“In Sargasso.”

Missing

A ROMANCE

Narrative of Capt. Austin Clark, of the Tramp Steamer
“Caribas,” who, for two years, was a Captive among
the Savage People of the Seaweed Sea.
BY
JULIUS CHAMBERS
Author of “A Mad World and Its People,” Etc., Etc., Etc.
MDCCCXCVI
THE TRANSATLANTIC PUBLISHING COMPANY
New York   ~   London

Copyright, 1896
BY
The Transatlantic Publishing Company

CONTENTS.

PREFACE.

Within a week’s sail of New York is a vast and trackless waste, unexplored by the hardiest sailors, uncrossed by the stateliest ships; a monster mass of floating debris, consisting of growing seaweed, blooming and blossoming orchids, creeping and twining vines; traversed by broad and easily navigated straits that stretch through its broad expanse of living green. It is called The Sargasso Sea.

There dwells a nation of castaways—​a new and distinct differentiation of the human race. Countless lost ships, whose tales of disaster never have been told, are floating there to-day. The destination of every wandering hulk, once it reaches the Gulf Stream or the Spanish Main, is this Harbor of Missing Ships!

Geographers have little to say about this floating continent, but the Sargasso Sea has always been a wonder-shop to me, wherein are gathered all the lost, strayed and stolen treasures in the ocean’s keeping. In every grassy cove, a story; in every watery lane, a romance; in every frowning hulk, a Secret of the Sea. J. C.

MISSING.

CHAPTER I.

A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE SEA.

My name, with that of my crew of forty men, has been posted for two years at Lloyds in New York and London, followed by the single word “Missing.” This statement is still true of the two score of good men who sailed with me in the steamer Caribas, but I have returned to New York alive.

I am an American, was born and raised in Brooklyn, and served my apprenticeship before the mast on the “Black Ball” line between New York and Liverpool.

I then entered the employment of Cameron & Co., at the age of 23, as second mate on one of the Australian ships, and made four voyages ’round the Horn to Melbourne. As we sailed on our return journey the last time I was made first mate, and, although only 27 years of age, an accident to the captain during the first week gave me command of the ship for the three months that succeeded.

On my arrival at New York I was offered a position as captain of a tramp steamer sent out from Plymouth by Triplett & Jones. That firm is one of the largest owners of vessels for charter in Great Britain. The little iron steamship was already in New York, and I went down to the Erie Basin to look her over. The Caribas, named after the Marquis of that name, was a trim craft. Her engines were of the newest pattern. She had no accommodations for carrying passengers, but her general fittings and equipment were excellent. The cabin and the captain’s quarters were finished in mahogany; the forecastle was in hardwood, and very comfortable for the men. Although I had previously had a contempt for a tramp steamer and thought the command of such a craft unworthy of a deep-water sailor, I decided to accept this position, and to follow for a few years the wandering life it entailed.

There was some glamour attaching to the position, because, unlike the master of a transatlantic steamship, whose route is over the same course week after week, the commander of an ocean tramp visits all parts of the world. Entering port to deliver his cargo of goods to a consignee, he knows not whether a cable order awaiting him there will take him to the North Atlantic or the Indian Ocean, to Halifax or to Singapore. He must accept his duty in any climate; and the likelihood is that in the end his friends and employers will be watching the register at Lloyds, just as were mine through two long and lingering years.

The commander of a tramp steamer is a commercial knight-errant of the sea—​a homeless wanderer, cut off from all ties of blood and affection, and devoted to the remorseless accumulation of gain for people personally unknown to him. His pay is always small, and the only opportunity he has of increasing it is by an occasional passenger from port to port, for whom he can surrender his stateroom and enjoy instead a sofa in the cabin.

Romantic as is his life, I never knew the commander of an ocean tramp who excelled at handling the English language. He may know how to box the compass, to calculate the latitude and longitude from the midday sun, to follow out the chart, or to work down a lee shore with the lead, but when it comes to writing, he usually lards his text with so many words only known to sailor men that the general reader is mystified and bored. While, modestly, I might claim a somewhat varied experience in the forecastle and the cabin, this is my first attempt at wielding a pen, and I shall rely very much upon the trusty blue pencil of the editor to render what I shall say creditable to me.

CHAPTER II.

MY FATAL CURIOSITY.

We sailed from Harbeck’s Stores, New York harbor, on a fair June day, for the Azores, intending to make our first call at Horta, and then to touch at Ponte Delgada, whence we would proceed to Lisbon for orders.

At the last hour I had accepted a passenger in the person of Arthur Gray. He claimed to be an artist, and certainly exhibited evidences of his profession in the portfolio and drawing pads that made part of his luggage. He had with him one of the new Secor launches, propelled by direct explosion against the water astern. It was built with more shear than an ordinary craft of the kind, so that, as he maintained, it would be possible to navigate the ocean in calm weather.

Three days from New York, at Gray’s urgent solicitation, I altered the course of the Caribas. After reaching longitude 40 I steered to the southeast and held that direction until the morning of the fifth day, when we began to sight many derelicts. My guest understood the purport of this quite as well as I did. He knew we were nearing the Sargasso Sea, that great assemblage of seaweed and floating hulks that for centuries has been accumulating in the eternal calm of the mid-Atlantic.

The gazetteers define the geographical limits of the Sargasso Sea as included between 22 degrees and 28 degrees north latitude and 25 degrees and 60 degrees longitude west of Greenwich. In area, therefore, it equals about 200,000 square miles, only slightly less than that occupied by the State of Texas. Its position varies somewhat from year to year, navigators maintaining that the floating continent, under the influence of a deflected African current, is brought several hundred miles nearer to the Azores some years than others.

I am not prepared to deny this, though I believe the extent of the change is exaggerated.

Being the navigating officer, as well as captain of the Caribas, I felt considerable responsibility in taking my vessel into this uncharted part of the Atlantic. The official Admiralty chart, as well as that supplied by our Navy Department, indicated open water in all that vast stretch between the Azores and Bermuda. But already large masses of floating sod, composed of matted and interlaced trees and seaweed, were within sight. I remembered the story of the ancient Argonauts, who sailed in the first tramp voyage to Colchis, and who encountered islands that “clapped together with the swell of the tide!” In the Sargasso Sea I found a veritable realization of that statement in the watery lanes that separated islands of seaweed. They were constantly varying in width. I was, naturally, very wary of penetrating any of these narrow sounds, for fear that the adjacent islands might close together and cut off my retreat.

A cast of the lead showed great depth. To anchor was impossible. I admit, however, that the thoughts of abandoned wealth to be found aboard the thousand floating craft of the Sargasso Sea appealed to my cupidity so strongly that, after a day’s deliberation, I made fast to a great, rolling hulk that had once been a full-rigged ship. She was badly water-logged and had listed to an angle of 25 degrees.

The sun rose above the eastern horizon with great splendor on the following morning. The sky was clear and almost golden-hued. I was called on deck by the first mate because of the report from a man at the masthead, who had been sent aloft with a good glass to make a survey of the surrounding ocean. The mate first brought to my attention a wonderful mirage that appeared just above the horizon. I had never before observed a mirage in the eastern sky, and had supposed that it was only possible for the setting sun to produce it. But on this occasion all my experience was swept aside, and we saw plainly in the sky an assemblage of vessels, of all sizes and conditions, each separated by a narrow strip of green sod, so arranged that they might not crash together and destroy each other. The masts were still standing on some, but in most cases these were utterly gone. I cannot describe at this time the thrill of curiosity with which I scrutinized the strange discovery. There was a semblance of order regarding the arrangement of the ships that promptly suggested to my active imagination the presence of a directing human intelligence. But I said nothing to the mate on that subject.

We were joined at the bow by my passenger, Arthur Gray, who was in an almost uncontrollable condition of enthusiasm. He had been talking with the man from the masthead, and added to our information the startling declaration of the lookout that he had descried moving objects in the City of Ships!

If I had been lukewarm before; if I had hesitated regarding the exploration of the mysterious region, my mind was brought to an abrupt and decisive conclusion by this statement. I ran up the rattlings to the masthead and was greatly astonished at what I beheld. About thirty miles to the southeast was clearly to be seen the same congregation of vessels reflected in the sky and already described by the man who had been aloft.

Then and there I resolved to accept the proposition of Arthur Gray to enter his launch and go on a voyage of exploration.

Committing the care of the Caribas to my first mate and taking my quadrant, one of the ship’s chronometers and several days’ provisions, I prepared to enter the launch as soon as it was ready.

A derrick was rigged from the foremast, and the stanch little craft was soon hoisted over the ship’s side with the aid of a steam windlass. Meanwhile, all the oil tanks in the launch had been filled, and, adding a water cask, we were soon ready.

Fully expecting to return within forty-eight hours, I merely gave the first officer general directions regarding the care of the ship. I told him to keep the men employed with the tar bucket and the holy stone. On leaving I saluted the first mate.

The second mate stood at the ladder and touched his cap as I descended. He evidently had a premonition of coming trouble, and was so far guilty of a breach of discipline as to suggest that he be allowed to accompany me upon my hazardous journey. I replied with a frown and a shake of the head.

Without any suggestion from the owner of the launch, I took my seat at the tiller, while Gray looked after the engine. Despite the rigid discipline maintained aboard the Caribas, the entire ship’s company, except those actually engaged in scrubbing the deck, assembled at the bulwarks to watch our departure. I confess that I was rather pleased than annoyed at this.

It touched my vanity, as I suppose it would have awakened that feeling in any man.

We got under headway about 9 o’clock and made for the first broad canal we discovered. While at the masthead I had attempted to follow this channel with my glass, just as I might have traced the sinuous windings of a sluggish stream through a grassy meadow; but I had not been able to outline its course beyond a few miles, because of the height of the brushwood, covered with its parasitic growth of plants. We steamed along gayly under full headway for about an hour, doing about eight miles, I should say, because of our heavy load, and although the channel we navigated varied greatly in width at places, it was broad enough at all points to have admitted the Caribas. The average width of the passage was about that of the Grand Canal at Venice, and though its convolutions were more numerous, we had no trouble in following the main channel.

