THE VOYAGE OF THE ARROW

“I DREW HER TO ME AND KISSED HER.”

([See page 236])

THE VOYAGE
of the ARROW

To the China Seas. Its Adventures and
Perils, including Its Capture by Sea Vul-
tures from the Countess of Warwick, as
set down by William Gore, Chief Mate.

By
T. Jenkins Hains
Author of “The Black Barque,” “The Windjammers,”
etc.
With Six Illustrations by
H. C. Edwards

Boston: L. C. PAGE &
COMPANY (Incorporated) Mdccccvi

Copyright, 1906
By L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)
———
All rights reserved
First Impression, April, 1906
COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S.A.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE VOYAGE OF THE ARROW

CHAPTER I.

In setting down this tale, I will say at the beginning that I am only a sailorman, and rough. Therefore, if I offend, I crave pardon, for my knowledge is only that of the sea, and my manners are ocean-bred. If any one is too delicately constituted to listen to a man like myself, and prefers a tale of gentleness and delicate desire, he had best pass over this narrative of part of my life, which has already received so much publicity. I know many people hold off from me. I know some sweet-scented sea lawyers who fancy they have a taste for description have called me many hard names, and that many honest folk hold away from me because of it. This and much more. But I have gone my way in silence and lived according to the little voice within me, as a strong man should. And it is not weakness now that prompts me to speak. I feel it my duty, and will tell what I know and remember about the part of my life which the public have chosen to discuss so freely.

I do not know who will believe a sailor’s tale, for sailors have been known to enlarge on their yarns, but my father was a sailor before me and was an honest man. So were many of the Gores, and I myself have been master of a deep-water clipper-ship.

In spite of this I hardly feel that I have reached an exalted pinnacle of human fame, for most people do not regard me as a success, nor am I held up as a shining example of what man might accomplish in his life’s work, although I was captain of the Southern Cross—until I ran her ashore and lost her on the Irish coast.

This was all owing to misdirected effort—that is, her loss was; for, after slaving twelve years fore and aft to get command of a ship and at last getting one, I tried to break the record from Hongkong to Liverpool. I did this by five days, and instead of holding offshore until the weather moderated, I overran my distance during a foggy, driving gale and left the whitening ribs of the Southern Cross to mark the success of my endeavour. Had I made harbour, my name would have gone down to posterity as that of the best sailor afloat, and I would have had the pick of the whole deep-water fleet, instead of being forced, as I was, to sign on as mate of the Arrow.

It made my eyes misty and something rose in my throat as I did this. I, a man of twenty-nine, signing the papers for a mate’s berth just as I had done years ago when barely twenty.

I thought of the wild work I had done on the yard-arm in many a fierce and freezing gale. I fancied I saw again the ragged rocks of the Ramires through the gloom of the Antarctic night. The powerful typhoon of the South Pacific and the hurricane of the Gulf flitted for an instant before my misty vision. Then—Yes, then I was aware of Mr. Ropesend gazing down quietly at me over the edge of his gold-rimmed spectacles, and I signed “William Gore” without a tremor.

Mr. Ropesend was the head of the firm of importers who had chartered the Arrow for this voyage, and he had appointed old man Crojack as skipper.

It seemed to me that the old merchant read some of the thoughts which were uppermost in my mind, for his eyes held such a pitying look that I arose from my chair with a rough oath. Then I threw the pen down on the table and bitterly cursed the man who had invented such a thing for a sailor. I felt like rushing from the office, and I set my teeth hard when I put on my hat and swaggered out into the street.

It was almost as hard for me to sign that agreement as it would have been for me to sign on a ship’s articles as a common sailor. I fancied that some of the clerks smiled, but I really saw nothing distinctly until I breathed the damp air of the foggy street and mingled with the busy throng on the pavement.

Making my way slowly through the crowd, I entered the doorway of a saloon that stood on the corner of a cross-street a few blocks farther down-town. I had been in there often before, so, nodding to the proprietor at the bar, I walked into the room and sat down at a vacant table and ordered a drink. Then, picking up a copy of the Marine Journal, I tried to forget my misfortunes and become interested in the shipping news.

The noise of people talking as they sat and chattered at each other around the various tables distracted my attention from the paper. I looked over the top of the sheet to see if I knew any one in the crowd. While I looked the gathering over, lazily scanning the men’s faces, two men entered from the bar, and I recognized them to be clerks in the shipping department of the office I had just left.

My first impulse was to leave the place, for I knew they recognized me, although they showed no knowledge of my presence. Then I realized that I was getting oversensitive and morbid about my downfall, so I buried myself in the paper again and ordered another drink. I was very thirsty. The two clerks seated themselves at a table next to mine and gave their orders. In a few minutes I forgot their presence.

While I read of an overdue vessel which had just arrived with half her crew down with scurvy, I heard Mr. Ropesend’s name mentioned in a low tone by one of the clerks. I didn’t hear what was said in connection with his name, but, in spite of this, my curiosity was excited and I found myself listening attentively to the low, earnest voices of the men. This annoyed me extremely when I realized what I was doing, and I concentrated my thoughts upon the paper again. Picking out a most exciting incident, I read of how Amos White, a well-digger, had lit the fuses of three blasts in the bottom of an open caisson in the harbour. He had then started up the rope ladder, and it had parted and dropped him down upon them. With great presence of mind he had snuffed two of the fuses with his fingers, but the third had reached the tamping. Dropping flat on his breast, he instantly stuck his tongue into the hole and--

I felt a certain amount of relief when I found that Mr. White had saved himself from turning into an impromptu sky-pilot. Then my attention relaxed, and I was aware of the two clerks talking in an animated manner, with their voices still modulated, though louder than before.

“The evidence is dead against Brown,” said one. “Anderson was pretty clear in his statement to Mr. Ropesend, and he is not the kind of man to incriminate any one unless he’s pretty certain about it.”

“That’s all right! That’s all right! I’ll admit that,” said the one with his back toward me, in an excited and silly manner. “Anderson is pretty careful about his own skin, and that’s just what stumps me after all this talk about Brown and his sister. They are engaged, aren’t they?”

“They are, and that’s just what makes me so certain he is right about it. He never would have kept so quiet about it if his sister wasn’t concerned. Brown will never know who gave him away.”

“What did the books show, did you find out?”

“Several thousand, I believe, but of course Brown will get his friends to make it good, and get away. He’s all right with Mr. Ropesend, somehow, and the old man, I hear, is going to send him off with Captain Crojack, so it can be hushed up.”

“Well, I’m sorry for him, for one. He’s a good fellow, and he’s done more than one man a good turn through his influence. He never hesitates to help a friend, and that is more than can be said for Anderson. I never did like that fellow’s face—”

Here I lost the drift of what was said. I had heard enough, however, to excite my curiosity again, and I sat wondering what had happened.

Young Mr. Brown had been cashier for the firm for several years. I had met him several times in the shipping-house, and we held a sort of speaking acquaintance. He had handed me my last freight money when I was master of the Southern Cross.

The man Anderson was bookkeeper for the firm and a nephew of Mr. Tackles, the junior member. I had never spoken to him, but knew him well enough by sight.

There was evidently something wrong, so I thought, but as more could be learned by keeping quiet than in any other way, I didn’t allow my curiosity to worry me.

In a few minutes the clerks left the room, and I finished the drink I had ordered. Then I paid my score from a bag of rather light pocket ballast, and strolled down to the dock where the Arrow lay.

