 ship was now showing that she was hard hit. She 
 would not much longer remain afloat, and Man- 
 nix wished to save a few little things which Push- 
 kin had allowed him to stow away in his desk; 
 that is, if he saved himself. He could hardly 
 get through the ward-room, it was so cluttered 
 with wreckage. Two holes gaped in the star- 
 board side. Not one thing had been left whole. 
 The keys of the German pianola were scattered 
 all over the deck. The place was full of smoke, 
 gas, vapor; a vapor that made it difficult and 
 dangerous to take in even the quickest breath. 
 Mannix rushed through to his room, snatched 
 Madeleine's packet of letters from a drawer, 
 belted on a revolver he saw hanging up, and came 
 away. 
 
 The after-ladder to the quarter-deck had be- 
 come impassable. He had to go clear amidships 
 to find a ladder to the deck. There was a man 
 at the foot of the ladder. He was coughing 
 weakly. Mannix stopped to ask him his trouble. 
 
 4 8 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 "No, I am all right now, but down there" — he 
 pointed below — "are many, many suffocated, the 
 entire powder division — the gas from their accursed 
 shells. ,, 
 
 Mannix reached the quarter-deck. There they 
 were still fighting the after-turret, irregularly, as if 
 not many of the crew were left. Mannix dropped 
 into the turret. The Duke was there, leaning 
 against the casemate, wounded. Mannix asked 
 after Pushkin. The Duke pointed to a body. 
 "Dead?" asked Mannix. The Duke nodded. 
 They had not enough men to work the guns. 
 One gun lacked both a trainer and a pointer. 
 Mannix stepped up to the gun-pointer's telescope. 
 He had had no serious intention of doing this, 
 but now he could not help it. He turned to the 
 Duke. "With your permission ?" he said. "Help 
 yourself," said the Duke pleasantly. 
 
 Mannix almost shouted with exultation as he 
 fired. No strange work was this for him. On 
 his own gun-ship he had been a turret officer. 
 That first shot went to the mark. And the next. 
 And then he heard from behind. "She's going 
 now, surely. It is the boilers — they have blown 
 up!" 
 
 "Leave — at once — everybody!" commanded 
 the Duke. 
 
 There was still a shell in the chamber of Man- 
 
 49 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 nix's gun. "We may as well fire this one," sug- 
 gested Mannix. 
 
 "By all means," replied the Duke. 
 
 Mannix, after looking back to make sure the 
 breech-block was closed, pointed and fired. He 
 saw a great commotion when it landed. "A 
 bull's-eye !" cried the one man who had stayed 
 behind to see the effect. That man also stooped 
 to raise the Duke in his arms. Only Mannix, 
 the Duke, and this man were left in the turret. 
 The Duke was helpless. It was his legs, both 
 legs. "Ivan, get out — quick!" commanded the 
 Duke. 
 
 "Yes, Your Grace, but with you," said Ivan. 
 
 "Come," urged Mannix, "she is sinking, and 
 you must try to help yourself." 
 
 "No, no. I will go down with her. I should 
 not want to live after she is gone. But you must 
 go. You are the kind that women love. You 
 will win Madeleine, have no fear." 
 
 "But your wife?" 
 
 "What of her?" 
 
 "You believe in her ?" 
 
 "Ah-h, but what does she think of me ?" 
 
 Mannix looked at Ivan, who saluted and lifted 
 the Duke through the under-hatch and onto the 
 quarter-deck. The ship was now to the gun-deck 
 and lurching. The quarter-deck would soon 
 
 50 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 be under. Mannix wondered what he could get 
 that would float a man's body. Over by the 
 ward-room hatch he spied a table, or what was 
 left of it unburned, floating up from beneath. 
 He was not sure that he could pull it through to 
 the deck, but he tried. A half-burned leg broke 
 off, then another, and then, Ivan rushing over 
 and taking hold, it came through. There was 
 also another table, with some parts of the German 
 pianola and the wreck of a chair. 
 
 Mannix and Ivan lashed the two table-tops 
 together with strips of the table-cloth. They had 
 now only to let them slide down from the steeply 
 inclined deck to the ship's side. They lifted the 
 Duke, who was but half conscious, and laid him 
 across the table-top. It held him up without 
 trouble. Mannix took hold of the chair for him- 
 self, but seeing a sailor looking at it wistfully, 
 he asked, "Can you swim ?" 
 
 "No, Your Excellency." 
 
 "Then take it." 
 
 "Thanks to Your Excellency," and plunged 
 into the sea with it. 
 
 "But you, Ivan," asked Mannix, "can you 
 
 swim 
 
 ?" 
 
 Swim ? I ? If I was rated by my swimming 
 and not by my brains, I, Your Excellency, would 
 be flying an admiral's stars." 
 
 5i 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 "Shove off, then!" ordered Mannix. 
 
 They were barely clear of the ship when she 
 started her death-rolling. She was a monstrous 
 sight in that final roll, with one bilge keel and a 
 propeller up-pointing and the smoke pointing 
 from her. And the flames flashing through the 
 smoke. A great volume of steam up-rushed as 
 the burning hull went under. Mannix looked 
 about. Only the Duke, Ivan, himself, and that 
 other sailor to whom he had given the chair seemed 
 to have come safe away from the Kremlin. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Mannix now felt the sting of a wound in his 
 right side and another in the left thigh. It 
 seemed to come to him dimly that he had felt 
 these before, ages before. No doubt it hap- 
 pened at about the time the bridge was demol- 
 ished. Only for the salt-water, which made his 
 wounds smart, probably he would not have no- 
 ticed them now. It was painful for him to work 
 his arms and legs, but yet he must if he was to get 
 anywhere with the Russian who, lying helpless 
 and heedless across the table, seemed not to care 
 whether he lived or died. "But I care!" thought 
 Mannix. "No reason in the world why I should 
 die too. Sorry though I am for Russia, still she 
 
 52 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 is not my country, and I have something else to 
 hope for." 
 
 With the palm of one hand resting on the edge 
 of the table, Mannix found he could easily keep 
 afloat, and by kicking out with his sound leg he 
 saw that he could steer the little raft toward sev- 
 eral straying ship's boats. Just before the action 
 began some of the ships had cast away their 
 boats, and now there was a string of half a dozen 
 — gigs, whale-boats, sailing cutters — drifting about 
 to windward and not too far away. 
 
 The haze had gone entirely now and the sun 
 shone clear; a low sun, for it was getting late in 
 the afternoon. Mannix seized a chance to count 
 the fleet. One other was gone besides the Krem- 
 lin, and two others looked as if they had not long 
 to remain afloat. Hopelessly shot through these 
 two were, and through the holes near the water- 
 line the sea was pushing. Scorched and blistered 
 they were, with here and there the steel plates 
 melted into horrible-looking bunches. All this, 
 with huge clouds of smoke and darting tongues 
 of flame, made terrible sights of them. 
 
 As Mannix looked he saw a Russian destroyer 
 range alongside the flag-ship. He guessed they 
 were taking off the body of the Admiral, the limp 
 body was handled with such extreme care. There 
 was no sea on, but the long, oily roll broke against 
 
 53 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 the body of the big battle-ship and, resurging, 
 lifted the little destroyer, now high up, and again 
 let her sag away down. She looked, that once 
 imposing battle-ship, like an old tramp steamer 
 that had been lying for years on some beach till 
 somebody happened to remember that she would 
 make a good target for the fleet at target practice, 
 and so they had taken her out and shot her up. 
 Mannix marvelled that she was still afloat. 
 
 At this point the Duke cried out. Mannix 
 turned his head. The Russian was struggling to 
 lift himself to his elbow to see the flag-ship more 
 clearly. "A pity — a brave man, our Admiral," 
 he said after a moment of observation, and then 
 Mannix thought he heard him sob. 
 
 Mannix could count dozens of small pieces of 
 wreckage. These, being on a level with his eyes, 
 loomed up like little hills on a level plain. Float- 
 ing in the water, clinging precariously as they 
 were to these bits of wreckage, were a few sur- 
 viving sailors of the fleet. As they labored and 
 struggled to get on, a destroyer of the enemy 
 came tearing by. Her swash washed several of 
 them into the sea. Most of the destroyer's crew 
 seemed to be on deck, on their faces triumphant 
 smiles. One called out and, leaning over the life- 
 line, laughed and pointed, then threw what looked 
 like a piece of exploded shell at one of these 
 
 54 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 swimming sailors. It did not strike the swimmer, 
 who, looking over his shoulder and seeing whence 
 it came, hurriedly submerged himself. Evidently 
 they wanted to have a little fun with him, for they 
 ran close to him, as if trying to see how close they 
 could come without actually running over him. 
 Mannix happened to remember then: Why, this 
 was the Duke's man, Ivan. His revolver lay on 
 the table beside the Duke. He took it up, think- 
 ing to shoot one of them, but the destroyer was 
 steaming perhaps twenty-five knots an hour, and 
 in the middle of the swirl under her quarter as 
 she turned was the Russian sailor. Mannix 
 thought he was gone, but he was a tough one, 
 and when the destroyer a,nd her grinning crew 
 had passed on he bobbed up. 
 
 "Was it not true, what I told Your Excellency, 
 that I could swim well ? " he said smilingly, as he 
 came up hand over hand. 
 
 They reached one of the drifting boats. Ivan 
 lifted in his master, and then helped Mannix, 
 after which there came a dull explosion. "A 
 torpedo," said the sailor sententiously. "Look, 
 Your Excellency — the Bovodino." Mannix saw it, 
 and the sight made him think of a death-stricken 
 whale. Heavily, slowly, from one side to the other, 
 the great war-ship rolled. And then, solemnly, 
 completely over and forever from sight. 
 
 55 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 Mannix heard the sound of a screw behind him. 
 It was the Japanese destroyer again. A voice 
 hailed, but he made no answer. She drew up 
 and stopped her engines not fifty feet away. An 
 officer was sitting on a camp-chair on the side 
 nearest to them. One elbow rested on the top 
 life-line, and in the hand of that arm, between two 
 fingers, he held a cigar. His other elbow rested 
 on his knee, and that hand supported his chin. 
 The very way he held the cigar and stared, it was 
 unbearably insolent. Not a word did he say, 
 just stared at the shipwrecked group. Mannix 
 thought he smiled. " Beast !" said the Duke, and, 
 raising himself on this thwart, returned with an 
 even more insolent expression his enemy's stare. 
 The two remained staring across so, each with all 
 the insolence and contempt he could master. Sud- 
 denly the Jap called out something — short, sharp, 
 and in Russian. Mannix could not get what it 
 was. "Oh!" cried the sailor. "Oh, to Your 
 Grace!" and sank back. 
 
 The Jap slowly placed his cigar between his 
 lips and puffed, blew the smoke toward them, and 
 smiled. Mannix could just see that smile in the 
 gloom. "Pardon," said the Duke, and, taking 
 Mannix's revolver, fired. 
 
 The Jap made as if to stand up, and did half 
 stand up for an instant. Then his body took a 
 
 56 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 forward lurch, sagged the life-line half to the deck, 
 and pitched forward and overboard. With the 
 splash of the body the sailor seized the Duke and 
 dropped overboard. "Come, Your Excellency," 
 he whispered to Mannix, and made for an over- 
 turned boat which Mannix had not before no- 
 ticed. The next in line it was, with a plank torn 
 out near the keel. Mannix followed the sailor 
 and helped him with the Duke. "I can use my 
 arms but not my legs," whispered the Duke. 
 "Now, Your Excellency," called out the sailor, 
 and Mannix, sinking beneath the water, followed 
 the sailor beneath the gunnel of the overturned 
 boat. 
 
 Between the surface of the water and the bot- 
 tom of the overturned boat was room and air for 
 twenty men to bob around and breathe in. They 
 had only to hang onto a thwart to keep them- 
 selves afloat. The boat which they had just left 
 prevented them from seeing what was doing 
 aboard the destroyer; but now an explosion almost 
 made their upturned boat jump clear of the water. 
 Mannix looked through the hole near the keel. 
 The destroyer's people were shooting at the boat 
 they had just left. Another shell and there was 
 nothing left of it. Another shell, possibly to make 
 sure, and then the destroyer steamed back and 
 forth, as if looking to see if any had survived. 
 
 57 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 They watched her steam off in the last of the 
 daylight, to make sure she had gone. That was 
 just after sunset in the twilight, the sun going 
 down in a burning glow that night. 
 
 "We cannot stay here," said Mannix. 
 
 "No, Your Excellency. In two minutes I shall 
 be back," and the sailor disappeared. Soon he 
 was alongside again with a free boat. Between 
 them, Mannix and the sailor, they tore a few more 
 planks from the bottom of the capsized boat, and 
 lifted the Duke through. It was hard work, and 
 when it was done all three again lay flat on their 
 backs and studied the stars. 
 
 It was the sailor who moved first. Without 
 being ordered, he stepped and stayed the mast, 
 shipped the rudder, and hoisted the two sails. 
 
 "A useful chap, this sailor," commented Man- 
 nix. "Who is he?" 
 
 "He is from my estate. For hundreds of 
 years his ancestors were the serfs of my ances- 
 tors, but to-day the serf is a better man than his 
 master." 
 
 "Better than either of us," added Mannix. 
 "And now we should get away. It might not be 
 well for us to be found here in the morning — by 
 our friends from that destroyer, for instance." 
 
 "Tell Ivan what you wish. He is of iron and 
 can go* without sleep for a week." • 
 
 58 
 
Tshushima Straits 
 
 Mannix gave the sailor the tiller, pointed to a 
 star in the south, and the cutter began to slip 
 through the darkness. And such a darkness! 
 The fires from the burning Russian battle-ships 
 only accented it. 
 
 For hours the Russian sat on a thwart and 
 looked out on the dark sea without a word. At 
 last he turned to Mannix. "The black night of 
 Russia. But not our fault. Nor the navy's fault. 
 No, no. Officers and men, we know how to fight. 
 But when we have in power bureaucrats, politi- 
 cians, who love their country only for what they 
 can squeeze from that country, what is to be ex- 
 pected ? Such as he " — pointing to Ivan at the 
 tiller — "you see how he fights when he is loyal. 
 And when he is not loyal, who is to blame ?" He 
 turned away, and Mannix fancied he was crying 
 to himself. 
 
 "Shall we go home, Your Grace?" Mannix 
 asked at last. 
 
 "Ah-h!" he sighed, "it is too much to hope 
 for." 
 
 They sailed on, and all went well with them 
 thereafter. 
 
 59 
 
THE CONSUMING FLAME 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 THERE was a boarding-house in San Fran- 
 cisco — the roof could be seen from the tops 
 of a ship in the stream, and frequented mostly 
 by ship captains it was; a great place, with Mrs. 
 Mangan always there to put the good heart into 
 everybody. 
 
 A fine old lady, Mrs. Mangan, and the prettiest 
 girl, they say, when she married Mangan. A 
 notably quiet man, Mangan, except for the twice 
 a year or so when he exploded in the grand spree 
 which kept his vessel in port for an extra week or 
 two. But he was lost at sea, leaving a son, Bat, 
 who grew up into one of the dare-devil skippers 
 of the West coast. Not a port from Magellan to 
 Behring Sea that didn't have a story of Bat. A 
 wild one, but great-hearted too, who made and 
 spent a half-dozen fortunes in his time, and came 
 home one day with a beautiful Chilian wife — not 
 so very long this before he was lost. A foolish 
 thing, but he said he was going to make a port 
 that night. Gale or no gale, he would — he'd 
 come to moorings; and so he did — and took all 
 hands with him. 
 
 63 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 He left a little baby girl, which old Mrs. Man- 
 gan took care of, for the Chilian wife did not 
 live long after Bat was lost; and Chiquita, her 
 father's baby name clinging, grew up, and was so 
 pretty growing up that the boarders went daft 
 about her, and spoilt her, naturally, as such men 
 will. Great men of their kind, who gave — and 
 took — easily. 
 
 Jack Gateley came to know her while she was 
 still little, because the house they lived in was 
 owned by his father. Later, after the death of 
 Jack's father, who drank himself straight into the 
 grave when Jack's mother died, old Mrs. Mangan 
 used to call him in to give him cookies; and, of 
 course, any boy would like to be asked in there to 
 see the big ship captains, and hear them tell of 
 the strange places they had been to. And the 
 talk of these wide-sailing ship-masters got into 
 Jack's blood so that he enlisted in the Navy to see 
 the world, and when he came back from his first 
 apprentice cruise the beauty of Chick Mangan 
 burst on him like a night shell on the target range. 
 A flame of color and warmth it was; and not to 
 Jack alone. On the street hardly a man passed — 
 and women, too — but turned to look again. Per- 
 haps the women, too, were not unaware of him. 
 It used to make Jack quiver just to sit near 
 her; and when she kissed him, that trembled 
 
 6 4 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 even at the thought of it, and of her own accord 
 — the two alone in her grandmother's parlor the 
 day he was to sail again — it was like a torch to 
 his soul. 
 
 And straight from that to the China station he 
 went and put in three years there, regularly get- 
 ting letters from her; scrawly letters, and neither 
 could she spell the commonest words; but more 
 to make his heart jump in a dozen lines than in 
 all the books of poetry the ship's library held. 
 And he used to write her long letters, too; and 
 not a thing he saw in the East but he would 
 wonder what she would think or say of it; not a 
 thing he bought but he wondered would she like 
 it; and for weeks before he got his discharge he 
 thought of but little else but how she would look 
 and act — would she kiss him again ? — and he was 
 all of a-tremble coming up the street from the 
 dock, and arriving at the door of the old boarding- 
 house he was gasping like a man who had just run 
 a long race. 
 
 "She's upstairs somewhere," said Grannie Man- 
 gan, when she had done crying over Jack, and he 
 went up to find her. 
 
 He could hear her little church organ, imag- 
 ined her as knowing that his ship was in and wait- 
 ing for him in the same old parlor alone, and so 
 he did not knock. But she was not alone, did not 
 
 65 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 hear the door turn. It was a steamer captain 
 with her, Prady, who was said to make much more 
 out of smuggling silks, opium, Chinamen, one 
 thing and another, many times what his cap- 
 tain's pay amounted to. Prady, sidewise to the 
 doors, was bending over her. She stopped play- 
 ing. "Chick," murmured Prady, and kissed her — 
 and she let him. The note in Prady's voice made 
 Jack's heart grip small within him, and he backed 
 out and drew the door to, but now not without 
 being heard. Prady's challenging voice called 
 out, "Who's there?" and Jack, having it in his 
 mind to beat up Prady, re-entered; but, seeing 
 her, he forgot. 
 
 "Jack — Jack — oh, Jackie, but the man you've 
 grown to be!" 
 
 "Yes, and the woman you've grown to be!" 
 
 She misunderstood, and such a smile that, had 
 it lasted, Jack could not have held out; but, greet- 
 ing his eyes fairly, she could not fail to understand. 
 Such bewilderment, such shame to her. "Oh, 
 Jackie!" 
 
 "'Oh, Jackie!'" he mimicked her cruelly. 
 "And so you've struck your colors, Chick — my 
 colors, too. And your letters — were they noth- 
 ing but to blind me ? How long has it been go- 
 ing on ?" 
 
 She shrank away from him. 
 66 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 It had all happened so quickly. She stood up 
 when she heard the door close behind him. "Oh, 
 Jackie, Jackie! But I wasn't bad! no, not bad, 
 Jackie — don't think that!" but he was gone, run- 
 ning up the street. 
 
 Whatever Prady may have thought and done 
 before, he thought and did the right thing now. 
 "Look here, Chick, I see where that lad didn't 
 get things right. What'll I do ? Say it — any- 
 thing to make it right. Anything, I say — and 
 that means anything, not barrin' death." 
 
 "Oh, go away — go away." 
 
 II 
 
 That night Jack Gateley got drunk for the 
 first time in his life, and everybody knew it next 
 day. Chick sent for Prady and he went out to 
 find Jack, and, locating him, came back to Chick. 
 "Go back there," ordered Chick. "I'll follow 
 you." 
 
 Prady went in and pleaded with him, as well as 
 he could with so many within hearing. But no 
 use: the lad was just the age. All the stories that 
 ever he heard from fo'c's'le rovers were sound- 
 ing in his ears, and their one moral borne out. 
 Women! women! huh! He himself had not pa- 
 trolled the far ports without knowing something 
 
 6 7 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 of that. And from such surprising quarters! And 
 not alone from those who had the name of it. 
 What he did not appreciate was that swinging 
 down the street in power and straightness and 
 beauty, with his head and face and bearing, he 
 was a figure to focus wandering eyes. But it did 
 come at times from such surprising quarters! 
 What might have happened to him could surely 
 have happened to others, as others had said, and 
 not alone from those who had the name of it. 
 
 If the flooding tide of idealism had hitherto 
 borne him in high, clean waters, so now its ebbing 
 had left him on murky, wreck-marked shores. 
 And Prady was the last man to influence him 
 now. Prady! He recollected now that on his 
 way up from the dock the day before he had met 
 an old chum who had said, "Know this Captain 
 Prady ? Well, he calls around there pretty often, 
 he does." No more than that, but enough now, 
 remembering what he had seen and what he had 
 had in mind. Since that day before he had been 
 wondering what weakness possessed him not to 
 beat this man up. So now he flouted Prady, and 
 Prady, not overtrained to deference, had to talk 
 back to some extent. Enough. Hardly time for 
 Prady to guard, after the word passed, before 
 Gateley was on him. A powerful man, Prady, 
 and wily as a serpent, but this boy could have 
 
 68 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 battled toe to toe with the great John L. himself 
 and made him break ground that night. He 
 smothered Prady, hit him so fast and often that 
 before the other well knew he was fighting at all 
 he was beaten. From the corner Jack dragged 
 him across the room, hove him through the swing- 
 ing doors and out into the street. 
 
 Prady, who came then as near to achieving 
 heroism as a man in his position might, picked 
 himself up, and, bleeding and dishevelled, car- 
 ried the word to the waiting Chick. "And you 
 wouldn't expect me to hang around after that, 
 would you, Chick ?" 
 
 She, who had caught intermittent glimpses of 
 it through the window, was thinking more of 
 Jack than of Prady. What a man he had grown 
 to be! "No, Captain," she said, "I'll wait my- 
 self now. Good-night." 
 
 And she waited. Lurking like an outcast in 
 the shadows, with patrolling policemen and the 
 passing throng viewing her shrinking figure spec- 
 ulatively, she waited. She meant to speak to him. 
 She would speak, and his companions, whatever 
 sort of men they might be, could think what 
 they pleased. And he came out at last and she 
 stepped forth — but she did not speak. No man, 
 but a woman! Poor Chick shrank back, but not 
 before the woman had seen her — and laughed at 
 
 6 9 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 her. 'Twas plain enough, a discarded acquaint- 
 ance of her handsome sailor's. And not so bad- 
 looking, and a figure! She laughed again, and 
 this time Jack took notice. He saw a woman's 
 figure shrink into the doorway, knew not what 
 kind she was, only that here was another woman 
 jeering at her. He stopped. "Here," he said, 
 and from a thick roll gave her a large bill. "Good- 
 night." 
 
 The girl eyed him and eyed the roll. He was 
 good to look at, and he surely carried a lot of 
 money with him. "W-why — what's the matter ?" 
 
 "Nothing. Don't feel bad now — you're all 
 right — but good-night." 
 
 Chick from her doorway saw the parting; and 
 even better than he himself, or the girl, under- 
 stood what it meant; and the tears came to her 
 eyes, and she not one who cried easily. She saw 
 him then continue his way, entering a street that 
 led toward her home. In wild hope she followed, 
 only to see him stop before the door of what had 
 been once his home, but long sold to Charlie Wing. 
 
 She knew of this Charlie Wing, as who had not ? 
 And suspected more than she knew. Seldom did 
 she go out but Charlie Wing passed her before 
 she reached home again. She could not say why, 
 but she had a dread of Charlie Wing. With the 
 door of Wing's place closed behind Jack Gateley, 
 
 70 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 Chick ran around to her own grandmother's, 
 which was on the opposite side of the same block, 
 and there was Captain Lappen. 
 
 As wild a fellow, Dan Lappen, as ever beat 
 through the Golden Gate; whose one hope for 
 years had been, but almost given up now, to marry 
 Chick Mangan. In his mind — part idealist and 
 part plain pirate — ran a vague notion of some day 
 doing a deed that would bring her to her knees in 
 admiration of him. 
 
 It was Lappen who once stood on the steps of 
 her grandmother's boarding-house after a success- 
 ful cruise, with a bundle of new five-dollar bills 
 in the open palm of his hand, and blew them off, 
 one by one, and "Lord in heaven! see 'em sail," 
 kept saying while the wind was floating them 
 down the street. 
 
 Foolish ? Maybe; but it was Chick Mangan 
 looking at him from behind the curtains, only 
 fourteen years old this time, but tall, rounded, 
 overpowering in her beauty even then, and think- 
 ing him a wonder for it. Lappen wouldn't have 
 mourned a million five-dollar bills that day, for 
 after it he performed the most thrilling deed of 
 all his life — a kiss stolen from Chick, a memory 
 cherished in secret. 
 
 The witchery of the girl had never left this free- 
 booter of the sea. "Some day you'll be marryin', 
 
 71 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 I s'pose, Chick?" he said to her now after some 
 desultory conversation, as he had a hundred times 
 before in just that tone, and she answered in the 
 same old words, "Surely, some day," only now 
 without the smile or the blush. 
 
 "And what kind of a man i" 
 
 "Oh-h — " Poor Chick was worn out, unpre- 
 pared for catechising. "Oh-h — a man with lots 
 of money, I suppose." 
 
 She had never said that before, and Lappen 
 leaped up. "Then I'll make the money: 
 
 "Oh-ho, we'll sail in the morn 
 For the Golden Horn — 
 Oh, the treasure pirates' bay — 
 And we'll strike 'em aboard 
 And we'll crimp their hoard 
 And sink 'em where they lay." 
 
 He danced a few steps in time to show how merry 
 he felt. "Oh, those were the days, Chick!" and 
 a wistfulness almost tremulous in his voice. 
 
 Chick laughed; and it pleased him to make 
 her laugh. "I'll sail in the mornin', to make a 
 fortune for Chick Mangan." Chick, staring ab- 
 sently at him, thought of something. All the men 
 in the world had become fit for but one purpose. 
 "You can do better than to make money, Cap- 
 tain — to please me ?" 
 
 72 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 "Name it, Chick." 
 
 "You know Jack Gateley?" 
 
 "Jack Gateley's boy, that died — that used to 
 sit around here by the hour and never a word 
 but listenin' to what everybody was savin' — that 
 little fellow?" 
 
 "Yes, but a big fellow now. And you know 
 Charlie Wing's?" 
 
 Lappen knew Charlie Wing's, where the silk 
 store was on the lower floor and the upper floors 
 given over to gambling. And he knew Charlie 
 Wing. Quite a man in his way, this Wing, who 
 made a lot of money and spent all he made; said 
 to be one-quarter Chinese, but liking not to be re- 
 minded of it. No cringing Chinese laundryman 
 type, but of fine large presence and large ways; a 
 splendid dresser, perhaps too splendid a dresser 
 — his finger-rings alone must have stood him tens 
 of thousands. But Chick was speaking. 
 
 "I want you to get him out of there. You 
 knew his father, his mother — and the great kind 
 they were — he's the last of his people. A pity 
 if he went wrong. Get hold of him, Captain. 
 For God's sake, Captain, get him away — away 
 from doing wrong till he comes to himself." 
 
 So Lappen, docile as Prady was, went and 
 found him. Even while Lappen stood by, Jack 
 lost a year's rent of his father's houses, and Lap- 
 
 73 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 pen, standing by, also saw Charlie Wing offer 
 Jack his whole pile back. 
 
 The young fellow's eyes narrowed. "Why ?" 
 
 "I knew your father," said Charlie. 
 
 "A good many people knew my father. Some 
 he'd better not known. That money ? Not much; 
 but I'll take a cigar," and did, from off the side- 
 board, and lit up and went on, "because I feel 
 I'm entitled to it, like any other customer," and 
 snapped the burnt match across the room, and 
 Lappen noticed that it went where he had aimed 
 it — plumb centre into the silver-mounted cuspidor. 
 
 "No use temptin' that lad with promises o' 
 money-making " thought Lappen. "His kind, 
 it's excitement they want — to forget things," and 
 wooed him instead with hints of desperate advent- 
 ure, and won him in the end. And at dawn 
 they sailed out through the Golden Gate, with 
 never a notion of when they were coming back. 
 
 Across the Pacific, the length and the breadth 
 of the sealing country, from the Japan coast clear 
 on around, they cruised. They raided rookeries 
 and they raided the wide sea. Wherever were 
 any seals, season or no season, law or no law, 
 they hunted them. They were not alone at it, 
 for Japs and Russians and a few from British 
 Columbia were there; but it was taking big 
 chances, for all four nations— Japan, Russia, Eng- 
 
 74 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 land, and their own country — had war-ships there 
 to see that the rookeries were protected and the 
 pelagic laws observed. 
 
 And the two men grew to know each other, and 
 Lappen to like the other rarely, as Chick Mangan 
 well knew he would. And Lappen, who meant 
 originally to make use of Jack to further his own 
 interest with Chick Mangan, gave over the notion. 
 Talking with the young fellow, pumping his very 
 soul as they walked the deck on quiet evenings, 
 the lad revealed himself, and Lappen came to 
 have a higher notion of many things. He had 
 broken his promise to keep the boy from wrong; 
 but he would bring him home and give her the 
 money he had gathered so that she could hold 
 her head up — no pauper — if ever she married this 
 lad. Lord, what was money to him ? And hadn't 
 he sailed, as a boy, with great Bat Mangan, her 
 father, who'd 've given him his shirt? Perhaps 
 she would refuse to take it, but at least she would 
 stand off and say, "Well, Dan Lappen, you're 
 sure something of a man!" and maybe kiss him 
 on her wedding day. And this cruise over, he 
 would never again run against the law — never. 
 
 The Hattie Rymish was chased a dozen times, 
 and forced to lay in hiding after each chase till it 
 was safe to try again. Lappen had, during this 
 time, converted a good many seal-skins into gold 
 
 75 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 — English, American, and Russian gold pieces. 
 "In case anything happens to me, I want you to 
 bring that money home to Chick," he would say 
 to Jack. Even should he get caught or killed he 
 made Jack promise he would tell her what chances 
 he took to get it. "She'll like that," he said. 
 
 "A good pile there now," he said one day, "but 
 it will be twice that before the year's out." And 
 so it would have, long before that year was out, 
 if he had not grown over-bold. It was off Sagha- 
 lien Island and a Jap cruiser; not three months 
 before this an American gun-boat had killed half 
 a dozen Japs for just what they had done a dozen 
 times. 
 
 Their chance now was to run in and tuck 
 behind the rocks somewhere. Twenty miles or 
 so ahead of them was a goodly place. A boat was 
 lowered over the side and the men told to row 
 ashore — no more than a quarter of a mile. By 
 and by the vessel would drop back and pick them 
 up. 
 
 Lappen and Jack, by staying aboard, hoped to 
 save the vessel; and they did get her almost into 
 the cove, with everything ready for getting away 
 quickly, but the cruiser had her long-reaching 
 rifles and, while yet four thousand yards away, she 
 opened up on the schooner; and it is a pretty big 
 shell, a three-inch, to be tearing up the water 
 
 7 6 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 alongside a little wooden hull. The Hattie wasn't 
 too easy to hit, they having put her end-to, mak- 
 ing a narrow enough target of her; but in time 
 something was bound to come aboard; and one 
 shell did, taking the main-mast ten feet above 
 the deck and scattering pine splinters everywhere, 
 big flying billets that came nigh to killing them 
 both. Close enough that, and Jack made ready 
 the boat to row ashore while Lappen ran below 
 to get his bags of gold. 
 
 "Oh, we shot away her mizzen and we shot away her 
 
 fore, 
 And 'Quarter! quarter!* cried they, as o'er the rail we 
 
 bore. 
 But the quarter that we gave them was the bottom of 
 
 the sea, 
 A-sailin' down the coast of the High Sag-a-lee," 
 
 carolled Lappen. "And God! but when I get 
 that back to 'Frisco, there'll be money enough 
 for her — and a story to tell her!" 
 
 And so it would have, but that he had to pry 
 open his state-room door, which was swollen, 
 and was still tugging at the door when a shell 
 came through the stern, straight on through the 
 cabin, through the after bulkhead, and exploded 
 somewhere in the main-hold. There was no need 
 to tug at the door then; it flew open and with it 
 almost half the vessel's side. The water rushed 
 
 77 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 into her so fast that in no time Lappen was stand- 
 ing to his knees. But the closet door within the 
 state-room still stuck. "Come on," yelled Jack 
 from deck; "never mind the money!" 
 
 "No, no!" cried Lappen; "it's for Chick!" 
 and Jack heard the smash of his boot driving 
 through the splintering wood. Jack was holding 
 the bow of the boat to the vessel's side, all ready 
 for a quick leap. "Hurry, hurry — for God's sake, 
 hurry!" he cried. 
 
 "Coming!" Lappen called out, and then it 
 was that a shell caught her below the water-line 
 and lifted her — her whole after-end. For perhaps 
 a second Jack saw him. He must have got to the 
 top of the cabin-ladder; in one last great effort he 
 must have hoisted the two bags of gold high over 
 his head, for they showed clear of the water, the 
 hands and two wrists under them — no more than 
 that — and down again in the last rush of the 
 smothered vessel. 
 
 Jack jumped into the boat and drove her aft. 
 He did not have to go clear astern, but rowed her 
 straight over what was left of the quarter-rail, 
 even then well under water. He looked down. 
 He could see nothing; but thinking that Lappen 
 might be tangled in the main-sheet, he dove. 
 The water was mussed up and still he could see 
 nothing; but standing on her settling deck and 
 
 78 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 feeling something under one foot, he stooped. 
 It was one of the bags of gold. He kicked it 
 away. He felt around further till, his ear-drums 
 and eyeballs ready to pop, he let himself shoot to 
 the top of the water. He waited a while for 
 breath, and then dove again, but could find 
 nothing, and came up. 
 
 Now he climbed into the boat; and as he sat 
 there, he thought what a pity it all was. The 
 trusting primitive man, with just the little touch of 
 guile, the dare-devil adventurer, the incorrigible 
 law-breaker, but always the fine seaman — above 
 all, the good shipmate with whom he had come to 
 feel akin. 
 
 "Blast you! blast you, Chick Mangan!" he 
 suddenly exploded, and then, the shells breaking 
 all around, rowed ashore. 
 
 Ill 
 
 There was varied experience — the Russo- 
 Japanese war for one kind — and four years had 
 gone when Jack Gateley, the adventurer, returned 
 to San Francisco. He looked up old Mrs. 
 Mangan first of all, and found her, as usual, 
 in the kitchen downstairs. Crooning to herself 
 she was: 
 
 79 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 "The cold north wind was on the Bay — 
 O, the Bay, the green-white Bay! 
 And o'er the waters and far away 
 His tall ship did sail that day. 
 O, the green-white stormy Bayl 
 When my lad's ship did sail away — 
 Over the waters and far away — 
 O, the day, the day, the day!" 
 
 " Grannie !" 
 
 "Oo-ra-lay!" exclaimed the old lady, and cried 
 over him. And Jack almost cried too. 
 
 "And the Roosians — or the Japaneses — which 
 was it? — didn't shoot you, Jackie? No? Well, 
 they tried hard enough, I'll be bound. How 
 many lost on that ship you were on?" 
 
 "Nine hundred, Grannie." 
 
 "And how many of you saved ?" 
 
 "Three." 
 
 "Three? Glory be to ye three! But oh, the 
 poor men, the poor men ! But that's war, and we 
 must take it like everything else, no doubt, we 
 being what we are. But you're lookin' older, 
 Jackie." 
 
 "I feel older — a lot older, Grannie. But" — 
 he had to pull himself to speak of it — "what's 
 this about that man Greig used to come around 
 here?" 
 
 "Why, he's dead, boy." 
 
 "I know, but what about him ?" 
 80 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 "He saw Chick one day, him drivin' by behind 
 a pair of those fast horses he owned so many of, 
 and hunted the city high and low till he got some- 
 body to make them acquainted. A fine, free- 
 spending, handsome man, and lively — but ter- 
 rible jealous, if anybody so much as looked at 
 Chick. He wanted to marry Chick, and I don't 
 know did she promise or not. I know she'd done 
 most anything to get away, poor dear. 'Twas 
 after you were reported lost with Lappen and the 
 vessel in Asia, or wherever it was. She used to 
 get so terribly tired, the poor child, of everything. 
 And then came a sealer in to say that Lappen was 
 lost but not you, and the pair of us, Chick and 
 myself, talked so much about you that I believe 
 the man got jealous. Anyway, the next thing I 
 knew he used to be coming around here to see 
 Chick and she wouldn't see him. There was 
 something more than I knew in it. He said to 
 me, 'Grannie, Chick's all right, but too straight- 
 speaking for her own good — people don't under- 
 stand her. I know I don't, and I've come to forty 
 years of age.' He offered to leave her all his money 
 if she'd marry him when he lay dying — his heart 
 was weak — just take his name. But she wouldn't. 
 So he left it to her anyway, and it's lyin' in the 
 bank yet — she never touchin' one cent of it. 
 Oh-h" — the old lady pushed her arms in a help- 
 
 81 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 less gesture from her. "The poor girl's crazed, 
 worn to the thickness of a straw. Wanted to die, 
 she said once. 'What trouble's come into your 
 life,' I said, 'that you want to die — you poor girl 
 that's never known husband or child?' 'Maybe 
 that's it,' she says." 
 
 Jack thrummed the table. "And who's this 
 other man, Grannie, they say she's engaged 
 to?" 
 
 "I don't know is she. Macron, a fine sort of 
 man, a club man like. There used to be lots of 
 talk about him in the papers." 
 
 "Why, he's most old enough to be her father, 
 Grannie." 
 
 "True, boy. But who knows, perhaps bein' 
 older, as Greig said, he understands her — which 
 every one don't, maybe." 
 
 Jack meditated on Macron, a man of wealth 
 and family, whose adventures in other days used 
 to set the country gossiping. A wonderful man 
 in his way, but 
 
 "We" — Mrs. Mangan was running on — "we 
 didn't hear till a week ago about your bein' saved 
 from that terrible battle." 
 
 "Wasn't it in the papers ?" 
 
 '"Twas in first — two years ago — that you were 
 lost, and your picture. Chick was glad, and 
 Macron too." 
 
 82 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 "Macron?" exclaimed Jack. And abruptly, 
 "Anybody upstairs, Grannie ?" 
 
 "There is — Captain Prady. And go up, Jackie, 
 like a good boy, and say a civil word to him. If 
 you and him had some fallin' out, don't lay that 
 agin him now, the poor man. He's that forlorn 
 about Chick. What's there in the girl, anyway ? 
 Sure she's no prettier than was her mother." 
 
 "Or her grandmother — from what they say," 
 Jack smiled. 
 
 "Oh-h — no deluderin', though I was no fright 
 in my day. But that poor man, Prady, that gave 
 up his steamer for a shore berth " 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 "Why? It's not me can say, but he's hauntin' 
 this old place since as far back as they say you 
 and Lappen was lost. The poor man! go up and 
 say a civil word to him, Jackie-boy." 
 
 So Jack went upstairs and said, "How are 
 you ?" to Prady, whereat the older man's face lit 
 up immeasurably. They chatted of one thing and 
 another; of everything but Chick. 
 
 Suddenly, unaccountably to Jack, Prady's eyes 
 glowed. "I knew she'd be here, but I s'pose 
 she's heard." 
 
 "Heard what?" 
 
 Prady only gazed incredulously at Jack, who 
 presently heard the door open and close, and then 
 
 83 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 her step below stairs with Grannie. Then, by 
 and by, her step ascending the stairs. She came 
 in and shook hands with Prady. Jack, who was 
 in the far corner, had also risen to greet her; but, 
 seeming not to see him, she had taken a position 
 by the window which looked out onto the garden 
 of Jack's old home. 
 