As we penetrated farther and farther into this great mass of floating herbage, I was particularly struck with the strange mental effect produced upon me by the rise and fall of the ocean swell underneath the overlying mass. For the first time in my life I felt a sense of dizziness and seasickness. To the eye it was much the same as if in the midst of a far-reaching prairie one should find the land heaving and sinking in long undulations.

CHAPTER III.

I AM BETRAYED.

All this time I had kept close to my right hand a repeating rifle; but under the pretext of wishing to shoot some wild fowl, my companion gained possession of it and moved off to the bow of the boat. I thought nothing of this act for some time, but I observed that Gray always left the gun forward when he came amidships to attend to the engine.

When, at the end of three hours, we had come within plain sight of the great cluster of swaying hulks, and had reached a point where many small canals radiated from a central pool, my companion, the artist, promptly indicated the channel that I was to take and showed a familiarity with the landmarks that actually startled me. He would say: “Steer for that redwood tree on the port bow; bear ’round by that logwood trunk; keep wide out, and avoid the wire grass on the right just ahead; take care here, there’s a sunken tree; put the helm hard down or we won’t round this corner,” and many other expressions indicating previous knowledge of the place.

I was on the point of asking him several times whether he knew or simply divined the obstructions, but I was so busy watching his movements, which now had aroused my suspicions, that I did not scrutinize the prospect ahead. For that reason we had approached within a short distance of the community of floating wrecks before I gave it careful survey.

Unslinging my glass, I focused it upon the first large vessel, and was startled to find objects moving about its decks. Uttering an exclamation of astonishment, I hailed my companion for an explanation. He burst into a hysterical laugh, but made no answer.

“What are they?” I asked. “Brownies or living people?”

“They are my countrymen!” was his reply, with an arrogance that was offensive to me.

My first thought was to reach for my Winchester and compel him to return to the Caribas; but the gun was in his possession.

A moment later the engine quit working—​evidently due to some false adjustment by Gray. I also discovered that the oars I had placed in the boat for use in case of accident had been dropped overboard, unobserved by me.

Though I had been brought up on the sea, knew no other life, and had passed through all sorts of dangers of calm and storm, I became imbued with an indescribable dread of my companion and of the strange people on the floating derelicts.

Carried by a current that I had not before observed, we were soon within hailing distance of a large hulk, and my companion gave a signal that was clearly recognized by the people on board.

Low as we were in the water, seated in the launch, I am sure that fully 500 vessels of all sizes, descriptions and conditions were in sight. Some of them were moss-grown. Others were covered with coats of barnacles inches in thickness. Many were bright and new as the day on which they left the ways and took their first plunge into the briny deep.

As we slowly drifted onward we were hailed from every ship we passed. The language was a weird and curious one, apparently a compound of all the modern tongues. All known languages of the world were represented. Though my early education had been indifferent, extensive travel had made me more or less familiar with Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese, Norwegian, Russian, German, Greek, Danish and, I may say, several dialects of some of these languages.

Therefore I could follow the trend of the conversation between my companion and the Sargassons.

Their speech chiefly concerned me. Little by little I became cognizant of the fact that I had been lured away from my ship and into the hands of this strange people by this pretended artist emissary of the Sargassons. What the purpose of this kidnapping was did not at once appear. I could not comprehend of what possible service I could be to this community. The few valuables that I carried about my person, such as the Winchester gun, my watch and diamond pin, could have little value in their hands, because they had no occasions on which to display articles of jewelry. I soon discovered that my companion, the supposed artist, was well known throughout the community. He was hailed in a dozen different tongues from as many different vessels, and always in a respectful and familiar tone.

During all this time I had remained motionless at the stern of the launch, deliberating upon some plan by which I could get rid of my companion, and regain possession of the little craft, in which, by some miraculous means, I hoped to be able to return to my ship. The break-down of the machinery had, however, cut off that possibility. Capture seemed inevitable, although I fully realized that, had I possession of my Winchester gun, with the belt full of cartridges that I still retained about my waist, I could hold at bay the entire Sargasson nation. I reasoned at the time, and, as I afterwards ascertained, correctly, that powder was scarce among the Sargassons.

My first impulse had been to shoot my treacherous companion with the revolver I carried in my hip pocket. But I discovered that it did not contain a single loaded cartridge, and the recognition of that fact by my guard, who, from the bow of the boat, constantly kept me under cover with my own gun, increased his confidence and caused him to jeer at me. I therefore made the best of a bad situation and surrendered. I took one precaution, however, that was to secretly loosen the belt of cartridges from my waist and drop it into the sea.

A line made of twisted sea grass was finally thrown to Gray from one of the largest vessels, and we were soon drawn alongside. This hulk stood fully twenty-five feet out of water, and was imbedded in a thoroughly compact mass of floating verdure. As the boat was made fast to a narrow strip of sod and interlaced twigs that separated the vessel from the open water, my companion sprang out lightly upon a tree trunk, and, addressing me familiarly, said:

“We land here, captain.”

There was nothing for me to do but to comply with his suggestion, and, making my way forward to the landing place, I sprang out of the boat as gayly as I could be expected to do under the circumstances. No sooner had my feet touched the mass of floating sod than I was made acquainted with a new and startling horror. I found the mass of tangled herbage alive with crawling insects, upon which large serpents, that abounded in great numbers, fed.

The trees that form a large portion of this garbage heap of the Atlantic are brought down from the upper Amazon during the tremendous freshets that prevail under the equator and are carried through from the Caribbean Sea and the gulf to the midocean swirl, where they reach their final haven. Their track throughout is along the current of the Gulf Stream, whose warm waters protect the animal life that happens to be upon the trees at the time they are carried out to sea. I afterwards learned that at one time marmosets from Brazil existed in considerable numbers in Sargasso, but the large serpents finally had exterminated them. I always had had a horror of snakes and lizards, and I therefore made haste to cross the quivering bog-holes leading directly to the water below.

My captor followed, encouraging me and directing me where to step in order to avoid mishaps. For the reason I have named, I gladly sprang up the ladder that had been constructed on the side of the ship as soon as I reached it.

At the ship’s side, as I emerged above it, stood a man of unusually strange appearance. As I soon came to know him, he was the Kantoon of the particular communal family having its habitation on that ship. He was 60 years of age, with a grizzly gray beard, clipped or singed to an almost uniform length of three inches, that covered his face. His dress was made of what I afterwards discovered to be sun-tanned porpoise skin. His cap was of dark-brown leather, that had apparently done duty as a cushion cover. But I experienced another surprise when, on stepping over the gunwale to the deck, I found that the commander of the craft stood up to his knees in a tub of water!

The old man received me with dignified but gruff courtesy. His manner favorably impressed me. I reflected that, likely as not, my companion was an eccentric fellow, who thought to perpetrate a practical joke on me by pretending that he had brought me to this ship under guard and by force, and causing me to believe that I would be shot if I disobeyed him. My companion spoke to the Kantoon in Portuguese, and, having introduced me as the captain of the steamship Caribas, added:

“She is a fine boat, almost new, and would make a very desirable accession to our community.”

This was the first suggestion I received of the thought that afterward became a terrible reality. Thus were confirmed all my fears, and thus was I made aware of the cunningly contrived conspiracy by which I had been lured from my ship in order that she might fall an easy prey, by midnight surprise, to the heartless Sargassons. Nothing that had happened filled me with such terror as this information. My mortification and danger were enough to shatter the nerves of any man; but when I fully realized, as I did within the first half day aboard my prison-house, the tragic fate that awaited my companions, I was beside myself with rage and chagrin.

Meanwhile, I had been assigned to a small room that apparently had been prepared for me amidships, just under the deck. It would have been a comfortable enough place in which to have passed a few days in an overcrowded vessel, but when I discovered that it was closed by a heavy wooden door, with a strong bolt upon the outer side, I understood that I was virtually a prisoner, and that at such times as I could not be kept under the strictest surveillance I would be locked up.

The furnishings of the small cabin consisted of a bunk, without any bed coverings, made of woven grass cloth and stuffed with a pulpy seaweed that resembled the material from which our tapioca of commerce is made. I afterward found this bed comfortable enough, and, had it not been that I was a prisoner, my quarters would have been quite endurable. Strangely enough, one or two rude pictures adorned the walls. They were either carvings in wood or had been burned into the oak partitions with a hot iron years before the ship became a derelict. Each carving or picture was evidently by a different hand, and one of them, in my opinion, possessed considerable merit. They reminded me of the drawings and carvings upon the walls of the Tower of London in the cells of the condemned.

They added another chill to my already drooping spirits, and I concluded that escape from these unnatural human monsters would be difficult.

CHAPTER IV.

THE PEOPLE OF THE SEA.

During the first afternoon I was allowed on deck for exercise I encountered my former companion, the pretended artist. He had laid away his store clothes, and was dressed in the garb of his adopted people. His feet were bare, and his knee breeches and jacket were made of shark’s skin. His coat was laced together up the front like shoes, and fitted him tightly. His youthful face and long, curly, brown hair, combined with his costume, gave him a bizarre and interesting look.

I strode at once to his side and upbraided him in good Flatbush English for his contemptible treachery. He evinced neither regret nor humiliation, but smiled sarcastically and replied:

“We must grow. Take my advice and make the best of a mishap that might have come to any man who possessed the average amount of curiosity. In a few days we shall have your ship and most of your officers and crew under our control, and if you really think you will be lonely among us, our Chief Kantoon will make you the master of your own ship—​after destroying her engines, of course, and twisting off her propeller, so that she can never escape from us.”