Larry O’Toole, the big, red-headed, freckle-faced second mate, was hard at work on her main-deck getting a mixed cargo into her. He had been second mate with me once before, and he gave me a hearty greeting as I climbed aboard.

I reported to Captain Crojack, and then got into my working togs to start the men loading at the fore hatch. Every one aboard the ship knew me, and even the old rigger, who was setting up the backstays, had sailed with my father, Captain Gore, when he was the crack skipper of the Yankee deep-water fleet, and who had gone on his long cruise when I was yet a boy.

I felt my position to be rather uncomfortable at first, but a sailor soon learns to adapt himself to all circumstances, and I reasoned that it would be better to appear as a good mate than as a poor skipper. Then I took hold in earnest, and it wasn’t long before we had the clipper settling in a way that bid fair to have her on her load-line in a pair of days.

When we knocked off work for the night, I went aft and met Captain Crojack, who handed me a note from Mr. Ropesend. I opened it and found that it was an invitation to join a small party of the old merchant’s friends at his house that evening. I showed it to Captain Crojack and explained that I was not a man for a social party of either men or women, and that in my present humour I would prove rather poor company.

After talking over the matter with him, however, he intimated so strongly that I must go that I finally went to a barber’s and then rigged myself out as well as possible in a hired suit of clothes. I had lost all my shore togs, except one ragged suit, in the wreck of the Southern Cross.

After finishing my rig, I made my way in no pleasant frame of mind to Mr. Ropesend’s residence.

On arriving there I looked at my watch and found that it was exactly the hour he requested me to be there, so I walked boldly up the broad stone steps, rang the bell and entered. There was not a soul there besides Mr. Ropesend and his sister, Mrs. Matthews, but this lady was dressed as though she expected company. You will understand what I mean by that, for a sailor can hardly describe the gearings belonging to trim females, in spite of the fact that he is always talking about them and drawing comparisons between them and clippers under sky-sails.

The large hall of the house was decorated with great quantities of rubber-plants, palms, and ferns. The door which led into the passage to the conservatory was open, and the drawing-room was filled with the warm, damp odour of flowers and moist earth.

The old merchant came forward and grasped me by the hand as if greeting his oldest friend. We talked pleasantly about old times for a few minutes, and then, excusing himself to his sister, he took my arm and led me into the conservatory, where he intimated that he had something new in the way of ferns to show me.

As we passed along through the aisles, among the plants, I recognized a rare Australian fern that I had presented him on my return from the first voyage I had made in one of his vessels.

It was pleasant to be among those luxurious surroundings, even for a short time, but as I knew that he had business with me which he was anxious to settle, my interest centred mostly upon the old gentleman himself.

After a desultory and one-sided conversation, in which I took the smaller part, he seated himself on a rustic bench and motioned me to sit beside him.

“I wished you to be here to-night,” he began, “so you would meet Mr. Brown and, perhaps, have a talk with him, for he is going to sail with you on the Arrow.”

I remained silent, for I couldn’t quite catch the drift of his meaning.

“Not as a passenger,” he went on, “but as third mate.” Then he was silent for a moment as he saw I was listening.

“I see,” I answered, but I really saw nothing except the old man’s keen gray eyes regarding me curiously from over the rim of his eye-glasses. I am an old sea-dog of the tight-jawed breed, and I’ve always found that when a man wishes to learn something it is best to let the man imparting the knowledge do the talking.

“The young man has not been in good health for some time past and we have thought it advisable that he should take a long sea-voyage on which he can get plenty of exercise and fresh air. He has expressed a preference to go with you on the Arrow.”

“I see,” I answered again, for although not of a suspicious nature, I was beginning to see that there was something unhealthy about the business. I did not feel greatly flattered by the preference bestowed upon me, so I kept quiet after admitting that I saw.

My manner was not lost upon Mr. Ropesend, for he eyed me keenly, and continued:

“Mr. Gore, this young man’s father was my earliest friend. I looked upon him as I would look upon my own brother, and I look upon his child as I would look upon—well, say my own—had I ever married and had one—you understand?”

I bowed.

“And as he will have to be in your watch, I want you to take every care of him that you possibly can, without, of course, interfering with the ship’s duties or discipline. He will not be one who will try to shirk hard work.” He said this with great warmth, and after pausing a moment to allow his words to have their effect, continued:

“I know that your misfortunes have soured your temper to a certain extent—No, no, don’t misunderstand me,” he put in, hastily, as he saw my look. “I know that you are only human and what you have been through would have ruined most men. At the same time you have a great deal to be thankful for.”

“Yes,” I growled, rather ill-naturedly, “I suppose I should be thankful that I haven’t the smallpox, or the yellow fever, or a hundred other things. Being thankful for a number of things that don’t happen to me does not make me thankful for some that have.”

He was silent for a few moments, and then said, with a smile, “I see you wish me to believe you a philosopher. How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” I answered.

“Have you ever been in love?” he continued, smiling broadly, and the merry twinkling of his eyes told me plainly that our business was finished.

“Never in my life,” I answered, firmly, and I never knew until that moment that I could lie so easily.

“Of course, then, you have never married and don’t know what it is to have a son of your own.”

“Hm-m-m, well,” I answered, “I’ve made several voyages to China and Japan, and it is always the custom out there to purchase a wife, if you can support her and—”

“Never mind, never mind about that,” he interrupted, quickly; “I don’t want any of your reminiscences at present. You understand what I want done with Mr. Brown, so we might as well go in and see if any one has arrived.”

I was astonished, when we neared the door of the drawing-room, to hear a great hum of voices. We had been in the conservatory only a short time, but during that interval a number of people had arrived and were seated at small tables playing euchre.

Mr. Ropesend found a place for me at a table with Mr. Brown, Miss Anderson, and Captain Crojack’s pretty niece, Miss Waters. How the evening passed I can hardly remember. I was a poor partner for Miss Waters, who kept telling me over and over again that she and her mother were going out with us to China. It was a great relief to me when some one suggested dancing, so I could get away.

I felt conspicuous among those people, for, after all, I was nothing but the mate of a deep-water ship. I could dance about as well as a Chinese mandarin, and my hands were so large and brown that they looked absurd among the rest of those at the card-table.

I looked around for Mr. Ropesend to say good night and see if he had any further orders for me. Not finding him, I separated from the rest and walked into the conservatory and sat down.

After a few minutes the good-natured person playing the piano grew tired and ceased. Then several couples came laughing into the conservatory and through it to the garden beyond. I thought I would wait until they all came out, and then go in and say good night, so I lounged back in my seat beneath the ferns and palms.

Presently Mr. Brown and Miss Anderson came out and stood just opposite me, but directly behind a thick bunch of palmettos. They were whispering earnestly, and the girl leaned heavily upon the young man’s arm.

“How did it happen?” I heard her ask him, passionately.

“I don’t know any more about it than you do, dearest,” he answered. “I am the cashier, and I’ll be held responsible. That is all, and that is why, I suppose, that I am going on this voyage. Mr. Ropesend seems to think it is absolutely necessary to hush the matter up.”

“But I don’t see—”

It seemed to me that I had made great progress in listening to matters that were none of my business. I reflected, however, that it was through no efforts of my own, and remained silent. I have always tried to be broad-minded, and this evening listening appeared to me to be anything but wrong. There was a short silence, and I caught a glimpse of the girl’s beautiful face as she looked up at her lover’s.