 Jack saw how slender she was now; the old 
 blazing color, too, had faded to ivory. Without 
 warning she turned on him. 
 
 "Tell me about Lappen." 
 
 Jack told her briefly, laying stress only on Lap- 
 pen's speech of her and his ending. "A brave 
 man — and died on your account, I think." 
 
 "On my account, Jack?" 
 
 "On your account, yes." 
 
 "On my account," she repeated; then most 
 irrelevantly, to Jack's way of thinking, "Why did 
 he risk bringing you to disgrace, then ?" 
 
 "Me into disgrace? Me? Was I of a child's 
 age, or what ? He loved you, dared for you, died 
 for you, and you say that! God, but you've 
 grown to be a terrible woman, Chick!" 
 
 "Perhaps so," she said slowly. And again, 
 "Perhaps so," even more slowly. And then, 
 sighing, "Well-11 — I don't imagine that all of us 
 understand ourselves," and, sitting at the little 
 organ, strayed from one piece to another. Jack 
 
 8 + 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 came out of a reverie to find he was listening to 
 the Lamentations. Jeremiah, viewing the ruins 
 of Jerusalem, surely voiced a great sorrow; and 
 the mediaeval old monk who later set the prophet's 
 lamentation to music, he, too, must have known 
 what sorrow was. 
 
 Jack, sitting there, home after his years of peril 
 and breathing it in, felt that it was much easier to 
 die than to keep on living. If ever he went to 
 battle again he hoped the ship's band would play 
 what she was playing now. But no, no band 
 could play it properly — it would need to be a 
 church organ. 
 
 She ceased playing. A moment of silence and, 
 sofdy, "Dan Lappen — off Saghalien — I hope he's 
 resting well — and will forgive," and looking more 
 directly at Jack, "You look more like the old 
 Jackie now. But not so awfully sad, Jack. 
 Come here — see." She was looking out onto the 
 neglected garden. 
 
 "Do you remember the little girl, Jackie, who 
 used to look across from her window mornings 
 to you in your window, you a curly-haired boy in 
 your night-gown, leaning out to point out to the 
 Chinese servant what flowers to cut for your 
 mommer's breakfast-table — do you ?" 
 
 There was a speaking beauty in her eyes, and 
 Jack's heart was thumping terribly. He dared 
 
 85 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 not speak, but only for Prady being there he 
 would have gathered her to him. Pledged or no 
 to Macron or any other man, it would not have 
 mattered. 
 
 "And now it's a gambling house." 
 
 Abruptly an exclamation, almost like a cry 
 wrung out of her, and she was off. The door 
 closed below. Prady stepped into the other, the 
 front room. 
 
 He returned soon. "She's gone — around the 
 corner to Charlie Wing's — to the silk store. But 
 there's a ladies' game there — such ladies!" He 
 stepped over and looked gloomily out of the rear 
 window. "That Charlie Wing, for all his polish 
 and easy ways," he went on, "he's a desperate 
 man. He is not used to having anybody cross 
 him." 
 
 "No ? But what's he got to do with her ?" 
 
 Prady showed that he heard, but no answer came 
 from him. Thirsting to hear of her smallest do- 
 ings, Jack forced another question: "Does she 
 go there often ? " 
 
 "Twice before — this week. A silk store — but 
 she never brings home any silk. You know," he 
 went on hastily, "she may not be playing there, 
 though if she did could you blame her? That 
 Macron, I s'pose he bores her most to death — 
 everything bores her these days, she that used to 
 
 86 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 get so much fun out of the littlest thing." He 
 looked up at the ceiling as if bored to death him- 
 self, and then all at once exploded with: "A won- 
 der you wouldn't tell her to cut it out!" 
 
 "Me?" Jack wondered what had come over 
 the man. "Me?" 
 
 "Yes, you." And after a while: "This Charlie 
 Wing shot two men in Lima once — used to run 
 a place in the Chinese quarter there. 'Twas me 
 smuggled him aboard my steamer and brought 
 him here — paid me five thousand dollars for it." 
 He paused. "I wish now I hadn't. But I think 
 Til take a walk down the street. So long." 
 
 Out in the hall he stopped to look into the case 
 where so many of Chick's old presents were hung 
 up, those given her by the ship captains in the old 
 days: shells, beads, bows and arrows, knives, guns, 
 and so on — a regular little museum. Jack could 
 hear the glass doors sliding, but paid no attention 
 to that. Soon the street door closed behind him. 
 
 Jack stepped over to the rear window and looked 
 out on that back area, and for no other reason than 
 that she had been doing so a while ago. There 
 was the yard to Charlie Wing's place. It had once 
 been a fine garden, and a grand old mansion too, 
 his father's, and he had lived there for a long 
 time. — had been born there. A thousand times he 
 had played in that very garden, and so had she; 
 
 87 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 and then he got to brooding over it, and over her 
 life, and over what Prady had said of this Charlie 
 Wing. 
 
 In the middle of his thoughts it came to him in 
 a flash. He had not believed that he could ever 
 again feel toward her as in the old days, but that 
 afternoon her personality had taken hold of him 
 again; and now he grew cold to think of her being 
 in Charlie Wing's place. In older days he would 
 have acted on the impulse, but of late he had got 
 into the way of thinking things out. So he was 
 brooding over it all — Charlie Wing, Prady, Greig, 
 Macron — wherein did it concern him ? 
 
 The report of a pistol-shot brought him jumping 
 out of it. A dull sound it was, but he knew it for 
 a big-bored revolver shot. He picked out an open 
 window, a lace curtain across it. It must have 
 come from there. No longer puzzling reflection, 
 but down the backstairs in two strides — across 
 Grannie's backyard in three more. The door to 
 Charlie Wing's he found bolted on the inside, but 
 the wall was easily scaled. He had not forgotten 
 the lay-out of his own old home — straight up the 
 backstairs he rushed and straight for that back- 
 room — he knew that room, too, of the open win- 
 dow. 
 
 Another shot, and almost at the same instant 
 the door swung open before him. It was Charlie 
 
 88 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 Wing backing out. The revolver was still in his 
 hand. Jack looked beyond Charlie and there he 
 saw Chick, her head resting on a table as if she 
 were weary — frightened he would say, if it were 
 any other girl. On the floor was Prady, his legs 
 stretched out before him and his back resting 
 against the wall. Blood was on his white shirt 
 front and a knife in his hand. Like coming 
 death he looked. Charlie said something in 
 Chinese and turned. A quick man, but not quite 
 quick enough. Jack caught his lifted wrist, and 
 the bullet went on by him — somewhere. He 
 wrenched the wrist — he could feel the bones crack- 
 ing under his grip and see Wing grow clear white 
 with the agony. Before the weapon had hit the 
 floor he had him by the throat, but Wing did not 
 die by his hand. Over Wing's shoulder he saw 
 Chick lift her head and he saw that she knew him. 
 And he had no more time for Wing. He heaved 
 him off and back on the floor he fell to Prady, who 
 Jack had thought was all gone, but who now 
 reached over and drove his knife deep into Wing's 
 neck. The knife Jack knew for one from Chick's 
 case, one of those ivory-handled knives from the 
 East that Prady himself had brought home to 
 her years before. And Jack had seen the mata- 
 dors in Lima kill their bulls with just that same 
 stroke — behind the shoulders and down through 
 
 8 9 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 the heart. And so, no doubt, had Prady; and pos- 
 sibly, also, had Charlie Wing. 
 
 He took her up. Once she would have been 
 quite a weight; but not now — the consuming fire 
 had worn her. He could feel her lips to his ear. 
 "Oh-h — but I'm so glad it's you that came to 
 take me away." 
 
 Turning to the door, he said to Prady: "If 
 anybody comes, let it be Charlie and you and me 
 alone." 
 
 "All right," agreed Prady — "just you and me 
 and Charlie. Didn't I tell you he was bad ? He 
 said something to Chick — I couldn't get the words, 
 but Chick slapped his face. I heard the slap, and 
 her voice like she was ready to cry; but not for 
 fear, not Chick. 'Why, you yellow beast!' she 
 said. 'Do you think because — ' and then I, lis- 
 tening at the curtain, jumped in. But he had the 
 gun all the time, he was that crazy about her — you 
 didn't know that; I did — for years. He didn't give 
 me a chance — seemed like he thought I was her 
 man. If that wasn't a joke!" Prady laughed 
 terribly. " I struck at him, but he was too quick — 
 too quick. ... So it '11 be as you say, Gateley, no 
 word of her . . . and I'll lie like a Chinaman — 
 just me — and — and him — and he's gone — and I'm 
 go-ing. . . ." 
 
 90 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 IV 
 
 Jack carried her out through the old garden and 
 into the boarding-house, meeting nobody on the 
 way, to the same old sofa in the same old parlor. 
 She was looking up at him as he laid her down. 
 "I'm glad it's you, Jackie-dear," she said, and 
 reached, weakly enough, for his hand. "I hurried 
 back here to-day just hoping to catch you — I heard 
 you were home again. I told Macron. He knows 
 all about you and me, Jackie. Before ever I 
 knew him long I told him. You said something 
 about showing my colors once, Jackie, and I told 
 him early. See here, dear." 
 
 She had been shot through the right breast, 
 and the blood from the wound was spreading over 
 her waist — a navy-blue serge, the color he liked 
 so. Her throat seemed to be swelling and he 
 opened her collar. No baby's throat was whiter 
 or smoother. She put her hand to her waist and 
 he unfastened it. She took his other hand while 
 he was doing that and pressed it to her breast, then 
 led it to a cord which, when he drew it out, he saw 
 had fastened to it a medal. "See — your colors, 
 Jackie." His own medal of honor it was. He 
 had won it while an apprentice boy and had 
 given it to her on his return home. He thought 
 
 9« 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 she had long ago lost it or thrown it away, or 
 at least, in her heedless way, had given it to 
 somebody. 
 
 "Macron never minded, Jack. That is half 
 why I liked him, I think. No, Macron never 
 minded. But Greig! I used to wear it inside; 
 but this day I had it outside — under my coat — and 
 he saw it. He guessed what it was and asked me, 
 and I said yes. 'Then take it off and leave it 
 off/ he said to me. ' I'll not take it off or leave 
 it off,' I said. 'Take it off,' he said, 'or I'll go — 
 and for good/ And I said 'Go!'" She looked 
 at him then, a little proudly and yet timidly, as if 
 he might not like her speaking of it. "He came 
 back, but I never could like him again. Did I 
 do right, Jackie ?" The humility of her left him 
 in speechless shame. He could have died at that 
 moment, merely to reassure her. 
 
 "And there's a key — here." Jack drew it out. 
 "Ask Grannie and she'll show you the box — it's 
 got everything you ever sent me, every letter, every 
 ebony elephant, every ivory pagoda, every souve- 
 nir spoon — every little thing and everything I 
 ever saw in the papers about you — nothing else 
 but you in it. And nobody's ever seen the inside 
 of it but myself. There you'll find the letters — 
 wrote but never sent — I want you to read them 
 now. Read them . . . and you'll know I did 
 
 92 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 love you, dear." She choked a little then, and 
 he bent over to raise her up. "Sweetheart," she 
 whispered — "nearer." To the impelling love and 
 the beauty in her eyes he bent . . . still lower 
 . . . and they kissed . . . 
 
 " It's the truest kiss I ever gave, Jackie. If it's 
 a sin, then God help me!" Out of her weakness 
 she rested a while, looking at him — saying no 
 word but looking. ... "I never meant harm to 
 nobody, Jackie — to nobody — never, never! All 
 I ever did I just couldn't help. Before I knew it 
 was wrong, those captains used to pick me up 
 and kiss me — and say things to me — like Prady. 
 Poor Prady! I could burn for it now, but you 
 must not think me better than I was — and I did. 
 But I wasn't a bad girl — no more than that. I 
 couldn't seem to help that, and surely they who 
 used to know my father could mean no harm to 
 me. But never after that day . . . that terrible 
 day you left me. I never felt the same after 
 that day. When you left me that day the 
 blood left my heart. I used to cry the long 
 nights through. And I hated the name of who- 
 ever might try to lead you astray. You won- 
 dered about Lappen — him, too, he promised me 
 different." 
 
 She remained quiet for some little time. Her 
 strength had been going from her. Jack feared 
 
 93 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 she would speak no more, but she looked up to 
 say, "And even to-day, Jackie, I got to thinking 
 of when I was a little girl and you still a little boy, 
 and I asked Charlie Wing to let me go to that 
 room. It was upstairs in the gambling part, I 
 know. But I went. And I raised the window to 
 look out into the garden as you used to, but I 
 saw you standing at the window there, and I drew 
 back so you would not see me, and just then 
 Charlie Wing came in and I drew farther back into 
 the room so he wouldn't look out and see you. 
 Something told me he did not like you. And there 
 we were alone — and he misunderstood. Maybe I 
 shouldn't have blamed him, for what could he 
 guess of the heart of a girl, how after all the years 
 the memory of even the little things will still cling. 
 Maybe, too, good women don't go to the gambling 
 part. And when he shot I didn't mind it much, 
 only till you came in. * He'll blame me again,' I 
 thought; but when you looked at me as you did 
 I could have died with joy. I wasn't afraid for 
 you. I knew you would crush him if you wanted 
 to. Remember the night you fought Prady ? 
 Every blow you struck that night I struck with 
 you, and every blow he struck you, struck me. 
 Poor Prady! Well, God forgive me if I'm to 
 blame. . . . Sometimes I think my mother died 
 too soon. . . . 
 
 94 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 "And about Grannie, sweetheart. Be good to 
 her, won't you ? I know you will; but be double 
 good to her for me. Oh, the nights she's laid 
 awake while I cried myself to sleep, and she not 
 knowing why. Be good to Grannie. ..." 
 
 The blood was coming in little bubbles from 
 her lips. Jack, wiping them away, tried not to 
 let her know it. But she knew. "I think I ought 
 to pray a little, Jackie, don't you ? Won't you 
 pray with me — and for me, sweetheart ? — and for 
 Captain Prady — and Captain Lappen — they were 
 both brave men, weren't they, dear ?" 
 
 So she began and he repeated: "Our Father 
 Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. . . . 
 And now — yes, and for Charlie Wing too, for how 
 could he guess ? . . . Wait, wait, sweetheart — the 
 baby prayer too. Hail Holy Queen, Mother of 
 Mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope. To 
 thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve, to 
 thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weep- 
 ing in this valley of tears. Turn then, Most Gra- 
 cious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and 
 after this our exile . . . What's next, dear ? Yes 
 — oh yes . . . That we may be made worthy of 
 the promises of Christ . . . pray for us sinners 
 now — and — yes, now and at the hour of — of our 
 death-t-th — What comes after death, Jackie?" 
 
 "Amen, sweetheart." 
 
 95 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 "... Ah-h, yes, A-men" — her fingers closing 
 tightly over his. "Ah-h — ah-h" — the least little 
 bit of a sigh. . . . 
 
 He buried his medal of honor with her. . . . 
 He thought she would like it so. . . . 
 
 The great battle fleet was about to sail from 
 Hampton Roads. And Gateley came down to 
 enlist. One thing sure, truth or no in the flying 
 rumors — feast, fight, or frolic, whichever it would 
 prove, here plainly was one of those who "hoped 
 for the best." 
 
 Nothing happened to the fleet, but one day 
 came target practice. Headed for the battle range 
 was Gateley's ship with her men to battle stations. 
 Down the line she was steaming, fourteen knots 
 her speed, with all her port broadside and turret 
 guns booming. 
 
 At their stations, stripped to their racing jerseys, 
 eyes glowing, chests heaving, lips curving, but 
 nerves under control, were the turret crew. So 
 would they strip and look in battle, and no more 
 eager to win in real battle than now. Round 
 about were bags of powder piled up. Hardly 
 prudent? No; but prudent people never make 
 or save nations. The God of War there was 
 
 9 6 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 the turret captain, Gateley — wide-shouldered, lean- 
 waisted as a race-horse — astraddle of the entering 
 hatch. Through his tight-fitting jersey his torso 
 swelled; and his big arms, too, were bulging with 
 restrained power. 
 
 Two miles she had gone, and nine thousand 
 yards away a badly shot up target fluttered in 
 the warm sea-air. Slugging down the battle line 
 came the great ship again. It looked like a new 
 world's record. From aloft they could see far out 
 another solid rectangle of painted canvas being 
 cut to flying ribbons. The time was almost up, 
 the light of anticipation gleaming in their eyes — 
 particularly the twelve-inch records would be 
 badly broken. Boom, flame, and smoke it was 
 along the whole ship's side, when pfF! almost an 
 explosion it was, and flame and smoke not reck- 
 oned with from beneath the after-turret entering 
 hatch. 
 
 How that bag of powder was tossed out without 
 an explosion nobody knew or could explain. The 
 rules forbade speech till time was up, and another 
 shot remained to be fired. And that was fired. 
 "Something burning in the right hoist," said 
 somebody then, and the turret captain dropped, 
 almost threw himself, down through the four 
 decks of the other ammunition hoist to the hand- 
 ling-room. 
 
 97 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 Above him in one hoist the flames were roaring. 
 Sparks of burning cloth began to fall on the steel 
 deck of the handling-room, and there were bags 
 of powder not yet stowed. "Don't touch that — 
 nor don't wait for that — close your magazine 
 doors!" he called, and they saw him jump for the 
 sizzling little spark as they pulled-to the maga- 
 zine doors, themselves inside. 
 
 Almost with the cushioned shock of the closing 
 doors came the flash and a great pf-f-fF! — he had 
 all but tossed the eighty-pound charge into the 
 passageway when it had gone off. Two men came 
 running in just in time to see him standing there 
 with his arms crossed before his face. They saw 
 him, too, smooth his eyelids with the tips of his 
 fingers. "It must be terrible to be blind," he 
 said. His jersey was burnt off his body. 
 
 The miracle of his escape overcame them. 
 "You still alive, Gate?" 
 
 "I guess so." 
 
 "It's sure your lucky day." 
 
 "Right again, son — my lucky day," and went 
 up on deck. The surgeon wished to have him 
 brought below to the hospital, but Gateley begged 
 off*. "If you don't mind, sir, I'll stay up here," 
 he said. So they allowed him to stay on deck, 
 where he walked the quarter, from his turret to 
 the ship's side, with never a word to anybody and 
 
 9 8 
 
The Consuming Flame 
 
 nobody a word to him. Shipmates came up to him, 
 with a mind to say something; but, meeting him 
 face to face, they turned away without saying it. 
 
 And so he walked the deck — one hour, two hours, 
 three hours, all that afternoon — turning sometimes 
 to look out over the sea, at the sky, across to the 
 other ships of the fleet; but no sign of what 
 might be going on within, only when he would 
 lift his head to gulp down the cool air. This ter- 
 rible self-repression was too much for some of his 
 shipmates — they went away to cry. But never a 
 sign of weakness in him till suddenly he turned 
 and looked up to the flag. 
 
 "Good-by, old ship — good ship, too." His 
 voice was low. "Good-by, old Navy. I only 
 wish 'twas on the real battle line," and saluted 
 then the flag. Turning, he found a ring of his 
 shipmates enclosing him. "Good-by, fellows," 
 and — this in a voice low but clear as the ship's 
 own bell — "Coming!" he called out, and fell full- 
 length backward on the deck. 
 
 The surgeon knelt above his body. "Though 
 hardly any need," he observed. "He was fated 
 from the first. He inhaled the flame, and it burnt 
 him out inside." 
 
 99 
 
GREE GREE BUSH 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 OUEER how a man knocking around the 
 world gets here a hint, there a hint, of 
 a thing that has been puzzling him for years, 
 and at last, all of a sudden usually, finds he has 
 all the missing threads straight and untangled in 
 his palm. I have in mind the case of Bowles. 
 Bowles wasn't his right name at all, but we'll call 
 him that, for it was under that name he enlisted 
 in the navy, where they still speak of him as the 
 "Gree Gree Man." But that enlistment occurred 
 later. 
 
 Bowles came of a family up our way that, well, 
 the newspaper men — I had a brother a newspaper 
 man — used often to sit down and wonder if the 
 Bowleses really did believe themselves so much 
 better than ordinary people, or were they just try- 
 ing to fool themselves, too. There is probably not 
 much going on in a city that a dozen good police 
 reporters don't pretty near get to the bottom of — 
 if they're really interested. Bowles's people were 
 great hypocrites and Bowles, being brought up to 
 believe that he was better stuff than other fellows, 
 naturally broke when the strain came. 
 
 103 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 Before he was out of college he had done a 
 dozen things that another boy would have been 
 put away for. But one day he just had to jump 
 out, and in a hurry; and cut off from leaving the 
 city by train or steamer, he sailed on a bark that 
 was bound for the West Coast of Africa, on one of 
 a line of old hookers that used to sail more or less 
 regularly for the West Coast, going out with a 
 small holdful — rum, striped calico, brass wire, 
 and so on, missionaries sometimes — and coming 
 back with a big holdful of ivory, palm-oil, pepper, 
 and things like that. A nice, quiet business that 
 used to pay about a thousand per cent one time. 
 Perhaps it does yet. And it was a great relief to 
 all the Bowleses when young Bowles got away 
 without getting caught, and they didn't care how 
 long he stayed away. 
 
 What I am about to say now of Bowles's doings 
 on the West Coast is the summing up of what I 
 learned at different times from a dozen people — a 
 couple of ship captains, a bosun's mate in the 
 navy, a dozen sailormen, stokers, and so on, who 
 happened to be on the West Coast when Bowles 
 was there. Out there Bowles fell in with old 
 Chief Thomson, who used to run things pretty 
 much to suit himself over a country larger than 
 many a European nation controlled. 
 
 Thomson was a name the white traders gave 
 104 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 him. It may have been that Bowles — though Kipp 
 was the name he took out there — possibly Bowles, 
 coming of a hard-fibred trading ancestry, showed 
 the old fellow a few new commercial tricks. He 
 must have been of some material use, for old chief 
 was too shrewd and Bowles too cold-blooded for 
 anybody to suspect it was a matter of sentiment. 
 So fat and wide that he had to swing his legs side- 
 ways like a duck when he walked — that was old 
 chief but respected by all the white people, even 
 though he was as complete an old villain as ever 
 lived in some ways, for he had force, and he was a 
 man who meant well by his own people; that is, 
 after he'd had his fill of eating, drinking, and gen- 
 eral pleasuring. 
 
 Old chief was at the head of half a dozen 
 secret societies — at least half a dozen. Africa is 
 rotten with secret societies, worse than any white 
 country. Among white peoples, of course, those 
 who want political office or a good grocery trade 
 — that kind are the great "joiners"; but down 
 there it was the ceremonies that attracted them 
 as much as anything. In places there they still 
 practise some of the things they used to do ages 
 ago. It is hard to make people believe this, al- 
 though in our own country the negroes still prac- 
 tise voodooism, and in Jamaica and Hayti they 
 still practise Obeaism. One society, however, 
 
 105 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 old Chief Thomson made little secret of — Africa 
 for the Africans was what it meant. 
 
 And by an African he meant a black, and by 
 a black, anybody with one drop of black blood. 
 "One drop of negro blood always a negro," he 
 used to say, or as near to it as he could in English. 
 "The white people made that law — let it stand." 
 
 There are plenty like Thomson who want 
 their people to rule everybody in Africa — blacks, 
 whites, and yellows. Why not, he used to say, 
 when Japan was planning to do the same thing 
 in Asia, and the whites had been doing it in 
 Europe and America. Old Chief Thomson carried 
 his hope of this last society so far that he had had 
 his eldest son educated in England, so that he 
 might be better fitted to carry on the great work 
 for the race. 
 
 There was a sort of branch of the society that 
 old chief would not talk so freely about; but the 
 scheme, so 'twas said', was to take boys and girls, 
 especially girls, when they were young, and train 
 them, so that by and by they would be able to 
 train the coming race, to lead them to better 
 things. The girls brought up like that used to be 
 hid in the jungle, where if any man was found, he 
 was put to death. Of this society old chief was 
 believed to be Zoah, which meant Grand Knight, 
 Grand Master, Exalted Ruler, Great Mogul, what- 
 
 106 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 ever anybody wants to call it, and clear on up to 
 the 133d degree. 
 
 Of course, though talky negroes sometimes 
 gave out hints, all this was mostly guesswork 
 with the whites. There never was one who really 
 knew anything about them — unless it was this 
 same Bowles. And that was one thing they all had 
 against Bowles — he was making up with the blacks 
 against his own; and later, when he got tangled up 
 and they got after him, in the Berg mystery, it was 
 as much because of his being on the side of the 
 natives as for the belief that he had a hand in 
 Berg's death. This Berg was a steamer captain 
 running up and down the West Coast, an Ameri- 
 can, a fine sort according to the rating of his kind, 
 and he had married, many years before this, a 
 girl who, it was whispered, had negro blood in her. 
 Traders' lies! 
 
 However, this day he went up the river to meet 
 old chief, taking his daughter with him. The 
 mother being dead, she lived on the steamer with 
 her father. Captain Berg intended only to run 
 up to the lagoon and back; but he was a great 
 gambler and he wound up by joining in a little 
 game with Bowles and young Chief Thomson, 
 who was now back from England. The game 
 stretched out, ran into the evening — how late no 
 real matter, though Captain Berg left at nine 
 
 107 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 o'clock, according to young Chief Thomson and 
 Bowles. Next morning, Captain Berg's body was 
 found by his crew floating in the lagoon. It was 
 known he could not swim, and as Thomson and 
 Bowles said he had been drinking during the game, 
 it was not hard to believe that he had fallen into 
 the lagoon while looking for his landing. 
 
 But his daughter ? She had gone with her 
 father, Bowles and young chief said, and of course 
 she must have drowned with him. Well, they 
 waited for her body to come up. But it didn't 
 come, whereupon people began to talk. They 
 could not reach young chief, old chief had too 
 much power for that, but Bowles had to get out. 
 Old chief and young chief together could not save 
 him. If he had not gone, some of Captain Berg's 
 crew — he had two or three desperate ones among 
 them — would surely have killed him. So he hur- 
 ried away, this time to Manila, where he enlisted 
 in the navy. 
 
 And here is what I started to say in the begin- 
 ning: it is odd how we get onto a man's trail and 
 lose it, then pick it up again, and at last see him 
 run down. Our ship was lying into Rio Janeiro. 
 The bosun was overseeing the unshipping of the 
 ship's wash line. His great friend, Mr. Glavin, 
 and myself were watching him. Quite a man, too, 
 the bosun. Only the day before a big coal-passer 
 
 108 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 had suddenly given a wild yell and leaped over 
 the side. The bosun, without yelling, had gone 
 over after him. It was a fine thing really, but 
 not as the bosun explained it. 
 
 "The ridiculousest thing you ever saw," says 
 he. "The big brute, he weighed one hundred 
 and ninety and I don't s'pose I weigh over one 
 hundred and twenty-five, and he couldn't swim, 
 and tried to throw his arms around my neck. 
 And instead gave me a black eye — look," and the 
 bosun showed the eye. "But I give him a knee 
 in his stomach under water, and a wallop in the 
 nose out o' water, and when he let go, another 
 wallop in the jaw. 'You big loafer,' I says, 'what 
 you tryin' to do, hah — drown me ?' Then I towed 
 him to the gangway." 
 
 Here the bosun paused and reflected: "I 
 ain't got the tonnage, though, to be pulling these 
 big cart-horses out o' the water regularly. The 
 next one '11 be liable to drown if he waits for me. 
 Now if 'twas Glavin" — he pointed a finger to the 
 chief machinist, who was leaning over the rail and 
 gazing abstractedly toward the city — "if it was 
 Glavin now, he'd 've just gone on treadin' water 
 and tossed him onto the armor-belt shelf all in 
 one motion" — which was the most exaggerated 
 praise, of course, but going to show that physically, 
 at least, Glavin rated high in that ship. 
 
 109 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 As I took to sizing up Glavin, a young appren- 
 tice lad approached him. The boy said something 
 in a low tone. Glavin regarded him in mingled 
 grief and surprise. "And only yesterday afternoon 
 the master-at-arms tells me he saw you shooting 
 crap atop of one of the cold boilers," he said. 
 
 "That's why, sir," said the lad. "They cleaned 
 me out." 
 
 "Now look here," said Glavin, and gave him a 
 fine dressing down, after which he handed a five- 
 dollar bill to the boy. 
 
 The bosun roared aloud. "Some easy — you! 
 On the level, Glavin, did ever you refuse a man a 
 dollar in your life ? " 
 
 "Yes, I did — once," answered Glavin. Only 
 that then, but later he told the whole story. And 
 here it is as he told it, the story of the Gree Gree 
 Man. 
 
 I 
 
 I was a chief water-tender at this time on one 
 of the heavy-armored cruisers of the Asiatic squad- 
 ron, and there was an ordinary seaman who was 
 also a great tailor, and being willing to work early 
 and late, he used to make, oh, maybe, two hundred 
 dollars a month over and above his pay. And 
 being the best-hearted fellow in the world, he gen- 
 erally gave it away again. Didn't matter who 
 
 no 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 it was that asked Tailor Haley for money; he got 
 it, if Haley had it. And, of course, Haley never 
 saved a cent in spite of all he used to make. 
 
 Well, we were laying into Nagasaki one day 
 when Haley broke his liberty and came aboard 
 good and drunk. It happened to be right after 
 some American bluejackets had taken charge of 
 a souvenir store where they'd been paying seven- 
 teen prices for things and then not getting the real 
 article, though not for anything like that did our 
 fellows begin the trouble. It was that some of 
 them 'd made the Chinese cruise before and so 
 happened to know the money there, and when this 
 yellow chap tried to short-change them it was 
 like sounding general quarters. There must have 
 been, oh, a dozen or fifteen shop people went out 
 of commission before our people sounded off that 
 day. Well, our ship's party was known to 've been 
 around about there at the time, and the Japan- 
 ese merchant who'd lost some money and come 
 aboard, he picked out Tailor Haley as the man that 
 started the trouble in his place, and a Japanese 
 policeman backed him up. 
 
 How did he know ? Why, by Tailor's hat- 
 band, he said. He couldn't read a word of our 
 print, mind you, nor could the policeman; but 
 they both could read the name on the hat band. 
 Well, all right. 
 
 in 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 Now Tailor knew, as we found out later, that 
 it was a chief petty officer who'd come so near to 
 putting this particular merchant out of commis- 
 sion, and Tailor knew, too, that that same chief 
 water-tender was drunk when he did it, so drunk 
 that he didn't remember about it when he came 
 to. Somebody had to go to the brig for it, and 
 Tailor, with never a word, went; that is, no word 
 except to say, to whiten a little the black mark 
 against the service, "I was too drunk at the time 
 to know what I was doing." As to the money 
 part, everybody who knew Tailor laughed at that 
 the same as Tailor did. "Lord," says Tailor, 
 "you can put me down for most anything foolish, 
 but when it comes to stealin!" 
 
 However, after a summary court-martial, he 
 was dishonorably discharged, but the stealing 
 charge not proved. The officers, knowing Tailor, 
 wouldn't stand for that. 
 
 Now, I knew that Tailor didn't do it. How ? 
 Well, Tailor and myself were great chums, and 
 the afternoon this thing happened we were in a 
 tea-house with the Geisha girls dancing and we 
 sitting cross-legged on the mats, drinking tea 
 while we watched 'em. 
 
 Now, casting back to make out why Tailor 
 stood for what he did, I remembered — and there 
 were but few men for'ard who didn't remember — 
 
 112 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 that day before we left San Francisco and the two 
 sisters of this chief water-tender who came aboard 
 to bid him good-by. And this chief water-tender, 
 in spite of what had happened to Tailor, was a 
 good fellow. And if he hadn't been we'd have 
 overlooked it for the sake of his sisters; there 
 was nothing promenading the quarter, let alone 
 the for'ard deck, to be rated with them that day. 
 
 They certainly made prizes of the whole chief 
 water-tender mess. They had everything going 
 to do it — looks and figure and the quick wit, and 
 the heart that's more than all. And so maybe 
 you'll understand — Tailor worshipping on the 
 edge of the crowd and that chief water-tender, the 
 brother of these girls, hoping to go up for his war- 
 rant before long. Do you see what it meant to 
 the chief water-tender and the kind of chap Tailor 
 was — in his fourth enlistment and still an ordinary 
 seaman. To Tailor the navy was only another 
 place to pass the time in, while to this chief water- 
 tender, brother of those girls, it meant his whole 
 life. 
 
 Well, Tailor was dishonorably discharged, and 
 there he was broke and blue, and ten thousand 
 miles from home. So I beat the decks with a 
 paper, one mess after the other, and they gave 
 like sailors and bluejackets: chief petty officers 
 five dollars, first-class men four dollars, second- 
 ly 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 class three, and so on down to the young appren- 
 tice boys, who gave a dollar each; and many 
 would have given more, a month's pay some of 
 them, if they'd been allowed. Everybody gave 
 but one fellow — well, I won't disgrace any branch 
 of the service by saying what division he was in; 
 but this fellow — Bowles, as you can guess — instead 
 of money gives me a lecture. Said Tailor shouldn't 
 get anything from anybody. Deserved no pity — 
 ought to have saved for a rainy day. "The sun 
 don't shine every day," I remember him saying. 
 
 "A shipmate of yours as well as everybody 
 else's here, and a good shipmate, and now he's 
 down and out — what d'y' say?" I says, to give 
 him one last chance. But nothing came of my 
 pleading, and I said, "Well, 'the best thing I'll 
 wish for you is that you'll never have to ask me 
 for a dollar." 
 
 Well, after Tailor was put ashore, three or four 
 of us, friends of Tailor's, made up our minds 
 that the first chance Bowles would give us we'd 
 throw him. We'd already come to believe that 
 'twas him looted the Jap's cash-box, and not in 
 drink when he did it, either. No, he wasn't that 
 kind, nor was he the kind would do things out of 
 sheer devilment because he couldn't hold himself 
 in. So we rigged up a game one day to make the 
 master-at-arms open up his diddy-box, and, sure 
 
 II 4 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 enough, there was more gold than ever he drew 
 from the paymaster. Well, that was no proof, 
 one gold piece being pretty much like another; 
 but only one thing did all of us here believe. And 
 to think of him putting the Jap merchant and 
 the policeman up to saying 'twas Tailor did that 
 jobl There was so much feeling against Bowles 
 that all hands took to watching him night and 
 day. Never mind at what. There are some things 
 not pleasant to talk about — and at last he was 
 put on the beach. 
 
 We all thought we'd seen the last of him then. 
 But one day on our way home, in Callao a year 
 or so later, we had a big international race — Eng- 
 lish, French, German, Italian, a dozen crews — I 
 was stroke of our ship's crew. A good hard race, 
 and forty thousand dollars comin' to us when we 
 crossed the line. And all I could raise I bet on 
 that race, and when I went ashore it was with 
 twelve hundred dollars in my clothes. Of course 
 it wouldn't do to take that bundle of money back 
 to the States, so I was setting out to burn it, with 
 a couple of good lads in my own division to help 
 hold a match to it now and then. 
 
 And walking up from the jetty, that stone 
 jetty with the big clock on the sort of a light-house, 
 who should we meet but Bowles. There was 
 every mark that he had gone to pieces. I saw him, 
 
 "5 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 but didn't let on to know him. But he signalled 
 and I stopped. Maybe he thought I'd speak first, 
 but I didn't. I only looked him over. Did you 
 ever do that to a man down and out ? He must 
 be a bad one to do that to, mustn't he ? Well, 
 this was a bad one — I haven't hinted at the half 
 about him. And his eyes were a hunted dog's eyes, 
 his lips like a child's that expects to be struck 
 down. "Glavin" — he starts. 
 
 "You mean Mr. Glavin, don't you?" I says. 
 
 "It was plain Glavin once," he says, "or may- 
 be you've got your warrant by this ? " 
 
 On my word, I didn't think he had so much 
 spunk in him. "No," I says, "I haven't got my 
 warrant, and it's still plain Glavin — to shipmates 
 and friends." 
 
 He eyes me cornerwise. "Mr. Glavin, you 
 haven't the price of a meal, have you ?" 
 
 "I have," I says, "of a meal or a drink, and a 
 good many of them!" 
 
 He looked at me again as if he thought I'd 
 speak first, but I didn't, and the shame of it never 
 stopped him. "Well, let me have it, will you ?" 
 
 "Will I ?" I says, and I looked him over again. 
 But he did have the mean eyes! And he had the 
 body that couldn't possibly hold the heart or soul 
 of any kind of a man. How a recruiting officer 
 ever passed him, I don't know. 
 
 116 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 "Will I?" I says, and I pulled out my roll 
 with it. It made a bundle as big as my forearm, 
 nothing short of a ten or twenty, except a few 
 five and ten dollar gold pieces in my other pocket 
 for change. "Do you remember Tailor Haley?" 
 I goes on. He didn't say anything. "Well," I 
 says, "before I give you a nickel you'll starve to- 
 day, if it lays with me, for what you did to Tailor 
 Haley." 
 
 He backs away from me, thought I was going 
 to hit him, maybe; but I'd no more strike him 
 than I would a leper with a broken back. "But 
 Fll tell you what I will do," I goes on. "Fll go 
 back aboard the ship and I'll tell them the whole 
 story, and after that, Fll pass around a paper for 
 you." 
 
 And I did, after I'd told the story to the new 
 men who didn't know it. And I beat the decks, 
 above and below, missing not a man, even going 
 down into the bunkers below, and I came back, 
 and not a cent had I. But as I was going over 
 the side a machinist, third-class, hails me and 
 says, "Hold up, Glavin. Him and me, we used 
 to be in the same mess, and I remember now he 
 passed me the butter once — here's a quarter to get 
 the poor devil a meal." And another says, "Well, 
 I never before refused a man money and I'd hate 
 to have it on my ticket that I ever did refuse a 
 
 "7 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 man money. So here's a dime to get the hag's 
 son a drink." 
 
 Over the side I went with the thirty-five cents 
 and took it ashore, and giving it to him I says, 
 "Here's what seven hundred men of your old ship 
 have subscribed — thirty-five cents. It 'd been a 
 thousand dollars if you'd done right. And that's 
 for Tailor Haley," I goes on. "And if you meet 
 anybody poorer than yourself before you strike a 
 cantina or wherever it is you're going, I know 
 you'll divide with him, you being that charitable 
 kind." He'd turned away by then and was all 
 but crying — in pity for himself, I s'pose. 
 
 " Remember your own favorite warning," I says. 
 "'The sun don't shine every day ?'" God forgive 
 me, but the sun that day in Callao was like a 
 glory in the sky! 
 
 II 
 
 Well, I was home from the East on my fur- 
 lough when I got word from Mr. Wilson saying 
 that he was to be executive on one of the fast 
 scout-ships and she was started for the West Coast, 
 and would I go with him. A fine officer, Mr. 
 Wilson — one of the best. After a man's been in 
 a big cruiser and a battle-ship, a scout-ship don't 
 look so great, but because of Mr. Wilson I shipped 
 
 118 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 in her. Good officers mean more, after all, than 
 big tonnage. 
 
 So we ran over, putting into a little place — I 
 never knew the native name for it, but a little place 
 on a point making out from a black river. And 
 there was a little light-house on black and white 
 painted stilts and a lot of black sludge around it. 
 Before we went ashore, Mr. Wilson called me to 
 his room. 
 
 "Glavin," he says, "I may need you on this 
 thing we got to look into. There was an Ameri- 
 can ship-captain, Berg, and his daughter. He was 
 drowned — or murdered — here, nearly two years 
 now. The daughter was supposed to be drowned, 
 too, but the relatives have heard rumors and they 
 think she may be alive. They have an idea that 
 one of these secret societies may 've got her. Now 
 when we go ashore, you leave me and cruise for 
 yourself till I'm ready to return to the ship. I can 
 get all the official information I want, but the 
 natives '11 never talk to an officer, you know. Off 
 by yourself you may be able to learn something." 
 