“You mean to tell me, then, to my face,” I hissed, “that your voyage with me was simply part of the scheme to obtain possession of the Caribas, and that you intend to add her to your infamous aggregation?”

Far from being displeased with my ferocity, the young man appeared to be delighted.

“You will be able to restrain your feelings before long. Life here is not so bad as you think. You will find our government a rigid but not a burdensome one. Our taxes are light and our social obligations are few.”

“What is to become of my crew?” I demanded, still chafing with rage.

“That is a matter that will have to be left entirely to the Chief Kantoon, who dwells upon a ship at a distance from here, in the interior of his floating nation. Some time is required to reach his sacred community in a small boat. It is a very tortuous and laborious trip to make, through an intricate network of small canals, an inland sea, like that of Japan, at the further side of which is moored his floating palace. Good Sargasson commanders visit him once a year. I have never looked upon his face but once. I am only a child of this people. I have been among them for five years. I was making a voyage from Bermuda to the Canary Islands in a schooner. I was taken ill with smallpox. The heartless captain put me in a small boat and set me adrift. I became delirious, then unconscious, and after several days was picked up by the Sargassons, nursed back to life, and have been their willing slave ever since. I owe my life to them.”

“But what is to become of my officers and crew?” I demanded.

Gray’s manner changed entirely, and I had no occasion to complain of his frankness.

“Those taken alive,” he began, “will be given the alternative of assisting in the navigation of the ship to this neighborhood, after which they must join our community, or suffer ‘the mercy of extinction.’ With the Sargassons there is only one way of insuring themselves against the vindictiveness of the world. Nobody is ever allowed to escape from here. Yes, I know what you are thinking. You are about to retort that I was allowed to revisit the United States. You are right in suggesting an explanation of my conduct.”

“I certainly would like to know how you came to be sent to the United States to involve me in this terrible misfortune,” I interrupted, with as much scorn as I could put into my voice. “I would not believe anything you may tell me, however. You are certainly a contemptible fellow, and I am surprised that even the ‘Sargassons,’ as you call them, could be induced to repose any confidence in you.”

Without noticing my contemptuous language, Gray continued: “It was not until I had been put to the supreme test, which you will some day understand, that I was permitted to return to the United States. I went only after taking the most solemn and sacred oath that can be administered to a mortal. Besides, you must remember that I really owe my life to these people. They rescued me from inevitable death after my own countrymen, who were followers of my own religion and supposed to possess all the humanity that it inculcates, had abandoned me to the sea in a heartless and disgraceful manner. Their conduct to me on this occasion would have been sufficient, did nothing else draw me to this strange race, to link my fortune to theirs. I am a Sargasson, now, before everything else in the world. I have forsworn my country, my mother, my friendships; and my fidelity to the people of the Floating Continent could not be shaken by any blandishment or threats. You will some day, perhaps, understand what these ties are that attach me so strongly to a life that is unnatural and, until one is inured to it, uncomfortable. I sincerely hope that the time may come speedily when you will be fully reconciled to your destiny, and even experience emotions of gratitude to me for having been an instrument in the hands of The Grand Kantoon—​who rules the sea, and the air, and whose missionary I was. At present I am sorry for you, because I know how wretchedly you feel. I am sorry for your friends and family at home, who will sorrow for you. But there are worse fates than yours. The span of life among us here is reasonably long. You possess a constitution of iron that has grown sturdy under stress of heavy weather, unremitting toil and unrequited zeal. Here your ability and your courage will find recognition, and no honor in the gift of the Sargassons is beyond your reach. Be advised, therefore, by me, the apparent cause of your present condition, and accept the inevitable, just as we all accept unwilling life at birth, and just as you must accept the inevitable fate of man, death.”

To say that I was not impressed by the manner and the remarkable words of this glib rascal would be untrue. I turned upon my heel and left him.

Darkness set in, but, as I looked out over that strange assemblage of silent, swaying hulks, I nowhere saw a single light to cheer my eyes. Darkness was a delight to the Sargassons. I would have found companionship in a beacon or torch; but even that poor comfort was denied me. I was conducted to my prison cell, for such it was, and was locked up for the night.

I threw myself upon the bunk in the vain hope of being able to sleep, but for hours that boon was denied me. My heart was equally divided between my family at home and the crew of the good ship Caribas, that less than fifty miles distant was keeping its watch over my vessel, unconscious of impending danger. I condemned myself a thousand times from every imaginable point of view for my foolhardiness in accompanying a stranger on such a hazardous and unnecessary expedition. I conjured up in my mind a score of ways by which I could communicate with the first mate of my ship and apprise him of the mysterious and unexpected dangers that beset him. But all such plans had to be rejected.

With an aching heart, I finally fell into an uneasy slumber, filled with frightful dreams, in which death appeared in every imaginable and terrible form.

CHAPTER V.

SARGASSON MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.

I was awakened at sunrise by the sailor who had attended me before. He brought me a tin cup filled with a thick, brown decoction, intended to serve the purpose of coffee, and two biscuits from the store of supplies we had brought in the launch.

The drink was not palatable, but I soon discovered that it had a very exhilarating effect upon my system, and I afterward learned that it was made from the leaves and twigs of a small parasitic plant that grew upon the water and upon branches of the floating trees. It probably came from Brazil originally, but it was very prolific, and spread over a wide area of the Sargasson sod.

The Sargassons were scrupulously honest. Everything that I had contributed to the outfit of the launch, even to the smallest biscuit, was reserved for me. It was very fortunate that such was the case; otherwise, I do not think I would have survived the first few days, before I became accustomed to the peculiar food of this people.

As soon as I had drunk the coffee, or tea, my companion in the launch called to pay his respects. He opened the door of my prison cell with his own hands, and invited me to step out into the fresh air.

As I stood beside him I could scarcely control the rage I felt toward the fellow. I saw how slender and insignificant he was compared with me, and I could have strangled him in his tracks. He doubtless divined the thought in my mind, and took an early opportunity to apprise me that the punishment for murder among the Sargassons was drowning in a horrible form. Half a dozen strong men would seize the murderer and crowd him head foremost into a barrel of water, holding him there, despite his struggles, until he slowly suffocated.

After a few turns up and down the deck, we were waited upon by the attendant sailor, and I was informed that I was to have an audience with the Kantoon, or commander, of the vessel. He made his habitation in the captain’s cabin; but I was instructed that he “would be visible” upon the upper deck, astern, over his cabin, and that I might approach him there.

My companion cautioned me especially against any exhibition of temper. He declared that anger was utterly unrecognized among the Sargassons, and if I exhibited any ferocity, it would probably be mistaken for madness, and I would forthwith be drowned without ceremony or hope of intervention on anybody’s part.

So cautioned, I climbed the ladder and passed behind a screen of flowering plants. These grew luxuriantly in a row of boxes that resembled gun cases. The earth in which they grew had been brought from the hold, where it had been placed for ballast in some far-away port.

In the centre of the deck, standing in a barrel of water, was the Kantoon. His grizzly gray beard was carefully trimmed, and his leather cap rested upon his head in a jaunty fashion. In his hand he held a large telescope, with which, when I approached him, he was scanning the distant horizon. I divined instantly that he was looking in the direction of the Caribas; for, with the naked eye, I was able to detect the presence of smoke in the western sky.

I experienced a genuine emotion of hope. If my officers and crew only had sense enough to get up steam, go to sea and abandon me, I would be glad. There would remain some hope of rescue, and I would not suffer the humiliation of having my ship fall into the hands of a class of pirates more heartless than any I had ever read about.

At this instant the Kantoon turned, and, seeing me, said, with a grimace that was filled with chimpanzinity:

“Morning, Senor Captaine. Es usted very good, aujourd’hui? Sitzen sie down.”

“I thank you, captain, but I prefer to stand,” was my snappish reply.

“No me burla!” the Kantoon exclaimed, in an ill-tempered voice, despite the statement of my instructor to the contrary. “Quando, I say, ‘Sitzen sie;’ you squat!”

“But, captain”——

“Io sono the Kantoon de cette ship.”

“But, Kantoon, I see no chair upon which to be seated.”

“Quel difference? Sit upon the deck.”

I seated myself as gracefully as possible upon the damp planks, curling my feet under me, a la Turc, and for more than an hour the Kantoon and I conversed upon general subjects relating to the sea.

He adhered to his horribly incongruous polyglot language. So far as I could make out, he actually spoke no one language with even a show of correctness, but his vocabulary of phrases and words from the Continental languages and English was enormous. There was hardly any thought that he could not express clearly in that way. A keen ear and ready mind were required to follow him.

Above, I have indicated in a few brief sentences his mode of speech. The Kantoon never hesitated a moment for a word. He selected them with reference to the context. Gender, conjugation and declension were things utterly unknown to his system of grammar. I soon discovered that he knew more Portuguese and Spanish than any of the other languages, and accounted for that on the ground that he had been associated with Spanish sailors more than any others.

After a little time, I grew to a better understanding of the polyglot language. I recollected that I had attended a performance of the great Salvini in New York, in which I had heard “Hamlet” rendered in very much the same fashion as the Kantoon spoke to me. The members of the cast associated with the distinguished Italian tragedian knew only the English tongue, while Salvini spoke in Italian. It seemed a trifle incongruous to me, in far-away New York, to hear Hamlet give the “Instructions to the Players” in sonorous Italian—​a language they did not understand. No experience is wasted in this world, and the recollection of that season of Anglo-Italian tragedy prepared me for conversation on the Happy Shark.

The Kantoon then proceeded to explain to me at great length the organization of the ship. Early in the interview he was kind enough to announce to me that when I had become tractable enough and thoroughly reconciled to being grafted upon the Sargasson family tree, he would give me a station on board ship and an attendant to wait upon me.

This was encouraging, but I could not drive from my mind the fate of my crew and the terrible calamity that overshadowed my ship. Therefore, I fear I did not listen as attentively as I should have done to the ethical history of the Sargassons, shuddering meanwhile at the thought that I would have plenty of time in which to make this study for myself.