“Wherever I go, dear, I’ll always—”

“And I’ll be yours, Jack—”

And as she put up her beautiful mouth to be kissed, I gave a deep grunt of satisfaction before I realized what I was about. I turned away my head and heard a rustle of silk. When I looked up again, they were gone.

As soon as possible I found Mr. Ropesend and said good night. Then, without a word to any one else, I hurried away.

The little scene I had just witnessed impressed me strangely and haunted me all the way down to the ship. That beautiful, earnest face, with the trembling, sensitive lips repeating those last words—somehow it brought back to me an incident that—

I passed a beggar leaning against the side of a house, with his crutch before him, and, as I passed him heedlessly, I heard the deep curses he hurled after me. Turning quickly, I grabbed him before he could move half a fathom.

“Curse, you scoundrel!” I bawled; “curse every one who is up while you are down. Curse again, damn you; it does me great good. Curse again!” And I took the last dollar I had left and forced it into his hand. Then I released him and he fell to the ground, and as I walked away I could hear the word “devil” hissed in a frightened whisper.

I made my way to my stateroom in the forward cabin without meeting any one except the man on watch. Then, quickly stowing my shore togs, I turned in and was instantly asleep.

CHAPTER II.

It is pleasant for a sailor to get his whole night’s sleep once in awhile, although, for myself, I always wake up whenever eight bells strike. This, of course, is from habit, and while I usually lie awake for some minutes afterward, it never can be said to break the night’s rest.

Twice, as the bells struck during the night, I awoke, and the vision of a beautiful face with loving eyes passed before me. I lay awake both times for several minutes, and cursed my luck heartily because I was still a mate.

Then, before I realized it, I found myself much prejudiced against Mr. Brown. His pale face annoyed me whenever I thought of it, and once I half made up my mind to make him wish he had never set foot on a ship’s deck, if he came into my watch.

When I turned out in the morning my temper had a less sinister aspect. I heard the black moke of a “doctor” singing in the galley, while the odour of steaming coffee filled the air—

“Oh, I’se an ole Cape Ho’ner,
An’ I’se gwine round de co’ner,
An’ I’se gwine whar de sun doan nebber shine.”

I drew several long, deep breaths of the fresh morning air and walked out on the main deck.

“Foine marnin’, Mr. Gore,” said O’Toole, as he came down the starboard gangway, “an’ if that bloody naygur’ll devote th’ energy he’s wastin’, t’gettin’ out some belly ballast for us, we’ll be for shorring up as far as the main hatch by dark.”

A little hinting from Mr. O’Toole as to some sundry personal disadvantages to the doctor that might arise if breakfast didn’t appear suddenly on the cabin table, had the effect of silencing the moke and producing the steward with the hand-bell.

Captain Crojack seated himself at the head of the table and cast a suspicious glance at me over the rim of his cup, while he drank his coffee in silence. I said nothing about what I had overheard in the saloon the day before, and nothing about Mr. Ropesend’s reasons for sending us an inexperienced officer. I tried to talk of the skipper’s sister and niece, who were to be our passengers. Then the old man asked plainly if I knew that Mr. Brown was to sail as third mate, and I answered bluntly that I did.

It was so evident, from his tone, that he was trying to find out the reason why the young man should do this that I determined, out of pure combativeness, not to gratify his curiosity. I might also add that I could not have truthfully gratified it, even had I so wished, for all I had heard was but the gossip of clerks and Mr. Ropesend’s transparent yarn about the young man’s health.

When we were through breakfast, I went forward to relieve O’Toole. I found, then, that by keeping what I had heard to myself, my feelings were completely changed toward young Brown. I now felt as though I were his protector. This sudden turn of affairs caused such a revulsion from the prejudice I had against him—when I thought of that sweet, upturned face—that if he had stepped on board that minute I would have given him a welcome that would probably have astonished him.

I merely mention these senseless facts to show how even the best of us—if I may be allowed to give myself my own rating—are affected by trifling matters without realizing it.

That night we found that, by a little pushing, we would be steved and ready to sail by the next afternoon or following morning. The skipper then made arrangements to have a crew ready.

Pretty Miss Waters and her mother came on board to see about getting their baggage stowed, and in the morning Mr. Brown came down and reported for duty.

I had so much to attend to during that last day that I hardly had a chance to speak to the young man, but I found that he was as willing to work as Mr. Ropesend had said.

By the time it was light enough to see, in the morning, the shipping-master brought down the men. They were as scurvy a lot of sailors as were ever grouped on a deck. Norwegians, Swedes, Dagos, and Dutchmen of the lowest class, but there wasn’t an English nor American sailor in the lot. I mention this to show what sailors are coming to, for it seems that no Yankee skipper will ship a Yankee crew.

Some of these men were pretty drunk and hardly fit for work, and the second mate carried aft a dozen bottles of hidden liquor which he found in their outfits.

Crojack came on deck and gave the order to cast off. The lines were let go and two tugs pulled us slowly into the stream while a few loungers and longshoremen, who were attracted by the bustle and noise at that early hour, waved their hats and cheered as the Stars and Stripes broke from the peak of the monkey-gaff.

The headline was passed along the port side and stopped at the mizzen channels in order to turn the ship’s head outward, when she cleared the dock. One of the men, a dark-faced Spaniard, who was so drunk that he could hardly understand an order, stood by to cast off the stop when the time came.

“Leggo!” bawled the skipper, from the poop, and the fellow started to cast off while standing outside the line which now had the full power of the tug on it.

In a moment away it went, catching him like a bowstring across the waist. He shot twenty feet into the air and, whirling over and over, landed with a splash in the river.

Crojack supposed that he would be dead or disabled when he rose, so he bawled for the tug to pick him up.

In a few seconds, however, up the fellow came and struck out lustily for the wharf, and, on reaching it, was hauled up by some of the longshoremen. He stopped a few moments to catch his breath, and waved his hand gracefully. Then, putting his thumb to his nose, he spread forth his fingers in a most aggravating manner at the skipper, who had the satisfaction of seeing him bolt through the crowd and make off with what little advance money he had left. This was followed by a yell of derision from his sympathizing friends on the wharf.

“A divil av a trick t’play on an honest captain an’ thrue Christian gentleman,” muttered O’Toole, who had watched the affair with a broad smile on his face.

But Captain Crojack was not a true Christian gentleman. He was a plain honest sailor, so he bawled out a variety of adjectives, such as no gentleman would ever use, and called vainly for the crowd on the wharf to stop his man. Then coming to the sensible conclusion that it would be better to keep on than lose valuable time hunting the fellow, he signalled to the steamer to go ahead. I really believe he forgave the poor fellow in the bottom of his heart.

The old skipper was not much of a gentleman, because he was something of a Christian, and he was a poor Christian because he was something of a gentleman. A man will find it hard to be both; for a gentleman must lie and play the hypocrite often in order to be civil.

As I was saying, we towed down the beautiful bay and through the great fleet of vessels lying at anchor. Through the Narrows and into the lower harbour, where we met the clipper Washington just coming into port. I recognized old Captain Foregaff as he sprang upon her poop-rail and waved his hand to us. Then Miss Waters felt in her pocket and produced a handkerchief and waved it frantically as the homeward bound ship drifted past with the tide.

Soon the low land of the Hook lay on our starboard beam and the swell of the Western Ocean was felt under the clipper’s forefoot. The topsail yards were hoisted and the sails sheeted home and in a few minutes the bar was crossed.

A good breeze blew from the westward and, as the tug let go the tow-line, we backed the mainyards to put off the pilot. Then, clapping on every rag that would draw, we headed away on our course a little to the southward of east.

CHAPTER III.

There is an old saying, rhymed into an old saw, written by some one familiar with life at sea:

“Six days shalt thou labour
An’ do all ye are able,
The seventh thou shalt NOT rest
But holystone the deck—
An’ scrape the cable.”

It is comprehensive of a sailor’s life, for there is little time for play for a man at sea. But sailors are not going to the dogs. The man who has made a voyage and listened to some old grumbling seaman who has seen his best days will doubtless come ashore and write how seamen are no longer what they used to be, but the man who knows the sea knows better. The seagoing portion of the human race has not retrograded any more than the land portion. There are stout men yet, as stout and strong as any that ever trod the slanting deck of the old-time packet, and they are just as intelligent, and they are just as able.

The amusements of all men are naturally governed by their surroundings. The farmer or well-appointed stock-raiser will naturally take to developing such games as golf. It is fitted to his surroundings. The man confined to a ship’s deck will develop a series of amusements which bear directly upon the peculiar affairs in his life and which appeal to him most strongly. Life at sea is more or less rough. The sailor has a rough comprehension of the humourous, and he will indulge in games such as “paying the footing” and “swinging the sluggard” with the zest that comes only to natures which have felt privation the victim might mitigate.

On American deep-water ships games of a romping nature are seldom indulged in to any extent, but there is no rule. A ship is like a face. It reflects usually the mind of its master. Some captains encourage games, but the danger of fighting among mixed races in the forecastle is too great to encourage anything of a romping kind except under certain circumstances. If you ask an American sailor what he did on a deep-water voyage upon an American ship to amuse himself, he will look blankly at you and smile. After that it will be hard to engage him in conversation, for he will be convinced that he is talking to a mild sort of lunatic. Work and sleep—mostly the former—with a few moments to eat, are what he contents himself with, and if, by any chance, the officers let slip a little time and there is any vitality left in him, the chances are that the “holiday” will be spent in mending his much-needed clothes.

Upon men-of-war, where there is a townfull of landsmen and sailors crowded together, life is entirely different. There they will take every opportunity for a frolic and indulge in all the time-worn games peculiar to men-o’-wars’ men. Nearly every one knows of the tropical games, such as receiving “Father Neptune on the Line,” and the toll exacted from all who have never crossed before. This frolic is quite impressive upon a man-of-war when the men have taken the trouble to dress for the occasion. The old bo’s’n, with a voice like a bull whale in distress, will come over the bows some warm, quiet morning. His whiskers, a full fathom long, made of rope-yarn and dripping brine, will give him a most nautical appearance, and his crowd of retainers, in all sorts of grotesque rigs, will follow him. Shaving seems to be the most slighted part of the seaman’s toilet at sea, and it will be necessary to shave all who have not been initiated. The razor usually consists of a barrel hoop a couple of feet long and of the usual keenness, and the lather a mixture which for peculiar and sticky ingredients is limited solely by the knowledge of the sea-barbers. The mop, or brush, generally gets into the customer’s mouth the first time he opens it to answer a question roared at him in a tone which leaves no chance for silence, and, amid the yells of the sea-demons, he is tossed backward into a tub, or canvas basin, concealed behind him for the occasion.

But the larks of the “windjammer” of the merchant service have very little of the old-fashioned fun left in them. This is because the ships are manned by crews about one-quarter as large as formerly. Their fun is even more practical.

For instance, the fact that a sailor is lazy awakens a grim form of amusement among his fellows which often takes evidence in their jerking him bodily out of his bunk by the leg, and hoisting him high as the mainyard arm. “Swinging the sluggard” is a proper game, for it teaches him that he must turn to when the watch is called. He may not be much account as a man, but there are cold and tired men on deck who need all the help they can get. If he does not turn to and the mates are easy, some one will probably have to do his work for a few minutes. On American ships, however, when a man hangs back, the mate usually comes right into the forecastle to find out why. He sometimes gets a bad name in the newspapers for this, but it worries him not at all.

The old-fashioned way to amuse the rest of the watch is to rig a gantline and make it fast to the sluggard’s leg as he lies in his bunk. Then the rest tail on to the line, and up he goes, either through the scuttle above or through the door, either way leaving some cuticle behind, and accumulating a few black and blue spots in places, while the men whang him with ropes’ ends. He will probably reach the mainyard feet foremost, and will be wide-awake when he descends. Once is enough for the average lazy and selfish sailor of the bunk-loving habit. The amusement it affords the watch can only be appreciated by one who has handled frozen lines in the early morning when it was clearly the other fellow’s place to do so.

In some ships where the sailors’ union is recognized, and the American element is predominant, the watch will sometimes start a dance, or march, to the exhilarating tune of the old “shanty:”

“The mate, he got drunk and went below—
He broke the long-necked bottle, oh—oh—oh—oh—
So early in the morning—so early in the morning,
The sailor loves his whiskey,—oh—oh, boy—oh.”

Or they will swing into “Blow a Man Down,” that song which may be shifted to any old tune to suit the occasion.

In the Arrow it was my duty, as mate, to see that things went well forward, and I went through the men’s outfits pretty thoroughly. I always hated to find that a dago had a hidden knife of a dangerous length when I expected him to do some uncongenial work which might call for sudden suasion on an officer’s part.

A big Swede met me at the forecastle door, and grinned at me as I entered. “I tank youse’ll find us a good crew, Mr. Gore. Aye tank youse a good mate, sir,” said he.

“You mustn’t tank, Yohn,” I answered. “I’ll do the thinking for you. Let me take a look into your chest.”

His face fell, but he knew better than to refuse, so I opened it for him and disclosed two bottles of liquor and a heavy pistol, of all of which I carefully relieved him. The rest of the dunnage proved almost barren of spoil, and after giving the room a careful survey, I went out again. The smell of the fresh, salt sea was now in my nostrils and the gloomy life of the shore left behind. Ahead was the excitement and hope of a prosperous voyage in company of whom I began to suspect would prove pleasant passengers. The smells of the rigging, the tar, grease, and even the bilge as it was stirred up and came through the opening in the forward hatchway, recalled me to the life as of old, and the melancholy thoughts I had recently indulged in gave place to the most exhilarating ones.

“Sing, Dutchy,” I cried to a squat sailor, who was hauling doggedly upon a royal brace.

“I don’t got no tune, den, what?” said he, grinning.

“Aye tank I kin sing him,” said a Norwegian sailor, tailing on the line just ahead of him.

“Turn him loose, then,” I cried.

“Sing ye, Jezebel, sing,” cried O’Toole, coming up panting with the exertion of trying to break a topsail brace. “Sing, an’ stretch th’ line,” and he led off with “Whiskey Johnnie,” into which the rest roared a chorus.

Four men grabbed the mainskysail halyard and sent the light yard whisking up the masthead. The fellow who had loosed the sail had not left the yard and was sent aloft along with it, the men below trying to send him skyward with a rush.

Suddenly the halyard broke. The man on the yard gave a spring as it dropped under him. He shot outward, fell headlong downward, and just as we thought he would plunge headlong to the deck, a hundred feet below, he reached the backstay with one hand. With a power born of desperation, he grasped the line. His body swung around with the sweep of a whip-lash, but he hung on. Then his other hand reached the stay, and he slid quickly to the crosstrees. Down the ratlines he came on the run. Reaching the lanyard, he sprang upon the deck and dashed into the crowd of men who still stood gazing spellbound at his performance.

“Vat you do, hein? Vill you kill me, den?” he screamed, and he lashed out with a right good-will, knocking two of the men down.

I saw O’Toole grinning, and as I was the mate, it was not my place to see too much. The big Irishman would take care of the fracas when the time came to interfere. I made my way around the deck-house out of sight, and sent a man after a new halyard.

The moke in the galley was hard at it in an argument with the steward. I saw and heard nothing. The work forward had been started, and all was well.

CHAPTER IV.

I went aft on the quarter-deck where Captain Crojack stood eying the towering cloud of snowy canvas, from the foot of the mainsail to the skysail yards.

“By gorry, Mr. Gore,” said he, “we’ve got a good start, and if the wind holds we’ll make a good offing during the night. I suppose you’ve met my passengers before?” and he motioned toward Miss Waters and her mother who stood near the companionway. They were apparently admiring everything about the ship except her sudden lurches, which caused them to make sundry clutches for support.

I bowed and spoke to them, but the young girl was so absorbed in the new scene before her that she said little except that it was “perfectly lovely,” while the mother began to show signs of paleness coupled with a nervous catching of the breath at each roll of the ship.

“She’s got a good lively feel to her, don’t you think?” went on the skipper, referring to his vessel. “The only thing that worried me was the stowing of all that marble and stuff amidships, and so much iron in her ends.”

As he spoke, the ship gave a jerk and tremble, throwing the sea from her weather-bow in a smother and going through it like a half-tide rock in a strong current.

There was no earthly use of disagreeing with him, so I said nothing, knowing full well he had overloaded his vessel by three or four hundred tons in order to make the extra freight money.

In a short time Mr. Brown came aft and, after greeting the passengers, told me that the second mate wished to see me, as he had mustered the crew on the deck in the waist.

I left the quarter with the skipper in charge, and went forward to where O’Toole had all hands lined up to divide into watches.

“Ha!” he cried, “Mr. Gore, but we’ve got some foine burds t’ choose from this voyage. By th’ sowl av St. Patrick, I niver seen sich a set o’ mugs nayther before nor since. Which wan will ye choose for the first man? How would that mollyhawk-looking Scandinavian suit yer eye, ey?”

“None of your land-shark tricks on me. I know a man as well as you,” I replied, sharply, but he caught the expression of my eye and he showed his teeth in a broad grin. He had a great, freckled, hairless face, this O’Toole.

So saying, I picked out a stout, heavy-shouldered young German, who was the most active and intelligent-looking man in the crowd.

O’Toole followed by picking out a powerful young Swede, and I then motioned for a dago to join me. We kept it up until I had eleven and he twelve men, for, as I had the third mate, it was better that the loss of our deserter should fall on my watch.

The carpenter, cook, and Chinese steward made up the rest of the ship’s company.

After making a short address to the men and giving all hands a glass of grog, I dismissed them and told off my watch, the port, for the first after eight bells that evening.

O’Toole, however, called his men into the starboard gangway and addressed them according to his own ideas of what became a second officer.

“Now I jist want to hint to ye, so t’ spake,” he began, “that fer a set av windjammers, ye air a bloomin’, ill-favoured lot o’ sons o’ Belial. But all ye’ve got t’ do is t’ jump whin I gives the whurd or I’ll knock the divil and damnation thunder out o’ ye quicker ’n old Nick can scorch a feather, d’ye see?

“I don’t want no foolin’ nor shirkin’, an’ mum’s the whurd. Ef ye can’t understand English, yer got yerselves into a mighty unhealthy ship, fer I only spake ter onct. Ef yer do yer duty, I’ll be as tinder an’ aisy with ye as yer swatehearts, but ef ye don’t, by the howly, jumping Jezebel, I’ll bear down on yer, an’ thin stand from under.”

Then, cursing them individually and collectively, he sent them forward and retired to his own room in the side of the forward cabin.

On going aft again I found the skipper explaining some nautical matters to Mr. Brown in such a contemptuous tone that it was evident the old man didn’t believe in young men starting out as sailors with access to the quarter-deck.

However, the third mate kept his temper, and showed by his answers that he was by no means ignorant of the theoretical knowledge of navigation, whatever he might lack in a practical sense. He replied so intelligently to some of the skipper’s questions that I almost believed that he had been to sea before, and I was quite pleased with him.

As I now had a chance to observe him closely in his sailor’s togs, I could see that he was a well-made man and would prove useful with a little guidance from an older hand. His clear gray eyes looked straight into mine when I addressed him, and his small, though firm, chin gave him an air of honesty that was ill coupled with what I had overheard of him.

I had handled a great many men and had long ago come to the conclusion that I could judge a man’s capabilities as well as any one, so that neither denunciation nor praise of a person’s character affected my judgment. Not that I am entirely impervious to prejudice, for, being nothing but a rough and not over-intelligent sailor, I can hardly claim such perfection. Still, I allow it to affect me as little as any human being can.

While we stood the first watch that evening, I had the opportunity to judge the sociable side of the young man’s nature, for we talked nearly the whole four hours, while the ship ran along steadily to the eastward.

Neither Miss Waters nor her mother appeared on deck, and from certain sounds that issued from the cabin window, it appeared evident that they were not at present interested in nautical scenery. The skipper came up from below several times to see how we were heading and to look at the patent log, which trailed taut from the taffrail. He finally turned in, after muttering something about the glass having fallen a little.

“Isn’t she loaded very deep, Mr. Gore?” asked Brown, when we were alone.

“Deep as a sand barge,” I answered, “and she will be about as wet as one in a seaway.”

“That’s what I thought when they inspected her, but the surveyor said that as he was not going out in her, Captain Crojack would be the one to suffer. Somehow it seems to me that the fellows on the main-deck will be the ones who will suffer the most.”

In this I quite agreed with him, and, having once established this confidence between us, we became friends henceforth. I have often thought since, after all we went through together, how much trifles affect the forming of friendships. Here the treating of an honest opinion with respect, instead of trying to appear blind to error, won the confidence of a man whose influence saved me from ruin.

As midnight drew near I sent him to call the second mate, and I stood near the mizzen waiting for the bells to strike.

Suddenly I heard a deep growling of oaths and sounds of a slight scuffle in the second officer’s cabin. “Och! Ye spalpeen, I’ll break every bone in your skin. What d’ye mane by waking an honest man in th’ middle av his watch below—ah, well, I beg yer pardon, Mr. Brown; but why didn’t ye make yersilf known first? By th’ sowl av th’ saints, if that boot had struck ye betwixt wind an’ wather ye would have become a cripple fer th’ space av a year.”

“Confound you for a red-headed fool!” returned Brown, angrily. “If you are going to kill a man every time he turns you out, I’ll come next time with a handspike to—”

“What, ye mutinous young devil!” roared O’Toole; “what d’ye mane? Well, well, never moind; perhaps I was a little hasty. Ye see, I thought ye ware one av thim dagos, an’ I niver allow ayther dago or Dutchman ter lay his hand on the Lord’s anointed, which, if ye plaise, is no other than mesilf. Ye say eight bells have struck? All right. Ye can tell yer chum, Mr. Gore, that I’ll relave him av his onerous duties in about three shakes av a sheet rope.”

As he said this the door banged and Brown came on deck.

“That red-headed beast threw his boot at me when I tried to wake him,” he said, “and the next time I turn him out I’ll be on the lookout for him.”

I told him not to mind the second mate’s peculiarities, as he was a good sailor, and that after he knew him he would probably like him better. That, in fact, very few people were charmed with O’Toole’s manner, but most men got along with him well enough if they resisted his bullying ways.

The young man said nothing more, but I could see by the light in his eyes that, although he was a baby in size compared to the giant Irishman, he would try and give a good account of himself if they should ever quarrel.

In a few minutes the bells struck and O’Toole came on deck, while the starboard watch filed out into gangway.

“It’s an apology I owe to Mr. Brown,” said the big fellow, “for he’s th’ right sort av man, an’ it would have been a pity had I broken his neck with that boot. Ye see, I’m of a very nervous temperament, an’ like th’ news av a thing broken gently. Me own mother was av th’ same nature, for whin th’ owld man died, through th’ interposition av Providence an’ th’ fore part av a steam-ingine, they had to appoint me brother Mike t’ break th’ news to her aisy like. So he sez, sez he, ‘My dear, ’tis a short toime th’ owld man will live now.’

“’An’ why?’ sez she; ‘can’t he drink more whiskey an’ curse harder than any man in town?’

“‘’Cause he’s dead,’ said Mike, and th’ owld woman always hild that th’ aisy manner Mike had in breaking av th’ news was th’ only thing that previnted her from dyin’ av th’ shock.”

I told him to be more careful in the future, and Brown, coming up at that moment in time to hear the second mate’s remarks, laughed good-humouredly, so I felt that there would be no further ill-feeling between them.

I gave O’Toole the course to steer, if the wind held as it was, and then went below and turned in. The glass over my bunk had fallen four-tenths during the day and appeared to be still going down rapidly. I watched it as I lay awake for a few moments and then suddenly dropped off into a sound sleep.

As the weather had been clear and wind light enough for skysails, I took no precautions to fix myself firmly in my bunk. I was, therefore, astonished to awake suddenly just in time to prevent myself from falling to the deck as the ship gave a sharp lurch and brought up with a jerk. Four bells struck, and I found I had only slept two hours, so, jamming myself in firmly with a blanket, I tried to sleep again.

I heard O’Toole’s footsteps on the deck overhead, and now and then an oath when he halted at the break of the poop. The vessel seemed to be off her course, for she now took a heavy rolling sea on the port beam that sent her jerking and switching along in a most uncomfortable manner.

Soon I heard O’Toole’s voice giving orders to take a pull in the foretopsail brace, followed by the tramp of men and clucking rattle of blocks. Then came the order to take in the skysails, and, with the creaking of halyards and distant slatting of canvas, I again lost consciousness.

CHAPTER V.

Bang! Bang! Bang! went a heavy hand on my door, and a sailor poked his head inside a moment afterward with the news that it was eight bells, and that I must leave the warm blankets to turn out for my watch on deck.

I lay awake listening to the deepening hum of the wind in the rigging, and I knew that it was blowing a stiff breeze aloft. The air in my room was cold, and, as I heard O’Toole’s footsteps overhead, the desire to keep within a warm, snug berth was almost overpowering. I could tell by the shuffling of the second mate’s feet that he was having a cold time of it. However, I turned out and found Brown already on deck talking to O’Toole, who was evidently giving him some instructions he did not understand.

The ship was tearing along under t’gallantsails, heading a little to the southward of east, and braced sharp on her backstays to the northeast breeze that was increasing steadily.

The glass had gone down three-tenths since I had turned in, and Captain Crojack had come on deck to take a look at the weather. The odour of his toilet—which consisted invariably of three fingers of rum mixed with sugar and water—was perceptible in the crisp air, and he appeared a trifle nervous. As everything was all right, and it would not be daylight for nearly two hours, he finally came to the conclusion that everything would go along just as well if he went below and turned in again.

“Looks sort o’ dirty away t’ th’ north’ard, Mr. Gore,” said O’Toole, “but I’ve held her up to her course till th’ last half-hour. I was just tellin’ Mr. Brown here that he wants t’ be careful about that weather maint’gallant leech-line, as it’s badly chafed. We’ll have a chance t’ reeve another pretty soon.”

I could see Brown’s teeth in the darkness, for he knew no more of the whereabouts of that leech-line than he did of Captain Kidd’s treasure. He was sensible enough, however, not to show his ignorance to the second mate.

“I’ll reeve the beast, if it don’t take too much blood,” he answered, and the second officer stood staring at him in amazement for the space of half a minute. Then he touched his head significantly with his carroty forefinger, and went below muttering something about men who were “off the handle” during the first part of their morning watches.

I came to the rescue as soon as we were alone and asked:

“Have you ever been to sea before—that is, on deep water?”

“No, never, except once when I was a small boy and went with my father. He was a master, you know, and had an interest in some of the finest vessels the firm ever chartered. But it won’t take me long to get the hang of these ropes, for they are not so many as they appear to be after one gets used to them. If you’ll give me a pointer now and then, I’ll be able to do something.”

I was sorely tempted to ask him why he had taken the notion to come out on this voyage as third mate. Then, when I thought of what I had heard, it seemed too bad to stir up unpleasant memories with him, so I forbore.

He appeared so pleasant and willing that I made up my mind then and there to stand by him. It was hard enough for him to start out and make his living as a sailor, even if he might be able to hold a mate’s berth in a few years, so I cheered him up and told him that he would get along all right. I had had hard knocks and a rough struggle all my life, and I have always believed that a man who has suffered hard knocks is less liable to pass them along to others than a narrow-minded, soft-handed fellow who doesn’t know what the lives of some men are.

We didn’t have much time for discussing nautical subjects on this morning, for, after we had been on deck five minutes, I saw that we were going to have trouble with the canvas, if the vessel wasn’t shortened down quickly. I wasted but few moments before giving the order to take in the fore and main t’gallantsails.

When the morning dawned, the deepening haze in the northeast turned a dull, steel blue, while the sun sent fan-shaped beams of light through it, giving it an unpleasant look to a nautical eye.

To windward the sea had a ghastly pale colour, and the whitening combers showed that it was beginning to get a good, quick run to it from the northeast.

Captain Crojack came on deck, accompanied by his niece. The young girl wore an old sou’wester, which had done duty for the skipper for many a year, and was wrapped in a shawl. She made a ludicrous picture, standing there at the companion hatch rigged out in those togs.

“Isn’t this grand, Mr. Gore?” she cried, as I came aft to the skipper. “I do hope we will have a terrible storm. I do so want to see something exciting. It’s awful to be stuck away down there in that stuffy old cabin.”

“I certainly hope we will have nothing of the kind,” I answered, rather shortly, for the idea of any one wishing for a gale was exceedingly distasteful to me, especially in the hours of the morning watch when I was hungry and half-frozen.

She laughed pleasantly at my ill-humour, and begged Mr. Brown to take her forward, which the skipper, to my surprise, let him do.

“Going to have a fracas before night,” said the old man; “you better see to those hatches, that they are lashed fast. She will be dry enough at both ends, but she’ll be a brute for taking water over her amidships.”

I went forward and had the carpenter get out two heavy timbers to lash over the after hatch, and then saw that the fore and main were battened properly.

The men eyed the third mate curiously while he helped Miss Waters on to the poop again and then joined in the work of lashing the timbers. I noticed a smile or two in the group and saw some of the fellows exchange glances.

The big, burly German—the first man I had chosen in my watch, and who looked like an overgrown sculpin—made a remark to the man next to him, as they bent over the timber.

I brought the end of the lashing across the fellow’s broad shoulders so heavily that he started up with an oath and faced around at me.

It was only for an instant, for I held my face close to his and he caught the look of my eye while I cursed him in a low, even tone for being so slow at his work. Then he bent to it again, flashing out venomous glances at me from the corners of his little black eyes.

Before going to breakfast, the skipper took in the maingallantsail, and we ragged along under topsails with the weather clew of the mainsail hauled up. Forward, the lower sails were the maintopmast-staysail, foresail, and forestaysail, and they strained away at a rate that sent the clipper flying through a perfect smother of white foam suds.

O’Toole came on deck, and Brown, the skipper, and myself went to breakfast.

Miss Waters came to the table, but her mother was too ill to leave her bunk. The cleats were fastened to the board to keep the dishes from slipping to leeward, and the young girl appeared to enjoy this novelty. I couldn’t help thinking how bright and rosy she looked as she steadied her plate and laughed gaily at every lurch of the racing ship.

She and Brown kept up a cheerful conversation, while the skipper and I drank our coffee in silence. Once I fancied the old man regarded his third mate a little sourly. However, he said nothing disagreeable and, after finishing his coffee, contented himself with some remarks about the weather. We were nearly through the meal when the vessel took a sudden heel to leeward.

A deep, booming roar overhead, mingled with the hoarse cries of the second mate and thundering crack of flying canvas, told us plainly that something was wrong on deck. Captain Crojack jumped from his chair, letting the dish of cold beef slide to the deck, and together we made our way on deck, closely followed by the third mate.

The ship, struck by a squall, was almost on her beam ends, while the main and mizzen topsails, which O’Toole had let go by the run, were thundering away at a rate that threatened to take the masts out of her.

“Hard up the wheel!” bawled Crojack, as he gained the poop. “Maintopmast-stay-sail, Mr. Gore, quick!” he yelled again as I cast off the halyards and got a couple of men at the down-haul.

O’Toole bawled for all hands, and, as I turned, he and a dozen men sprang into the main rigging and up they went to secure the maintopsail.

Young Brown kept with the men on deck and helped wherever he could lend a hand, for, as he was stout and active, his weight on a down-haul or clewline was equal to any.

The wind increased rapidly while the vessel was paying off before it, so by the time the main and mizzen upper topsails were snug, we were kept hard at it struggling with the main and fore sails.

As she came slowly to, the full force of the wind could be realized, and the flying drift and spray gave the thing a nasty look to windward. The sea began to make rapidly.

I took my watch below a little before two bells, while the skipper stayed on deck with the second mate.

Miss Waters stood in the door of the after companionway holding to the combings of the hatch-slide. She looked a little frightened, but was apparently enjoying the ship’s plunges in spite of it. By the present outlook of things to windward, it appeared as though her wish for excitement would be fulfilled before many hours passed.

Brown turned in, or rather he went below, when I did. I fancied that he did it for appearances, as there was little chance for a landsman to rest.

An old sailor will never miss his watch below in bad weather if he can help it, for he never is sure of how long it will be before all hands are turned out for a fight with canvas.

He will manage to get to sleep even if he is stood on his head every few minutes. But

“MISS WATERS STOOD IN THE DOOR OF THE AFTER COMPANIONWAY.”

to a person unaccustomed to the motion of an overloaded ship, the jerking and crashing going on below are unbearable. It is entirely different from a comfortable ’tween decks of a passenger ship. Every plank and timber is groaning with the strain, and the tremendous cracking will make it appear, at first, as if the vessel is going to pieces in a few moments.

On the contrary, an old sailor knows that the more noise in the working timbers, up to a certain extent, the safer is the ship, for it is only sound timber that makes a great noise. As for me, I was asleep almost as soon as I had stretched out in my bunk, but almost instantly afterward I was awakened by a thundering shock that made the ship stagger. In a moment my door was burst open and a man stuck in his head and bawled, “All hands, sir!”

CHAPTER VI.

On gaining the deck I found a huge sea had fallen into the waist, filling the main-deck knee-deep with water. The weather was looking wild enough to windward.

The ship was plunging into a mountainous sea, with nothing on her except the three narrow bands of lower topsails and forestaysail. She was heeling over to the gale until her lee deckstrake was level with the sea, while the deep roar of the wind, as it tore its way through the rigging, told plainly of the pressure on the canvas.

The flying, swirling drift struck the face so hard that it was impossible to look but for a moment to windward. I noticed Brown had turned out and was sheltering himself as best he might while he clung to the lee mizzen rigging. Captain Crojack was on deck, and O’Toole had gone forward to call all hands. We had been hove to all the morning on the port track, but, as the barometer fell steadily, the skipper saw, as soon as the wind began to chop around to the eastward, that he was nearing the centre of the cyclone. All hands were then called to wear ship.

As the men took their places at the braces, the skipper gave the order to put the wheel hard up, when the forestaysail, which had held during all the morning, parted from the stay with a loud crack and was gone.

The heavy ship wore slowly under the three lower topsails, but finally came up on the starboard tack, heading almost due north.

When she first headed the sea, a big fellow caught her a little forward of the starboard beam and bore her down until her lee rail was well under water. Then, with a sudden lurch, she righted, sending the flood across the deck and filling the forward cabin and alleyways. The main-deck was full of water, and under the extra load the clipper settled almost to her deck amidships.

The ports in the bulwarks were nailed up and the water would not get clear fast enough through the scuppers. The men were called aft on the poop, while O’Toole and myself, armed with handspikes, started to break out the bulwarks in the waist.

In a few moments we were joined by the third mate, who stood knee-deep in the foam and strove lustily to force the heavy planks from the vessel’s timbers.

While we worked I felt the ship take a heave to windward, and at the same instant heard Crojack’s voice bawling out something.

I turned my head just in time to see a blue hill of water rise high above the weather-rail.

Then, with a tremendous, smothering crash, it fell on deck and rolled over us.

I had just time to grasp the main brace when my feet were swept from under me and I felt myself beneath the surface.

Holding on with both hands, I tried to get my head out of the water, and in a moment the ship righted, jerking me back on to the main-deck.

As soon as I could see anything, I looked for O’Toole and Brown. And then, yes, and then I must confess how weak a strong man is, I looked aft to see if a bright face was enjoying the excitement.

There, in the lee scuppers, lay the red-headed giant holding fast to the topsail brace with one hand while the other was fast in the collar of the third mate’s jacket.

O’Toole was up to his armpits in the swirl, but his freckled face and red hair shone like a beacon in the surrounding waste of whiteness, while his deep voice, half-choked with salt water, spluttered out a string of oaths as he dragged Brown to his feet.

“Ef it’s swimmin’ ye’re afther, ’twill be hard to keep up with us,” he roared into the third mate’s ear, “an’ it’s a divin’-bell ye’ll be wantin’ if yer goin’ to help us here, so git on to th’ poop before another sea washes ye clane out av yer skin.” So saying, he released the young man and, grabbing his handspike that floated near, began to start the planking with powerful blows.

The third mate seemed reluctant to leave, but, as his handspike had gone overboard on that sea, there was nothing else for him to do. He climbed on to the poop and held on to the lee rigging. In a few moments we stove out the ports, and the vessel began to relieve herself of the load on her main-deck. Then we climbed back on the poop and held on, watching the lower topsails as they tugged and strained at the clews.

Captain Crojack stood near the wheel, and his seamed and lined face wore an anxious look as he strove to pierce the cloud of flying drift and spray which bore down on the staggering ship.

I remember watching him and the pretty face in the companionway alternately. There was much of the sturdy sailor’s nature expressed in the soft face of the young girl. And I have always found much to admire in strong, sturdy characters.

Even, as is often the case, if the strong personality has a coarse fibre, and lacks the soft and delicate traceries of sentiment of the weaker, I have always felt that more reliance could be placed in the former than in the latter, and under any circumstances.

Old Crojack’s strong, lined face and puckered eyes, as he stood there trying to look to windward, was a study of resolute responsibility.

All of a sudden there was a loud crack, and the maintopsail seemed to melt away from the yard-arm as if it were a sheet of ice under a tropic sun. Then, almost instantly, the wind began to fall until in a few moments a candle would have burned on deck.

“Clew down the mizzentopsail,” roared the skipper, as he sprang for the halyards, and in a moment the watch were all struggling with that bit of canvas and had it rolled snug on the yard in less time than it takes to tell it.

“Keep her northeast b’ north,” he sung out again, as the ship, becoming unmanageable, began switching and plunging into a high lumpy sea that seemed to come from all points of the compass at once. All around us hung low, thick banks of heavy, dark, and oily-looking clouds, their lower edges almost resting on the heaving ocean. The air had become as warm as if we had suddenly entered the tropics. In the dull, uncertain light I thought I noticed something white on the water to the southward. Then, above the thundering of the seas that fell on the ship’s deck, I could hear a deepening murmur. It swelled into a deep roaring as the hurricane, driving the tops of the seas before it until they were as level as a plain of driven snow, bore down on our starboard quarter.

With a rush that made every shroud and backstay sing to the strain, until the booming roar was deafening, it struck us and away we went before it.

The foretopsail held long enough to get the ship’s head off before it; then it parted from the clews and jackstay and disappeared like a giant bird into the drift ahead.

It blew so hard that it almost lifted me from my feet as I crossed the deck.

Captain Crojack fastened the cabin door and pulled the slide to the companionway, for he knew that, running deep as we were, it would only be a few minutes before the sea would begin to board us.

“By th’ sowl av Saint Patrick, we struck th’ cintre av it this time, sure,” said O’Toole, who, with Brown and a couple of hands in my watch, sheltered themselves behind the mizzen.

“It puts me in moind av th’ time we had on th’ Eagle frigate whin we struck into th’ cintre av one o’ thim circular storms ter th’ north’ard av th’ Bermudas. There was a parrot on board owned by an Irishman in my mess, and ivery time a sea would strike an’ board us th’ baste would laugh outrajis. Th’ fellow was so scared av th’ oncanny cratur that he thought it was Davy Jones himself. So he took him ter th’ spar-deck in his cage an’ opens th’ door, an’ says, ‘Scat, ye baste!’ an’ th’ burd was gone t’ leeward like a streak av green lightnin’.

“‘Now laugh, ye divil incarnate!’ he yelled, ’an’ thank yer stars me conscience previnted me from wringing yer bloody neck!’

“Do yer know, ’pon me whurd, for a fact, the wind fell so that by dark we were ready t’ loose th’ maint’gallantsail. The fellow that owned th’ burd was th’ first on th’ yard, an’ th’ first thing he saw there, lookin’ down at him from th’ r’yal truck, was a big pair o’ green eyes. Th’ next minute a wild, oncanny laugh broke out from th’ heavens above to th’ earth beneath.

“He gave one yell an’ let go, an’, if it hadn’t been for th’ belly av th’ mainsail being tight as a board, he would have broke his neck. As it was, he slid right down on to th’ main-deck an’ landed on his feet, but he wouldn’t go aloft again till they’d caught th’ burd.

“Now, both ye, Mr. Brown and yersilf, are friendly with th’ ladies, an’ I’m thinking if ye could loose that cockatoo av th’ older one’s, there would be nothin’ but good come from it. Hold hard!” and suiting the action to the yell, he sprang on to the saddle of the spanker boom. The rest of us grabbed whatever came within reach, for we saw a great hill of water high above the stern, and we knew its combing crest would go over us.

The men at the wheel jumped around forward of it, as, with a thundering crash, the mass of green water rolled over the poop.

It tore the bitt-coverings to match-wood and crashed through the cabin door. A glimpse of struggling arms in the smother of foam that went over the port side told the fate of one of the quartermasters.

“All hands save ship!” roared old Crojack, as soon as the flood had passed over. “Good God! Mr. Gore, she won’t stand another like that; she’s half up in the wind now,” and we sprang to the wheel to keep her from broaching to.

“Lay aft, bullies!” I bawled, and, followed by O’Toole, Brown, and a dozen sailors, I made my way as rapidly as possible to the lazarette to procure a tarpaulin.

We carried it into the mizzen rigging and, by dint of hard work, managed to lash it up and down the ratlines just as another sea boarded us and half-filled the cabin.

Shrieks issued from below, but there was no time to see what was the matter. Captain Crojack was almost drowned at the wheel, but he and the sailor left there held on. The man was the heavy-set German whose shoulders had felt the weight of my rope’s-end. When I saw how bravely the fellow held the racing ship up to her course, I was almost sorry that I had been so hasty.

As soon as we had the tarpaulin in the mizzen, and the bare yards braced for the starboard tack, the wheel was put down and the clipper rolled up in the trough of the sea. She managed to head up, however, although she took a comber into her waist that stove two men, who were at the braces, so heavily against the t’gallant-rail, that one died by the time he was taken forward, and the other had two ribs broken and was crippled for weeks afterward.

Luckily the wind began to haul to the westward, and we found that on the starboard tack, with nothing but the tarpaulin in the mizzen, she would head up within four points of the sea, while the hauling wind drove the spray over her in clouds but two points forward of the weather beam.

Dripping wet and half-blinded with salt, I made my way aft to where the skipper stood at the wheel. The cries continued to come up the smashed companionway, and, as I drew near, Crojack motioned for me to go below and see what was wrong.

I scrambled down into the cabin, and almost immediately found Mrs. Waters in my arms.

She was hysterical with fright, and begged me never to leave her.

She was a plump, good-looking woman, and I own that I felt a little flattered at this show of absolute confidence. I took her to the weather side of the cabin, clear of the water, and strove to quiet her, and in a short time she was silent. I then thought that it was about time that I should go on deck and attend to my duties.

As soon as I started to leave, she became nervous again and grasped me tightly.

“You’ll never leave me here alone, Mr. Gore; you’ll never leave me?” she cried.

“No,” said I, mechanically, “I’ll never leave you,” and the words were no sooner out of my mouth than I was aware of a stateroom door being open and a half-smiling, half-frightened face regarding us intently.

“Mr. Gore!” bawled Captain Crojack down the companionway.

“Ay, ay, sir!” I answered, and, freeing myself, I made my way on deck.

The skipper eyed me curiously.

“Better see about getting a new maintopsail ready for bending, and get the foresail close reefed,” he said, with some energy. And I immediately went forward.