 Mr. Wilson took the steam-launch and half a 
 dozen of us of the crew ashore with him. But 
 the man he wanted to find was at a settlement — 
 inland — fifteen or twenty miles — so we steamed up 
 this black river, dark even at noon-time with the 
 trees hanging away over, and soft, squishy banks. 
 
 119 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 On the way up, Mr. Wilson spoke of a Mr. 
 Thomson he had to meet, and I was wondering 
 could he be old Chief Thomson, the same, they 
 said, that Bowles *d been mixed up with. I asked 
 Mr. Wilson, but he said it couldn't be, as old 
 Thomson was dead near a year. 
 
 From the river we steamed into a lagoon, and 
 there Mr. Wilson met his Mr. Thomson, who was 
 as black as one of the black gang's black bags 
 aboard ship, though dressed like a white English 
 swell — a long coat, top hat, and patent-leather 
 shoes, and a cane, which he never forgot to swing. 
 A big fellow when you got close to him, and 
 could Ve been a Congo chief straight out of the 
 jungle, by his features, only he talked good English, 
 with a topside accent. Mr. Wilson went off with 
 Thomson to a sort of office building. 
 
 There was a lot of other niggers standing round, 
 some of them not wearing much clothes, and while 
 Mr. Wilson was gone off with Thomson, some of 
 our crowd got to talking with them as well as we 
 could — two or three of them knew some English. 
 But we didn't get on very fast, and took to stroll- 
 ing round to see what the place looked like, how 
 the people lived, and so on. And bearing in mind 
 to learn a little something more, I got away from 
 the village, nobody noticing me particularly, or so 
 I thought, till I drifted up a narrow path that 
 
 120 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 soon led into the dark forest. After a time I saw 
 flying from a pole alongside the path a white cloth 
 with a queer black design on it. A circle it was, 
 outside of a man's hand holding what looked like 
 a war club. Then a nigger came running after 
 me and made a sign that I mustn't go that way. 
 
 "Leopard — lion — hippo — me no 'fraid," I said, 
 but he moved his hands faster than ever. 
 
 "No, no lion — girls — womans — Gree Gree 
 Bush!" he said. And I said, "Ho-ho!" and 
 waved him away again. "A fine time of day," 
 I thought, "when I've got to run away from a 
 lot of women. Some chief's harem," I thought, a 
 little pleased at the notion of strange sights, and 
 pushed on. The nigger gave a sorrowful cry and 
 ran back. 
 
 I followed the path till I came to a stockade, 
 maybe ten feet high, made of thick trunks of what 
 must 've been palm-trees. The spaces in between 
 were plastered with mud or clay, and the sides 
 being so smooth I had some trouble in climbing up. 
 
 There were three buildings, long and low — 
 bungalows they would call them in the East — 
 and so much better built and so different from 
 any of the other buildings I'd seen since I landed, 
 most others being only one-story things of mud 
 and leaves, that I knew right away that they 
 must be for some unusual purpose. And while I 
 
 121 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 was puzzling over just what they might be, I 
 heard women's voices from inside repeating some- 
 thing, like as if it might be a prayer, after some 
 leader. And then came singing, and then like 
 somebody preaching or reciting, and then they all 
 came filing out from the building farthest away 
 from where I was. 
 
 It was coming on late in the afternoon, and 
 behind me was a lot of trees. All around, in fact, 
 except at the one opening where the path was, 
 the trees were solid; which was why they proba- 
 bly didn't see me, though I wasn't trying to hide 
 myself. Not at first, I wasn't. I couldn't see 
 any reason that it mattered at first, though soon, 
 recollecting the nigger back on the path, I began 
 to feel that this wasn't meant for me or any white 
 man, or for any man to see. 
 
 They wore only long white robes with a red 
 sash around their waists, and they were all bare- 
 footed and bare-armed and all black or brown 
 — except one, who looked to be a white girl. 
 
 She was in the last row as they came up four 
 by four, and I kept my eyes on her. I was hoping 
 she'd look up. And she did. Just before she 
 filed in the door of the building near my end she 
 looked up, and her eyes — they doubled her love- 
 liness! I don't know what made me — I never 'd 
 been given to speaking to strange women — "Look 
 
 122 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 for me to-night," I called out, and whistled like 
 a whippoorwill and slid down from the wall. 
 
 "Ah-h — to-night!" said a voice from behind me. 
 I turned. There was a white man with a revolver 
 aimed at me. 
 
 "Well, what do you want?" I said. It was 
 almost dusk, mind. He jumped back, with a 
 queer noise in his throat, which made me take a 
 sharper look. "What!" It was — but I could 
 hardly believe it — Bowles! 
 
 I jumps for him. He runs, but in four leaps I 
 had him, and throwing my weight onto his back 
 and slamming him to the ground, I took the re- 
 volver from him and turned his face up to what 
 light was left. Sure enough it was the face I'd 
 last seen that day on the dock in Callao. 
 
 I stuck the revolver in my jacket-pocket, stood 
 up, and said, "Look here — you know how I love 
 you, don't you ?" 
 
 He didn't say anything to that. "Well, look 
 here," I said again, and gripped him by the throat. 
 "Now tell me what I want to know." I eased up 
 on his throat. "Who are these women — these 
 girls?" 
 
 "They're sacred. It's death if you're caught 
 looking in on them — death even to be here. Only 
 the Zoah and the council can visit here, and then 
 they must all go together at some appointed time." 
 
 123 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 "Then what are you doing here ?" 
 
 He didn't answer. 
 
 "And who's the Zoah?" 
 
 "Mr. Thomson." 
 
 "Mr. Thomson? The big fellow in the swell 
 clothes ? And he sent you after me ?" 
 
 "Yes, when Daiko came back to tell him you 
 were headed up this path." 
 
 "And what if I stay around here to-night 
 — somebody '11 kill me, huh ? And that some- 
 body '11 be Mr. Thomson, huh — or somebody he'll 
 appoint?" 
 
 He didn't answer. Perhaps he couldn't, for I 
 had him gurgling under my fingers most of the 
 time. "And I suppose you'll go back to the vil- 
 lage if I let you?" I goes on. "And you're one 
 of them now ? And you got an establishment of 
 your own by this time ?" 
 
 He didn't say anything. I couldn't see his face 
 very well — it was dark by then; but I felt I had it 
 right. It was easy enough to imagine him, the 
 kind he was, to settle down among them, with 
 three or four oily, black, fat wives hanging around 
 him. "And look here!" I gave his throat a 
 fresh squeeze, till he must've thought I really 
 intended to choke him to death. "Who's that 
 girl?" 
 
 "What girl ?'! 
 
 124 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 "You know what girl. Tell me right or" — I 
 think I'd have choked him where he stood if he 
 hadn't answered. At last I got it out of him. 
 She was Captain Berg's daughter. She had been 
 kidnapped. 
 
 I was going to let him go, when I had an in- 
 spiration. "This Zoah, this Thomson — he wants 
 to get hold of this girl, don't he ? " 
 
 He admitted it. It was against all the laws of 
 the bush society, but Thomson was planning to 
 get her, nevertheless. He was even planning to 
 kidnap her from this place — a sacrilegious thing. 
 
 After this I let go his throat. "You go back," 
 I said, "and say nothing of me. If they ask you, 
 say you couldn't find me, and they will think that 
 I got lost in the jungle. A few more lies oughtn't 
 to worry your conscience — and you'll be safe. If 
 you hint of me — feel that?" — I gripped his throat 
 again — "I'll kill you before the ship leaves port. 
 Get that? You do, eh? Well, then, get out!" 
 He backed away for half-a-dozen steps, then he 
 hurried off in the darkness. 
 
 I climbed up on the stockade and for perhaps 
 an hour I lay there, not moving or speaking. 
 There were lights in the middle bungalow. After 
 a time I whistled sofdy, three times together, the 
 whippoorwill's call. I didn't know if there were 
 any whippoorwills in that country, but I felt that 
 
 125 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 she would recognize it when she heard. No an- 
 swer, and I whistled again and again, softly. I 
 was still whistling — I had heard nothing — when 
 a voice below me said, "Sh-h " 
 
 I could hardly make her out, even in her white 
 robe, it was so dark. I made ready to drop down 
 to her. 
 
 "No, no, no! You must not. They would kill 
 you. But if you can come back — you are sailor 
 and American, yes ? My father was sailor and 
 American, also." She spoke good English, but 
 slowly, as though out of practice at it. "I have 
 been praying, prayers of my dead mother, for some 
 great, strong, white man to come and take me." 
 
 I almost leaped down — I don't know now why 
 I didn't. "Til get you out of here. I'll come 
 back with a ship's company and we won't rest 
 till " 
 
 "No, no, no! that would not do. You must 
 come only yourself — secretly — at night. I will 
 show you the way." 
 
 I got no further. A series of calls rang out from 
 inside. "I must go back. It is for prayers before 
 bed. If I am not there, I shall be missed. But 
 after — I shall come back. Wait for me, but oh, 
 take care!" 
 
 As she fled away I did the foolish thing. Believ- 
 ing that if any others of the women there did hear 
 
 126 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 me they would not understand, I called aloud, 
 "I'll be waiting — don't fail!" and repeated the 
 whippoorwill's call, and with that dropped off 
 outside the wall. 
 
 "Waiting!" I fondly fancied her echoing it. 
 But no voice of hers was that. A laugh followed 
 it, and shuffling feet, and the stirring of under- 
 brush, and heavy breathing. 
 
 "Who's there?" I called out — the foolishness 
 of it; but I, aflame with the things I had in mind, 
 felt strong enough to lick a whole tribe of black 
 men. 
 
 I had my back to the stockade. "Who's there ! " 
 I called again. No answer — only the feeling that 
 they were closing in on me. Bowles's revolver 
 hung heavy in my inside pocket, and I drew it out, 
 took a step forward — another, maybe another, and 
 then it came. No terrible pain, but a dull blow, 
 and then something like a great weight coming 
 down upon me. I swayed, sagged slowly down, 
 but came up. Again the dull blow and the weight, 
 and "What a pity! what a pity!" I said to my- 
 self. And that's all I remember of that. 
 
 127 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 III 
 
 Next thing I remember I was lying in some 
 kind of a low shack with a dim light in one cor- 
 ner and a negro fanning himself in another, and 
 two negroes armed, each with a big, knobby war 
 club and a heavy revolver — and no old-fashioned 
 make, but as modern as any officer's service 
 weapon — a queer combination, I thought, when 
 I did think. I wasn't thinking too much. My 
 head wasn't aching so terribly, though it did ache, 
 but my mind wasn't clear and I was hungry. 
 
 I lay there, stupid enough, I guess, and it seemed 
 to me that it was a dream and not real, when I 
 heard a great beating of tomtoms. Before I could 
 think of them at all the sound of them was ring- 
 ing through me. Perhaps 'twas their noise woke 
 me up. It came from somewhere outside, and, 
 more than any thought of clubs and revolvers or 
 sudden attack, it put dread into my soul. Slow, 
 regular at first, but getting faster and faster, and 
 that yah-yah, yah-yah, yah-yah which no white 
 people can ever get, not till I found my heart 
 beating to that note of it did I begin to feel the 
 least worry. 
 
 A white man came in. It was Bowles, I saw — 
 after a while. Then I closed my eyes again. He 
 128 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 bent over me and put his eyes close to mine — I 
 could feel him. He went out then, but soon re- 
 turned with the nigger Daiko, who fed me a bowl 
 of rice and a cup of some kind of kola-nut prepara- 
 tion. 
 
 Bowles watched me. "That's right, Daiko," 
 he said, "feed him well. He must be brought to 
 the sacrifice in his full strength. Soon now. 
 Everything, the Zoah says, must be over by sun- 
 rise." I never let on I heard that, because I too 
 well knew he meant it for me, not for the negro. 
 
 I needed that food, for I must 've lost quite a 
 little blood. But with that food inside of me I 
 felt better, a lot better. 
 
 The tomtoms stopped, and then another nigger 
 came in and said something to Daiko, and he 
 motioned to me as if to say that if I had done 
 eating we would go. They led me then, with 
 torch-bearers ahead and behind me, by way of a 
 jungle path, oh, perhaps a quarter-mile to a build- 
 ing that was maybe sixty by forty, with an earth 
 floor, high studded enough for two stories, and the 
 whole side wall solid all the way up except for half a 
 dozen slits up under the roof as if for ventilation. 
 I'd been in half darkness so long that the place 
 seemed bright to me, though it couldn't have 
 been too bright, for there were only two lamps 
 in the place, one at each end — big-bowled, old- 
 
 129 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 fashioned, kerosene bracket lamps, like what they 
 used in stables at home. They had reflectors 
 behind the light and were set, oh, nine or ten feet 
 above the floor. 
 
 The place was rigged up like a lodge-room 
 of most any secret society in our country except 
 that there was only one platform and pedestal, 
 at the farther end from where they stood me. 
 Thomson stood there. All around, the others 
 stood along the two long sides of the room, close 
 together. I didn't count them, but there must 
 have been seventy or eighty of them. And they 
 were all dressed alike, naked except for a loin 
 cloth and some kind of wild animal's skin half 
 covering them, beautiful lion and leopard skins — 
 some one, some the other. Their bodies mostly 
 were oily in the light. Every one carried a war 
 club, one end resting on the ground, and a big re- 
 volver, like the two who'd been guarding back in 
 the shack, and I couldn't help wondering why 
 they carried the clubs when they could get such 
 good, up-to-date weapons. But perhaps that was 
 a regulation of the secret society, by way of re- 
 minding them, the same as the tomtoms were. 
 
 They kept me standing there with nothing 
 said or done for maybe ten minutes. Not one of 
 them looked away from me, but I paid no atten- 
 tion to them. It was Thomson I was measuring 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 up. And measured by inches, he was a proper 
 man. I couldn't help thinking what a grand 
 heavy-weight ring fighter he'd have made, and 
 wishing I could have a try at him before they 
 sewed me up, tied the weight, and slid me over 
 the side. 
 
 Bowles and Daiko had been sent out and now 
 they came back, the door being unbolted for them 
 after a queer knock three times given, and now 
 they let in Captain Berg's daughter. She was 
 dressed in white as when I had seen her, and 
 plainly the dread of something terrible was in her 
 eyes, but no trembling or drawing back. They 
 placed her face to me, and then Bowles and Daiko 
 were told to leave. Bowles, first turning to Thom- 
 son as if claiming some privilege, stepped close 
 to me, then slapped and then spat in my face three 
 times. 
 
 "That's for Tailor Haley," he said, "and that's 
 for the day you ran me off the ship, and that's 
 for that day in Callao. And the sun may be shin- 
 ing every day, but you'll never see it again." 
 
 If I'd only one arm, or just part of one arm 
 free, he'd have got his big discharge then and 
 there. But I only said, "You're a brave man — 
 you always were." 
 
 When the two were gone, Thomson came down 
 from his platform and placed a long, heavy knife in 
 
 *3* 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 her hand. For a long time she did not look up 
 at me. When she did it was to say, "Do you un- 
 derstand ?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "You are to die. If I kill you I save my life. 
 If I don't, then I die and you are put to torture." 
 
 "Why not?" I said to her. "I've got to go, 
 anyway, and why not by you, and you save your 
 own life ? " 
 
 "No, no!" she whispered and shook her head. 
 " Do you not see I am not of them ? If I kill 
 you, do you not see how they will regard us ? 
 You and I — we are of one blood. And there is," 
 she was speaking in a low voice, "a way of escape 
 from the torture." 
 
 Her lips only framed the last three words, so 
 that nobody else there could possibly know what 
 she said. Her eyes sought mine, then she directed 
 them to the knife in her hand. " Save me from him," 
 her lips said, though no sound came from them. 
 
 It took me a second or two to get her mean- 
 ing. We looked at each other. " From him ! " she 
 repeated with her lips, turning her eyes without 
 moving her head, and I knew she meant Thom- 
 son, who was standing rigid beside the pedestal. 
 On his kinky head fell the light of the big lamp 
 behind him. From behind me the light of the 
 other lamp shone on her. 
 
 132 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 I looked from her to Thomson and tried to 
 guess what he was thinking of. I looked around 
 at his councillors. To Thomson I looked again, 
 and he smiled like a devil from hell; and yet 
 there was anxiety in his eyes, too, while she stood 
 there as if hesitating. 
 
 "You must decide — and quickly," came Thom- 
 son's voice suddenly, sharply. I think he meant 
 by speaking in just that instant, in just that tone, 
 to settle what he thought were her doubts. 
 
 With one last appeal in her eyes, she raised the 
 knife and bent toward me as if to bury it into 
 my breast. I raised my bound hands high as if 
 to let her strike beneath them to my heart. Even 
 as I did it, I could feel the thrill run around the 
 room and above all the cry of pleasure from 
 Thomson. 
 
 "Now you must" she said, and she had to reach 
 up to make the stroke. One quick stroke and the 
 bonds were cut and my hands free. "And here!" 
 I said, and she slashed my ankle bonds — the whole 
 thing in two seconds. With the knife in my hands 
 I looked at Thomson and laughed. "Here," I 
 said, and stepped toward her as if to strike; but 
 what I intended was to pick her up and dash for 
 the door. 
 
 Thomson called out and started forward. As 
 he came, he swung his great war club and hurled 
 
 *33 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 it. I dodged, and as it struck the wall just behind 
 me, I saw my chance. I picked it up, leaped into 
 the air and smashed the lamp above me, then 
 turned toward Thomson. He thought I meant it 
 for him, and dropped on the floor, but it was over 
 his head I threw it — at the other lamp. 
 
 And crash! From light to dark was quick as 
 that. I swooped for her in the dark, took her in 
 my left arm. "Now," I said, "here's where we'll 
 have company going!" and leaped for the door. 
 One man I felt in my way, and I drove the knife 
 deep into him somewhere. Another, and him I 
 knifed, too. I felt for the door — unbarred it. All 
 was yelling and calling by now, but I knew it 
 would take them a few seconds to guess what I 
 had in mind. But the door would not open for 
 me — it was barred on the outside, too. 
 
 "Stay here!" I whispered to her, and minding 
 the two negroes just behind that I'd knifed, I 
 reached back and drew them close, felt for their 
 skin coverings, pulled them off and threw them 
 over her. "Lay there till it's over," I said, and 
 also pulled the two bodies — I made sure they were 
 dead by a few more jabs — and curled them around 
 in front and about her. At the same time I took 
 the revolvers from their belts. They had no extra 
 cartridges in the belts — none of 'em I remembered 
 then had — only what they carried in the revolvers. 
 
 134 
 
He thought I meant it for him, and dropped, but 'twas over 
 his head I threw it — at the other lamp 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 They were calling to each other now as if 
 to get together, and somebody said something — 
 Thomson's voice I thought — and I saw a little 
 light, as if somebody had just struck a match. 
 The light flared up. I aimed at the light before 
 it could get blazing. A yell came, and at that I 
 began shooting right and left. Whatever hap- 
 pened was the worse for them. There were sev- 
 enty or eighty of them and only one of me. In no 
 time all hands were shooting, while I lay on the 
 ground next the bodies guarding the girl and let 
 them shoot. Feeling another body fall near me, 
 I reached over, and to make no mistake I drove 
 my big knife into him — and drew him alongside. I 
 reached around till I found the club of the last 
 dead man and waited till the shooting was over 
 which was soon enough. I piled this new body 
 on top of the other two guarding her. 
 
 "You'll be safe now," I said. 
 
 "Stay here, you, too," she whispered. 
 
 "I won't go far," I said. "I won't have to," 
 I added to myself, and stood up. There were 
 groans and calls, cries of terror and pain, all over 
 the place. And I almost laughed when I started 
 out to think that no matter who I drove my knife 
 into, it was an enemy. Every time one of them 
 struck out, seventy or eighty in the beginning to 
 my one, it was one of themselves that was struck. 
 
 135 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 All I had to do was not to let anybody grab me 
 and hold me long enough to discover who I was. 
 
 And I waded in. And that big knife, fifteen 
 inches long, double-edged and heavy — without 
 half trying I could have reached the heart of a 
 bullock with it. Every stroke wasn't a sure dead 
 man, but pretty near it. Never a one I struck 
 that didn't go down — if not dead, well on the way 
 to it. And some of them yelled, and before I'd 
 knifed half a dozen fresh ones, they were in a new 
 panic, and I could hear all hands at it again, strik- 
 ing out with their war clubs. Then was my dan- 
 ger — that one of them would accidentally hit me. 
 
 So I took to the club business, too, but using 
 two clubs, taking my second from the hands of 
 the last man I'd knifed. With my left-hand club 
 I felt for them, with my right-hand one I cracked 
 their skulls. When I thought there was any dan- 
 ger to either side — I could tell by their terrible 
 breathing — I'd drop low to make sure, and then 
 let them have it. It was like cracking nuts with a 
 hammer — as easy as that when you gauged the 
 distance right. They couldn't tell me from one of 
 themselves. Maybe five or six did feel my shirt 
 instead of the smooth, oily bodies of themselves, 
 but by then it was always too late. 
 
 When I felt a man give that most astonished 
 grunt at close quarters, I took no chances but 
 
 136 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 whipped out my knife and stabbed quick and 
 hard. Three or four times I went down under 
 somebody or other, but always then I reached up 
 and slit a throat or a belly before a yell could come. 
 That knife! A finger's weight on it and it cut 
 through 'em like soft butter. 
 
 One time they quit yelling — Thomson's voice, 
 I think, ordering; but I wasn't even sure of that, 
 so crazy was I getting with all voices beginning 
 to sound a good deal alike to me. I was beginning 
 not to care where I fetched up — I only wanted 
 to be swinging at them. But this time I stopped 
 a second to listen. The voice must have been 
 telling them how foolish they were to be killing 
 each other. They stopped and I could hear them 
 crowding together into the middle of the place. 
 I guessed there were half of 'em left yet, and that 
 wouldn't do; so I dove in among 'em and started 
 swinging, and no mortal man, white, or yellow, or 
 black could have stood there and been hammered 
 and cracked by an invisible hand — like black 
 Death itself — in that black place, and not struck 
 back. 
 
 That's where I had 'em. And I went among 
 'em with new speed. Only when I felt the club 
 touch would I stop, and only then for a part of a 
 second to make sure, and then it was lean forward 
 and duck low and let him have it. Not many I 
 
 «J7 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 missed, and when I didn't miss they went down — 
 and mosdy for the count. 
 
 Of course, I got caught a few times. With 
 bunches of 'em clinched in that dark I couldn't 
 always dodge 'em. But when that happened and 
 I went down under 'em, I used the knife back 
 and up, and heaved 'em off me in a hurry. 'Twas 
 like heaving the line off you in foot-ball, and I 
 was a husky lad in those days. Of course I got cut 
 and bruised, and what with the bruises and loss of 
 blood I started with, I began to feel weak. 
 
 It had been a hot night outside. It was hotter 
 than a fire-room in there. I could almost bite the 
 air in chunks, what with the heat and the sweating 
 and the blood and the hot breathing. Just the 
 work of swinging a big war club the way I did 
 for the Lord knows how long — fifteen or twenty 
 minutes, maybe — that with the excitement was 
 enough to keep a man up. 
 
 "A little more," I remember I kept saying to 
 myself, "and it ought to be over." They rolled 
 slippery around my feet. I fell half a dozen times 
 quick, there were so many of 'em on the floor, 
 and I was getting unsteady. At the last of it I 
 let myself down on the floor and crawled among 
 'em. And 'twasn't till I felt there were no more 
 of 'em left in the open that I began to wonder 
 had I missed any in the corners. 
 
 138 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 My mind wasn't overclear at the beginning of 
 it and surely not too clear toward the end. I 
 think now that I was by this time half crazy. I 
 felt and pounded in the corners, but no live one 
 there. And then I stumbled onto the platform 
 for the first time. There was one there. At first 
 I thought he was dead like the others, but he 
 moved under me. "Ah, but you're a cute one!" 
 I said. I knew him. And what d' y' think I did ? 
 Dropped knife and club and went at him. 
 
 Half crazy? Sure I was. "I got you, Thom- 
 son," I says, and he said something, I don't re- 
 member to this day what it was. And do you 
 know how I fixed him ? Squeezed his big neck 
 between my fingers. And I never let go till he fell 
 from me, weakening — broke his neck, I guess, but 
 I don't know. And don't care. I brushed him 
 from me tired-like, to find myself breathing like a 
 man just come through a quarter-mile run. And 
 tired ? Oh, terribly tired ! And so I guessed I'd 
 call it off, and went over by the door and reached 
 my hand out for the girl. "Are you there?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, to think that you're alive!" and she 
 reached out her hand for mine. "Is it all over? 
 And what you must have gone through ! Oh, the 
 blood — you're bleeding — everywhere! Oh, if the 
 morning were only here so I could be of use to you ! " 
 
 139 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 "It will soon be here," I said, and sure enough, 
 by and by the rays of light came through the slits 
 up near the roof. Then voices outside and a 
 step at the door and the signal knock — three times 
 repeated. I answered by the same knock I had 
 heard them giving earlier in the night. 
 
 The bar outside was let down, the door turned, 
 and in they came. It was Bowles and the nigger 
 Daiko. I'd drawn the girl to myself to one side of 
 the door, and when they came in they did not 
 see us. It was so dark inside, too, and sunrise 
 outside. 
 
 They blinked their eyes and looked and looked, 
 for maybe half a minute, like people who thought 
 they were dreaming. Daiko even rubbed his eyes 
 as if to wake himself up. Then he turned and 
 saw me, and seeing me he gave a shriek, fell on 
 the floor face down, and lay there. Bowles stood 
 stiff, so stiff that I went up to him and took his 
 loaded revolver from him. 
 
 "Come, I said, "show me the way back to the 
 lagoon." I turned to the girl. "Mr. Wilson will 
 be waiting — no fear — with the launch and take 
 us away." 
 
 I left Daiko where he was. I had no heart to 
 hurt him. I had killed enough. Bowles walked 
 ahead. I gave the revolver to the girl, while I 
 carried a war club. "If anything happens to me, 
 
 140 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 if anybody jumps out of the bushes on the way," 
 I said, "you will have the revolver to defend 
 yourself." 
 
 When we reached the lagoon the ship's launch 
 was still waiting on the opposite bank. One of 
 our fellows was standing by her — on watch, no 
 doubt, for me. "Miss Berg," I said, "all's well 
 at last." 
 
 "How are we to get across?" I asked Bowles, 
 and he pointed to a dugout half hidden in the 
 bushes. I made him push it through the black 
 sludge to the water's edge. "And now if you will 
 get in," I said to her. She reached one hand to 
 me to be helped in. The hand with the revol- 
 ver was lowered to her side, the side away from 
 me. My mistake — to forget Bowles even for a 
 second. 
 
 A cry from her and something like a dog's bark 
 from Bowles, a report, and across the boat she fell. 
 I leaped across her and the boat and whipped the 
 club across his wrist, maybe broke it — I don't 
 know — and as he dropped the revolver into the 
 soft mud I grabbed him and held him there, 
 kicking and struggling while I bent over her. 
 
 "Are you hurt, dear?" I asked. 
 
 Never an answer, and I called to her again. 
 "Stand up, you!" I said to Bowles, and took 
 him and set him on his feet. And he stood there 
 
 141 
 
Gree Gree Bush 
 
 — as well as he could. And I brought the war 
 club down — as if I was driving a stake. He went 
 a foot deep into the mud. And his head was 
 spread out like a red cauliflower. 
 
 142 
 
THE VENTURE OF THE 
 "FLYING HIND" 
 
The Venture of the "Flying 
 Hind" 
 
 1WAS walking up Atlantic Avenue, in Boston, 
 one day, thinking that perhaps I'd had 
 enough of fishing for a while and wondering what 
 Td do next, when* along came Glaves, and he 
 slaps his thigh, and says: "Alec Corning — just 
 the man. What d' y' say, Alec, to a little cruise 
 down Newfoundland way?" 
 
 Now Glaves wasn't the man to go hunting you 
 up out of pure love, and so I waited for more. 
 Besides, when he said Newfoundland, I guessed 
 what was at bottom. For that very morning I'd 
 learned, too, that Annie Mann had gone back to 
 visit her people; but Glaves, being what he was, 
 I said nothing of that. 
 
 "There's a man named Cruse," goes on Glaves, 
 "and he wants somebody that knows the New- 
 foundland coast; and he'll pay you well. What 
 d' y' say ? Maybe a bit of excitement for you be- 
 fore you see Boston again. And" — he added it 
 almost without thinking — "Pinlock left for there 
 a couple of days ago." 
 
 H5 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 That word of Pinlock settled it. Whatever the 
 business it didn't matter now. Glaves could 
 easily be a better man, but Pinlock! They did 
 not make them any meaner than Pinlock. "Where 
 will I find Cruse ?" I asks. 
 
 So he brought me to Cruse, in the back room 
 of a shipping office on Commercial Street, who 
 sizes me up. "Well," he says, "you look like 
 the man I want. And I hear there's not a harbor 
 between Hatteras and the Straits of Belle Isle 
 you can't take a vessel in of out of, fair or foul, 
 night or day. What d' y' say, Mister Corning, 
 to a yachting trip to Newfoundland ?" 
 
 "Maybe," I says. "Though I don't know as 
 I'd call it yachting." 
 
 "Well," he says, "if a man isn't yachting, what 
 would bring him there ? " 
 
 "Well," I says, "it's a good place, Newfound- 
 land, for a fisherman to get baiting." 
 
 "All right," he says, "let's call it a fishing trip. 
 But will you come ? Glaves is all right in his 
 way, but he needs somebody to stiffen him up 
 like." 
 
 And so we left on the Flying Hind, a fishing 
 vessel Cruse had got at a bargain that spring. I 
 knew the Hind well — a fast craft, but weak built 
 from her launching day, and six years of driving 
 to market hadn't made her any stronger. Her 
 
 146 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 frames sagged like the ribs of an old umbrella, and 
 her spars buckled like a cabman's whip when we 
 slapped the canvas to her in a breeze. But no 
 matter — she could sail, and with Glaves for master 
 and me one of the crew, we swung her off to the 
 eastward. The others of the crew were scrubs 
 picked up along the water front, except an old 
 dory-mate of mine, a young fellow named Gillis, 
 careless as a drifting derelict in his ways, but 
 game to his very shoestrings. Him I took to 
 make sure there was one man would be standing 
 by if anything happened. 
 
 We put into St. Pierre on our way, in the Mique- 
 lon Islands off the Newfoundland coast, to wait 
 for news and take a few cases of brandy for emer- 
 gencies. From there we laid into a little place, 
 Lowcliff, to the eastward of St. Johns, where 
 Annie Mann's people lived, and where was Pin- 
 lock's vessel, the Polaris, before us. Glaves 
 couldn't wait till we were fair to anchor before he 
 was on his way ashore to see Annie Mann. And 
 Pinlock to the house before him. 
 
 We put in a week at this place, lying around 
 daytimes and going to dances evenings, and I 
 wondering when we would get down to business; 
 but not worrying overmuch, for I was seeing An- 
 nie Mann every day. And neither did Gillis care. 
 "Fine, buxom girls here in Lowcliff," Gillis used 
 
 147 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 to say, and he'd dance all night with a younger 
 sister of Annie's if she would but let him. 
 
 Till one afternoon Cruse came hurrying aboard. 
 "The steamer from England's into St. Johns. 
 Stand ready to put out any minute now." Next 
 day a little packet dropped anchor near us, and 
 that night we took four doryloads of Chinamen 
 from her, forty in all, and the Polaris took three 
 doryloads more. And we crowded 'em into the 
 hold and battened the hatches on 'em. With the 
 last Chinaman came Cruse. "Get out in a hurry 
 now," says he. 
 
 It was a bit sudden, and I was glad enough to 
 hear Glaves say: "Just another day here, just 
 
 one." 
 
 "What for?" asks Cruse. 
 
 " Just one, just to-morrow, and to make sure I'll 
 be back let Alec come along with me." 
 
 So we went ashore in the morning, up to Annie's 
 father's house. She came to the door herself, and 
 she was good to see — all smiles and curves and 
 rosiness. 
 
 "Will you wait?" asks Glaves. "I've a mes- 
 sage for Annie." Which didn't suit me quite, 
 but I waited. After a while Annie herself called 
 me inside. She and Glaves were standing together 
 in the entry. "Is it true the Hind is going to 
 sea to-night, Alec?" she asks. 
 
 148 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 "So the owner says." 
 
 "And where bound ?" 
 
 "He didn't say — if indeed he's sure where. 
 But somewhere between Eastport and Norfolk I' 
 guess 'twill have to be." 
 
 She looked at me. "Is it smuggling out of St. 
 Pierre?" 
 
 I had to laugh — at the thought of the China- 
 men being mistaken for any St. Pierre packages. 
 But before I could answer there came from the 
 steps outside the scraping of a man's boots and a 
 knock at the door. The three of us stepped into 
 the front room, and Glaves was trembling. "Say 
 you'll marry me, Annie," he says, "and we'll go 
 off on the Hind together." 
 
 Annie's younger sister that Gillis was so sweet 
 on came into the room then. "It's Captain Pin- 
 lock wants to see you, Annie." 
 
 "Tell him," says Annie, "he can't see me." 
 That was a pleasant message to both Glaves and 
 me. We heard the voice of Pinlock swearing at 
 the door. "Tell her for me," he says, "that she'll 
 be sorry for this, and Corning too, and whoever 
 else is in there with them," and some more that 
 was less polite. 
 
 More than the surprise was the thrill I felt at 
 hearing my name coupled with Annie's. I had no 
 notion that anybody but Glaves was thought to 
 
 149 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 have a chance with Annie Mann. I was dumb, 
 but Glaves was for jumping out the door. Com- 
 ing to myself, I grabbed him. "A lovely bride- 
 groom you'll look," I said, "with maybe your eyes 
 blackened and your nose flattened." That by 
 way of an excuse, for I doubted he was as good as 
 Pinlock; also I did not want to see any brawling 
 in front of Annie's door. So I went out the back 
 door and overtook Pinlock on the dock, and I 
 said a word or two and he said a word or two, 
 and it being about that size of a place where 
 there's no police to bother we had a great chance 
 to try tacks. 
 
 Being as we were, of the one tonnage, with 
 pretty much the same length and beam, as you 
 might say, and the spars and quarters to carry sail, 
 it ought to have been an even thing. But he 
 couldn't maneuver — a bit slow to answer his helm, 
 and maybe, too, I could bore into the wind closer 
 than he could. Anyway, when for the last time 
 he'd hauled his wind and his colors with it, I left 
 him, he hailing the Polaris and I going back to 
 the house. I hadn't been gone more than fifteen 
 minutes altogether and Glaves was still talking. 
 "Marry me, Annie, and I'll take you off on the 
 Hind to-night," I heard through the door. 
 
 Annie heard my steps. "What happened ?" she 
 said. 
 
 150 
 
The Venture of the "Flying Hind" 
 
 "Nothing much," says I. "But I think he'll 
 be putting out on the Polaris soon, and if there's 
 going to be any wedding somebody '11 have to 
 hurry." 
 
 "What makes you say that?" she asked. 
 "There's going to be no wedding here. But to- 
 night I'm leaving St. Johns on my father's vessel 
 for Boston." 
 
 "And I will see you there, Annie?" says 
 Glaves. 
 
 "Why, of course, and you too, Alec — that is, if 
 you want to." She smiled at Glaves, but not at 
 me, and I made up my mind I wouldn't call in a 
 hurry. 
 
 II 
 
 It was nine that night when we broke out our 
 anchor. We should have gone early that day, 
 the same as Pinlock, but Glaves had to go moon- 
 ing around Lowcliff after Annie 'd gone off, hav- 
 ing a drink here and a drink there. While we 
 were waiting for him I, being handy with the brush, 
 painted a new name under the vessel's stern, the 
 Zulieka. I hauled a canvas over me while I was 
 doing it — told the crew I was decorating things. 
 For I'd begun to foresee the need of a change of 
 name, and Zulieka was the most unlikely one I 
 could think of. I had read it in a story somewhere. 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 While Glaves lay drunk in his bunk I took the 
 vessel out of Lowcliff Harbor. It was a pitch- 
 black night, and only by the noise of a steamer's 
 screw did we know that something was coming in. 
 She bore no lights and passed us in a hurry. We 
 had no lights up either. 
 
 "What's that?" asked Cruse. 
 
 "What could it be," I says, "coming from St. 
 Johns way at ten o'clock at night, with her lights 
 shrouded and at full speed?" 
 
 Only then did Cruse suspect it was the govern- 
 ment cutter. "Pinlock's doing?" he asked. 
 
 I said yes, and was sorry I had not beat him 
 up so that he would 've been thinking of going to a 
 hospital 'stead of to sea that day. I forgot to say 
 that we wouldn't have left the harbor that night 
 only that I was afraid of this very thing, the cut- 
 ter. Cruse had wanted to wait till morning, it 
 looked so bad. 'Twas a gale of wind and getting 
 worse, and the Flying Hind — the Zulieka now — 
 a weak-built vessel, as I said, with her deck crawl- 
 ing under your feet. It was a hard beat out, but 
 at last I shot her between the two lights of the 
 narrow harbor entrance. 
 
 We made a wild night of it before morning. 
 And three wilder days followed, so that we guessed 
 there was some damage done along the coast that 
 blow; and during it all, fearing stray cutters, I 
 
 152 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 kept her well offshore. On the fourth day I 
 swung her back toward the course of traffic, look- 
 ing for a chance to run over Georges Shoals and 
 so on to Narragansett Bay and Providence, which 
 was one place Cruse had in mind to land his pas- 
 sengers. From Providence it would be an easy 
 matter to get the Chinamen to Boston by train. 
 
 But that afternoon Gillis, on watch, made out 
 a sail. We were pretty wary of everything; but 
 I soon saw we hadn't any need to fear this, which 
 was a wreck with only one mast left standing. 
 
 Glaves and Cruse were not over eager to stand 
 down to her — Glaves especially. Whatever would 
 the Hind do with more passengers ? he asked, 
 and what talk would they have after they got 
 ashore ? We'd all be ruined. Besides, somebody 
 else would surely come along and pick them up, 
 and so on; to which I answered that it wasn't 
 yet on record where a fisherman passed by a 
 wrecked vessel without trying to take her people 
 off, and so now I was going to stand down to the 
 vessel. 
 
 Drawing nearer, we could see she had been a 
 small two-masted schooner, pretty well water- 
 logged now, a coaster by the look of her. While 
 yet a mile away I could name her; but Glaves, 
 though he'd seen her a score of times, and his 
 eyes were as good as mine, had yet no suspicion, 
 
 153 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 and so could not understand why I was so eager 
 as we drew nearer to get alongside her. "She 
 may be sinking under their feet," I says, and I was 
 scared; but he had no suspicion till we were so 
 close he could read her name. 
 
 It was Annie's father's vessel, and with him on 
 the quarter Annie herself, wrapped in her father's 
 great-coat and a sou'wester till she looked like 
 any other of the crew at a distance. It was Glaves 
 who bustled around and gave the orders then; 
 but Gillis and me who manned the dory, and it 
 was me who grasped her hand and first looked 
 into her eyes again. "M-m — but I'm glad to see 
 you again," she breathed, and that was enough; 
 though later 'twas Glaves and Cruse who got all 
 the thanks of her father, and right enough too, 
 Cruse being the owner and Glaves hailing for 
 the master of the Hind. 
 
 There was something of a sea and lifting fog 
 that afternoon. Between the shifts of vapor we 
 could see a steamer's smoke at times, but were 
 not sure; and even if it was a steamer, I would 
 not rush Annie into a dory till the sea moderated. 
 It was one thing to put yourself or a fisherman 
 like Gillis in a dory, but another to risk a woman's 
 life in one. Not for two hours did I think it safe 
 to take them off. And then it was in two dory- 
 loads — Annie and her father the last to leave her. 
 