I did, however, pay sufficient attention to glean the following brief outline of the Kantoon’s narrative:

The Sargasson people date back more than three hundred years, the Kantoon explained. He believed that they had their origin in the loss of the Spanish Armada, when many of the great galleons, escaping the destruction that England intended for all, put to sea in a disabled condition, intending to go to the Spanish possessions in America, refit, and return laden with stores. They were caught in the Central Atlantic whirlpool and never could make their escape. The navigation of the sea at that time was very poorly understood, and many ships that left port with chivalrous ambitions landed in the Seaweed Sea, never to escape.

The Sargassons became a hardy race, growing in numbers by the accessions of new ships; but they did not assume the features of a social community until, early in the present century, a slave ship containing several hundred Africans—​who had mutinied under the leadership of a former chief and, without any knowledge of the mariner’s compass, had sailed almost into the heart of the Sargasson continent, bringing remnants of their families with them—​swelled the population. The negro women who came in that ship intermarried with the Portuguese and Spaniards, developing in time a race quite similar to the lower types of the Mexican and Central American peoples.

Wars had followed among them for the possession of the Sacred Light and for the establishment of certain holy days. While they had no religion, as we understand it, they believed in a divine creator, called the Grand Kantoon, who ruled the sea and the sky. But, naturally, all tradition of the existence of dry land had vanished, and as one after another ships sank from decay or the overloading of barnacles, the Sargassons captured others in the possession of the different races, heartlessly destroying every vestige of the preceding community.

The life of a ship was found to be about fifty years.

These bloody encounters were crowded with horrors of the most indescribable character. The natural fear of death originally had inspired the most desperate attack and most stubborn defense. As no one knew at what hour a neighboring craft might show signs of dissolution, it behooved the commander of each vessel to be always on guard, ever alert to repel surprise. Mutiny was of rare occurrence. United by the tie of mutual hopelessness, every member of each ship’s company knew his only safety lay in union and fidelity to its other members.

During the last fifty years, the Kantoon explained, a pathetic and charming philosophy had prevailed among the people of the floating continent. It was regarded as a matter of social ethics that the fate of each ship’s company was identified with the life of its own craft; that the intrusion of strangers from other vessels was neither sought nor permitted; that there should be no sort of intercourse between the people of the various ships, except on the few sacred days in each year.

When the Kantoon of a ship was informed that his vessel was gradually filling with water, and that all efforts to stop the leak or save the hulk were fruitless, it became his grave duty to call together the community over which he presided, and, while they sang the death chant, to go to the realms of a future life with resignation.

This religious idea solved a great many problems in ethics that had previously given trouble among the Sargassons. It was especially sad to the young generation; but the children accepted their fate with the same stolid indifference as the grown people. Of course, it often happened that a young girl or a sturdy lad, whose vitality was great, rebelled at the Draconian law; but, as escape was impossible, they rarely evinced any outward signs of their rebellious spirits. If they did, they were seized by subordinates of the ship, on the order of the Kantoon, and with a few yards of seagrass rope were firmly lashed to some part of the ship, or to the heaviest article that could be found on board. They then suffered the humiliation of having exposed their weakness. In case the vessel did not sink as soon as was expected, the fettered prisoners were permitted to die of starvation. There was no hope of pardon. If, by any chance, the leak were repaired, they were tossed into the sea, bound hand and foot, and became a prey to the sharks.

In a general way, the Kantoon, who had already taken a serious interest in my future, explained the origin and forms of the sacred ceremonies of his people. These will be dwelt upon in their place in the narrative.

Finally, motioning me to rise, the Kantoon clambered out of his official barrel of water and strode away to his cabin, without the formality of saying good-bye. I returned to prison of my own accord, and, the door being open, I pulled it shut.

I wished to be alone with my remorse.

I can say truthfully that, after this long conversation with the Kantoon, I felt more unhappy, more dissatisfied with my fate than before. I was so irrational and ill tempered that I berated all so-called explorers of the sea, like Cook, Magellan, Sir John Franklin, Sir Francis Drake and others, who only skimmed around the edges of the Atlantic and never penetrated this wilderness of water and grass, where they might have discovered something that would have been of interest and value to the world—​that, too, after Columbus had discovered, located and named it for them!

When I thought of all the millions of treasure and the precious lives that had been wasted in the attempted and futile explorations of the Arctic regions, I felt that money and human life had been wantonly thrown away.

In this wretched state of mind I remained all the rest of the day. I have forgotten whether I was fed or not.

As darkness fell again upon the heaving meadows, I incidentally overheard a conversation just outside my door between two members of the ship’s company that threw me into an agony of mind. One of the men spoke Spanish and the other French, but I readily understood them. The purport of their conversation was that the Caribas was to be taken by surprise that night and its officers and crew captured and destroyed.

No possibility existed of giving warning to my faithful fellows. The thought did suggest itself that I could possibly escape from my prison, secure one of the boats and reach the Caribas before the invaders. In my journeys around the ship, however, I had not seen any signs of small craft. To avoid any possibility of escape, my companion, Gray, had sent the Secor launch he owned to another part of the community—​I knew not where.

In vain did I attempt to release myself from my prison cell, but I found that, in closing the door, the bolt had fallen on the outside, securely locking me in. Loud calls for my former companion, the cause of all my misery, and for the Kantoon himself, received no attention. My presence on the ship was ignored, and the silence throughout the entire vessel was ominous.

How I prayed for moonlight! I hoped that the approach of the pirates might be detected by at least one watchful man in my ship’s company; but the sky overhead was full of clouds, and soon became as black as ink.

A heavy mist began to fall, and every condition seemed excellent for a night attack on the ill-fated Caribas.

CHAPTER VI.

ATTACK ON THE CARIBAS.

What worried me most, as I chafed under the restraint of my narrow quarters was the silence that everywhere existed. Even aboard the Happy Shark, where I was in prison, not a sound was to be heard that night. And yet I knew that the old hulk teemed with human life, and that active preparations were going on throughout the entire community for an attack upon my steamer that meant death to her officers and crew.

There was I, like a rat caught in a trap, unable to aid or give warning.

As before stated, the front of my cell was upon the main deck and faced a hatchway. Through the grated door of my prison I could see the sky, and I was suddenly made conscious of the fact that a bright red light had appeared to the southward.

Any man who has followed the sea for half his life, as I have, never fails to assure himself on the points of the compass. The first fair day in which the sun can be seen to rise and set will give him the data from which he can take his bearings in the absence of a compass.

This strange light that I saw far away to the southward took the form of an immense red ball, far up in the clouds. I did not know then, though I learned afterward, that this is what is known among the Sargassons as “The Sacred Fire.”

As may be readily understood, the keeping of fire aboard all the vessels would be impossible. Therefore, the use of fire is confined exclusively to one great iron hulk, from which everything inflammable has been removed, and which is moored far apart from the rest of the floating ships. The cooking for the entire community is done there, and once a month a crew from each cantonment makes a journey to procure a store of the supplies that are gathered and held in common.

No office among the Sargasson people is more highly honored than that of the Priest of the Sacred Fire, whose duty it is to see that the flame never dies out. There have been years, I am told, when neither matches nor flints were procurable, and when the extinction of the fire would have meant suffering and death to the entire population.

The Priest who is held responsible for the maintenance of this flame gives his life as a bond.

So great is his authority that he can command the Kantoon of any ship to furnish fuel, and, in emergency, assistance in keeping the fire aglow.

Twenty years before my capture, a derelict had drifted into the clutches of the Sargassons that contained a complete railroad locomotive. The parts of its engine were transferred, after great labor, to the iron hulk referred to. The locomotive’s headlight, into the back of which a magnifying glass of strong intensity had been fitted, was placed over the glowing embers of the Sacred Fire, and threw a pillar of red light miles into the sky. On this night in question the rays from the reflector encountered a heavy cloud bank that hung high over the water, and combined in a red, spectral ember in the sky.

I then remembered that sailors had often spoken of a mysterious light that hovered over the Sargasso Sea; but if I had believed the stories I had accounted for the balls of fire as belonging to those strange natural phenomena described as “Will-o’-the-Wisp,” and associated with damp meadows filled with decayed vegetable matter.

On this night, however, I fully understood the purport of the terrifying blood-red blotch in the sky!

I knew, instinctively, that it was a signal to the Sargassons to assemble at some point for the purpose of capturing the Caribas.

I felt the jar of footsteps on deck; but as shoes and boots were unknown, little noise was made by the stealthy tread of the ship’s crew. I could hear lines of men ascending and descending the ladders not far from me, and I realized fully that the boats were being equipped.

In order to properly describe the events that occurred within the next twenty-four hours it will be necessary for me to rely upon information secured afterward from various sources.

I was not permitted to witness the attack upon my own ship, and for days all information regarding the terrible event was carefully kept from me. This was not done to lessen my mental sufferings. I can easily imagine that I was forgotten in the excitement, and probably I would have starved to death had it not been for the thoughtfulness of some one who during each night placed under my door a wicker dish of boiled seaweed, accompanied by two or more biscuits from the remainder of the scanty store brought by me in the launch. This was very little food for a hearty man, but I was grateful for the attention.

Although I had not seen any evidences of womankind about the ship, I instinctively divined femininity in this thoughtfulness. I detected, in the neat way the food was arranged upon the small piece of matting, the hand of a woman. I saw in the act more than mere perfunctory duty.

I felt that I had a friend on board the ship, all the more precious because unknown.

In my loneliness I gave myself up utterly to despair. Without hope, without companionship, and, above all, without news regarding the result of the expedition that had been sent against the Caribas; weakened by poor food and driven to semi-madness by want of care, I passed as much of my time as possible in troubled sleep, in which I dreamed dreams and saw visions. I suffered a great deal from thirst, also, because the water with which I was supplied was evidently the product of the rainstorms, with an occasional ration of distilled water, brought, as I afterward ascertained, from the ship on which was the boiler of the old locomotive.