 154 
 
The Venture of the "Flying Hind" 
 
 But between these two doryloads the steamer 
 came down on us. She knew us without even 
 trying to see the name, which I'd kept covered 
 by a piece of canvas hung carelessly over her 
 stern. She bore up and hailed — told us to stay 
 where we were till morning, when she would 
 take us in tow, or maybe send a boat aboard if 
 it was moderate enough. And to prevent us from 
 slipping away during the night we were to come 
 to anchor and take in our topsails and keep our 
 riding-light burning over our tafFrail and another 
 to our foremast-head; and to be careful to keep 
 them burning bright, for if one of them disap- 
 peared for even a second they would take it as a sig- 
 nal of our attempt to escape and fire on us at once. 
 
 So there we lay, every one downcast and wait- 
 ing for the morning, and it was me who caught 
 it while Annie and her father were forward eating 
 supper for lingering so long on the wreck of the 
 coaster. I let them talk for a while, and then, 
 looking at Glaves particularly, I said: "If I had 
 to do it all over I'd do just the same, stay just 
 as long on her, and so would you all — or be no 
 men," and went on deck, where I watched the 
 lights of the cutter, which was steaming back and 
 forth like a patrol in the night. And watching 
 her and thinking of what was next day before us 
 gave me an idea, and I went into the hold, helped 
 
 155 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 myself to two of the lanterns which were used to 
 light up the Chinamen's quarters, and took them 
 into the cabin, where now was Annie and her 
 father, sitting on the lockers, she with her head 
 on his shoulder, asleep. 
 
 "There's been more or less complaining of 
 what's gone and past and what '11 happen to us in 
 the morning. Now it rests with ourselves whether 
 we'll be here in the morning," I said, in a low 
 voice so as not to waken Annie. 
 
 They couldn't see what I'd be at. Said Glaves: 
 "What! you'd have the cutter lire at us and a 
 woman aboard?" so loud that if Annie wasn't 
 deep asleep she'd heard him, or so I was jealous 
 enough to think. "Oh, belay that!" says I, and 
 held up the two lanterns and lit them, and cov- 
 ered them each then with black oil-jackets. 
 "Now," I said, "have a man stand by our light 
 aloft and another by the lantern astern, while 
 I'll row to the wreck and make these two lanterns 
 fast on her, one to her stern and one to her mast- 
 head, same as aboard here, but covered with these 
 jackets till the time comes. And you watch the 
 cutter's lights, and when the Hind's in line with 
 the cutter and the coaster, then do you aboard 
 here smash both lanterns at the same time, and 
 I'll be on watch on the wreck and snap these 
 oil-skins off the lanterns there, so the cutter won't 
 
 i 5 6 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 know but what they're the same all the time. And 
 then we'll slip away nice and cozy." 
 
 Gillis wanted to come with me to the wreck, but 
 I said no, and Glaves also said no. Said he'd 
 need a good man like Gillis aboard the Hind to 
 tend the light aloft. So I left the Hind alone in 
 the dory and boarded the wreck, which lay then 
 with her rails awash, as I could feel in climbing 
 aboard. I mounted the shaky fore-rigging and 
 tied the lantern to her masthead, making fast a 
 length of halyard to the oil-skin cover and sliding 
 down then to the deck, where I hung the other 
 covered lantern over her stern. With the end of a 
 line in each hand then I waited. A long wait it 
 seemed, for the water on her deck aft was then to 
 the top of my boots, and she settling lower with 
 every roll. 
 
 The dory I had hauled up under her stern, 
 ready to hand if she did go down, and by the 
 feel of her I knew that she would go before a great 
 while. Slowly the cutter's lights swung across 
 the stars. My, but she came slow! But soon they 
 would be in range. And now the stern light was 
 in range — and now, Whsh-h-t! out went the 
 Hind's lights. I whipped the oil-jackets away 
 from my two lights. Below, aloft, they flashed 
 brightly together, and into the dory I leaped and 
 pulled madly for the Hind. In the blackness, 
 
 *57 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 of course, I couldn't see her, but I knew where 
 she had been. Besides, the cutter's gliding lights 
 were like a range to go by. 
 
 I rowed hard, but before I got to her I could 
 hear her chain slipping. That meant I was not 
 far from her. Then a voice, the voice of Annie : 
 "You are sure Alec is aboard?" And Glaves's 
 answer: "Sure of it — one of the men just told me 
 he came in over the bow." 
 
 "So soon?" she exclaimed. 
 
 I guessed something then and drove the dory 
 harder. I heard the jibing of muffled booms and 
 knew she was coming around. She could not yet 
 be under full way, but she was coming fast enough 
 to make me hesitate. However, it was my only 
 chance, and I laid the dory directly in what proved 
 to be her course. Down came the lifted forefoot of 
 her on the little dory. Down, down, I was borne 
 under water; but I had a grip on her bobstay, 
 and when she lifted I felt for the stops hanging 
 from her bowsprit, and got them and hauled 
 myself up. With every leap now she was increas- 
 ing her speed, and by the time I was over her 
 knight-heads, safe in her bow, she was sifting like 
 a snake through the water. 
 
 I stayed' up in the bow to get my breath, and as 
 I waited I saw the mast-head light on the coaster 
 begin to swing from side to side. While she was 
 
 i 5 8 
 
The Venture of the "Flying Hind' 7 
 
 yet swinging the taffrail light went out of sight — 
 p'ff, like that. Came a hail over the water then, 
 even as the lantern aloft began to swing yet more 
 widely. Another hail and almost immediately a 
 flash of flame as long as our foreboom. Almost 
 with the report the mast-head light dipped with a 
 rush into the sea. Another moment and a broad- 
 side lit up the blackness. The roar of it came 
 down the wind like thunder. 
 
 Crawling up, I almost stumbled over two figures 
 in the waist. "But is he aboard ?" said the voice 
 of one — Cruse. 
 
 "Isn't he?" asked the other — Glaves. 
 
 " Don't you know ? — he's hardly had time," 
 said Cruse. 
 
 "No, he isn't, then," answered Glaves. "He 
 can lay around and the cutter '11 get him in the 
 morning." 
 
 " But suppose the cutter doesn't lay around — or 
 suppose it breezes up to-night?" 
 
 "Then to hell with him — we can't be laying 
 around here till we're caught." 
 
 I heard Annie's voice then, and crept farther 
 aft and stood by the house, not ten feet from her 
 and her father. "My poor vessel," said Captain 
 Mann. 
 
 "Yes, but your insurance is safe," answered 
 Glaves. He had moved aft, too. 
 
 159 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 "It's more than insurance — fifteen good years 
 I put in on her," said the old man. "And named 
 for Annie's mother that's dead." 
 
 Just then Gillis came from somewhere forward. 
 I could tell his step before he spoke. "You told 
 me, Captain Glaves, that Alec was aboard and 
 below; but I don't find him." 
 
 " What! " Annie's voice and the tone of it made 
 my heart beat. 
 
 "He's in the cabin," answered Glaves. 
 
 "Oh-h — " said Annie. And after a pause: 
 " But why isn't he up to see this ? I'll call him," 
 and went below. Glaves followed. Gillis jumped 
 down after Glaves. I leaned over the house and 
 looked down the cabin steps. 
 
 "And you said his dory was towing alongside, 
 but it's not — nor on deck. There's but one dory 
 on deck. Where is he ?" Gillis stepped into the 
 cabin light. "Alec Corning and me were dory- 
 mates too long — look here, Glaves!" 
 
 What Gillis would have done I don't know — I 
 dropped below and laid a hand on his arm, but 
 looking at Annie at the time, and she looking at 
 me. The fright left her face, and to see that made 
 me so glad that I couldn't be mad even with Glaves. 
 
 "Maybe I'd better look to the vessel's course," 
 I said after a little while. "Come, Archie, come 
 on deck." 
 
 1 60 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 III 
 
 I gave her all the sail we had, and all that night 
 kept her going. By daylight we were many miles 
 from where we'd left the cutter. But even so I 
 drove her. It was a gale of wind and a milk- 
 white sea, but still I drove her, and kept driving 
 her till it got so bad below that the Chinamen 
 came running on deck like rats. You could tell 
 how much water was in her hold by measuring 
 how high up their trousers, or whatever it is they 
 wear for trousers, were wet. To their knees some 
 of them. 
 
 And still I drove her, being in that mood, and I 
 think I'd have driven her to some port or other 
 in that breeze only she carried away her main-mast 
 head. It was a gale of wind and a milk-white sea, 
 as I said, and something had to go. 
 
 I had to take the main-sail off her then, and 
 maybe with a young woman that two of us wanted 
 for a wife aboard, she had sail enough without 
 the main-sail in that breeze. And so long as we 
 were stopping to put things to rights, I set the 
 Chinamen to work, one gang with draw-buckets 
 bailing out the hold and another gang to the 
 pumps. One of them, who could speak a few 
 words of English, just as much as said that it was 
 pretty hard to have to pay two hundred and eighty 
 
 161 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 dollars a head and work your passage too. I 
 thought so too, but told him that if he didn't keep 
 on bailing it soon wouldn't matter how much he'd 
 paid for his passage. I didn't need to say any more. 
 The English-talking one passed the word, and 
 they all grabbed buckets and pump-brakes again. 
 
 It was gales, fog, and stiff winds for another 
 two days, and we wondering where the Polaris 
 and the cutter were all this time, when out of the 
 fresh-coming easterly a sail came tearing. And 
 soon we knew her for Pinlock's vessel, and behind 
 her, just showing over the horizon, was the smoke 
 of a steamer. It was plain it was a chase, which 
 would make the steamer a government vessel. 
 That meant it was no place for us, and so again 
 I put the main-sail to the Hind and let her go 
 straight before it. 
 
 The course of the Polaris when she first raised 
 would 've carried her two or three miles to the 
 east'ard of us; but now she swung off and came 
 straight for us, so that by the time we had sail 
 on the Hind the Polaris was perhaps a mile ahead 
 and going at a great clip to the west'ard. 
 
 'Twas plenty wind, so much wind that I doubted 
 our twisted mast-head could stand the strain of 
 the main-sail; but it was not a case for doubting — 
 I had to make sure. I knew that so long as noth- 
 ing parted we could outsail the Polaris. And 
 
 162 
 
d 
 
 <u 
 3 
 
 o 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 shortly we began to see that we had gained, and 
 soon were closing in and before long would have 
 had her safe. Only just then they slung a dory 
 to the rail, put a couple of their Chinamen into 
 it, and tossed it over. But hardly over — 'twas a 
 good sea on, I forgot to say — before it capsized. 
 
 Annie Mann, a proper Newfoundland girl, never 
 one to mind rough weather, was on deck to see the 
 excitement; but she hadn't counted on this kind 
 of work. She screamed to see those poor fellows 
 hanging to the bottom of that dory in that sea. 
 
 "Never mind," says Cruse — "the cutter '11 get 
 'em." And, turning to me: "Won't they, Alec?" 
 
 I doubted she could, even if she was on the 
 spot — no rough-water sailormen their crews — and 
 she was surely too far away. And in that sea they 
 couldn't hang on very long. 
 
 'Twas a rain of tears on Annie's face; and 
 when with that our English-speaking Chinaman 
 pointed to the dory, then to one of our Chinamen, 
 and said: "Brother," and every Chink of 'em 
 looked at me, I began to wet my lips. 
 
 Annie went up to Glaves. "You're master of 
 this vessel," she said — "couldn't you go close and 
 throw them a line?" 
 
 " H-m — I don't seem to be the master for the last 
 two or three days," he sneers. She looked to 
 Cruse. "Well, at least you're the owner." 
 
 l6 3 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 "But not the owner of those Chinamen," an- 
 swers Cruse. "Why should I give up my liberty 
 for rivals of mine ? They're Pinlock's passengers, 
 not mine." From Cruse she turned to me, only 
 to me she said no word. I couldn't bear her eyes. 
 "All right," I said to her, but to myself: "It's 
 jail for all hands," and, pushing Glaves from the 
 wheel, I let her wear around. It was taking a 
 long chance, but there was nothing else to do. 
 And then what we all had feared happened. 
 Away went our main-mast over the side. 
 
 "Now we re gone as well as the Chinks," said 
 Cruse, and we all waited for the cutter to steam 
 up and get us. 
 
 The Chinamen kept drifting away. They 
 couldn't last much longer, that was certain, with 
 every heave of the sea tossing them high. Annie 
 broke down again. And I couldn't stand that 
 either. "Archie," I says to Gillis, "help me heave 
 the dory over." 
 
 "No, no," cries Annie, "I didn't mean that." 
 But I pays no attention to her — it 'd gone past her 
 now — only watches my chance to jump in. 
 
 "No, no, no," cries Annie again. "You can't 
 get them — no dory can live out there. Don't 
 make a worse tragedy of it." And she, being New- 
 foundland-born and a sailor's daughter, knew 
 what a dory could and could not do. I pushed 
 
 164 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 her hands from my arm and leaps into the dory; 
 and who jumps in after me but Gillis, and I mind, 
 as we shoved the dory clear, saying to Gillis: 
 "You're certainly a damn fool, Archie." 
 
 "Maybe so," answers Gillis, "but I'm your 
 dory-mate too, Alec, and that means for rough 
 as well as fine weather. Maybe, too, Alec, she 
 won't forget me writing home to her young sister 
 for this," says Archie. And what more could I 
 say? 
 
 The capsized dory was up to wind'ard of us. 
 We worked up to wind'ard of her, and, getting 
 near, hove a line to them, making signs for one of 
 them to take hold and jump toward us, which one 
 did at last, and I hauled him under our stern, 
 Gillis, to the oars, watching the bad seas to keep 
 her head to them. A careless move on his part 
 and our dory would go over too. But a strong 
 lad, Gillis. He held her true, and I took a try 
 at my Chinaman, who was pretty well worn out 
 and weighed a ton, I thought, in his wet, woman- 
 like clothes. With one hand braced in the becket, 
 with the other I reached over and heaved high, 
 watching the sea to help, and in he came and lay 
 like a big fish in the bottom of the dory. 
 
 "A good job you did then, Archie. Now once 
 more," and tossed the line to the other lad. He 
 hesitated — hadn't the nerve of the first one. I 
 
 i6 5 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 had to yell encouragement to him, and the China- 
 men from the deck of our vessel began to call to 
 him, too. I did more than encourage him — I 
 threatened him as I again hove the line, which 
 this time he grabbed, but could not seem to trust 
 his life to. He sawed there while up and down the 
 seas were lifting him, one hand in the plug-strap 
 of his dory, the other in the bight of his life-line. 
 Again I yelled — every second of waiting was a 
 second of taking chances — and again came the 
 chorus of his countrymen from the Hind's deck. 
 So that finally he gathered himself and leaped, 
 and I hauled him under my dory's stern, and was 
 reaching down for him, had even got his hand, 
 when just then he let go the becket, which I had 
 also given him, and his weight came dead on me 
 just as I heard a great yell. 
 
 I could feel it coming, and braced. But I had 
 to hang onto my Chinaman, too, and the big sea 
 overbore me. When I came up I saw Gillis well 
 away from me, striving like a hero, one of his 
 oars broken and the dory filled to the gunnels. 
 But with his one oar astern he had yet a chance 
 to steer her to the vessel. 
 
 I was probably a hundred feet astern of the 
 vessel then, and drifting by. I figured that I had 
 hauled my last trawl. And probably I had, with 
 that almost dead Chinaman on my hands and the 
 
 166 
 
M 
 
 o 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 cutter two miles away, when I noticed a broken 
 spar — 'twas our broken main-top, still attached 
 to the big spar by the halyards and stays, but 
 drifting well away from the vessel. It was no 
 time for too much reflecting. I let go the hand 
 of the almost lifeless Chinaman, and, grabbing 
 his cue, kicked off my boots, threw myself on my 
 back, and kicked out for the loose spar. 
 
 And made it, and was about to straddle it for a 
 moment's clear breathing before hauling myself 
 up on it, when the Chinaman, getting me in a 
 despairing grip, pulled me back into the sea. 
 The tide carried me away, my strength was gone 
 — and I never so near the vessel. I said to myself: 
 "Well, Alec, you're gone now, sure," and came 
 up with only the hope of another look around to 
 the vessel, to Annie, before I should go. 
 
 I heard my name called, and saw her, held on 
 the taffrail by her old father and swinging a lead 
 around her head — a strong, hearty girl she, but 
 no Amazon. One, two, three times, and it came 
 — almost hit me, but not quite — and, still hang- 
 ing to my Chinaman by his cue, I was hauled 
 alongside and aboard. Gillis was there before 
 me — all gone; and I had to lie across the house 
 before I could stand up. 
 
 However, we were all safe aboard, and the dan- 
 ger of it was forgot, when I saw the trembling 
 
 167 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 smile on Annie's lips and the look in her wet eyes 
 — it was not the salt spray alone that wet them. 
 And for the look in those eyes, had we been alone, 
 Td have kissed her standing. 
 
 "You saved my life this day," I said. 
 
 "It's a man you are," she whispered, and to 
 have it said to me again in just that way I'd wish 
 the sea alive with capsized Chinamen, so I could 
 go out and get them all. 
 
 And the Chinaman whose brother we picked 
 up knelt down, and, with the brother, kept bump- 
 ing his head as well as he could to the tumbling 
 deck till Glaves picked 'em up by their cues — 
 "Yah-h — " and tossed them into the waist. 
 "You'd think it was a miracle happened!" he 
 sneered. 
 
 "And so it was," I said. "A miracle that a 
 girl ever threw a deep-sea lead that far." 
 
 IV 
 
 Well, the cutter steamed up, but not to take 
 us then. "Well done!" says a chap with a mega- 
 phone. "But we'll have to take you into custody, 
 nevertheless. We'll come back for you when we 
 get the other fellow," and she tore on. She wasn't 
 the cutter we'd escaped from, but one of our own, 
 the Sierra. 
 
 168 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 Away she went. And Cruse looked the saddest 
 man you ever saw. But I couldn't see why. Per- 
 haps nothing could look sad to me then, not with 
 Annie standing by. I happened to think that with 
 the mainsail falling over our stern they couldn't 
 have seen our new name, that when she came 
 back she'd be still hunting for the schooner Flying 
 Hind. So with the crew and those Chinamen 
 to help, I got to work, and if ever you saw China- 
 men turn to it was those chaps. We'd give them 
 the end of a line and motion them to haul, and 
 they'd had things up by the roots if we didn't 
 check 'em. 
 
 I had the wreckage of the main-mast cleared 
 away and rigged the main-sail to the foremast, 
 making a sloop of her, and once we got under way 
 again we stood off to the no'the'ard, and next 
 morning headed her to the west'ard. She made 
 out pretty well. And with the Chinamen sky- 
 larking around deck when 'twas fine and ducking 
 below when it was wet or we sighted a sail, it 
 wasn't half-bad at all. Well-behaved, cooking 
 their own rice, and clean as could be, those China- 
 men. Only they did leave an awful smell of 
 opium floating around below. 
 
 We crossed the Bay of Fundy by day, and com- 
 ing into Massachusetts Bay at night with a good 
 breeze stirring, we ought to 've been able to run 
 
 169 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 somewhere between Boston and Gloucester before 
 next daylight. Cruse thought Marblehead would 
 be a good place, because from there he could get 
 his Chinamen by trolley to Boston. So for there 
 I headed her, and all would 've gone well, only the 
 breeze died out and it was broad light when we 
 drifted into Marblehead Harbor. And what was 
 going on there but a yacht-race among a lot of 
 dinky little jib and main-sail boats about as long 
 as a banker's dory. No more freeboard than a 
 two-inch plank, and sailing for the Emperor's 
 Cup they were. And who was superintending 
 operations but our cutter, the Sierra. A nice 
 pocket we'd got into, but nothing to do but keep 
 on, for Lord knows how many glasses were on us. 
 Well, we drifted through 'em, a hundred or two of 
 all kinds of yachts and excursion boats floating 
 round to see the race; and with our busted gurry- 
 kids — our deck 'd been swept clean in the storm — 
 a few took notice of us, and to two or three we 
 couldn't dodge I told a story of how it happened. 
 It was more than we counted on, all that at- 
 tention; but we had to keep on, and we came 
 to anchor, industriously watching the race, with 
 the Chinamen battened below, and all hands 
 waiting for night-time. 
 
 Cruse went ashore during the day to arrange 
 for getting the Chinamen to Boston, but nobody 
 
 170 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 else would I allow to leave the ship. Annie I 
 didn't dare let be seen on deck at all. But Glaves 
 slipped me. He'd been glowering since the night 
 of the escape from the wreck and ugly as a shark 
 since the rescue of the Chinamen, and now when I 
 was below for a minute's talk with Annie he hailed 
 a shore-boat, and before I could get to him he 
 was gone. "Well, maybe it was just as well. A 
 good riddance," I thought. 
 
 But not so Annie. "Quick!" she said. "Send 
 Archie after him to see what he's up to!" and 
 Gillis jumped into the dory and rowed ashore. 
 In two hours he was back. "Do you know what 
 he did, the flat-faced skate!" burst out Gillis. 
 "I trails him to a telephone place, and me not 
 thinking overmuch of it let him talk. Till all at 
 once it comes over me and I jumps in and hauls 
 him out by the ear, but before I could stop him 
 he'd got out: 'The boat you want, the Flying 
 Hind, I say, is now in Marblehead Harbor,' like 
 he was repeating something he'd already said 
 once." 
 
 "A lucky thing," thinks I, "he wasn't aboard 
 when I painted on that new name in LowclifF 
 Harbor. But go on, Archie — what then ?" 
 
 "Well, I was mad enough, but I didn't let 
 on how mad till I got him where nobody could 
 interfere, out of town about a mile, and then I 
 
 I7i 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 larruped him. When I left him he was there to 
 stay for a while, and I'll bet he won't be telling 
 any police, because look here" — and Gillis held 
 up a bundle of newspapers — "I took these from 
 him. Must 've been those gave him the telephon- 
 ing notion. ,, 
 
 When we opened up the newspapers we were 
 surely amazed. There was a picture of the Hind, 
 and the Polaris, and pictures of Glaves and Pin- 
 lock, and of the Newfoundland cutter we'd es- 
 caped from, and two of our revenue-cutters — all 
 after us — and how Pinlock had sent word to St. 
 Johns about us, and column after column of our 
 leaving Newfoundland in the gale, and all about 
 Pinlock putting into St. Pierre to escape the storm, 
 and how he got drunk there and talked too much, 
 and his having to hurry out, and the word passed 
 along, and not a government vessel on the North 
 Atlantic coast but what was on the watch for 
 the pair of us. 
 
 "Whew!" I says, "and just when I was think- 
 ing our troubles were over," and goes up and 
 hauls our staysail over the butt of the main-mast — 
 it had been sawed off close to the deck. Then, 
 praying for an early dark, we waited. 
 
 When the racing was ever, who should come in 
 and anchor handy to us but our government 
 cutter! Nothing happened for a while, but by 
 
 172 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 and by I could see them getting up steam on 
 her launch, which made me guess something. 
 " Quick !" I calls out — "all hands tumble into a 
 bunk and give a good imitation of men just off a 
 forty-eight hours' watch! Let nobody talk but 
 me. And you, Annie, you'll have to tuck away, 
 too, in the lazaretto under the overhang." 
 
 They all got under cover in a hurry, and I made 
 sure the Chinks were tight below, too, when along- 
 side comes the cutter's little launch. An officer, 
 a decent-looking chap — the same who'd mega- 
 phoned to us after he'd passed on after the Po- 
 laris — rises out of her stern-sheets, and, though I 
 didn't invite him, he comes aboard. Seeing him 
 aboard, I couldn't but invite him into the cabin. 
 But before going below he takes a look at our 
 busted gurry-kids. 
 
 "Looks as if you been having a hard time. ,, 
 
 "Yes," I says. "On our way to the fishing- 
 grounds, but got caught off Cape Cod night be- 
 fore last, crew short-handed, and swept everything 
 off except that one dory you see there." 
 
 "So I heard," he says. "Well, what brings me 
 aboard is that the old man — our captain — is look- 
 ing for information of a schooner-rigged fisherman 
 we passed twenty miles east-south-east of Cape 
 Cod three days ago. I guess you'd know her all 
 right if you'd seen her — main-mast carried away." 
 
The Venture of the "Flying Hind" 
 
 "Three days ago," 1 repeats. "Let me see. 
 Three days ago we weren't far from there. Don't 
 dare go too far offshore in this old packet. But 
 what about her ?" 
 
 "Smuggling. But perhaps you haven't heard 
 yet about these people trying to smuggle the China- 
 men in ?" 
 
 "Oh, them! Indeed I did. One of the yachts 
 we passed in the harbor this morning hove us the 
 papers that had all about it. What d' y' think ? 
 Think you'll get 'em ?" 
 
 " I don't know." He strokes his chin and looks 
 down at his feet. "But a while ago we got a 
 message from Boston saying that that vessel, the 
 Flying Hind, was now in this harbor. The party 
 didn't say who told him, but somebody must 've 
 been joking him in Boston, for I don't see any 
 fishing schooner here. Or anything at all, for 
 that matter, bearing the name Flying Hind." 
 
 "But you have to look around just the same, 
 I s'pose?" 
 
 "That's it. Look around — and ask questions. 
 And if" — he looked up at the skylight — "if I do 
 see anything answering her description I'll have to 
 do my duty, though I'm not over-crazy to get 'em. 
 Why ? Well, there were two of that smuggler's 
 crew put off in a dory in a big wind and high sea 
 — a spar-colored dory with red gunnels, same as 
 
 174 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 that you've got on deck, I remember. And to 
 put off and get those Chinamen as they did, 'twas 
 a fine thing. And for that, more than any other 
 reason, we passed him by and kept after the other 
 chap. If I had my way, they'd get medals of honor, 
 those two chaps that manned the dory, even if I 
 had to send them to jail the next minute." 
 
 "Oh-h," I says, "probably a couple of fisher- 
 men, winter trawlers maybe, and it's pie for them 
 to handle a dory in a little sea. But that's for one 
 of them. What became of the other chap you 
 were chasing ? " 
 
 "Oh, we got him. Damn him, yes. Probably 
 the papers '11 get hold of that soon. Kept after 
 her till we crowded her ashore on Cape Cod. 
 Her captain started to go through the surf in his 
 dory, but a few well-placed one-pounders headed 
 him back. Took them up to Boston yesterday. 
 Be sure he '11 go to jail. A sight of difference be- 
 tween these two" — he looked at me again — "the 
 chap that turned those Chinamen adrift and the 
 chaps that picked them up. Maybe a lucky 
 thing, too, for the Flying Hind, their stopping 
 to pick the Chinamen up, but how they got far in 
 their dismasted condition I don't see. And yet 
 they might get away at that. Only I'm half hop- 
 ing he don't drag in around here," he goes on; 
 "because to-morrow the Alleghany will be taking 
 
 175 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 our place, and she's got a commander who'd 
 put his own father in jail if he broke the law." 
 He was a decent-looking young fellow, as I said, 
 and he looks casually at me then. 
 
 "Well, I s'pose he'd be right, too, the Allegha- 
 ny s captain," I says; "and yet, I don't know, 
 sometimes these fellows aren't the worst in the 
 world. No telling what might be driving an hon- 
 est man to make a cruise of that kind." 
 
 "H-m — what, for instance ?" he asks. 
 
 "M-m — I could rig up a good story about that. 
 Suppose now a fellow was in love with a girl and 
 he wanted to keep an eye on a couple of other 
 fellows who were courting the same girl, and nei- 
 ther of them much good ?" 
 
 "But what's that got to do with — But hold 
 up, there was a girl on the Flying Hind. But 
 how did you know?" 
 
 "One of the papers had it." 
 
 " So ? Well, we never told any reporter that." 
 
 "No? Then it must 've been a despatch from 
 the Newfoundland cutter/' 
 
 "M-m — maybe so. But what paper was it? 
 Say, that's interesting, too! But let me see that 
 paper!" 
 
 "Let me see," I said; but what I was seeing 
 was Annie's eyes to the slit in the lazaretto slide. 
 They were shining. "Let me see," said I. And, 
 
 176 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 pretending to paw over the papers, "But maybe 
 you'll have a drink while I'm looking them over ?" 
 
 "M-m— I don't know but I will!" 
 
 From the locker in the state-room I hauls out 
 a quart of that four-star brandy, draws the cork, 
 and passes the bottle over to him. He looks 
 curiously at the label. "That's funny now," 
 he says. "In the Polaris we found two dozen 
 cases of this stuff, under her cabin. I s'pose it's 
 cheap in St. Pierre?" 
 
 "So I hear," I says. "Once in a while some 
 of our fellows on their way home from a salt-fish- 
 ing trip puts in there and brings along a case now 
 and then, and maybe passes a spare bottle down 
 the line same as this." 
 
 "So?" says the officer. "Well, here's your 
 good health; and if ever you happen to run across 
 those two men who put out in that dory I wish 
 you'd give them my compliments, and say for me 
 it was a fine bit of work. As I said, I'd tell 'em 
 that if 'twas in open court and I giving evidence 
 against them; and, of course, I'd have to give 
 evidence against them if they're caught, for it's 
 getting to be a bad business, this smuggling of 
 Chinamen by way of Newfoundland. We stopped 
 a lot of it by way of Puget Sound, on the Pacific, 
 and now they're shipping 'em by way of the 
 Continent and England — through the provinces 
 
 *77 
 
The Venture of the "Flying Hind" 
 
 and Newfoundland. There's a society, we've been 
 told, that gets big money — a thousand dollars 
 a head, it's said, for every Chinaman they can 
 land in this country. And we got to stop it. 
 And it seems too bad to see good men in that bus- 
 iness, the kind of men that ought to be with the 
 law instead of against it. But what's that ?" He 
 was sniffing the air like a game dog. 
 
 I well knew what it was, but being used to it, 
 I'd forgotten all about it. And sitting with my 
 chair against the bulkhead of the after-hold, I 
 could almost hear them breathing hard against 
 me; and I knew they had their eyes to any stray 
 crack to get a peek at the officer in uniform, and 
 to ease the strain, no doubt, one or two of them 
 had to light up their little pills. I took quite a 
 while to finish my drink, not even opening my eyes 
 over the top of the glass till I'd got it right. 
 
 "It's the sulphur we burned trip before last," 
 I said at last. "Once every year we fishermen 
 seal up everything below and burn sulphur to 
 fumigate her, to kill any stray rats and so on." 
 Even as I spoke I could see Annie over his shoul- 
 der, her head and shoulders out of the lazaretto, 
 and her scared eyes on mine. "Yes," I said, 
 
 i 7 8 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 "it's the old sulphur still smelling. Takes two 
 or three weeks to sea sometimes to clear it out." 
 
 "Oh, that's it?" he says. "I'm glad to hear 
 that," and after another drink goes up on deck 
 and into his launch. Only as he was about to step 
 over the rail, taking another look around, he says: 
 "Got her mast stepped pretty well forward, hasn't 
 she, for a sloop rig?" 
 
 "She's one of those Zanzibar models," I says, 
 quick, too quick; for I doubt if I could 've ex- 
 plained a Zanzibar model off hand. 
 
 "Zanzibar?" he repeats, relieved-like. "Well, 
 that's a new one on me, but I'll bet you know all 
 about them," and he smiled. He didn't say 
 any more, only, as his launch went under our 
 stern, he pointed out her name, Zulieka. "We 
 couldn't find it in the register," he says. 
 
 "Naturally," I said, "seeing as she was named 
 new since the last register was printed." 
 
 He looked me fair in the eyes then, and — 'twas 
 the first time — he laughed out loud. "You can 
 explain it all over to the captain of the Alleghany 
 to-morrow," he says, and, laughing again, waves 
 his hand and steams off. 
 
 "Oh, yes," I said to myself, "I can see myself 
 waiting for that revenue captain in the morning." 
 
 That night, after dark, Gillis and I rowed ashore 
 those forty-two Chinamen, eleven to a time in 
 
 179 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 the dory. There was a little chop on, and, with 
 thirteen of us in the dory, they had to bail like 
 blue devils with their little round hats to keep her 
 from filling. And Cruse and his agents, who 
 were waiting, took 'em to Boston on the trolleys, 
 half a dozen to a time. 
 
 I put Annie Mann and her father ashore too. 
 On leaving, she said: "Be careful and get away 
 long before daylight, Alec. Let all the Glaveses 
 and Pinlocks and Cruses be caught — it's in their 
 business — but not you, Alec. Nor you either, 
 Archie," stepping over to him. "No sister of 
 mine must marry a law-breaker," and a few words 
 more to me, and then a few from me that had 
 maybe more of love than of law in them. 
 
 We worked our way out among the yachting 
 fleet in the dark, and next day being drizzly, it 
 was a good chance to run her into a safe place on 
 the north side of Cape Ann. And there we let her 
 lay a while. And the extra head-money on those 
 two Chinamen we picked up in the dory was more 
 than enough to pay for the broken main-mast and 
 all the damage of the gale. And Cruse after a 
 time sold her to a Portugee for a packet between 
 New Bedford and the Azores Islands, though 
 Cruse — only his name wasn't Cruse for a while — 
 had to sacrifice all the profit of the trip in the sale. 
 For fast as the devil though she was, which suited 
 
 1 80 
 
The Venture of the " Flying Hind " 
 
 the Portuguese packet service, she was a bit loose 
 in her planking. 
 
 What became of Glaves, I don't know; but he 
 never darkened Annie Mann's door again. And 
 Gillis and I — we were satisfied to go back fishing. 
 
 181 
 
THE CRUISE O' THE 
 "BOUNDING BOY" 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding 
 
 Boy 
 
 jy 
 
 ON to the port wing-deck — on our ship the 
 coziest nook from which to view things, 
 and no whole ship's company to disturb — we 
 strolled this afternoon to see what was doing; 
 and who should be there before us but Cahalan, 
 the same old untamable Cahalan, and the same 
 old rating badge on his sleeve. Nobody in the 
 deck division had been long enough in the service 
 to remember when Cahalan didn't rate as a 
 bosun's mate, first class. 
 
 When we were last shipmates with Cahalan he 
 was a short-timer, and his daily chant had been, 
 "No more navy for me after I'm paid off this 
 time"; which, of course, coming from an old 
 flatfoot, is never taken seriously. It is only your 
 one and two service-stripers who don't come back. 
 Even the officers; you can hear them sometimes, 
 on their blue days down in the wardroom country, 
 tell how they're going to resign — yes, sir, going to 
 resign and raise chickens, by gad! or get a job 
 
 i8 5 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 with some power company somewhere ashore. 
 And how many of them do ? And why don't they ? 
 
 And why hadn't Cahalan ? Well, he had, 
 partly; at least he had stayed beyond his four 
 months' furlough. And that meant a lot — forfeit- 
 ing his continuous-service privileges. And why ? 
 we wondered. 
 
 We were eager enough to hear what Cahalan 
 would have to say, but he seemed to be engrossed, 
 so gloomily engrossed, judging by his profile ex- 
 pression, with the ship's launch which, with a 
 cargo of young women, two or three of them quite 
 pretty, was just then steaming up to the ship's side, 
 that we did not break in on him; only when at 
 last he did turn around one of us said, "Hello," 
 and he said, "Hello," and, further, "Look," 
 meaning thereby for us to observe the young 
 ladies strategically disposed around the quarter- 
 deck. "Girls enough for all," commented Caha- 
 lan, "even for the middies almost. Look at 'em, 
 cruising outboard like a lot of little patrol boats 
 at a review, waiting to swoop down on anything 
 that drifts across the line!" 
 
 But we were not interesting ourselves in ward- 
 room or steerage procedure. "The last time we 
 saw you you were beating it up the dock, waving 
 your hand back at the ship and saying, 'Never 
 again for me.' What brought you back?" 
 
 1 86 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 "Would you believe it — Wimmen!" he exploded 
 suddenly. "Yes, wimmen! And another man's 
 judgment of 'em, mind you, not my own. But 
 when a man's been a year to sea, same as this chap 
 'd been, what c'n you expect ?" 
 
 "Or even when you haven't been any year to 
 sea; when you're ashore the whole time ?" 
 
 "No, no, no," protested Cahalan; "not so bad 
 as that. When you get into port occasionally to 
 kind o' keep the run o' their development you're 
 not altogether out of it; but when" — and so on for 
 an uninterrupted run of a half-hour or so before 
 we could swing him back to the charted course. 
 Cahalan was a great hand to fly off like that, 
 and when he did fly off it was for no little 
 flying-fish leaps, but long, steady, cloud-reaching 
 flights. 
 
 "Well, when I was paid off in 'Frisco that day 
 there were just two things I had in mind. One, 
 I wasn't going back to the navy; and the other, I 
 was going to see my good old mother, who lives in 
 Brooklyn. And I had the best part of two years' 
 back pay and a ticket to New York in my pocket, 
 the ticket through Canada so that I could have 
 a look at the country along the way. All right! 
 But it was a hot day going through the valley and 
 I hadn't had a drink in three months. You know 
 how it is being a prohibitionist, whether you will 
 
 i8 7 
 
The Cruise o* the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 or no, aboard ship. Maybe the tea-drinking old 
 ladies think it's a grand scheme, but maybe, too, 
 those old ladies don't know it all. Did they ever 
 stop to think, d' y' s'pose, how a coal-passer feels 
 who's been shovelling coal for four hours next a 
 hot furnace and he comes up in the air, and he'd 
 give his month's pay for a bottle of cold beer? 
 But he can't have it, not if he'd give his life for it. 
 No. But the old ladies who made the law can 
 have their twelve or fifteen cups o' tea a day. I 
 wonder would they put up a holler if you and me 
 was to pass a law sayin' they couldn't ? 
 
 "Well, I didn't start out to deliver any sermon. 
 It was a hot day, and I got off at Seattle to get a 
 drink. And you know how it is about a drink 
 No man is goin' to stop at one bottle of beer 
 after he's stayed away from it three months. Of 
 course not. So I had another, and a third, and 
 maybe a fourth or a fifth; and then I stopped to 
 take soundings — and maybe make a new depar- 
 ture for a different, maybe a better label o' beer; 
 for when you got plenty of money in your pocket 
 you might's well have your choice, mightn't you ? 
 Sure. 
 
 "Well, I fetched up at a place called Tagen's, 
 a sort of hotel with a barroom at one end and a 
 caffy at the other, a place that seemed to be popu- 
 lar with foolish chaps back from the Klondike and 
 
 188 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 other foolish chaps like myself just back from 
 sea. There I happened to sit down at the same 
 table with what looked like a seafarin' man. And 
 so he turned out, a sealing captain named Patten 
 and a pretty decent sort, too. And it wasn't hard 
 to see he was at home in the place, for soon he 
 introduced me to a soft-stepping chap he called 
 Johnnie, who seemed to rate as a sort of master- 
 at-arms and canteen yeoman, both; for when 
 he wasn't around noticin' things he was makin' 
 change. 
 
 " 'The boss?' I asked, after Johnnie' d had a 
 drink with us — only he took a cigar instead, a 
 quarter one, which he put in his pocket; goin' to 
 smoke it later. 
 
 " 'No, no, there's the boss in the office,' says 
 Patten; 'him reading the paper in his shirt-sleeves. 
 He don't have anything to do but spend the 
 money. He leaves everything to Johnnie.' Well, 
 a few more drinks, and Patten was telling me his 
 life's history, and I says to myself, ' You're not the 
 worst in the world, only you sure oughtn't to be 
 allowed to be cruisin' around here without a land 
 compass and a corrected up-to-date shore-goin' 
 chart.' 
 
 "Anyway, 'Come, Cahalan,' he says after a 
 while, 'till I introduce you to the future Mrs. 
 Patten,' and steers me up to the caffy at the other 
 
 189 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 end of the hotel, where was a big blonde woman 
 in the cashier's cage. 
 
 " 'Ain't she a queen ?' says Patten, and taking 
 a table where he could see her, orders enough 
 for general mess; and all through the meal was 
 making eyes at her, and when she wasn't making 
 change she'd smile at him, too, but in a most 
 proper way. 'A perfect lady,' says Patten, 'who 
 won't brook no familiarity.' 
 
 " 'Yes,' says I, 'easy to see that. If you doubt 
 the goods look at the label — no other brand ' 
 
 " 'Huh!' he says. 
 
 " 'Easy to see,' I hurries on to say, 'that she's 
 sure a perfect lady.' 
 
 " 'They don't none of them get fresh with her,' 
 explains Patten. 
 
 " 'Why should they? I mean, of course not, 
 Cap. But ain't she a pretty good tonnage for 
 a light-armored craft like you to be engagin' ? ' 
 And then, so's not to hurt his feelin's, 'Ain't she 
 kind of a little on the buxom model ? ' 
 
 " 'Oh!' says Patten, 'I likes 'em buxom/ 
 
 "Buxom she sure was. A battle-ship I'd call 
 her, and couldn't help imaginin' her steamin' 
 down a crowded street and bowling 'em to the 
 right and left off each bow. 
 
 'Ain't she a queen, though, Addie?' goes on 
 Patten. And now, what' re you going to do with 
 190 
 
The Cruise o the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 a man like that? Only ten days ashore, after a 
 year at sea, and already sealing up his judgments. 
 Let a man stay away long enough, 'specially if it's 
 brown, yellow, and black he's been mixin' with, 
 and almost any upstandin' white woman '11 get 
 him. 'I'm goin' off to make a little pile and come 
 back and marry her,' he goes on, 'and what d'y' 
 say to shippin' with me as mate ? ' 
 
 " 'For a sealing trip ?' 
 
 " 'For a sealing trip — or whatever it develops 
 into.' He stops to give me a good look over, and 
 I says, ' Better not tell me yet, for maybe I won't 
 
 go-' 
 
 "When Patten went up to settle for the check 
 there was some little goo-gooin' between himself 
 and the cashier, which I couldn't help noticin', 
 no more than I could that she didn't have to ring 
 up any cash register, and, noticin' that, I remem- 
 bered that, at the other end of the house, where the 
 smooth bartender made the change, there wasn't 
 any cash register either. I mentions this to Patten 
 when we were outside. 
 
 "Oh!' explains Patten, to that, 'Tagen trusts 
 'em both. And why shouldn't he ? They make 
 all his money for him. Why, Johnnie's got a 
 thousand of my money — goin' to let me in on a 
 minin' proposition. A great fellow, Johnnie. But 
 how about that sealin' trip with me?' 
 
 191 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 " 'No,' I says, Til pass that up now, Cap. My 
 old mother, y'see, she lives in the middle of a 
 three-deck house in Brooklyn, with ten Lithuanians 
 topside and a family named Wyzinski on the deck 
 below, and I'm goin' to see her and move her out 
 of there.' And never did I mean anything like I 
 meant that. But, once having dropped anchor, of 
 course you've got to have a look at a port before 
 you get under way again — of course. And a 
 week later" — Cahalan spat reminiscently over the 
 side — "with not enough in my pocket to buy a cup 
 of coffee, I patrolled the water-front one mornin' 
 till I met Patten, and, without askin' any ques- 
 tions, I signed on as mate of the Bounding Boy, 
 a schooner with a deep forefoot, a mixed crew, and 
 a cross-eyed, English-speaking Jap cook that was 
 also cabin-boy, named Zippy. 
 
 " 'Now,' says Patten, 'here's my scheme. There's 
 a fur company up thereaway that's been doin' a 
 nice quiet business with the huskies in the Aleu- 
 tians, collecting skins for 'em — otters, foxes, seals 
 and one kind or another, fine rich skins that bring 
 a big price in 'Frisco. And here's how they 
 work it. Every now and then, when the hus- 
 kies have a nice pile of skins collected, the fur 
 company's vessel comes along, hoists the com- 
 pany's flag to the foretruck, the crew go ashore, 
 take the skins, give the huskies a big official docu- 
 
 192 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 ment — a fine big sheet of paper with a big blue 
 ribbon and a splash of red wax — all official, you 
 know — and sail off.' 
 
 " 'Well?' I says. 
 
 " 'Well/ he says, 'what's the matter with us 
 sailin' up and collectin' some of them skins?' 
 
 " 'Sort of loot the Leuts!' I says to him. 
 
 "I s'pose bein' brought up in the navy makes 
 a difference, but it looked to me like high piracy, 
 and I said so. 
 
 " 'ShoP says Patten. 'A bunch o' Roosians 
 and Japs owns the company.' 
 
 "Well, I didn't figure out where they bein' 
 Roosians and Japs let me out, but I was in for it, 
 and so we gets a lot of fine, big, official-looking 
 papers, blue ribbons, and red wax, and sails out. 
 And wherever we saw a fat pile of skins we'd 
 hoist the foreign fur company's flag to the fore, 
 sail in, go ashore, say 'How!' to the huskies, open 
 up a little keg, hand the red stuff around, get 'em 
 all pie-eyed, collect the skins, give them a receipt 
 — all official, blue ribbon and the red-wax seal — 
 leave 'em to finish the little keg, and sail away. 
 
 "We were doin' a magnificent business, had 
 the main-hold of the Bounding Boy pretty well 
 filled up, and the same hadn't cost us more than, 
 well, say, than twenty-one or two ten gallon kegs of 
 about that class of rum which they used to hand 
 
 193 
 
The Cruise o the " Bounding Boy " 
 
 out to drunken sailors along the Barbary Coast 
 before the fire, and Patten was talking of 'Frisco, 
 Seattle, and the Queen of Tagen's bar, when one 
 day a Jap he did business with at one of the sta- 
 tions up there came out in a little sailboat to tell 
 him he'd better not go back to the States with the 
 skins, that the cutter was watching out for us; but 
 to take them to Vladivostok, where was a man — 
 Patten made a note of the name — a safe man who 
 bought skins for the Russian market and without 
 askin' too many questions. 
 
 "I didn't like the Jap's looks, but Patten re- 
 minded me that I didn't like Japs anyway, which 
 was true; and so we swung the Boy off for the 
 other shore of the Pacific, and not a thing hap- 
 pened during the whole passage till we came to 
 anchor in the harbor of Vladivostok, when a 
 Russian official took the vessel in charge and, cast- 
 ing the rest of the crew loose, threw Patten and 
 me into a little stone jail and held us there for 
 three weeks, which certainly surprised us some. 
 
 "Out in the light of the sun again, the first 
 news — from a whiskered, belted, good-natured 
 Russian, who could talk English — was that the 
 schooner had been auctioned off the day before 
 to pay the fine. 'What did she bring?' asks 
 Patten. 
 
 " 'Twenty-two hundred and fifty rubles.' 
 194 
 
The Cruise o the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 " 'What! My fine Bounding Boy that cost me 
 six times that only fifteen months ago ! ' yells Pat- 
 ten. 'And how much was the fine?' 
 
 "And the Russian, not a smile out of him, 
 says, ' Twenty-two hundred and fifty rubles/ 
 
 " 'Whee-yew!' and Patten has to sit down to 
 fan himself. 
 
 "'Not even a few loose copecks for a drink V 
 I asks. 'No? They surely made a proper job, 
 didn't they? And how about the furs?' I asks. 
 
 " 'Oh, the head of the fur company, from 
 which you stole them, came to Vladivostok — he 
 was here truly before your ship — he took them/ 
 
 " 'And what'd he have to say?' 
 
 " 'Said that now, as he had his furs, he would 
 not prosecute further. Very good of him/ 
 
 " 'Damn good/ I says. 'But who bought the 
 schooner?' 
 
 " 'A Japanese gentleman. His name ? Wait. 
 But no, I do not recollect his name/ 
 
 "Well, we both knew too much of Russian 
 officials to protest. The whole outfit, Russians 
 and Japs, were in together, and they weren't 
 letting the little matter of the late war interfere 
 with business. Well, the schooner was gone, and 
 I was only wishin' I had a smoke. But Patten 
 breaks out with, 'And all my money stored under 
 her cabin run!' and sits down on a doorstep, and 
 
 195 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 there I left him, to go back and put a few more 
 questions to that Russian who spoke such good 
 English; and he told me that the rest of the crew 
 had shipped on any old kind of a craft to get away 
 — all but the four Japs, who had gone off on the 
 schooner with the new owner. 
 
 " 'Zippy — a low-sized, cross-eyed chap — was he 
 one of them?' I asks him. 'Yes, he was one of 
 them,' and I hurries back to Patten. 'All those 
 chaps going off in the Boy means that she's bound 
 for Japan,' I says to Patten. 'Don't you remem- 
 ber they were all figurin' on how they'd get home 
 the whole cruise ? And Zippy the cook's one 
 of them. And Zippy,' I went on, 'was the only 
 one who could come in and out of the cabin when 
 he pleased.' And at that Patten came to himself. 
 
 " 'Then if I want to see that money again I 
 got to find Zippy, and the easiest way to find 
 Zippy is to find the vessel, hah ?' said Patten, and 
 offers me double wages for the whole cruise if I'd 
 go after the vessel with him. And, of course, I 
 went — 'twas as short a way home as any other — 
 and, besides, I wanted to get a crack at our old 
 cook, too. So the pair of us shipped on a little 
 steamer bound for Hong-Kong and way ports. 
 Patten's job was to peel potatoes, and mine to 
 wash dishes in the galley. Fine, healthy jobs for 
 a husky bosun's mate, United States Navy, and a 
 
 196 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 sealing captain, wasn't they ? And what harm ? 
 But our particular boss, the head steward, was one 
 of those cocky little Japs who used to elbow us 
 out of the alleyways every time he went by. Well " 
 — Cahalan spat reflectively over the side — "may- 
 be it's true, as some say, that the white race has 
 seen its best days and the yellow boys are havin' 
 their turn; but one thing's sure — they're not yet 
 quite so sure of it that the job sets easy on 'em. 
 They sure rubbed it into us. Not a meal that we 
 didn't come near breaking a few large platters over 
 the heads of some of 'em. 
 
 "Anyway, not a harbor we put into that our 
 heads weren't out the air-ports for signs of the 
 schooner, and going into Yokohama one fine day 
 there she lay to moorings in the stream. The 
 pair of us we could hardly keep from punchin' 
 each other for excitement, and that night, as our 
 steamer was about to leave, we slipped ashore. 
 We hadn't a cent between us, nor clothes enough 
 to keep us warm; for we'd sold our coats and 
 flannel shirts for tobacco and a few drinks of 
 vodka while in jail at Vladivostok. But we beat 
 the water-front, in the hope of an opening or 
 meeting up with somebody we knew — but nothing. 
 If there was only an American cruiser or gun- 
 boat about — but nothing we could butt in on, 
 not another American we knew in the place. A 
 
 197 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 bit discouraged maybe we was, but be sure we had 
 no notion of the Bounding Boy getting away 
 without our bein' 'round to see her off. 
 
 "First, we needed weapons of some kind. One 
 of those two-handed samurai swords wouldn't 've 
 been too bad, but no chance to steal one even; or 
 a piece of lead pipe would 've been a great help. 
 This, mind you, was late in the afternoon of the 
 next day, and we were hungry and growing a 
 little careless of local law. We had no money, as 
 I said, but one of Patten's fingers flew one of 
 those seal rings — you know the kind — wide gold 
 band with a woman's head in some kind of brown 
 stone, looking sideways. 'Say, Cap,' I says, 'you'll 
 have, to pawn that.' 
 
 " 'What!' yells Patten, 'my birthday gift from 
 Addie!' 
 
 "Bein' a birthday gift, I takes a closer look. 
 Sure enough, it was one of those six-carat things 
 with the brown glass which Patten thought was 
 some precious stone. I knew where there used to 
 be a jeweller's window on Eighth Avenue piled 
 high with about twelve dozen gross of them, and 
 you took your pick for four-ninety-eight. On the 
 west coast they might 've cost a dollar more, or 
 maybe two dollars more at Christmas time. 
 
 "There was nothing else to do, so I took Patten 
 by the hand and led him to a sort of second-hand 
 
 198 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 curio shop, where was a pair of ancient, double- 
 barrel, percussion-cap pistols in a box that I'd 
 spotted that morning. Long-barrelled things they 
 were, with crossed American flags engraved on 
 the yellow bone grips. How they got there was a 
 mystery — maybe pinched off some American naval 
 officer the time Perry was there. I doubted could 
 we ever get the old things to go off again, and we 
 couldn't try them there because we'd probably get 
 pinched by a division of those little ju-jutsu po- 
 licemen if we did and they happened to go off. 
 The old fellow runnin' the place finally swapped 
 the pistols for the seal ring; and for my black silk 
 neckerchief, which I was hoping to save for my old 
 mother, he sent a boy out for fresh charges of 
 black powder. The bullets and caps were in the 
 box. I doubted the virtue of the caps, but the 
 pistols would do to put up a bluff. 
 
 " 'Twas night by then, and we ready to storm 
 a Japanese battle-ship if only there was a square 
 meal layin' around anywhere on her deck. Well, 
 we sashayed the water-front and cut a sampan 
 adrift, and, paddling out into the stream, made 
 fast to the Boys bobstay and climbed inboard 
 over her bow. In his hurry Patten fell over the 
 windlass, and I thought I heard a scurryin' and a 
 voice from the fo'c's'le under us. I asked Patten 
 if he heard it. 
 
 199 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 " ' I wonder is my money safe ? ' was all he 
 answered. 
 
 u 'Never mind your money/ I says; 'let's see 
 who's aboard. But first let's take a look at the 
 cabin.' 
 
 "We found the door to the cabin locked, so we 
 went back to the fo'c's'le, of which the hatch was 
 but half drawn. By that alone we knew somebody 
 was aboard. We slid the hatch clean back. No 
 light, no noise — which we didn't like. People don't 
 leave a vessel in a harbor without locking her up. 
 We waited, ears and eyes strained for sound or 
 sight of something below. Not a sound; nobody. 
 
 "Well, we wouldn't stand there all night. I took 
 off my boots, tucked the old pistols into my waist- 
 band, and let myself down the fo'c's'le ladder. 
 And a good job I made of it; they would have 
 needed good ears below to hear me. Once down, 
 I lay behind the ladder for a full five minutes, 
 maybe, before I rapped — two short and three 
 long taps, softly — for Patten to come down. I 
 wanted to tell him to look out, to take his boots 
 off, too, like I did, that the top step of the ladder 
 was slippery with grease; but I didn't dare to 
 speak out loud. It was so dark that I couldn't 
 see him coming; but when he did come a stone 
 image could 've heard him, for, when he threw his 
 weight on that top step, away went those smooth- 
 200 
 
The Cruise o the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 soled boots from under him and down he came. 
 Plump! he hit the fo'c's'le floor. And there he 
 lay, not a sound out of him, for the longest time 
 — till I began to think he was dead, had broken his 
 spine, maybe. I was about to crawl around the 
 ladder to investigate, when I heard a move and a 
 sort of groan, and then, from out of the darkness, 
 the most surprised words: 'Spirits of nitre, but 
 aren't she deep!' 
 
 "I couldn't help it — I had to roar; but hearing 
 a scrapin' sound then I shut up quick and set to 
 considerin' again, now that we were below, what 
 we could do. I remembered that in the schooner 
 there used to be a lamp in a bracket over the 
 cook's closet, which ought to be just behind where 
 I was now layin\ I got up and felt about. Good 
 enough ! There it was, and matches beside it. I 
 took down the lamp, and, feeling no heat coming 
 out of the galley stove, opened the oven door, 
 shoved the lamp in, and lit it. 'Patten,' I whis- 
 pers then, 'crawl over here.' Which he did, not 
 quite as smooth and slippery as an eel, but gettin' 
 over after a while. Then I took the lamp, reached 
 it out at arm's-length around the stove, and 
 waited to see what would happen. Nothing. I 
 took a peep around the after outboard leg of the 
 stove. So far as the lamp's rays shot out, nothing; 
 but from somewhere for'ard came a heavy breath- 
 201 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 ing, and we knew that somebody in the peak was 
 getting excited. 
 
 " 'An' you'll be more excited yet/ I says to 
 myself, though not oversure that the two of us 
 wouldn't be the most excited of all before it was 
 over with. 
 
 "We waited. All at once, bang-g-g! For just 
 a flash the darkness of the peak was lit up. And 
 we could hear the ting of the bullet where it hit 
 the galley tins behind us. 'Twas the lamp they 
 aimed at, for that smashed and the light quivered, 
 flickered, and died out; and in the dark I could 
 feel the lamp oil flowin' against my face where I 
 lay on the floor behind the stove. 
 
 " 'Well, they're sure on the job,' I whispers to 
 Patten, and we stayed laid out flat there with our 
 rusty old curios held under the stove and trained 
 forward, both of us wonderin' would they go off 
 at all, even with the fresh powder the old fellow 
 gave us; but no more wonderin' then, for 'twas a 
 sound of cautious steps comin' nearer. 
 
 " 'They must be coming over the lockers, 
 Cahalan — from the peak. They're probably won- 
 dering if we're armed,' whispers Patten, which 
 was what I was thinkin'; and thinkin', too, that 
 they'd be making a rush soon for the ladder. And 
 if they ever made the deck and slid the hatch it 
 would be all up with us. 
 
 202 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 " 'They ought to be abreast of the foremast 
 butt now/ whispers Patten a second or two later. 
 'Will I shoot?'" 
 
 " 'Not yet, but here — quick!' I whispers back. 
 'Let me haul off your boots. Here, keep one and 
 I'll take the other. Now rake the lockers, you to 
 port and me to starboard — now!' And we stood 
 up and let go with a full swing, each of us a heavy 
 sealer's boot. One went bouncing for'ard into 
 the peak; from one side to the other we could hear 
 it. The other had better luck, for it was a most 
 surprised grunt we heard, as if it had fetched up 
 awfully sudden on somethin' human. 
 
 "We were almost laughing to ourselves to think 
 of how that broadside o' boots must Ve surprised 
 'em, when, bang-g-g! bang-g-g! bang-g-g! one, 
 two, three revolvers at least — eight, ten, or a dozen 
 bullets, most of them hittin' against the stove, but 
 two or three ricochetting along the floor and among 
 the galley tins behind. 
 
 "After that we lay without a stir for what we 
 reckoned was five minutes. 'You listen and I'll 
 groan/ says I to Patten, then, 'and I'll bet they'll 
 light a lamp and take a look around, for they 
 must be sure by now we've got no guns/ And so 
 it happened. We could only see the hand of 
 whoever lit the table lamp as he reached around — 
 a brown hand and wrist. With a service revolver 
 203 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 I could have whipped that hand off — even with the 
 old muzzle-loader I was tempted to try it, but 
 didn't. Instead, I took to groaning, and Patten 
 lay like one dead. We'd already given up the 
 notion of making any bluff with our ancient duel- 
 los. We were glad to be still alive. Our feet 
 stuck out beyond the stove and they might have 
 been seen there, but hardly more than that of us 
 as they came out from the peak again. Squinting 
 under the stove we could see them; four of them, 
 creeping over the lockers toward us. Sure enough, 
 the leader of the four was our old cook. 'D' y' see 
 him — Zippy ?' breathed Patten — and he was wild. 
 'Well, I'm goin' to wing him — watch!' and takes 
 aim with his ancient duelling pistol. But it didn't 
 go off. He snaps the other barrel. No report. 
 Zippy raises his revolver at the second click — he 
 had stopped dead after the first click — and I 
 made up my mind to take a chance at him. No 
 time for loafin'. 'And if she don't go off,' I says 
 to Patten, 'we'll jump up and give 'em a broadside 
 of stove covers.' For all my hurry, I takes a good 
 long squint through the sights at Zippy — the sights 
 were all right and, glory be! the old muzzle-loader 
 went off, and Zippy, after swinging a little to one 
 side and hangin' uncertain for about four seconds, 
 sagged gently in the middle and fell off the lockers 
 as loose as any sack o' commissary beans ever 
 204 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 you see tumbled into the hold. The other three 
 then stopped short as if they didn't know what to 
 do. 
 
 " 'Zippy," calls out Patten then, 'tell your 
 people to hold their hands above their heads.' 
 But no answer of word or action came to that. 
 
 " 'Zippy,' I calls out then, and I tries to give 
 a good imitation of myself pipin' a lazy watch the 
 length of a battle-ship's 'tween-decks. 'Zippy, my 
 boy, you're not dead, and don't try to make out 
 you are. But you will be in about three seconds 
 if you don't tell them what Captain Patten just 
 ordered — and hurry!' 
 
 "Zippy's voice was heard then, and the three 
 others lifted high their hands, at which we crawled 
 out from behind the galley stove and took their 
 guns from them and drove 'em into bunks, and 
 motioned them to turn their faces toward the 
 ship's side, which they did. 
 
 " 'Now,' says Patten, 'we'll go aft on that little 
 treasure hunt.' 
 
 " 'No,' says I, 'we'll just have a bite to eat — 
 nothing since eight o'clock last night, and I'm 
 hungry.' 
 
 " 'That's right/ says Patten. 'I'm hungry, 
 too/ and we foraged the galley and had a great 
 meal. 'Now for the money/ says Patten and 
 went up the ladder, and soon I could hear him 
 
 205 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 kicking in the cabin door. In may be a quarter of 
 an hour he was back. No need to ask was the 
 money gone. 
 
 " 'What '11 we do?' he asks, all discouraged; 
 at which I saw the man lacked imagination, and 
 so took charge myself. 
 
 " 'First, let's lift this Zippy man into a bunk,' 
 I said, and we did. 'But not your face to the 
 wall/ I adds to Zippy. 'Now, you loafer, you 
 look and listen and answer questions/ And tak- 
 ing his revolver I broke it open, emptied the 
 cylinder, looked the cartridges over, slid the two 
 good ones back, snapped the cylinder into place, 
 all very deliberate, and very deliberately took a 
 seat on the locker beside the bunk he lay in and 
 placed the muzzle against his head. 
 
 " 'Now, Zippy, my friend/ I says, 'take a good 
 look at me — me, Mister Cahalan, bosun's mate, 
 first class, United States Navy. No, no, straight 
 at me — if you can/ And he did, or as straight 
 as a cross-eyed Jap could. 'You know me? 
 Don't speak — just bow your head.' He bowed 
 his head. 'Sure?' He bowed again; pretty re- 
 spectful, too. 'Well, in one, two, say ten — no, 
 five seconds after I give the word I'm goin' to 
 know where Captain Patten's money is, or your 
 soul will be on the way to whatever kind of Jap 
 hell is comin' to you. If you don't know, that '11 
 206 
 
The Cruise o' the " Bounding Boy" 
 
 be your hard luck — you go just the same. Now, 
 think fast. Wait till we start even. Now! One 
 — two-o — three-e — four-r — f " 
 
 " 'There — under there — deep down/ says Zippy, 
 and points to a barrel of flour among the galley 
 stores. Patten jumped to the flour barrel, but I 
 had to lean back to press my fingers to my throat, 
 which had tightened up some. For just a second 
 I was wonderin* would Zippy call my little bluff, 
 and then what would I done ? Would I shoot ? 
 I dunno. 
 
 "Patten yelled out loud — his money was there. 
 So far all right. We lifted Zippy on deck, had 
 him call up his chums, made 'em make sail for us, 
 then put them all in the sampan, took it in tow, and 
 headed out the harbor. Ten miles out to sea we 
 turned the sampan adrift. An hour after daylight 
 old white-headed Fujiyama was horizon down, 
 and the Bounding Boy laying out a sweet ten- 
 and-a-half knots for Puget Sound, and for Puget 
 Sound we kept her headed, and never a heave-to 
 till we were to anchor at Seattle again." 
 
 Cahalan paused in his narrative and surveyed 
 the quarter-deck below. The doings of that same 
 group of young ladies who had won his attention 
 at the beginning of his story seemed to have 
 caught his attention. There was a blue-clad, de- 
 lightful one who particularly won his admiration. 
 207 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 "And even that one," commented Cahalan: 
 " Patten 'd *ve given her thirty days in the brig — 
 and ten days of it on bread and water — just for the 
 crime of her ugliness beside his battle-ship beauty 
 — just because he happened to see her first. I'm 
 not so much blamin* him for that, but I do blame 
 him for not havin* sense enough to allow for the 
 natural bias after bein' a year to sea. Every man 
 has a bias somewhere that he must allow for, or 
 bang! goes his rating. But that man! A man 
 forty-five year old and no more judgment than — 
 than" — he looked about for an extremely illumi- 
 nating comparison — " than any o' those apprentice 
 boys loafin' under the turret there." 
 
 "But he saw her again i" we asked him. 
 
 "Saw her!" snorted Cahalan. "He ran all the 
 way up from the dock — and his money with him. 
 And me" — he rubbed his chin and grinned slyly 
 — "me after him." 
 
 "And she was at Tagen's still ?" 
 
 " She was. His golden-haired Amazonian Addie, 
 she was there, but not now cashiering behind any 
 cage. Not Addie, no, sir. She was married 
 now, and her and her husband between them 
 owned the hotel and the bar and the restaurant; 
 and the new landlord wasn't sitting in his shirt- 
 sleeves readin* the morning paper in his office. 
 Not him. And his head bartender and his res- 
 
 208 
 
The Cruise o the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 taurant cashier wasn't doin' business without any 
 cash registers." 
 
 "And Tagen?" 
 
 "Oh, Tagen was workin' for another man 
 down the street. And" — Cahalan sighed — "he 
 must 've done a great business, Tagen, in the old 
 place, to stand the drainage long's he did. For, 
 besides the seven months we'd been gone on our 
 cruise, they'd had the run of the place for two 
 years before that." 
 
 "And what did the lady have to say to Patten ?" 
 
 "Well, there stood Patten afore the desk, and 
 there was Addie behind it. She'd about forgotten 
 him, anybody could see, but she gave him one of 
 her mechanical smiles and introduced him to her 
 husband, our old friend the smooth Johnnie, and 
 Patten went out to the bar and hoisted whiskies 
 into him, ten or twelve, till he got a cryin' jag on, 
 and then his old friend Johnnie said that maybe 
 he'd better go; and Patten went and me with him, 
 but not till I'd given Johnnie one sweet one under 
 the ear for old acquaintance' sake — a beaut — 
 and he was still falling backward across the floor 
 when I ran out after Patten, for of course I had 
 to stand by him now. At every other step I kept 
 telling him he was the luckiest dog alive not to be 
 married to her. But no use — no use to tell him 
 that in a little while the pair of them would 
 209 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 be sitting up nights tryin' to trim each other. 
 Couldn't he see it for himself ? But he couldn't, 
 nor that his thousand dollars in the minin' scheme 
 was well worth it, if with it he got rid of him. 
 And so all the way along the street till he comes 
 to a gamblin' joint, and there he goes in and 
 drops all the money he had rescued from Zippy 
 except what he'd given me. And what harm but 
 I had to try it with my twelve hundred dollars — 
 my share, double wages — the same that I'd in- 
 tended to take home, or the most of it, anyway, to 
 my good old mother in Brooklyn. But now I 
 lays half of it down, and wins. And lays what 
 I'd won, six hundred dollars, down, and wins 
 again. Good. Now I had twenty-four hundred 
 dollars, and, happenin' to think that with twice 
 that I'd have enough to buy the old lady one of 
 those Jersey bungalows I used to see advertised 
 in the New York Sunday papers she used to send 
 me, I laid down the whole twenty-four hundred. 
 'That red water-line color still looks good to me 
 — let 'em come/ I says, and the whole house stands 
 by to look. And" — Cahalan looked mournfully 
 up to the sky — "they let 'em come." 
 
 "And?" 
 
 "And-d ?" Cahalan beautifully imitated the in- 
 quiring note of the persistent questioner. "I'm 
 here and still a bosun's mate. And my old mother 
 
 210 
 
The Cruise o' the "Bounding Boy" 
 
 is still living in the middle of a three-decker in 
 Brooklyn with twelve Lithuanians topside and a 
 family named Wyzinski on the deck below." 
 
 And just then a good sea-going bugler poised 
 himself in the bulkhead doorway and sounded 
 mess-gear, and what more was there to say ? 
 
THE SEA-FAKER 
 
The Sea- Faker 
 
 ALONG time since I had landed on that par- 
 ticular dock, and so it happened that now, 
 for the first time in years, I saw him. No other 
 passengers took any particular notice of him; and 
 no reason, not knowing his history, why they 
 should, unless it were to mark the humor, or pathos, 
 of the situation — the short, fat man in the com- 
 pany's uniform who was so terribly busy driving 
 people toward the two lines of rope converging to 
 the West Street gate — a fussy, whiskered man, the 
 whiskers untrimmed, uncombed, tobacco-stained; 
 a man with a vanishing shade of a once-fresh 
 complexion and a rather weak-kneed reminder of 
 a seaman's rolling gait. 
 Well, here 's about him: 
 
 There was a passenger steamer, one of the big- 
 gest of her day, running between Liverpool and 
 New York; and one west-bound trip she ran 
 ashore off Sambro Head — off Halifax, that is. If 
 you have been a student of maritime affairs and 
 are not too young, you will know at once what 
 215 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 wreck is meant; if not, or if it was before your 
 time, you will need to be told something of it. 
 
 It was the most disgraceful disaster in steamship 
 history. There were nine hundred passengers on 
 that ship. Six hundred were lost. Nine hundred 
 passengers, and not one woman passenger saved; 
 and only one child — a little boy whose uncle took 
 him on his back and swam ashore with him. The 
 ship's company were saved — that is, pretty much. 
 Probably nobody at all would have been saved but 
 for a seaman who took a line when she struck and 
 carried it to the lighthouse people on the beach. 
 He was that same little boy's uncle. 
 
 Now, directing the course of the ship at the time 
 was a pilot, but on the bridge also was a ship's 
 officer. The pilot was giving the course to the man 
 at the wheel, when the ship's officer changed it. 
 The pilot protested, but the watch officer was one 
 of those men who know it all. He butted in again, 
 and up on the rocks went the big liner. It was 
 thick of snow at the time and a cold night. Those 
 of the six hundred who were not drowned were 
 frozen to death. 
 
 The investigation which followed cleared the 
 pilot and broke the second officer, though breaking 
 him was little consolation to the families of those 
 six hundred drowned people. Very little. 
 
 Some one may ask if that is all that ever hap- 
 216 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 pened. It is. That's maritime law. Queer kinks 
 in maritime law. If a motorman should run over 
 your child, or anybody else, drunk or sober, you 
 can send him to jail; but the drunken or incompe- 
 tent ship's officer can lose a thousand lives, and all 
 that happens to him is that he loses his job. Lots 
 of other funny little things about marine laws. 
 
 But to get back to the wreck. It happened that 
 the man at the wheel was a fellow named Batkins, 
 who had served many a year before the mast, 
 served his time over and over, and might have been 
 serving it yet only for that wreck. They sum- 
 moned him as a witness in the investigation; and 
 he lied for them; lied not intelligently, but stub- 
 bornly, stolidly — by the hour. He had heard 
 nothing, seen nothing, knew nothing of this offi- 
 cer's interference with the pilot. What he said 
 was controverted by the other man on the bridge, 
 the man who later swam ashore with the line. 
 They believed the other fellow, sustained the pilot 
 and broke the ship's officer; but Batkins had es- 
 tablished himself with the company as the kind 
 of a servant they wanted, and not long after he 
 was quietly made a fourth officer. The sea man 
 who told the truth was fired. So far as this story 
 is concerned, no further matter what became of 
 him. He was an adventurer, anyway, and one 
 berth fitted him as well as another. No need to 
 217 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 worry about him, but I might say that he was 
 my uncle and I the little boy he swam ashore with. 
 This is to explain how I came to know so much 
 about that wreck; and also how I came to keep 
 track of Batkins. 
 
 To get on : Now we have Batkins the subordinate 
 officer; and a good subordinate he was, as subor- 
 dinates are measured in his company's office. He 
 had committed perjury to help out the company, 
 and when by any chance he was called into the 
 office he showed by his words and bearing that the 
 company's law was his law — always. And he 
 salved the vanity of the company's topsiders beau- 
 tifully by the way he kotowed; and he didn't put 
 that part of it on. No hypocrisy in that. He just 
 naturally believed that some people were born to 
 high places and others to low places. He came 
 from that kind of people. If he had been born on 
 some gentleman's estate up in middle England in- 
 stead of down near the Liverpool docks, then, no 
 doubt of it, he would have made the finest kind of 
 an under-servant. People with souls like that do 
 sometimes take to the sea and rise to command, 
 but, thank the Lord, not too often. 
 
 Well, Batkins was promoted. Third, second, 
 
 first officer; and, in time, the company developing 
 
 and new ships building fast, he gets his command. 
 
 And hardly does he get his command than he hap- 
 
 218 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 pens along while a ship, a tramp steamer, is sink- 
 ing in mid-ocean, and takes off her crew. That is, 
 there being a little sea on, he calls for volunteers; 
 and a nervy fellow, his third officer, jumps into a 
 boat with half a dozen men and they row over and 
 take her crew off. Coming alongside, the skipper 
 of the sinking ship has his leg broken, and be- 
 tween that and the long exposure on his wrecked 
 ship he dies aboard Captain Batkins ship even as 
 his own ship goes down. 
 
 That striking incident, the taking of people off a 
 leaking ship in mid-ocean, .impressed the passengers 
 (the mid-ocean touch always does impress people), 
 and that captain dying as his own ship went down 
 tempted the newspapers, and they played it up 
 in great shape; made terrible weather of it — a gale 
 of wind and mountainous seas — and in the storm- 
 centre of it all they put the "calm-eyed Captain 
 Batkins. ,, 
 
 And he was given a banquet and loving-cup, and 
 he made a speech. You can picture him as he 
 stood up to make his speech, one hand stilling the 
 applause and the other clutching his wineglass. 
 "No, no, gentlemen, it is not for me to say I am a 
 hero. What man, indeed, can say that of himself? 
 But as one of a small corps of men leading lives 
 of — k-h-m — well, continual peril, as one might say, 
 one — k-h-m — one learns to look on such things as 
 219 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 part of the day's work. And after all, gentle- 
 men, I only done my duty." Whereat another pop- 
 eyed imbecile jumped up and thanked God there 
 were still men who knew how to do their duty. 
 And the band played, and there was cheering 
 enough to call the policeman in from his beat. 
 
 Now, at the end of the head table was young 
 Willie Carrick. Willie had been invited because 
 of his father, and I had gone because Willie had 
 asked me to, and now Willie blurted out — he 
 couldn't help it, "Will somebody tell me what 
 that fat-necked pickerel did that was heroic?" 
 "What's that?" asked half a dozen horrified ones. 
 "What's what?" snapped Willie. "As near as I 
 can make out he stood on the bridge while another 
 lot of chaps got into a boat and did the job. Fifty 
 feet above the water-line he was, taking about as 
 much chance as if he was on the quarter-deck of 
 a Broadway trolley car in a shower of rain. 
 Where's the third officer who took them off in 
 the lifeboat? — that's what I want to know." 
 
 "But his superb seamanship!" says one. 
 
 "Superb slop," says Willie. "Turning a ship 
 around ? Why, every time my chauffeur turns his 
 car around he's doing a damn sight more difficult 
 job, for he hasn't the whole ocean to turn it in. 
 And more dangerous, for if he doesn't look out 
 some trolley car will come along and bump him 
 
 220 
 
The Sea- Faker 
 
 good. What in the devil did he do ?" asks Willie 
 again. 
 
 "But it was rough weather, Mr. Carrick ?" 
 
 " Rough, was it ? It couldn't have been too 
 rough for a big ship when a thirty-foot boat lived 
 in it, could it ? No ? Then what in the devil did 
 hedo? ,, 
 
 And when they came to think it over, a lot of 
 them there, being moderately intelligent men, 
 wanted to know what he did do after all. But 
 no matter — by that time the papers had printed 
 full reports of the dinner, and Batkins was a great 
 fellow. And the advertising didn't do the com- 
 pany any harm. 
 
 Well, some time afterward Willie and I were 
 slated to go to the Mediterranean together, but 
 Willie got me to wait till Miss Kaylor and her 
 mother were going; which was all right, only they 
 happened to take passage on Batkins's ship. 
 "Lord, Lord!" groaned Willie, but there was 
 nothing for us but to go on her just the same. 
 
 We had kept track of Batkins, but it was the 
 first time we had either of us seen him to speak to 
 since the presentation; and he had already grown 
 into one of those captains that you have to have a 
 letter of introduction to every time you meet him, 
 unless you were of important people — like Willie. 
 When he spied Willie it was, "Oh, Mr. Carrick! 
 221 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 Come up here, won't you?" It was from the 
 bridge he called out, just after he dropped the 
 pilot. But Willie walked back down the prome- 
 nade deck pretending not to have heard him. 
 "The big sausage!" said Willie. "I s'pose we'll 
 have to spend half our time trying to dodge him 
 now." 
 
 But Willie could not dodge him — Willie's father 
 had too large a say in the company's affairs. That 
 very evening he had us into his cabin. There 
 were five or six other passengers there, Miss Kay- 
 lor and her mother among them. The famous 
 loving-cup was on a table in the centre of the room, 
 and, naturally, somebody had to ask him about it. 
 And he swung around on his swivel chair and 
 started right in. "A plain seaman's yarn," he 
 said, by way of beginning, and then he went on. 
 That yarn had grown and grown; so that if he 
 had only had a little more imagination, he would 
 have made an epic of the sea of it. Not only that 
 night, but every night after dinner it was the same 
 — the choice company invited into the captain's 
 cabin and somebody sure to ask about the cup, 
 and then Batkins starting in on the story. By 
 this time he had been talking about it three years 
 steadily, and the tears, especially if he had three 
 or four highballs in him, used to come to his eyes 
 as he went on. 
 
 222 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 We used to study him, Carrick and myself, when 
 we had nothing better to do. Mind you, aboard 
 ship he was a great man. No kotowing here the 
 same as when he went up to the company's office 
 to report. Remember that for thirty years or 
 more he had been buckling under to somebody 
 else, but no more of that now. He's captain now. 
 No longer does he have to stand four hours' watch 
 in a dry nor' west blizzard, cold enough to freeze 
 your marrow, nor in a north-east snow-storm 
 slushy enough to keep you from breathing almost. 
 No longer does he have to turn out for any night 
 watch or morning watch unless he feels like it. 
 No more the stress of duty which might have kept 
 the salt in his blood and the marrow in his bones. 
 He just does not have to do anything now that he 
 doesn't feel like doing, except stand on the bridge 
 with the pilot leaving port and going into port, and 
 he probably liked to do that. 
 
 Mornings he used to walk down the promenade 
 deck, and never would Carrick see him coming 
 but he would begin to jibe. "Here's his game," 
 Carrick would say, "on these fine sunny morn- 
 ings, when the sea-dogs of saloon passengers are 
 stretched out in their steamer-chairs with rugs to 
 their chins and books in their laps. See him 
 now ? He's stoppin' and speakin' here and there, 
 to those he thinks worth while, and that's what 
 223 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 pleases 'em. But do you know what I think, 
 Boynton ? " We were leaning over the rail — a 
 beautiful day and the fascinating Azores ahead. 
 "I think he's trying to make a hit with the old 
 lady — with Mrs. Kaylor, yes." Mrs. Kaylor was 
 a widow with a few millions and Batkins was a 
 widower. 
 
 "No, no, Willie — he's too raw to attract her, too 
 raw." 
 
 "Don't you be too sure. This is her third trip 
 on this ship. Do you know what she was saying 
 to me yesterday after he'd done his promenade ? 
 'Why, the idea of that bluff old sea-dog who faces 
 the perils of the sea, the man on whose courage 
 and seamanship may depend all our lives — why, 
 to think of that old sea-dog stopping in the midst 
 of his tremendous responsibilities and talking 
 about ordinary things, isn't it wonderful?' I 
 think she's getting soft over him — yes. The day 
 before he told her his stock story of Davy Jones's 
 locker, wriggling his eyebrows while he was tell- 
 ing it — and why, he was just the delightfulest, 
 jolliest, drollest old sea-dog ever was — yes. What 
 do green young things like you and me know what 
 an impressionable woman will do when she's 
 caught on her romantic side ? The day before 
 that, the rainy day, when he walked along the 
 deck in his dripping sou'wester and slicker, the 
 224 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 sea-water drippin' from his whiskers, why she 
 knew he was the stuff heroes are made of. Yes, 
 indeed; did he not look it? How'd you like to 
 be sitting in the next chair and have to listen to 
 his tales of the danger of crossing the Atlantic ? 
 Danger — in a ship this size! About as dangerous 
 as crossing Central Park in a rowboat! But his 
 getting away with it — the old sausage !" 
 