The water supply was the greatest of all the problems to the Sargassons. Fortunately, rains were frequent and the seasons of drought far apart. But there were times when the consumption of an extra pint of the fluid aboard each ship in one day would have meant suffering for weeks. The Kantoon of each vessel always kept the water butt in his own cabin, and guarded it more carefully than any of his other possessions.

On the fifth day after my capture the Kantoon of the Happy Shark presented himself at the door of my prison, opened it with a quick jerk, and asked me to come out. I was so weakened by my imprisonment that I was slow to obey.

When I did face him I saw that a fillet of fresh seaweed was bound about his temples, below one corner of which showed a ghastly wound, still fresh and bleeding.

With a wave of his hand he motioned me to follow him to the upper deck, where, recognizing my enfeebled condition, he directed me, still in the curious polyglottic language of his, to seat myself, while he, as before, climbed into his barrel of water. After a few preliminary remarks, and, indeed, a thoughtful expression of regret that during the period of excitement through which he had just passed my comfort had been neglected, he told me the terrible story of the capture of the Caribas.

In a prefatory way, I may state that the boats used by this strange people are made of grass matting, stretched over a light framework of wood (in shape like the birch bark canoe of the American aborigine), covered inside and out with a gum made of fish scales and wholly impervious to water. Each boat will carry only two people, one in the bow and one in the stern, and is propelled with paddles shaped like tennis bats, strung with thongs made from the intestines of fish, interlaced so closely together as to afford resistance to the water. These boats are so light that a man can readily carry one upon his shoulder, and so quick are they in answering the paddle that the little cockle shells can be turned in their own length. In these the Sargassons surmount the heaviest waves; but in the canals of Sargasso nothing rougher than an ocean swell ever exists. If the sea runs “mountain high” outside, its force is broken by the great blanket of sod that for thousands of miles rests upon its surface. So light and buoyant are these small canoes, rarely exceeding nine feet in length, that if one of them is swamped, the two rowers, treading water at the bow and at the stern, lift the boat, bottom upward, above the surface, reverse it, and while one of the crew holds an end of the little craft, the other member climbs into his seat, and, paddle in hand, steadies the boat until his companion resumes his place. The Sargassons have no fear of an upset. Their paddles are lashed to the canoe with long thongs, as are all portable articles that they carry.

Having explained the character of the boats in which the expedition set out, I may now reproduce, in my own words, the Kantoon’s narrative:

The flashing of the Sacred Light in the sky—​the blood-red spot under the canopy of heaven that they had been expecting since morning—​told the Sargassons the will of their Chief. They all understood that the Congress of the Kantoons had decided that the Caribas must be captured.

The ship was to be literally overrun with men, fully armed; and, after its capture, the Caribas was to be added to our commune.

From the treacherous passenger, Gray, who was the cause of all my misfortune, the exact number of officers and crew had been learned.

Mercifully did death come to those who encountered it, cutlass in hand, upon the deck of the ship!

The Chief Kantoon reviewed the fleet of small boats, each having two valiant men, selected from the various ships for their courage and fearlessness. The number of vessels represented was comparatively few, owing to the fact that two hundred men were supposed to be amply sufficient to effect the capture of forty on a night so favorable to the undertaking.

In a clear voice the Chief Kantoon gave directions for the attack. He described the route so perfectly that nobody could go amiss. He divided the flotilla into two wings, one of which was to leave the Grand Canal through a small shoot, and approach the Caribas from one end, while the other wing of the attacking party would proceed down the Canal and menace the vessel from the other. The plan was to lodge the two hundred men upon the abandoned hulk to which the Caribas was moored, and to which access could be readily found through its open ports. Having effected a lodgment there, the Sargassons would muster, and at a signal would swarm over the sides of the vessel before the crew of the Caribas had awakened to the danger of the situation.

Each man in the assaulting party was provided with deadly weapons.

But the most serious thing they carried, because unknown to the assailed, was a fine, impalpable dust, carried in a fish bladder, which was to be thrown in the faces of the crew. It is composed of a species of red pepper, analogous to the Tabasco berry, and is temporarily destructive to the eyesight, and especially noxious to the nostrils and lungs. With it was blended a powerful drug, having all the qualities of opium, extracted from a fungus, quite like sape, found growing upon the water-soaked tree-trunks. The almost instant effect of this drug was to produce unconsciousness. Blinded and staggering, the victims would fall an easy prey to the attacking party.

The Sargassons have a horror of shedding human blood. They care nothing for death themselves, and never hesitate to inflict it upon others. But they dislike to see blood flow, and prefer drowning to any other form of death—​a very natural preference, because their whole existence is associated with the sea.

In addition to this terrible death-dealing powder, with which each member of the attacking party was provided, each man carried a weapon of iron or steel, ground to exceeding sharpness. Firearms are not in use among the Sargassons, and the only weapon of that kind in the attacking party was the Winchester gun I had carried, and in which still remained about half a dozen cartridges.

After the last word had been spoken by the Chief Kantoon, and the members of the storming party had received his injunction that no one of them must return unless the prize was secured, the Kantoon chief in rank took command and gave the order to proceed.

In double column, almost half a mile in length, the boats set out upon their journey. Not a word was spoken, and so silently did the boatmen manipulate their paddles, not even a ripple was heard above the swash of the ocean swell. At the head of the double column, by the side of the Kantoon in command, was Arthur Gray, who was expected to act as guide to the party. His was the only boat that contained three people, he being seated in the centre.

For some reason he was an object of suspicion and distrust, and the two men in his boat had received secret instructions, on the first evidence of treachery, to lasso him, bind him fast, capsize the boat, and save themselves by dragging their craft apart from him, so that he would drown.

The fifty miles were traversed in about eight hours, the speed being intentionally slow, in order that the men should not be fatigued prior to the moment of attack, at which time their best energies would be required.

When the mouth of the small canal was reached, into which the right division of the attacking party was to enter, a halt was called, and the canoes assembled in two great parks.

A boat was sent forward to reconnoitre, and after an hour’s absence returned to say the Caribas was still moored to the wooden hulk; that absolute quiet reigned aboard the steamer, and that an approach could readily be made as planned, over the deck of the derelict.

I forgot to say that attending each division were two canoes, manned by Sargasson boys. It was their duty to gather up and look after the boats when the attacking party precipitately left them to climb upon the derelict. At the bow of each canoe was a long painter of sea-grass rope, which it was expected would be made fast to some object on the side of the ship, so as to retain the boat, but in case the canoes became detached, it would be the task of the attending canoe boys to chase it up and take charge of it.

In less than half an hour after the two divisions had separated in the Grand Canal, they had reassembled to the leeward of the great floating hulk to which the Caribas was made fast. The thick rope fenders that had been placed between the iron ship and the barnacle-covered hulk gave out a plaintive, wailing sound that would have fallen upon superstitious ears with dire effect.

The presence of the attacking party had not been suspected aboard the Caribas, for no sounds were heard except the tread of the officer on the bridge. The fires under the boilers had evidently been banked for almost twenty-four hours, and were very low. Scarcely any smoke escaped from the funnels, and no steam whatever.

The great iron ship, therefore, was as helpless as a log. As before stated, the wooden hulk of the dismasted full-rigged ship had listed to starboard about twenty-five degrees, owing to the shifting of its ballast. Instructions to the Sargasson assaulting party was that each boat’s crew should in turn take its place upon the side of the vessel, each man holding on by the barnacles, and by the seams between the planks until the signal for the assault was given. This was the sounding of the Caribas’ own bell, which, as every sailor knows, occurs at each half hour.

Seven bells had sounded on board the Caribas as the boarding party silently approached, and the officer of the watch had been heard to call out, “All is well!”

Every member of the attacking party had effected lodgment upon the upturned side of the great wooden hulk.

The boats had been gathered up and were in the possession of their keepers.

Everything was ready for the signal, which was fully due and momentarily expected.

CHAPTER VII.

THE AGONY OF SUSPENSE.

I may now quote the Kantoon’s own words:

“Every moment’s delay added to the anxiety of the commander of the attacking party, because a sneeze from any one of the two hundred men would have exposed our presence,” continued the Kantoon of the Happy Shark, quite interested in his own narrative. As he grew more animated and excited, however, his language became so polyglot that, had I not possessed a wide range of linguistic attainments, I certainly could not have followed him. For ordinary narrative, I found he preferred Portuguese and Spanish; when he attempted bits of pathos, he generally employed a horrible admixture of French and Italian; his descriptions were chiefly in broken English, larded with German adjectives and Russian verbs. A free translation of his narrative ran thus:

“Aboard the Caribas was one man who nearly defeated our expedition. He was the boatswain, a sturdy, rugged fellow, who you doubtless remember; his strength and courage will remain a tradition as long as the present generation of Sargassons lasts.”

“Yes, indeed; I remember the poor fellow,” I added, solemnly.

“As we ascertained, after his capture, the boatswain had been a deep water sailor on the Atlantic nearly all his life, had many times approached our continent and had heard from sailors many tales regarding its mysteries. He had himself seen the Light in the Sky that hovered above the floating sod; but, like every superstitious sailor, he hardly credited in his own mind the stories he repeated and affected to believe. He had been on deck at the time the Sacred Light was flashed. He had seen it, had studied it carefully with a night glass, and had assured himself that the cone of light proceeded from some point near the surface of the water to the cloud bank in the sky! He knew, therefore, what the naked eye did not reveal, namely—​that the blood-red spot in the sky was the result of a reflection of something on the water. He had been very anxious in his mind about the matter, and had made several efforts to obtain an interview with the first officer of the Caribas, who, in your absence, was in command of the ship. That gentleman was so swollen in importance by the temporary authority invested in him by your absence, however, that he would hold no intercourse with the boatswain. Had he done so, I have no doubt that the fires would have been raked and your steamer would have dropped away from the hulk, thus rendering her capture impossible.”