 The Kaylors' and Carrick's chairs were together, 
 which gave Batkins, when he got through buzzing 
 Mrs. Kaylor, a chance to talk to Carrick, if he and 
 Miss Kaylor hadn't escaped when his back was 
 turned. When Carrick got caught like that he 
 would fly distress signals, at which I used to send 
 hurry-up messages to him and Miss Kaylor from 
 the other end of the deck. And Miss Kaylor used 
 to be very grateful, though sometimes she thought 
 she ought to stand guard by mamma. When her 
 conscience pained her like that, Willie would leave 
 her and join me in the chief engineer's room. 
 
 The chief, Carrick, and I had met before, and 
 the chief would make a cup of tea in the afternoon 
 or maybe have down a bottle of stout of an even- 
 ing, when we used to sit in on him till he had to 
 turn in; but he would sit up late enough at that. 
 
 The chief, Gilford his name, was quite a chap. 
 We had both known him a long time. He was not 
 the regular chief engineer of the ship. In fact, he 
 225 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 hated the ship and had no use for her master, and 
 was forever bewailing the luck which had sent him 
 aboard, even for this one trip. "When the people 
 that know the least about a man tell you he is a 
 great chap, and those that know the most about 
 him tell you he is an awful fake, then you want to 
 watch out for him," says Gifford. An outspoken 
 man, Gifford, with a great pride in his profession. 
 "On sailin'-ships look for the men handlin' the 
 sails; on steamers look for the men in charge o' 
 the steam. These heroes o' the bridge, they're 
 makin' a laughin' stock o' us in the eyes o' them 
 that knows. A pilot takes us out o' port on one 
 end and a pilot takes us into port on the other, 
 and there's three thousand miles o' clear water in 
 between. Where's the danger, barrin' collision, so 
 long as we c'n keep our steam up ? " 
 
 "It's fair sickenin'," went on Gifford another 
 day, "to listen to some o' them. I'm namin' no 
 names; but here we are, one o' the biggest ships 
 afloat, and now and again we run through a gale o' 
 wind an' a bit o' sea. Two trips ago and that was 
 the case, and what followed ? Why, the passen- 
 gers they gets together and pass resolutions testi- 
 fyin' to the heroism and seamanship o' the captain 
 and officers. Why, man, there was never a sea 
 came out o' the ocean can hurt a 5,000-ton ship — 
 not 'less they're drunk or foolish on the bridge, or, 
 226 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 o' course, something gone wrong below. It makes 
 me fair sick, the foolishness o' them. Why, if 
 we're heroes, then what about those little fishin' 
 smacks we passes on the Banks ? Why, they're 
 not a hundred feet in len'th, most of 'em, an' their 
 rail no higher out o' water than that," and Gifford 
 put his hand on a level with his knee, " an' they're 
 out there through all the gales that ever blew. 
 An' if we're heroes — five, six, seven hundred feet 
 long — what o' them ? Their very mast-heads no 
 higher than our bridge — what o' them ? They ha' 
 no ten or twenty or forty thousand horsepower. 
 They ha' to fight the wind wi' the power o' the 
 wind itself, an' they do. And if we're heroes, 
 what o' them ? But they're real sailors an' won't 
 stand for that kind o' gush, but it's spoilin' us. 
 No, sir, no harm can come to a good-sized steamer 
 on the ocean these days 'less by collision — not if 
 she's well found." 
 
 "Well, this one is well found," says Carrick, 
 "and thank God for it!" 
 
 "Is she?" Gifford looked at Carrick. "Wi' 
 all due respect to you, Mr. Carrick, an' your 
 father's property — she could be better found." 
 
 "What's wrong?" asked Carrick. 
 
 "What's always wrong if there's nobody to 
 watch out? When the old company sold out to 
 you they sold you many a ship that needs over- 
 227 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 haulin\ But there's no need to worry — an' here's 
 Ned." 
 
 Ned was Baldwin, the third officer then, but 
 second officer at this time, who had done the rescue 
 work for which Captain Batkins, as commander, 
 had been given the loving cup. 
 
 "Suppose I go down now and look at that boiler- 
 bed," said Baldwin. "Maybe I can dig out some 
 gear to strap it down with." 
 
 "A little thing wrong in the boiler-room," ex- 
 plained Gifford, and went off with Baldwin. 
 
 We were all in our bunks that night when there 
 set in a gale which stayed with us for two days and 
 nights. And after the wind came the sea. The 
 ship was rolling unaccountably at times, and as 
 rumors were creeping around the deck withal, 
 Carrick and I thought that perhaps we had better 
 go down and have a word with our friend, the 
 chief engineer, even though we knew he would be 
 busy. 
 
 There was surely something wrong, and Carrick 
 was becoming worried for the safety of Miss Kay- 
 lor and her mother. He wanted to bring them, if 
 not a reassuring, at least an intelligent message. 
 " But maybe Gifford or Baldwin will tell us some- 
 thing," he said. 
 
 Gifford was not in his usual place, and no sign 
 of Baldwin. So we went below, and came on 
 228 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 them back-to. "I give you steam and you can't 
 keep her head-to — what's wrong?" GifFord was 
 saying. "She's kept head-to when I'm on the 
 bridge all right," answered Baldwin. 
 
 At this time the ship was in the trough of the sea 
 and rolling over, and even while we were rinding 
 our way down the iron ladders she rolled so far 
 over that we thought she was going on her beam 
 ends. But she did not; but before she had done 
 she rolled far enough down to loosen her boiler- 
 heads. Carrick and I were there when it hap- 
 pened — no joke that. No; but she was still one 
 of the biggest ships afloat and she would have to 
 fill up before she would go down. And no great 
 danger of that as yet; though if her boilers were 
 not secured again there was danger of their piling 
 through the side of the ship. That would have 
 fixed her, of course. But there was the chief en- 
 gineer on the job and a couple of good assistants. 
 They were there to prevent a thing like that, or 
 anything like it. And they were doing it. 
 
 A day and a night before GifFord and his force 
 got things straightened out through it all. Car- 
 rick stayed, only leaving to carry calming messages 
 to Miss Kaylor and her mother. And things were 
 now looking so right we thought we would soon 
 be on our way again, when this something else 
 happened. Her boiler and engine room suddenly 
 229 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 began to fill up. In short order it was a foot deep, 
 and that forced Gifford to draw his fires and ease 
 off his steam, and with that the ship at once fell 
 into the trough of the sea and began to roil. She 
 had been rolling some before, but now she began 
 to roll for fair. A dozen times or so we thought 
 she would roll over entirely. And water, water, 
 nothing but water in her engine and boiler rooms, 
 and mounting higher. GifFord was working like a 
 fiend. At last he felt sure it was not a leaky seam, 
 but a broken valve. There was so much loose 
 water in her that they could not see what was doing 
 underneath, but GifFord placed the cause at last 
 and roused out his division and put them on the 
 job. "Go down there, you bullies, ,, he yells, 
 " an* hunt for that hole, and when you find it plug 
 it up — and good and tight! " And down they went, 
 and you can imagine them — stripped to their 
 waists, all black with coal-dust and muck, and the 
 black sea-water rising higher and higher about 
 them. And then comes Baldwin with a message 
 from the skipper. "Somebody's been to him 
 with a tale of how things are going down here — 
 he's talking of the boats," says Baldwin. 
 
 "The boats — good God, man!" exploded Gif- 
 ford. "We've drifted out o' the track o' steamers 
 and we're a hundred miles or so off shore. We've 
 a full complement — three thousand souls aboard — 
 230 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 an' the boats won't hold more than a third o' the 
 passengers." 
 
 " I told him all that and, further, that the boats 
 wouldn't live twenty-four hours — that another 
 storm was comin'." 
 
 "An* what did he say?" 
 
 "He said, 'And who said there's to be a storm ?' 
 'My judgment, sir,' I answers. And he says, 'Is 
 your judgment or mine to prevail on this ship ?" 
 
 "Go back," says GifFord, "an' tell him we'll be 
 all right in an hour or two, but don't let him come 
 down if you c'n stop him!" And Baldwin starts 
 back, but meets his captain on the way to the 
 engine-room. 
 
 And GifFord — without sleep for three days and 
 nights now — GifFord, black-faced and red-eyed, 
 waited his captain's coming. "Aye, you're comin' 
 — an' for what good ? A good seaman you may ha' 
 been once, but what now? How long since you 
 stood a full watch — the very marrow o' your soul 
 gone to rot! No more than the head porter of a 
 floatin' hotel you've become! Aye, an' more of 
 us will become flunkys like you if we don't watch 
 out." 
 
 So GifFord waits, sullen as could be. And down 
 the ladder comes Batkins. Soft and flabby 
 enough he looked. A long time since he was faced 
 with a man's work, and now his eyes roamed un- 
 
 231 
 
The Sea- Faker 
 
 certainly. He and the chief engineer had not hit 
 it off well from the hour they left the dock. There 
 was a look in this temporary chief engineer's eyes 
 that Batkins didn't quite like. 
 
 Captain Batkins was standing on the grating 
 now and looking down. It was pretty black down 
 there and he did not take it all in at once; but 
 when he did, when he saw below him those stokers, 
 a lot of black, naked devils, plunging one after the 
 other into the sea-water, and the sea-water, black 
 as ink most of it, rushing, just rushing in from 
 some hole or whatever it was through the ship's 
 side, and getting higher and higher and it then to 
 the men's waists, he rolls his eyes and yells, " We're 
 lost! My God, we're lost! The boats!" like 
 somebody on the stage. 
 
 And the chief, directing his men, looks across at 
 him and yells, "What!" And the men look up 
 and see who it is — the captain himself. Great 
 Lord, where the captain quits! Not a word out 
 of them, but like one man they jump for the lad- 
 ders and the free air, where a man could fight for 
 his life when she went down. They would have 
 got away too, only the chief picks up a spanner or 
 something, long as your arm, and catches the first 
 chap a crack over the head, and the second man, 
 and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth, and 
 says, "Now, you whelps' sons, go down and finish 
 232 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 that job ! " And they, more afraid of the chief and 
 his long, heavy spanner than any other kind of 
 sudden death just then, they drop below and begin 
 to paw around in that black mess again. And the 
 chief turns to Baldwin and says, "Ned, what 
 d' y'say if we take that old granny an' lock him up ? 
 Law's law, of course, an' discipline's discipline, 
 but three thousand lives they're worth more than 
 my ticket an' yours. What d' y' say?" And 
 Baldwin stops to think. Being a bridge officer is 
 a little different from being in the engine-room in 
 a matter like that; but Carrick breaks in, "Yes, 
 why don't you ?" at which Baldwin says, "Maybe 
 it's the only thing to do, after all," and grabs the 
 skipper and hustles him into the chief's room. 
 
 Now, somebody may ask, but wasn't that mu- 
 tiny? It was, assault and battery added, for 
 Baldwin threw him into the room any old way. 
 And Carrick helped. "In with you, you overfed 
 bologna!" And if you'd seen Batkins looking at 
 Carrick when he heard that! 
 
 They kept Batkins locked up till it was time to 
 take the bridge going into port. And he wasn't 
 too thick-witted to see where it left him; for not 
 only the engineer's but some of the deck force 
 had seen him hustled away, and when they reached 
 the home port he preferred charges against Gifford 
 and Baldwin — to save his face, that was. And the 
 
 233 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 company, which had to go on record as standing 
 behind its own captain, backed him up. 
 
 Gifford and Baldwin were put ashore; but no 
 need to worry about them. Carrick saw to it that 
 their story reached headquarters. He felt im- 
 mensely grateful to them for showing Batkins up. 
 "Imagine that Cheshire cheese for a father-in- 
 law!" he said, and saw to it that they were as- 
 signed to the next new ship which went into 
 commission, which was all they wanted. Batkins 
 could have the name, but give them the good billets. 
 
 As very few of the passengers really knew what 
 happened — Carrick wasn't knocking his own 
 father's property — the company gave out a fine 
 story about the last great work of their favorite 
 captain, one of their old and tried servants, and he 
 became a hero again. And to drown the noise of 
 a queer kind of rumor that something about the 
 wreck wasn't all right, they gave him another ban- 
 quet and another cup, and he made another speech, 
 and the public forgot the rumor. And when they 
 had also forgotten a lot about him, the company 
 quietly shifted him to a freighter, to bring up the 
 standard of the freight service, they explained; 
 and after he had been there awhile they even more 
 unobtrusively gave him a shore job where he 
 couldn't do any harm, and after another period 
 they dropped him off the pay-roll entirely. 
 
 234 
 
The Sea-Faker 
 
 And then he went to the bad. Drink, mostly. 
 And it was Carrick who took him out of the gutter 
 and made his father give him the job he's now got. 
 On days when he isn't marshalling passengers 
 between the lines of rope, you can find him out at 
 the West Street entrance armed with a long stick. 
 His job there is to keep the irreverent West Side 
 boys from invading the sacred precincts. Every 
 now and then, Carrick says, some old passengers 
 see him and, recollecting him, take him out to 
 dinner, and then — especially if he gets two or three 
 highballs into him — the old fellow spouts of his 
 great days as an ocean-liner commander. And 
 once in a while he is written up in the newspapers, 
 which call attention to him once more, and "What 
 a great chap he must have been!" you can hear 
 somebody say. And it is possible that he himself 
 believes by this time that he was a great man once. 
 
 The word hero is still a fine word; but I never 
 read about one of these steamship heroes that I 
 don't wonder if he's a Batkins. I know that there 
 are plenty of fine steamship commanders — plenty 
 of them, of the finest; but we don't see that kind 
 standing for a two-column write-up after every 
 breeze of wind they come through — not when his 
 ship is six or seven hundred feet long. 
 
 235 
 
HEROES 
 
Heroes 
 
 DINNIE tucked the stowaway under the 
 blanket. "Squeeze in by the ship's side, 
 b'y. That's it — that's the good b'y. But will 
 you" — Dinnie turned to his mate — "take a look 
 at the size of him, Geordie ?" 
 
 Geordie took a look. "Oh, aye, Dinnie," and 
 went off in a roar. "The littleness 'f 'im, Dinnie. 
 And stowed away in there — ho, ho, Dinnie ! — 'e's 
 like, like the larst little bloater in the corner o' 
 the box!" 
 
 "'Tis more a sardine size I'd say he was, 
 Geordie. But he'll be all right soon. Won't 
 you, b'y ? Sure you will. That's the lad. Look 
 at the shmile of him now, Geordie." 
 
 "Ay, but so frightened like, Dinnie." 
 
 "And why wouldn't he be? — not knowin' 
 what's goin' to happen to him, the poor lad. 
 But wouldn't you think, Geordie, wouldn't you 
 think now, when his father died in survice, as you 
 might say, they'd be givin' the lad a free passage 
 home ? But no matther now. We've got him 
 through the furst night annyway, and who knows 
 
 239 
 
Heroes 
 
 maybe we'll get him all the way across and no 
 ship's officer the wiser. 'Twould be fine, though, 
 could we be payin' the passage money oursel's, 
 wouldn't it, Geordie? Sure and it would; but 
 we couldn't hardly be doin' that on our wages. 
 But maybe we'd betther be goin' below, Geordie. 
 And till we be comin' back" — he held a finger up 
 to the stowaway — "no n'ise, b'y, no n'ise." 
 
 "Ay, lad," affirmed Geordie, "no noise, lad; 
 for it's watch and watch, y' know, and when we 
 goes they comes. And not always in the best 
 bloody temper. Four hours of 'eavin coal into a 
 row of bloody fire-boxes — it don't go to the makin' 
 of a 'eavenly temper, do it, Dinnie ? " 
 
 "Har-r-dly, Geordie, har-r-dly. But let us go 
 below now.'! 
 
 II 
 
 Away down below in that boiler compartment 
 next the bottom of the ship Dinnie and Geordie 
 shovelled and raked, sliced and panted and 
 sweated. Good workers this pair. No need for 
 the watch officer to bother them; but there were 
 those who had to be driven, who staggered and 
 swayed as they worked, and gave much back talk, 
 which made for bad feeling. It may have been 
 that they were still weak, or it may have been 
 240 
 
Heroes 
 
 that they intended to do no more for the com- 
 pany than they had to; perhaps just off a drunk. 
 Perhaps so. However, now in the first morning 
 watch of the trip they looked gray and sick, and 
 staggered between furnaces. 
 
 An hour and a half of steady going and Geordie 
 stepped over for a drink of water, and as he was 
 drinking a steward looked in for the engineer on 
 watch, who happened not to be there just then. 
 Now stewards are a superior class aboard ship. 
 Naturally. 
 
 Conversation between the two classes is not 
 always sweet-tempered, but now and then a trust- 
 ing stoker hopes to meet a civil steward, as now. 
 "Hi s'y, stooard, is 't foggy as they say outside i" 
 asked Geordie, very politely. 
 
 "Hi don't know 'ow foggy they said it was," 
 replied the steward wittily, and rushed off. 
 
 "You don't? Well, blarst your bloody heyes, 
 if you'll come back 'ere hi'll tell you — an' mike 
 soup of the hair you're breathin' so 'aughtily." 
 
 Dinnie touched his chum's arm. "Don't be 
 mindin' the likes o' him, Geordie. A steward! 
 Sure what's a steward ? " 
 
 "That's right, maties, what's a steward?" 
 
 They peered at him. Sure enough it was the 
 young New Yorker Cummings, who had helped 
 them smuggle the young lad aboard. "Now we 
 241 
 
Heroes 
 
 people" — he waved an easy hand — "have to 
 shovel like coolies and sweat like horses, but there 
 're some things we don't have to do. No man, 
 just because he happens to have the price of a 
 saloon passage, can say to us, 'Here, damn 
 your eyes, where's my shaving water this morn- 
 ing V And when saloon he feels a bit sea-sick 
 and heaves his last meal any old place, it's not 
 us that has to get down on our knees like a wet 
 nurse and — But you haven't got the makin's, 
 have you ? " 
 
 Dinnie passed over the paper and tobacco and 
 Cummings began to roll a cigarette, talking easily 
 meanwhile. "I wouldn't mind havin' the money, 
 though, that some of those guys get in tips. It 'd 
 be me for a few of the gay European metropo- 
 lises between trips, you betcher. But, jee-zooks! 
 what's the use ? " 
 
 Dinnie watched him in admiration. "You're 
 the furst lad ever I see could roll one of them 
 things with one hand an' kape on taikin' with the 
 other." 
 
 "Well, that's something, I suppose — even if I 
 don't ever get a medal for anything else. But you 
 were asking that classy steward if it was still foggy. 
 Geordie, was it ? Well, it's just as foggy now as 
 it's been all night. And what do you know about 
 that — full speed all night in the fog ? " 
 242 
 
Heroes 
 
 "H-m — it's little you know of the ways of 
 ocean liners, I'm thinkin , . ,, 
 
 "Don't forget we're between Sandy Hook and 
 Nantucket, where we're liable any minute to pick 
 up a coaster or a fisherman or another steamer 
 on our bow." He drew the tip of his tongue 
 along the edge of his cigarette-paper. "And why 
 is it?" He caught the string of the tobacco bag 
 and drew it tight in his teeth. "Yes, why do they 
 do it?" He lifted a small hot coal with a bit of 
 waste and held it to his cigarette — puff, puff — he 
 inhaled the smoke, held it a moment, and sent it 
 flying through his nose. "It's against the law, 
 isn't it ? Then why do they do it ?" 
 
 "I'll tell you why, b'y. We has to be at the 
 Azores, d' y' see, on next Thursdah mornin' — say 
 Thursdah early." 
 
 "And why early?" 
 
 "So the passengers can have their day ashore. 
 And we has to be at Gibraltar on the followin' 
 Mondah mornin' early, so the passengers can 
 have their day ashore agin. If the passengers — 
 tourists, d' y' see — don't have their allowance of 
 time ashore they'll be savin', 'What the divil 
 kind of a line is this that don't give us time to 
 see all these fine places they advertise?' And so 
 when they falls behind they hasn't it in them to 
 make it up ever. Comfort — and safety — 'tis all in 
 
 243 
 
Heroes 
 
 the little books they gives out. Y' ought to read 
 one some time, b'y. They're insthructive — and 
 amusin\ And not havin' the speed to spare, we 
 can't be slowin' down, d' y 9 see ? And so full 
 tilt through the fog we has to go." 
 
 "H-m — and some day there'll be a fine mess, 
 won't there? And — jee-zooks! what's that ?" He 
 reached his free arm out for support. " Jee-zooks ! 
 d' y see that?" he ejaculated, and snapping his 
 half-smoked cigarette across the deck he bolted 
 for the ladder. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Dinnie and Geordie gripped each other. A 
 great bump it was, with one side of the fire-room 
 deck rising high and a lot of coal in the bunkers 
 on that same side tumbling down. 
 
 "Faith and 'twill save some coal-passin' that," 
 said Dinnie. Then the tearing and grinding of 
 the ship's plates outside. More coal fell on the 
 deck and thin splashes of sea-water; and then — 
 from above their heads, from above the coal-pile — 
 came sea-water in great sheets. 
 
 The flying New Yorker took another backward 
 
 look. "Twenty feet below the water-line, no place 
 
 for me — jee-zooks, no!" and continued after the 
 
 rest of the fire-room gang, who, having hove away 
 
 244 
 
Heroes 
 
 shovels, slice-bars, whatever they had in their 
 hands, were rushing for the upper regions. Some 
 went out by the bulkhead door and into the pas- 
 sageway, but most of them jumped for the nar- 
 row iron ladder, where immediately was a conges- 
 tion, with haulings and elbowings, mixed language, 
 and the appearance for a time as if nobody would 
 ever get clear. 
 
 Cummings was the last of the crowd to the 
 ladder, and, having to wait for those before and 
 above him, took time for another look about the 
 fire-room. Just two men there. Hauling the fires 
 out from under the boilers they were. Already 
 they had cleaned out two. From where the in- 
 rushing water was creeping over the heaps of red 
 coal the steam was ascending in clouds. 
 
 To Cummings it seemed that these two men 
 did not realize their danger. "The ship's side 
 is all stove in," he called out. 
 
 They paid no attention. "They don't hear 
 me," thought Cummings, and thrust his head for- 
 ward for a better view. "Why, if it ain't Din- 
 nie and Geordie!" and megaphoned through his 
 hands. " Hey there, you people, come on ! They'll 
 nobody pin any medals on you for that — come on ! " 
 
 But they continued to work feverishly. Even 
 while the New Yorker was warning them they 
 had cleared out another fire-box. "Jee-zooks!" 
 
 245 
 
Heroes 
 
 said Cummings, and having by now a clear ladder- 
 way set his foot on a rung and from there looked 
 back once more. "They're sure a couple of lob- 
 sters," he muttered, but waited nevertheless; and, 
 waiting, noticed that the water was up to his shoe- 
 tops. He drew another deep breath, took an- 
 other look up the ladder, and " Jee-zooks!" he 
 groaned, and slipped over and yelled in Dinnie's 
 ear, "What do I do?" 
 
 Dinnie looked around. Cummings thought the 
 stoker would be surprised, but he didn't seem to 
 be. "Hulloh, b'y!" was his cheerful greeting. 
 "Do what we're doin' — haul the fires. And wurk 
 fasht, b'y — wurk fasht." 
 
 Cummings began to haul out the hot coals, too. 
 And hauled them fast. It was the only safe way. 
 The outrushing heat, he thought, would shrivel 
 up his insides, while outside it was as if his flesh 
 would blister under the uprising steam. One fire- 
 box, another, and the sea-water was half-way to 
 his knees. He looked around to see how his chums 
 were making out. They were hardly to be seen 
 through the steam, but it encouraged him to see 
 that they, too, had to turn away their heads be- 
 fore the uprush of it. 
 
 The fires were all hauled, and Cummings, con- 
 ceiving his work to be over, made for the ladder. 
 But they did not follow, and looking around again 
 246 
 

 1 
 
 £k 
 
 
 W m?± 
 
 
 
 yk/' " ,JJ! ' i| #(£/ VfiL 
 
 A 
 
 J 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 JT^* 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 •'*. :: i . • ' 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 And wurk fasht, b'y — wurk fasht" 
 
Heroes 
 
 he saw them turning wheels, and presently heard 
 a tremendous racket. "More trouble !" groaned 
 Cummings. "Not through yet?" he called out. 
 
 "No, b'y, we must ease off the shteam yet," and 
 hurriedly turned another valve. And Geordie 
 turned one. And Cummings took to gauging the 
 rising water. Suppose it did reach those boilers 
 and they blew up ? " Jee-zooks ! " he muttered, 
 and even more feverishly than Dinnie or Geordie 
 took to turning valves till there were no more to 
 turn. He would surely have bolted up the ladder 
 then but for the sight of these two professional 
 stokers still on the job. Just two stokers! And 
 for what ? Jee-zooks, for what ? 
 
 "It '11 be the wather-tight doors now, Geordie," 
 said Dinnie. 
 
 "Oh, ay, the water-tight doors, Dinnie." 
 
 Cummings saw them wading through the black- 
 ened water — away from the ladder. "Say, ain't 
 you people ever coming ? " yelled Cummings, and 
 then the electric lights flickered, recovered, flick- 
 ered, and went out. 
 
 "This way, Geordie," he heard Dinnie calling, 
 and heard, too, the heavy swishing of their bodies 
 as they pushed through the water. He could hear, 
 too — must be at the bulkhead now — the direct- 
 ing words to each other, and after a moment the 
 dull thud of a closing door. He could hear, too — 
 
 247 
 
Heroes 
 
 so vehemently were they working and so eager was 
 he for it — he could hear, despite the racket of the 
 outrushing steam, the click of the buttoning keys 
 in the dark. 
 
 "And now the injine-room, Geordie." 
 
 "Oh, ay, the engine-room doors, Dinnie," and 
 the pair of heavily moving bodies came toward him 
 again. And passed him, and on toward the engine- 
 room. Cummings let his hands drop, and pulled 
 them up hurriedly — they were wet. What — to his 
 hips already ? What lobsters, those two! And yet 
 there they were — still on the job. He felt of the 
 ladder to locate it afresh, and then — jee-zooks! 
 — he turned and waded for the engine-room him- 
 self. 
 
 He could hear Geordie before he reached them. 
 "And that 'ere helectric-light machine flooded and 
 not heven a lantern, Dinnie ! A blarsted rotten un 
 I calls this ship." 
 
 "Rotten enough, Geordie b'y, but hush now. 
 And did we turn all the keys, I dunno ? Wait, 
 if these matches are only dhry." Cummings saw 
 the flare of it and the light held high above Din- 
 nie's head. He saw, too, the two top keys, not 
 yet turned. "Let me," he said — "I'm taller." 
 
 "What! and you here yet? Well, well, that's 
 the b'y. Now the other one. That's it. And 
 now for the other dure." 
 248 
 
Heroes 
 
 " Jee-zooks! Dinnie, but ain't there any end to 
 this ? Up to my chest already." 
 
 "Hush, b'y, hush! What harm is a little wa- 
 ther on your chest ? " 
 
 "Won't she sink under us ?" 
 
 "I dunno will she or no. But she sur-r-tinly 
 will if we don't get that other dure closed — and 
 that soon." 
 
 "Ay, an' bloody well soon." 
 
 They reached the other door and began on the 
 keys. But they would not turn. "'Tis the bulk- 
 head bucklin' under the weight of the sea. You 
 have the weight, Geordie — throw yourself agin it 
 whilst the two of us turns them. Come, b'y, 
 come now. Now, Geordie! Now agin! There 
 she is. And now agin! That's it. And agin! 
 And now for the way out. Come on, Geordie b'y. 
 And where are you, avick ? Where are you, me 
 bowld New Yorker?" 
 
 "Here," called out Cummings hastily. 
 
 "Wait. Maybe I can light another match to 
 see the way out. I've been kapin' these around 
 me neck with me tobacco to hold 'em dhry like, 
 but I fear — yes, the little divils they're wet. Well, 
 we'll have to find it in the dark. Lay the coorse, 
 b'y, and lay it shtraight. Geordie's no champeen 
 at swimmin' and sorra the shtroke can I swim at 
 all mesel'." 
 
 249 
 
Heroes 
 
 "Can't swim — and water to our necks! Well, 
 I can swim all right. Here, take hold of my hand," 
 and with joined hands the three of them made 
 the ladder. They leaned on the hand-rail of the 
 grated hatch to get breath. The sweat was rolling 
 off Cummings, but he was safe and the ship was 
 safe and everybody aboard was safe. 
 
 IV 
 
 Still as could be lay the little stowaway while 
 the stokers off watch came into the room and made 
 ready to turn in. Not such a terrible lot, but they 
 did swear; a couple of them more than they ought 
 to, more even than the big Englishman Geordie. 
 He snuggled his head under Dinnie's coat, which 
 was his pillow, and lay quiet, wondering how 
 long the last one, who was sitting on the edge of 
 his bunk smoking, how long before he would roll 
 back into his bunk; and watching him, fell asleep. 
 And sleeping, had a dream, a beautiful dream of 
 being home with his father; and then a terrible 
 dream of the bunk tumbling in and of his father 
 suddenly changing into half a dozen tramping, 
 excited men, and jumping up and running out the 
 door. 
 
 The lad sat up, glad to find himself still in his 
 bunk, and yet as he looked he saw the last of his 
 250 
 
Heroes 
 
 room-mates running into the passageway. And 
 a lot of other people were running through the 
 passageway, past the door, and calling to each 
 other as they ran. By then he knew that some- 
 thing funny had happened, and he fished out his 
 shoes from under the bed-tick and put them on 
 and stepped into the passageway himself, and no 
 sooner there than a man bowled him over — and 
 another and another, and two or three more, 
 every one running swiftly, and only the last of all 
 stopping to put him on his feet, and even that one 
 hollered at him, "You bloody little bloater, what 
 you doin* here? Get up on deck" — roughly, like 
 that, and yet not unkindly. 
 
 The stowaway, finding his feet, started running 
 himself. All the lights were out — dark every- 
 where; so that he bumped in and out of pas- 
 sageways and by and by upstairs, slipping by 
 passengers, and more passengers, like shadows in 
 the dark, in gangways and on stairways, most of 
 them excited and asking all sorts of questions, 
 but mostly, "What's happened ?" And then he 
 reached the top deck, where were a lot of ship's 
 people hurrying by, but they not saying much. 
 And he heard the sound of blows and went over to 
 see what it was, and found a lot of men, one of 
 them with an axe trying to knock away a big block 
 of wood from under a life-boat, but not doing it 
 251 
 
Heroes 
 
 very well. There were plenty of orders, but no- 
 body seemed to know just what to do. Some 
 said this was the way to do it, and some said no, 
 the other way. And somebody lit a match, and 
 when it blazed up the stowaway saw the buttons 
 shining on the short jackets; and by that he knew 
 them for stewards, and, the stewards being the 
 enemies of Dinnie and Geordie, he slipped in 
 behind the boat. 
 
 There he couldn't help hearing the talk. A 
 lot of talk, mostly the talk of men afraid of some- 
 thing. "Wot do hi know of 'andlin' boats?" 
 one was complaining. "Hi shipped for a steward, 
 hi did. Where's their bloody s'ilors?" 
 
 " Sailors ? " — this voice not so frightened. " Sail- 
 ors on these packets ? Sailors ? My word, that's 
 a rare one!" 
 
 Then a new voice among them. "Over'aul 
 that gear!" 
 
 "But 'ow do I hover' aul it?" from the man 
 who said he shipped for a steward, and so close 
 that the stowaway could have reached around the 
 end of the boat and touched his trouser-leg. 
 
 "How? Over'aul it, I say!" 
 
 " But wot do I do ? Hi shipped for a steward 
 an' not for " 
 
 "Clear it away and no more o' your bloody 
 lip!" 
 
 252 
 
Heroes 
 
 He felt the steward press close to the boat and 
 then saw his feet leave the deck, as if he was 
 springing up to get hold of something. And then, 
 "Ah-h, hi 'ave it!" 
 
 " 'Ave you ? Then suppose you do something 
 with it!" 
 
 The stowaway could almost feel the legs of the 
 steward stiffen as he braced himself to tug on the 
 rope, and then "Oh-h! — " he heard, and sud- 
 denly, almost down on top of him, came the body 
 of the steward. A big block with rope running 
 from it rattled down beside him. 
 
 "Gawd!" he heard another voice, and he 
 reached out a hand himself to touch the head of 
 the steward, and it came away wet. The fog and 
 the dew of night lay all about, but it wasn't that. 
 He shivered. 
 
 "Gawd's sake!" said the same rough voice, "to 
 think of 'im knowin' no better than that!" 
 
 " 'Ow was 'e to know?" came from another. 
 "Fred 'e didn't ship for no s'ilor." 
 
 Then came one with a lantern and looked. 
 The stowaway could see it, sidewise — the mashed 
 head and the awful bloody face. He didn't want 
 to look any more. And then another man spotted 
 him and grabbed him. "You bloody little rat, wot 
 you doin' 'ere?" and picked him up and threw 
 him yards across the deck. And he ran off, and 
 
 253 
 
Heroes 
 
 the last thing he heard was, " 'E's got 'is larst 
 tip, has Fred." 
 
 The stowaway had no idea where he was go- 
 ing, but he ran downstairs and into a passageway, 
 and then down another flight of stairs and into 
 another passageway, and kept on going — away 
 from the terrible dead man. 
 
 By and by he found his way among a lot of 
 boxes and barrels, and there hid. And here 
 came some men with a lantern soon and began 
 to haul the boxes and barrels about; and by and 
 by again more men joined them, and then he 
 heard a ripping, like they were breaking some 
 wooden box open, and then he heard, "We 
 might's well have it, same as our betters." 
 
 "And was he drinking — on the level, was he I" 
 
 "Ay, swillin' it in. I saw 'im myself — in 'is 
 cabin." 
 
 "Ay, and so did I," affirmed another. "Be- 
 fore ever we left the dock he was drinkin'. Never 
 misses a chance, he don't. And that tall officer — 
 wot's 'is name ? — but, hi say, don't stop to draw 
 no cork," and followed then the crack of a break- 
 ing bottle and a deep gurgling. 
 
 "Farley, you mean? I 'eard a parsenger my- 
 self arsk Farley if 'e 'ad the right time — at the 
 'ead of the gangplank, mind you, people comin' 
 and goin' all the time — afore we left the dock at 
 
 254 
 
Heroes 
 
 all. And Farley, bli' me, 'e couldn't tell 'im, 'is 
 bloomin' heyes a-rollin' in 'is 'ead. Only looks 
 at 'is watch and says, 'Arf-parst seven.' 'E car- 
 ries Lunnun and New York time on 'is watch, 
 you know, Farley does. 'Ere, let me 'ave a taste 
 now." 
 
 More gurgling, and then: "And the parsenger 
 'e looks at Farley and says, 'Wot?' And Farley 
 looks again and says, 'Yes, 'arf-parst seven,' 'e 
 says again. And the parsenger says, 'D' y' mind 
 if I look myself?' and 'e looks at the watch and 
 e' looks at Farley and 'e says, 'Half-past two — 
 thank you,' and goes over to a lady near the rail 
 and says, 'Well, what d' y' know about that? — 
 so drunk he don't know one hand from the other. 
 A ship's officer and drunk — and it only half an 
 hour to sailing! Fine, isn't it?' Ay, so 'elp me, 
 'e did. But blarst Farley and the 'ole bloomin' 
 cabin gang! Knock the neck hoff another one 
 and 'urry, for the other ship's standin' by and 
 we'll be 'avin' to go over the side soon." 
 
 "Soon ? What do you call soon ? They won't 
 get the first boat over the side for two hours, by 
 the way they're goin' at it. Know as much about 
 boats, those chaps, as — Well, here's happy 
 days!" 
 
 And they drank and went away. And more 
 came, and more, and by and by they began to 
 
 255 
 
Heroes 
 
 quarrel, so that the stowaway, terribly frightened, 
 crawled farther in. No light in there. And by 
 and by nobody came any more, and it grew awfully 
 quiet above and outside — no hurrying feet any 
 more. And then he felt around to get out, but 
 found the boxes and barrels were wedged in 
 around him. He tried and tried, but couldn't 
 move them. 
 
 So he gave it up at last and lay back, waiting 
 and waiting, until he must have fallen asleep; 
 for the next thing he knew it was darker than 
 ever. And again he tried to get out. But no 
 use. And then he began to feel hungry. But 
 nothing to eat. And then he didn't care if the 
 stewards did come and get him. But they didn't 
 come — nobody came. And then he felt the ship 
 moving under him. And he must have fallen 
 asleep again, for all at once the voices broke in on 
 him and the noise of people throwing the boxes 
 and barrels about. He could not make out just 
 what they were saying, but he felt frightened 
 again and kept quiet till the ship took to rolling, 
 but not rolling like before — a new way now. 
 "She's sinking!" he whimpered, " and I'm locked 
 in here and nobody knows it. And I'll sink with 
 the ship. And be drowned in here!" And "O 
 my father!" he called out then, and "O Dinnie, 
 Dinnie!— O father!" 
 
 256 
 
Heroes 
 
 "God in heaven! him in here and not so much 
 as a needle of light to guide us! Where are ye, 
 lad — let another whoop out of ye! " O the blessed 
 voice — Dinnie's voice. 
 
 The passengers had been taken off, the ship's 
 company had been taken off, everybody taken off 
 but the two officers on the bridge and themselves 
 — the little fellow hidden — below. It was a night 
 of vaporish fog and sea like oil. From ahead 
 Cummings could hear the chug, chug of the tow- 
 ing tugs. He could not see what they were doing 
 on the bridge, but presently he saw that the tow- 
 ing steamer had cut or slipped her hawser and 
 was headed about. " Jee-zooks ! what's that for ? " 
 he muttered, and then he heard a revolver shot 
 from the bridge and saw the blue signal flame 
 burning near the rail of the ship. Then he felt 
 the deck under him heave logily and, looking 
 back, saw that her stern was settling. "Jee-zooks! 
 Dinnie had it right — they're going to let her go." 
 
 Two more shots rang out and a moment later 
 the second automatic blue light spurted up from 
 the water. One of the towing steamers was now 
 alongside and the two officers were staggering 
 down from the bridge. Cummings ran aft and 
 257 
 
Heroes 
 
 below, but before he made the next deck he met 
 the two stokers, Dinnie holding the boy in his 
 arms. The water was coming up the iron ladder 
 after them. 
 
 "A close call I guess you people had. And a 
 close call yet — hurry!" 
 
 "Hurry? What the divil do you think we're 
 doin' — takin' a nap, is it? But is there a boat 
 handy, b'y?" 
 
 "There's two of our life-boats alongside. One 
 they'll take, of course. We can take the other. 
 Y' ought to seen them! Talk about a pair of 
 shines! But come on — right after me." 
 
 When they reached the open deck her taffrail 
 was all but flush with the water. "Goin' she is, 
 but time enough if the boat's handy." 
 
 "Handy enough," assured Cummings, and as 
 they all made their way forward the two stokers 
 looked about. "I call this as comfortable a sink- 
 in', Geordie, as a man could ashk for. Inshore 
 wather, a shmooth sea — on'y for the little b'y. 
 How are ye, lad ? " 
 
 They heard Cummings's startled voice then. 
 
 "What's it? No? Heaven save us, Geordie 
 — the other boat casht adrift! And oh, the little 
 lad!" 
 
 "But 'e's over arter her! Look at 'im, Dinnie! 
 Gawd, Dinnie, 'e can swim like a bloody pawpuss." 
 
 258 
 
Heroes 
 
 They could hear rather than see him then, 
 kicking through the water. Then he passed out 
 of sight and hearing. A silence, a terribly long 
 silence, during which they saw dimly a ship's 
 life-boat with the two officers shove off from the 
 farther side of the ship. Then they could make 
 out the sound of oars — from their own side of 
 the ship. A minute, two minutes more, perhaps. 
 But now the ship's stern had gone under and her 
 bow mounting. 
 
 They began to fear that the New Yorker would 
 never get back in time. "If it was but a loose 
 spar or summat to 'ang on to like, arter she goes 
 under, Dinnie." 
 
 " Loose spars ? On the deck of an ocean liner ? 
 You might lay hold of one of them iron derrick 
 booms. But, thanks to God, Geordie, she'll go 
 down aisy-like. ,, 
 
 And it was so. Their ship was six hundred 
 feet long and she could not have been in more 
 than two hundred feet of water, with the result 
 that her stern rested on bottom while her bow was 
 yet high in the air. As her waist went under they 
 climbed up into the forward stays and waited for 
 Cummings. 
 
 "A 'eavy boat — Vll never mike it." 
 
 "The tide's agin him — wait a while." 
 
 Gently up and down the ship's bow went. Up 
 259 
 
Heroes 
 
 and down, up and down, lower and lower. Her 
 forward rail was about under and as yet hardly 
 a ripple on the water. 
 
 "Like a bloody submarine," said Geordie, and 
 with a loose line in his hand swarmed up the 
 stays after Dinnie. By now they could see him — 
 faintly. " 'E'll never mike it, Dinnie — 'ere goes 
 for 'im." 
 
 Geordie hove his coiled line — far out. Her 
 forward rail was all but under. "Hi do believe 
 Vs got it! 'Ere, tike this end, Dinnie. I've the 
 bight of it. 'Ere goes!" 
 
 "God speed ye, Geordie! And I'll soon be 
 afther ye wi' the lad." Already the sea was be- 
 ginning to walk up the stays. Soon she would 
 go with a rush. Dinnie lifted the boy to his hip 
 and climbed higher. 
 
 The line had struck across the gunnel of the life- 
 boat, whereat Cummings dropped the oars, took 
 hold, and hauled, and in came Geordie — flounder- 
 ing. They heard Dinnie's voice. "To her masht- 
 head 'twill be soon. I'm coming now — wi* the 
 lad — haul hard!" and the splash. The two men 
 hauled. A heavy load it was, and they saw him 
 go under trying to hold the boy clear— once, twice, 
 three times he went, but always kicking vigor- 
 ously. But they got the pair at last, taking first 
 the little stowaway whom Dinnie handed up. 
 260 
 
o 
 
 P 
 
Heroes 
 
 " 'Tis full of wather I am," he said, and fell 
 weakly into the bottom of the boat, where he lay 
 for perhaps a minute before he spoke again. 
 " Mortal feared I was — where is he, the little lad ? 
 All right, avick ? Sure ye are." 
 
 Cummings stood up to look about. Not a 
 sign of their ship; hardly a mark on the water. 
 "Now for that other towing steamer," he said. 
 "She's been over to the other steamer and is 
 headed back. I wonder do they see us. Don't 
 hail." And they paddled their life-boat close to 
 the second towing steamer's lights. "The farther 
 side," whispered Cummings, "and easy." And 
 on the farther side, with nobody to see, they 
 climbed aboard. "Turn her adrift, b'y," said 
 Dinnie, "before she's noticed." Cummings let 
 the painter slip and the boat drifted off. 
 
 They crept along the house and into a passage- 
 way, where they came on a man who was gazing 
 over the rail as if absorbed in some spectacle. 
 M Jee-zooks ! " — Cummings gripped Dinnie — "I'll 
 bet I know that chap. Hey, there, Tom White!" 
 
 The man turned and saw Cummings. "Well, 
 where in h " 
 
 "Sh-h — We're off that ship, and it mightn't 
 be healthy for us if some people found it out. 
 Hide us somewhere, will you, till we get in ?" 
 
 "Sure. Come on," and led them to a room 
 261 
 
Heroes 
 
 with six bunks. "Turn in there and don't hurry 
 to turn out — this bunch will keep their mouths 
 shut. And give me your clothes and I'll dry 'em 
 out below. We'll get you ashore all right. And 
 say, what kind of a team is that up there ? What ? 
 Really ship's officers ? Holy cats ! But they sure 
 must 'a' lost their nerve. Says one to the other, 
 coming over the side, 'You were game to the last, 
 Jack,' and puts his arm around his shoulder. 
 What d' y' think o' that, after losin' that grand 
 ship ? Didn't they know enough to shore up those 
 weakened bulkheads before putting her under tow, 
 or did they want to lose her ? Ought to go to 
 jail either way, the pair of 'em." 
 
 "Jail!" said Cummings. "I guess not. That 
 'd put the company in bad with the public." 
 
 "That's right, come to think. But think of 
 'em, the pair of 'em handin' out that kind of talk! 
 Jee, but I'd like to be around when they tell their 
 story ashore. Game to the last! Holy cats, but 
 what a couple of shines!" 
 
 VI 
 
 The three stokers and the boy, having reached 
 
 New York, were now viewing the steamship office 
 
 from the Broadway sidewalk. Dinnie and Geor- 
 
 die were for holding back, but not Cummings. 
 
 262 
 
Heroes 
 
 "What y' afraid of — that buttoned nigger at the 
 door ? Or the fat furniture inside ? Come on in 
 and get your money." 
 
 Cummings led the way in, and claimed for all 
 three, and was told to come back in an hour. 
 Geordie and Dinnie, overawed by the superior 
 air of everybody, were for doing as they were 
 told; but "Go out and come back hell!" retorted 
 Cummings. "We want the wages due us. We 
 can't be waiting around all day. We've had no 
 breakfast and we've no money for dinner, and we 
 want our wages — the wages due us," and made 
 such a further fuss over it that the clerk went in- 
 side and brought out a well-cushioned, florid man 
 with blue-black cheeks and curled-up mustache, 
 which he continued to curl. He was dressed in 
 one of the company's uniforms. 
 
 " I knows 'im," whispered Geordie. " 'E's the 
 purser." 
 
 "Now, m' lads," began the purser. 
 
 "M' lads hell!" snapped Cummings. "Don't 
 m' lad us. We're all tired out and — hungry — and 
 we want our wages." 
 
 On the purser's too-closely shaven features a 
 pitying expression would have crept, but Cum- 
 mings's sardonic grin cracked it midway. "Very 
 well, I'll see," said the purser. "You know how 
 much is due you, of course?" 
 263 
 
Heroes 
 
 "No, we don't." 
 
 "Well, there's three days coming to you." 
 
 "Three days hell! We shipped for the voyage." 
 
 At this point the purser backed away and an- 
 other official hove into view. A much keener 
 chap this than any purser. He restated the case 
 for them. "You shipped for the cruise — exactly. 
 But you did not, it appears, complete the voyage. 
 You left 'ere on the twenty-third and your ship 
 went down on the twenty-fifth. Twenty-three, 
 twenty-four, twenty-five, which makes three days 
 due you, at four p'und ten a month." 
 
 "But, look 'ere — " Geordie was gathering in- 
 dignation to himself. 
 
 "No looking here or there," retorted this keen 
 one. " Look at the law. The law says that when 
 a ship goes down all claims against her cease. 
 That's maritime law." 
 
 Cummings was taken aback. But this was no 
 blustering, self-important man, he felt. This one 
 knew his ground, evidently. He felt like punching 
 somebody. "Well" — he turned to his chums — 
 "they got us, I guess. Here you, give us those 
 three days." 
 
 They got their money. Cummings, looking at 
 his, began to figure mentally. "Four pound ten 
 — that's twenty-two dollars about — three-thirty- 
 firsts of twenty-two. Jee-zooks ! " 
 264 
 
Heroes 
 
 Geordie held his in one open palm. " Bli' me, 
 but it's 'ardly eight bob!" 
 
 "Glory be!" said Dinnie softly, "but wouldn't 
 you think they'd pay us to the end of the month 
 itsel' ? Wouldn't you ? " and just then was a 
 great commotion and in the rush they were pushed 
 to one side. "What the divil's all the ballyhooin' 
 about ? " asked Dinnie. They were at the door 
 in time to see an automobile rumbling up. 
 
 "Jee-zooks!" ejaculated Cummings. "Look — 
 our two officers!" 
 
 The cheering crowd was surging up the steam- 
 ship company's steps. The three stokers and 
 the boy had difficulty in holding their feet and 
 their places on the sidewalk. A newsboy was 
 yelling in Cummings's ear. 
 
 "What's that?" ejaculated Cummings. 
 
 "Sure — here's all about them," said the boy, 
 and spread the first page of the paper out. Cum- 
 mings took it in — the black letters four inches high. 
 
 "Well, what d' y' think o' that?"— 
 
 HEROIC CONDUCT OF CAPTAIN HADSBY— 
 
 MODERN SEA HISTORY KNOWS 
 
 NO PARALLEL. 
 
 Cummings looked his paper over quickly. He 
 bought another and looked that over, and an- 
 other. "That's right, fellows — they've all got the 
 265 
 
Heroes 
 
 same thing," and began to read the story. It 
 took a whole page to tell it — of the dauntless two 
 who refused to leave their ship till the last bit of 
 her went under the sea — would have gone down 
 with her — did go down into the seething maelstrom, 
 but by a miracle 
 
 "Hi s'y, lad, that's not in any piper?" 
 
 "Just as I'm reading it." 
 
 "Hand 'oo told that to these 'ere pipers?" 
 
 "Why, he did." 
 
 " 'E did ? 'oo did ? ' 
 
 "The captain, our captain, himself." 
 
 "Lave me see the paper, b'y." Dinnie had a 
 look for himself. "An' he towld these reporthers 
 that ? But it must be a mishtake. Sure, even 
 if it was thrue he wouldn't say it — not of himsel', 
 b'y, not of himsel'." 
 
 " But he did. Listen. 'As the last bit of her fore- 
 truck sank beneath the seething, boiling sea '" 
 
 "Seethin'! B'ilin'! God forgive him!" 
 
 " — 'he dived and secured a floating spar '" 
 
 "A floating spar? Ho, ho, that's a rare un! 
 Where'd the bloody floating spar come from ? " 
 
 "Loose spars on the deck of an ocean liner — 
 'tis kind of a cute notion. If he would but shtick 
 to nathure itsel'!" 
 
 "No matter, he's getting away with it." Cum- 
 mings scowled at the paper and then he looked 
 266 
 
Heroes 
 
 at Geordie, and from Geordie to Dinnie. He 
 looked over the palpitating, still cheering crowd, 
 and laughed — hysterically. "Jee-zooks! I can't 
 help it — it's the limit." 
 
 "Gawd!" uttered Geordie— "a 'ero!" 
 
 "What kind are they at all?" asked Dinnie, 
 "these reporthers he towld this to?" 
 
 "Why, they're the slickest on earth, let them 
 tell it. Yes, sir, the slickest — and every damn one 
 of 'em's fallen for that Belasco back-drop with 
 all the calciums full-tilt and our heroic captain 
 in the middle of every spot-light." 
 
 "Hi!" said Geordie, " 'ere they come again, 
 the bloomin' 'eroes!" 
 
 They were coming down the steps and the 
 crowd was cheering anew. "Three cheers and a 
 tiger for Captain Hadsby!" called out somebody. 
 They were given, and Captain Hadsby raised his 
 hat and bowed — and smiled. "Three cheers for 
 his brave mate!" and the crowd cheered again, 
 and Farley bowed — and smiled. "Jee-zooks, pipe 
 that smile!" muttered Cummings. 
 
 "There's the kind of seamen I'd like to see on 
 the bridge of any ship I cross in," came one voice 
 from the crowd. Cummings turned and saw 
 him — an honest citizen gazing admiringly. "You 
 would, eh?" snapped Cummings. "Well, you're 
 a hell of a fine judge of seamen!" 
 267 
 
Heroes 
 
 The automobile had difficulty in getting away, 
 so dense was the crowd; but the slow start gave 
 the admiring throng a chance to cheer again, 
 whereat the brave Captain Hadsby lifted his hat 
 and bowed again, and his equally brave subordi- 
 nate did likewise. 
 
 Geordie was gazing after them open-mouthed. 
 "Well, wot d' f s'y to that! My Gawd!" and 
 suddenly shook his fist passionately after them. 
 " 'Eroes! Yes, you're a bloody fine 'ero now, 
 but wite till the Board o' Tride across the water 
 gets arter you. Then we'll see if you're a 'ero 
 or no. 'Eroes! I s'y, lad, look 'ere. If the likes 
 o' them be 'eroes, then wot of us — of Dinnie and 
 me and you that saved all the ship's parsengers 
 — wot about us ? " 
 
 "Us?" Cummings bit it out. "Us? Why, 
 we're a bunch of cheap pikers. We're three 
 slobs of stokers at four pound ten a month — and 
 our wages stops the minute our ship goes down." 
 
 The automobile was still in plain view proceed- 
 ing up Broadway, not going so fast, however, but 
 what the populace was given a chance to identify 
 the valiant mariners and to cheer them afresh. 
 
 Cummings gazed and swore. Geordie gazed 
 and cursed. 
 
 Dinnie only shook his head sadly. Then: 
 "Come on, b'y. Come on, Geordie — don't be 
 268 
 
Heroes 
 
 mindin' them. They're like those stewards we 
 were spakin' about the other mornin\ 'Tis part 
 of their work for the company. Surely in their 
 hearts they must be havin' the black thoughts o' 
 themselves. And for all the praise they do be 
 gettin' from foolish people, you b'y, and Geordie, 
 and me, we're no worse off. We — we're still 
 men before God." He stooped and patted the 
 little boy's cheek. "Sure it's here's the one had 
 the har-r-d, har-r-d time of it, wasn't it, avick ? 
 Sure it was, yes. And we have yet to get you 
 home. Come on, Geordie; come on, b'y — it's time 
 we were hunting another ship." 
 
 The crowds were still cheering, one batch after 
 another, as the automobile moved on. Cummings 
 turned for a last look. He held his half-smoked 
 cigarette in his peculiar fashion, high in the air 
 between thumb and second finger. Still the cheers 
 were coming from the distance and Cummings 
 was listening. "Heroes! Heroes!" he bit out, 
 and snapped the cigarette butt half-way across 
 the street. "Heroes! — jee-e-z'ks — heroes!" and 
 hurried after his chums. 
 
 269 
 
THE CHRISTMAS HANDICAP 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 THE race in which I defeated the so-called 
 Australian for the championship of Amer- 
 ica was worth two thousand dollars to me, which 
 two thousand, barring a few inevitable dollars 
 spent in treating the crowd, I should have brought 
 home to my wife and little girl, and so made sure 
 that all would be well with them till the next sea- 
 son. And so I intended, but in the most accidental 
 way in the world we — Fifield, the book-maker, 
 was with me — we ran into a faro-bank on the 
 way home, and in the morning I came away with 
 about enough to pay for a good breakfast at a 
 hotel, for after that I would not go home. I had 
 said on leaving my wife that I would come back 
 to her with the money in my pocket or not at all. 
 I had to borrow a half-dollar off Fifield to tip 
 the waiter. "Tell my wife I've gone, but don't 
 tell her where," I said to Fifield, and went on 
 down to the docks and shipped on a cattle- 
 steamer. Not what you might call one of the 
 preferred occupations, feeding cattle and clean- 
 ing their stalls, but not laborious, either. Only 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 the food — the men's food — is not what it might 
 be, even for men down on their luck. And the 
 men are not always what they might be. Plenty 
 of good-enough people, some who are unfortunate 
 or some just adventurous ones among them, but 
 sometimes also a bad one. There was one who 
 did not take to me any more than I took to him, 
 a big brute of a chap, the heavy-weight bully of 
 the after-hold. Perhaps he thought I was as 
 meek as I must have seemed blue — he must have 
 thought so, for nothing in my build or looks 
 should have led him to think I could not put up a 
 fight with anything walking God's earth. The 
 afternoon I ran the Australian, I had stripped at 
 one hundred and eighty-two pounds, and not a 
 pound of it you could have torn off with anything 
 less than a cotton-hook. And make no mistake, I 
 was still in condition; one night at the gaming- 
 table, nor four days of bad food on the steamer, 
 was not pushing me back to the second class. 
 
 This chap picked a fight with me, and I threw 
 him into a stall where four Colorado steers would 
 have trampled him to death had not his mates 
 hauled him out onto the alley-way in a hurry. 
 "And if we'd been on deck I'd just as soon 've 
 thrown you overboard — and could do it as easy 
 as I say it, too," I ripped out at him, and so I 
 would, or to any man who came at me as he had. 
 274 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 Once I got warmed up I did not mind taking a 
 chance at 'most anything. I had backed the 
 starter's gun in too many big races not to have 
 nerve, and had carried my weight down the track 
 at too fast a clip too many times not to know 
 I had power. 
 
 But if this chap was a surprised man, he was not 
 altogether giving up the fight; at least he was 
 believed to be the man who, a few nights later, 
 dropped a bale of hay down the hold onto me, who 
 was stretched out on the hatch two decks below. 
 Sometimes those bunks on cattle-ships are not 
 any too clean, and I was sleeping out this night. 
 Now a bale of hay falling through the height 
 of two decks doesn't come down like any hatful 
 of feathers. It loosened two of my ribs, so said 
 the head-steward, who had once studied medicine 
 and was the nearest thing to a doctor the ship 
 carried, and who, after a fashion, also trussed me 
 up. He did not make a good job of the bandag- 
 ing — even he himself said as much — which proba- 
 bly caused him also to say: "But what can you 
 expect? The man ought to be dead, anyway!" 
 But I wasn't, though when the inflammation set 
 in and the fever began to keep me awake nights 
 I almost wished I was. Almost, but not quite — 
 there was always the wife and the child in mind. 
 
 In Liverpool, after the ship was docked, I col- 
 
 275 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 lected what money was coming to me for the eleven 
 days' passage. But first I beat up the man who 
 probably dropped the bale of hay on me, beat 
 him up good in a quiet out-of-the-way alley in 
 a part of Liverpool where cattle-men and their 
 kind hang about. There are regions there where 
 the police take scant notice when two of the guild 
 engage in battle, provided it does not become too 
 general, or they do not take to welting too many 
 outsiders. 
 
 They probably aim not to debauch their help, 
 those steamship lines — ten shillings was coming 
 to me for the trip. Some of the crew said I was 
 lucky not to be docked a few bob for the three 
 days I was laid up with the floating ribs. And 
 doubtless so; but from out of that two dollars and 
 a half I bought a third-class ticket to Manches- 
 ter, where I remembered was a man famous in 
 America for backing professional sprint-runners. 
 I found his place — a " pub n with a sort of eating- 
 house attached. There I ordered my roast-beef 
 and potatoes and a mug of ale, and they did taste 
 nourishing. As I ate and drank I gave ear to the 
 talk going on around me. It was all of horses, 
 whippets, and foot-running. I soon learned what 
 I most wanted to know — before New Year's there 
 would be several good professional handicaps, 
 with the betting on them promising to be lively. 
 276 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 Before I had finished my meal the master 
 himself came in and sat down among his custom- 
 ers. I took a good look at him. A pretty decent 
 sort he appeared, one who might have the nerve 
 to take a chance on a man who could show him 
 a good performance, and who might give a fel- 
 low a fair share of the winnings after he had 
 won; which coincided with what I had heard of 
 him. A square "gaffer," the professional sprint- 
 ers termed him. 
 
 After I had smoked my single pipeful, which 
 I allowed myself after every meal when not in 
 strict training, I picked up my little bag, which 
 held my running clothes and shoes, a pair of run- 
 ning corks, a tooth-brush, and a hair comb — 
 nothing more — and approached my man. "Mr. 
 Ensey, I've been doing a bit of sprinting on the 
 other side. It's no use telling what I'm good for 
 — you'll have a chance to see that for yourself if 
 you'll take me on. Will you bed and board me 
 till I've had a fair try-out?" I said no more 
 than that then. 
 
 The old fellow looked me over. He would 
 probably have looked a horse over in pretty 
 much the same way except that he paid more 
 attention, possibly, to my face than he might if I 
 were a horse. "What do you weigh ?" he asked 
 at last. 
 
 V7 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 "I did strip at one hundred and eighty-two 
 pounds two weeks ago." 
 
 "M — m — thirteen stone. But you don't weigh 
 that now?" 
 
 "No — o — probably not." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 I might have told him of the broken ribs and 
 the fever, but I did not care to. It sounded too 
 much like an excuse. I have small use myself 
 for men who are always producing excuses, good- 
 sounding excuses though they be, in place of per- 
 formances. This man was concerned in my run- 
 ning, not in my troubles. How fast could I swing 
 through a hundred and fifty yards, not how did 
 I happen to get a couple of cracked ribs, was 
 what the old gaffer wanted to know. So now I 
 answered, "It must have been the bad passage." 
 
 "H — m — My lad, if you lose nigh a stone- 
 weight crossing the Atlantic, I'm not sure you've 
 the timber to stand the hard training we put a 
 handicap runner through here. But what 've you 
 ever done on the other side ? " 
 
 I hesitated to answer, but finally did say: 
 "Fve done evens," meaning ten seconds for a 
 hundred yards. 
 
 He smiled ever so little. "H — m — Not too 
 many 'ave showed me evens over here — not for 
 my watch. Them ten-second amachurs can't ever 
 
 278 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 show better than a quarter or 'alf second for 
 
 me. 
 
 "I'm no amateur." 
 
 "Well, on another look, I'll give you credit, I 
 don't think you are. I'm puttin' you down for 
 something better than a cup-huntin' amachur. 
 But what's your name ? I must 've heard of you 
 if you're anything great." 
 
 I wanted to be honest with him — I liked the 
 old fellow already — but I preferred not to give 
 my name just then. "Suppose you let that go 
 for awhile ?" 
 
 "H — m — m. Well, please yourself, but when 
 a man's goin' to the expense of taking care of you 
 for some weeks maybe he's not askin' o'ermuch to 
 know your name. But please yourself. I like your 
 looks." 
 
 That same afternoon I ran a trial for him. 
 The blue feeling was on me again, and my side 
 aching terribly. I knew I could not run fast 
 enough to get away from a policeman, but I went 
 with Ensey to the track. A dozen or more idlers, 
 curious to see the American run, also went along. 
 
 I did my best, but I had to run alone — and I 
 never could run well alone, though I did not tell 
 the gaffer so. As I say — excuses are no recom- 
 mendation to a man who is risking money on 
 you. 
 
 279 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 After I had crossed the finish line I allowed my 
 momentum to carry me, in the customary way, 
 on for fifty yards or so, so as not to strain anything 
 by stopping too suddenly. By the time I had 
 returned to the old man he had replaced the 
 watch in his pocket and I did not ask to look at 
 it. But it was very slow I knew. The faces of 
 the idlers, not to mention their comment, proved 
 that. " Huh — that chap. 'E can't run as fast as 
 my old woman," says one. That was enough. 
 
 I was in the dressing-room, about to get out of 
 my running togs, when the gaffer entered. "Eh, 
 lad, how long is it since you've run in ten seconds 
 on the other side ? " 
 
 "Oh— not so long." 
 
 "M — m — but you do fall away fast. What d' 
 y' think you did to-day ?" 
 
 I said I had no idea. I dreaded to be told; 
 and the old fellow guessed as much. "And I 
 don't know as I blame you, lad. It was — " He 
 whispered it, as he might some shameful secret. 
 
 Well, I could believe it, though not since my 
 first race in public, one for boys of sixteen years, 
 had I run so slow. 
 
 "And the marvel is you've such a grand style. 
 I do like your style, lad." 
 
 "Well — " I Was lying on the rubbing-board, 
 the pain of my side forced me to lie down. "I 
 280 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 suppose you won't care to keep me after that 
 trial." 
 
 " I didn't say that, lad, though on the judgment 
 of it I shouldn't be wasting another ha'penny on 
 you. But I can't get over your style. You've 
 got the style of a champion — you have that — 
 and I must say, too, every other mark of a cham- 
 pion but the speed. What is it — what's wrong?" 
 
 I had got as far as removing my spiked shoes in 
 the undressing process when the gaffer had en- 
 tered, and there I stopped. I wanted him to 
 think that his entrance had put out of my mind 
 the thought of further undressing. I wanted him 
 to leave before I pulled off my running shirt; 
 but plainly he was going in no hurry. And the 
 longer I delayed the more bound he was to stay. 
 At length I could not help seeing that he was sus- 
 picious of something or other. Well, the truth 
 was better than some sorts of suspicion, and, 
 after all, if he was ever to back me why shouldn't 
 he know ? I drew off my shirt, and then old En- 
 sey saw the bandage about my body. 
 
 "Eh, lad— what's that 'ere?" 
 
 Then I told him, and how I came by it. 
 
 "And was it right, d' y' think, to hide it from 
 
 me — me that's to be put to the expense of keeping 
 
 ye?" But he was mostly sympathy. "And ye 
 
 tried to run with that? Man, it's resting, not 
 
 281 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 running, ye should be. Come, now, and lay by a 
 week or two, and then we'll see what ye'll make 
 of it." 
 
 I rested two weeks, jogged easily for another 
 week, and then showed a gain of six yards over 
 that first trial. "Ah — h — that's more like, but a 
 long ways off yet of championship form." I did 
 not tell him that once out of my running I was 
 rather slow to come around, nor that my weakness 
 was not yet gone; nor that raw, foggy weather, 
 as they had this day, was terribly discouraging. 
 Dry weather always for me. Cold or hot, no 
 matter, so it be dry. 
 
 Another week and I ran two yards faster. Four 
 days later another yard came off. "You surely 
 are coming, lad. Show me a quarter second off 
 that again and I'll give you a pair of pumps — * 
 (spiked shoes he meant) "off the best shoemaker 
 in England." 
 
 "You can order them for next week," I answered 
 to that. And on the day appointed I won my 
 pumps; and that same day I was entered for the 
 next handicap. I was not so far short of my true 
 form then, for it must be remembered that in all 
 my trials I had run alone. And, as I have said, 
 running alone never suited me. I needed some- 
 body alongside trying to pass me, or somebody 
 ahead striving to beat me out. To me any race 
 282 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 at all meant two yards above my practice time. 
 A big race, with a great crowd, and, it might be, a 
 band of music, with the cheering and shouting, 
 the betting calls and so on — a championship, or 
 match for big money — meant from three to four 
 yards to me. I never could run cold. I suppose it 
 was that my imagination as well as muscle had to be 
 tuned up before I could get all that was in me out. 
 
 But I said nothing of all this to my gaffer, and 
 a week later when I won my handicap, showing 
 form equal to ten seconds flat, the old man was 
 taken by surprise. 
 
 "Ay, lad, but if I'd a notion ye were that kind 
 I'd made a pot of money on ye — twenty-five to one 
 against. I'd only five pounds down on ye. Why, 
 you're a real racer. And you're in rare form/' 
 And he really thought so; but I was not yet in 
 form. I had told Ensey that I had done ten 
 seconds in America. As a matter of fact the day 
 I won from the Australian I had done nine and 
 four-fifths seconds, though the time was returned 
 as ten seconds; and at that, after going fifty yards, 
 certain I could not lose, I had let down. And 
 further, though this was known to but a few 
 good friends, I had done inside nine and three- 
 fifths seconds in a race before that. On that 
 occasion, also, the watches had caught me in ten 
 seconds, which was correct, but the course was 
 
 283 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 five yards over the hundred — a mistake that did 
 no harm. I was after a living, not records. But 
 what use telling the gaffer what I could do when 
 there would soon be a chance to show what I 
 could do ? 
 
 Of the thirty pounds I received for winning that 
 first race I sent Fifield twenty for my wife and 
 little one, but saying also that he must not tell her 
 where I was; otherwise she would be over on the 
 next steamer, which was not what I wanted. 
 Too many people here that I did not want her to 
 mix with, and also I did not want to face her until 
 I had made good that two thousand dollars. The 
 balance, ten pounds, I handed back to my gaffer, 
 saying, "Just before we go to the post in the next 
 race lay that on me," which, when the time came, 
 the gaffer did, at ten to one. 
 
 But now they had discovered who I was, and 
 classed me accordingly, on my reputed speed, 
 nine and four-fifths seconds for the hundred. I 
 would hereafter be back-mark man, on scratch 
 with the English champion, whom I had not yet 
 met. I won that race, one hundred and thirty 
 yards, in twelve and two-fifths seconds, and that 
 for the jealous watches of men whose living de- 
 pended on their getting it to half a yard. 
 
 The old gaffer, for whom I was gladder than 
 for myself, hugged me in his joy. "Lad, lad, 
 284 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 but ye do storm at the finish. I never see aught 
 like the way ye came through that last thirty yards. 
 Where'd ye learn it ? " 
 
 I did not tell him that I could have come yet 
 faster if it were needed, but — "You'll enter me 
 for the big Christmas 'cap now," I did say. 
 
 "That I will, and if your mark isn't too re- 
 strictive, I'll lay more than a few pounds on ye." 
 
 "Oh, no fear but I'll be well back on an im- 
 possible mark this next time. They'll not have 
 the American running away with any more 'caps 
 for awhile again." 
 
 How he chuckled at that! "You have it right! 
 You've done what no stranger ever did before — 
 win two 'caps. And I'm proud enough to have 
 had the 'andling of you. Ay, they'll make it im- 
 possible for ye next time, but ye'll try for a place 
 if naught else ? Ay, that's it. And there's no 
 doubt ye'll meet our English champion — they 
 say he's saving himself for it. How do you like 
 the notion of meeting him ?" 
 
 "It suits me. But I'll want a special prepa- 
 ration for it, the same as he'll get." 
 
 "You'll have it, lad, as good a preparation as 
 any sprinter in England ever 'ad — as 'Arry 
 'Utchins 'imself ever 'ad. And we'll put you in 
 a stable at Sheffield to train for it." 
 
 285 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 II 
 
 It is in England, where stables of professional 
 runners are kept as if they were stables of horses, 
 that they know how to get a sprinter in shape. 
 During my eight weeks' preparation I slept, with 
 four others, in a large back ell-room of a small 
 hotel in Sheffield. Every night at ten we were 
 locked in that room by a little old, scrappy Scotch- 
 man, who kept the keys in his pocket and slept 
 on the other side of the door. Every morning at 
 half-past six we were called for a stroll, to take 
 the kinks out of legs and back and arms and to 
 put the fresh air into our lungs. Returning from 
 that we were towelled lightly, then allowed to sit 
 down to breakfast. At ten or half-past we dropped 
 down to the grounds for practice. No hard work- 
 ing — just a fooling around and a few starts, but 
 finishing up with a long, easy swinging quarter in 
 fifty-five or fifty-six seconds, to start the sweat. 
 In the afternoon we did our fast work. After each 
 practice we were given a good rub-down; and 
 before turning in at night we were rubbed down 
 again. 
 
 We were worked like race-horses, fed like horses, 
 with the best of food and plenty of it — this little 
 hotel was famous for its good beef and chops and 
 286 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 vegetables — and at night we slept like horses. 
 The five of us, we would tick off to sleep like so 
 many clocks, as Angus used to say. But with 
 all that never a touch of drudgery. It was the 
 work we were best fitted for, the work that of all 
 else on earth we would rather do. Out of sheer 
 love of the game we would have gone through it 
 for nothing; would have paid for the chance, 
 some of us, if not allowed to do it otherwise. And 
 I may say I never knew a world-beater in athletics 
 who did not go at his work with that same feeling. 
 If it were not so he would never have become a 
 champion. And I imagine that it is pretty much 
 that way in any profession. 
 
 This work into which we put so much passionate 
 energy was fast bringing us to as near physical 
 perfection as man may get. I know that after 
 six weeks of it, on top of the six weeks of good 
 living that had preceded, I was like a tiger. 
 Cloistered almost, like so many monks, only worse 
 off than monks — no spiritual devotions to counter- 
 balance, with no outlet for our boiling energy 
 but our sprinting practice, our trouble was to hold 
 ourselves in. Returning from the grounds after 
 practice we used, out of excess of animal spirits, to 
 dare each other to all kinds of foolish stunts, may- 
 be betting sixpence or a shilling a corner on the 
 outcome. One afternoon I took in a running 
 
 2 8 7 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 leap a street that, so they told me, the champion 
 long jumper of middle England had refused to 
 attempt for a hundred pounds. The leap was not 
 extraordinary — nor had I ever trained specially 
 for jumping — a good jump, no more — but the run 
 to it was most uneven and the curbing on which 
 I landed broken and jagged. The thing was that 
 if I did not take off and land just right I would 
 probably break or strain something — my ankle or 
 instep. There were that and other things which 
 I ' had no notion of attempting until suddenly I 
 found myself doing them. There was the spiked 
 iron fence which surrounded our hotel to the 
 height of a man's shoulder. They dared me, one 
 day, to stand off ten yards from it, hop up to it, 
 then hop over it, in ordinary street clothes and 
 shoes of course, from the brick sidewalk. If I did 
 not clear it, the spikes would probably be driven into 
 my left side or thigh, and I be left in a bad way. 
 
 I tackled it and I remember the bar-maid — she 
 was looking through the window of the hotel, a 
 score or more were gathered outside — the bar- 
 maid shrieking as I rose in the air. But she 
 needn't have — I cleared it handily. 
 
 But the gaffer got after her when it was all over. 
 
 He came along too late to stop it. " Don't ever you 
 
 yell like that again, Miss Arnold, when a man's 
 
 trying a thing like that. If you can't bear it, don't 
 
 288 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 look." He spoke roughly enough, as he could at 
 times. 
 
 "But, Mr. Ensey, who'd ever think he was 
 really going to try it — such an awful thing, and 
 fancy if he slipped up!" 
 
 "A wonder he didn't — at your murder yell!" 
 
 "But a man don't slip up, Guv'nor, when 
 he's got to do a thing," I put in here, wanting to 
 help her out. 
 
 "Some don't, maybe. I don't fancy you've 
 eyes or ears for anything but what you're after at 
 the moment, but all men aren't that way. And, 
 Ned, you want to begin to put the brake on. 
 You've got so much bloody energy tearin' round 
 in you now that you'll go crazy or explode soon if 
 you don't watch out. A little will-power is what 
 you need now, lad." 
 
 I answered nothing to that, only called for the 
 half-pint of bitter beer which I allowed myself 
 before dinner and supper when in training. 
 
 But my gaffer hadn't done yet. He turned to 
 my stable-mates: "Let me ketch any o' you darin' 
 'im again — just let me! Don't you know 'is tem- 
 per by this time ? — and the trial 'eats less than 
 a week away!" 
 
 Going out the door, I looked back to see how 
 they were taking it, and in so doing met the bar- 
 maid's eye. She had her handkerchief to one 
 
 289 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 side of her face as if brushing her flushed cheek, 
 but on the side away from the old man was an 
 expression that I did not know what to make of. 
 
 The trial heats of the big handicap, to which 
 my gaffer referred, were run on the second day 
 before Christmas. Being the important running 
 race of the year, a great crowd was present; and 
 by this time there was so much curiosity to see 
 me, the only foreigner who had ever come to Eng- 
 land and won two handicaps, that the management 
 offered me fifty pounds to insure my appearance, 
 so I was now, in the eyes of the public, next best 
 man to Rowden, their champion, although the 
 betting men, who are better judges, rated me as 
 his equal; some privately said I was a shade 
 faster. I knew myself I was faster — "a good bit 
 faster," my gaffer said, but not in public. 
 
 Rowden and I had the same mark — that is, 
 we both started from scratch; and we both won 
 our first trial heats. There would be great run- 
 ning, everybody said, when we came together. 
 But we never came together. In the semi-finals, 
 an entry that nobody had figured on, a man named 
 Heddon, with nine yards start, stayed so far in 
 the lead that forty yards from home Rowden 
 dropped his arms and gave it up. It was a scan- 
 dalous beating, and with the report of Heddon's 
 easy win, away flew my chances. 
 290 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 Leaving the grounds that afternoon, everybody 
 was saying, " Heddon, Heddon ? Who is this 
 Heddon?" 
 
 But trust our shrewd old gaffer to get hold of 
 something about him. He came to me at supper 
 in the hotel. "We're hooked," he began. "I 
 knew him when he used to run in Caledonian 
 outings and small 'caps in Scotland two or three 
 years back, and then he dropped out of sight. 
 His entry would come in from time to time to 
 this handicap and that, but he'd never run. Now 
 we see why he's been running under cover, all 
 this time — only the Lord knows where or under 
 what name. A proper sleeper he is. Laid by 
 till all was right for the killin'. A pot of money for 
 him to win the final, as of course he will. His 
 backer will see that he don't go wrong for that." 
 
 "Who's his backer?" 
 
 "H — m — m — there now. I've my suspicions, 
 but I'll find out more about it. I've scouts out. 
 I'll be back, by and by, and report." 
 
 I finished my supper and smoked my half- 
 pipeful, and then Angus went out for a stroll, to 
 see if he couldn't discover something about Hed- 
 don. He invited me to go along, but I said I 
 didn't care to go. "But leave me the keys," I 
 called out after him. 
 
 "Oh, ay — " he tossed them back — "the old 
 291 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 guv'nor could always trust you — you're not like 
 the others." 
 
 I wanted to be alone, and started for the room, 
 which this night I was to have to myself, because 
 my stable-mates, who had not so much as won a 
 single heat among them all, were through with 
 training. They were now out and about the city 
 enjoying themselves. And how they could and 
 would enjoy themselves! After a man has been 
 exercising like a race-horse and living like an 
 anchorite for months — he is the man who has the 
 capacity for pleasure, not the man who is pursu- 
 ing it all the time. And pleasure ? I slammed 
 my bare hand against the hall wall as I thought 
 of it. It was blessed little pleasure I was having 
 these days. I must have exclaimed aloud at the 
 thought, for a voice said, "Don't take it so to 
 heart." 
 
 It was the blonde bar-maid; and if I haven't said 
 much of her before this, don't imagine that she 
 wasn't a factor in the life of the place, or that the 
 light of her beauty was hid under any bushel. 
 And she could measure a man up — the physical 
 and emotional make-up of a man at any rate — 
 as quickly as any old gaffer in the world. 
 
 She was the one feature of the hotel which my 
 gaffer did not like. He wanted no women around 
 when men were training. And this was a "spe- 
 292 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 cially damn dangerous creature," he used to say, 
 "to be standin' about." All I had to do with her 
 was when I would go in after practice every morn- 
 ing and afternoon and get my half-pint of bitter 
 beer. There, of course, she was always, and nat- 
 urally I said "Good-morning" or "Good-after- 
 noon" to her. 
 
 No every-day bar-maid; with her figure and 
 locks, she would have made a hit on any stage. 
 Our fellows used to put an extra edge on their 
 appetite before meals arguing why she did not go 
 on the stage. "Why don't she?" the old gaffer 
 would answer. "Why? You know damn well 
 why. It's men, not Johnnies, she wants." 
 
 Whatever the reason, be sure it was not because 
 she could not if she wanted to. I was rather sur- 
 prised to see her now. She should have been be- 
 hind the bar. But there she was at the foot of the 
 stairs. She had never been free in her speech with 
 me as with the others; nor was she over-free now. 
 Indeed, there was even a backwardness in her 
 manner. 
 
 "You're looking blue," she said. She did not 
 call me by name. She used to call all the others 
 by their Christian names — Joey, or Charlie, or 
 Georgie — but she never addressed me by any 
 name at all, and unless she caught my eye or there 
 was no other person present, she never spoke to 
 293 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 me at all. "You're looking blue," she said 
 now. 
 
 "I'm feeling blue," I said. 
 
 "No wonder. But cheer up — no disgrace even 
 if you can't win to-morrow." 
 
 "It's not the race!" 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "No." And looking at her, I thought of an- 
 other woman. Her face flushed. One hand crept 
 up to her neck-piece. God forgive me for any- 
 thing in my eyes that made her blush, but 'twas 
 not her just then — 'twas a sweeter girl I had in 
 mind. 
 
 I went up the stairs. On the landing I looked 
 back. She was still standing there, a handsome 
 woman. She smiled, and going through the door 
 which led to the back of the bar, she smiled again. 
 And there was more than pure kindness in the 
 smile. 
 