“He has paid dearly for his arrogance,” I interposed.

“The boatswain evidently suffered under a premonition of impending danger, though he had no idea it would come in human form,” continued the Kantoon. “He was superstitious, and expected the trouble in some unholy shape. For that reason he purposely omitted sounding ‘eight bells.’ Instead, he personally descended to the fo’castle and roused the men of the next watch. We could hear the sailors coming on deck, muttering and cursing and declaring that ‘eight bells’ had not struck, and that therefore their time to get up had not arrived. We knew this as well as the men, and did not understand the reason any better than they. The boatswain’s watch expired at 4 o’clock, but he was disinclined to go below, and, as we afterward knew to our cost, he remained on deck awake.

“With the information that we had received from Gray regarding your ship’s company, we expected to find about ten men on watch, including firemen, engineer, lookout, helmsman, and the officer on the bridge. The steward, cooks and waiters we thought to find asleep in their bunks, so that they might be tied up and thrown overboard without special trouble; but the forebodings of this officious boatswain well nigh defeated our plans.

“Practically, he had contrived to awake every member of the ship’s company, so that when the assault was finally made on the order of our Commander, the shrill whistle of the boatswain rang out on the night air, calling the entire crew to quarters, and informing them that a boarding party was attacking. The language of the boatswain’s whistle, though unknown to me, was familiar to every member of your crew, and right gallantly did they respond to it. Almost as quickly as I can recount the fact to you, did they swarm out of the fo’castle to the cabin, armed with cutlasses, marlin spikes and clubs.

“Our directions had been explicitly given, and, in brief, were: As soon as our men crossed the bulwarks twenty of them were to assemble under the bridge, where all prisoners were to be brought. The right wing of the boarding party was to assault the cabins of the acting captain, mate and chief engineer. The left wing of the boarding party was to storm the fo’castle, and, with a plentiful use of the Tabasco powder, to capture the men—​knock them on the heads, if necessary to reduce them to subjection.

“Before this pretty scheme could be carried out, the boatswain had organized a defensive party of about a dozen men—​some of them only half dressed as they came promptly from their bunks—​had armed them, and had made an attack upon about fifty of us. We noticed one peculiarity about the members in this party. Each man had a moistened cloth about his mouth and nostrils, showing that the boatswain had heard of our methods of warfare. They entered the fray with their eyes almost closed, and it was without effect that we threw handfuls of the corrosive and stupefying dust in their faces. They slashed right and left in a way that endangered the success of our attack. Some of the other sailors, however, believing us to be supernatural figures, crouched whining and sobbing behind the water casks and the capstan. It was not until the mates, engineer, steward, cooks and waiters had been subdued and tied up that our entire force turned upon the heroic boatswain and his party.

“Our Commander rallied the men at the ship’s side and addressed to them a few words. Even while he spoke your brave boatswain was at work with an axe chopping the cables that held your ship to the hulk. In a few moments more the Caribas would have been free! But our Commander promptly gave the order to advance, and the boatswain and his few companions were captured. The gallant fellow fought to the last, and was only overpowered by superiority of numbers.

“The discipline exercised by our Commander was admirable. Except a bottle of rum, which was standing in the captain’s cabin, and which was appropriated at once by several of the men, I did not see a single article filched by any of our party. The commanding Kantoon in charge of the expedition at once posted a man at each companionway, and within ten minutes the entire ship was properly officered under his direction.

“Of course, the first problem was what should be done with the captives. Among our people only one harsh code obtains—​‘Dead men never talk;’ and we have almost without exception given to each captive the mercy of extinction. After all, this is wisest. A man in captivity always chafes under restraint. Happiness is impossible. What pleasure can there be in a life of misery? However sweet existence may be, death that brings peace and repose is preferable. Such is the view that we Sargassons take of the blessing of extinction. We regard it as an act of kindness to prevent misery.

“Our commander, therefore, decided that the entire ship’s company must die. Your little cabin boy begged very hard for his life, and it did seem a very cruel act to cut him off in his youth; but conquerors cannot be swayed by mere impulses of the heart, and the sweet-faced little chap followed your second mate over the side of the ship. We did not put him in a sack, but tied his ankles together, and, having attached a heavy weight to his waist, we dropped him feet foremost into the sea. I carry his sad, tearful face in my mind yet. Of course we made quick work of the crew. As a rule, we simply knocked each man on the head with a marlin spike, to render him insensible, and then tossed him overboard.

“But when we came to the boatswain, who had made such a valiant defense, I personally went to the Commander and interceded for his life. He was on the point of granting my request, when it was suggested to him by one of the other Kantoons that the man would prove a very disagreeable white elephant on our hands; that we would have to feed him and watch him for several years. That settled the fate of the boatswain. I felt very sorry, because a man of tried bravery is always a valuable acquisition to a community; and, though this sturdy fellow had killed more than a dozen of our party, we all felt the greatest admiration and respect for him.

“I stepped to his side (for he had been allowed to stand up, lashed to one of the davits that carried a lifeboat) and conversed with him for several minutes. He seemed utterly indifferent to his fate, said not a word regarding his impending death, but he asked, and even begged, that the life of the poor little cabin boy be spared. He did not know, of course, that the poor child had already met his fate. He expressed considerable curiosity about our people; told me about having seen the Sacred Light; spoke of the premonition of impending danger that he had experienced; repeated some of the tales that had been told him by Portuguese sailors regarding the Sargasso Sea, and expressed regret that he had not given these stories the serious consideration that his present misfortune clearly indicated he should have done. We were cut short in the midst of our conversation by the approach of the Commander, who said, in his brusque way:

“‘Now, my man, how do you want to die?’

“‘It doesn’t make much difference to me,’ the boatswain answered. ‘At least, it will not an hour hence.’

“‘True,’ replied the commanding Kantoon; ‘but there are all sorts of deaths. I’d recommend drowning. I may be prejudiced in its favor, but it’s about the easiest form in which to take your medicine. Out of consideration for your courage, I’ll have you drowned on deck, here, if I can find a barrel filled with water. But you must make your mind up in a few minutes. We can’t fool with you all night.’

“‘Very well,’ replied the boatswain, indifferently. ‘I suppose I had better take your advice. Suit your own convenience,’ and he bowed, just as if receiving a command.

“The order was at once given, and the head was knocked out of an empty water cask. It was placed upright on the deck, and in three minutes it was filled with water—​a line of bucket passers having been formed. There were some mutterings, many Sargassons protesting against all this trouble about one captive; but nobody dared openly to oppose the whim of the Commander.

“I went over and shook hands with the boatswain, as well as was possible under the circumstances, his wrists being tightly bound together. He gave my hand a firm, hearty pressure, and I then turned my back in order to avoid witnessing his last agonies.

“He was seized by six men, pitched head foremost into the water butt, and held there until life was extinct. His struggles were not violent, and he died with the complacency that could be expected of a man who was naturally a philosopher, and who regarded the end merely in the light of an incident. The poor fellow’s body was then committed to the sea with considerable consideration. Thus ended a duty that to most people would be thought very disagreeable. Among the Sargassons, however, we feel no compunction at taking life. We regard existence as something unwillingly thrust upon us—​the loss of which is of very little moment.

“While this scene had been enacting upon deck, a part of our men had been ordered to the furnaces, fires had been replenished with coal, and by daylight we had steam enough to get under way. If you will cast your eyes in that direction,” continued the Kantoon, pointing off to the eastward, “you will see that your ship is safely moored in a berth, where she will remain until our good mother, the Sea, takes her in final and loving embrace. Perhaps you would care to use these glasses, with which no doubt, you are familiar,” saying which the scoundrel had the audacity to hand me my own binoculars, taken from my own cabin.

Right here, however, I want to say that petty theft was unknown among the Sargassons. The very reason that my sea glasses were in the possession of the Kantoon of my ship was that they had been committed to his care in trust for me. I found the same thing to be true regarding my articles of jewelry, wearing apparel and even books in the library that contained my name. I may anticipate far enough to state that in due time I received all these things, none of them the worse for wear or misuse.

I took the glasses from the Kantoon’s hand, and soon located the Caribas among the vast assemblage of vessels that swung with the ocean swell. She lay at least six miles away, but I was aided in my search by a fine film of smoke that still ascended from her funnels. The fires were dying out under her boilers, and in another day she would be as incapable of movement as the oldest water-logged craft in the community.

The effect upon me was very saddening, and, laying the glasses down upon the deck, I bowed my head and went back to my cabin, to brood over my misfortune and the disgrace that had come upon me.

The awful story that I had heard from the Kantoon greatly depressed me. Remembering the fairly courteous treatment that I had received at the hands of the Sargassons, I had hoped that a few of the ship’s company would have been spared; I had rather anticipated that the engineers and the baby-faced child in the cabin would be suffered to live; but now all such hopes were dashed.

I was utterly alone among a savage and unnatural people, who set no store on life themselves, and could not be expected to respect mine. It was not improbable that at any hour I might receive the notification that I, too, was to be accorded the “mercy of extinction.”

In this frame of mind I threw myself upon my cot and moaned myself into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER VIII.

FIDETTE.

I was aroused from my stupor by a voice whose accents I had not heard before. Its tone was tender and sympathetic, and instantly awakened in my heart the dormant love of life. Before looking in the direction of the doorway I knew I was in the presence of a friend—​one who felt for me in my hour of dire despair.

The question of sex did not occur to me—​so completely does misfortune destroy all the impulses of the human heart ordinarily aroused in the breast of a comparatively young man like myself in the presence of womankind. With no other thought than that of gratitude for a gentle word tenderly spoken, I raised my face from my hands and looked in the direction of the speaker.

Before me I beheld a creature so startlingly beautiful that I felt my senses leaving me at the apparition. She was a young girl, small in stature, but perfect in figure, with hazel-brown eyes, and her hair, radiant, reddish-brown in color, fell ’round her shoulders like a mantle. Her skin was aglow with health, and her smile disclosed a row of pearly teeth that glistened in the fading sunlight.

She was clad in a mantle of woven sea grass, of blue and gray, held together at her shoulders by sharks’ teeth. This robe was belted at the waist by a leathern girdle, studded with shells of rainbow hues, and fell loosely about her figure, much as does the costume of the Greeks, as I have seen it worn at the Piraeus and on the islands of the Aegean Sea. Her feet were uncovered, and of dainty size. Her pretty arms were extended toward me in a winning, beseeching way. In her left hand was a sprig of green and waxen-leafed rhododendron, the Sargasson emblem, as I divined at once, of a tender of affection. In her right hand was a small wicker tray of berries, resembling the wintergreen in color and size.

I gazed spellbound upon the pretty, dainty creature, not daring to speak, for fear the illusion would end. She was so unreal, so unlike a thing of flesh and blood, so weirdly picturesque—​she was a fay of the water world!

As she opened the door of my prison cell, she said, in Creole French:

“You must be faint and hungry, monsieur. Do eat these berries that I have gathered for you, and be refreshed. Come, I will take you where we may see the sun go down.”

“I thank you very kindly,” was my deferential reply. “Yours is the first friendly word I have received since my captivity.”

“I know you have been unhappy, and for that reason have I come to cheer you,” was the frank reply of the graceful girl, as with a smile she handed me the sprig of bay. “It is the custom of our people that all captives who suffer the punishment of living shall endure isolation for five long days and nights, that they may know mental wretchedness and reconcile themselves to Sargasson life.”

After this the young woman led the way aft, along the main deck, to a pretty cabin, in which was a large port that gave upon the west. Through this broad aperture the setting sun, a mass of golden red, could be seen sinking into the sea.

By my inquiring looks, though not by words, I put the question many times to this brown-eyed creature as to her identity, and how she came to be upon the Happy Shark. She took the earliest occasion, therefore, to explain in simple manner and with graceful gestures, that she was the daughter of the ship’s Kantoon; that her mother had been a captive, like myself “accorded the punishment of living,” merely because her bright eyes and teeth had pleased the fancy of the master of the Happy Shark. The speaker had been born in Sargasso, and had never known aught of any other world. To her mother, who came from New Orleans, she owed the quaint French dialect that she spoke and the slight acquaintance with the English language that she afterward confessed.

The young girl’s story of her mother’s life was as romantic as a tale of fiction. She was the daughter of a place woman, that peculiar phase of social life existing nowhere else in America except in Louisiana. Though raised amid surroundings that were not entirely respectable, she was brought up a devoted member of the Church and at an early age placed in a school, where she remained for eight years. She was taught to sew and embroider; to play the harp and to sing. Because of her pretty face and graceful manners, she was encouraged in the coquette’s art, and a bright and brilliant future was predicted for her. To the mortification of the good sisters, who specially charged themselves with the young girl’s future, and for whom they hoped to make an eligible match, she escaped one night from her protectors, as was alleged by bribery of the concierge, and eloped with a dashing young swell of the Crescent City. He was the son of one of the few large sugar planters who had saved their fortunes out of the wreck of the civil war.

When the rebellion was seen to be inevitable, he had converted all his negroes and personal effects into money, which he had transferred to the care of his London bankers. The plantation, of course, could not be sold. But thousands of hogsheads of sugar and molasses in his warehouses were rapidly disposed of, and the proceeds forwarded from time to time to London. When the war came, he entered into it with fervor and rose to the rank of brigadier-general. Although wounded in several fights, he returned to his native city in safety.

His son, who had been a mere lad at the breaking out of the war, grew up a profligate. So entirely did he alienate his father’s affection that on his parent’s death the estate was left in such a condition that he could not lay his hands upon a single dollar. A stated income was however, paid him, and this he spent in the wildest dissipation. Getting into the hands of money-lenders, he had, at the time of this escapade, mortgaged his allowance for several years to come.

When the deluded woman found that she had joined her life to that of a worthless adventurer, who lived wholly upon his friends, and who found his only excitement at the gambling table, she was heartbroken; but she accepted her fate with the same resignation as does the faithful woman everywhere. It was not long until neglect was followed by abuse and insult; but, according to the daughter’s narrative, the mother’s fidelity to the man she had trusted never changed.

In the Summer of 1872, having raised some money, the daring young gambler decided to visit Saratoga, where, at that time, games of chance were openly conducted, in the hope that he could retrieve his fortune. Marie accompanied him. They left New Orleans in a small steamer bound for New York, and had a pleasant voyage for many days. One very dark night, however, a terrible storm arose, and it was announced that the steamer had sprung a leak. The fires were soon put out by the inflowing water, and when daylight came the vessel had become a helpless derelict, rolling in the trough of the sea. Every moment seemed the last. The sailors lost courage, expecting the water-logged craft to capsize and sink.

The poor little Creole woman, faint with fright and filled with an inborn terror of the sea, quietly slipped away to her stateroom, crawled into her bunk and covered her head, desiring to await death alone, and to meet it in this less frightful form. Thus she lay for a day and a night, apparently forgotten. And yet death came not. Evidently the anger of the sea had subsided, and on the second day, hungry and despairing, she crawled on deck to find the entire ship deserted and she its sole occupant. All the boats were gone—​officers, crew and passengers had departed, leaving her to her fate. She had been overlooked; or, if considered at all, it had been assumed that one of the seas that came aboard had carried her to a watery grave.

It required little tax of memory to recall the loss of the George Cornwall, Capt. Timothy Rogers, that had sailed from New Orleans about the time described, never to reach New York, and whose fate, beyond the discovery of one of her upturned boats, was never known.

The young girl at my side dwelt with graphic fullness upon the months that her unfortunate, deserted mother had passed alone aboard the derelict. Provisions were plenty, and she did not suffer for food or drink. Vessels were sighted many times, but none of them saw the signal of distress that she displayed. So wretched and hopeless seemed her position; so ever present was the prospect of death, and so appalling was it to her, that she slept little and ate only food enough to sustain life. Many times she seriously contemplated casting herself into the sea in order to end her misery.

Months passed. She kept no record of the flight of time. Moonlight, darkness, fog, fair weather and storm succeeded each other; but the moon mocked her, and the sun and the fetid breath of the Gulf Stream parched her throat. Even the stars lost that assurance of companionship, recognized by every sailor of the ocean.

The forsaken woman, alone upon her rolling, log-like vessel, never understood by what route she reached the Seaweed Sea. Of course, my pretty informant, knowing nothing of the geography of the North Atlantic, could not even offer a surmise, and the probability is that the derelict, carrying its solitary passenger, skirted the eastern edge of the Gulf Stream until it reached the latitude of New York and the longitude of Cape Farewell, when it began a zigzag course that eventually landed it in Sargasso.

Contrary to theory, the derelicts did not pass around the Azore Islands and thence southward past the coast of Africa, but, just before they reach the path of the transatlantic steamers, they are deflected to the southeastward, and make their way slowly to the Graveyard of the Ocean—​the Port of Missing Ships.

Coming on deck one morning, after fully five months of loneliness, the solitary woman was surprised to find that during the night, and under the influence of a strong current, the ship she inhabited had penetrated far into the heart of the meadow-like expanse. It had followed one of the large open waterways with which Sargasso abounds. On all sides were to be seen the vessels of the Community. The Sargassons had detected the presence of the new derelict, and, almost simultaneously with the discovery by the passenger that the vessel had reached some sort of a haven, boats were seen putting out in every direction to effect a capture.

The customary law of salvage recognized among wreckers did not obtain, as the system of government was one of absolute communism. All goods were held in common, but the keenest rivalry did exist among the inhabitants of the various vessels regarding their ability as oarsmen, and the Chief Kantoon always awarded the most precious article aboard the captured vessel to the Kantoon of the first crew to reach the side of the derelict.

As happened on this occasion, the Kantoon of the Happy Shark was first on board, and his gallant companions swung over the derelict’s side with drawn knives and cutlasses, prepared to destroy any survivors that might be on board. But when they were confronted solely by the pretty Creole woman, savage as were their hearts, all saluted her in their crude fashion.

Solitary as had been her life, she had never for a moment neglected her dress, and she was so daintily attired that these rude people, whose blood was as cold as that of the monsters of the sea, felt their faces glow with delight and admiration as they gazed upon the beautiful creature. Perhaps they may have felt a pang of remorse at the thought that their captive would have to suffer the usual penalty accorded to all such members of the race as came into their clutches.

In a few minutes, of course, the deck of the derelict swarmed with Sargassons, young and old. All gazed with rapt admiration upon the pretty captive.

In a bewildered fashion, she had seated herself at her favorite place upon the after deck, and awaited her fate in silence.

When the Kantoon, who, under the Chief Kantoon, ruled the immediate cantonments, arrived and took possession of the derelict in the name of his people, the condemnation of the captive was a matter of course.

She was sentenced to be sewed up in a sack, heavily weighted with irons, and tenderly dropped over the side of the ship into the sea.

It was the duty of her captor—​that is, the Kantoon of the first crew to take possession of the ship—​to acquaint her with her fate.

This sad mission fell to the lot of the master of the Happy Shark.

He delayed the transmission of the message until he should have claimed his right, as the captor of the vessel, to select the most valuable article as a trophy of his success.

When the Deputy Chief Kantoon had spoken and demanded of him his choice, the captain of the Happy Shark did not hesitate an instant, but approached the pretty captive, took her hand, raised it to his lips, drew her to her feet, and, leading her forward, replied:

“She is my choice.”

It is needless to say that nearly all the Kantoons of the other vessels promptly protested against any such departure from the recognized Sargasson code.

Death was the penalty for intruding into Sargasso, and it should be meted out with impartial justice to men and women alike. But the brave master of the Happy Shark stood on his rights.

In vain his confreres, who had rummaged about the ship, heaped up before him a score of telescopes, chronometers, sextants and massive silver dishes. He shook his head. His choice was made, and he demanded that the Deputy Chief Kantoon confirm it.

“Thus came my mother to this strange people, apart from all the world,” added my pretty companion.

I looked into her face and saw that the golden-red of the setting sun had imparted such lustrous beauty to her eyes and cheeks as never was worn by woman before. Her voice, too, seemed more musical as she continued:

“The Deputy Chief Kantoon stepped to the side of the captive and her captor, and rejoined their hands, for in her shy timidity the trembling woman had released her fingers from the bearlike clutch of the rude though tender-hearted man. He next muttered some unintelligible words—​and so they were married.

“After the ceremony was performed, all the members of the community present appeared to promptly acquiesce in the will of their chief. From among the collection of trinkets that had been gathered from staterooms and cabins, consisting of jewels, money and rich articles of women’s apparel, each man chose a gift for the bride, presenting it in each case with a few words expressive of good wishes.

“The Kantoon of the Happy Shark—​my father that was to be—​returned in an ecstasy of joy to his vessel, established the mistress of his heart in the captain’s cabin, and, within an hour appeared on deck cleanly shaven and wearing a cravat of variegated sea grass most becoming to his sere and yellow countenance.”

The sun had gone to rest. He no longer watched me across the swaying meadow. No one stood by to interfere, and so welled my heart with gratitude to the companion by my side, that, waving sense or reason far aside, I clutched her in my arms and kissed her fervently.

So nearly akin to gratitude is love!

CHAPTER IX.

AN OLD MAN’S DARLING.

The Kantoon of the Happy Shark visited me again on the following morning. After the episode that closed the preceding chapter, his hazel-eyed daughter had left me with a burst of laughter that, far from indicating offense, encouraged me to hope that my rudeness was forgiven. As soon as she had gone, I returned to my cell and drew the door shut.

Pretty as this girl was, I realized there must be many suitors for her hand among all the brave and daring fellows who commanded the various vessels, and I foresaw all manner of complications for me in permitting myself to fall in love with this pretty sprite. Yet, you must remember, I was barely 28; I never had had sufficient leisure before to be in love, and I was willing to take a reasonable amount of risk, even among this semi-savage people, for the sake of winning the affections of such a strangely beautiful creature.

When, therefore, my master suddenly appeared before the door of my cell and opened it, I had a presentiment that something disagreeable was going to happen. Anger was apparent on his face. Every individual gray bristle in his beard stood on end, and he viciously chewed the bit of sea grass that he always carried in his mouth.

“S-o-o-o,” he began, “you have ventured to make eyes at my little Shark? You have told her that her teeth are white. You have held her hand, and, by the Sacred Light, you’ve dared to kiss her!”

My astonishment was so great that I only stammered in reply: “Why, most gracious Kantoon, do you accuse me? Did the fair young lady make any such a charge?”

“She? She! Not at all,” was the prompt retort. “But you were observed. My faithful cabin boy saw what happened, and reported to me. In punishment I shall separate you. In a few weeks I shall take possession of the Caribas, which, from that hour, will be my cantonment. You will remain behind. You will become the executive of this sinking craft. You have yet about two years in your span of life before the incrusted barnacles carry the Happy Shark to the bottom. You shall never see Fidette again. She will go with me to the Caribas, and, although she was born and raised on this ship, she shall never visit here.”

I hastened to explain, with as full a vocabulary as I possessed, that he had exaggerated the importance of the incident his cabin boy had witnessed. It was true that I kissed Fidette, but she was an angel, and the salute I gave her was a respectful tribute of homage to her beauty and her divine character. I assumed entirely the blame of the episode. I said nothing about the young lady’s visit to my cell door, but led the Kantoon to believe that we had met for the first time at the cabin window, where we had gazed together upon the setting sun.

This seemed to placate him a little, and, handing me a piece of bulbous root to chew, the Kantoon continued:

“I knew this morning that something had happened to Fidette. She was in a condition of hysteria during most of the night. In her sleep she laughed and cried. I did not know what to make of it. I doubt if the cabin boy would have told me of your conduct had he not feared his little mistress was growing dangerously ill. So far as I know, it is the first time she has ever been in love. Possibly I am mistaken; for what does an old fool father know? She is evidently smitten with you. That is natural; you are not such a very bad-looking fellow, and you must possess talent and ability to have risen, at your age, to the command of so fine a vessel as the Caribas. As she grows older Fidette is certain to become more beautiful. Such was the case with my poor wife. She was the prettiest woman that ever lived.”

The Kantoon then told the story of Fidette’s mother in a far less intelligible way than the young girl had done, and described the critical moment in his life, when he had demanded her as his choice of the prize goods in the ship George Cornwall, with becoming modesty. Many another man would have enlarged upon this incident, and made himself the hero of it. The Kantoon did nothing of the kind. This impressed me in his favor. Beginning with their life aboard the Happy Shark, the Kantoon said:

“As you may imagine, I was immensely proud of my pretty wife. She was by all odds the handsomest woman in the entire Seaweed Sea. She was the latest acquisition, also, from the outside world. She brought us history up to date! She never tired of telling us about a great war, extending over four years, that you had had in the United States; and, as I belong to a warlike people, every detail interested me. The episodes of that great conflict have become as household words among this ship’s company. Down in the fo’castle only this morning, I heard the boatswain describing the charge at Gettysburg of that brave young Southerner, Pickett. Of course, the naval battles interested us most, and from the lips of my dear companion we heard details of sea fights that caused our blood to thrill.

“About two years after our marriage Fidette was born. She was a bright child from her earliest youth. The Chief Kantoon, at that time a very aged and distinguished man, stood for her when she was christened by the Priest of the Sacred Fire, and many presents, some of real utility, were showered upon her. The education of this child became the sole object of my wife’s life. She taught her with infinite pains the quaint French she spoke herself, and read to her out of some of the few books I afterward succeeded in obtaining from the library of the George Cornwall. For my part, I cannot read any language. As a boy, I spent my days and nights at sea, and never had an opportunity to acquire even the most rudimentary education.

“When the stock of clothing that my wife had brought from the ship was exhausted, she it was who designed the pretty costumes, similar to that worn by Fidette. It is peculiarly Sargasson. Nothing like it is to be found anywhere else in the world.

“Fidette assimilated, naturally, with her surroundings. She is very expert with the canoe paddle, and can climb the ratlines of a ship with the facility of a tiger cat. Were it not for her fear of sharks, which I encourage, I believe she would spend most of her time in the water. What makes her all the more precious to me is the fact that her poor mother is dead. She contracted a fever and died six months ago.”

Moist as was the garb in which the Kantoon was arrayed—​for he had just climbed out his cask of water to visit me—​I beheld tears well up in his eyes in a way that showed he tenderly cherished the memory of his beautiful Creole wife. I have ever since thought that reawakened affection for the dead made easier my way to his heart.

This brave Kantoon, who had faced death and the treacherous enmity of all his associates for a pretty face, was completely under the domination of Fidette. She was the real commander of the Happy Shark; but she was full of tact, and avoided asserting the power she unquestionably possessed. Although the father scowled at me many times during this interview, and others immediately succeeding it, his feelings soon softened to such a degree that I was no longer imprisoned, and was consulted regarding the weather prospects and other matters of dull routine about the ship.

Up to this time I have said almost nothing about our own community aboard the Happy Shark. My excuse for this is the number of incidents that have succeeded each other during my first few days on board the queer old craft. Indeed, it was not until I had received the “freedom of the ship” that I was able to truly describe the social organization. Including the Kantoon, his daughter, and its chief executive officers (who regulated hours of sleep among the members of the various watches, by day and night), there were eighty-five people aboard the Happy Shark. Their duties may be chiefly described as follows:

The Kantoon was the visible representative of the chief power of the Sargassons. He was responsible for the health and the good order on board his ship. His authority was unlimited in emergencies—​it extended even to life and death.

When the situation was not critical, however, he was expected to submit the question of the execution of a member of his own crew to the Chief Kantoon. This involved a respite of two days.

Indeed, among the entire people, there seemed to be the utmost reverence and respect for the central power.

Although I veritably believe that the blood in the veins of the Sargassons is cold instead of warm, there were many features about their system of government that showed a thoughtful respect for the feelings of an unfortunate fellow man.

The Kantoon, therefore, was an autocrat whose acts were subject to review. Although his authority was absolute on board his own ship, owing to the very condition under which he enjoyed life, I did not witness any exhibition of tyranny on the Happy Shark, or any of the other vessels that formed the community.

The system of government was quite incongruous, I admit. It was inevitable that it should be so, because, although all property was nominally held in common, actually no member of a crew could appropriate a blade of sea-grass or a single dried Ogalla berry (a fruit quite like the mulberry, that grew plentifully and of which all Sargassons were very fond), without the consent of the Kantoon of his ship.

Again, the superiority of the Kantoon was emphasized by the fact that he was the only member of the ship’s company who was allowed to have a wife. This law, I saw at once, militated against my future happiness, because it seemed impossible to hope that I could rise to the distinction of commanding one of the flotilla for many years to come. Meanwhile, some ambitious suitor, whose record for bravery was established, would claim Fidette as his prize.

This thought, probably, caused the young woman’s father considerable anxiety.

I wondered if it had ever occurred to Fidette to worry about marriage. She must have known how poor were the chances of our future happiness. Apparently, she accepted life exactly as it came to her, never borrowed trouble, and had confidence in her own ability to shape events to suit herself possessed by few other women.

She was among a wild race, with all the instincts and impulses of an American girl, but she never for a moment had a thought of deserting her father or leaving the old home, made sacred by the memory of her dead mother.