 I continued to my room. I was blue. When 
 you haven't seen or heard from your wife for four 
 months, when you have had no answer to half a 
 dozen letters, when you have been sending money- 
 orders home and no word of acknowledgment of 
 them either, when you know yourself to be a man 
 who never understood women, and there was I 
 only a professional sprinter, when she might have 
 married other men, with any of whom she'd be 
 294 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 running no risk of ever wanting for the good things 
 of life — I tell you I was blue. And there was 
 the little girl, too. 
 
 Well, I had only myself to blame. I had gone 
 off, after throwing away the money won in the 
 big race, without a word, though of course Fifield 
 would explain something of that; would possibly 
 make her understand that it was my old besetting 
 sin, the love of a wager, and not the cold intention, 
 which started me: no close friend of mine, Fifield, 
 but surely friend enough to do that. He had won 
 many a dollar on me — he owed me that little 
 kindness. 
 
 There I sat and thought. Nobody came near 
 me. I thought of Angus, probably having a mug 
 of ale somewhere; of the old gaffer, ferreting out 
 news of Heddon. But always my mind would go 
 back to my wife. Why hadn't she sent word ? 
 Fifield, too, was to write after he had delivered my 
 message to her; but from him never a word, either. 
 
 I was still sitting there when ten o'clock struck. 
 I opened the window, which looked out on the 
 side street. A fine night; many people on the 
 street, and from the "pub" below, which opened 
 also onto the side street, the noise of cheerful 
 voices. Two or three of them plainly were cele- 
 brating — had doubtless won a few pounds on the 
 race, won it off men like myself, and they could 
 295 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 afford to take a drink. Could and would. But 
 I mustn't. Not me — I was in training. To-mor- 
 row night, now, I would be free and could drink 
 — if I cared to — but not to-night. A fine freedom, 
 indeed! A fine life altogether! Putting enough 
 physical and mental energy into my work to bring 
 success to half a dozen tradesmen, and what was 
 I getting out of it ? To-morrow I was slated 
 for defeat — a bad defeat. Four yards he might 
 head me. A fine return for weeks of self-denial 
 and effort! Fine, fine! Well, thank the Lord, to- 
 morrow night would end my running. 
 
 To-morrow night ? Surely I was a proper fool 
 — to-morrow night. Even if I got second place, 
 what was fifty pounds — my gaffer's share ? It 
 surely couldn't break him. To sweep up a field 
 of bets was his game. And the next day after was 
 Christmas. A fine Christmas! A merry Christ- 
 mas! Hadn't seen wife or child in four months, 
 and nigh four thousand miles from home. 
 
 About then, or, it may have been an hour later 
 — Lord knows how your mind works at such 
 times — I heard from the yard, which was in the 
 rear of the house, the voice of the room-boy. 
 Whereat I ran — my mind always did get a jump- 
 ing start — I ran to the rear window and whistled. 
 He answered. 
 
 "Come up the back steps," I called. 
 296 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 He came by way of the back door. I drew out 
 some change. "Bring me up some ale — three 
 bottles. Say nothing to nobody, and bring them 
 up the back way." 
 
 He would have brought three bottles of poison 
 just as quickly. In no time he was back. 
 
 "Now bring me more — a dozen this time/' 
 He went. He was proud to go for me. Wasn't 
 I the fastest sprinter in the world ? And wasn't 
 my name, in letters two feet high, adorning every 
 dead wall in town ? And my full-length picture 
 in every sporting paper of that week ? 
 
 He was hardly out of the door when I opened a 
 bottle and gulped it down; and another, and was 
 opening the third when he returned with the 
 twelve bottles, which he set at my feet on the floor, 
 and then handed me a sealed envelope. 
 
 "What's this?" 
 
 "A note." 
 
 "So I suppose. But who from?" 
 
 "Oh — h," he leered at me knowingly, cunning- 
 ly, "you know." 
 
 "I know?" I looked at him. He was a pre- 
 cocious one, acquainted with many things before 
 his time. "I know — hah ?" I drew the cork out 
 of the third bottle — and slowly let it pour down my 
 throat. " I know — hah ? And what is it I know ? 
 And how do you know I know ? " 
 297 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 "She said you'd know." 
 
 "She? And whoever she is, how did she know 
 you were coming up here?" 
 
 "She guessed where I was going — wormed it 
 out of me — I didn't mean to tell, but you can't 
 keep a thing from her. And " 
 
 The door was heard opening below — the front 
 door. And closing. "Sh — sh — it's your gaffer 
 — he's no love for me — but she said she'd be off 
 at twelve," and was gone down the back stairs. 
 Waiting a moment to make sure it was my gaffer's 
 step on the stairs, I pushed the bottles, empty and 
 full, under the bed, and drew down the blanket so 
 that all were hid. The note I stuck in my pocket. 
 
 It was the gaffer. He took a seat, pulled out his 
 pipe and then put it back. "Excuse me, Ned, 
 I forgot — for the moment I was fancyin' the run- 
 ning was over." 
 
 "And isn't it as good as over ?" 
 
 "Well, m — m — yes — though you're a man that's 
 likely to do anything in a pinch. I've great faith 
 in you, Ned." 
 
 I knew something of my old gaffer's weakness 
 by this time. Any friend of his was a fine fellow, 
 so I passed that over. 
 
 He was now regarding me affectionately. " But 
 what's wrong with you ? You're not yourself at 
 all. Come, come, Ned — we mustn't let it take 
 298 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 such a hold of you. Hold out a while longer — 
 maybe I'll have good news for you in the mornin\" 
 
 My mind at the word "news" was far away 
 again. 
 
 "Good news of what ?" 
 
 "Oh — h — I've been doing some investigatin*. 
 And a man whose description fits your gambling 
 friend Fifield, that you told me about, is here and 
 doin' business, though not under that name." 
 Long before this I had told the old gaffer of the 
 race with the Australian and the after-loss of the 
 two thousand dollars. 
 
 "But did you see this Heddon run to-day, 
 Ned?" 
 
 "No, I was being rubbed when he won that heat 
 from Rowden." 
 
 "Well, take a light-haired man of five feet ten, 
 thick-set, heavy calves, specially long in the back, 
 a quick starter, high knee and strong arm action — 
 who would that remind you of?" 
 
 It did not come to me till then — yet I was 
 hardly surprised. Perhaps I was too loggy with 
 ale to be much surprised. Perhaps so. "That 
 would fit the Australian who ran me for the Amer- 
 ican championship." 
 
 "Well, that's 'im — but no Australian. That's 
 Heddon — and your friend Fifield's got him under 
 lock and key at the Swan. I must say they planned 
 299 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 it well — and stand to get a pot of money — and a 
 good bit o' mine and yours they'll get at the same 
 time. 'Tis Fifield will get most of it, too. He 
 was in drink to-night, and said a lot. He's no 
 love for you." 
 
 "And why not — did he say ?" 
 
 "H — m — m — hints, hints. But suppose 'twas 
 him was behind Heddon when you beat him in 
 America ? And suppose — suppose then, Ned — 
 suppose he's in love with your wife ?" 
 
 "He was — wanted to marry her — but he's got 
 over that." 
 
 " How d' y' know he's got over it ? Suppose 
 he figured he could keep you over here with not 
 money enough to go back home, and she over 
 there with not money enough to buy herself and 
 the little girl bread ! How then ? " 
 
 "You surely do imagine things, Guv' nor." 
 
 "Maybe so — maybe so. And maybe I'm only 
 imaginin' he led you into that gamblin' joint where 
 you lost your two thousand! But you're tired, 
 lad. You're up too late as it is — after eleven 
 o'clock — go to bed. And lock that back door. 
 However came it open, anyway ? I told Angus 
 never to leave it open. If I see him anywhere I'll 
 send him up to keep you company. You'll make 
 what you can of it, to-morrow, won't you, Ned ? 
 — and then a fine lay-off. And mind " — no moan- 
 300 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 ing over the good thing that was being snatched 
 from us, but a fine, warm smile from the old fel- 
 low — "mind, I may have great news for you to- 
 morrow. Good-night, Ned." 
 
 Great news ? Heddon disbarred ? No, they 
 could not do that. His running under another 
 name abroad could be no cause for disqualifica- 
 tion, even if we cared to play that game, which we 
 had no mind to. They would have to let him run 
 now — and all bets would go at the post — and we 
 would take our medicine. 
 
 My head ached. What was the old man's 
 notion of Fifield trying to keep me from my wife ? 
 Queer things came into the gaffer's head — the 
 most suspicious man at times. 
 
 I leaned out of the rear window. I could hear 
 the voice of the bar-maid whenever she went into 
 the kitchen. Also I could see her shadow against 
 the white fence in the yard. Presently I could 
 hear the old gaffer's voice below. A few minutes 
 and I heard him say "Good-night," and, a mo- 
 ment later, his steady old step going up the side 
 street. 
 
 Good old gaffer! Poor old Ned King! Ned 
 King, you poor slob! I drew the blanket up 
 from the floor, reached under the bed, and held 
 a bottle up to the light. 
 
 I had a thought that the sight of the ale would 
 301 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 make me forget my backer. But it did not — not 
 quite. "I told 'em all I didn't care if 'e 'ad twenty- 
 nine instead of nine yards — when Ned King gets 
 after him those nine yards will shrivel up like 
 thin-cut bacon on a hot grill — " I could see him 
 in the bar of the Swan defying all who might care 
 to contradict. 
 
 Good old gaffer. And he trusted me. And he 
 had given me a chance; bedded and boarded me 
 when I was down and out. And once again his 
 money was down on me. 
 
 Ay, his money was down on me. I counted 
 the full bottles idly. Twelve, and three gone. 
 What a forgetful time I could have yet! And 
 plenty more downstairs. I, who had never until 
 to-night taken the second bottle of ale at one 
 sitting, to-night was going to see how much a man 
 would need to take to make a man forget. 
 
 I sat on the edge of my cot. I took pleasure in 
 counting the bottles once more. What a time! 
 To be sure I could. But would I ? Would I now ? 
 " I says to 'em all before the bar of the Swan — not 
 if 'e 'ad twenty-nine yards! And when Ned King 
 gets after 'im — " Game old gaffer! 
 
 Surely I could. I drew the cork of one. The 
 
 froth welled slowly up. I watched it a moment, 
 
 then stepped to the wash-basin and poured it 
 
 down the drain. One after the other I drew the 
 
 302 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 corks and poured the ale into the basin. As I 
 emptied them I stood them up like soldiers on the 
 floor. 
 
 I heard the boy's step on the back stairs. In 
 he came cautiously. His rat-like, wicked little 
 eyes peered around the room. He looked at the 
 empty bottles on the floor — counted them — fif- 
 teen — chuckled — "My, but you're going a gait! 
 And all alone, too!" And then, as if assured of 
 something he very much wished to know, ran 
 down the stairs again. I could hear the kitchen 
 door closing behind him. 
 
 I threw the empty bottles out of the back win- 
 dow. I heard them drop one after the other, on 
 the grass in the back yard. Then feeling drowsy, 
 dull, tired — wretched — I undressed, and was get- 
 ting into bed when Angus came in. 
 
 "A bad outlook for to-morrow, Ned." He had 
 more beer, perhaps, than was really needful for 
 his health, and so a bit maudlin. "The guv'nor 
 give 'em the devil, Ned, and so did I — down to 
 the Swan, Ned. But no use — twenty-five to one 
 you can't win — and, of course, you can't — nor no 
 man ever lived or ever will live, with that hound 
 on the nine-yard mark. Well, well, I'll be turn- 
 ing in here to-night, Ned — spare beds enough." 
 I must have gone off to sleep then, for I remem- 
 bered no more of Angus. 
 303 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 But by and by, how much later I cannot say, I 
 thought I heard a knocking at the door; at first 
 softly, but at length more boldly. I sat up, and 
 as I sat up it stopped, and as it stopped the voice 
 of Angus called out: "What is it, Ned ?" 
 
 "What's it, you?" I retorted; and must have 
 immediately fallen off to sleep again, for I heard 
 nothing more. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Only three bottles, and I knew men who could 
 have taken a dozen of that same ale and not 
 minded it, but the sap of life had long ago ceased 
 to run freely in them, or else their natural holding 
 caapcity was greater. I awoke like a man from 
 horrid dreams, and had no appetite for breakfast, 
 though I did try, under the anxious eye of Angus, 
 to force it down. 
 
 "It can't be, Ned, you're stale from over-train- 
 ing. It can't be, for yesterday you were like a 
 lion." 
 
 After breakfast I slipped down to the track, and 
 had been cantering up and down for perhaps ten 
 minutes, when Angus came running in. "What 
 ails you, Ned — working like this on the morning 
 of the finals?" 
 
 "I've got to work it off." 
 3°4 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 "Work what off?" 
 
 I made no answer to that, and he, thinking I 
 had a touch of the sulks, said no more; and I, 
 who had always laid out my own work, tore up and 
 down the track till I felt I had enough. 
 
 On the way back to the hotel I slipped Angus, 
 and, stepping into a pub, had a brandy and soda, 
 the second I had ever taken. The first was when 
 my wife had the baby, and I, in the next room, 
 had to wait hours for the word. As to drinking 
 that liquor, and drinking it when I did that morn- 
 ing in Sheffield, I have to say that I knew what I 
 was doing. There is more to training than exer- 
 cising or being massaged, or eating or sleeping. 
 Ten years up to this time I had been running, 
 studying my game and studying myself. If I was 
 the fastest short-distance runner in the world, it 
 was more than length of stride or drive of back 
 and arm that made me so. It was more also than 
 my brains and body. It was knowing the things 
 which lie so deep in you that you are not able to 
 make anybody else understand them as you do 
 yourself. And that morning I drank my brandy 
 and soda, drinking it, too, in the full knowledge 
 that it is a bad thing, even one drink, when you 
 don't need it. 
 
 My drinking it was all over town in an hour, 
 and, joined to the rumor that I had been on a 
 305 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 drunk the night before, caused many a good man 
 to grieve that day in Sheffield; and also it killed any 
 further betting on me. 
 
 At half-past eleven o'clock I was back to the 
 hotel. At twelve I had lunch — chops, soft-boiled 
 eggs, toast, apple-butter, and tea. After lunch — 
 one o'clock — I went to bed. The race was at 
 four o'clock. "Call me at three," I told Angus — 
 and was alseep, he said afterward, in two minutes. 
 
 At three o'clock I was sleeping so soundly that 
 Angus had to shake me to wake me. At half-past 
 three we went to the grounds, where were now 
 forty thousand people, viewing patiently the pre- 
 liminary events to keep them in humor; and they 
 were still swarming in. 
 
 Not till I was on the mark that day did I get 
 a look at Heddon. He was the man who only 
 four months before I had run for the American 
 hundred-yard championship. And now he had 
 nine yards in a hundred and fifty. "Never, un- 
 less he drops dead, will you get him," was what 
 one book-maker said to me, and that was pretty 
 near what I thought myself. 
 
 "So it's you, you Australian champion," I said 
 to Heddon when I met him. "A fine champion! 
 And a fine game you're playing with Fifield." 
 
 "Well, it's so fine a game that when we cash in 
 after the race we'll have back that four hundred 
 306 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 pounds we lost in America and a good many other 
 four hundreds with it." 
 
 "You have to win first." 
 
 He laughed out loud. "With nine yards ? Ho, 
 ho, with nine yards the devil from hell won't get 
 me." 
 
 "Maybe the devil couldn't," I says — "but 'tisn't 
 the devil will be after you. Poor devil, he has to 
 hop along with cloven feet and a tail flying back 
 in the wind to handicap him even more. But 
 with them — !" I held up one spiked shoe, and 
 as he looked I flexed toes and instep, and — I 
 couldn't help it, I was that alive with energy 
 boiling to turn itself loose — I stood and leaped 
 over a bench beside the track. It was a clean leap 
 of eleven feet, toe to heel, and two fellows who 
 had just finished a mile run were lying on it, rest- 
 ing. They started up in alarm. "Hi say, there, 
 King — fancy if you didn't make it!" 
 
 "Make it!" broke in Angus. "Lie down. He 
 could 'a' made it an you'd been tiered three high 
 — and that's what he'll do to you, Heddon. Ned 
 won't run this day — he'll leap the whole hundred 
 and fifty yards. At about a hundred yards you 
 want to listen — but you won't have to listen — 
 you'll hear it — the chunk, chunk of his spikes, 
 the same hitting the cinders so fast that you can't 
 count 'em, and at a hundred and twenty you'll be 
 
 307 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 feelin' a hot breath getting hotter every second 
 — and then you want to watch out, Heddon, for 
 that '11 be the back-mark man comin' in to his 
 own — won't it, Neddo ? " 
 
 That sounded like blackguarding, didn't it? 
 But this Heddon was a notorious man himself at 
 that game, and we were only taking his measure; 
 and not all foolishness, this by-play. As I watched 
 him now I began to see that jump over the bench 
 wasn't altogether a waste of energy. I knew 
 what was running through his brain. He saw 
 again that hundred and eighty odd pounds flying 
 through the air. By and by that same hundred 
 and eighty odd pounds would come flying through 
 the air after him. When a lad and just breaking 
 into the game, and faster men came tearing down 
 behind me, I knew how I used to feel. I used to 
 wish — with those champions behind me — I used 
 to wish the tape was something nearer. 
 
 I was mad and getting madder. I could have 
 ripped the track in two. I dug my holes, and, 
 breaking away from the mark, breezed down past 
 the stand. A voice there called out — an American 
 voice, "There's your Derby winner for you — 
 him for me." 
 
 I was beginning to feel like running, but I was 
 not yet worked up to that nervous tension which 
 precedes a great performance — or a great break- 
 308 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 down. Inside of me was — I began to feel it — the 
 power with which, by and by, I would do what I 
 willed. But as yet it half-slumbered. 
 
 Coming back by the judge's stand I met my 
 old gaffer, whom I had not seen since the night 
 before. All the morning I had been wondering 
 where he had been. I thought he would say some- 
 thing about the brandy and soda; but evidently 
 he had not yet heard of it. His face was beaming. 
 
 "You're a horse, lad — a horse, nothing less. 
 But look here" — he stepped closer — "old Parke- 
 son that couldn't be bribed — he's gone home 
 for Christmas. Said in forty years he'd never 
 failed to be home for Christmas eve — and they've 
 bought up the substitute starter." 
 
 "Well, he'll need to be a clever one to shoot him 
 off the mark and not me, too. When Heddon 
 leaves the mark be sure I'll leave it with him — if 
 I don't leave it before, so long as they're out to do 
 that kind of work. But that fifty pounds the 
 management's giving me for showing up — I want 
 you to get it and lay it on me." 
 
 "To win ? or for the place ?" 
 
 "To win." 
 
 "Hah?" He laid a hand on my arm. "Have 
 ye learned anything ? Is aught wrong with 'im ?" 
 
 "Nothing wrong with him. He'll run the race 
 of his life to-day." 
 
 309 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 "Then ye can't win. At nine yards ye can't 
 win. The devil from hell couldn't do it." 
 
 "That's what Heddon said, but I gave that 
 devil's tail a twist, and he's not so sure as he was. 
 At twenty-five to one, I'm telling you, lay that 
 fifty pounds on me. Will you tend to it ?" 
 
 "I will. And, by Heaven, a bit of my own. 
 The fighting look's in your eye to-day, lad. And 
 if you win — if you win, Ned " 
 
 "If I win ? What are you smiling at ?" 
 
 "Ho, ho — it won't put me in the poor-house if 
 we do lose. But keep an eye to the starter." He 
 ran off toward the book-makers' stand. 
 
 "And get some of it with Fifield's people, if you 
 can," I called after him. 
 
 "All they're game for," he called back. 
 
 The starter called out to know if I were ready. 
 Always in the big handicaps it is the stratch-man 
 who is deferred to. He it is who has the choice 
 of paths, who may put off his preparations till the 
 last second. In the light of the scratch-man's 
 privileges I made my first move. One path was 
 as good as another, but I wanted Heddon under 
 my eye. He had the fourth path from the pole, 
 so I demanded the third from the pole. 
 
 The starter seemed surprised. "I thought you'd 
 already picked your path," and he pointed to 
 where I had dug starting holes on the inside path. 
 310 
 
"Ho, Ho, with nine yards the devil from hell won't get me : 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 "Never mind what you think" I rapped back. 
 "It's what / do that you have to go by. I'm 
 using my right to take what lane I please." 
 
 I took a long time digging my new holes, so 
 long that all, Heddon and the starter particularly, 
 began to show signs of nervousness. 
 
 When I had finished digging my holes I stood 
 up in them, to get the feel of them in the usual 
 way; after which I cast off my bath-robe. Angus, 
 in waiting, picked it up and was about to make 
 off down the track; but I looked at him, and he 
 dropped it on the ground again. The others now 
 handed their blankets to their attendants, who 
 rushed off, as Angus would have done, down the 
 track to where they would be able to see the finish. 
 
 We were now all ready — apparently. The starter 
 said: "On your marks" — the others got on; so 
 did I, but last of all and very slowly. "Get set," 
 he called. All set — but me — and waited for the 
 gun. I could, being behind, see them, but they 
 could not see me. I made no move to set, but 
 watched them for perhaps ten seconds. The 
 starter, I knew, would never dare to fire that gun 
 till I was ready at least — not with the eyes of 
 sixty thousand people glued on us. He might 
 be bought up, but 'twould be ruining him forever 
 and taking his life in his hands to do that. Even 
 at twenty-five to one, there was other money than 
 
 3" 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 our own down on me. Finally, he called out: 
 "Come up, everybody — what's the matter, King ?" 
 at which I left my mark and jogged down the 
 track. 
 
 I went fifty or sixty yards before turning back, 
 and I made no haste coming back. The others, 
 Heddon particularly, eyed me curiously. I paid 
 no attention to them, except that, walking past 
 Heddon, I said: "And you're dead sure you'll 
 win it, eh ? " 
 
 "What is it, King?" asked the starter. 
 
 "Oh — h — I don't know — nervous, maybe." 
 
 "Well, try it again." We set again. Again 
 they bent quiveringly for the crack of the pistol, 
 and again, at the instant when they were on the 
 wrack to hear it, I stood up and, when the starter 
 called "All up," swung down the track. This time 
 I went a full hundred yards at almost top speed. 
 Oh, but I was going rarely, and I made sure 
 Heddon felt it. It was my day, and yet more than 
 sheer sprinting power was to win this race for me. 
 
 Haskins, the pistol-firer, was plainly puzzled, 
 and, I believe, worried by my actions, which was 
 what I meant him to be. I had no mind to let 
 him have that pistol-firing all to his own hand. 
 He looked inquiringly at me as I returned to the 
 mark, but I said nothing, only once more stood 
 in my holes as if ready for the gun. 
 312 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 I watched again the backs and legs of my 
 competitors as they crouched. They were all 
 showing the strain. And yet again I stood up. 
 This time I called out to Angus: "Just cinch up 
 my shoe-lacings, will you, Angus ? " and while 
 he was bent over to it I, well wrapped in the bath- 
 robe, whispered, "And take your time at it, An- 
 gus." 
 
 There I was warm as toast from my jogging and 
 the bath-robe, and there they- were beginning to 
 feel the cold. Heddon darted down the track as I 
 had been doing, but the others didn't dare to get 
 too far off for fear the starter would make them 
 hurry back and fire the gun before they had re- 
 covered their wind. 
 
 My shoes seemed laced to suit me, and, casting 
 off the bath-robe, I was again on the mark. This 
 time I meant to go. 
 
 I bent leisurely at the preliminary word, yet 
 more leisurely at the word "Set" — taking notice 
 of everybody, but with a special eye to Heddon. 
 All by now were plainly showing the effect of 
 being kept waiting. It was in December, Christ- 
 mas eve, mind you, and, though a sunny day, 
 naturally not over-warm, and men do not stay 
 out in scant clothes, bare legs and arms and low- 
 cut shirts without feeling it, and you want to be 
 warm as a coal fire for your best sprinting. And 
 
 3*3 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 more than the cool air they had been feeling the 
 suspense of waiting. And Heddon ? I knew how 
 his mind was working. He was wondering if I 
 would really go this time. "I'll worry you more 
 than that," I said to myself, "with your nine 
 yards and your crooked play. I'll worry you — 
 and you, too, — Mister Starter." 
 
 I was going to try something I had never tried 
 before in a race. They called me a steady and sure 
 man on a mark — and so I was, none more so, but 
 many a time had I tried this in practice. "As to 
 the wrong of it," I argued to myself — "well, it 
 may be, but they, not I, began the game." As to 
 any wrong done to the other three in the race, they 
 had no chance against Heddon or me. It was I 
 or Heddon would win this race. 
 
 Well, there were sixty thousand crazy, howling 
 people waiting for us to go, and a starter, for all 
 he had fired the gun at a hundred handicaps, 
 wishing to get the job off his hands. He said 
 "Set," and there we were, I not quite steady, nor 
 intending to be too quickly. But at last I bent 
 over, and as I did so put my mind in place of the 
 starter's. "Ah — h," he was saying to himself — 
 "At last — and now — " and here he would be tak- 
 ing a quick, sure glance to the others and back to 
 me again — "All steady now — " again a look all 
 round — "A tremendous crowd — the biggest 'cap 
 
 3*4 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 in years — a good job almost done — and King 
 still steady as a rock — and now " 
 
 "Steady, Heddon! Steady, Heddon!" And 
 Heddon already like a marble figure! That was 
 the tip for him. "Now, Neddie boy, watch out," 
 I said to myself. 
 
 Heddon's back hunched over so slightly, his 
 knees moved. But he was not going just then. 
 He relaxed — the others, mind you, like so many 
 quivering rocks, as he no doubt thought I was, 
 under the strain. I watched anew. The muscles 
 of his back and legs began to crawl — a breath, 
 and the heel of his front leg lifted, settled, the 
 hind heel began to lift, 1-i-f-t — a quick but full in- 
 breath — and 
 
 I leaped and the gun cracked. Nobody could say 
 that I beat the gun or that Heddon beat the gun, 
 but the starter had completed his contract. He 
 had shot Heddon off his mark. 
 
 But Ned King was right there with him, not 
 up into the air where a man a mile away could 
 see, but moving out of the holes, nevertheless, and 
 ten feet they say I cleared in that first wild leap 
 from the mark. 
 
 "Blast you!" Angus later said I said, breaking 
 out of the holes, but I don't remember that. I 
 only remember that I saw Heddon before me, his 
 back straight up, his head bobbing, his arms and 
 
 3'5 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 legs working desperately. My back was bent 
 over — no man running carried his body or head 
 farther forward than I did; and my arms were 
 swinging across my body, and hardly time to 
 swing across before I had them back. My arms 
 and back always did more of my running than my 
 legs. Style ? Style is made on a thousand practice 
 days, not in the heat of the race. But I had style, 
 none better, and I knew it was there to stand by 
 me. And it was standing by me. Heddon ran 
 high, with his legs moving like the fore legs of a 
 trotting horse. Mine were more like the trotter's 
 hind legs, my feet barely off the ground, but every 
 stride well up on my toes, and a full eight feet to 
 every stride at that after I settled down to my 
 work. That was my job — to set my feet down 
 and pick them up again as fast as ever I could. I 
 hardly gave them time to hit the ground, though 
 when they did hit it, they hit it for fair. They said 
 afterward that a man who had to follow me down 
 the track would have had his head knocked off 
 with the cups of earth I threw behind. The track 
 was a bit soft, I may say. They also said that 
 you could hear me pounding a hundred yards 
 away. Well, I meant to pound. I was after 
 Heddon. 
 
 At thirty yards nobody could notice that I had 
 gained. And maybe not. It took a few strides to 
 316 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 get my weight and length under way; but after 
 that nobody was heard to say that I did not gain; 
 and gain fast. One chap with ten yards I caught 
 at the hundred-yard post, though I only recall 
 him dimly. I saw one man clearly in the race — 
 Heddon — one man and one thing — Heddon and 
 the red worsted across the track at the finish. 
 
 Heddon could run a fast hundred yards, and he 
 ran a good hundred now. I gained no more than 
 three yards on him, maybe four to the hundred- 
 yard mark, which left all of five yards to make up 
 in the last fifty. If a man can gain only four yards 
 in a hundred, how can he ever gain nine in a hun- 
 dred and fifty ? It doesn't figure out, does it ? 
 No. But I could run every foot of a hundred and 
 fifty yards. Heddon could not. Every yard that 
 I covered saw me going faster than the yard be- 
 fore. He couldn't do that. He could run fast 
 to a hundred, and there hold his speed. He could 
 not increase it. Sprinting handicap rarely ex- 
 tends past a hundred and thirty-five yards, be- 
 cause they used to figure it out that a hundred 
 and thirty-five yards is as far as the scratch-man 
 can run without falling away in speed. But I 
 knew that I could run a hundred and fifty and 
 keep going faster and faster to the tape, on the 
 right day, that is, and, believe me, this was the 
 right day. 
 
 3 J 7 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 And I tore on with the same low stride and 
 my body held forward like a rigid bar — every lift 
 of my thigh beat against my ribs and chest. My 
 breath was in-held, my heart pounding. And 
 those others kept coming back to me, though, as 
 I say, I barely saw them. But Heddon I saw. 
 He loomed up immensely. The sixty thousand 
 shrieking people — the insiders along the edge — I 
 never saw or heard them. I never could see any- 
 body in the race, anyway, but the man I had to 
 beat. I don't know just where I passed the others, 
 but I gave them a scandalous beating. At a hun- 
 dred and twenty yards — thirty yards to go — only 
 Heddon was before me — and he looked all over a 
 winner. No mortal could beat a man of his speed 
 four yards in thirty. But, God in Heaven, I was 
 coming! Heddon's own backers were admitting 
 that now. Never a man they ever saw was com- 
 ing like me, they said. I, myself, did not believe 
 then that I could win, but I still saw Heddon's 
 back. He was still going, and going good, but, 
 God in Heaven, I was tearing, leaping — flying, 
 man, flying. 
 
 Ten yards from the finish and the Heddon 
 people cheered crazily for their victory. It was 
 as surely all over as that. And I heard that cheer. 
 Through my ears, and into my brain, yes. I 
 could'nt hear sixty thousand people, but I could 
 
 318 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 feel the taunt in that yell, and into my soul it came 
 — and then — then I lifted. Hope of Heaven, man, 
 but I lifted. Back, arms, shoulders, neck, the 
 muscles of my toes, the very scalp on my head 
 — I gave 'em all I had. Man, but 'twas a 
 burst. 
 
 They said I covered twenty-five feet in my last 
 two strides. In the last foot of that last leap I got 
 him. 
 
 That's the way I stormed at the finish; and past 
 the line I kept on going, arms down, head up 
 again, but my momentum carrying me clear on to 
 the turn of the track fifty yards beyond the finish, 
 and there at the curve I almost ran over the fence 
 and into the people in the front row of seats, who 
 by this time were making a run for the field; and 
 it was there I almost ran into her arms — and her 
 arms were wide open. She crying — calling, "Oh, 
 Eddie — Eddie — "and the little one laughing like 
 mad, "Oh, papa — papa — " she was saying, and, 
 believe me, I didn't regret that finish. 
 
 Thousands of voices were calling — some yell- 
 ing — some cheering — cursing, some of them — but 
 when I heard her voice, and the name — she alone 
 ever called me "Eddie" — I clean forgot Fifield 
 and the beautiful beating I intended giving him 
 the minute after the race was over. It was al- 
 most smothered, that voice, and I was excited, 
 
 3*9 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 confused — even now it blurs to me — but I whirled, 
 and stood on my toes. Being tall, I soon saw her 
 — little as she was — herself and the little one. I 
 shoved them right and left when they wouldn't 
 make way, and little I cared what they might think, 
 I lifted her off her feet and kissed her, and snug- 
 gled her — and hoisted the little girl to my shoulder. 
 
 About this time the gaffer came running down 
 with his watch in his hand: "D' y' know what 
 ye did, Ned — do ye know, man ?" 
 
 "I don't know, and I don't care," I said. 
 
 "Man, man, but the most impossible time — 
 an impossible time." He repeated it reverentially. 
 
 I went to the dressing-room, leaving my wife 
 and child to go to their hotel with my gaffer. 
 After dressing I sneaked out of the grounds through 
 a loose plank in the fence — to dodge the crowd — 
 and by side streets stole up to my own hotel to 
 get my bag. I was coming down the stairs again 
 when I met the bar-maid. She was taking off her 
 hat. She looked at me and I looked at her. I 
 shook hands with her and said: "I'm going/' 
 
 "I know. I saw the race — and the rest of it." 
 There was that in her expression that made my 
 heart bleed, but what could I do ? 
 
 Out on the street I recollected the note of the 
 night before. When I had put it in my pocket I 
 meant to read it later. Now I drew it out and 
 320 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 tore it into little pieces which I scattered along the 
 gutter. I had no mind now to read it. 
 
 At the other hotel, the best in the city, in our 
 suite of rooms, we had dinner. The old gaffer had 
 collected all the money due us, and that money 
 was now poured into a great salad-bowl. In five 
 and ten pound notes and sovereigns it flowed 
 over the edges of the bowl, for us to look at while 
 we ate. 
 
 I poured my share, more money than I expect- 
 ed to earn in years, into my wife's lap. "There's 
 your little house in the country and something 
 more. Forgive me those two thousand dollars I 
 gambled away. Forgive me for leaving you as I 
 did." 
 
 The tears stood in her eyes. 
 
 "And forgive me, Ned," put in the gaffer. "I 
 do love a game man, and you're game. When 
 you told me your story, after you'd won that sec- 
 ond 'cap, I couldn't help writing her. And I knew 
 more of Fifield than I ever let on. I've a friend or 
 two in America, too. But I was afraid for the 
 missus — afraid she'd get here too soon and inter- 
 fere with your trainin'. And afraid she'd come 
 too late and make no Christmas for you. And 
 now that's said, there's for the kiddie." He 
 crowded ten gold sovereigns in each of the child's 
 321 
 
The Christmas Handicap 
 
 hands. Money looked so common to us that when 
 the sovereigns rolled out of her little hands, we 
 none of us bothered to help her collect them, but 
 let her chase them around the floor, under the table 
 and chairs. 
 
 And that night I made up my mind never to 
 run again. That day I had beat the gun — the 
 only crooked thing I ever did. 
 
 That side of it didn't bother my gaffer. 
 
 "Don't let that worry you — 'twas you or them, 
 with them naming the rules. But if you never 
 run again, Ned, here's this from me." He stood 
 up to say it. "I've seen 'em all, Ned, in the last 
 fifty years — seen 'em all come and go — but you're 
 the greatest of 'em all. And I'm not in wine when 
 I say it — Ned, you're the greatest sprinter that 
 ever laced a shoe." 
 
 'Twas worth putting your soul to the wrack to 
 be told that by him, the best judge of sprinters 
 and the best-hearted old gaffer in England. 
 
 That night, for the first time in most four 
 months, I felt a woman's arm about me. And 
 next day was Christmas. 
 
 322 
 
BOOKS BY JAMES B. CONNOLLY 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 THE CRESTED SEAS 
 
 Illustrated, Si.jo 
 
 " Tales of daring and reckless deeds which make the 
 blood run quicker and bring an admiration for the 
 hardy Gloucester men who take their lives in their 
 hands on nearly every trip they make. There are 
 Martin Carr and Wesley Marrs and Tommy Clancy 
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 write about." — Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 " There are speed and spirit in these fearless Glouces- 
 ter men and they stand out as real men, revealing 
 their little weaknesses as well as their courage and 
 honesty." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 " The scenes stir the imagination and no reader can 
 fail to follow the hardy seamen with eagerness and 
 expectancy. There is humor and pathos." 
 
 — Philadelphia Record. 
 
 "His men are original types. They have hearts 
 and emotions. If the things that happen to them are 
 exciting, they themselves likewise make a direct ap- 
 peal to the reader. There is action in this book, there 
 are poignant scenes of drama, but best of all it is a 
 book of well-drawn portraits." — New York Tribune. 
 
 "The author knows how to make them real and 
 how to carry them through moving and thrilling 
 scenes with unconscious heroism and often with equally 
 unconscious dry drollery." — The Outlook. 
 
BY JAMES B. CONNOLLY 
 
 OUT OF GLOUCESTER 
 
 With illustrations by M. J. Burns and Frank Brangwyn 
 J2mo y Si.jo 
 
 " Mr. Connolly has a touch of gay humor in his nar- 
 ratives. He knows his sea and his sailors well. He 
 understands how to bring dramatic power and effect 
 into a story." — Congregationalism 
 
 " This new volume of six stories of ocean adventure 
 will strengthen Mr. Connolly's reputation as the best 
 delineator of the actual life of our New England 
 deep-sea fishermen that has yet appeared." 
 
 — Boston Journal. 
 
 " His book gives graphic descriptions of life on 
 board of a fisherman, and has the genuine salt-water 
 flavor. Mr. Connolly knows just what he is writing 
 about, from actual experience, as his book very plainly 
 indicates, and as such it is a valuable addition to sea 
 literature." — Gloucester Times. 
 
 " That all the romance and adventure has not gone 
 out of New England seafaring is easily demonstrated 
 by Mr. Connolly in this volume of roaring good stories 
 about Gloucester fishermen. . . . They are capitally 
 told and they put you right into the life they tell 
 about." — Providence News. 
 
 " Mr. Connolly really knows the sea and the men 
 that sail it, and his love for it is apparent on every 
 page." — Leslie's Weekly. 
 
 " A collection that for all-round excellence and in- 
 terest will be hard to duplicate." 
 
 — Chicago Record- Herald. 
 
BY JAMES B. CONNOLLY 
 
 THE DEEP SEA'S TOLL 
 
 With illustrations by W. J. Aylward and H. Reuterdahl 
 i2tno, Si.jo 
 
 " Sea stories of the kind you can't help liking. 
 Stirring, heart-moving yarns of the Gloucester fisher- 
 men who brave death daily in pursuit of their calling." 
 — Chicago Record- Herald. 
 
 "No teller of sea tales can put the passion of the 
 sea into his stories more forcibly than Mr. Connolly." 
 
 — Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 " The very breath of the ocean blows in these thrill- 
 ing stories of deep-sea adventure." — Albany Journal. 
 
 THE SEINERS 
 
 With frontispiece by M. J. Burns 
 l2tno, $1.50 
 
 " It carries the sails easily. In Tommy Clancy he 
 has created a veritable Mulvaney of the sea." 
 
 — Collier's Weekly. 
 
 " Full of vigor and song and the breath of the 
 sea." — St. James Gazette. 
 
 "A real tale of the sea which makes one feel the 
 whiff of the wind and taste the salt of the flying spray — 
 such is Mr. J. B. Connolly's new book, ■ The Seiners.' 
 . . . Certainly there is not a lover of the sea, man 
 or woman, who will fail to be delighted with this breezy, 
 stirring tale." — London Daily Telegraph. 
 
BY JAMES B. CONNOLLY 
 
 AN OLYMPIC VICTOR 
 
 [With illustrations by A. Castaigne 
 J2mo, $1.25 
 
 " His story of the straining, gruelling struggle, the 
 heart-breaking efforts of the runners over those twenty- 
 four miles of country roads, is soul-stirring." 
 
 — Philadelphia Press. 
 
 " The reality of the atmosphere created makes this 
 story compare favorably even with the great chariot 
 race of ' Ben Hur.' " — The Westminster. 
 
 " A fascinating story of the Olympic games. The 
 long grind over the historic course is well portrayed 
 and the excitement at the great finish is intense." 
 
 — The Independent. 
 
 JEB HUTTON 
 
 The Story of a Georgia Boy 
 
 Illustrated. $1.20 net 
 
 " Will rank beside < Captains Courageous.' " 
 
 —New York Globe. 
 
 " A bright, dashing story, sure to charm boys who 
 love the strenuous life." — The Outlook. 
 
 " * Jeb Hutton ' is a boy's story from beginning to 
 end; clean, wholesome, spirited, and calculated to do 
 good." — Boston Journal. 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 26 !u!'4< 
 
 LD 21-100771-9/48(6399816)476 
 
V* 
 
 YB 32428 
 
 925573 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY