The Marriage of Captain Kettle (2024)

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CUTCLIFFE HYNE

Serialised as:
"The Marriage of Kettle," in Adventure Dec 1911-Jun 1912

First book edition:
Syndicate Publishing Company, New York and London, 1911

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2024
Version Date: 2024-07-08

Produced by Terry Walker and Roy Glashan

All original content added by RGL is protected bycopyright.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.
No Coal.

"YOU flat-footed Senegambian," said Mr. Kettle tothe Mate, "if you drop any more of that green paint onmy decks, I'll make you go down on your knock-knees andlick them clean. I don't believe you've ever seen a winchbefore, much less painted one. And yet you have the nerveto sign on here as A.B."

"I always accustomed, sar, to put on paint wid a brush.I don't consider a wad of waste a proper gentleman'stool."

"Answer me back, would you, you plum-colored son of apalm-nut? I'd like to point out just here—that Idon't—allow—deck-hands whether they be white,yellow, snuff and butter-colored—or just plainblack—to give me any back talk—so long as I amMr. Mate of this packet. And don't you—forget it."

The sentence was punctuated with hard kicks bestowedby a neatly pipe-clayed shoe on any part of the hugevicious-looking negro's anatomy that the little officercould reach. The man had drawn the knife from the sheath atthe back of his belt, and was openly prepared for murder.But the mate gave him no chance to use it. He chased himabout the decks with such vigor and venom that the fellowcould not turn round to strike, and when at last the mantripped over a steam-pipe and the knife went flying,Mr. Kettle instead of pitching it overboard, kicked itcontemptuously back to its owner.

"There's your knife. Put it back in its sheath, or I'llsmash you some more. And now get back to your work."

"Yes, sar."

"Understand how to lay on paint with a wad of waste?"

"Yes, sar."

"Get ahead then."

The negro painted with diligence and skill, leavingthe surface he touched a fine rasping green, with nosuperfluous paint that would subsequently run and growropy, and cutting clean straight lines at his edges. It isa high art to paint accurately with a wad of cotton-waste,and many men, including the house-painter, have it not.But steamer tradition says that the African negro when hepaints shall not use a brush, and the sea sumptuary lawsare severe. So the negro is forced to learn the skill ofhis hands with the homelier instrument.

"Mr. Kettle?"

"Sir."

The mate looked aft to the upper bridge, and beheldthere the blowsy head and still blowsier tobacco pipe ofCaptain Saturday Farnish.

"Will you come to the chart house a minute?"

"Aye, aye, sir."

The inside of the S.S. Norman Towers' chart housesmelt of clothes and varnish. Its walls were decoratedwith a shelf of professional works; an oil-painting ofthe Norman Towers in impossible colors on an impossiblesea, from the brush of an Eastern artist; and the cabinetportrait of a large pleasant-faced lady in bursting satins,this last being Mrs. Saturday Farnish.

Captain Farnish lowered himself into a large redvelvet arm-chair, which lurched dangerously as it met hisweight.

"That starboard caster off again," he grumbled. "Chipsmust have mended it five times this trip alone."

"The carpenter's inefficient, sir," said his chiefofficer stiffly. "He needs keeping up to his job. If you'lllet me take him in hand, I'll undertake he does the thingthoroughly this time. I'll make him a good carpenter,sir, if you'll let me have the handling of him. I couldmake the Towers look a different boat, sir, by the timewe reach Liverpool, if you'd let me have full use of thecarpenter."

"And never have him come near the old packet again?No, you don't, Mr. Kettle, me man. I've had Chips sailingwith me six years now, and I like him. He's idle, but heunderstands the boat, and he's got a neat trick with thatpenny whistle."

"He can blow tunes out of that whistle," the chiefofficer admitted grudgingly, "and that's a fact. But as acarpenter he's a holy fraud. Look here, sir, if you want asmart ship—"

"I don't. I want a comfortable one. What's the clock?Five-and-twenty to twelve. Dash my whiskers! But that'sfive minutes after the time for my 'morning'."

He got up, took a whisky bottle and tumbler from insidethe folding wash-stand, and poured himself out an accuratethree fingers, holding the glass to the light so as to besure of the measure. He added water to within a finger'sbreadth of the top, drank a third of the mixture, andresumed his seat with a sigh, glass in hand.

"That just gets to the spot where my old fever left ahole. I hope you will always enjoy good health, Mr. Kettle,me man, and not want a 'morning' till you're master of yourown ship and have a mate to do the work for you. If youstick to Horner's Perfect Cure, that Mrs. Farnish broughtyou up on, you'll have little to complain of in the way ofinternal trouble."

"Thank you, sir, I'm pretty regular. I put in my twodoses of Horner's every week, and reap the benefit. Asfor a 'morning', a chief officer's pay on a tramp simplywon't run to it, if he takes a bottle of beer with hisdinner."

"Especially if he wants to save up for his eveningsashore when he feels it's up to him to give the girls atreat." Captain Famish winked a damp eye. "Pretty littlepiece that you were trotting round Cathedral Square in VeraCruz, Owen, me man."

The mate laughed. "She was giving me Spanish lessons,sir. But I didn't know we met you."

"I was sitting under the Hotel Diligencia piazza havinga social glass with the boss stevedore. There was a littlematter of a bit of c*mshaw which it seems you were tooproud to take—"

"I accept charity from no man."

"Well, I'm not so stuck-up, and when Miss Right comesalong, and you marry and have a houseful of youngsters,you'll stuff notes into your pocket-book when they'reoffered, me man. Not that I blame you for sparking thesenorita. I've danced 'em round myself when I was your age,and was a fine buck mate with a brand-new master's ticketaching to be used. I wore long side-whiskers then, and thegirls thought 'em awfully fetching."

Captain Farnish chuckled till he had to wipe awaythe reminiscent tear with the broad back of his hand."Fetching, by gad! I should think I was. But you've heardthe old woman tuning up on that string when she's been madwith me."

"Yes, sir," said the chief officer respectfully, "and Itook a note of it at the time for future reference."

Each caught the other's eye, and laughed. Owen Kettlewas the son of Captain Farnish's old skipper, and afterthe old man went down with his ship in the China Seas, theFamishes had brought up the boy with their own children.Mrs. Farnish ruled that household with a rod of Malacca,and during Captain Saturday Farnish's brief spells ashore,when his tongue had been lubricated into indiscretions, heoften received stripes even in the bosom of his family, asall Merseyside Terrace, Birkenhead, knew full well, to hisgrim amusem*nt.

Even now the narrow house in the narrow street acrossthe river at Liverpool was the only place that Kettleconsidered as home throughout all the marches of theuniverse, and though the chance of service had thrownhim on the Norman Towers as chief officer to his ownfoster-father, and though they addressed one another bythose formal titles which the hard and fast etiquette ofthe sea sets out in its rubrics, there remained underthe surface much of the old careless, if undefinedaffection.

"Well," said Captain Farnish, "as the old womanisn't here to object—God bless her!—and weseem to have made a goodish run, I think I'd repeat theprescription. You might make it up, me man. It'll bepractice for you when you have a ship of your own, andhave to know how to pour out whisky without overloadingthe dose. And put the bottle back on its shelf, and shutthe wash-stand, so's my steward isn't tempted. Well,here's—"

But Captain Farnish's genial toast remained unvoiced,and he sat back heavily in the big broken-springed velvetchair, with the beverage slopping over the edge of histumbler.

Kettle followed his gaze. Framed in the brass ring ofa port was the bilious face of Mr. Andrew Little, thechief engineer, and in front of it the black and damnatoryforefinger of Mr. Little pointing to the tumbler.

"At it again," muttered the mate. And then as the faceand the finger whisked away, "Shall I go and attend tohim?" he asked.

"No, no, me man; thank you all the same. He'll pullround if we give him time."

"He'll be ramping round the decks preachinghell-for-sinners for any grinning idiot who comes to hear,inside ten minutes. His latest craze is that all who donot starve themselves are doomed to perdition. Fancy anofficer, even though he be an engineer, telling that to agang of old sailors who are ramping to get their full Boardof Trade whack. I don't think it's good for the chief'sinside to be allowed the run of his tongue when theseluny fits come on him, and I'm certain it's bad for thediscipline of the ship."

"Very difficult thing to coerce a chief engineer, asyou'll learn, Mr. Kettle, me man, when you get a ship ofyour own. You can't send him to his room without enteringthe circ*mstance in the log, and that means wasting timeover explanations at the office ashore when you might besitting with your wife at a music-hall. My motto's alwaystry for the line of least resistance."

"Mr. Little's dangerous."

"Very likely, Mr. Kettle, me man, very likely. But Itackle trouble when it comes. I don't go and hunt for itlike you do, and it's astonishing how much one slips outof if one follows that principle. There's that nigg*r, forinstance, that you were stubbing your toe against half anhour ago."

"He's a bad nigg*r that, bone idle, and saucy as aGerman baron. But I'll make him into a good dog before I'mthrough with him."

"Did he ever try to knife you before?"

"Only twice that I could be sure of."

"Then why in thunder didn't you fling his weapon overinto the ditch when you had it there lying on the deckbefore you?"

"Because I intended to show the swine I wasn't afraid ofhim."

"I believe you really like trouble."

The little mate sighed deeply, "I am afraid I do,sir."

"I wonder where you got your taste from. It couldn't befrom your upbringing. I'm sure you never got a hankeringfor trouble from either me or the old woman, though whenone comes to think of it, your pore father—"

"Yes, sir?"

"Well, he was Welsh, Owen, me man, and we'll leave it atthat. But I will say that at any rate there's nothing ofthe thief about you, and I never caught you in a lie in allyour life—Well, Mr. Mate, don't let me keep you fromyour duty."

With which formal dismissal Captain Saturday Farnishdrank the rest of his whisky and water, closed his eyes,opened his mouth, and was promptly asleep.

The smart, keen, chief officer stepped out into thesunshine, and from place to place on the seedy undermannedsteamer went about his many duties, walking crisply,talking crisply, getting a maximum of work done with thelimited means at his disposal. They were voyaging fromVera Cruz to Liverpool; had passed out of the Gulf Streamthrough the Bahamas, south of the island of Abaco, by thatchannel known to the Western Ocean sailor folk as the Holein the Wall; and were well out in the Sargasso Sea.

So far as the eye could see the only things that floatedon the turquoise blue swells were bunches of orange-yellowweed. The steamer's rusty black bows sawed regularly upand down, always pushing a crumbling cascade of whitewater ahead of her. In sea phrase she carried a good bonein her teeth, and in and out of this played iridescentflying-fish of the bigness and shape of dragon-flies. Otherflying-fish like silver rats skimmed along the sleek bluehollows of the swells, and plunged with a splash into thenext uprearing hillside. And astern and overhead sevengulls held steady station, and could be depended on to keepconvoy till the gulls on the Azores beat met them in thewastes of mid-ocean, and took over relief.

On to the top of the fiddley a grimy fireman presentlyclambered, one corner of his sweat rag between histeeth, and slued round a ventilator to catch more of thebreeze.

A deck-hand, who was setting up funnel stays, turnedhis head. "That's the fourth time you ash cats have beenup here messing with the ventilators this watch. And thewind's not shifted half a point. Is it a game?"

"It's a mighty poor game. We're firing on the sweepingsof the bunkers, and it's horses' work to keep steam inher."

"Well, it's your job, not mine—praise theLord!—but it's struck me before that your oldcoffee-mill's not running her usual revolutions. Just givethe chief my kind dooty, and say I'll be glad if he'llbroach a new bunker and give you some good hard coal tofire on. You're blowing all this sludge clean out of thestack, and it drops on our decks, and it's up to us tosweep it into the ditch. You may tell him to—Whisht!There's the mate."

The fireman stumped off down steel ladders out of sight,the deck-hand worked with intense application at setting uphis funnel stay, and Mr. Kettle, the Mate, went below tobring up his sextant for the midday sight. The heat of theengines certainly was slacking. He wondered why. The reasonwould have to be entered up under "distance run accordingto engine-room reckoning" when the chief handed in hisday's report, and even easy-going Captain Saturday Farnishcould not avoid officially commenting upon it. But it wasno affair of the deck officer's—and Kettle dropped itfrom his mind. He was always a very keen stickler for therigid steamer etiquette which states that the engine-roomshall not meddle with the deck, and the deck shall haveno truck with the engine staff except for purely deckpurposes.

So the Norman Towers' chief officer took his sextantfrom its box in the rack over his berth, gave it a rub overwith its own piece of wash-leather—he was a verynatty man about his trade utensils—went out on deck,and gave a warning knock at the chart-house door.

"Five minutes to noon, sir."

The elderly second mate, who couldn't have worked outa sight if his life had depended on it, was looking wiseover his instrument and fiddling with the smoked glasses;the smart, young, school-bred third was nervously fidgetingaway to make sure the sun did not play tricks on him bymaking a sudden lunge downward before he brought it to thehorizon; and then out shambled Captain Farnish, blowsy andslippered, and put up his sextant also, like the practisedold man of the sea he was.

All four of them solemnly stared, working the vernierscrews each according to his temperament, and then Farnishwent in to his chronometer, and gave out the Greenwichtime. The mates went below to work out the reckoning (whichthe second, by the way, laboriously copied from Kettle),and in due time these were handed into the chart house,and from them Captain Farnish marked up on the chart theNorman Towers' position on the face of the waters. Henever worked out the figures for himself. As he said, heknew a good mate when he saw one, and it helped a lad onto give him a bit of responsibility. And after this it washis custom to add another ten minutes' sleep to the shortdoze he had already enjoyed, so as to have a quarter of anhour's rest to the good before dinner.

But this day a portent was showing itself that evenhis easy-going temperament could not afford to overlook.The engines had long since dropped that steady uniformrub-a-rumble rub-a-rumble which a steamer's enginesshould keep up from port to port (or at any rate, fromsoundings to soundings), and were giving forth that laboredkick-and-a-cough which one only hears in narrow waters andcrowded traffic. And even this was slowing down.

Further, there was obvious trouble among the engine-roomstaff. The slender watches of firemen and trimmerswere bunched on the fiddley-top; the second and fourthengineers, both very young men, both pasty-faced, werestanding outside the engine-room door in the port alleyway,openly perturbed, obviously ignorant of what to do next.

The second mate discovered it was his watch below anddived there like a rabbit; number three was watch-officeron the bridge; but Kettle instinctively closed up on hiscaptain. There was something in his nature which alwaysforced him to get close to the storm-center when troublewas brewing.

"I don't like it, Mr. Kettle, me man," Captain Farnishkept on saying, "I don't like it at all. That infernal Mr.Little has been at some of his mad tricks again, and scaredall those ash cats out of their greasy lives. If I send forthe fellow, and he's one of those luny fits on him, he'llpreach offensively to me on the need of fasting, and it'llmean a row; and if I don't send for him he'll as like asnot keep us rolling on here till I do send for him, andthat'll take some explaining at Liverpool; and between youand me, Mr. Kettle, me man, I'm in a devil of a fix."

The chief officer said, "Yes, sir," which was all hecould say. For any underling to give advice to a ship'scaptain unless asked for, would probably bring abouta cyclone there and then while the words were beinguttered.

"Let me see. Did I have my 'morning'?"

"Yes, sir."

"H'm, perhaps better not have a second before dinner.I wish that infernal chief engineer would get an expertto wrestle with his soul ashore, instead of bringing suchuseless dunnage as an out-o'-repair soul to sea,—theblooming crazy nuisance. I ought to have sent him tohospital at Vera Cruz, but it would have meant a lotof letter-writing, and cabling, and signing a stack ofconsular papers. I hate signing papers; you never knowwhat they let you in for. Besides you know what the firmis: if I'd got rid of Little, as likely as not they'd havesaddled me with one of those newfangled chiefs, who'd wantto go shares in my legitimate profits. You take it fromme, Mr. Kettle, me man, they're swine,—these newtechnical-school engineers."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't like to send for him, but I suppose I'd betterhear what he has to say. Could you—er—just gethim into the chart house here, Mr. Kettle?"

"Yes, sir, I understand. Quite informally. Better notsend a message. I'll go for him myself."

"That's the idea, Mr. Kettle, me man, and bring him backyourself, and then stand by while we talk."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The mate walked briskly out, and made for the twowhite-faced juniors who were standing at the engine-roomdoor.

"The chief's in his room," said one of them. "My God,Kettle, he means death for every man on board," said theother.

"Oh, don't worry your small heads about that," said themate confidently. "The old man's quite competent to attendto Mr. Little and the ship, too."

The chief engineer's room was just inside the door, andstood at the head of the ladder which led to the depths ofthe engine-room below, and at this moment the man himselfappeared. He was stark naked, his face drawn and white, hisbody thin as an Indian fakir's. He had a cook's broad meatax in his hand, and his lips were drawn back from his teethlike those of a snarling dog.

The mate delivered his message as though such a get-upwas the most ordinary uniform of shipboard life.

"Captain Farnish sends his compliments, sir, and wouldbe glad to see you in the chart house."

"Stand out of my path."

"At once, sir, he said."

"Stand aside."

"Perhaps, if you're not feeling very well this morning,sir, you would allow me take your arm."

The madman rushed and made a vicious slash with hisax. Kettle dodged, and the blow skimmed his sleeve. Then,with the lightning quickness of a man who had been usedall his life to rough and tumble fighting, he jumped forthe engineer and tried to trip him to the deck. But hecould get no hold. Mr. Little had rubbed himself from headto foot with oil till he was as slippery as an eel, and,moreover, he had all of a madman's strength. Kettle foundhimself slimed from top to toe, and flung violently againstthe iron side of the house, and Little raced away forward,ax in hand.

"For God's sake let him go," said the second engineer,"and let's hope he jumps overboard. He's as good asmurdered the whole lot of us."

"What do you mean? Has he put dynamite in yourcoffee-mill down there or something? Here you, both of you,if there's anything wrong with the engines, get below atonce and put it straight."

But the engineers did not move.

"It's worse than that," said the spokesman gloomily."He's done us in the eye over the coal. He made us believethere were two more bunkers full, easily enough for therun home to Liverpool, and like damned fools we believedhim. You see, we only joined at Vera Cruz. He'd runall his engineers and stoke-hold crew out of the ship,because—well because—"

"Oh, get a move on you."

"Well, there isn't half a ton of coal left on the boat,and we're in the loneliest part of all the lonely seas, andhere I guess we'll stay till we rot. There isn't one chancein ten thousand of any steamer turning up that could towus into port or even take us off.... My God! look at thatbubbly yellow weed over the side there."

CHAPTER II.
The Voyage Of The Life-Boat.

"THIS," said Captain Saturday Famish, "is the end of meprofessionally, I shan't be able to keep up my insurance,and if I die, it will mean workhouse for the old woman." Hetried to steady himself for a moment and then hiccoughedbehind his hand. "I shall apply for a chapel keeper'sjob with the Calvinistic Methodists when I get ashore.It's about what I'm fit for, and they ought to give it meif attendance and subscriptions are remembered in one'sfavor."

"Oh, things will come all right, sir, at the office whenthey're explained," said the mate. "You aren't a doctor.You can't be responsible for Mr. Little going off hishead."

"When you have been at sea longer, Owen, me man, you'llunderstand that a shipmaster is expected to be doctor,lawyer, commercial agent, and clerk of the weather, andif he fails at any one of those jobs or at forty otherswhen they come along, he's sacked (although he may havebeen with the firm for forty years), and there are ten menwaiting in the outer office, ready to take on his billetfor less pay. It's a dog'sh life, the sea, Owen, me man,and on a voyage one is seldom able to get a full whack ofsleep. That remindsh me, I think I'll just have a peg and'ndulge 'n a few minutes' snoosh. 'S nothing else to bedone. Presently, when we begin to starve, I s'pose I shallhave to stand round and see that the men don't eat oneanother."

"There's Mr. Little, sir, on the fore crosstrees. Anymessage, sir?"

Captain Farnish looked drearily at the broken caster ofhis easy-chair, and tried without success to stifle anotherhiccough. "If I could only get the beggar to his room."

"Aye, aye, sir," said the mate briskly, "I'll tell himyou order him to go there," and with that betook himself tothe outer deck, and closed the chart-house door on to thehook behind him.

On the main deck below there were gathered the wholeof the Norman Towers' company—mates, engineers,the cook, the baker, stewards, the lamp man, boatswain,the idle carpenter, the grimy trimmers and firemen,the all-nation deck-hands; and high upon the steamer'sdrab foremast, perched ridiculously on the clumsy ironcrosstrees, the white naked body of the chief engineerstood out vividly against the cobalt of the midday sky.He was preaching to the congregation in an elaboratelyconventicle voice, and they, with the seafarers'susceptibility to sudden, hot, religious influences, werelistening with straining ears.

Mr. Kettle, the Mate, ran crisply down the ladder."Clear a gangway here, you sons of fools," he orderedsharply. And then, "Fore crosstrees, there! Captain'sorders, sir; will you go to your room at once?"

By not so much as the flicker of an eyelash did themadman show that he had heard the interruption. He mouthedon with his discourse. The sun, staring from the hot skyabove, was already beginning to scorch the skin of hiswhite back to an angry pink.

"Fast, I tell you," he thundered down at his listeners,"fast if ye would find salvation; and that there shall beno backsliders I, even I have thrust fasting upon you.There is food left upon this ship, yea and drink also, bothstrong and otherwise, such as may endure for the space oftwo weeks, and after that woe, woe to the man that shallnot take to fasting with prayer and free will. Hell shallhave him hungry."

"Just because you can't do arithmetic accurately, Mr.Little," said the mate acidly, "we may starve, and menmay die, but each one will have to report wherever helands that he's got there because of an engineer who'sincompetent at his job."

"I'm as capable at my profession as any engineer onall the seas. I accept criticism from no brass-edgedcargo-tallier whatever, and I'll baptize you with blood, myson, when I've finished attending to the heathen. Whereforelisten, all ye that are still unregenerate and addicted togluttony. Fast, I say unto you, fast from this day onwardwhile food is still around you, and abstinence is notforced upon you by famine, and the greater reward in thehereafter shall be yours."

"Mr. Little, there is no getting over the fact of yourincompetence. I've seen the evidence of it myself inyour own shaky handwriting, and signed by your own name.Now you'll agree with me that no man that had ever beentaught to write could scrawl as illiterate a signature asyours."

The madman lifted his ax, and was evidently in half amind to throw it—which was what Mr. Kettle, the Mate,was angling for. But the wandering eyes of his congregationdrew him back.

"Oh, ye of little concentration," he shouted, "by whatloose threads are your bits of souls tethered! By skirtye are led ashore, by a small-sized mate ye are driven atsea, and me ye will not attend to, yea, thought I offer yesalvation. But by the sun above that now scorches me, ego,vos precedens, will drag you after me to Paradise."

"You couldn't do it," said the mate. "You're asincompetent either to lead or to drive in the straightpath, as you are to make out an accurate estimate ofdistance run, and coal remaining in bunkers. Man, there'sno getting over the evidence of your own daily engine-roomreports. They'd disgrace a bigamist, sailing his first tripin a dago tramp's stoke-hold. They—"

"Whiz!" came the ax, winking as it span downward throughthe southern sunlight. The mate dodged it deftly, and itskated along the decks be tween two shrinking lines of men,and then plucking a greenheart belaying-pin from the rail,he ran forward and swung himself into the fore rigging.

He went up the ratlines at racing speed, and the nakedman on the crosstrees leaped to his feet, and stoodbalancing there with one hand on the starboard topmostshroud, swaying to the roll of the ship.

"You are bringing me food," he screamed; "you shall notmake me lose my high-class soul by forcing me to break myfast. I will swim to Liverpool, and report you to the Boardof Trade."—And with that, waiting cannily till theNorman Towers rolled to starboard, and the deep blue ofthe Sargasso Sea lay beneath him, he jumped outward, anddived feet foremost.

Mr. Kettle's action was prompt enough. Even while themadman was in mid-air, he hailed the officer of the watchto lower away the starboard quarterboat. Then slippingquickly down himself, he ran across the decks and lookedover the rail. He knew that Mr. Little could swim, and onlywished to reassure himself that he had not been stunned byhis dive.

The Norman Towers had lost her way by this time, andlay in the trough of the great blue ocean swells leakinga thin trickle of steam. The spot where the engineerhad hit the sea was marked by a patch of white whichbubbled like soda-water. Mr. Kettle jumped to the railand stood there poised. He was a poor man and always adandy about his dress, and as he had a cat's dislike forgetting his clothes wet or soiled, he did not want to jumpoverboard and spoil a suit that he could ill afford toreplace, unless the engineer plainly showed that he wantedassistance. So when the man's white face appeared, and hespat out a mouthful of weed and water and set off swimmingat a sturdy side-stroke for the northeast, the mate sangout an ironical "Good voyage," and went to the upper deckto oversee the lowering of the quarter-boat.

The davits swung outboard, the tackles squeaked like aparcel of angry cats, the boat splashed into the water,unhooked and pushed off. Oars straddled out from her andbeat the water unevenly. Slowly she scratched her way overthe hill and dale of the sea. The engineer, when he heardthe clank of the looms against the thole-pins, swam to thefarther side of an islet of the orange-yellow weed, and itlooked as if they were going to have trouble with him. Butwords passed in the boat, and one of the rowers shippedhis oar and stood up. He picked up some small line whichlay on the untidy floor boards, made a running bowline onone end, arranged some coils to his satisfaction, threw,and hauled taut. The man caught the engineer round theneck with his first heave, and (after the severe methodsof the sea) choked the fight out of him before he broughthim up through the clogging bubbly weed to the side of theboat. Thereafter the madman was brought on board, dried,dressed, and deposited in his own room, the door of whicha leisurely carpenter proceeded to decorate with hasp andpadlock.

The mate marched smartly off to the chart house toreport. He knocked, lifted the hook, and opened the door,and grasped the situation at a glance. Captain SaturdayFarnish had indulged in that one more peg—and severalothers to ram it home.

The mate stepped inside, and this time shut the doorclosely. He drew curtains across the side windows that thecurious might not look through, and then made his formalreport.

"Chief engineer gone to his room, sir."

"You're a very capable off'sr—Owen, me man. Givenyou a most unpleasant job, I'm sure. Been with you inspirit all along but couldn't get on deck. Detained charthouse, severe malarial symptoms. Fatal, expose sea air.Stayed in here very much against my will, taking neshessarydrugs."

"Yes, sir, quite so. Second engineer reports it's quitetrue about the coal. I told him it was a trifle which wouldcost him his ticket, and as he was saucy I had to attend tohim. But that doesn't get over the coal—and the grub.One we haven't got, the other we shall have less of everyday."

"'Nless you can arrange for the sea-gulls to bring bathbuns, like, wasn' it Joshua did, for the ravens?"

"My idea, sir, was that you'd like me to rig a lifeboat,and go off and see if I couldn't pick up assistance. I wassure you'd think each moment was of importance, as everybit of delay means so much more food and drink consumed,and you'd want me to be off at once."

"But where to, Owen, me man? You're not likely to findboat to tow us thish side New Jerusalem."

"There's some sort of a steam lane from the NorthernPorts to the West Indies about twelve degrees south ofwhere we are now, sir, and I concluded you'd like me tosail down to cut that, and then if I didn't see anybody,hold on backward and across till I did."

"You couldn't find the old packet again, once you'dleft her. Much better stay 'n let's all starve comfortablytogether."

"I shall take note of the current sets and the wind fromday to day, sir, and shal'n't be far out in calculatingyour drift. They rubbed that sort of thing pretty well intoone in the navigation school. I think you may expect meback with assistance inside a week."

Captain Famish applied a handkerchief to his eyes."You'll excuse these tears, Owen, me man, but prospectmosht distressful. I always looked forward to a high-classfuneral, Birkenhead Cemetery, with you and the old womanand the kids in the wake of the hearse, a sort of poem inwhite pocket-handkerchiefs and crape. 'S been one of thehappy dreams of my life. Mosht distressing die out herelike a black beetle in a kerosene can, unmourned, unweptfor. And my steward tells me whisky's running out."

"Yes, sir, the Towers' going to be a dry ship till Iget back with relief. Then I may take it to be your wishthat I should get under way at once?"

"At onche," said Captain Farnish with muchgravity. "Scheme I've outlined to you, Mr. Kettleme—Mr. Kettle, me man, is outcome much anxiousdelib—dolab—I should say de-lib-er-ashun,and I have full confidence your ability carry it out.Full confidence. I may say fullest. Though sufferingsevere attack malarious shymptoms myself, as vide entryin log, still I have fullest confidence in mate of my ownupbringing "—Captain Farnish's head dropped upon hisbreast, and he permitted himself to snore with relief.

"Then good-by, sir."

"Goo-by. I wasn't asleep, if that's your idea, andto prove it I give you las' word. My motto is 'Leaveeverything to the mate.' Remarkably confident—Ishould say com-pet-ent—man, my mate, Mis' Kell. As Isaid before, goo-by."

The big red velvet arm-chair in which Captain SaturdayFarnish reposed jarred up and down on its broken casterwith every roll of the ship, and before leaving, themate took down Norie's Epitome of Navigation from thebook-shelf, and shored it up on a steady base. Then heset his watch by the ship's chronometer, and went outonce more on deck and gave crisp and lucid commands tothose concerned in the rigging and victualing of the portlife-boat.

His last action before leaving was to change the uniformthat the chief engineer had slimed with oil for a freshrig. It is not many men who would have given thought fortheir clothes before starting on an open boat voyage inmid-Atlantic that could only be classed as desperate, but Ican merely report Mr. Kettle as I found him.

The mate's choice of crew for the life-boat was alsotypical of the man. Skill would be needed for the trip,strength, endurance, and above all things, obedience. Andyet Mr. Kettle, knowing to the full the weakness of everymember of the Norman Towers' complement, deliberatelypicked as his associates the five worst men on board. Heeven included among them the black who only that morninghad tried to knife him.

I could never extract from Kettle the reason for hisselection, and so can only surmise. Two theories occur tome. Perhaps he took away those particular rapscallions withhim in the boat so that there should be no chance of theirannoying poor, weak, old Farnish on the Norman Towers.Perhaps he took them to enjoy the risk and luxury of tamingthem at close quarters. Indeed, both considerations musthave weighed with him. But I believe it was the last thatswayed him most. He was always a man with a singular tastefor what he called "trouble ".

When the life-boat was ready, Mr. Kettle looked up atthe row of worried faces that stared down at him from thesteamer's rail, gave a curt wave, and ordered his men toshove off.

"And now," said he, "do any of you farmers know how tosail a boat?"

It appeared that none of them did. They were steamersailors all of them, able to drive a winch, paint and cleanpaint, take a wheel, or rig a derrick.

"Well," said the mate with an unkind grin, "I'll teachyou, and when you next step ashore, if ever you getthere, you'll be smart enough fore-and-afters to sail asdeck-hands in an American Cup race. But dead or alive,you've just one use at present—and that's as ballast.Pile yourselves up to windward."

They did it sullenly.

"You with the bald head there, smile. D'ye hear me,you son of a can-opener? Smile, or by James, I'll knockyour yellow teeth down your throat. Don't you dare tothrow black looks at me. Now we'll just call watches. I'mcaptain, and I'll take the port. Jenkins, as you've theonly clean face at your end of the boat, I'll appointyou chief officer, and you take the starboard watch.Let me see! I'll give you the Dutchman, and Baldy here,with the winning smile. And that leaves me Olsen and theSenegambian, who still thinks he's going to get thatpig-knife of his into my ribs before we're through withthis boat trip. Well, Mr. Jenkins, as we're shipping a gooddeal of water you can set your starbowlines to bail, andthe port watch can shake out a reef. She'll carry a bitmore canvas, if she's humored, and time's the essence ofthe contract just now if we're to save the Towers."

Rapidly behind them the disabled steamer dipped outof sight below the sierra of the horizon, and presentlythey had the heaving circus of ocean to them selves. Greatorange-yellow islets of the Sargasso weed sprawled hereand there over the rich blue of the water, and these, whenpossible, they avoided; iridescent flying-fish scutteredalong beside them and before their bows; and astern abrace of sea-fowl that had detached themselves from thesteamer's convoy, kept accurate station. The blackguardlycrew found something vaguely disquieting in the presence ofthese birds, and at first observed their coming with gloomysilence, and then with articulate grumblings.

"Not here for nothing, them birds," said Baldhead. "Theyknow a thing or two. It isn't for galley scraps they'refollowing this boat."

"Dey say dose gulls is de ghosts of ole sailors trownedat sea," said Olsen. "I vonders vhat it feels like tofly?"

"They picks yo' eyes out befo' yo' daid," said theCarolina black. "I sho' don' like the neb of thatbird dere to stabboard. He's mos' as bigs's a Tampicoturkey-buzzard."

A puff of squall poured down against them. Kettle luffednot an inch but kept the boat rigidly on her course.The wave-tops (as he intended) poured in over the leegunwale.

"Bail, you sinful malingerers," he bawled at them. "Bailand keep your legs dry and the ship afloat. I'll attendto your souls when the time comes. Mr. Jenkins, you comeaft and take the lee tiller beside me. You've got to learnto handle the boat sometime, and a nice light breeze likethis is just the time to begin. There you are! Now you'vegot her all by your shivering self, and mind you keepher ramping full. Don't you dare to luff for a foot ofwave-top."

The men were scared and sullen, and the method of theirschooling was brutal, but they improved hour by hour.There was a spare tiller in the boat, a lusty cudgel ofoak, and this the mate used vigorously over their headsand shoulders whenever they were slow, or dense, or in anyway short of the perfect seaman. Discipline was carried onbig-ship fashion. They fed at appointed hours on a sparingration; they drank lime-juice in their musty water, asordained by the British Board of Trade; and bells werestruck every half-hour on a tin bucket with ding-dongregularity.

Twice they passed derelicts, stuck in the Sargasso eddy.The first was a steamboat with only her forepart showing,green with sea-grasses. The other was a four-mastedschooner spruce with new paint, obviously a new arrival.Here was a sea mystery that would have tempted the mostincurious. Here also would be some very obvious pickings.But the crew were by this time under a good disciplineand did no more than look longingly at her. They rose herover the horizon, drove past her, and dropped her underthe horizon astern, and as Mr. Kettle, the Mate, made nosuggestion of boarding, no one else dared to voice a hintin that direction.

They made their southing and got to the far side of thesteam lane without seeing smoke or spar of traffic, andthen after beating tediously back and forth for anotherday, were overtaken by a gale which was too heavy for eventhe mate's hard daring to carry sail in. He held on, it istrue, till his men were three parts dead with terror, andthen with his boat half water-logged, rounded her to, androde out the breeze to a sea-anchor of spars.

Twice during this blow they saw steamers to windward ofthem heading for the islands, and three brine-washed boatsplunging eastward, but all were out of hail, or, what ismore to the point, made no response to any signals Mr.Kettle or his men could fly.

Rain pelted down on them during the squalls, and theycaught it in the sails, and decanted the grimy brackishproceeds into their water beakers. Flying-fish blew onboard in the spindrift, and these they ate raw and wishedthere were more of them. And once a brace of bonitosfollowed the smaller fry, and they gorged on these and foronce were pleasantly filled. The small amount of food theyhad brought from the Norman Towers had run out by thistime, and they were all looking thin and miserable andwolfish.

When once more the gale ceased, and the boat undersnugged-down canvas was again thrashing her way up to thesteam lane which now lay to the northward, the crew wereunwise enough to plan mutiny. They collected up forward andput their heads together, and from among them presentlycame Jenkins, half-shamefaced, half-defiant, and sat downaft.

"I stand by you, sir," he said to the mate.

"Of course," said Kettle, "you have to, since I made youan officer. And it will be good practice for you, though ifI had been put to it, I could have handled the whole outfitwithout straining myself."

The others heard and their courage oozed; and when itcame to the point they put as a request what they hadintended to dish up as a command.

They were hungry, thirsty, miserable; the Sargasso was adesert; they were one and all covered with saltwater boils;provisions and water were all gone; and presently theywould all die, and the boat would blow about on that unkindsea, a water-logged derelict full of corpses, if theyran for the nearest land, which would offer food, drink,shelter, warmth, they might yet escape with bare life. Butit must be now, without a moment's delay... now... now.

Baldhead was the speaker. He was quite a young man, witha fine emotional touch to his oratory.

"Really finished?" the mate inquired when he had talkedhimself to a standstill.

"Yes, sir, that is what we have to say."

"And you said it very well. I wish I'd brought alongthe accordion. I should like to set that tale to music andhear you sing it—you son of a play-actress. You'reoverfed and underworked, that's what's the matter with you.You're spoiling for the want of a job, and, by James, I'mthe man to give you one! This boat wants smartening up.So to begin with, you take your knife and scrape spars.The Senegambian, who has also a knife which he's aching touse, will help you. Now jump, you sweep, or, by the livingJames, I'll knock more stars out of you with the tillerthan ever were stuck up in the sky!"

They jumped. The others, unbidden, set about coilingropes and cleaning the floor boards of unconsidered triflesof litter, and Mr. Kettle, the Mate, watched proceedingswith an acid smile.

The men were all hollow-eyed and, with the exceptionof Baldhead, shaggy beyond belief. The hair of the resthad grown to an incredible length. Their beards bristleduncouthly. Their cheeks were streaked salt-white in thewrinkles. Their clothes, shabby and darned and rotten tostart with, were shrunk and sea-bleached, and moreovertorn to fantastic fluttering rags. The men had no heartamong them for patching and mending on that desperate boatvoyage.

Even Mr. Kettle, the usually immaculate mate, was littlebetter than the others. The blue serge of his uniformwas so impregnated with salt that no hand brushing wouldunbleach it; the brass buttons and gold lace were tarnishedto a dingy green; a pocket was torn and dangled limply; andin more places than one, threads had rotted and the seamsgaped. But worst of all were his cheeks and chin. These ithad been his pride to shave "a day below ". He had broughta razor with him in the boat, wrapped in an oiled rag toshelter it from rust. But the scouring of the seas had beentoo much for the flimsy safeguard. The boat was sodden withsea water for days together, and the blade succumbed tothe brine. Its surface discolored; its edge grew gapped,till to use it meant gory torment; and finally it refusedeven the semblance of duty. Mr. Kettle cursed and flung itsavagely into a pursuing wave crest. And thereafter redbristles sprouted over his haggard face, and he loathedthe sight of himself whenever he used the inside of hiswatchcase as a mirror when he combed his hair.

Baldhead, at these moments of the toilet, felt thathe got a little of his own back. He would rub his smoothcheeks and chin, and smile thoughtfully at the horizon;and although the mate was quick to resent his insolence inpractical shape, Baldhead always licked his salt-crackedlips appreciatively when the chance came round for hislittle play.

Luck, in the way of picking up a steamboat, wascertainly hard with them; but luck decidedly came to theiraid more than once when starvation seemed certain. I havementioned the full meal they had on the big bonitos.Another day the impossible happened, and their twoattendant sea-fowl altered course too suddenly, steeredinto one another, and dropped, disabled, into the water.Their bodies were eaten down to the last fiber, and thestarving men cursed a mean heaven that had left the boneshollow instead of packing them with marrow.

But the great windfall was a crate of bananas, washedoverboard from some fruit-boat's deck-load. They were big,coarse, West Indian bananas, but to the starved palatesthey were ambrosia. The men ate six apiece for the firstmeal, and felt that any hardships were worth going throughto know a bliss like that.

It was at the next midday, while Jenkins sailed theboat and the mate was standing up with his sextant in thestern-sheets, that they saw a steamer's smoke over thesaucer-rim of the horizon.

Presently they were able to make out the trucks of hermasts, and thereafter they rose her rapidly. They wereright in her track. Here was rescue at last.

The ragged crew in their joy stood up and danced, butMr. Kettle, the Mate, had a fine sense of discipline. Whenhe wanted baboon tricks he would let them know. In themeanwhile he wished them to carry on duty as before. "Andsend aft the Senegambian," said he.

"Sar?"

"Weren't you in a barber shop once, before shore got toohot and you had to come to sea?"

"Yes, sar. I'se a sure 'nuf tonsorial artist."

"Good. Not got the usual nigg*r's razor concealed aboutyour person?"

"No, sar. Never carry such a thing."

"First United States nigg*r I ever met who didn't. Well,take that pig-knife you're so fond of, and borrow Baldy's,and sharpen yours against his. Savvy?"

"Yes, sar."

"That's right. Now use one blade against the other,scissor fashion, and trim my beard. You have it choppedtorpedo shape."

The big evil-faced negro gasped. "Trim yo' beard?"

"That's what I said. If you do it well, I'll give youthreepence. If you make a hash of it, I'm lam you with thetiller."

For an instant murder peeped out from the black man'sonyx eyes. Mr. Kettle expected it, looked for it, andnodded acknowledgment. "You won't try and cut my throat,because you know I'd have those two eyes of yours gougedout before you got even started. Come now, my lad, get amove on, or we'll have that steamboat alongside."

The mate put out his chin, and the ex-tonsorial artistplied his trade. The other men watched with the eyes offascination.

CHAPTER III.
The Charity Of The Seas.

COBALT sky above, and the deep blue of the Sargasso Seapatched with islets of orange-yellow weed. On it a blacksteamer, high-bowed and stump-masted, surging along with abone In her teeth toward the south and west. Also a whiteship's lifeboat, rigged with mildewed lug-sail and jib,and manned by a crew of gaunt scarecrows. The lifeboat islying-to across the steamer's track, and the steamer wearsher standard compass on the top of a ten-foot mast paintedbanana-green. That is the picture to carry in mind.

****

Mr. Kettle, the Mate, after regarding the truculent lookof his red torpedo beard at many angles in the back ofhis watchcase, finally approved, dived in his pocket, andproduced three green-stained pennies which he presented tohis barber.

"Hope to have the continuance o' yo' custom, sar," saidthat artist, dusting the debris of the operation from hispatron with professional sibilation.

"I'll recommend you to the warders," said the matedryly, "when I call on visiting-days. Hands, take in sail.Lower away smartly now. Unship that mast. Out oars; wemustn't keep that fellow waiting. He seems in a hurry. ADutchman, too, to judge by that sawn-off smoke-stack. Giveway."

Up till now the steamer had been bearing directlydown upon them. But as she drew nearer she seemed to besheering out of her course a trifle to the northward.There was a long heavy ocean swell running, and she yaweda good deal in her steering, and it was hard to make outexactly where she was aiming for; but Mr. Kettle, with anEnglishman's contempt for the German mariner, set this downto the inefficiency of her wheel quartermaster and to thewatch-officer who oversaw him.

The vessel was close aboard of them by this time andthey could read her name, Rhein, in dull brass letterson the flaring curve of her bows. She had a high upperbridge, with three square-shouldered officers on it whoswayed rigidly to the roll. One, a big fellow, with afair spade-shaped beard and much uniform, was obviouslythe captain. He wore spectacles. He stared at the boatpointedly, but neither waved nor made other signs; and Mr.Kettle, to whom it was a point of honor not to make firstadvances, sat rigidly by his tiller and sent out no signeither.

The Rhein surged up, drew level, and passed. On thesterns of the boats that hung in her davits they read thather port was Hamburg, and probably every soul in the boathad hot thoughts about that city, but for long enough not aword was uttered.

The black man was the first to give tongue.

"Sar, sar," he yammered after the dwindling stern, whilethe life-boat rocked in the cream of the wake. "MistahCaptain, for de love o' Gawd don't leave us. I tell youfor true we's starvin'. Oh, sar, stop yo' steamah! Hi, youson-of-a-dog-of-a-Dutchman, we's gwine for to die if youdon' stop'n pick us up."

Then his boat mate, the German, chimed in, cursing theRhein and all she carried in a tongue that ought to haveappealed to her. And to him were added all the boat'scomplement with one exception as chorus. But Mr. Kettle,the Mate, sat by the tiller without a word, and withoutchange of countenance.

As she drew out of earshot, a white-faced man with aninflamed nose ran aft along the steamer's decks, and stoodon her taffrail holding on by the ensign staff. He howledout sentences which they could not catch, and waved a grimyhand. Then a woman came and joined him, her skirts blowingout shrewdly in the wind of the steamer's passage. She alsowaved her hand and shouted, and though the tones of hershriller voice reached them, they could not make out thewords. And every instant the steamer grew smaller and moredistant.

The crew of the life-boat still shouted and sobbed anddanced, but presently the grim little mate pulled them upsharply enough with a curt command for "Silence in theboat!"

"If you've all quite finished giving a free variety showfor that painted Dutchman, perhaps you'll re step thatmast, and let's be getting under way again. We've no moretime to waste!"

Baldhead flopped to a heap on the floor boards. "What'sthe good?" he muttered. "We're as good as dead now."

"You may be," snapped the mate. "I'm not. I've gotto live for a lot of things; among others to pay mycompliments to that glass-eyed skipper with the towbeard, and to skin that pirate with the incandescent nosewho mocked at me from the poop staff. By James, if youswivel-kneed blighters are going to weaken now and letthose skunks live unpunished, I'm not. I'm going to teachthem sea manners if I go to Berlin and set fire to theirblessed emperor's palace to do it.—Step that mast,you jelly-backed sons of sin."

CHAPTER IV.
The Watch On The "Rhein."

THOUGH black despair rose heavy on the shoulders of themarooned crew, white-hot rage thrilled through every arteryof their officer's small body. It was not so much thebrutal desertion, which left them to perish there in thedesert of the ocean that affected him, as the insolence ofa mere German daring to do this thing.

Like all Britons and Americans who use the sea, helooked down upon the Dago and the Dutchman as inferiors incraft, wit, pluck, and bodily strength. Time after timehe had driven whole crews of these men to do his biddingwith no heavier weapons than a greenheart belaying-pinand a mouthful of hard words, so that for a Dutchman todisregard his signal—his urgency signal—wasunbelievable.

He re-rigged his boat, and once more got her underway. But passion did not interfere with his clearness ofhead. For a sea-sodden ship's life-boat to give chaseto a steamboat, however low her power, was ridiculous.The mate was the last man on earth to wish for this. Hisplan was to patrol once more the steam lane, pick up amore genial rescuer, and take her off to the help of theNorman Towers, as already arranged; and to this end (andwith the aid of the oak tiller) he once more hammered hisdisheartened crew into activity and submission.

But half-way to the horizon hung a portent which forlong enough he disregarded. The Rhein had shown them herstern, had steamed away, and grown smaller and smallerstill. But at a certain point this diminution lost itsfixed progression; and the vessel lay there sawing upand down over gentle swells, and remaining of a constantbigness.

Between boat and steamer lay many blue acres of theSargasso Sea, patched here and there with neat gardens oforange-yellow herbage; and the fact of her having cometo a standstill was slow in making itself understood.The men glared after the steamer sullenly, resentfully,mutteringly; and not till their officer had made thediscovery himself, and called upon them to flatten insheets so that the life-boat might bear up in her wake, didthe fact of her stoppage dawn upon them.

The change in their demeanor was natural enough.Jenkins and the German stood up together, twined arms, andfooted it in an uncouth dance. Olsen, the Dane, fainted.Baldy dropped to his knees, shut his eyes tight, andbabbled incoherent prayers. The big gross negro alone wasungrateful. He stared after the Rhein with bared teethand starting eyeballs; he muttered evilly to himself; andpresently, slipping a hand to the knife sheath beneath hisbelt, he drew his weapon, and made vicious stabs with itinto the bodies of imaginary enemies.

The little mate watched all this with a grim smile, andthe life-boat had run half a mile over the cobalt swellsbefore he gave speech.

"I suppose," said he, "that most of you ducks thinkthat glorified Dutchman is smitten with sudden pangs ofhospitality. Don't you believe it. He's broken down, and Iguess the Senegambian here with the Sheffield ware is theonly sinner in the boat, barring myself, who's tumbled toit."

"Yes, sar," said the black, "an' I'se gwine to slice hisliver out."

"You will cut just what parts of his anatomy I order,neither more nor less. In the meanwhile put that cutleryout of sight. D'you hear me? That's a good nigg*r. Nowall hands, listen. We're going to range up alongside,and we're going to board. I don't suppose they'll helpus—being Dutchmen. But thank the Lord there are acouple of boat-hooks in the boat that we can hitch on tohis rail if he won't throw us a rope, and we must makeshift to go hand over fist up those. You're all steamersailors, and you don't know how to climb; but if any mandoesn't learn enough for this occasion, he'll have me todeal with afterward, and I don't recommend the experience.Once on board, if there's any argument, you're to attendto officers only. If one of you pulls a knife, I'll throwhim overboard. This scrap is to be gone through Englishfashion, if scrap there is to be.

"There's to be no killing. But if they show ugly,you may hammer them as hard as you like. And rememberalso, nobody's to tackle the Old Man. He's my meat.And you needn't worry about deck-hands. Go for theofficers—if there's trouble—bowl them over,lash them up, and throw them into the chart house. Savvyall that, Mr. Jenkins?"

"Yes, sir, and what afterward?"

"That I'll attend to, and let you know my wishes in duetime."

The Rhein, with stopped propeller, lay rolling in thedark blue troughs, and the white life-boat, magnificentlyhandled, raced down to her, close-hauled to a spankingbreeze. Half a dozen fathoms short of the steamer's lee,Mr. Kettle smartly rounded-to, let drop his lug-sail andjib. He sheered up alongside, and the crew fended offcannily with oar looms, so that the steamer should notcrush them with her downward roll.

But though men stood at the rail that swooped andsoared above them, the hospitable rope of invitation wasnot thrown—as Mr. Kettle had anticipated. So he gavesharp orders, and at the next downward roll two boat-hookswere suddenly upended and hooked to her rail; and grippingthese with their hands, Mr. Kettle and Jenkins walkedup the Rhein's rusty black side, and over the barrierabove.

The Germans, it is true, had not invited them; butthrowing men back into their boat to starve to death, oncethey had made their way on board, was another matter;and so, though the life-boat's crew stepped inboardover the rail without help, they did it also withoutinterference.

Mr. Kettle rounded up his men with their backs against adeck-house. "Mr. Jenkins," said he, "I leave you in charge.I'm going topside to interview the Old Man on a matter ofbusiness. I'm quite competent to tackle the crowd on thebridge, but if these ducks down here feel called upon tointerfere, I'd be obliged if you'd keep them amused."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The little mate turned and stepped lightly up the ladderto the upper bridge.

The big square-shouldered German captain met him. "Youcome on to my bridge unasked," he roared. "Are these yourEnglish manners?"

"Yes," said Kettle cheerfully, "and I've come herespecially to teach you more of them, you glass-eyedDutchman." On which he seized the big German's beard inhis iron fist, and jerked it to this side and to thattill the unfortunate owner felt that his head was beingwrenched adrift from its moorings. And then, when he hadhis man half-dazed, and before the other two officers andthe quartermaster on the bridge had recovered sufficientlyfrom their astonishment at the 'sudden attack to offerassistance, he swung his victim round, and using him asa battering-ram, drove the others before him till he hadcleared the bridge and had the captain to himself.

"And now," said he, "we have room for a little, quiet,thoughtful talk. What do you suppose I was sitting out inthat boat for in the middle of the Sargasso Sea? Good of myhealth?"

The German captain felt his head gingerly to make sureit was still in its socket, and murmured something aboutowners insisting on no breakage of passage.

"Quite so. They're Dutch owners with no manners. Youmustn't be guided by them. I left my steamboat two and ahalf degrees north of this in a state of some distress. Ourchief has gone luny and had figured short on coal. So I'vecome down here to find enough to fill the deficiency."

"You have come for—? I do not understand."

"Coal," I said. "I take it you've enough to see you toTampico and back to happy sausage-land?"

"Vera Cruz is my port. I carry enough coal to steam fromthere to N'York. No more."

"It will be plenty. You can come with me and deliver upenough to see us home, and we'll leave you the change. Youcan run into Tampico and re-bunker from the coal shootsdown-river there, before you turn her nose for Vera Cruzharbor walls."

"But"—the big German spread the palms ofexpostulation—"but I am not a collier ship. I do notwish to sell coal."

"If you don't sell, it will be taken from you. You aregoing to part with it, anyway."

"I can not think you mean this. What you propose ispiracy on the high seas, no less."

"Put it in poetry and set it to music, if you think thatwill ease you. But your coal my steamboat is going to have.I don't know that the point interests me very much, but forthe sake of formality and for entering in the log, I'd liketo hear if you'll give it up on reasonable terms."

The German captain was cowed, maltreated, shaken, but hefound his backbone here.

"You may kill me if you like, and I suppose you will.But it shall never be said that of free will I betrayed thetrust my owner has given me. My honor is all that I haveleft, and I will keep that."

"Kill you?" said the little mate contemptuously. "What'syour value as cold meat to me? You're no use as fuel now,though I daresay you'll be used as that in the sweet by andby. Coal's what I'm after, and the side issues have beenbrought in by your lack of manners."

He made a sudden dive, and produced a revolver from theafter part of the German's clothing. "H'm, I thought so.A man who speaks his English with a Massachusetts accentlike yours is bound to carry a gun to match. And yet, lord!you hadn't savvy enough to pull it! You're an amazing backnumber. Well, I guess you'll have to camp out in your ownchart house till I give further orders. Don't you dareto answer me. And if you try any trick I'll pluck yourbeard clean out by the roots next time. Now, quick march!Vorwärts!"

Only once did the German attempt further expostulation.But when he turned he looked down the black barrel of hisown revolver, and the sight cowed him finally. He sufferedhimself to be hustled into his chart house, and therecollapsed on the settee.

To him were driven under varying circ*mstances ofindignity his three mates and chief engineer, and Jenkins,with another filched revolver, stood guard over thedoor.

"And now," said Mr. Kettle, addressing the rest of thecrew within reach, "does any one dispute that owing to thelamentable defection and incapability of other officers, Iam in full command of this junk?"

There was no answer.

"Carried," said Mr. Kettle. "Very good, then. I don'tallow my decks to be used as an alameda. Watch below,get below. Mr. Jenkins, you're mate. Get hold of yourdeck-hands on duty, and set them to washing this filthypaint. I like a clean ship. You, quartermaster, mycompliments to the second engineer, and I'd be glad if he'dcome and report to me how long it will be before he canhave the ship under way again."

Some men are born to command, and Mr. Owen Kettle, theMate of the Norman Towers, was one of them. He had theknack of the words, and nature and practice had given himthe clear, crisp, carrying voice in which to deliver them.Men instinctively jumped to carry out orders when he gavethem.

Miss Violet Chesterman, who came from a military stockherself, noticed this with keen appreciation. So muchdepends on the timbre of a voice.

Miss Chesterman, it chanced, had been the first of allon board the Rhein to see the life-boat. She had beensitting under the shade of an awning reading a novel,which (luckily for Kettle) bored her. She had looked up,and there, on the edge of the blue desert of sea, spiedthe boat. She shaded her eyes, and saw men in it wavingfrantically. What woman would not have been thrilled?

She had jumped to her feet and run to the bridge ladderand given her alarm. Captain Engelberg, in his most stiffand pompous manner, had intimated that he intended toconduct the affairs of his ship without the unasked-forassistance of passengers. And then, when she saw that noattempt was going to be made to pick up the life-boat, shehad taken steps to have the passage of the Rhein rudelyinterrupted.

All this, of course, Mr. Kettle did not know. But hiseyes told him that the lady in white muslin who came upfrom aft, was extremely good-looking, and he returned hergreeting with cordiality, and mentioned his surprise atfinding an Englishwoman on a German tramp cargo boat.

The lady shrugged. "I had my reasons." And then shelaughed. "But I'll freely own that I didn't travel by theRhein for comfort. To be frank with you, I've found boththe ship and her German officers more detestable than Iimagined could be possible. I heard Captain Engelberg callyou a pirate just now."

She laughed again. "I don't know if you are that, orwhat you are, but anyway, I'm sure your regime will be animprovement."

"Your comfort, miss, will be a thing that I shall lookafter most narrowly. You give me word the first time asteward neglects you or your room, or the cook doesn't dishup to your taste, and then you stand by to see me make thatman hop. As regards being a pirate, there are extenuatingcirc*mstances about the way I had to come aboard herewhich even a stipendiary magistrate couldn't overlook, andanyway, as chief officer of the Norman Towers I have tobring back coal to my own captain, let the opposition bewhat it may. As regards personal matters, I've pretty wellsquared them up already, except that I've still got toattend to that man who stood beside you near the poop staffand mocked at my boat when she was being left behind. Youmust understand, miss, that I don't allow any man living tolaugh at me."

"But I'm not a man. So you will let me laugh, won't you?Your mistake is so funny. If it wasn't for the man you'respeaking of you wouldn't be on board here at all, and theRhein would be some considerable number of miles fartheralong her way."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Well, he is a Scot—a Mr. McTodd, and he and I arethe only non-Germans on board. I'm afraid we are neither ofus popular, but I gather he is pretty actively disliked.You see, he's in the stoke-hold, and (according to hisown account), he undertook to teach the ship's companyboxing."

"H'm," said Mr. Kettle, bristling. "Fancies himself withhis hands, does he? And the engine-room officers didn'tknow how to keep discipline? It was about time I came toteach them."

"You might take into account the small item that in allprobability he saved your life," the lady suggested. "I'mafraid I'm no engineer, but perhaps you can tell me ifthere is a thing called a 'thrust'?"

"Thrust blocks, yes, miss."

"Well, Mr. McTodd left me with designs that wereconnected with the thrust, and a shovel full of ashes,and 'nutting her up tight.' Frankly, the technicalitieswere quite beyond me, and very likely I've reported theminaccurately. Also there are moments when McTodd's bestPollockshields accent is completely outside my grasp."

"Speaks as if he had no roof to his mouth?"

"Precisely. And so beyond the fact that his scheme wascalculated to give pain to the engineer staff, and to bringthe machinery to a standstill, I'm afraid I can't describeit."

"He seems to have delivered the goods all right," saidthe little sailor dryly. "And I shouldn't like you to goaway and think your description was a bad one, miss. Butfor a subordinate to tamper with the ship's engines is avery serious offense against professional etiquette."

"At any rate you should be the last to complain."

"I trust, miss, that I shall always have the strength todo what I consider right, whether it's to my own advantageor the reverse. I must ask you to excuse me for a moment. Itake it that this man with the black eye and the fat lip isthe second engineer that I sent for, and I've got to hearhis report."

The Rhein's second engineer had come on deck with noinclination to recognize the authority of the invader, andhis introductory sentences were not those of urbanity. Mr.Kettle did not interrupt. He merely looked at him, and byquick degrees civility oozed into the man's discourse.

He spoke in technicalities of a smell of heated iron,a frenzied search, a bearing that threatened to seize.Nothing but an instant stoppage of the main engines savedthe Rhein from a broken shaft. Some malefactor had donethe thing. Search was made for him. He was found. A court(according to precedent) was assembled for his trial, andevidence was taken down at length in writing.

"Instead of getting your old coffee-mill mended up andrunning again."

"I did as my chief ordered. He acted according toroutine."

"I see. Dutch routine. Well, Mr. Ehrenbreitstein, what Iwant to know here and now is, how long is it going to takeyou to get under way again? You may clap on all the handsyou need or can use."

"I could not guarantee to have the engines turning againin less than twenty-four hours."

A voice from behind interrupted. "Vara true. Twenty-fourhours is short allowance, too, for the Dutchies. The jobwould take even me a good two hours, and I'm a mechanic,with a fine record in the Clydebank shops at my tail."

The little sailor turned sharply and looked upward.The upper part of a large grimy man projected through thefiddley gratings above. He had a tousled head, and a cutover his left eye which at intervals he mopped with ahandful of discolored cotton-waste.

"Are you McTodd?"

"I was when I signed on. But on account of sheerprofessional abeelity I've been promoted fourth engineeron this junk, so ye'll kindly clap on the mister when youaddress me."

"Then it was you that tampered with the engines?" askedthe little sailor sourly.

"Just me. It was a most unprofessional thing to do (asI've no doubt your tongue is itching to tell me), but I hadma' reasons."

"If you wish me to thank you for saving my life I do it,here and now."

"Man, you may consairve your breath and spare ma'blushes. I take it ye're just a sailor man that's paidto be drowned, and not having at that time the pleasureof your fascinating acquaintance, I'm free to tell youI didn't care the value of a bawbee whether ye sank orswam. When I tampered with yon thrust, I did it to obligethe leddy. She seemed anxious to give you the chance oftreading a dry deck."

Miss Chesterman was quick to see the antagonism that hadsprouted up between the two, and made skilful intervention."I was going to ask if Captain Kettle would come and have acup of tea with me, as I know Mr. McTodd wishes to get onwith his repairs."

The little sailor's red face deepened in hue, tillit became almost purple. Like most mates, he had held amaster's certificate for long enough, but this was thefirst time any one had given him the title.

Mr. McTodd from above winked a shrewd eye. "Miss," saidhe, "you've diplomacy, and the next time you find yourselfin a vice-consul's office, you may tell them I said so.It's a fine gift. But deal gently with the young man. Well,I'll go below to pour oil into the wounds of yon thrust. Iwish I'd the wine which we're told the guid Samaritan alsocarried in his first-aid kit. It's vara exhausting to workin the heat of this engine-room without lubricant. And themess room's dry. I hadn't been promoted there three daysfrom the fireman's fo'castle when supplies ran oot."

"If you will let me, I will send the cabin steward downwith a tray."

"Say no more, m'em. I'll treasure your memory."

Miss Chesterman's cup of tea developed itself into atidy meal, and Kettle faced it with the appetite that isonly grown after starvation in an open boat. A table wasbrought out on deck, and an abject steward waited on himwith twittering knees.

CHAPTER V.
The Dutchman Pays.

THE Rhein ran briskly alongside the Norman Towers,turned her engines to full speed astern, and came to a deadstop some twenty fathoms away. It was very smartly done.

Mr. O. Kettle, from the upper bridge of the Rhein,looked across at his own ship and frowned. Her side wasrust-streaked and shabby; her bottom, when she heavedup to the long blue swell of the Sargasso Sea, showed agrass-green garden of weed; her rigging and funnel stayswere ill set up; and her decks were cluttered with untidylitter. A derrick boom which had jumped out of its chocktraversed about the fore-deck as she rolled, and scoreda bright arc on the iron plating between bulwark andhatch.

From the fore shrouds there blew out the remaining thirdof a wind-ragged Union Jack which had been seized there,Union down, as a permanent sign of calamity. Even thefalls of the port life-boat had not been touched since Mr.Kettle unhooked from them, and the blocks, with a catchof orange-yellow Gulf weed streaming from them, soused inthe water or bumped against the plating as the steamerrolled.

Mr. Kettle summed up the situation. "Old Man standingby the whisky bottle. Others too slack to carry on withoutorders."

He glanced round rather nervously at Miss Chestermanwho (by special invitation) was on the upper bridge athis side. He obviously expected comment, and with thenervousness of a man who sees the infelicities of his ownfireside exposed to a stranger, dreaded it.

She skirted the subject tactfully. "How delighted yourfriends will be to see you back."

"Bringing coal?"

"If you like to put it that way. But come to think ofit, isn't it natural one should always admire success? Youset out on a forlorn hope and you've succeeded. What couldbe more satisfactory?"

Miss Chesterman was tall and generously proportioned.She was all that one means by the description "a finehandsome woman," and like many girls of her build, she wasfrankly and openly attracted by a man half a head shorterthan herself. In fact, during the four days in which theRhein hunted for the disabled Norman Towers she hadworked up between herself and the little sailor somethingthat might be described as a hot flirtation.

But at this moment on the upper bridge of his capturedsteamboat, Mr. Kettle was a ship's officer and nothingbeyond. In reply to the whistle-hoot a dozen apatheticfigures appeared on the Norman Towers' untidy decks, butthere was no Captain Farnish, and no trace of organizeddiscipline, and for a moment Mr. Kettle gritted his teethin a spasm of rage at the spectacle.

"Miss," he said, turning to the lady, "what you seethere is entirely my fault. Captain Farnish suffers frommalaria, and I guess he's down with a bad attack. Hedeliberately signed on inferior mates and engineers, as hedid me the honor to intrust the discipline of the boat tohis chief officer, and that's me. When my back's turned,you see what happens. When I get back on board there,you'll see discipline come back like a conjuring trick."

He hailed across, addressing the second and third matesby name, and demanding a boat, but none was forthcoming.Apathy had bitten into that crew too deeply, and finally itwas in the Rhein's quarter-boat, rowed by the negro andthe German, and escorted by a shoal of excited flying-fishthat he passed across to his own ship.

By way of emphasizing his home-coming he knocked downthe first three men who stood in his path, and then marchedbriskly into the chart house. Captain Farnish, with theusual tear in his eye, sat huddled in his red velvet chair,and Mr. Kettle noted with fresh distaste that the caster ofthe lame leg was still absent.

"Come back on board, sir. I've brought that coal."

"Very pleased to see you, Mr. Kettle, me man. ButI don't think coal interests me now. My professionalreputation's eternally punctured; 'n all on account of thatpsalm-singing Mr. Little. Never you take up psalm-singing,Mr. Kettle, me man, or if you do, take dam' good care topick out the right psalms."

"I'll remember that, sir. But I'd like to point outthat whatever else the owners may be, at any rate they'rebusiness men. It isn't as if the old Towers was fullyinsured. They stand to lose twenty-five per cent, if she'sa total loss, and to pay according on salvage. Now you'vesaved them that."

Captain Farnish shook a blowsy head.

"Think that Dutch boat won't put in a big claim forsalvage?"

"She might," said the chief officer dryly, "if anybodyaboard her knew our name. But you see, I've every soul ofher people under hatches, and there, if you'll give me myway, sir, they'll stay till we've got the coal we want andare away out of sight."

"But your own boat's crew—won't they tell theDutch skipper if he asks?"

"Well, there are two reasons against that, sir. First,the Rhein didn't treat us very civilly, and my men weremad enough to eat her, funnel and all, by the time we didget on board. And, secondly, I had the handling of thesem*n for a considerable number of days in our life-boat,sir, and I can guarantee that—with me in command ofthem—they're the best disciplined handful of toughsin the Western Ocean to-day."

"I can believe it. You have a knack with you in handlinga crew, Mr. Kettle, me man. Must have got it from me, Isuppose. My whiskers! but I was a fine bucko mate in my daybefore I got command, and had to take so many precautionsagainst malaria. But it would have to come out sooner orlater who we are. We can't take the Dutchman's coal withoutpaying for it. That's blame' near piracy."

"Beg your pardon, sir, but I wasn't proposing anythingof the sort. You've money in that drawer next to thechronometer, in hard cash. I suppose there's some one amongthose incompetents down in the engine-room who can figureout how many tons it will take to steam us home, and wewill pay the Rhein at Newport rates plus five shillingsa ton added for; the emergency call. You can take it fromme, sir, the subject will then drop. That Dutch skipper(although I can not like his eye-glasses or the cut of hisbeard) is a man with a pride of his own, and you'll neverfind him going to a consulate and squalling that his wholeship has been held up by a boatload of starving scarecrowsthat he tried to desert in mid-ocean. No, sir, there'shuman nature even among Dutchmen, and the man'll hold histongue."

"Splendid thing, human nature," Captain Farnishassented, "though I still feel my position is precarious.I mean, very risky thing to depend on glass-eyed Dutchmenpossessing human nature. Eh, well, as you've come back,Owen, me man, I can hand over charge to you with full, Imay say fullest, confidence. Strain of your absence hasbeen so very great, I really must indulge in half an hour'ssleep." And murmuring, "Never get married, Mr. Kettle, meman. Strain of keeping subsequent family out of workhousemost exhausting," Captain Farnish broke off into a mostenjoyable snore.

The little mate frowned. He took a book from the shelfabove the wash-stand and fitted it under the casterless legof the red velvet chair when it lurched upward to the rollof the ship, and then pressed on the bell-push till thecaptain's steward came.

"My man," said the mate, "I've come back on board thispacket, and don't you forget it. Next time you fail toanswer a bell promptly I'll give you a dose of smarteningpowder that will take a week to digest. Now turn-to andclean out that big starboard stateroom below, and make upa bed in the lower bunk. If I find a speck of dirt when Icome to inspect, I'll make you wash the whole place outwith your tongue. It is probable that a lady passengerwill travel in that room, and if I hear so much as a wordof complaint from her, I'll attend to you in a way that'llmake you hate the sea for the remainder of your naturallife."

Mr. Kettle went out on deck then, sent certain messages,and presently was holding a meeting of the second and thirdmates and the second and third engineers in the saloonbelow. Proceedings were entirely private, and no reportof them official or unofficial was ever issued, whichgoes to show that whatever differences officers of themercantile marine may have among themselves, it is a pointof strictest etiquette with them to keep these away fromoutsiders.

It was, however, matter of common note that after themeeting broke up, the second mate (who hated responsibihty)had a puffed and darkened left eye which showed signs ofrapidly closing; that the third's collar was burst atboth ends; and that both the second and third engineers,young men who were always sallow, were both so white asto suggest that anger and insult burned hotly withinthem. But the next thing noticeable about the quartettewas their briskness. They had gone into that meeting limpand dispirited. They emerged angry but energetic. And,incidentally, the record also tells that Mr. Kettle hadcontrived to break both sets of his own knuckles.

Affairs marched rapidly from now onward. The infectionof briskness spread. The lethargic crew woke up—orwere rudely awakened. A boatload of them went across tothe Rhein, and to their surprise found themselves underthe crisp command of a truculent officer in whom theyrecognized one Jenkins, ex-incompetent deck-hand of theNorman Towers.

But Mr. Jenkins soon proved himself an officer ofaffairs. He yapped out orders with the true bucko mate'sbark. Derricks were lifted and winches rigged to raisethe coal from below, bags were found to carry it in;tarpaulins were stripped and hatches removed; and lo! atthe bottom of the hold, among the coal, there stood readythe Scots engineer McTodd facing (after the manner of adrill sergeant), a squad of German firemen and trimmers whocarried their shovels before them stiffly at the salute.

"Yap—yap—yap," barked Jenkins, and the workwas carried out at the run. A towing hawser was passed,and the Rhein steamed ahead to keep it taut. Then withthe distance constant between the two vessels, a Temporleytransporter was rigged. A wire was stretched from theRhein's maintop to the Norman Towers' foretop, and onthis traveled the usual mechanism of sheaves and blocks.Mr. Jenkins stood beside the Rhein's poop staff and threwup a hand to signify that all was ready at his end. Mr.Kettle, on the forecastle head of the Norman Towers, gavea similar arm signal for "Go ahead."

Coal from below was loaded into bags, whipped on deck,slung aloft, and sent dancing out above the dipping towinghawser. The bags were dumped on the Norman Towersfore-deck, and their contents were emptied into the hungrybunkers. The steamers rolled crisscross to the swells ina halo of coal dust, and work was pushed forward at apace that nearly satisfied even that master of the art ofdriving, Mr. Owen Kettle.

All helped except Captain Farnish, who attended to hismalaria; the Rhein's officers and crew, who were batteneddown in the Rhein's number one hold, and raged togetherthere furiously; and Miss Violet Chesterman, who sat in thecaptain's own Madeira chair on the Rhein's upper bridgeand watched proceedings with absorbed interest.

Miss Violet Chesterman was a young lady of someconsiderable experience of life. Her years numbered onlytwenty-three but she had lived every minute of them. Shehad gone through seasons in London, New York, and Paris;she had lived in a Swiss mountain hotel in winter, and ina salmon fisher's log-house in Norway; she had yachted,bicycled, danced, golfed; she knew the delights of winterco*ck-shooting in the West of Ireland, and the gorgeousboredom of court functions in London. She had money and afascinating manner, and knew the thrills of many proposals;and, a month before the date on which this chronicle opens,found herself formally engaged to be married.

I will not give away the adventurous man's name, as heis husband now of a far more suitable young woman, and Ido not wish to disturb them. But I may say that he was apeer who played a good game of polo, owned three very finehouses, and had foreseen English predatory legislation socleverly that he had practically all his capital investedbeyond the reach of socialistic theft. Personally, I havealways found him amusing, and so presumably did MissChesterman till she became engaged to him. But after thatthey apparently bored one another to the verge of tears.He, being a gentleman, played the engaged man's game downto the last comma; but she, towards the end of that month,became acutely miserable.

An uncle saved the situation. He was fishing for tarponand catching sharks in the Panuco River at Tampico, andhe wrote her a half-joking invitation to come out andamuse her aunt. She cabled a frantic "Yes," rushed down toSouthampton just in time to see the North German Lloyd boatput to sea, and within an hour had engaged a passage on theGerman tramp S.S. Rhein, then on the point of departurefor Gulf ports with coal and general cargo.

From the safe harborage of the Rhein's stuffy saloonin Southampton Water, she wrote the friendliest possibleletter breaking off her engagement, and when this had beensent ashore by the pilot, set herself to study the mannersand customs of that unknown animal, the German merchantseaman.

For a week Miss Chesterman found her new associatesinteresting. She marveled three times daily at the amountof knife-blade they could swallow at meals without cuttingthemselves; their martial bearing, their bows, and theirtaste for sentiment were all frankly amusing; but at theend of that week these things grew stale, and a generalfeeling of fastidious disgust filled her to the brim.(Those unfortunates who have met the German mariner at homeon the high seas will be able to supply the details.)

There are moments when she thought she might have doneworse than close with the offer so recently rejected.And she was in this frame of mind when she encounteredRomance in the largest of capitals and (as she believed)for the first time in her life, in the person of Mr. OwenKettle.

You are to imagine her leaning over the poop rail ofthe Rhein, and watching the battered life-boat, that sheherself had sighted, being callously left astern to perishin the desert of the sea. Any man or woman living, it wouldseem, would have been thrilled by the sight of that littleship's officer sitting there undaunted among his leanscarecrow crew with nothing else in sight but blue sky,blue Sargasso Sea, and orange-yellow weed.

It had been a shock to her to find that the engineertook the whole as a matter of ordinary German routine."German ship-owners were in business to make dividends, notto waste time over saving the lives of competitors," wasthe view that Mr. McTodd took. And then she had turned hereloquence on the Scot, and had seen that acid Northernerthaw out and deliberately risk the safety of the ship to doher pleasure.

Romance! She drew deep breaths as she thought of it.These were deeper waters than those she had known before,and as for the men that trafficked in them—well, atany rate they were men.

And then she had seen this Mr. Kettle, with nothingmuch else besides his bare hands and his personality, takepossession of a big, well-found, strongly-manned steamer,and carry her off to do his pleasure in the teeth ofall opposition. The man was something quite new to her,something full to the brim with primeval vigor. No wondershe fell in love with him....

The coaling went on with noise, and dust, and orderlyspeed. The steamers rolled crisscross, but the Rhein'sengines kept the lines taut and the bunches of coal bagswent hopping merrily across from lower masthead to lowermasthead to the boundless amazement of the flying-fish. Itis a nice operation, this coaling at sea, and none of thecrew of the Norman Towers had ever witnessed it before.They were interested at first, and heartily sick of itbefore it was finished, but it was astonishing to note thatno one complained of tiredness.

When Mr. Kettle returned on board they were one and allsunk in a slough of lethargy, and the process of waking upunder his hard driving was painful to many of them. Butthe small mate was perfectly callous to their inclinationstoward laziness, and even that chartered idler, thecarpenter, was seen to carry out an order on the run whenMr. Kettle's trim shoe toe threatened him from the rear.

But at last the hungry bunkers were stored withsufficient fuel to steam the Norman Towers back toLiverpool, and crisp orders were given to knock off, andunrig the transporter.

In the meanwhile fires had been lighted under the coldboilers, and smoke trickled from the rusty stack. Theescort of sea-gulls recognized the omens and rose mewingfrom the water, ready to fly on with labored wing to thatspot in mid-ocean where the gulls from the Azores wouldtake over the watch. The Norman Towers' boat returnedfrom the Rhein, bringing her people, bringing also,as Mr. Kettle noted with a queer thrill, Miss VioletChesterman.

Tentatively he had offered the lady an alternative tothe discomforts of the German boat, and (as we have seen),had ordered a state-room for her in case she came. Butit was not till she had seen him bring back energy anddiscipline to his old crew that she made up her mind totake the step which (as she was well aware), would probablycut her off from her own caste for the remainder of herlife.

The German officers and crew still remained batteneddown in their own Number One hold, and the sole remainingoccupant of the Rhein's outer decks was the Scotsengineer. Him, Mr. Kettle, the Mate, hailed.

"You there, Mr. McTodd? Won't you come back in our boat?Captain Farnish would be very pleased to give you a passageback to Liverpool."

"I thank ye. But I'll stay where I've signed on."

"But, man, they'll eat you when you let them out of thathold."

"Man," bawled the Scot, wagging a discolored forefingeracross the dark blue swells, "yon's a very humorousobserve. It's just for the fun of seeing them try that I'mstaying on. If ever you're down at Clydebank two monthshence, ask for me there and you'll hear news of how theseDutchmen fancied their meal."

Miss Violet Chesterman drew a deep breath as shelistened. This manner of men was new to her experience.They might be many things, but at any rate she decided theywere men.

CHAPTER VI.
Leads Up To Miss Dubbs.

CAPTAIN FARNISH'S appearance at sea has already beenlightly described by the word "blowsy." Once out ofsoundings, he lived a life of slippered, unbuttoned,unshaven ease, complicated with (as has been hintedfrequently), systematic attempts to keep away symptoms ofmalaria. But, once he had given orders to fly for a pilot,he bathed, he did mighty surgical deeds with a razor, andhis steward was hugely busy over brushing the mold fromboots and wearing-apparel.

There was nothing of the popular idea of the mariner inCaptain Farnish's shore rig. He wore a black tail-coat andaustere trousers; his waistcoat was cut low (as if to showthe edges of his economical shirt-front), and displayeda fine gold stud and a pious black bow tie; and after hehad taken his false teeth from the drawer in the charttable where they traveled when at sea, and clicked them inbetween his lips, he would have passed comfortably for awell-to-do grocer with strong Nonconformist tendencies.

He practised a smile or two at himself in thelooking-glass to make sure his teeth were workingcorrectly, shipped the square-topped bowler hat which thesteward reverently handed him, and went out on deck.

"Mr. Kettle, me man."

"Sir?"

"Good old smell, the Liverpool River, isn't it? Not anounce of fever in a mile of it. Er—if you want toslip ashore before we dock, that'll be all right."

"I trust you'll allow me to take the fore-deck as usual,sir."

"If you choose to remain on board," said Captain Farnishdryly, "I should say a boatswain's chair in a ventilatorwould be the healthiest spot for you. Just remember, meman, that that blame' Dutchman has had a week ashore atTampico by this, and if he hasn't been making the cableshum, I'll swallow my ivories. It isn't as if we were in NewYork, where they always back their own side. You're in goodold England now, Owen, me man, where, when a case comes onin the courts, the stipendiary and the papers always saythe Englishman's wrong."

"You think it'll be a case of the police, sir?"

"I'm pretty sure of it."

"Ah!" said Mr. Kettle, the Mate, thoughtfully.

"Yes, I quite see what you're considering. Your ideais that you've done nothing to be ashamed of, and thatwhen the police come you'll put up a fight that halfLiverpool would pay sixpence a head to come and stare at.Well, in ordinary circ*mstances I'd be the last man totry and head you off—you having right on your side,as we're agreed. But I want you to remember that you'vegot somebody else to consider now, and that's this MissChesterman you've been sparking so hard. I'll own up atonce she's not my clip, but then I know quite well I'm theold style of shellback and you're the new. You like tosport a brass-edged uniform whether you're on shore or sea,and dam' well you look in it, me man. That ginger-coloredtorpedo beard sets you off well, too—makes you looka kind of breezy fellow that'd go anywhere to find a bitof trouble. And I don't see why you shouldn't marry thegirl either. She should have money, by her accent; and, ifyou've sense, you'll cut the sea, and find an occupationashore. If I were you, I'd go into the corn business.There's said to be money in it, and it's certainly genteel,if only you're in it in a big enough way."

"If ever I marry, I do not leave the sea. There'll be noquestion about that."

"You're young, and you've none depending on you.Wait till the kiddies begin to arrive, and then you'llwish you'd a nice quiet hen farm and a balance in thesavings-bank."

Now Mr. Kettle, the Mate, had himself thought thismatter out very thoroughly already. Like most officers ofthe mercantile marine, he was quite ready to stand up toall that came from either man or the elements on the faceof the waters, but he had an instinctive dread and distrustfor English law ashore.

The law (according to his view), was always on the sideof the owner or the crew, and any officer who was draggedinto court was disbelieved and insulted, and emerged fromthe ordeal with his certificate suspended or indorsed, andhis future professional prospects eternally blasted.

Of course, too, if Captain Farnish appeared before astipendiary magistrate or a Board of Trade inquiry, thatdisgusting mode of torture known as a cross-examinationwould inevitably bring to light items of his pasthistory—connected with avoidance of malaria,for instance—and cause him to lose his presentbillet, and inevitably debar him from ever gettinganother. There is small demand these days for elderlyshipmasters—none at all if they are known to havetheir failings.

Whether the German complained or not, the NormanTowers was long overdue, and underwriters would mostcertainly press for an inquiry even if owners wereinclined to hush matters up. Somebody would have to besacrificed.

If Little, the chief engineer, had only been kind enoughto die on the passage home, blame might very well havebeen piled on his absent shoulders. But Mr. Little hadrecovered. He had not only sloughed off his madness, buthad turned very shrewd and sane, and (somewhat naturally),was prepared to fight tooth and nail for the retention ofhis own chief's certificate.

"Say a word against me," said Mr. Little, "and I'llswear an affidavit I told the Old Man in Vera Cruz we'donly coal enough to carry us to mid-ocean, and he was tooblind to care. Yes, and I can bring witnesses to prove it.You can bet the hands hate the mate enough to swear toanything he dislikes, after the way he's driven them."

Mr. Kettle recognized the soundness of the argument.There remained then the alternative of professional ruinfor either Captain Farnish or himself, and what hissuperior officer expected of him was clear enough.

".. . If you want to slip ashore before we dock, that'llbe all right...."

It was frankly selfish, of course, but then, after all,self-preservation is the first law of mercantile marineofficers (as it is of nature), especially if the officersare married and have families and no means. As a clenchingargument, Mrs. Farnish's last words to Mr. Kettle as heleft the home where he had been brought up, leaped back tohis memory:

"Owen, boy, you'll look after my old man."

Of course, there was Miss Chesterman. Once professionalruin overtook him, he was quite of opinion that his littleromance with her would come to an undignified end. She wascertainly very much in love with him at that period, andthough he tried to persuade himself that he was in lovewith her, I do not think that his feeling ever amounted tothat. He was a good deal dazzled by her charm, and he wascertainly flattered by her preference, and (in his turn)imagined that she was attracted by his rapid rise in hisown profession, and the prospect that he would, with luck,be presently standing on the upper bridge of a steamer asfull-fledged shipmaster. Mr. Kettle, the Mate, had a fullidea of the importance of the Captain Kettle that was to bein the future.

So, if he made himself scapegoat, it must be anunderstood thing that all his pretensions to the hand ofMiss Violet Chesterman must vanish at once. And all (hisdemon suggested to him) for the sake of an injunction laidon him by that uninteresting old woman, Mrs. SaturdayFarnish. Mr. Kettle laughed grimly to himself: "The olddear has it easily, of course."

Thereafter he made rapid preparations. His clothes, andthe poor contents of his room, he packed into a tin trunkand an antique portmanteau, and addressed care of Mrs.S. Farnish at an unfashionable terrace in Birkenhead. Hestrapped on a money belt, and in it stowed the bulk of hiscapital, namely, three pound ten in gold, distributing whatremained of sixteen and twopence in his waistcoat pockets;he slipped the German captain's revolver—thatspolia opima—into a back pocket, where it nestledvery kindly—and, after an effort in arithmetic, heinclosed nine and sixpence in an envelope addressed to thechief steward in payment of his beer and tobacco accountfor the voyage.

His method of getting into a shore boat was masterlyin its simplicity. He went into the wheel engine-house,waited his opportunity, and then clapped a heavy spanner inbetween the helical cogs of the drive.

The sturdy little engines hiccoughed and stopped, andthe helm (which was hard over at the time) caused theNorman Towers to make a most alarming sheer across thefairway.

On the upper bridge the Point Lynas pilot in a panicrang his main engines to "full speed astern," and theNorman Towers shivered and lurched herself to a suddenstandstill in the middle of a lakelet of muddy foam. Toher shot up a small open boat, under lug-sail and jib,attracted by an arm wave from the mate. The two shabby menin her looked up keenly.

Mr. Kettle, the Mate, with a rope in his hand, clappedhis feet against the ship's side, and ran down it nimbly tothe boat, jumping on to her gunwale exactly as she roundedup alongside.

"You're nippy," said the shabby man at the tiller as heshot the boat into the wind.

"I am. Now, away with you ashore, my lad, and drop me atthe nearest telegraph office."

"Got the price of your passage on you?"

"You can put it down to the firm. I guess it's for theirbenefit I hailed you."

"Seems to me there's trouble on board. The old junkdon't steer. There's the Old Man on the top deck layingdown the time o' day to the pilot, and that bit of skirton the poop's holdin' out beseechin' arms to some one inthis boat that I don't think's me. Mister, by your leave,I'm going to run alongside again to see if the firm ashorewill really O.K. your bus fare to that telegraph office, orif there's some one who'll give a bit more to have you putback on board. Hi, mister, put that down."

Mr. Kettle, armed with a stretcher, was standing up inthe boat. Said he: "If either of you two ducks don't carryout my orders exactly as they're given, I'll knock one orboth of you overboard, and sail your rotten old tub myself.D'ye hear me?"

"I suppose I do."

"Say, 'sir,' when you're speaking to an officer. D'yeknow your course, or shall I set it for you?"

"The ebb's making pretty hard still,but it'll be slack water before we'reacross"—mumble—mumble—"so I'd better takeyou on to Foston, sir."

"Why there? It isn't the nearest."

Mr. Kettle noted that the man in the bows lookedsurprised.

"It's quickest, sir, with this wind and tide. Isn't it,Alfred?"

And Alfred, from the bows, glibly perjured himself,and said they'd be in at Foston telegraph office an hourearlier than they could reach any other.

Mr. Kettle did not believe them but he let it restat that. After all, his telegram, which was merely amessage announcing arrival to Mrs. Farnish, was of no vastimportance, and so he set himself to smoking his pipe, andthinking gloomily over the mess he had made of the present,the definiteness with which he had lost Miss Chesterman,and the hash he had made of his future.

"They'll take away my new master's ticket, as sure asthere are pips in little apples," he told himself, "andit's China Seas for mine now, and a pig boat with a cooliecrew and a yellow owner."

Night fell on the tawny Mersey, and the ships' lightskindled in the purple gloom and threaded through it at adecorous pace, or swung rhythmically on a station. A windfrom the north and east blew chill across the face ofthe waters, and the outgoing and incoming steam traffichooted helm signals in forty keys. The cool, damp, muddyriver-smell, with its tinge of sewage, came to him like anold friend.

"Rice, chopsticks, and pigtails for mine," Mr. Kettlereminded himself again. "But they say the Chinese girlsare fine." And then, thumping the dew-pocked gunwale witha hard fist—"No, I'm blowed if I do," he swore."The beastly British Board of Trade shan't run me outof my profession, simply because I've done my duty inthat state of life to which it pleased the Lord to callme. Ill win out in spite of all their teeth, and commandBritish ships for white owners on the decent seas. And I'llmarry—"

At that point, apparently from the parting of itshalyards, the lug-sail descended suddenly and enveloped Mr.Kettle in its damp dew-sodden folds. The yard also hit himon the head, and for an instant he was driven below thegunwale level. But it took more than a trifle like that toknock a Western Ocean mate out of time. He was up again onthe instant.

"You clumsy swine!" he bawled from beneath his coveringto the boatmen. "I'll teach you to rig a boat. Clear awaythis wreck!"

He sat up, and the top of his head under the sail showedas a round dome beneath the moonlight. On it, at thefull strength of the steerman's arm, descended the oakentiller, and Mr. Kettle subsided as a bull does when it ispoleaxed.

Said Alfred, the shabby man in the bows, making noeffort to move or help: "You've done it now, Arthur. \\'henyou signed to me to cut the halyards, I never thought youmeant murder."

"Murder be blowed," retorted his friend. "I doubt ifI've put him to sleep for an hour. You'll see he'll wakeup again in sixty minutes punctual to the clock, and asfull of ginger as he can stick. He's a hard case, mate,this one, if ever I saw such a fellow, and he'll carry askull like a cannon-ball, or he'd have had it fracturedlong before this. Now we'll just inspect his bank balance.To be true to his type he should carry the bulk of it ina money belt next the meat. Let's inspect. There, didn'tI tell you? And I'll just take the liberty of droppingthis revolver over into the ditch. I don't fancy myselfas a marksman, and if I started any fancy shooting withit I should probably bag my dear old pal, Alfred, insteadof the bearded one here. Well, old son, here's thirtybob, and I'll keep the balance as my share, and agent'scommission."

"But what are we going to do with him? If we take himashore he'll lay a complaint."

"Don't you believe it, old son. His nibs here haskicked over the traces; killed a deck-hand, as likely asnot, and was shy about going on to Liverpool to meet thepolice on the pier head. You can bet he didn't switch offand come with us just on account of our looks. And when hesteps ashore, the only thing he'll ask for will be to slipquietly away and no questions asked."

Alfred shivered. "I shall be glad enough to see the lastof him. He's a tough-looking customer. I hope he'll startto run quick."

"He would if he was let. The trouble for him will bethat we've got further use for him."

Alfred was clearly distressed. "I won't be a party toany more games," he babbled.

"Wait till you're invited, old son."

"But what are you up to? It isn't murder? I couldn'tstand that. I—I believe I'd inform if you did."

"My brave boy, calm your twittering nerves. Thegentleman is far more valuable to us alive than dead. Heis going to ship as fireman on a voyage to Valparaiso,and we—or, perhaps, I should say, as you don't seeminclined to chip in—I will draw his advance pay.Twig?"

"But he'll come to before you can get him to Birkenheador Liverpool, and shipped."

"Again, old son, you undervalue my skill. Permit meto remind you that once In my shady past I was a doctor(or to be more precise, an unqualified medical student),that being, of course. In the days before you and I metas comedians (as I think we called ourselves) on themusic-hall stage, which was before the period when we foundIt convenient to go foreign in a stoke-hold, which againwas before we started picking up a livelihood in thispresent boat on the Mersey estuary."

"Oh, do get on, and don't drivel."

"As a relic of one of my earlier professions IInvariably carry a hypodermic syringe, and a small butcarefully selected collection of drugs. Two tubes in thewaistcoat pocket contain all the lot. It always jars mynerves to read the rot that ignorant novelists churn outabout doping an unwilling hand by putting laudanum in hisbeer, when probably the beggar has a distaste for beer, andwouldn't drink it at your hands, anyway. Now a little jabfrom a hypodermic needle, and your patient gets his dosewhether he likes it or not; thinks probably that you havelurched up against him by accident, and scratched him witha pin In your waistcoat; and, according to how that littledose is made up, he promptly proceeds to go off to sleepfor a given period, or, If you so regulate it, he sleepson to the end of time. It's neat. It's scientific, and itleaves no blundering traces for the fools of police to readfrom the outside, or for an interfering analyst to deducefrom the contents of the gentleman's tummy."

"You are a devil."

"I'll admit if you like, old son, that I'm a distinctdanger to society at present. But if society would combinetogether to provide me with a thousand a year—and seeI didn't overspend it—why, I'd be an ornament to theBritish Isles, an unobtrusive, club-attending, well-dressedornament, with strong views about the criminal classes, anda distinct talent for breeding prize fox terriers. Don'ttry and splice that halyard. Knot it, and turn it end forend."

The shabby man in the bows lifted the prostrate Mr.Kettle to an easier position. "He's as limp as a bit ofchewed string. I believe you've killed him. Oh, lord,Arthur, what shall we do next?"

"Make sure our passenger doesn't come to life again withunpleasant suddenness. He's a bit too limp for my taste.Here, I'll just give him a pinch of soothing syrup.... Ha!I told you so. Catch hold of him from behind. Hit him overthe head with the boat-hook. Well, hold him like that ifyou like, then, till I get this quieter jammed into histhigh.... Phew! Alfred, old son, that was a close call. Theman's all steel springs with brass ends to them. He'd gotme nearly strangled before I had him quieted off. There'llbe a nice quiet stokehold somewhere while this little man'sbeing taught to shovel coal."

"Where are you going to put inshore? If he's to beshipped, I suppose Liverpool's best."

"I don't think. Liverpool, say you, and by your ownshowing you're a nervous man? There are more toughs inLiverpool than in any other seaport in the British Isles,and in consequence every Liverpool bobby has both eyessticking about a foot out of his head looking for them.No, Alfred, I don't escort a gentleman with drooping head,who has temporarily lost the use of his lower limbs downLiverpool streets at something past midnight, although heis got up in a uniform that hints he's a seafaring man.Which reminds me the aforesaid uniform is a heap too smartfor the poor chap to wake up in and find himself in astinkin' stokers' fo'c'sle. We must find him something moresuitable. Can we draw on your wardrobe, old son?"

"I wish you'd stop your rotting."

"Of course, I'd forgotten. You've only the clothes youat present sit, or, to be more accurate, sprawl in. AndI'm in the same box. Of course we did agree, come to thinkof it, that the troupe should travel light this tour. Bitof a dandy, isn't he, our friend, the juggins? I'd liketo change duds with him, but I'm afraid his are a bit toosmart to dress my present part in; they'd call too muchattention from the eyes of beauty, and so on; and as afurther argument, they're about half a mile too small forme."

"Well, we can't invent clothes. We shall have to tearand dirty these he's wearing."

"Not on your life. They represent meals for a week,or perhaps drink for a night. Old son, you mustn't getinto this way of talking as if you were a millionaire. Weshall be ashore in another ten minutes now. We'll leavehis nibs here as boat-keeper when we've tied her to thewall, and if he's covered up with the lug-sail he'll liesnug and not attract attention, and then we'll toot off tothe Mason's Arms, have just one Scotch apiece to wet theluck—they give you a big one for fourpence—andthen buy the landlord's old gardening suit for the poorchap that's tumbled into the river and is afraid he's goingto have another attack of rheumatism. Not a pal of ours byany means, but if a man doesn't look after his neighbor abit in this world, who will?"

This program was carried out very much as it wasarranged, except for the matter of one drink apiece. Thecaress of Scotch whisky on his tongue and palate was athing the less bold of the two rogues never could resist,and numbers two, three, and four followed the openingglass. The silent sullen Alfred grew talkative, and thesmart barmaid who sat at the receipt of custom more thanonce admonished him that that would do.

"'Oh! I'm a pirate bold!'" sang Alfred, "'My shipmatesthey call me the Grogger; Fine plunder I've got in my hold,That I gathered right out on the Dogger.'—Anotherglass of the same, please, miss."

"If you don't stop that noise," said the barmaid,"you'll have the landlord in, and I don't recommend himwhen he's disturbed from his supper."

"Let's have the Scotch, then."

"You've had enough. I'm sure you'd better do as yourfriend asks, and go out and take a walk."

"Yes, come along, William, old son."

"My name's not William, as you should know perfectlywell by this time."

"Miss Dubbs," called a deep and fruity voice from behindthe glass door.

"Coming, pa," said the barmaid.

"No, don't come," boomed the voice, "but just tell themrowdies to get out. Tell 'em they're not our class herein the Snug. Tell 'em they'll be better served in our Jugand Bottle, up the yard. Tell 'em they'll enjoy themselvesbetter still at the Colliers' Rest, down the street. Tell'em I can see their clothes through the glass panel. MissDubbs, and 'ear all their low remarks through the woodwork.And tell 'em, Miss Dubbs, that I don't like either."

The barmaid had a sense of humor. She did not retransmitthe message. She merely nodded her elaborately dressed headand remarked: "Now, you've heard," and obviously lookedupon the pair to make their exit.

She was a deep-hipped, full-bosomed, strong-complexionedyoung woman, quite clearly able to take care of herself,and the shabby Alfred grasped all this in one muzzy glance,and made toward the swing doors. His friend, however, puta hand on his coat tail, and capsized him gently on abench.

"Now, don't you mind my friend George, miss. He'snothing further to say—have you, old son? There,you see, not a word. He's been suffering a good deal fromexposure—and, for that matter, so have I—andthe warmth of your bar and the whisky have made us forgetwhat we came in for. Fact is, there's a fellow outside downin our boat that's been overboard, and got a bad chill.He's T.T., and won't take a drink; so we offered to findhim a dry suit of clothes. D'ye think the guv'nor's gotsuch a thing to dispose of?"

"No," said the big bass voice at the other side of theglass door.

"Of course, so far as our means go, we wish to pay. Itwould be a charity if you could find something. The poorchap's had rheumatic fever once."

Again the big voice made the glasses tingle. "Ma saysthey can have my old garden clothes for two half-crowns,Miss Dubbs. No, call it three-and-six, and they have toreplace the missing buttons themselves."

"Well?" said the barmaid.

"That's a deal," said Arthur, the seedy. "You fetchthem, my dear."

"I'm not your dear," said Miss Dubbs pointedly, "andit's not my place to do up-stairs work. Besides, I can'tleave the bar." She pulled a bell smartly. "I'll tell theservant to fetch them for you. I think your friend's goingout. Perhaps you'd like to go with him."

"I'll sit beside him on that nice comfortable oak bench,and then you'll see he'll be perfectly satisfied. Perhaps,as you've gone so far as to ring that bell for the menial,you'd ask her when she comes to have a couple of good thickthreepenny sandwiches put up for us."

"Sandwiches are fourpence apiece at this house."

"We can eat the extra pennyworth, my dear. Make themso."

The barmaid retired into a novelette, and the clockticked loudly in lieu of conversation. Alfred at intervalsseemed inclined to snore, and when he did his companionshook him viciously, and (as the barmaid, who was quietlywatching the pair in the glass at the back of the bar,thought) nervously.

The barmaid was a very healthy unimaginative personwith, as befitted her calling, a good deal of experienceof mankind, and, as she freely owned afterward, from themoment that the two shabby men had entered the door, shedimly gathered that there was something wrong about them.To start with, she anticipated that they would try to passbad coin on her, or partake of refreshment and departsuddenly without paying for it. Or, again, they mighthave come in to steal ash trays or to carry off the brassfire-irons by way of keepsake; and, even when none ofthese things happened, she was far from comfortable. Shewas convinced that there was something unwholesome aboutthem.

At last the sandwiches arrived, and huge unsightlyhunks they were. The shabby men accepted them withoutcomplaint—and paid. The maid also brought the clothesunhandily tied up in a newspaper.

"Here's your three-and-six," said Arthur civilly.

"But don't you want to look them over first?"

"Oh! I guess they'll do," said the shabby man with therefined voice, and roused his shabby companion, and withhim went through the door and out into the night.

"Well, I'm blessed," said Miss Dubbs, and then, "Pa,"she called through the glass doors, "will you please givean eye to the bar for a bit? I want to go up-stairs."

"Certainly, Miss Dubbs," boomed the big bass voice, anda dapper little man, whose head came up to the level of thebarmaid's chin, trotted into the bar parlor at one door asshe swept out through the other.

Miss Emily Dubbs went to the coffee-room above, satherself in the window, and pulled aside a corner of theblind. Outside, in the moonshine, the little strip of tidalharbor showed as clear as day, and across the pavementwhich led to it walked the two shabby men, arm in arm,with their purple shadows chasing them. When they got tothe edge of the quay the one called Arthur sat his friendcarefully on a bollard, and, when satisfied that he hadacquired a balance there, unpacked the newspaper parcelof clothes, and prepared to descend to a small boat whoseposition was shown by a mast that projected above thegunwale.

An impish inspiration seized upon Miss Dubbs, and for amoment she laughed, and then she acted upon it. She liftedthe sash of the window, and, then drawing the blind stillmore closely toward the jamb so that only her mouth wasexposed, she called out loudly for "Police," and then againfor "Police," and then with a further shrill cry, exclaimed"Murder!"

The effect was sufficiently startling. The shabby manwho was sitting, sprang up as though the bollard hadsuddenly stung him, and ran with ungainly strides up intothe little town. The panic was infectious. Arthur, frombelow, clambered up over the stringpiece, called aloud uponthe name of his Maker, and followed with precipitate pace.And where they went the present writer neither knows norcares, but can only point out that from now onward theyvanish from the pages of this memoir.

Equally strange to relate, the outcry raised no furtherdisturbance. The houses on the quay remained deaf behindtheir shutters, and the town policeman (if, indeed, heheard) gave no sign, but, after the manner of his tribe,crunched stolidly along his beat, and did not seek to ram achivalrous helm into unnecessary disturbance.

Now to begin with. Miss Dubbs was distinctly elated withthe success of her alarm. Instinctively she had dislikedthe two shabby men, but as she had nothing definiteagainst them, her outcry might be described as in the mainexperimental. The result of it startled her, and as shethought it over more, shook her.

Idly she had cried "Murder!" and the men had run asthough the law itself was actually at their heels. She wasa big young woman, and tightly encased in black satin whichleaves small space for the more violent emotions, but shecaught herself shivering. Had murder been done?

She craned out of the window, and looked up the street,and then she looked down. There was no one to call to aid,no one to consult. For one fleeting instant she thoughtof the little man with the big voice and the big wordsdown-stairs, and then dismissed the idea with a poof! Thenshe darted across to her own bedroom, hunted out an articleof wool work known as a "cloud," fitted it dexterously overher masses of black hair in front of the glass, and thenran nimbly down-stairs and out into the street.

Outside she did not run, because ladies never hurry,although for one thing and another she felt monstrouslyinclined to do so; but she walked her quickest, and,looking behind, was thankful for the shadow that was kindenough to keep her company; and in the course of fortysteps stood upon the string piece of the quay and lookeddown at an untidy weatherbeaten boat below. On the floorof it, partly covered with a blackened sail, was a man. Hewas lying on his back, and his face was white under themoonshine, and his eyelids were dropped but not fully shut.His red torpedo beard probably accentuated the pallor ofhis face.

For the moment she thought him dead, and stood therestooping over the boat, fascinated. Then her eye lightedon a ladder of iron rungs leading down from the stringpiece, and she dropped to her knees and clambered downinto the boat. She was a fine strapping young woman with agood wholesome nerve, and all of the feminine instinct forprotection. She was pretty well certain that the man wasdead, but she did not shrink from him. She put her hand onhis head, discovered on the instant that he lived, and thenfor the first time felt an impulse to cry out. But she keptthis back, sat on one of the boat's thwarts, gathered theman's head on her lap, and spoke to him.

In reply he groaned very, very faintly. She could justhear the sound, and leaned her ear to his lips in case hecould form his last wishes into words.

"If you—could kill—that untidyfellow—Arthur—I'd be obliged to you."

"Certainly," was her brisk reply. "But for the presentyou must get out of this boat and come up to the house.You're near perished to death with cold. Do you think youcan climb up if I help you?"

He obviously could not. He had slipped back intounconsciousness again, and her gentle shaking could notrouse him. So with an effort she took him in her arms, andthen, standing up, hove him on to the string piece of thequay above; then panting with exertion and excitement, shefollowed to the upper level herself. And then once morewhipping her arms underneath him, she carried him sturdilyacross the moonlit stones, and through the doorway of theMason's Arms.

CHAPTER VII.
Cremation Of A Tobacco-Pipe.

"PEOPLE have no idea," said Miss Dubbs, "how careful usbar ladies have to be. People seem to think that becausewe can be affable with boys that come in for a glass anda chat, we're the same to everybody. I'm not denying,too, that there may be bar girls in some of the smallerestablishments who are a bit common. But, in a respectablehouse such as this, you can bet that a girl knows her placeand keeps it, and if she didn't the guv'nor would very soonshow her what's what."

"I notice," said Mr. Kettle, "that you call him pa. Anyrelation?"

"No more'n I am to you. All the village calls him pa,and the old lady ma, for that matter, and as they seem tolike it I follow their example. Relation, indeed! I shouldthink not. My people are very different style. I don't tellit to everybody but as you are a sort of friend by now,Captain, I may tell you in confidence that my father's aminister."

"I don't see why you should say a 'sort of' friend.I know that after all you've done for me, I feel thatyou are about the best friend I've got. But then Isuppose—"

"You suppose what?"

"You're accustomed to being kind to people."

"If you mean that I'm in the habit of going out justbefore quitting time, and picking up drugged young men outof boats and carrying them across here, and putting theminto apartments they haven't ordered, you're mistaken."

"Kick me, and you'll find I'll take it lying down."

"Well, I didn't mean to be unkind, Captain, but youmust admit that you brought it on yourself. I know yougentlemen think that because a girl's in business behinda bar she can't keep herself select. But you never made agreater mistake in your lives. I'll tell you why. Betweencustomers, during the slack times of the day, we have timefor reading, and so, naturally, we pick up a lot that otherbusiness ladies don't have a chance of learning. Look atthis novel by Charles Garvice! Now what that man doesn'tknow about life in the higher circles is obviously notworth knowing."

"Which was your father's denomination?"

"Methodist New Connection."

"Mrs. Farnish, who brought me up, was a Bible Christian.Captain Farnish, after some voyages was a strict Wesleyan,and after others he was a Plymouth Brother. And once hesaid he thought he'd turn Spiritualist, but it didn'tlast."

"And you yourself, Captain?"

"Well, between ourselves, miss, I see points in themall, and perfection in none of them. My own idea is thata man doesn't take up religion at all heartily till he'smarried, and for myself I think it'll be something thatcombines the good points of all of them and yet is a creeddistinct and apart. And I think it ought to have a smack ofthe country in it. Have you ever been in Wharfedale?"

"I can't say I have."

"I was there once for a week when I was a boy, and Ihave never forgotten it—grass slopes, and limestonehills, and moors on top of them—just the spot for anew religion. When I can afford it and am able to retirefrom the sea, I should like to set up on a farm there, andfound the Wharfedale Particular Methodists."

Miss Dubbs clasped her hands. "What a noble work!"

The sailor took a grip on his courage. "Are you firmlyconvinced about the New Connection?"

"I must say it has points, many points, though on someof their circuits the arrangements for the minister aredisgusting, and the things they expect his family to doare out of all reason. But since I left home and went intobusiness, of course I've been into other places of worship,and naturally they opened my eyes to the fact that thereare possibilities outside the New Connection."

"Miss," said the little sailor enthusiastically, "Inever came across any one with your amount of sense indealing with a question like this. In fact, the only ladyI ever discussed the question with—well, she was adisappointment."

"And who was she, pray?"

"Passenger I came across once on a steamboat. Veryattractive lady. But she didn't seem to know there wasanything that counted outside the Church of England,except, perhaps, the Romans, and, as she said, it washer idea that fancy religions didn't amount to a hill ofbeans."

"Then I shouldn't call her a lady at all. I should callher a cat."

"Oh, she was a lady right enough. A lady by birth, too;her father was a baronet, and her brother wears the titlenow."

"Why didn't you say so, then?" said Miss Dubbs sharply.She was annoyed at being caught out in error. "Of course,if she was a real lady of that sort, she would be bound togo to church."

"Then do you mean—"

Miss Dubbs nodded her elaborate black head impressively."Never you mind what I do mean. You gentlemen who areofficers at sea know a lot about the sun, and the moon,and stars, and boilers, and passengers, and geography,and all that. But, let me tell you, you miss a heap. Youdon't read. You don't know anything about society, and whatsociety does, and where it goes to worship."

"It goes where its convictions carry it."

With obvious difficulty Miss Dubbs held back hersuperior information. "It will be time enough for peoplelike you or me, Captain, to think about changing overto—I mean to get ourselves into real society whenwe've a pile of money. And for the present, as you tellme you're out of a berth, I make no bones about tellingyou that, as far as I am concerned, my rich aunt shows atpresent no signs of dying and leaving me all her savings.In fact, she's even been so unkind as not to take thetrouble to be born. I'm always hoping, of course, that someone will leave me a fortune; they always do in books, andit's cheering to look forward to the day when one will berich; but for the present the salaries paid in our businessare disgracefully small, and I tell you plainly it's asmuch as I can do to dress anything like respectably onmine, let alone buy the furs that a lady ought to have whenshe's in my position."

Mr. Kettle sighed deeply. "A lady like you will marry arich man. You couldn't do justice to yourself on less."

Miss Dubbs bridled. "I hope my husband, if ever I haveone, will some day become rich and powerful. But if anyone was to suggest I should ever marry for money alone,I believe I should forget I was a lady and use vulgarlanguage. If you read at all, Captain, you'd know thatMr. Charles—that all the best authorities tell youplainly that to marry for anything except love is simplyto ask for trouble, and that last's a thing which yourssincerely is going to avoid if she knows it."

"Well, the Lord be thanked for that, though, to tellthe truth, I didn't think you meant anything else. But,miss, on my part let me tell you something, too. My ideaof the matter runs like this: A man who asks a lady tomarry him when he's got nothing but his ticket, and nomoney in hand, and no billet to go to, deserves a suit oftar and feathers. Mark, I'm speaking only of the businessof the sea, because that's all I know about. But you cantake it from me, miss, that its uncertainness can onlybe described as beastly. A man may to-day have the bestkind of prospects imaginable; he may be known as a smartdriving mate, good ship's husband, good navigator; andto-morrow, through no fault of his own, except that hehonestly carried out his duty, he's—as a mate ora master—blacklisted to all eternity. That's theBritish mercantile marine."

From down the stairway a great voice boomed: "MissDubbs, bar, please."

"There's pa—well, the guv'nor if you like. I mustbe going. I'm three minutes past my time as it is, and he'snuts on punctuality."

"Half a minute, miss. I saw an accordion in the privateroom at the back of the Snug. Who plays?"

"Oh, pa thinks he does. But singing's his strong suit.He really can sing—if one cares to listen to thosedeep Sailors' Grave things that come right from theboots."

"Would an accompanist please him?"

"Why, can you play?"

"Better than most. I've every tune in the YoungMethodist's Hymnal Companion off by heart, and I canimprovise as well. You find me, miss, in a bit of adesperate strait. I've lost my billet, and I'd no moresense than to let a brace of mud pirates rob me of all myready money, and so I must put modesty aside, and say whatI can do, and accordion-playing's one of the big items."

Miss Dubbs tucked an encouraging hand under Mr. Kettle'sarm. "You come down with me, Captain. I'll put you on theground floor with pa inside three minutes."

The landlord, as was natural, was skeptical at first;talked of accordion players he had known who were "equalto Padriwhiskey and Mahryall;" and spoke of the riskand strain to his voice in singing to an inefficientaccompanist. But Mr. Kettle had the instrument in hand bythis time, had run his fingers over the keys, and presentlywas playing such a soothing improvisation to the littleman's recitative, that presently the monologue stopped, andthe small fist rattled the glasses on the table.

"By Jings, Captain, you're a take-in. I thought you werea tin-pot amytoor. Why, you're a bloomin' pro. I see whatwe're in for, and that's an evening of 'armony. Miss Dubbs,kindly take the captain's order. Mine's the usual. And mawill have a red port wine. And now. Captain, if you'llkindly do what you can with 'The Bay of Biscay,' key of Eflat, I'll supply the rest."

The concert took place in the inside private parlor, inan atmosphere that was entirely unventilated, and rich withthe mingled odors of tobacco smoke and toasted cheese, andas the glass door into the Snug was hospitably left open,that latter apartment was crowded with an appreciativeaudience who rapped approval of each successive item withsticks, feet, and tumblers. Miss Dubbs pumped beer, anddrew whisky till her strong right arm was wearied; andwhen eleven o'clock and turning-out time arrived, therewas a unanimous vote against any government that laiddown arbitrary laws as to when a gentleman should leaveenjoyment and go home to bed.

"By jings!" said the landlord hoarsely, as he lockedthe front door on the last customer's heels, and kept therest of the atmosphere from escaping; "by jings! I've nothad such a night since we opened here. This has got to berepeated. The customers will expect it. Miss Dubbs, we'lltake a Dock and Joris, and I daresay you'd like a creamde mint yourself. Captain, as we say in the lodge, here's'Round the Neck!'"

Captain Kettle stayed in free quarters at the Mason'sArms for a week, and at the end of that period found a jobas timekeeper on a railroad extension works. The camp wassome considerable number of miles away, and the employmentwas thoroughly distasteful to him. He ached to be backagain at sea; but with scandal (as he was convinced)awaiting him in Liverpool, he chose the safer part, andprepared to lie low till the air cleared again.

On Saturday midday he was officially free, but in effecthad to spend all the afternoon, and most of the evening,writing up books; and on alternate Sundays some of thegangs worked overtime, and he had to be on watch to checkthe hours to be paid for. His predecessor in the post,being a high-minded British workman, had decided he wouldbe no man's slave, and had handed in his resignation ina manner that insured its instant acceptance. But to Mr.Kettle the hours were light enough. When engaged in his ownprofession, as a modern mate, he had taken it for grantedthat he had to work seven days a week, whether in harbor orat sea, and for most of the twenty-four hours of each ofthose days, so that with a training like that at his back,any shore duty was likely to come light enough. His maintrouble was that the distance and these long hours made itpractically impossible for him to slip away and see MissDubbs at Foston.

Save on his pay he could not. He was not extravagant.He liked his glass of beer and his pipe of tobacco; andthough these were practically his only luxuries, it tookpractically every penny he earned barely to live. Thereason was simple. He had spent all his grown life at sea,where food and lodging are provided as part of the schemeof life, and he had none of a landsman's training in buyingthese things for himself.

Moreover, and this was very typical of him, he wasalways conscious of holding a master's certificate, and wasvery sensitive about living in any style which he conceivedto be below a shipmaster's dignity. There are very strictsumptuary laws about these matters; and even if he had feltany inclination to give way on small points of etiquette,owing to force of existing circ*mstances, the thought ofMiss Emily Dubbs in the background always kept him up tothe most exacting letter of the sea rubric.

Miss Dubbs had swelled out her chest when she laiddown the law on the matter, and had spoken with nouncertain voice. "If I was an officer," said she, "I'd bean officer. If I knew I was a captain, and I was down onmy luck, and I went into a house of call, starving, andthey asked me kindly to step into the kitchen and takemy meal there, d'ye think I'd do it? Not me! I'd starvefirst. Why it would be like asking a bar lady to carrycoals to a bedroom, or wheel out visitors' children in aperambulator."

It was Miss Dubbs, in fact, who rescued Mr. Kettle fromthe railway extension, and sent him to sea again; and thefirst news of her move was conveyed to the poor strandedsailor telegraphically.

### TELEGRAM

"To Kettle Railway works Llandharmallic," it ran. "Comehere immediate. Captaincy offers. Will expect you 5:25train. Miss Dubbs."

His request to the engineer in charge for leave onurgent private affairs met with a flat refusal, couched inlanguage that invited the blow to follow up. The engineer,as a point of fact, was in mathematical trouble at themoment over the amount of spoil it would take to constructa certain "fill," and Mr. Kettle arrived in the office justin time to perform the function of whipping-boy.

But the mariner was taking no chances.

"I'd been aching for weeks," he explained patheticallyafterward, "for a chance to spread that engineer's noseacross his face, and send him home with his eye in a sling,and he knew it, and I make no doubt had taken his dirtyprecautions. I should have had time to have sewn him up allright, but the police would have been in by the end of thescrap, and I couldn't afford to waste a minute, much lessrisk a day. So I let him off; but, please the Lord, I'llmeet him somewhere else, and attend to him in full."

So leaving his work entailed dismissal, and when oncemore he arrived at the Mason's Arms (this time with a smallportmanteau), he was again in his previous condition ofbeing out of employ.

Miss Dubbs leaned across the top of the bar and shookhis hand with her best air. "I was all of a twitter tothink you wouldn't be able to get away. It's Sir Georgewho offers the job, and he'll wait for no man. 'Bring yourskipper up to the scratch at six o'clock to-night,' sayshe, 'and I'll look him over. But if he isn't here by thenhe needn't come, because I shall run up to Liverpool afterthat, and get one of the proper shipping people to find mea master.'"

"Well, I'm here, miss, and my certificates are all thatan owner can ask for. You didn't happen to hear what theship was, and where she was for? Not that it matters. I'dcommand a floating dock bound for the North Pole—yes,and guarantee to take her there, too, if an owner wouldsign me on for the job. But if you could give me a pointeron ahead, it might help in negotiations."

"The trouble is, I can't. Captain. You know that SirGeorge is—short, and brisk, and snappy. They'd beenhaving a political meeting up in the coffee-room, and hecame in here as usual for a word with pa—with theguv'nor, that is. You know he's our landlord—he'slandlord of half the country-side, for that matter. Well,pa asked him about the flower show; would he be presidentagain this year? And Sir George laughed, and said heexpected he'd be in Morocco about flower show time if hecould find a skipper for his boat. 'But skippers, theytell me, are hard to get at the moment,' says he, 'just, Isuppose, because I happen to want one.'

"'Excuse me. Sir George,' says I, 'but if that's allyour trouble, I can find you a perfect captain.'

"' Ah,' says he, 'that sounds like business. And why'she out of a billet? Drink?'

"'Steadiest young man I know,' says I.

"'Any other qualifications?' he asks.

"'There's no captain can work a ship safer or morecomfortable,' I says; and though I've never been at seawith you. Captain, I'm sure that's right. And then I addedsomething about your skill in music. I said nothing aboutwhat you told me about poetry, because I thought thatwouldn't help. But the music fetched him. 'The accordion isquite the finishing touch,' he says. 'Send your man along,'he says, 'and I'll interview him.'

"And that's the lot, Captain. The agent came and fetchedhim then before I could get in another word, and perhaps aswell."

"Miss," said the sailor, "I don't know how to thank youfor what you've done."

"Then don't do it. I suppose a lady may do what shelikes for her own particular friends, and I never heard anylaw as to why she mayn't have men friends as well as theusual lady friends."

"You might tell me who Sir George is."

"Why, bless me, yes. I thought you knew. He's thebig man round here, and a tip-top good sort. Head ofeverything, from the cricket club down to the countycouncil; member of Parliament for the division, and a realpopular landlord, in spite of the fact that he owns halfthe country-side. They say he gets his pound of flesh allright in rents; but if any one meets with a lump of hardluck, and can't pay, and Sir George hears about it, it'salways, 'My good man, don't let your bit of debt to mespoil your sleep. Wipe it off, and try and do better nexthalf-year. Tell your missis I'm sending her down a coupleof brace of pheasants!'"

"Sounds a good sort."

"So you'd think. So I do think. He's the nicest greatgentleman I know, and you'll find no one in Foston to givehim a bad word. But there's one, they say, can't get onwith him—or else it's him that can't stand her."

"Trouble with his wife?"

"Captain, I don't talk scandal. But this is a businessmatter, and as I am a business lady, and have put you onto it, I think it's right you should know. Her ladyship isSir George's little cross; and if she can't get on with aman like that, my opinion of her is that she's no betterthan she ought to be. But there's no getting over the factthat she leads him a dog's life of it when she's down hereat the Hall; and when she's in London by what one reads inthe papers, her goings-on are too rapid to be respectable.She's on the Riviera at present, gambling away our rents atMonte Carlo; and if Sir George wants to be safely off ona yachting trip by the time she gets back to England, I'msure I'm not blaming him. And mark you. Captain, as I'vetold you more than once, my idea is that when a man marriesa lady he should as a rule stick to her, whether, in thewords of the Bible, she turns out better than he expectedor worse than he dared to hope.

"But her ladyship's the limit, and if poor Sir Georgechooses to take himself and his purse out of her reach, I'dbe the last to blame him. Oh, my word, here he is! I dohope he hasn't heard us talking."

Sir George Chesterman, as Mr. Kettle saw him then, wasa burly, upstanding, tired-looking man of five-and-forty.He wore baggy, weather-beaten country clothes, and had aface browned and lined by the wind and the sun. He had aretriever and a fat spaniel at his heels, and the easymanner of a man accustomed every day to meet all grades ofthe population.

"Well, Miss Dubbs, here I am; prompt to the hour, yousee. And so you've managed to bring your nautical friendup to the scratch?" He nodded pleasantly. "You two haven'twasted much time either."

"Yes, this is Captain Kettle, Sir George."

"Then suppose we sit down and see what we can arrange.I understand that you've let the sea look after itself forthe last year or so, Captain, and taken a turn at civilengineering?"

"I've been on the railroad works as timekeeper, sir,a very subordinate position, for just five months. I metwith a little misfortune, sir, at sea, which I'd rathernot explain unless you press for it; but it had nothing todo with my own professional competency, and my ticket wasnot dealt with, and indeed no inquiry was held that I everheard about. There are my certificates, sir, if you care tolook at them."

"We'll take them as read for the present. I'm afraid Imust speak in rather a guarded way for the time being. Yousee, I don't know you, and, for that matter, you don't knowme. Indeed, to begin with, I may as well tell you that thisis no ordinary humdrum trip that I've got in mind. It willbe a case of sailing from here in a small steamboat withsealed orders; and from a professional point of view, Idon't see that it can possibly lead up to much in the wayof promotion after the job is done."

"That doesn't sound very encouraging, sir. You see, I'myoung, and I don't want to get any marks on my ticket."

"You'd be a fool if you did. Moreover, here's anotherpoint: the business anyway will be risky, and very possiblywill be highly dangerous."

Mr. Kettle squared his shoulders. "You needn't bringthat into the account, sir," he snapped. "As I neversuffered from nervousness as a mate, it isn't likely Ishould begin to shake at the knees if you're kind enough topromote me to be skipper. In fact," he added with a littlesigh, "when troubles come along, it's mostly like meat anddrink to me."

Sir George laughed rather hardly. "I should have thoughtthat under existing circ*mstances you wouldn't want toomuch excitement to season your every-day meal. You ought tohanker after a humdrum, steady-going job with the maximumof screw and the minimum of risk."

"I know I should, sir, I know I should. But I can't helpthe way I'm built, however much I may regret it. Is thebusiness gun-running?"

"I hadn't thought of that, though we might add it as aside issue. No, in one word, Captain, it's salvage. Thestory's a bit of an unlikely one, though I've gatheredit happens with regularity at least twice or thrice ayear. A steamer was coming home from a foreign port, andcargo shifted. As a point of fact, she was loaded withcopper matte—copper concentrates, if you like itbetter—worth some thirty-five pounds a ton, and she'dfour thousand three hundred tons' dead-weight of it onboard. If you work that out, you get into big figures inpounds sterling."

"One hundred fifty thousand, five hundred pounds," saidMiss Dubbs, who by reason of her exacting profession was ofnecessity a lightning calculator.

"Good. And then you must add on anything between twentyand sixty thousand pounds for the steamer, according tothe condition in which one finds her. Well, Captain, she'sbeen reported a total loss, and Lloyd's have paid on her assuch. The whole tale is quite understandable, I'm told."

"Quite. A breeze came on—a breeze abeam, and theold man daren't put her nose on to it because the chieftold him that if she raced badly, either her engineswould tie themselves up in knots, or else she'd drop herpropeller overboard. So he kept her plugging along hercourse, and she rolled so badly that presently the cargobegan to shift. That gave her a list to leeward, and everysea that hit her on the tall side sent more cargo saggingover, and the list got worse. The cargo being the copperore you speak about, sir, they probably got hands below todo a bit of trimming, and when she rolled men got throwndown to leeward, and the heavy lumps fell in cascades downon top of them till most of them were crushed into a kindof pink beef jelly, and the rest cleared out on deck, andneither guns nor belaying-pins could drive them belowagain."

"You seem to know the symptoms, Captain."

"You see, sir, I was shipmaster with a shifted cargomyself once. Coal it was."

"Well?"

"Oh, we got a tarpaulin on her aft, and that blew herstern round till she'd answer to the helm and show herother side to the sea, and that trimmed her again. Lord,but when that coal did cascade across, I thought it wouldgo slap through her rotten old plates into the NorthSea."

"Well, and what about the threatened ore boat?"

"Oh, they didn't know enough to get her round, or triedand couldn't do it, or the old coffee-mill broke down andshe lost her way and kept getting badly swept, or a dozenother things might have happened. But, anyway, the crewdecided they hadn't sufficient interest on board to staythere and get drowned, and they made off in the boats, andwhether the afterguard were weak-backed enough to go withthem, you know, sir, better than I do."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you. But I gather that thetale fell out much as you have told it, only the boatsgot swamped, and, so far as I know, only one man escapeddrowning. He, as it happened, poor chap, was a cousin ofmine, who'd kicked rather badly over the traces and hadfound it convenient to disappear. He was drifting homewardagain, it seems, in this boat's stoke-hold, and was verypleased with himself, because after hammering about theseas for three years as a trimmer, he had at last beenpromoted to being a full-blown fireman. You see, he'd oncebeen a doctor with a very good practice, and just madethe one mistake and—well, that won't interest you.Anyway, there he was. He got picked up by a South Americanbeef boat when it was too late to be of use to him. He knewhimself to be dying, and he'd seen every other man jack ofhis boat's crew go under before the ship turned up whichfound him.

"But here's the rum part of the tale. Before he died hewrote me a letter, which in due time was delivered. He saidhe wrote to me because in the past I'd been rather decentto him over a certain matter, and in return he wanted toput me in possession of a neat little fortune. He guessed(I suppose with a sick man's canny knowledge of suchthings) that his own steamer would be given up as a totalloss, and he wrote to say that, barring the loss of boatsand some superstructure, she was as sound as a bell, andher cargo not a penny the worse for its churning."

"H'm," said Mr. Kettle, "if your trip is to go huntingfor an ore-laden derelict, sir, that's roaming about theseas as wind and currents direct, of course you may findher, if you can get in somewhere to coal often enough, andyour patience holds out; or again you may not."

"Wait a bit. Captain. You have only heard Chapter Oneof the tale. Chapter Two tells how she got embayed snuglybehind certain islands that fringe a savage coast."

"Ah," said Mr. Kettle, "I don't wish to speakdisrespectfully about any gentleman that was a cousin ofyours, sir, but are you sure, sir, that this one wasn'tseeing the visions and the geography of New Jerusalembefore he finally pegged out?"

"Of course, there is that reading. But at any rate, hisyarn is circ*mstantial. Listen, and tell me if there'sany bad technical breaks. He says that when they put offthere was a very heavy sea running, and the boat, which hadbeen badly stove in the lowering, soon swamped. The airchambers kept her afloat, but before daybreak the sharksand the seas had eased her of half her people. Sometimesshe floated right way upward, sometimes wrong, and on thewhole they had (he says) a roughish trip of it. The amazingpart of it was that in the morning there was the steamer,righted, and apparently little the worse for her bucketing,and only a mile away from them; and beyond again was theshore of Africa, with a fine line of noisy spouting reefsguarding it.

"The steamer and the swamped boat were in tow of a goodbrisk current, but the steamer was highest out of thewater, and, when the wind got her, drifted fastest. She gotnearer and nearer to the reefs, and at last among them, andmy poor old cousin watched to see her strike and go smash.But in some way she navigated clear of the rocks, though hesaid there was a regular graveyard of them, and he clearlysaw her afloat on the smooth water inside.

"Then after that the tide changed, or the currentchanged—you know what twiddly things currents are,Captain—and the swamped life-boat got drawn outseaward again, and poor Fred seems to have had a prettyhazy notion of what happened between then and the time whenthe beef boat picked him up. It was all a muddle of sun,and birds, and thirst, and fellows dying, and more birdstrying to pick his eyes out, and trouble about some ladypatients coming to see him in his consulting room in HarleyStreet at home.

"And when at last he was hauled in out of the wet he'da dose of angina pectoris, which as he said gave him duewarning, and he'd just time to write this letter I told youof before another attack came along and (as the Captain ofthe Argentina wrote to me) finished him off. So there'sthe tale, and I want to know what you think of it."

"I don't ask you to tell me more than you wish, sir, butthe first thing I want to point out is that there is a lotof coast-line to Africa. Did he mark off a likely bit?"

"He did."

"And is it likely to be disturbed? You said, if youremember, it was savage."

"I should say that local effort has looted anything itfancied off the derelict, but if you come to add that up itprobably won't amount to more than a few hundred pounds'worth. Tramp steamers of the brand that are chartered tocarry ore are not usually fitted out with guns and swordsand other tackle that would attract the savage eye. As forthe copper matte, I can imagine their cursing when they gotthe hatches off and went down to have a look at it."

"And what about any other boat running in there, andsighting her, and towing her off, and claiming salvage, sothat when you got there you would find the harbor bare?"

"If she had been found, Lloyd's would have beennotified. They haven't, and, as a matter of fact, I havebought up all claims. If I told you the spot you wouldrecognize at once that it is clear of all steam lanes,and there is not the smallest possibility of any craftblundering into that part of the coast and finding her."

"Then, sir, it seems to me you've got a cinch, and ifyou'll employ me as master of your salvage steamer, I'd beproud to undertake the business for you."

Sir George pulled rather a rueful face. "Do you believein luck, Captain?"

"I believe that every man makes for himself the luck hedeserves."

"That makes it rather worse, because I am free to ownup to you that luck at present seems to have deserted meentirely, and as I'm going with this expedition myselffor—well, for reasons—I should say the odds areI shall act as Jonah and wreck it."

"Sir," said Captain Kettle warmly, "don't you believeit for one instant. If you guarantee that the steamer'sthere and afloat, I'll guarantee to you, given a modestequipment, that I'll find her and bring her home. Yes, sir,the fact of your luck being down, and the trifle that halfthe tribes in Africa are showing their teeth and trying tokeep her as their private yacht, won't stop me. Of course,this is always supposing you give me the job."

The big man's tired face lighted up with a smile. He hada very taking smile. "After the enthusiasm you have shown Idon't see that I have any choice. So if in the teeth of allI've told you, you'll be good enough to accept the billet,it's yours to have. As regards pay, I don't know much aboutthese matters, and I can't afford to be extravagant, butI'll give you the standard rate of salary if you will letme know what that is, and I'll also arrange for you to havea slice of the plunder if we manage to do our salvagingsuccessfully. I must go now, but if you'll meet me atthe station at 9:15 to-morrow we'll run into Liverpool,and I'll get your advice on chartering a ship. So goodnight for the present, and good night to you also. MissDubbs."

"Well," said the barmaid presently, "if that isn't agentleman, every inch of him, may I never wear a diamondring. I can see it's been a strain to you, all this talk.Captain, but you take it from me, you'll soon get used tohim. Now you come into the Snug and smoke a quiet pipe."

"Miss," said the little sailor, "I'm going to show yousomething." He took an old, hard-seasoned, highly-polishedbrier pipe from his pocket and looked at it thoughtfully."Pipes," said he, "are all right for mates, and this one'sbeen a very firm friend to me. But I'm a skipper now, andI must drop junior officers' ways. I've got to keep up thedignity of my position, and that means I've got to smokecigars from now on."

With the poker he carefully skimmed away the black coalsfrom the top of the fire and exposed a glowing cavern ofred, and into this carefully and reverently he dropped thecherished pipe. It simmered for a moment or two, and thenflame leaped from it. Captain Kettle found occasion to blowhis nose with unnecessary violence, but Miss Dubbs, who wasstanding at his side, watching the cremation, patted hisarm reassuringly.

"You were quite right, dear," said Miss Dubbs. "Now thatyou are a real captain, you must always remember to keep upyour position."

CHAPTER VIII.
Mr. McTodd Graciously Decides.

THERE was, as far as I can gather, no actualproposal. They never even got to Christian names, andonly in moments of forgetfulness slipped out "dear."It was always "Captain," or "Miss Dubbs," from one tothe other, but the fact of their engagement was publicproperty, and the little landlord in his deepest voice hadpronounced benediction, and the audience in the Snug hadenthusiastically drunk their healths separately and incombination.

Not till the day after the bargain had been struck, andin a ship-broker's office in Liverpool, did Captain Kettlediscover that Sir George was Sir George Chesterman, andthough the coincidence of names struck him as peculiar,he did not somehow associate him with the Miss VioletChesterman of the Rhein and the Norman Towers. They hadnot a feature in common, and, for that matter, as far as hecould trace, not a taste in common. Miss Violet, accordingto her own account, was society woman to the tips of hershoes; Sir George loved the country and country pursuits,and hated the town and all its peoples.

To make assurance doubly sure he had asked the landlordof the Mason's Arms as to what other members of the familyever came to the Hall except Lady Chesterman, and waspromptly told "None." Sir George and his wife were a lonelycouple with neither chick nor relative to brighten them,"which probably accounts," boomed the host in his movingwhisper, "for her ladyship's tantrums. As I've often saidto ma, if you've no children of your own, the best way toavoid dullness is to get other people round you, and that'swhy we went into the public line."

The steamer of Sir George's choice was finally run toearth—or to be more precise, to moorings—in theTyne, opposite the Dolly Stairs, and Captain Kettle, afteran impressive and respectful farewell to his fiancee, tooktrain for South Shields, and engaged there a select butinexpensive lodging.

He traveled down in mufti because his mate's uniformswere having that extra band of gold lace added to the cuffwhich is the mercantile marine shipmaster's special ensign,but he carried the marks of the sea and his grade in theco*ck of his red torpedo beard, and in every line of hisspruce figure, and more than one fellow-mariner inspectedhim with a curious stare as if to recall on which of themany seas they had met. It remained for the guard of thetrain at Kirkby Stephen to put the seal on this generalrecognition.

"Captain," said the guard, opening the door of Kettle'scompartment and touching his hat, "there's a party in therear coach that'll be handed over to the police when we getto Newcastle if some one don't take charge of him."

"Well?" said Kettle, tickled at the title but feelingthe sedateness that was due to his rank.

"He say's he's a ship's officer, sir. It would be a pityfor him to get into trouble if it could be avoided."

"What's the trouble? Is he drunk?"

"He's that, sir, and Scotch, and he's preaching alecture to the other passengers in his compartment onthe peculiarities of the English nose, as illustrated bythemselves, and won't let them read their papers. It wouldbe a charity. Captain, if you could do something, only"—the guard looked pointedly at his watch—"onlyyou'll have to be quick about it."

"I'll go-look-see," said Captain Kettle, and jumpedbriskly out on to the platform.

The noise of argument came billowing out of a carriagewindow, and Kettle made for it, and put in his head.

"Gosh!" said a disheveled man inside, "it's the pirate.Mr. Mate, Mr. Picaroon, I've mislaid your name, but you'rethe very fellow I've come back to England to see. Ye'll kenI promised ye a yarn—"

"I know you did, and that's what I've come for, but Idon't want to share it. Come along forward. I've got acompartment to myself there."

"And yon's a very wise obsairve. The yarn's full ofhumor, an' these loons here wad no' open their lips by wayo' smile, though Nestor swore the jest were laughable. Yecan tell their seriousness by the cut o' their nebs. Thequotation, by the way's, from Shakespeare or George R.Sims, but I forget which.

"Ye see—"

"Come along, man, or the train will pull out."

"And the railroad company would be the gainer by half myfare. I'll no gratify them. Aweel, ma friends, ye may enjoyyour disgraceful nebs in peace—if ye can—tillye meet me next. Mr. Mate, I'll take your arm, just to showma friendly feeling toward yersel'."

Now to be saddled with a talkative drunken man isembarrassing to any one; but when you are a seafarer, witha good deal of ignorance of, and distrust for, Englishshore ways, and when, moreover, you are journeying to joinyour first command as captain, the situation approaches thetragic. Captain Kettle had a large experience of drunks,few men had more; and his usual treatment of them might bedescribed as drastic but curative.

But here he found himself face to face with the veryengineer, McTodd, who had in plain truth saved the lives ofhimself and his boat's crew out there in the Sargasso Sea(and incidentally one supposes saved the Norman Towersand her complement), and the ordinary treatment of tongue,foot, and fist seemed inappropriate. So he listened to Mr.McTodd's garrulous tale of how he sailed with the outragedRhein into Tampico; how every officer on board of her"wanted to eat" him, but daren't; how (as a great triumph)he had been called on to translate the Spanish pilot'sEnglish into English the eye-glassed German captain couldunderstand, when they drove in between Tampico pier heads;and how the Germans threw him into jail in that city,and how the British consul, stirred into activity by histongue, reluctantly got him out. It was a great epic.

"And where are you bound for now?"

"Man," said McTodd, "I'm out to seek my fortune. Myfather was Free Kirk meenister at Ballindrochater, thoughthere's many that's met his son have never guessed it,and a fine education was all the capital he could giveme. The worrld's my oyster, as Alfred Tennyson has neatlyput the situation, and here "—he waved a discoloredthumb—"here is my knife wherewith I shall open it.Now you're looking prosperous yourself. Maybe you know of abillet?"

Captain Kettle was torn between gratitude and duty."You're certificated, of course?"

"I'd scorn to deceive you. But in the academic senseof the word, I'm not. I know more of my craft than halfthe ducks that carry a chief's ticket will ever learn alltheir black lives through, but the Board of Trade will no'believe it. Ye see—in your ear—at times myspelling's phonetic, and that's fair ruin in an examinationroom."

"Well, that makes it difficult. I'm in want of a chiefengineer. But the owner, I'm sure, would insist on hisbeing fully qualified."

Mr. McTodd regarded his companion with an offensive eye."D'ye you mean to tell me some philanthropist's been foolenough to put you in command of a ship of your own? Well,well, there was a humorist once said it takes all sorts tomake a worrld."

The newly-made captain was growing more and more restiveunder all this, and there were moments when his fingersitched to take their accustomed course; but each time withan effort he called his new dignity to his aid, and grippedhis teeth into the butt of his cigar, and sat grimlynon-interferant in his corner.

"And who did you say was your owner?"

"I didn't say. He wishes to keep in the background.Nor can I tell you what's our real port of destination.We clear for Falmouth and beyond, but really we sail withsealed orders."

"Oho! More piracy may I ask? That seems to be yourtaste, and I must say you've a pretty knack for it. Formyself, I like to keep my skirts clear of this sort ofthing, coming, as I've telled ye, from respectable stock.But for you, of course, being without a pedigree, it'll no'matter if your inclinations run that way."

"Now just you listen here," said the exasperated sailor."You've got to the edge of my patience. Give me threemore words of your lip, and I'll throw you out of thewindow."

"Gosh!" said Mr. McTodd, "I'd love to see you try," andmade an active spring. But Captain Kettle's expert fistshot out and caught him in mid-air accurately on the angleof the jaw, and Captain Kettle's trained fingers thereaftertwisted his neck-cloth till he was three parts strangled,and then Mr. McTodd was violently thrown into a cornerof the carriage, so that his head rattled against thecompany's woodwork, and he was told to stay there in wordsthat there was no possibility of misunderstanding.

"You needn't shout," said the Scot, "and causeinconvenience to the rest of the passengers in the train,who, for anything you know, may be respectable people. Yourwords were pairfectly clear. If you wish me to sleep, I'lldo it for the present. I've been in the sun. It's a thingthat might happen to anybody; I've known even deacons ofthe kirk to suffer from the effects of the sun. So I bid yegood night. We'll renew the conversation later."

Now, Captain Kettle was by nature generous andhospitable, but he recognized the limitations of his newposition. He was under obligations to Mr. McTodd thatit would not be an easy matter to repay. But if he wasgoing to ship the man as a subordinate officer on his newcommand, it would be an unheard-of thing to offer himhospitality in his own lodgings beforehand. Also, he wasin very considerable doubt as to whether it would not be abetrayal of trust to sign him on at all. Of course, by theritual of the sea service, as long as a man keeps sober anddoes his work while on duty, that is all that is requiredof him. His shore morals and habits are a matter of hisown private concern. But would McTodd be reliable even atsea?

The little sailor thought these matters through overtwo more cigars, and shook the engineer into wakefulnesswhen at last the slow cross-country train dragged its wearylength into Newcastle Station.

"Man," said Mr. McTodd, "I thank ye. I'm rested fine.Just in parenthesis, I'd like to tell ye that gettingin the sun's no' a general habit of mine—' it's adigression. I make no doubt (by your looks)' that the samehas happened to yourself, and that's why ye handled me sotenderly. I thank ye for that same. I've no' been put tosleep with such gentle care since I lay in ma mither'sarms. Let me prospect; where's the third-class refreshmentroom? It's a habit with me, which you'd do weel to followto let first-class refreshment rooms alone. They gie yethe same sized whisky in the first at a greater price, andcontaining less bite to the cubic inch, and the company youfind yourself in there is apt to be above your station."

"I've no time to drink with you," said Captain Kettlesavagely. "My train leaves in a minute. Will you take theloan of a pound?"

"I thank ye for the kind thought, but for the momentI do not need an advance. Ye see the British consul inTampico, guided by me, mulcted that Dutch skipper in goodheavy damages for false imprisonment, and, as I am no'what you might call a wasteful body, I didn't spend it asthe consul had intended on a passage home to England. No,man; I just got a cast across the Gulf to Vera Cruz, andgot sent home to bonny Cardiff from there as a distressedBritish seaman."

"Well, come to the point. Do you want a billet?"

"Gosh! the generosity of these great powerful men whorun the empire!" Mr. McTodd raised his eyes in marveltoward the roof of Newcastle Station, and nodded at thedirty glass. "It's no' every kind of post I'd take. Forexample, I'd refuse an archbishopric, as they say, thehours are too long; and Parliament I never had a tastefor, and the peerage is overcrowded. But a nice quiet jobas a mayor, now, where a cellar is keepit in the TownHall—"

"By James, listen! My ship's the Wangaroo; she's lyingin the river off the Dolly Stairs. If you show up thereto-morrow morning at nine o'clock, passably sober, I willdo my best to give you a job. If you arrive drunk enough todisgrace me, I'll throw you into the river. Good night!"

Mr. McTodd put his hands deep into his jacket pockets,tilted the clay pipe between his teeth till it assumed ameditative co*ck, and gazed on the rapidly retreating backof his companion.

"Vara full of the importance of his braw new captain'sticket is yon. It's a vara humorous situation, come tothink of it. Weel, I've put a fine edge on to his temper,which as like as not some comparative stranger will benefitby later on. Oh, vara humorous! Captain Kettle, indeed,is he? Well, I'll sail with him, if I have to sign on asdonkey-man. There'll be no monotony with Kettle as OldMan. Gosh! He's the sort that would find trouble in apuritanical meeting."

CHAPTER IX.
The Stewardess Signs.

THE Wangaroo was a steamboat with a past. At herbirth she had been designed by a naval architect whowas admittedly a genius, but who had the knack of neverbuilding a boat that paid. Her registered tonnage was sevenhundred fifty, and her horse-power officially one hundredeighty-five. Her engines were early triple expansions of apattern and design that were never repeated, and her pumpswere a perpetual conundrum to the unfortunates whose dutyit was to overlook their eccentricities. She had a doublebottom of such size that it seriously ate into her holdspace, and her lines were such as to give her the minimumof cargo capacity with a maximum of water friction.

Exasperated owners had from time to time so altered theplan of her weights that her metacenter had crept up inchesat a time till she had grown to be alarmingly crank; and,similarly, through other interference with her frames, shewas by no means as stiff as could have been desired. Inmoments of stress, it was held that she could roll threeseveral ways at the same time.

She was built of iron—not steel—andthough her plates were comparatively thick, they wereheavily corroded, and as incidentally she had bumped oversandbars and otherwise been aground far more times thana respectable boat ought to own to, she had sheared therivets of a good many of her plates, and the concretewith which they had been replaced was hardly an efficientsubstitute.

In outward appearance she was sawn-off, stubby, andclumsy-looking. Her smoke-stack was fat and short, andshe carried her standard compass on the top of a longpole. When she started life raw from the builders' slipsshe had yards crossed on both of her tall masts, but asthe years went on and fashions changed, she shed these,and she steams into this chronicle carrying the rig of afore-and-aft schooner.

Mr. McTodd, after a long study of her beauties, ownedthat he had seen her counterpart once before, and on beingasked by his captain to name the locality, said it was on acheap photographer's back cloth in Manchester. "But I neverknew that was a picture of a real ship before I saw thisold girl," said McTodd. "I thought it was a land artist'simagination."

Her history was hard to get hold of, but I have been atpains to rake up most of it. I will not repeat in detailhere, because it implicates many worthy commercial menwho have prospered since they got rid of her; but sheseems to have had no fewer than twelve owners before shecame into the hands of the merchant—he was reallya ship-breaker—from whom Sir George Chestermanchartered her, and to have changed her name no fewer thannine times.

I wonder how many people will recognize her as theVestis, the Polydorus, the R.K. Williams, or theSosha Mam? (She turned turtle, by the way, when she wasunder that Eastern flag, drowned her crew, and was salvagedby a Japanese sponge boat, after her water ballast hadrighted her.) She was also in her day the Cormorant,the Golondrina, and the Devastation, which last waswhen she was supposed to be a Venezuelan man-of-war, orrebel filibuster, whichever side of local hostilities youjudge her from. Her other two aliases I shall keep tomyself, as they suggests items of history which are betterforgotten.

Finally, when Captain Kettle took her over, she wasnoted for being crank in a seaway, for carrying the minimumof cargo her tonnage demanded, for being a coal-eater ofthe deepest dye, and for taking long sheers to starboardwhen she was that way out, from which no amount ofhelm could wean her. She was, all the experts declare,the most undesirable seven-hundred-fifty-ton steamboatat that period afloat in any of the seas, and CaptainKettle who, be it thoroughly understood, had known betterthings—loved her.

Captain Owen Kettle, on his voyage from the Tyneto Grand Canary, was the busiest man in all his wideprofession. He wore his mate to the bone, and he workedhis heavy crew almost to mutiny, but by the time thedisreputable old wreck which had left the Northern riverhad waddled her way down to the Islands, she had a look ofmeretricious smartness about her such as she had probablynever worn before in all her disreputable career.

Her paint was new, and her bright work glittered; herrigging was set up till it was as taut as bar-iron; herstanchions were straightened, and her dingy funnel waspainted yellow with a jaunty stripe of green. And Mr.McTodd, the second engineer, working below among the ruinsof her machinery, took up bearings and did other repairswhile she was under way with a recklessness that can not betoo severely spoken about.

"One hundred and ninety-four miles, sir, since noonyesterday," said Captain Kettle coming from the charthouse after working out his day's run. "That averageseight-point-one knots an hour. We're whacking her up a bit,and I shouldn't wonder that if the wind gets a bit more aftand we can give her the gaff topsails I've had made out ofthose spare awnings, she may log as much as eight-point-twoor two-five. She's a famous old girl when she gets decenttreatment."

"You'll make the Cunard people green with envy if thisleaks out," said Sir George. "Have a cigar?"

"We should bring-to for the Las Palmas health boat atthree-twenty to-morrow, and that's allowing thirty-fiveminutes for retardation owing to a slightly heavier seawhich I expect to get up when we run farther into thetrade."

"As an experienced passenger, let me give you a tip,Skipper. Don't show the machinery of your calculations.We shore folk prefer plain miracles. There will be mailsin Grand Canary which left England a week after westarted. I suppose you couldn't cut the islands out of theprogram?"

"Not well, sir. We've burned a lot of coal getting here.And, if there's much work to be done on the African coast,I'll like to be rebunkered to our full capacity. We shan'tbe able to do very much with sail. The trades will be abit too heavy for the old girl, flying light as she is, atthis time of year. But don't you worry about the coaling.Sir George. You take a run up to the Monte while we'regetting the stuff on board, and I'll have decks holystoneddown as white as a table-cloth again by the time you'reback. Though, of course, if it was cables you were thinkingof—"

The big man shook a weary head. "I wasn't botheringabout either coal or cables as it happened. Fact is, afriend of mine stated an intention of joining me down here,and, to tell the truth, I don't want to be bothered. I'mnot feeling hospitable. You and I get along very decentlytogether, Skipper, and a third might very easily upsetthe balance. If the worst comes to the worst, I have madearrangements that the—er—intruder shall belooked after, so you needn't worry your head about that.But I most piously hope that one of this excellent person'susual changes of plan will take place, and we shall findour selves undisturbed. I'm going to have a co*cktail. Willyou join me?"

"Not at sea, sir. If you'll excuse me I'll go and givethe mate a bit of a brisk-up. That man's not served with melong enough even yet to learn my ways. He's letting thosehands mutter while they paint."

Sir George Chesterman turned his tired eyes to thesea, and watched the fleets of pink-sailed Portuguesem*n-of-war that cruised placidly over the dark blue swellsalongside. "I wonder," said he to himself, "what sort ofa time a nautilus has of it? Seems a nice easy life. Nocables, or party whips writing unpleasant letters, orwives with a taste for everything you happen to dislike,or—Pah!—what a sickly-minded ass I am. The oddsare they have the whole lot—especially the cables.There must be rum customs and inventions among thesenavigating shellfish. Gad, I believe if I'd the chance ofa swap I'd risk it. The more I think back at England, homeand beauty, the more sick I seem to be of the whole lot ofit."

The big retriever, scenting trouble, muzzled asympathetic wet nose into his master's hand.

He drank the co*cktail which the steward brought him, andlaughed at a new idea. "Gad, it would be a great joke todiddle her, if she does turn up, and leave her to cool herheels among the Liverpool weekend-trippers at Las Palmas.I've a monstrous great mind to do it. Ah, there's theluncheon bell! Skipper, half a moment!"

"Sir?"

"I say, couldn't you put in at Lanzerote or one of theseother islands, and do your coaling there?"

"It would be a long slow job. You see Lanzerote hasno harbors, only open roadsteads, and as likely as notwe'd have to hang there rolling to our anchors for agood fortnight before we could arrange with these mañanaSpaniards to find a bottom which would bring the coalacross from Grand Canary. And then, you see, you'd be afortnight's grub and water to the bad which would have tobe replaced, not to mention a fortnight on your charter andinsurance, and a fortnight's wages, which would all be tothe bad anyway. But I know what you're thinking of."

"Oh, do you?"

"Yes, sir. It's those cases of rifles and the ammunitionboxes in number two hold."

"I'm afraid you're wrong. I hadn't given them a thought.But what's the point?"

"Well, of course, in spite of promises, some one at theEnglish end may have blown the gaff and told the customs atLas Palmas."

"Well?"

"If somebody definitely accuses us of attempting toimport arms of precision into Africa, against internationallaw, they'll try and stop us. By James, I should like tosee them do it!"

The tired eyes brightened. "Why, would you kick?"

"Yes, sir, I'd kick good and hard, and I'd take the oldgirl out of their harbor in spite of all the teeth they;could show."

"That sounds interesting. But isn't there a fort orsomething?"

"I believe they've some guns. They were lying on oneof the quays with their tails wrapped up in packing caseswhen I was round there a year ago. They were going to haulthem on to a hill at the back of the Catalina, and mountthem—mañana. I know, because I asked. You'll seewhen we get there they'll still be on the quay, all exceptthe packing-cases which some one will have pinched forfire-wood."

"But supposing somebody had invented an energeticSpaniard, and they have been hauled up to the hilltop andmounted, and there is a filled magazine alongside, and theygave you fair warning that if you didn't stop they'd blowyou into the middle of next week, what then?"

"I should steam out and let them see the red dusterblowing at my poop staff, and I should break out two moreat my fore and main trucks, and I should like to see thebeastly dagos dare to fire on those. And if they did, byJames, I'd let them fire and be hanged to them, but Ishould be co*ck-sure they never could hit me. And now, sir,if you please, dinner's cooling."

"I wish," thought Sir George wistfully, "I had half thislittle man's enthusiasm, though the Lord only knows whatmess he's going to land me into if he has only half his ownway."

Las Palmas harbor, tucked away under the decayedvolcano of the Isleta, displayed the usual collectionof British steamers, Canary bacalao schooners, and coaldust, and the warmth of the sun overhead was cooled by aracing trade-wind, which carried with it a strong scour ofAfrican sand. On the quays and in the coal lighters Spanishcargadores shouted musically, but did little work untilthey were urged thereto by profane British mates, and thoseunits of the army of Spain which happened to be off dutyappeared to be dangling their cotton-trousered legs overthe edges of the concrete walls, and smoking interminablecigarettes. And over the whole harbor water was spread ascum of coal dust, and an odor of bacalao, imperfectlycured.

A grinning Parsee in an elaborately embroideredsmoking-cap brought his boat alongside as Captain Kettlehumored his precious Wangaroo up to the mooring buoy, anddisplayed Birmingham Benares brass, Teneriffe drawn-linenwork, and Three Castles cigarettes to prospective buyers,adding for the benefit of the ignorant, "I am your fellowcountree-man. I sell you best stuff, cheap-price. Also Ihave letter from lady to captain."

"Lower away the companion-ladder, Mr. Smith," saidCaptain Kettle to a mariner beside him on the upperbridge.

The little steamer, from her size, could at the utmostafford only two mates. But Kettle had picked from the crewa steady man who had signed on as A.B., had added tenshillings a month out of his own pocket to his wages, andgiven him brevet rank as third mate from sheer delight athaving an aide-de-camp at moments like these, when the matewas on the fore-deck, and the second mate on the poop, asby sea rubric ordained.

"If you can get that chattering baboon's boatunderneath," continued Kettle, "let go your ladder by therun and stove him in. I'll let the son of a dog know what'sthe tariff for bringing off letters to me from ladies Idon't know."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Smith, and ran briskly down offthe narrow bridge, while Captain Kettle ached to think thatin spite of all his care and instructions the Wangaroomight have been brought up more smartly to her moorings.And then, with his spruce uniform fairly straining withpride, he descended to do the honors of his own chart houseto the port officials, and for the first time to write "O.Kettle, Master," at the foot of documents.

There was one unpleasant interlude. The Parsee managedto make his way on board, and again proffered his "letterfrom lady" to the new-fledged skipper. Spanish port doctorand Spanish port captain grinned knowingly, and Kettlearose in his wrath and kicked his fellow subject down overthe side.

"Quartermaster," said he, "if that man or anything elsethat's escaped out of the monkey house gets on board againI'll disrate you."

The advent of the coaling company's agent handicappedhis further remarks, and for the next hour Captain Kettlewas immersed in the intricacies of the ship's business ina foreign port. And then came other tradespeople and toutsinnumerable.

The entry of Miss Dubbs was a marvel of quietness anddiscretion. Captain Kettle gulped and collected himself."My James," he said, "you here, miss! Whatever's gonewrong?"

"Nothing, Captain. Is this your private cabin?"

"It's the chart house—yes."

"And are you at liberty at any time soon?"

"Yes—now. Here, you clear out. My dear, there mustbe something gone very wrong."

She laughed a little nervously. "I tell you nothing hashappened, except that I've changed my job. Ah, there's SirGeorge's retriever. Good old dog, Rex. But haven't you gotmy letter? I sent one by a native in a boat."

"My conscience! That'll have been what that unbaptizedParsee was jabbering about. No, my dear, I never got it.But if you're in trouble, of course you've come to theright place."

"I tell you, dear, there was no real trouble. For a longtime—in fact, all the time since I've known you.Captain, I've been a good deal dissatisfied with businessin the public line, and when pa got a bit fresh with methe other night about not serving a gentleman with anotherglass when I said he'd had enough, I thought it was a goodopportunity to quit, and handed in my resignation there andthen on the spot. I may tell you I'd had it in mind eversince Sir George spoke to me."

"My dear, you'd better tell me the whole thing at once.What's Sir George to do with it?"

"Hasn't he told you? Well, however, I suppose hethought we were too much in one another's confidence tohave any secrets. Anyway, all he said was this, and mind,it was after you had left Foston, and were working on theWangaroo at South Shields, as you wrote me. He comes inone day to the Mason's Arms, and he says: 'Miss Dubbs,do you know any reliable lady who'd go out on our littlesteamer as sort of maid-companion-stewardess to look aftermy sister? I don't want a maid altogether, because she'sgot one already who's no good for this sort of trip; I wantsomething more than a stewardess; and I want something abit less than the ordinary useless companion.' I laughs andsays I didn't think there were many, ladies yet born whowere up to all those requirements, and he laughs and sayshe supposed they could be made. He's always a very merrymanner with him, has Sir George, but he knows where tostop. He's always quite the gentleman."

"I've found that myself."

"Well, I said that if I came across any lady who wouldfulfil all his requirements I would let him know."

"'That won't do. Miss Dubbs,' says he. 'I sailto-morrow, and, according to Captain Kettle's calculations,our boat's going to take a most pleasantly long time toreach Grand Canary, which is to be our first port of call.My sister's got the date out of me, and declares she'sgoing to follow by the mail boat, and join at Las Palmas. Idon't think she will; it's a score to one she changes hermind between now and then; but if she doesn't, she sailsby the Cape mail boat from Southampton to-day week. Now, Idon't want her to go unless she has the escort I have beendescribing to you, so if you see your way to providing theyoung person, just drop her a line to this address, and Ishall be infinitely obliged to you '."

"Ah," said Captain Kettle, "but I never thought of yourcoming down to this sort of business, dear."

"And what sort is that, please?"

"Well, stewardess?"

"I prefer to call it 'companion '. But whatever it is,Captain, my idea is that, as I was a minister's daughterand a lady once, a lady I shall always be. How's that?"

"Right as usual," said the little sailor with a sigh."But there may be more complications in this than youthink."

"You mean the trip's not safe? There may be trouble withthose tribesmen where the wreck is lying. Well, I'm readyto take what comes. Or, I'll put it this way if you like:what's good enough for the gentleman I'm engaged to is goodenough for me. Besides, it seemed likely to be my onlychance of foreign travel. We must look things in the face,Captain; when we are married it is quite possible I shallhave to stay at home from then afterward."

Captain Kettle tugged vexedly at his red torpedo beard."Quite true, my dear—quite true. But those aren'tthe only complications. Does it occur to you what I amon this ship? Do you understand that the second mate,who's fifty-five, if he's a day, refers to me as the 'oldman'—and I'm twenty-seven? Do you know that here onboard ship you'll have to give me respect, and say, 'Yes,Captain,' and 'No, Captain,' when you speak to me? That'sdiscipline."

Miss Dubbs rose to the whole of her statuesque height."And pray when," said she, "have I ever done anythingelse?"

"No, quite true," said Kettle miserably. "It'll comeeasier to you than it would to most. And, of course, ifyou call it 'companion,' and not 'stewardess,' and onlysign on ship's articles for a shilling a month—asSir George's sister must, of course, seeing that we don'tcarry a passenger certificate—well, a lot may beoverlooked. But, in ways that you don't understand, youreally do make it remarkably awkward for me. I wish you'dtold me beforehand that you'd got this in mind."

"And then you'd have headed me off? I knew the Africancoast where you are going to was a dangerous spot."

"Quite so. I expect it is."

"Then, as I've said before," replied Miss Dubbscomfortably, "what's good enough for you, my dear, in thatline is good enough for yours truly. So don't let us haveany more grousing." She took out a hat-pin, and stoodbefore the glass and prinked up her elaborate black hair."Of course, some girls might even have expected you to sayyou were pleased to see them."

"Aye, but," said Captain Kettle doggedly, "theremay be other complications still. You say you are MissChesterman's companion. Did you travel out together?"

"Thank you, I know my place. She went saloon. I, ofcourse, came second cabin, and very comfortable and social,I may say, I found it; though, to be sure, being a SouthAfrican boat, there were more Jews than some people couldhave fancied."

"Well, there you are, my dear. We've no second cabinhere. We haven't a mess room. The engineers take theirmeals in the saloon with Sir George, and me, and the mates;and a nasty feeder the chief is, if ever I saw one. You'veyour choice, miss, between that and the fo'cs'le."

"Does the cabin steward dine with the common sailors andfiremen?"

"Oh, I expect he gets his bit in the pantry, standingup. No one ever worries as to where stewards mess, unlessit's on a big boat, where they have a proper glory-hole. Noneed to trouble about stewards; they keep fat enough, andnever worry about any Board of Trade whack."

"I shall take my meals with the steward, Captain, andI've no doubt that, if he's a gentleman, he'll provide mewith an aerated water case to sit upon."

"It's disgusting to think about the lady I'm going tomarry doing this sort of thing, miss, while I'm sittingdown getting my meals with Sir George and his sister."

"You're different. You're there because you're captain,and head of the table on your own ship is your lawfulposition. But I know my own place, just as you know yours,and I'm going to keep it; and don't you try and make noalteration, because I won't stand it. So now, Captain,you plainly understand. You'll kindly look upon me as astewardess, and treat me exactly as such while I am onboard here under your command. And now, my dear, I'll bidyou good day for the present, as I've to go back ashoreagain to the hotel to pack up Miss Chesterman's trunks."

CHAPTER X.
Re-Enter The "Norman Towers."

BY an amiable eccentricity of the British shippinglaws, a vessel which does not own that expensive luxury,a passenger certificate, when she does carry passengers,as so frequently is the case, signs them on before shoreofficials as members of her crew. Thus, Sir GeorgeChesterman, M.P., wrote his name to the wholly erroneousstatement that he was a qualified ship's surgeon, and thathe was content to serve as such for the entirely inadequatesalary of one shilling sterling per mensem.

Miss Violet Chesterman declared that she assented tocertain conditions of service as read out to her, andagreed to conform to them in all items, also on the samecheap terms; and bracketed with her name appeared the nameof Miss Emily Dubbs, as an indication that she had takensimilar vows. And so over all of them Captain Kettle, asmaster, held powers of the high justice, the middle and thelow, as by Law of the Sea ordained.

It is a fair thing to say that, on the run from,the Islands to the African coast, there were threeacutely uncomfortable people among the Wangaroo'safterguard—namely, the two women and Captain OwenKettle; and there were two—to wit, Sir GeorgeChesterman and Mr. Neil Angus McTodd—who bothunderstood the situation and were cynically amused at it.Rex, the big black retriever, who had also a strong senseof humor, in moments when he was alone with Sir George,showed by grins and wrigglings that he also was highlytickled by surrounding events.

Captain Owen Kettle on his part kept up a constantactivity. When once they were clear of GrandCanary—without interference from the authorities,by the way—he mustered all hands on deck, and madeannouncements.

"Men," he said, "Sir George Chesterton, M.P., haschartered this ship to go and look for a steamboat that isembayed behind some reefs off the African coast. You'veheard most of the tale already, I know, because it's beentalked of in the cabin at meals, and what's discussed therealways gets forrard. Now it's not likely the tribes overyonder will give any trouble. They are the peoples of theSus country, and the Sultan of Morocco has given them sucha bad time on every occasion when he has arrived down thereto collect taxes that they ought to be civil to every onewho doesn't happen to come from Morocco.

"Besides, we've got a cargo below—I don't mindtelling you now—of, rifles and ammunition which weare open to selling to deserving tribesmen on reasonableterms. At the same time, I'm not taking anything to do withcolored men on trust, and if they are anxious for trouble,I'm exactly the man to give it to them. For that reason,I intend to teach you all how to get off a gun withoutshooting any of your neighbors, and with a reasonablechance of hitting the mark you're aiming at. Now, then, arethere any experts among you?"

There was a pause, and the crew looked at one anothersheepishly.

"That's better. I like modesty. Any one ever evenhandled a gun?"

A grimy fireman threw the sweat rag over his shoulder,stood out, and came to military attention. "R.N.R., sir.Stoker rating. I've learned my drill, but I'm only what youmight call a fourth-class shot."

"You're one of the men I want. Come now, what are youtwo on the hatch grinning about?"

"I was just saying that I was a pretty good game shot,sir, before I came to sea, and Somers, my mate here, wasthe same. In fact, it was because we was such good shotswe thought it better to leave where we was ashore. But weneither of us ever handled a rifle. Shot-guns was what wewas brought up with."

"Brace of poachers, were you, eh? Well, your moralswill have had time to improve since you've been abroad ofme, and your shooting will come back to you. Step up now.Anybody else?"

A bent, old, bald-headed man piped out: "I wasquartermaster, sir, once on a China boat with a cooliecrew, and two or three times when they or the Chowpassengers got fresh, the old man—I should saycaptain—served out Winchesters to us whites. I neverlet off mine, but I got to know the handling of her, andI guess if I'd one given me now I wouldn't shoot any ofthis crowd, even if it did come to be a bit exciting. ButI don't know as I could hit anything I aimed at unless themark was mighty close."

Captain Kettle from his elevation stared down upon themsourly: "You're an unpromising lot of toughs. I wonderwhat you'd call yourselves on a census paper. Sailors youcertainly are not. Well, with the Lord's help, I'll lickyou into some kind of horse-marines before I'm throughwith you. Bo's'n, break up two cases of those rifles fromnumber two hold, and distribute them round. You Reservist,you Black Poacher, you Red Poacher, and you Coolie Driver,I appoint you corporals for the time being. If you'reefficient you'll get an extra tot of rum a day. If youaren't, and you can't drum sense into your squads, you'llhear from me personally, and so will they. Now, you've eachgot seven men apiece, and two extra that you can toss for,and your first job is to teach them which end of the rifleto hold, and how to carry it about without poking anybody'seye out. I'll give you twenty-four hours to do it in.That's the lot. Get away and set to work."

Sailormen are proverbially grumblers, but this crew '(asKettle expressed It) had the vice thoroughly worked outof them by this date. They had come aboard in the Tyne,bleary, ragged, sullen, mutinous, and owing to the slightmystery which hung over their enlistment, thought they weregoing to have an easy idle time of it. Never were crew moredisillusioned.

An iron discipline descended on them and held them inrigid grooves. They were worked mercilessly at chippingironwork, painting iron and woodwork, setting up rigging,calking decks, holystoning decks, and a hundred otherlaborious operations; a blow followed a sullen word; asavage kick was the reward of a laggard arm; and the utmostwas extracted from every one.

As a result, as far as man could make her, the homelylittle steamer was as smart as a yacht, and the all-nationrapscallions who manned her had been turned into a crewof hard, strong, well-disciplined men, quick to answeran order, and in all ordinary sea matters skilful tocarry it out. The big burly member of Parliament watchedthe transition with an appreciative eye. He had seen mendriven in politics, and had been rather contemptuous of theresult. It struck him that after they had undergone theprocess the most of them ceased to be men.

But here the process was reversed. The raw products thatCaptain Kettle had commenced on were most of them less thanmen, and under his remorseless drill he had (as it appearedto Sir George) converted each one of them into the completesuper-seaman.

After the lapse of twenty-four hours hands were againcalled on deck, and they appeared smartly enough, eachcarrying his rifle in the method that appealed to him best.But they all handled their weapons as if they had at leasta nodding acquaintance with them.

"Now, I've no idea of turning you sailors into a squadof infantry," said the little captain, "I don't see that itwould make me any the happier to have you taught soldiers'drill. But you've got to learn to shoot off those gunswithout shutting your eyes; and if you can learn to hita target, so much the better. Bo's'n, get up a thousandrounds of cartridges, and make fast twenty-five fathoms ofline on to the case when you have emptied it, and tow itastern. I don't suppose any of you men will hit it, exceptby accident; but the spouts in the water will show youwhere your shots go, and firing at a bobbing target likethat will be much better practice for you than blazing at afixed mark on a steady beach. It may occur to those amongyou who've got thinking machines that a man, when he'sbeing shot at, doesn't always keep quite still. The mainpoint I want you to remember about this rifle practice is,don't hurry. Fourteen shots that miss don't do near as muchdamage as one that's well thought out and plugs the otherparty in the liver. That's a military fact."

Captain Owen Kettle, at that period of his career, wasnot in any way learned in the art of war. But at the sametime one is forced to admit that he had a fine naturalinstinct for it.

To be sure, he was hampered by no text-book knowledgeof pipe-clayed military science, but out of his innerconsciousness he evolved a scheme, and, as it subsequentlyproved so eminently successful for irregular warfare, itmay be here commended.

In a few words, it may be described thus: "First catchyour man, and take care he is not in a state of prosperity;work him and handle him till he is as hard as a nut, quickas a flash, and bold as a bull-terrier; and then teach himto shoot and take cover. Leading will do the rest."

The letter from Sir George's cousin, that unfortunatemedical man from Harley Street who had gone astray, onwhich the plan of the whole expedition was built, thoughexcellent in many details, was weak where it touched on theexact art of nautical astronomy.

The admiralty charts, also, of the whole of the WestAfrican seaboard are notoriously defective, and thoseof that section of the coast which just then interestedSir George Chesterman and his skipper were worse thanthis—they were imaginative. They marked reefswhere there was none, islets where the sea swells sweptunchecked, and deep waters to which ominous breakers gavethe open lie. Once, a good five miles out from the rollingdunes of the beach, the Wangaroo stopped suddenly in hersteady eight-knot gait, shivered a little, and then wenton; and Captain Kettle shivered also when he thought hownear he had come to casting away his first command.

Henceforward the steamer kept an offing where the depthof water was beyond suspicion, and crows' nests were riggedwhaler fashion at the mastheads, in which the hands took itin turn to be seaside, and to search the shore-line withstrong binoculars.

Even then they missed the object of their search on thefirst run down the coast, but when they had passed thesouthern limit of possibility, the Wangaroo turned northagain to repeat doggedly the hunt with more thoroughness,and at a slower pace. This time, when an atom of doubtrested on the exact position of the shore-line, a boatwas manned and sent away to explore it at closer range,and the jottings on the chart which indicated thisboat's discoveries, as afterward forwarded by Sir GeorgeChesterman to the proper quarters, form to-day a veryuseful addition to the world's knowledge of hydrography.

That northwest coast of Africa had by no means thesmooth shore-line the authorized sea maps would have ledthem to believe. It swung out into gulfs and bays, and wasincrusted with islets; here, the mouth of a dead riverthat had once (perhaps no further back than Roman days)flowed from the Sahara country, showed a silted lagoon dryat half-ebb; there, sand-polished rocks and a scour ofcurrent had made a deep-water harbor, in which a navy mightmoor.

For miles the coast would show nothing but barren rockand roasting sand; then a few lean palms would straggleacross the crest of the dunes; and once in a way, in themouth of some wady that carried a trickle of moisture,there would be a genuine patch of good dense tropical bush.But on the whole, the coast-line and its islets were formile after mile sterile and uninviting, and for a big oresteamer to be tucked away there in hiding seemed to be athing impossible.

Twice indeed there were loud cries of, "There sheis!" and consequent excitement. But the first, on nearerinspection, proved to be the shell of a wrecked ironsailing ship, a ruin that had been grilled there by twentyyears of outrageous sun; and the cause of the second alarmshowed itself on examination to be no ship at all, but anoutcrop of red hematite rock fashioned presumably by Satanfor their irritation and annoyance.

"This," said Sir George, fanning himself under anawning, "isn't nearly as amusing as I expected." He andhis black retriever had been off in the boat on the lureof the iron outcrop, and the pair of them had been nearlycooked alive on the passage, and narrowly escaped a spillin getting back on the rolling steamer. "The ice-chest'sempty, the fresh meat is finished, and by the taste of thewater the cook makes tea and things of, I should imaginethat some one must have been drowning a ferret in it. Alsothe coat of mold that collects on the outside of my cigarsdoesn't improve their flavor. I say. Skipper, what aboutturning back?"

"You're owner, sir," said Kettle stiffly. "It's for youto give orders."

"What do you say, Violet?"

"I agree with you that it's acutelyuncomfortable"—she glanced out of the tail of hereye at Captain Kettle—"in more ways than one. ButI don't think you ought to give the thing up so long asthere's a chance left. It isn't as if you were a rich man,George, now. If you found the ship and realized on her,you'd be put nicely on your financial feet again, while ifyou don't, I should say you'll find yourself badly dipped.This trip must have cost you a tidy penny, one way andanother."

"And is continuing to cost so much a day. I'm beginningto think poor Fred wrote that letter when he waslight-headed, and that he never really saw the steameragain, once he had left her."

"I don't agree with you a bit. Remember I knew Fredas well or better than you did, and he hadn't a particleof imagination in the whole of his composition. He wasthe most literal matter-of-fact sort of person thatever bungled a medical practice. He prided himself onunemotional observation, and if he says there were islandsand a steamer behind them, islands there are and a steamerthere is. Don't you agree with me, Captain?"

"Miss," said Captain Kettle, "I'm a man withoutimagination myself. Sir George showed me the letter, and Iread it eight times over, and saw nothing in it but plainstraightforward statement of fact. We may, through my wantof skill and eyesight, fail to find the spot he speaksabout, or he may have gone badly adrift In his longitude,but I'll stake my ticket on it that he saw what he says hesaw."

Amusem*nt flickered in Sir George's tired eyes.

"You're quite an enthusiast, Skipper. Well, Violet, ifyou can stick it for another week, I suppose I can, too.The skipper must try and make things as easy for us as hecan manage it."

"I quite agree to the last proviso," said MissChesterman mischievously.

Mile by mile to the northward, the Wangaroo searchedduring the hours of daylight, lying-to at night so as notto overrun her ground in the dark, and one blazing daysucceeded another without tangible result. But in the coolof one evening, success arrived at last. A hail came fromthe crow's nest which was perched up higher under the foretruck. "The bridge there."

"Aye."

"D'ye see a hummock broad on the starboard bow,sir—just on the edge of the coast? Seems to me twocolors, sir—mustard-yellow and blue."

"That'll be the sunset, you fool!" said the elderlysecond mate from the bridge. "I can't see it myself. Waittill I get the glasses."

The look-out man in the crow's nest on the mainmasttook up the tale, and the pair bawled down their newsding-dong.

"There's water in at the back of that land, sir."

"River mouth, sir."

"Looks to me a lagoon, sir."

"There's water on beyond again, sir. I just then got aglimpse of it as she rolled."

"That's an island off the coast, or a row of them."

"What you see is not the coast, sir—or, at anyrate, there's a big river in at the back of it."

"There's a lagoon stretching right along. You can pickout points of it where the sun catches the water."

The old second mate stared through his glasses, butnaturally could make out nothing, as the lower edge ofthe shore-line was well below his horizon, and so in theend he contented himself with the curt, "Aye, aye," ofacknowledgment.

He was a stupid man, and prided himself on hisstupidity. He was hired (according to his theory) to act assecond mate of a seven-hundred-fifty-ton steamboat, and notto make discoveries.

But Captain Kettle at the first note of news had walkedbriskly along the immaculate decks, had swung himself intothe fore rigging, and had run nimbly aloft, and presently,passing outside the barrel which formed the crow's nest,stood on the upper edges of it with an arm round themasthead just beneath the truck.

Those on deck saw him there, a small white-clad figure,sawing backward and forward against the evening sky, andpeering dexterously through a long telescope at the shoreand what lay beyond. Voices stopped. The Wangaroo slippedthrough the swells in silence, except for the dull internalrumble of her engines. All owned afterward to having felt acurious premonitory thrill.

To those who watched. Kettle seemed maddeningly slow.They watched his long telescope saw up and down in constantarc as the steamer rolled, they watched him pick up theinvisible ground beyond their horizon and examine it, as itseemed, foot by foot, and then he swung back and commencedthe search all over again.

Sir George tried to break the tension. "Well, Skipper,"he hailed. "Is that the place?"

"Couldn't say, sir," came the chilly reply, and againthe audience watched the telescope plod slowly over thecoast-line. The sun, in a ball of scarlet fire, was sinkingin visible inches below the western horizon, and CaptainKettle's white drill uniform was tinted pink by theafterglow.

But presently from the masthead came the hail. "Mr.Forster!"

"Sir?" said the fat old second mate.

"D'ye see that hummock lying about due east, with thestripes on it and a table top? Just take a bearing."

The second mate peered at the mark and then squinteddown at the binnacle. "East by south a quarter east,sir."

"Can you open out any land behind it?"

The old fellow peered again. "No, sir. The hummock's onmy sky-line, with a clean edge to it."

"Very good. Then call away the surf-boat, and get waterand some biscuit into her."

Captain Kettle came down from aloft as briskly as he hadgone up, and it was typical of him that he did not makeany pronouncement to satisfy the curiosity of his crew.Instead, he went quietly to where Sir George sat with hissister, and gave the news to them.

"There's a regular fishing-net of islands In at theback there. I can see no trace of our steamer, but it'squite possible she's there. Many of the islands are a tidysize, and she might easily be tucked in at the back andout of sight. I can't take the steamer in without a lot ofsounding, so I'm going off in the boat."

"Not yourself? Not by night?" It was Miss Chesterman whoraised the objection.

"It will be cooler for the men for one thing, miss, andin a couple of hours from now when the moon's up, it willbe just as easy to see as in daylight."

"You'd better go, too, Violet, if you think the skipperneeds chaperoning."

"I'd love to."

"The dew'll be very heavy, miss, drenching, in fact.Besides, if we find what we are looking for, we shall haveto do a lot of sounding, and I may be away a couple ofdays. I couldn't undertake to look after a lady all thattime in an open boat."

"Oh, all right," said Miss Chesterman, and frowned ather brother, who had caught her eye behind Captain Kettle'sback and winked. That officer had gone to the side to seeif the boat's company and the rest of her equipment wereto his taste, and presently returned to his room for arevolver and a bottle of Horner's Perfect Cure, which hestowed in his outside pockets.

"The drug's a guard against malaria, sir," he explained."Sea chills just about twilight are very dangerous in thisclimate. I shall give all hands of my boat's crew a totof Horner presently, and you'll see they'll never turn ahair. Mr. Mate, I leave you in charge. I may be gone up tothree days. Hang on here till then, and if we don't turnup, send in another boat, well armed. It's just possiblewe may get spilt in the surf or stove on a reef, and needfetching off. Miss Chesterman and Sir George, I wish yougood evening. With luck, I hope to be back on board hereagain before breakfast."

A naked rope dangling down the Wangaroo's sleek blackside was the only highroad to the boat, and Mr. Kettlewent down it nimbly hand over hand, walking with his feetagainst the ship's plating. From bow and stern the guesswarp was dropped, and boathooks thrust the boat out fromthe ship's side; oars rose and fell into the water andsettled comfortably between their thole-pins: and at "Giveway," the oars bit the surface as one machine, and the boatgathered way.

"Good luck," shouted Sir George from the rail, and MissChesterman, with moist eyes, waved an atom of handkerchief,and the black retriever swung a thoughtful tail. CaptainKettle waved in return, and then his eyes sought a lowerlevel, and ran over two or three of the round cabinport-holes. Apparently he saw what he sought for there, forhe waved again, and lifting his nose fancied he scented inthe air the faint trace of the frangipani which Miss Dubbsaffected for her toilet.

The watchers followed the surf-boat with their eyes tillnight snapped down with tropical suddenness; and as at thesame time the steamer's lights were kindled, and dazzledthe eye, the boat vanished into the gloom which had comedown to cover the sea.

Violet Chesterman shivered. "I believe I'm afraid," shesaid. "Anyway, it's quite a new feeling, and I can't thinkwhat else it can be."

"Then you ought to be rather pleased," was the brotherlyretort, "as I suppose you mean it's a new and thereforepleasurable sensation for you. In the meanwhile, ifyou're thinking of yourself, I've reason to believe thatthe ship is being efficiently looked after by what's hisname—oh, yes, Trethewy, the mate. I can't imagineyour fears are on behalf of our excellent skipper. Hestrikes me as a man one couldn't get killed however muchone tried. So come along down to dinner. That unfortunatesteward has been banging that tin pan he calls a gong thishalf-hour back. Look here, Violet, I'll bet you a pairof gloves that as Kettle's out of the way that Scotchengineer takes us under his kind patronage, and that hisown official chief looks blue murder at him but under thebaleful glance of your distinguished eye eats his victualsin respectful silence."

"Pooh!" said Miss Chesterman, "you don't provideyourself with gloves at my expense by obvious trickslike that. Kindly remember I had the advantage of beingintroduced to Mr. McTodd's little ways long before you hadthe felicity of his acquaintance."

But Mr. McTodd, as it happened, was not in the saloonwhen the pair sat themselves down to table. He was in thealleyway outside the steward's pantry, commenting to MissDubbs on the pleasantness of the night, the real smoothnessof the sea (in spite of the deceptive look of heavy swell)and the general desirableness of boat trips.

"A junk like this," said Mr. McTodd, "unless veryefficiently looked after in the engine-room, always strikesme as here and there unsafe. But for real security give mea sound, diagonal, teak-built surfboat, with just enoughleak in her seams to keep her sweet. You can't sink a craftlike that. You may even fling her ashore if you like, andwith a bit of strength you can get her off again, equal tonew. And with biscuit, and a fair wind, and a small kegof whisky you can go round the world in her. Weel, I wasgoing into supper—dinner I should say—but I'velost my appetite. I've been packing glands all day, and thesmell's injurious to the mucous membrane. I'd take it askind if you'd join me in a pasear along the lower deck."

The trade-wind freshened till it blew a gale, and thelittle Wangaroo, a small speck in that great turmoil ofwater, with her engines slowed down till they just held herin position, rolled, and bucked,' and plunged, and pitched,till more than one expert thought that she would heave hermasts overboard. Everything on board of her, from coals andshovels, to dinner plates and hair-brushes, kept up its ownseparate noisy dance, and even the most hardened of herhuman complement was nauseated with her dizzy lunging.

"A man," said Mr. McTodd, as he placed thermometricfingers on the thrust-block bearings to make sure that theracing propeller shaft was not heating them unduly, "a manwould need the bowels of a sea-gull to stand this sortof merry-go-round unmoved. I wish one of those poets whoblether about the cradle of the deep would come below hereand try the effect of being rocked in the cradle of thisthree-by-five shaft tunnel."

"Those that go down to the sea In steamships," said thechief engineer, "see the wonders of the deep. McTodd, I'lltrouble you to come out of that rabbit run, and give me ahand with this condenser. She's coughing like a sick Hinduagain, and I expect the mate'd have a fit if I told him wewere within an inch of a breakdown any minute, and he'dbetter make his preparations to heave to under sail. Becareful, man, now. I'd hate to have you inconvenience me bygetting killed by that walking-beam."

Night dragged through, and day came, and still thereinforced trade blew with unabated force, and the littlesteamboat continued her dizzy dance. The wind blew hotnow instead of chill, and presently (as the sun climbedhigher) gave one the idea that it had been passed througha super-heating apparatus before it was let loose on theWangaroo. It was laden, too, with a fine grit whichlodged in all the steamer's crannies on deck and below, inthe morning coffee, in the eyes, in the bearings of themachinery, in Miss Chesterman's black hair, in the appletart which the cook baked for luncheon, and (this mostemphatically) in the innermost mechanism of everybody'stemper.

But when at last the blazing afternoon drew to a close,the wind eased, and the sand-storm dropped; and on the edgeof night the surf-boat was sighted putting out from behinda shoulder of the land.

It seemed to the women who watched, that no small boatcould live in that run of sea, but she held stolidly on,her oars like the legs of some uncouth insect beating thewater rhythmically. The faces of her people, when they camenear enough to be seen, were woodenly unconcerned; andwhen the acrobatic feat of getting her alongside, hookingon, and hauling her up to davits had to be performed, onemight have taken it (from the looks of the actors) to be anordinary concern of every-day life, instead of one of thesmartest pieces of sea juggling on record.

"By God! Skipper," said Sir George, "you've given us alla bad fright. I never thought you'd get on board again inone piece. The sea's awful."

"I take the sea as I find it, sir, and don't complain.My boat crew's passably efficient. I will say that forthem."

"Well," said Sir George, rather piqued, "if we were sickwith anxiety, I'd like to point out you don't look toobrisk yourself. You look as if you'd seen a ghost."

"If there were such things, I'd have seen one surely.We've found your steamboat, sir. You remember her name?"

"You've found her, have you? Well, now, that's capitalhearing, and almost worth all we've gone through. Her name,do you say? Was it washed out or something? Her name? Isuppose I must have come across it somewhere. It wasn't inFred's letter, of course. Oh, no, I remember my solicitorsdug it out for me. But I'm afraid. I've forgotten it; I'vea rotten memory for names. However, if it's of importance,we can easily turn it up. I've got their letter among theother papers in my despatch-box down in my room."

"I can tell you her name, sir. She's the old NormanTowers. Her master. Captain Farnish, with his wife,brought me up from the time I was a little kid of two yearsold, and those two were about the best friends I had gotin the world, and better friends than most men ever had.Captain Farnish, I suppose, is drowned, and seeing what'shappened to his ship, that's the best thing that couldoccur to him. But as for ghosts, if there were such things,I should have seen his when I went on board. In the charthouse there was a red velvet chair with a caster off thatI've known for years, and the old lady's portrait, and hispipe—his frowsy old meerschaum pipe—I say hispipe—sir, I mean his pipe! If you'll excuse me, Iwill go to my room. I feel I need a bit of sleep."

CHAPTER XI.
Disengagement.

"I'M dreadfully sorry," said Sir George next morning,"that I didn't think of telling you the steamer's name. Itdidn't seem to me important, and, in fact, as I've toldyou, I forgot it. I knew, of course, the details of mysister's escapade when she met you first, but the names ofthe boats never came into the tale; one was German and theother British, and that's all the details I got; and untilyou returned aboard here off that ghastly surf-boat, andscared us all out of our wits last night, she'd never hadthe curiosity to inquire the name of the ship my unluckycousin had interested us in. It all sounds perfectlyimpossible, of course—"

"But as you know by this time," Miss Chesterman cutin, "what a dear old muddler my brother is over businessmatters, I'm sure you'll understand how it came about."

"Miss," said Captain Kettle, "and, sir, I'm gratefulfor what you say. I was a good deal upset last night. ButI don't see that even if I'd known that it was the poorold Towers we were after it would have made any realdifference. With the knowledge in my pocket I couldn't havelooked for her more keenly, nor would my duty to my ownerhave made me look less hard, and there you are. I shouldhave taken on the billet just the same, and glad of it,even if you'd told me the old girl's name that first nightat the Mason's Arms, back there in Foston. It's been a jarto find that my old sea-daddy's drowned, and me thinkinghim sailing the seas, with his false teeth in his chartroomdrawer as merry as ever; but I guess sailors are paid todrown when necessary, and there, if you please, we'll leaveit. Question is now, taking this steamboat in through thosereefs. It's going to be a job and a half."

"Can't you manage it?"

"Sir, with respect, I can take any steamboat that'sbuilt through any channel where there's water enough tofloat her. But when I'm put to being my own pilot, I've gotto survey the channel first."

"But surely you know the way now, after being in andout?"

"There's a vast of difference, miss, between dodgingthrough in a rowboat that will float in two feet of water,and taking in a fine craft like this "—Captain Kettlecast his eye proudly over his small command—"thatdraws thirteen foot two. There must be a channel somewherebecause, as you know, the old Towers blew in withouttouching. But the whole place is a regular stone-yard, andI tell you freely that how my surf-boat escaped gettingsmashed a good score of times beats all my experience."

"Is there such a thing as a tide here?"

"Water runs in places like a mill-race, sir."

"Presumably the Norman Towers must have gone under,over, or through the reefs. Perhaps when my cousin was hereit was the top of a spring tide that helped her over."

"That would help, of course. But my idea is there's aproper fairway, and there's nothing to do but take theground, square by square, in that surfboat, and plot outthe whole scheme of the banks and reefs with as manycross-bearings as one can get. Then with some leading marksbuilt ashore, and perhaps a buoy or two if the channels getvery twisted, I'll be able, if the weather gives us a fairsmooth sea, to take her in."

"And how long will this entertainment take?"

"A week, sir, at the very lowest estimate, and perhapstwo if it breezes up again. If it comes to narrowsoundings, a man can't get accurate depths when he doesn'tknow if the sea's lifting them a couple of fathoms abovethe normal, or dropping him twelve feet beneath it."

"Good lord, Skipper, you can't expect us to stay and beseasick here for another mortal week."

"I was going to say, sir, that we're low on coal, andhave made a big hole in the water and stores. It wouldbe best if you'd take the Wangaroo back to the islandsfor bunkers and provisions. You'll be back here againbefore I'm ready. And you'll find Mr. Trethewy a perfectlycompetent navigator, and you'll not miss the six men I wantto keep."

"And leave you here to grill in that twopenny boat?My dear fellow, that comes inside the cruelty clause.We couldn't sleep for thinking of you. Don't you agree,Violet?"

"I shall take along a spare awning and a couple of sparsto make a tent, and I marked down in my eye an islandthat's just the place for a camp. There didn't seem to befuel, so we shall need a couple of bags of coal, but withthose and rations we shall be comfortable enough till youreturn; and indeed, sir, if you come to think the businessout, there's no other way for it."

So the scheme was agreed to, and Kettle fitted his boat,and went below to say good-by to Miss Dubbs before makinghis adieus to her employers on deck.

But that stately young person gave him a very chillyreception. She was vastly civil, one might almost sayoffensively so, but as far as a temperature of someeighty-three degrees Fahrenheit would permit, herconversation was ice.

A sentence or two passed before Captain Kettle observedthis. As has been recorded before, their mode of addressingone another was always elegantly formal, and at first hethought that the lady's remarks were built on this model,and not studiously designed to denote offense.

But presently she left him beyond possible doubt as toher meaning.

"I would have you understand, Captain, that I am notyour dear, or anything so familiar. To you, I am either'Miss Dubbs ', or 'stewardess ', whichever you prefer."

"I told you in Las Palmas harbor how awkward it wouldbe if we were serving together on the same ship, and I wascaptain."

"You did, and it has been very awkward. I felt Iintruded, though Miss Violet, to give her her due, neverlet me see she thought so. However, when the pair of youget back to the Norman Towers you will be able to renewold scenes."

"I might have told you before about meeting her outWest," said Kettle miserably, "but I thought that wasall passed and done with, and never expected to see heragain. As you know, it was a perfect surprise to me, hercoming to Grand Canary. You were a surprise, too, for thatmatter."

Miss Dubbs' elaborate black hair seemed fairly tobristle. "Ah, now we get to the truth. Captain. I wasa surprise if you like. Plain, indeed, it was youdidn't expect to see me, and you never disguised yourdisappointment. I was the little intruder, wasn't I? Andyou thought you were going to pick it up again with MissViolet where you'd left it off, and play her the MoonlightSonata on the accordion when Sir George was having hisafter-supper sleep? Oh, don't tell me. Haven't I seen youwalking her out along the decks, and catching her by theelbow when she made believe she was losing her footingthrough the roll? Liver wing at dinner and, 'quartermaster,bring aft deck chair for Miss Chesterman'? That's allright. That's her due. That's what you're paid for. Butwhen it comes to pipe-claying her white shoes with your ownfingers, that's the limit. It's no use denying it. I sawyou at 'em through your own port-hole. Even a stewardessmust come on deck sometimes."

"I deny nothing that I have done. I pipe-clayed theshoes because the steward can't do it decently, and won'tlearn. I'll clean yours, too, if you'll let me."

"No one touches my shoes but my husband, which is whatyou'll never be. Here's your engagement ring."

"You'd better keep it."

"If you'd prefer I should give it to the other girlinstead of to you just say so. Pah!" said Miss Dubbs,swelling out her chest, "you can't think how I despiseyou, Captain. No, don't try to stop me; I'm going to myroom."

It was then, with the dismal knowledge that the matterof his engagement had gone hopelessly awry, that CaptainKettle in a surf-boat laden with men, coal bags, meat tins,water beakers, biscuit sacks, rifles, rope, ammunition,canvas, sounding leads, and other cargo, put off from theWangaroo, which forthwith turned her tail on him andsteamed away to sea. Twelve very strenuous days passed overhis head before he was able to rejoin her.

CHAPTER XII.
A Channel To The Lagoon.

AFTER strenuous battling with seas flogged by the trade,the Wangaroo steamed up once more to her station offthe African coast, and hooted impressively on her sirento announce arrival. That enormous siren, replacing oneof the normal caliber for a seven-hundred-fifty-ton boat,was an extravagance which Captain Kettle almost coyly hadwheedled out of the steamboat's canny owner before leavingthe Tyne.

A stained red ensign on the top of a pole which wasperched on the crown of a striped sand-dune blew out by wayof answer, but the boat did not come out on that day or anyof the three succeeding days. At intervals Miss Chestermansaid she heard firing, but her brother, who prided himselfon knowing a gunshot when he heard one, said that thenoise was caused by the surf on the abounding reefs. Theblack-haired Miss Dubbs strained her eyes toward the shoretill black shadows grew beneath them, but what opinions shehad on the matter she kept to herself.

On the twelfth day the surf-boat came out, handled verydashingly under sail, ran with much smartness alongside,and emitted a spruce and sun-scorched Captain Kettle.

After salutations had passed, a meeting was called inthe privacy of the chart house.

"Miss," said the little sailor, "I'm free to own I'msorry to see you. I've been hoping all these days you'dhave stayed behind in Las Palmas. And now, sir, the bestadvice I can give is that we run back and leave Miss Violetwhere she ought to be."

"What's wrong with the Norman Towers?"

"Just this, sir. The Moors think she's their ship."

"And you're going to let it rest at that?"

Captain Kettle, as far as the action of the sun on hiscomplexion would allow, flushed. "I thought, sir, you knewme better. The Norman Towers is your ship, and you'regoing to have her to realize on, as per contract, but theremay possibly be a little trouble before we get her out,and I thought better that Miss Violet should be spared theseeing it."

"Danger, Captain, do you mean?"

"No, miss. I prefer to call it trouble."

"Well, if you're appealing to me, my answer is thatI shan't go back. And if you're trying to influence mybrother, he will tell you he's attempted ever sinceI was in short frocks to make me do as he liked, andhas invariably failed. So unless you've other andstronger arguments to bring to bear, I'm afraid you muststill continue to put up with me as a member of yourcrew. Stewardess, aren't I, by the way, the same asDu——on the same official footing, I mean, asMiss Dubbs?"

"I didn't see any other capacity under which to signyou on, miss. The Board of Trade is very strict in thesematters, and if you don't conform in the proper way and putin the fool entries they want on the crew sheet, and cango to sleep over, there's a correspondence started that'lllast a ship's master half a lifetime."

"Hadn't you better tell us exactly what you did findashore?"

"That would be the best way, sir. Well, to begin with,what you see from here is not the coast, but a chain ofsmall islands and reefs and sand-banks running alongparallel to the edge of the mainland, sometimes a hundredyards away from it, sometimes two miles. The space betweenwhere we are now and the main opening is dotted with sandand lumps of stone just about as thick as the black squareson a draught-board, but not a bit regular. How the oldTowers blew in there without touching—or, if shetouched, without breaking up—is more than I can tellyou. If I was an imaginative man I should say that thesimplest explanation was that she grew wings and flew inover the top. As I'm not that, the only thing I can thinkof is, the Lord saw it was best for some one that sheshould get inside, and He sent a leading wind, and steeredher in Himself. However, there she's got, and I must saythat as far as the eye can tell she seems as sound as abottle."

"But didn't you get on board to make a fullexamination?"

"I did not, miss, this time. The Moors had takenpossession, and as there were at least six hundred of themon her decks when we hove in sight, and as I'd only six ofa crew in the surf-boat, I concluded to leave them wherethey were for the time being."

"And they shot at you? There, George, I told you thosewere shots we heard."

"The Norman Towers has a couple of brass signal-guns,miss, and they must have brought some of their own powderon board, and used stone for shot. I suppose the noise andthe powder smell pleased them, and the stones certainlydidn't hit us, so all was well. If there'd been need, ofcourse I should have gone on board, but as we were, so tospeak, merely a reconnoitering expedition, and our job wasto do a survey of the channel, I concluded to let themenjoy their war-dance in peace. All the same, I've got theidea there's a white man directing them."

"How's that?"

"They're showing more savvy than it's good for nigg*rsto possess. And they're looking ahead, and that's a thingclear outside the ordinary colored man's contract. What doyou suppose there would be on board that any Moor wouldcare to loot? A few movables that would perhaps add up tofive or six hundred pounds in value. And then when he'dgot those, and started to break the port-hole glasses,and the gage glasses, and the few skylight glasses, andsmash the door panels out of sheer light-heartedness andto throw overboard hatch covers and wheel gratings, andother trifles they didn't want, what would be the bill fordamage to an old ore tramp like the Norman Towers? Callit another five hundred pounds. Well, and after that, andwhen they'd got tired of trampling mud off their splay toesinto the saloon carpet, and had looked through the reservecoal bunker to make sure that wasn't the treasure room,what would be the next move? Go home with what they'd got,and swap lies about it round the kitchen fire? That wouldbe the ordinary colored man's scheme of enjoyment. And ifyou asked him if he wouldn't take the steamer and her cargoalong while he was there, he'd say he was much obliged, butreally he'd got no immediate use for her. Do you follow myargument?"

"Yes, that seems all right. But aren't they doing as yousay?"

"They're not, sir. They're arranging to hold the NormanTowers for keeps, and I tell you straight we're going tohave a tough job in getting her away from them."

"But in wonder's name, what do they want her for?"

"That's what's bothering me, sir. That's why I seem tosmell out the white man with the head-piece at the back ofthis pack of darkies, though even what his game is I can'tguess. I tell you I'd be a lot easier if I could, becausethen one could fix up a plan to up set it, whereas as it ishe's getting in all his moves undisturbed."

Sir George squared his big shoulders. "Can you get thisboat in moderately close alongside?"

"Right up against her plates, if you want her there."

"Well, what's wrong with telling your beauties herewith the rifles to pump lead into every one we see on theNorman Towers' deck till those that are left get sick ofit and clear off? Then we proceed to make fast a tow-ropeand pull her out, and so across to Las Palmas, where wesell her, for cash down, to some enterprising juggins who'sin need of an antique steamboat and a cargo of copperconcentrates, and live happily ever afterward on theproceeds. Sounds beautifully simple."

"Far too simple, sir," said the little sailoremphatically. "I'm just convinced that there's a bad snagwaiting for us to run ourselves against it somewhere. Andwill you please tell me what's the meaning of this: they'requarrying."

"Quarrying what?"

"Stone as far as I could see. And it didn't look likea mine either. There was a great chocolate-colored slabof rock sticking up out of the beach just beyond wherethe Towers was lying, and they were as busy on it as ahive of bees. There must have been seven or eight hundredon that job, and they stuck to it like little men all thetime daylight lasted. They'd a night shift, too, becausewe heard them working, though how many there were on thatit was too dark to see. Mark you, it wasn't work theywere used to; they none of them seemed to have much skillin navvying; and though they'd got a heap of iron barsand shovels from the stoke-hold, they seemed to prefergathering fallen stone from the screes, to splitting offfresh chunks from the face. Chocolate-colored stone it was;rummy-looking stuff."

"Perhaps it's iron ore and they're filling the Towersdown to her marks with it, as a present to the salvors fortheir kindness in coming to remove the eyesore from thelocal landscape."

"Well, it might be iron ore, or copper, or gold, or justplain stone; I'm not a miner, and couldn't say; but theyweren't making any attempt to bring it on board. They weresimply piling it in heaps along the beach."

"Did they look as if they were building a fort withit?"

"I thought of that, but couldn't see a trace of it.If they'd intended putting up a building, one thinksthey'd have piled their heaps four-square, so as to behandy for the masons. But there was no arrangement likethat. The heaps were, as I've said, all strung out in aline along the beach behind the Norman Toilers, and therewas no attempt at sorting out the stone, or squaring upthe chunks. They might have been dumped there for roadmaking."

Sir George Chesterman was impressed. "Violet, I wish toheaven you were back at Las Palmas."

"And I'm devoutly glad I'm not. Do you think I'm notcurious, too?"

"Oh, I'll admit your curiosity. But I'm getting to be ofCaptain Kettle's opinion: the one thing we are reasonablysure of arriving at out of all this, is the unexpected. Hesaid those fellows were as busy as a hive of bees. It willprobably occur to your wisdom that bees sometimes sting,and when they do they can be disgustingly dangerous. Iremember once, when you were a small child, you must needsstir up a hive in the Hall garden with a walking-stick. Iremember the way you got stung about the legs. Remarkablyfine pair of legs, too, you had at that time."

"As I have now, and as they suit me down to the groundyou needn't refer to them further. But if you know bees aregoing to sting, it's very easy to take precautions, andthen they can't get at you."

"I tried being a bee master once," said Sir George,pulling the big retriever's ear.

"Ah, sir, I envy you there. I always hope to retire fromthe sea some day and take up a country life."

"Then you take my tip and let bees alone. I alwayspreferred to let the other expert handle them after I'dmade the first few attempts."

"I think it would be most comfortable, sir, if you'dallow me just to run you and the ladies back to Las Palmasfirst before we tackled the job."

Sir George Chesterman lay back in his chair and laughed."My good Skipper," he said, "you're dangling the bait ofa real lively new sensation before my nose, and then youpropose to whisk it away, and put me back again in cottonwool Oh, Diamond, Diamond, you little know what you havedone."

Captain Kettle pulled rather nervously at his red beard."Then am I to understand, sir, that you—"

"I'm here to watch this business put through, and tohelp as far as I can. You're the better man of the two,Captain, in every way, and you are in command now andI wish you to remain in command. I here and now resignmy billet of idle passenger and critic of co*cktails. Iask to serve under you, and am ready to take up any jobyou think I'm capable of, from personal aide-de-campdown to assistant cook. Miss Chesterman also, if I knowanything about her, will do every ounce she can, and if,unfortunately, any one gets hurt, well I believe she oncepicked up some hospital training the month she tired ofthe sensation of being sweet on a doctor. The ship and allthat's inside her is at your entire disposal, and if youwant another ship and more men, say the word, and I'll getthem for you. I'd no idea when I left England we weregoing to come up against what looks uncommonly like aprivate war, but, by God, now we're in for it I'm going tosee it through."

"The blood of the Chestermans is evidently stirred,"said Violet. "I call upon you all to hear me deliberatelyutter the word Hooroo. Captain Kettle, I echo my newlyawakened brother's words. I am yours to command."

"Sir and miss," said the little sailor, "you shallnever regret the confidence shown in me, and I'll pullthat steamboat out, if I have to murder half the nigg*rsin Africa to get her clear. It's not business, of course,to say such a thing, but a job like this always comes insweeter to one when it turns out a lot harder than one hadany decent reason to expect. I tell you there were nightsin the surf-boat when we crept in to see what they were upto, when I could have sung to think what a hard nut thatwhite man ashore was baking for me to crack."

"But I thought you were to make a camp on one of theislets, and sleep in a tent?"

"That was the scheme, miss, but you see with these Moorsall over the place it occurred to me that they could eitherswim or raft themselves across to the islands at the otherside of the lagoon if they felt that way inclined, and it'sunpleasant having one's sleep disturbed. So we lived itout in the boat, and the watch below had the floor boards.Those bags of coal weren't wasted either. We used them asanchors for three of our mark buoys. You see, I didn'tthink it was worth while to go ashore and build thoseleading marks I spoke about, because it was as likely asnot with a smart white man to put them up to it, the Moorswould pull them down and build them in other spots, so thatany one relying on them to run in by would pile up his shipon some reef he'd calculated to avoid. You see, the troubleabout the shore over yonder is that it's all made to apattern, with no outstanding features that one can pick upto base a bearing on."

"But you took no stove on the boat. How did youcook?"

"We didn't. We just ate our tucker as it came, and wereglad it was there. But I must say the hands did get riledwith one thing, and that was the gulls. The gulls on thisstation had evidently not seen a boat before, and theythought we were in trouble, and would presently be chopfor them; and they followed us day and night with theirtired flap-flapping, or else swimming beside the boat,never winking, never sleeping, till the hands began to losetemper and want to use their rifles. Of course, I wasn'tgoing to let them waste your cartridges, sir, for a matterof sentiment, and told them that if they kept alive, whichwas what they were paid for, the birds wouldn't want topick their eyes out. But I never could get them to seeit that way, and just to show you how unreasonable handsare with an officer, I may say that I've had to attendto every one of my six—and most of them more thanonce—just because they were scared at seeing thosebirds always there, and always staring at them with thoseshiny unwinking eyes."

A fireman came up: "Chief engineer wishes me to tellyou, sir, he's got steam for eight knots."

"Right," said Captain Kettle. "Then, as all is settled,sir and miss, I'll take her in at once."

There is a much-abused term that one often hears appliedto mariners that such an one is a "daring sea man ". Itwould pain me to see that label put to Captain Kettle.Plucky he was to the ends of his fingers, and resourceful,and skilful, and when nothing else would serve, reckless.But he was never a man to take risks with any vesselunder his command, when those risks could be legitimatelyavoided.

He knew the capabilities of the Wangaroo to the lastounce. Under his command she had been tuned up among otherthings to give a full knot more speed than she had loggedin coming down the North Sea. Yet (thanks to the genius ofher designer) she was probably the unhandiest little thingof her size afloat, and there was no getting over the factof those unpremeditated sheers out of her course. When thewhim seized her, and from no other ascertainable cause, shewould at intervals, and without the slightest warning, takea sudden lunge to starboard from which no amount of helmwould steady her until she had had her fling. The which wasan uncomfortable habit when one was navigating her down anarrow fairway.

The run inshore was unnerving enough to the spectator.There was a moderate swell running, and though thebottle-green water did not break unless it was especiallyirritated, here and there little annular gardens of surfspoke of dangers out of sight.

As they drew nearer the shore, and rose them to the eye,many of the reefs protruded, and the passage grew more andmore ugly. Dog teeth of rock suddenly bit their way throughsmooth oily surfaces of the water, and as suddenly weresheathed, and in other places smooth whale-backs of sandwere for a moment uplifted and as quickly eclipsed.

"It isn't what you see in this beastly channel," SirGeorge muttered to his sister, "as what you don't see, thatmake the real dangers."

"It's a regular maze," Violet agreed. "I can't think howany one can thread it. What would happen, do you suppose,if we touched?"

"The odds are, I should say, the swell would break herback within five minutes, and we should either have totry the hotels on shore, or try a cruise in the boats.Beginning to be sorry you came, old lady?"

"I wouldn't miss it for a new set of furs. But if we'reanxious, what must any one responsible be?"

"If you mean the skipper, I've just walked forrard tillI could get a look up at him. He's stuck there on the upperbridge looking like a graven image. The man at the wheel'sgot his eyes about a foot out of his head, and that fellowSmith that he's given brevet rank to as third mate, ishanging on to the engine-room telegraph as though it wasthe only friend he'd left on earth. I took a look down theengine-room skylight as I passed, and saw the old chiefcaressing the throttle with his own fair fingers, and thegreat McTodd in pairson standing by the reversing gear. Oh!I tell you, Violet, everybody's quite up to the importanceof what's going on, and ready to do every inch he knows ifhe's called upon. Great Scot! what's that? Pooh, it wasonly the backwash of the surf hitting her. By the way theold tub trembled, I thought she'd bumped on a rock."

In and out, first to starboard and then to port, theWangaroo was danced, as the record of the hidden channelunreeled itself from Captain Kettle's brain, and wastransmitted per orders and human hands to the powers thatgoverned her. Twice an angle was too acute for her to turnin her stride, and Kettle had to send her hard astern on areversed helm to get her round.

And up one narrow zigzag he backed boldly for a wholehalf-mile, with only a narrow canal of deep water to allowfor mistakes, and spouting reefs on either beam ready toaccount for the smallest error of judgment or performance.But still I object to the word daring. It was merely anexhibition of iron nerve accompanied by perfect skill.

The water grew smoother as they crept inside the shelterof the outer reefs, and the channel grew more intricate.

"I swear no steamboat could have dodged in here," saidSir George, after Kettle had taken the Wangaroo througha particularly intricate figure of eight, "without enginesand a human crew to help her."

"The answer to that statement is that she did," retortedhis sister. "What I can't understand is how any man canstore up in his head all these little bits of distances,and changes of course, without a mark to help him exceptthose half-dozen trumpery buoys, and with prompt shipwreckas a penalty for the least mistake."

"To which I remark," was the brotherly reply, "thatyour own pet idol is doing it this minute before your veryattractive eyes, so don't talk rot. Don't you think you'dbetter go below and get the steward to give you a cup oftea?"

"I do not in the least. But I suppose that's anintimation that you think we're getting to the end of thetrip, and that once round the corner our African brothersmay shoot at us."

"Yes—by gad, though, Violet, I didn't know we wereso close. There's the Norman Towers opening out frombehind that bluff. Did you ever see anything coated with amore flawless coat of rust? By gad, look out!"

Instinctively Sir George stepped in front of his sister,who just as instinctively took hold of his loose, baggy,old shooting-coat by the rear to drag him aside.

Then there came to them the shattering roar of a brassgun, loaded with black powder, and fired at close quarters,the crash of a stone shot impacting on iron plates, andpresently the tinkle of the gravel to which the shot hadbeen reduced, dropping down upon their heads and into thewater alongside, in a miniature hail-storm.

Sir George glanced up at the upper bridge. The littlesailor, binoculars in hand, cold cigar between his teeth,was standing there unruffled, and fully occupied in hispilotage.

CHAPTER XIII.
Saint M. Bergash, B.A.

SIR GEORGE CHESTERMAN put down the glasses and relightedhis pipe. "I'm hanged if I can make out those heaps ofchocolate-colored stone you told us about, Skipper. There'sthe cliff all right that you said they were quarrying from,but the shore below it is swept as clean as the floor of aball-room."

"Yes, sir. That's one of the things that's bothering mea good deal."

"And I suppose the other is: Where have our duskyfriends all bolted to? They bang off their tin cannon atus just as might have been expected, and then, instead ofputting up the battle which one might reasonably supposeought to follow, they calmly vanish. D'you suppose they'rejust lying doggo under decks till we are kind enough tocall?"

"It's possible, sir."

"With their pockets full of paving stones, theaforesaid, to fire at us when we pull alongside? By theway, could they have pocketed all the stone you saw?"

"No, sir, certainly not. There must have been thousandsof tons of it. They were working, working, working dayafter day, many hundreds of them. Indeed, the more I thinkof it the more I am convinced the heaps didn't grow as theyought to have done."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"It almost seems as if they must have been carting itaway under cover of night while we were hanging about herein the surf-boat, and then as soon as our backs are turned,off goes the rest of it. As you say, sir, the beach now isswept as clear as a chapel floor over all the space behindthe Towers and up to the foot of the cliff."

"Well," said Sir George, "they can't have evaporatedinto thin air, all of them. Suppose we just sit down andsmoke for half an hour, and see if we can't spot some onepeeping at us either from the steamer or behind some bit ofcover on the land side."

"With ladies to take care of here on board," saidCaptain Kettle with a sigh, "that's the best thing we cando. We must move very cautious. We can't afford to take theusual men's risks."

So they set to work with binoculars and telescopes tosearch for what they could find.

On the Atlantic side the scheme of the land and seascapewas simple enough. There was a long straggling row of reefsand islets, noisy on the outer edges with a white frill ofsurf, and apparently tenanted only by sea-fowl. A Moor ortwo might certainly have been hidden in unseen folds ofthe larger dunes, but the mode of their ferriage acrossthe lagoon was not apparent, and it was hardly likely theywould have cut themselves adrift from any possible base.

Africa on the other side of the lagoon presented in thatlatitude an edge as straight as if it had been ruled, withthe one exception of a small curved peninsula like a humanfist and arm, mainly of chocolate-colored rock, which wasthrust out into the lagoon, and in the hollow of this, thecrook of the arm, so to speak, the Norman Towers washarbored. Beyond the straight edge of the hot yellow beachlay dunes of sand which bristled here and there with clumpsof dry gray grass.

"I can see birds running in and out of those grasstufts," said Kettle, peering through his long old-fashionedship's telescope. "They don't seem worried. They aren'tattempting to fly. That shows there's no men about."

"Here's where I come in," said Sir George with alaugh. "Those are Barbary partridge, and about the mostunsporting game bird to shoot at on the face of Africa.You have almost to kick them up before they'll rise to becomfortably shot. Try further, Skipper."

The heads of live-oaks and argan-trees showed beyond thedunes, stretching over a wide flat, and then there werescrub-clad foot-hills, and then steeper slopes that ranback into colossal mountains.

"The Atlas, I suppose, those big lumps at the back,"said Sir George.

"Don't know, sir. I'm a sailor, and my geography doesn'tgo inland past the beach."

"I think all the big mountains that run out to theAtlantic about here belong to the Atlas range, or oneof its spurs. Is that cloud up at the top there, do yousuppose, or snow?"

"It might be either."

"And there may be villages to any extent, or eventowns for that matter, tucked away out of our sight inthe valleys and folds of that range, and we should benone the wiser. I'm afraid, Skipper, we can't trace thebarracks of your black regiment by merely staring at thecountry-side."

"Just take a line, sir, please, over that palm tree withthe stem like a catapult. D'ye call that blue haze just abit of heat mist, or is it cooking smoke?"

The sailor stared, and his employer stared, and againthey decided that it might be either.

"If you very knowing people," said Violet Chesterman,"will bring your eyes nearer home and take a look at thepartridges again, you'll see they're all tending to run oneway, and that's north. And those dotty little things amongthem are quail, I suppose."

"And by gad, Skipper, look there, did you see that? Andhe was heading north, too."

"I saw a big animal, sir."

"Moroccan wild boar, and bolting like a good-un, wasn'the? Now his eminence, the pig, doesn't run out of the wayof one man, nor, if he's that way out, will he sometimesshift for forty. I should say there's distinct reason toexpect visitors presently down at the southern end of thebeach there."

"That's at the back of the Norman Towers, sir, wherethey were before. Almost looks as if the first comers hadpadded a good hard road to that point, and late callersstick to the same track. Well, it will simplify matters ifthey make a rule of that."

"The range from here to there is—say, four hundredand fifty—or perhaps five hundred yards. Shootingwill be a bit difficult across sand in this heat, becauseof the refraction, but we ought to get on to the targetafter a shot or two. What do you say if we point out whenthey begin to arrive that we regard this section of thecontinent as part of the British Empire, and that thisisn't our at-home day?"

"I want you to remember, sir, as I'm remembering," saidCaptain Kettle patiently, "that we've got ladies on boardand can't afford to make mistakes. I know it means we shallmiss some fun. But I want them to be allowed to make thefirst moves."

"Then," said Sir George, "that puts my rifle out ofaction for the time being, and, by the speaker's eye,there's the mark!"

There cantered out from behind the shoulder of a dune,twenty splendid barbaric cavalrymen. Of the two who rodefirst, one, obviously an inferior, carried a white napkinblowing out from the end of his long gun-barrel, and theother alongside him was in command. They halted, and for amoment regarded the rusting Norman Towers. Captain Kettlewith some quick instinct of defiance (in spite of the wordshe had just uttered) laid hold of the Wangaroo's sirenstring, and after a preliminary cough or two, to clear itsthroat, blew out a deep sonorous blast. The troop leaderturned to his men, and through the glasses Sir George couldsee him laugh. Then he touched his horse with the sharpcorners of his stirrup-irons, and galloped north up thebeach' alone, without flag of truce, without escort.

Abreast of the Wangaroo he reined up, and his blackstallion stood with forefeet at the water's edge, andhind hoofs, straddled out backward, as though it had beentrained for the show ring. The rider brought up a. hand tohis head-gear in salute, dropped it, dropped his reins,and sat there under the sunshine like a man carved out ofiron.

"Wants to talk, I guess," said Captain Kettle. "I wonderwhat's his little game. Doesn't seem to have any idea wemight shoot him either."

"Well, you can't bawl at him across this distance.Besides, it's too hot for shouting. It would be interestingto hear what he's got to say. I lay a pound to a brickhe'll start to prove that he's got no connection with theother darkies who whanged at us with the brass gun."

"He's a very splendid-looking man," said Violet frombehind a pair of binoculars. "And, anyway, there's only oneof him, so you needn't be afraid."

"Yes, I'm afraid all right, miss," said Captain Kettlegrimly. "But we'll interview the gentleman for all that,if we can rake up any language among us that the other canunderstand. Mr. Smith?"

"Sir?"

"Call away that port quarter-boat, and fetch off thatman from the beach."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"During the interval. Captain, let me give you a cup oftea," said Violet. "The steward makes it himself now, so Ican guarantee it's not been boiled more than half an hour.You needn't look anxious, George. That's an ambassador onthe beach there, and while negotiations last there'll bea truce. Afterward it may possibly be 'battle continued,'So let's drink tea while we may, and be thankful for thecook's new biscuit."

It was on this domestic scene that the ambassador's eyefirst fell when he came up over the side. Captain OwenKettle, as the complete ship captain, went to meet him,with his best air, and his best Arabic.

"Slamma," said Kettle.

"Aleikoom slamma," said the visitor.

Captain Kettle reeled off a sentence or two to theeffect that the day was fine, hospitality was waiting, andAllah was in His Heaven. In the original it was a finesonorous phrase, but as the little sailor had picked itup from the Mecca pilgrim touts in Jeddah, half the wordswere very much debased Arabic, and the rest were made up ofassorted unknown dialects.

However, it was all one to the visitor. He laughed andshook his head. "I'm sorry," said he, in English, "but I ama poor linguist. I didn't know you were Portuguese."

"By James!" thundered Captain Kettle, "if any man takesme for less than I am I'll kill him. And so you speakEnglish?"

The visitor lifted his eyebrows. "I really don't see whynot. I know you islanders think you monopolize the wholeearth, but I never knew that you objected to share out yourlanguage."

The man spoke with a quiet educated voice, withouteffort and without accent. By this time the other two atthe tea-table had got over their first surprise, and SirGeorge got up and walked across.

"I'm sure," he said, "you'll pardon Captain Kettle'snatural surprise. But really you look the Moor to the lifein that kit, and any one might make a mistake. My name'sChesterman. Will you come and be introduced to my sisterand have some tea?"

The visitor bowed. He had just the knack of an Englishgentleman's bow, not too much, not too stiff, and notin any way to be mistaken for the bow of other nations.And then he sat himself and his white draperies verycomfortably in a big Madeira chair, and crossed his redleather riding-boots and took up the cup that was offeredhim.

"The taste of this will come back like an old memory,"said he. "We use green tea, you know, down here, and takeit with green mint and a lot of sugar."

"I tried it once in Tangier," said Violet. "We ran overthere for the day from Gibraltar. I don't think I couldever get used to it. Have you really come to like it?"

"I was brought up to the taste, you see."

"Then have you been out here a long time?"

"Ever since I came down from Cambridge, with aninterlude once of a week also in Gibraltar. I took a ponyover there to race."

"Then have you—I mean are you—" the usuallyglib Miss Chesterman was at a loss for a way to put it. Itdawned on her that this visitor in the Moorish clothes,head-gear bound round with camel's-hair rope, gold-sheathedhooked dagger hung over one shoulder, gold mounted pistolover the other, this man from the interior of Africa wasEnglish. Come to notice him more closely, his hair andhis beard were brown, and his eyes were blue; and, thoughhis complexion was somewhat dark, that, of course, wasthe sun. And, anyway, many Southern Europeans were fardarker than he. He was an Englishman and a Cambridge man,and he had kicked over the traces somehow at home anddiscreetly vanished into the mysteries of Africa. Those,it flashed across her, were the outstanding points of hisbiography. "Do you like the country in there?" she asked asa compromise.

"It has its points. But then, perhaps, I'm prejudiced.You see, I am used to it."

"I said," put in Captain Kettle pointedly, "from thevery first moment I saw the way those nigg*rs were beinghandled on the Norman Towers that there was a white manin it at the back of this business somewhere."

"So?" said the visitor with polite indifference.

"I was up at Cambridge," said Sir George. "Clare wasmy shop. But I should be a lot senior to you," and hementioned his year.

"By Jove!" said the visitor, "that's a queercoincidence. I was next door to you, at the Hall. But Ididn't go up till two years after you came down. Funnyplace, Cambridge. I took up Arabic for my special, and theyplowed me and mainly on my accent, too, I'll trouble you.But I stuck to it, and got a B.A. all right—took pol,econ. Lord, I wonder what it would feel like going back totake one's Master's."

"I can tell you. I took mine. You meet only gyps andtradespeople and bed-makers that you know, and you wonderwhy the dons are all so dirty, and the undergraduates areall such babes. The only decent man I met up there that I'dknown before was old Heber, the pawnbroker. I took him tothe Bull and dined him, and he gave me all the news."

"I've often regretted," said the visitor, "that I neverpawned anything when I was in England, so that I could lookback and know how it was done. Going to a pawnbroker'swhen I was at Charterhouse was, for some reason or other,considered bad form. They were awfully narrow in some ways.And I'm afraid some of the Charterhouse superstitions stuckto me even after I'd rubbed about at the Hall."

"All the public schools have their fads," Sir Georgeadmitted. "That's why we pay two hundred pounds a yearfor the privilege of going to them. So you were atCharterhouse? I wonder if you were there with my cousinFred?"

"Fred Chesterman? I should think I was. Not that I knewhim. He was a big chap in the sixth when I was a wretchedlittle shaver at the bottom end of the lower school. Buthe was a great god of mine. He was the school soccercaptain my first year, and fired me with ambition to playassociation foot-ball. I didn't do so badly either; gotinto the school team, and played for the Hall for thematter of that, though they were no good; but I nevermanaged to get my blue, which was the real thing I waskeen on. Sorry, Miss Chesterman, for boring you with allthis schoolboy shop. But I haven't had a chance of lettingout for a lot of years, and, really, your brother led meon."

"I beg your pardon," said Captain Kettle, "but were youborn in England?"

"I was not. Clare did a big line in cricket, if Iremember my records right, about the time you were up."

"I think Clare's always been a big cricket and ruggercollege," said Sir George, "just the same as the Hall putin most of its time at the boats. Rowing was my line,though, and that is the reason, I suppose, why I've ratherrun to flesh. That's the usual fate of the rowing man whenhe comes down."

Away they went once more on Cambridge shop, Violetputting in her word now and then, and Captain Kettle, whofelt outside this circle, trying his best not to glowertoo openly. The little sailor, It must be remembered,was holding his first command, and the weight of it rodeheavily on him; but always throughout his life it is onrecord that the business of his owners came first, andsocial pleasures a bad second. This easy-mannered visitorwas, in Kettle's opinion, a good deal too clever in hisconversation to be entirely wholesome, and, in fact, he hadfelt a natural antagonism toward him from the first momentof the man's stepping on board. If he had had only his ownsentiments to consider, he would have thrown him neck andcrop over the side. But, as it was, in his own phrase hefelt himself in a clove-hitch. The policy that he himselffelt to be for his owner's good was exactly opposed to thepolicy that the owner was obviously prepared to take, andKettle felt that never was young shipmaster on the horns ofa more cruel dilemma.

But at the risk of offending, Captain Kettle doggedlyfollowed up his points when he saw a chance.

"Have you lived here a long time?" he asked when thenext lull came.

"Some people might call it long," the visitor repliedwith easy indifference, and went on to discuss with SirGeorge the nice point of introducing Hungarian partridgesto stir up the local Barbary bird.

"Of course, it's a toss-up if they'd cross," said SirGeorge.

"And I should make myself very unpopular with myneighbors if I produced a fowl that could fly. Thesportsman hereabouts goes out with a gun six feet long,and waits half a day till he gets three partridges in arow on the ground, and then lets drive at them. You seethe breech-loading shot-gun isn't a common object of thecountry-side in this part of the world. In fact, my own areprobably the only pair of twelve-bore ejectors in this partof Africa. Purdy built them for me before I came out, and Itell you I had a very awkward job of it smuggling them intothe country, in spite of the fact that I've got, of course,a bit of personal pull."

"The worst of buying those Hungarian partridge eggs isthat I believe fully ninety per cent, of them are poached,"remarked Sir George.

"Then, if that's the case, the experiment as far asI'm concerned must drop. We're a pretty lawless crew outhere over game laws, but if one hears of a man preserving,whether it's in Hungary or in Norfolk, one naturally feelsbound in common decency to back him up. But I suppose onecould get eggs legitimately produced on a proper game farmif one was prepared to pay for them."

"Certainly. Of course, pheasant's eggs are theirprincipal product at those places. By the way, why not trypheasants? You've plenty of cover, and, if the partridgescan find food, they should, too. You ought to get finerocketing shots if you had rides cut in the proper placesamong some of those steep woods."

The visitor laughed and stretched out his hands.

He had small and beautifully-shaped hands, and they werevery carefully kept.

"You must remember we're rather out of the world downhere, and there's a good lump of the Atlas and a number ofvery unfriendly people between here and Mogador, which isour nearest steamer port. I have tried importing pheasant'seggs there several times, as it happens. I calculated thedate the boat would arrive, and had relays of men strungout between here and there to run them along without delay;but as each time the experiment has been a fizzle, one getsa bit discouraged. You see, it takes a couple of hundredmen and a good deal of organization to string out one'sline of runners."

Sir George Chesterman stared. This broken-downuniversity man, whom he was prepared rather to pity and wasopen to help, was evidently a person of some considerablelocal position. He had not spoken in the least boastfully;in fact, the egg tale had been told with the humoroustouch that a man usually does give to a story that is toldagainst himself. What on earth could be his history?

Captain Kettle took advantage of the lull, and followedhis subject doggedly.

"Then one might take it you lived here?"

"One might."—The words were a trifle offensive,but a smile took the edge from them.

"A local landowner, in fact?"

"Oh, I think I am."

Captain Kettle could have shaken Sir George and MissChesterman just then. Why did they not back him up inhis search for sound information, instead of turning theconversation back again to what (he considered) werefurther inanities?

"I suppose you brew your own powder and make your ownshot here up-country?" asked Sir George.

"Most of them do. All the big tribes in Atlas havetheir own powder mills, and when we run out of bullets, wemine lead and do a bit of smelting. But for Winchesters weimport cartridges, and I'm afraid I'm extravagant enoughto do the same for my shot-gun ammunition. Kynochs wouldprobably be surprised to know that their cartridges costabout eighteen pence apiece by the time they reach mehere. But then, of course, you jealous nations outside areto blame. You put up an absurd interfering law making itan offense to import Arms of Precision into this part ofAfrica, and as you have your warships to back you up, andwe are not naval folks, cartridges cost us about sevenpounds a hundred instead of some ten shillings. But, ofcourse, we get them all the same if we like to pay."

"You take it easily. It's that small item of paying thatmakes things so hard for some of us."

The visitor laughed. "I apologize. I should haveremembered. Here for—well, for us—you see,it's only a case of sending out a handful of one's men todo a bit of mining, and the gold slugs trickle out to thecoast and come back as coin. We don't show riches in thiscountry; it's not particularly safe to do that; but it'squite as well to have them within reach, as I suppose it isall the world over."

"Then if you're a well-off man," said Captain Kettleacidly, "may I ask what you are after the Norman Towersfor?"

This time there was no doubt about the visitor'sdislike. Hate for an instant gleamed out of his blue eyes,and was as quickly veiled. But he did not pretend to infusecordiality into his voice.

"My good Captain Whatever-your-name-is, I don't wantyour wreck. And, by the way, now we are on the subject, youmight kindly tell me, is she yours?"

"My owner has bought all the rights in her fromLloyds."

"Ah, Lloyds! An eminent corporation in London, Ibelieve? Then you had better get Lloyds to give youdelivery of your bargain."

"Won't you?"

"I? What on earth have I to do with it? I'll give you apiece of local information, if you like, not that I imaginefor a moment that it will satisfy you. The law of Lloyds,for anything I know, travels over the seas that Lloydscontrol. But their writ's not current here, and localcustom has a different law. Local custom, here, south ofthe Atlas, says that jetsam on any beach belongs to thebeach's owner."

"You can't uphold such a rule?"

The visitor shrugged his shoulders. "Possibly. At anyrate, I'm not going to try. You say she's your steamer. Inthat case you'd better take her away—if you can. Shedoesn't interest me, and I'm not going to burn my fingersover your affairs. Why, who is—"

The visitor stood to his feet and bowed, and turned downhis glance. Miss Dubbs had come on deck, handsome in face,opulent in hair and figure.

"You!" said Miss Dubbs.

The visitor looked up quickly but was plainly puzzled."I'm afraid I've forgotten, madam."

"I should never forget your eyes, though I was onlya little girl at the time, Mr. Bergash, Perhaps you'llremember me when I tell you I put sticking-plaster on yourface where you cut it after your bicycle threw you intofather's front gate. You've got the scar still there overthe cheek-bone, I see. And what of the other gentleman whocalled you 'Saint'?"

"Oh, he's come to a bad end! He's an attache at one ofthe fashionable British embassies somewhere in Europe." Heturned to the others. "Perhaps I'd better introduce myself.I'm Sidi Mohammed Bergash. I can't help the saintship," headded whimsically. "That descended to me."

"Then you're a Moorish chief—or shaick—orwhatever you call it?"

"No, sir. Very much the reverse. I'm a Berber, as myfathers have been for a matter of three thousand years,in spite of various attempts by Romans, and Saracens, andMoors, and these parvenu nations to conquer us. And I'mKaid of that country up there in those mountains."

CHAPTER XIV.
A Foot-Note To History.

I BELIEVE that the Republic of San Marino in North Italy,and the somewhat squalid Republic of Andorra in thePyrenees, make the proud boast that they have neverbeen conquered. Discourteous people might point outthat there is nothing in either of them to attract theappetite of a conqueror. Thibet, of course, has suffereda downfall, and the North Pole is under suspicion. Sothe Mayan section of Yucatan and the Berber villages ofthe Western Atlas remain the only countries of the worldto-day worthy of envy that have not been polluted by thefoot of the invader. All modern rulers of Mexico from DonHernando Cortez to Don Porfirio Diaz have tried to annexthe interior of Yucatan—and failed; and throughoutall the ages, all the successive powers from the Romansto the present Moors who have held Morocco have beensimilarly unsuccessful in their attacks upon the Berberstrongholds in the Atlas mountains. It argues, if one comesto think of it, some particular trait of strength whichkeeps these two small districts alone of all the vastacreage of the globe unexplored by the pushing white man,unannexed by some other hungry nation, undisturbed by thatstandard which other people have been pleased to set up ascivilization.

Old Kaid Bergash (father of the man Captain Kettledisliked so keenly on first sight) was a tough old warriorwho ruled his tribe with a rod of iron, and was anauthority on tradition. He lived in a stone castle builton an almost inaccessible spur of the Atlas, and his tribelived there with him, and within its walls stored all theirprincipal gear and worldly goods. The castle's ground spaceinside the walls measured barely an acre and a half, sothat when a man or a family needed more house-room theybuilt a story on to their existing dwelling. Some of thesehuddled sky-scrapers towered as much as five stories aboveground level. But that was the limit. One or two ambitiousarchitects had tried for greater heights and had broughttheir whole structure crumbling in ruin. At least there wasa tradition that this had happened in the year A.D. 1492when the Moors of the Moroccan lowlands were busy in Spain,and the Berber increase was not kept within reasonablelimits by war.

Below the surface of the rock, great hollows had beendug out in very early days for grain and water storage, andthe fact that the tribal flocks and herds were stabled inthe ground floor of the houses above, and gave the watera good ammoniacal flavor, was not a trifle to disturb aBerber palate. And, anyway, the tribe had flourished on thearrangement for a matter of some three thousand years.

The engineer of these caverns was a sapper who hadserved his time as a mercenary of Carthage, and, exceptthat he seems to have run to a taste for heavy bronze doorsand lids to his bins, he appears to have done his workefficiently and well. He was an expert on sieges, and laiddown the law that there should always be kept in store fouryears' corn, three years' forage for the animals, and sixyears' water; which provision has proved efficient on manyhistorical occasions, and is accordingly maintained to-day.There is also a well in the middle of the castle, whichhas been dug down through the rock during sieges—thesinking was spread over four hundred years—and afterthe first four hundred feet it goes down in inclines setspiral-wise round a solid central core.

But as they had to drive downward a matter of twelvehundred and fifty feet before they struck water, and theair down there is very bad, the well is only looked onas an additional guarantee, and is in reality never usedexcept in moments of very great hardship.

On three sides of the castle the rock drops practicallysheer into the valley, which is a trifle of twelve hundredfeet below. I fancy there must have been a few projectionsonce, but those stout-hearted old fellows at the back oftime who built the place must have slung one another withrawhide ropes down the face of the precipice, and chipped,and drilled, and quarried with their bronze tools tillall possible footholds dropped down below. Afterward theysquared the bits and carried them up to the top again,round by the path, to use as building material.

There was nothing Carthaginian, or for that matterAfrican, about the building of their outer wall. That hadquite the Roman touch. It was eight to ten feet thick,all of tooled stone, with no rubble packing, and all heldtogether by a mortar that was a good deal harder than thestone itself. The one gateway, on the causeway side, wasjust wide enough to admit a gravid cow, and no wider, andthe height of a camel's hump. The dwelling-houses forman and beast inside were less pretentious. They had notbeen built for eternity, and after the fashion set by thePharaohs, the Jews, and the Carthaginians for domesticbuildings, were for the most part constructed of adobe,which is quite good for, say, three hundred years or so,if only you keep the weather out by a good outside skin ofplaster.

The causeway, too, which was the only road by which onecould get into the castle, was quite a notable feature inits way. Originally it had been part of the spur on whichthe castle was perched, but it had been shaved down thesides here, and built up at the edge there, obviously onsome Roman or Carthaginian model, till to-day it looks likean aqueduct such as one may see, for example, near Tunis,only with the arches filled, and with men and animalsinstead of water coursing along the gutter at its top.

Two cows abreast can get along that causeway, if theyare not fat cows; or two horsem*n, if they crook up theiroutside legs so as not to interfere with the parapet; orthree footmen, if the middle man does not swing out hiselbows. The length of it from the little gateway in the bigwall to where it fans out into bare hillside is some twohundred and fifty to two hundred and eighty yards, and thedrop over the parapet averages anything between fifty andninety feet sheer.

Furthermore, it is an exception to all modern Moroccanrules of architecture, in that it is kept in excellentrepair. In modern times—say, since A.D. 745—theBerbers have grafted a not very rigid Mohammedism on theassorted brands of paganism which their mercenaries downthrough the former ages brought home with other loot.They admit in theory that every man's fate is writtenon his forehead, and that what Allah has ordained willcome to pass. But they maintain that Allah writes thechoicest things for those who help themselves, and so theykeep their defenses efficient, and they discourage theintruder.

Now Sidi Ibrahim Bergash (of pious memory) had one wifewho occupied all of his tender affections, and as shecontinued at decent intervals to bear him sons, he tookno other. During the years he ruled over the castle andthe tribe, seed-time came at its appointed periods, andharvests followed. One year in twenty came the blight,which was bad; one year in fifteen the locusts, which wereworse; and one year in ten the sultan, who was worst of thelot.

It was the sultan's habit to camp an army among thecorn-fields in the valley, and, if not bought off, toravage that valley down to the last blade of corn and thelast straying goat. He could not smoke or shoot the Berbersout of their castle because it was too strong, and theBerbers could not cup up his army because it was too big,and although the residents did creep out at night-timeand try a little snipping, two can play at that game,and the sultan's men, besides being clever soldiers, hadsuch an extremely bad time of it in this world that theywere indecently anxious to be sent to Paradise, and inconsequence inconveniently reckless.

So that, on the whole, it was only the youngerand rasher spirits among the Berbers who tried muchretaliation, and the elders, with households to providefor, generally found it profitable to pay enough taxesto buy off the rest of their crops. But be it clearlyunderstood they did not one little bit like paying, andnever accounted themselves the sultan's subjects or evenhis vassals.

Slings, the long-bow and the cross-bow had from timeimmemorial been the Berbers' missile-throwers, though, likethe Baleares, they had always had, and have to-day for thatmatter, a weakness for the sling. Black powder and theshort-stocked gun with a five-foot barrel have crept amongthem these latter years, but owing to their inefficiencyand the difficulty of coming by them, have achieved no vastpopularity.

It remained for Saint Ibrahim to discover and lust afterthe rifle.

His holiness, as it happened, was one day at thenorthern edge of his marches, where the Atlas foothillscurve out into the plain, and the temperate climate of themountain verges into a tropical heat. He was over on thatside on the matter of a cohort of wild pig raiding amongsome of the tribal corn and being a keen sportsman, andfinding the pig plentiful, stayed down there a whole week,and slew fourteen fine boars to his own spear (whereof, thetusks by the way, remain as hat pegs in a set of rooms inTrinity Hall to this day).

Upon this innocent amusem*nt there descended withoutwarning the advance scouts of a sultan's army, and thesportsmen and beaters ran or rode for their lives infourteen different directions. Three beaters and a cousinof the Kaid's were captured, and his highness the sultan,with that paternal care for his people for which he wasnoted, and which so endeared him to them, cut off the handsand feet from these and set them to crawl back to themountains as heralds of his approach.

The saint, however, wily old fighter that he was, hadrallied the rest of his men, had swung round in cover,and charged in most dashing style through the sultan'srear-guard just as the army had unsaddled for the middayhalt. It is estimated that he hustled forty-seven truebelievers into Paradise, left wounds on another score thatwould annoy the houris hereafter, and spread an uncleanodor of pig among the faithful that it would take at leasta pilgrimage to the prophet's tomb at Mecca to cleanseaway. Also from an officer (deceased) he took a gun,and, as an afterthought, charged back again through thescattered soldiers, and obtained the ammunition that servedit.

This gun, which happened to be an early pattern of theWinchester repeater, pleased his holiness much. Within fiveminutes he had grasped its mechanism, and proved its valueon the target so satisfactorily, that three more mothersin Islam were left to mourn sons who had served among thesultan's infantry: And these hits were made at under twohundred yards' rise; it never occurred to the pious manthat a gun could carry farther.

But in the pursuit, which was hot, he tested the weaponat longer and longer ranges, till at length (havingmastered the mechanism of the sighting) he sent his manto Paradise accurately enough at eight hundred and fiftyyards, and felt that a new element had entered into thescience of warfare. The trifling detail that the long stockto which he was unaccustomed kicked violently on his cheekand cut it to the bone did not concern him in the least.

Of the sultan of Morocco, as it happened, no morewas seen that year. It may be that business called himelsewhere; it may be that the long-range fire of thatdesperate rear-guard action put the fear of Allah into him;but the saint retired to his castle in peace, and, what isfar more to the point, his fertile valley lands remainedunraided, and the decennial blackmail was not asked for.

For many weeks thereafter Sidi Ibrahim drank his greentea and smoked his pipe of keef with a mind that wrestledwith big things. A new factor had arisen in honest warfare.The god of battle, who was one of the old Berber mythologybefore the newfangled Mohammedism had been forced on thetribe, the god of battle had grown a longer arm.

Yesterday, if you shot at a man at a hundred paces risewith all the good will in the world, the odds were thatthree times out in four you missed him. Today, when theYaiour gun with the stripes inside the barrel had beenrestocked and reheel-plated to suit a true believer'sgrip, you could kill running pig with it at six hundredyards without a miss. And then, bism'illah, therewas its damnable faculty for firing ten shots in tenheart-beats—and being reloaded in ten heart-beatsmore.

The less the holy man thought over the points of the gunthe less he liked them; but he recognized facts when theycame against him; and when his chief adviser in the elders'council suggested that the gun was produced by witchcraft,and might well be sent to Eblis whence it came—well,his language was merely irritable, and not saint-like inthe least.

Finally, after a year's thought, he came to a decision.There were things abroad that threatened the existence ofthe Berber nation in the Atlas, and the origin of themmust be sought out. Only one way of effecting this showeditself; he must send a son to the land of the Yaiours tolearn the Yaiours' ways. With moody eyes he inspectedhis infant brood, and wondered which one of the six tosend. But soon he decided that there could be no questionabout the choice. It must be the apple of his eye, hiseldest, the going-to-be-saint, who would follow him in thesaintship, who must depart to this accurst shore to learnhow saints in these modern days kept up their state anddignity.

And then, being a thoroughly capable man in perfectingdetail, he went on to insure that his venture should notmiscarry. The despised Moor, who held the low country,was, he knew full well, incompetent for such a business.The Moor was good for nothing but a fight. The detestableYahudi was the only man of affairs (shameful as it was toown such a thing) in all wide Morocco. So the saint sentkidnappers into the City of Mogador (where the Londonand Hamburg steamers call) and in fullness of time theyreturned with six men of Israel, bound and trembling.

To the ordinary eye they were unappetizing scoundrels,who were born cringing, who begged as a habit, and who didnot blunder into telling the truth more than once betweenRamadan and Ramadan. And the potentate, whose ancestors hadas mercenaries under Titus helped to storm Jerusalem in theyear 70, did not handle them with undue delicacy.

Said he: "I know you vermin stick together. So I shallretain you here as hostages while your fellow dogs ofYahudis elsewhere carry out that which I wish to be done.Beyond that curtain is my son, my eldest, a man of thirteenyears. Him I wish taken to the country of the N'zaranees,and throughout eight years taught all the things theYaiours know."

"But it will cost money, much money," one of thecaptives yammered.

His holiness nodded to a pair of experts. "Throw thatdog upon his face and beat the soles of his feet till hehas purged his offense in speaking unasked, to one whoseforbears married the prophet's sister. My son is a prince'sson, and, though in truth he must not be known as such inthe Yaiour lands (lest ill befall him) all the money thatshall be due for his maintenance and teaching shall befreely provided."

The five remaining Jews lifted their hands to theirforeheads in acquiescence with such unanimity that theymight have been one Jew.

"And for the sure performance of this task youfive—and that dog, also, if he lives—willstay here as hostages, drawing what moneys please you,and seeing that your fellow-dogs in Mogador do my will.When the young man returns, if he has gained the knowledgerequired, you will be free to go to your homes, you andyour loads of gold. But if he returns not, or if he returnswithout all the knowledge of the Yaiours, then I will senddown to Mogador your skins stuffed with straw, as a sign ofmy displeasure. You have my permission to go back to yourcell."

Now the Jewish organization all the world over issingularly complete, but in North Africa, under thestress of Moslem persecution, it has grown to a marvelousperfection. The cringing verminous person in the blackjellab and skullcap, who is nominally a buyer of hides in asmall way in Fez, really reports on the political omens andmarket outlook in that capital to retiring co-religionistsin Casa Blanca and Mazagan.

These send on their knowledge while it is hot and freshto fellow tribesmen in Europe and the United States, who,when such information is of value at the moment, transmitit in turn, and for the usual consideration, of course, tothe big Semitic banking houses of London, Berlin, New York,and Paris. When any news of importance transpires anywherein all the world these get it first, the Gentile financiersnext, the press next, and then the British Government.

The Hebrew hostages in the saint's stronghold heldanxious trembling council, and then took their measureswith decision and vigor. They passed in review Spain,which always looms in Moorish eyes, with a bigness out ofits true proportion; Germany already famous for push andadvancement; and complacent Great Britain, which neverseemed to ask but always appeared to get; and Britain wonthe ballot. The case was laid before a great banker inLondon, and he, as though such matters came within hisevery-day business, made the arrangements.

It is perhaps worthy to be put on record that there wasno question of sending the lad to be educated by Jews.The Hebrew of to-day always prefers Gentile methods. Andbesides, an Israelitish education, if such a thing had beenprocurable, would have cost skins. The tough old saint inthe Atlas was frankly Anti-Semitic in his tastes.

The London banker sent out, first of all, a tutor toMogador. The man was to take a house, furnish and staff itefficiently, and give the mountain boy the first course ofhis new education. In other words, he was to teach him aworking modicum of the English language, introduce him totrousers and a hard collar, and break him in to knife andfork. The tutor was paid five hundred pounds a year overand above expenses—and earned it.

Next came a couple of years at a carefully chosenpreparatory school; and then, when the boy was described byan expert as unmistakably English, he went to Charterhouse,and so on in due time to the university.

He was probably one of the most narrowly watchedschool-boys in Europe during this period. All thetremendous organization and skill of Israel in London,urged on by their hostage co-religionists in Sidi Ibrahim'sfortress, and furnished with unlimited means, guided andguarded all his movements, and the result could not fail tobe efficient.

The boy made neither boast nor concealment about hisorigin. He grew up among the sons of soldiers and parsons,peers and butchers, grocers and dramatists, stock-holdersand princes, and got molded into the public school caste,and was taught (via Greek, foot-ball, and fives) how torule men justly and efficiently when his time came to doso.

The only mistake about the whole scheme was that theymade three-quarters of him into an ordinary Englishgentleman, and in Great Britain, at any rate, the remainingtwenty-five per cent, of Berber was so much submerged as tobe unnoticeable.

CHAPTER XV.
The Beginning Of War.

"THANK you, sir," said Captain Kettle, "but I'll notstep down to dinner this evening. As soon as dark comesaway, I'm going to up-anchor and as quietly as may be movethe Wangaroo across to another berth. Mr. Bergash maybe all right, sir, as you and Miss Chesterman appear tothink, though we've only his word for it, and though youmust allow me to still hold my own opinion. But there aretwo thousand dark Africans either on the Norman Towers orlying hid near her, and they aren't doing that for the goodof their own health—or ours."

"Have it your own way," said Sir George rather stiffly."But I think you're carrying prejudice too far. I'velived in Louisiana and I've lived in India, and I've asmuch dislike for the black man otherwise than as a blackman as it's possible to have. I've got no possible usefor the ignorant Exeter Hall, Uncle Tom's Cabin theoryof a man and a brother. But I'm not wilfully blind. Thisfellow isn't an African nigg*r any more than I am. He's ablue-eyed, pure-blooded Berber!"

"Well, sir," retorted Kettle doggedly, "he may beNeapolitan, if you choose, and I'm sure his tongue's glibenough for it; but I don't like him, and there you have asolid fact. I can't talk Cambridge College, and polo in themoonlight to him, like you and Miss Violet do, but I canlisten and I can use my eyes, and if Mr. Bergash is herefor philanthropy alone, and not for Mr. Bergash—well,I'm content to have my ticket indorsed for competency."

"Right," said Sir George shortly; "then if you won'tdine with him, you won't. Can I send you anything up?"

"I'd like, sir, a sandwich and a bottle of beer, ifthe steward would bring me that when he's served dinner.But there need be no hurry; I shall be busy for the nexthalf-hour."

Captain Kettle wished to give a message to his crew, buthe did not call them on deck, as he had a shrewd idea thatsuch items would be noted from the shore and intelligentlycommented on. Instead, he told his three mates and theboatswain, one by one, to go to the chart house; and, whenthey were all assembled, joined them there, and gave hisorders in a few words.

"I may be wrong, but I expect those nigg*rs will tryand get aboard here to-night. Now, there'll be no moon,and, with this heat haze about, no light from the stars.The night'll be as black as the inside of a heathen, andI'm not going to let our amateurs play around with thoserifles. They'd be just as likely to shoot some one on boardhere as Moors over the side; and when they'd shot theirmagazines empty they'd be whanging in with the butt andsmashing good rifles which will perhaps be of use later on.Bo's'n, I believe there's a keg of spare iron belaying-pinsin your locker?"

"There is, sir."

"Then you will deal out one belaying-pin to every man onboard, and, if the hands are wanted, you mates, and you,Mr. McTodd, will see that they are strung out at reasonableintervals round the rail. I guess an old belaying-pin,well driven, will cave in even a nigg*r's skull. That willdo."

****

Night fell, as it falls in the tropics—as thoughthe sun had been shut into a box, and by her captain'sorders, all lighted port-holes and skylights on the littlesteamer were carefully shrouded. With the scheme of hismanoeuver clear in his mind, Captain Kettle, in the hourpreceding dark, had already run his noisy steam winchesand derricks for the handling of imaginary cargo, so that,if the sound traveled to the shore, the listeners thereshould get accustomed to it, and as a consequence, when thewindlass, which was worked by a messenger chain from theforward winch, did start heaving up, the only impressionconveyed to the beach would be that the uneasy N'zaraneeswere again shifting cargo. And when his anchor was oncea-trip, with engines just turning at dead slow ahead,and binnacle light carefully shrouded, Kettle moved theWangaroo half a mile farther north, and again droppedanchor and held there to a short cable.

From the saloon below there drifted up the chatter ofvoices and whiffs of laughter. Captain Kettle bit his lipswith vexation. He knew well enough how sound travels acrosswater, and it looked as if his ruse of shifting anchoragewould be wasted. But it crossed his mind that in a momentof enthusiasm Sir George Chesterman, M.P., had offered toserve under him—and obey orders—in any capacityhe cared to name. What if he were to go below and ask forsilence?

With ordinary passengers he would have done it in amoment, yes, have ordered it, and one can imagine thatunder the circ*mstances his manner would have been, to saythe least of it, brusk. But, as things were, the wholetheory of his sea upbringing rose in arms at the idea. Anowner was an owner all the seas over. Captains existedmerely for owners' profit and pleasure. And so he stayed ondeck and did his best.

A voice and a whiff of whisky came to him out of thedark.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. McTodd."

"Aboot yon black fellow the stewardess kenned. For whydid he ask if I could do him a bit job ashore, and offer mea fi'pound note on account?"

"I don't know. But naturally you told him you wereengaged here, and he could put his money where the monkeyput the nuts."

"Man," said McTodd solemnly, "you'd never guess it ofme, but I'll tell ye in confidence that I come from theNorrth, and up there it's said to be unlucky if you refusesiller if it's as good as offered ye. So I—I angledhim, and I landed the note. I changed it with the stewardto make sure it was a good one."

"And bought a bottle of ship's whisky with part of thechange."

"Well, I couldn't ask the steward to do a delicate bitof financial business like yon without giving him a profiton the turnover. At least, that's no' the custom where Icome from. Mon, meanness such as that's a thing you'd neverfind in a Scot."

"Get on. You drank half the whisky, and what then?"

"Now, Captain, see here. I will no' be spied on. Tell mein a worrd, who's your informant aboot the whisky?"

Kettle turned on him savagely. "If you've come hereon business, let me hear what it is without furthermaundering. If you've nothing useful to say, get down offmy bridge. If you waste any more of my time, I'll kick youto the deck, and then send you to your room, you—youdissolute mechanic."

"And if I think myself too useful on deck to beincar—I should say in-car-cerated, what then?"

"Then, by James, if you can't remember you're an officernow, and you won't go peacefully when you're ordered,I'll have you frog's-marched there by the watch and putin irons. I'm captain aboard here, and you've got to knowit."

"The vara worrds Miss Dubbs said to me when I telledher she could twiddle ye round her little finger if shefelt that way inclined. And, pagh! she seemed to thinkthat because ye held a master's certificate ye'd beunapproachable. I telled her that men with master's ticketscould be bought at threepence a dozen near the docks inany seaport town, but she preferred her own way of it.It's curious, come to think of it, why she should care foryou."

"I'll trouble you not to couple Miss Dubbs' name withmine."

"But, man, you're engaged to her."

"I was. But she found reason to dislike me, and verywisely broke it off."

"Weel, I'm no' questioning her wisdom. She's a capablebuddy. She sewed a button on ma uniform coat as neat as Icould have done it myself. And you say she's no' engaged atthe moment? Gosh! I'll spark the lassie masel'."

Captain Kettle's fingers twitched.

"If you'll no' be wanting that brilliantine you used foryour hair, I'd be glad of the loan of it."

"Get down off this bridge."

"I'm going to bask in the arrums of beauty—"

Captain Kettle's hand shot out and caught the engineer'scollar before he had descended three steps of the steepbridge ladder, and jerked him suddenly backward, anddeposited him sitting on the deck of the upper bridge.

"Stop it," he said In a sharp whisper, "and sober up,and look there."

He stretched out an arm into the night, and pointed tothe south and east. The black velvet darkness was flawed bya flicker of infinitesimal flames.

"Phosphorescence," said McTodd. "The outer splashesof light'll be oars. Gosh, but she's a big craft, yon.She'll have a dozen oars a-side. She'll be one of those bigkherbs."

"A lighter."

"The Moorish word's kherb, as ye'd know if ye'd myeducation. I don't see for why ye're surprised. It's thenatural sequence of events that the other blackguardsshould come off to join their chief who's tucked his way inamong us so cannily. I should say that the throat-cuttingwill begin within five seconds of their coming over theside."

"That's my idea of it, and I've made my preparationsaccordingly. The mates know, and the deck-hands arestanding by. But I've another surprise packet for themfirst. What steam have you?"

"Enough, maybe, to just turn her over with."

"I told that old fool of a chief to keep steam forfull speed all night. By James, I'll log that man forincompetence!"

"You should have given your order through me, and Iwould have seen it carried out. The chief's vera canny oncoal, and in private I may tell ye I suspect him of beingan Aberdonian. But I'll away below and get a boost on thosegages."

The oasis of phosphorescence crawled slowly acrossthe black desert of the night, and presently a secondflickering oasis disclosed itself, and then a third, and afourth.

"Four big lighters crammed with men, and all of themof the true fighting trade," mused Captain Kettle. "Ifthey're the ordinary cargo kherb of the Northwest coastthey'll carry a hundred and twenty hands apiece in smoothwater like this lagoon. That means four to five hundredenthusiasts coming to call, and all carrying cutlery. Well,if they go direct to my old anchorage I'm free to ownthey'll get a surprise."

Silence and secrecy was the order of the night. Mr.Trethewy, the mate, received orders and departed swiftlyto the forecastle head. The carpenter was dropped into thecable-locker, and battened down there so that the noise ofhis knocking out a shackle should not make itself heard.Then the heavy cable was muffled in every way possible, anddropped through the hawse-hole, link by link, and finallylet go with a rope and buoy to mark it. Phosphorescence,now that they were looking for it, showed them the line ofthe cable right down to the lagoon's floor, and to the menon board seemed an open advertisem*nt of their position;but no trace of this reached the kherbs, and theyplodded steadily along their course to the Wangaroo'sold anchorage. Steam meanwhile was beginning to pourquietly through the escape pipe, and Captain Kettle noddedappreciatively to himself as he took the temperature fromtime to time from the outside of the funnel casing.

The leading kherb reached the spot where the steamershould have been, eased her phosphorescence-stirring oars,and disappeared into the blackness of the night, and as theothers came up and lost their way they also vanished intonothingness.

Captain Kettle put a cigar between his teeth, but he didnot venture to light it, nor did he risk the clanging bellof the engine-room telegraph. Instead he applied his lipsto the voice tube, and got into communication with a verysober and alert McTodd, who said he had found it necessaryto put his chief to bed....

The Wangaroo gathered way slowly and without noise,and Captain Kettle, to avoid the clamor of giving orders,took the steam steering-wheel in his own hands. The nightahead was without beacon, and full of a dense amorphousdarkness, but with a sailor's knack of memory the littlesailor had the bearings of his old anchorage, and of everysalient point of the lagoon firmly charted in his head, andworked out a dead reckoning of his steamboat's course as hewent along.

He kept one eye on the carefully hooded binnacleand the other roving through the blackness ahead, andwithout mental inconvenience, did sums each minute as todirection and distance run as is the habit of sailormen,and incidentally kept an attentive ear for the talk andlaughter in the saloon below to make sure that his owner,Miss Chesterman, and the saint were still merrily engagedin their occupation of killing time. And when he reckonedhe was within a hundred yards of the kherbs, and hadcalled to Mr. McTodd to "whack her up all he knew," hewas conscious of an elaborate head and a pair of comelyshoulders protruding above the head of the upper bridgeladder behind him.

"Captain," came a voice, "it's dark, and no one willsee. May I come up on top here? I know what's going on, andI don't feel as if I could stay below, anyhow."

"For the lord's sake, miss, go back there! 'Tisn't safefor you up here."

"It would be no worse for me than it will be for you.And it's miserable down there in the dark, and alone.Miserable."

"But they may begin shooting and all sorts of thingspresently."

"It would be no worse for me than it will be for you."Miss Dubbs had come up on the bridge by this, and he heardher voice behind and slightly above him. The position wasdesperate, and one can hardly blame him for what he did.

"Go aft a bit, and to starboard.—No, theother—the starboard side; yes, there. Now, see thatboat on the chocks? Yes, that's it. Now, if you want tostay on this deck you're to get inside that, and keep yourhead under the gunwale, and the Lord grant the boat's skinkeeps out their gas-pipe bullets, though I don't think itwill."

The kherbs had heard the steamer's coming by thistime, as the renewed phosphorescence from their oars showedvery plainly. But they strung out into a line and gavethemselves over as her prey. She had worked up by this timeto the full eight knots of her speed, and Kettle steeredher into the rearmost kherb, and drove over it, and thenheld on for the next ahead. Those of the lighter's crew whowere wise struck out straightway for the shore. Those whohad more talent for fighting leaped for the Wangaroo'slow rail as they stamped the wreck of their own craft underwater, and hauled themselves up, and were met by frenziedwhite men flailing at them with iron clubs. Whack, crash,crunch went the belaying-pins, and true believers fell backinto Paradise or the lagoon.

The Wangaroo scraped over the ruins of the firstkherb crunched through the second, and of her own accordput in her celebrated sheer to starboard and bagged thethird. But she was a slow little tub when all was saidand done, and, anyway, she was not built for a ram, andthe impacts had shaken her a good deal, and knocked offher pace and upset her steering, and kherb number four,furiously rowed, managed to beach itself and emit its crewintact.

"But still I don't call that bad," said a quiet voicefrom behind, and Captain Kettle rang off his engines andturned round to gaze on a lighted cigar and the face ofSidi Mohammed Bergash.

"Get down off my bridge!"

The little sailor yapped out the words with venomousprecision, and then turned to the two other figures behind."As to you, sir, you may be my owner, but of your own freewill I heard you offer to serve under my command, and I'mashamed of your lack of discipline. As to your place, miss,I make no suggestion, but if you've heard all the languagethat's been flying about on this bridge during this lastten minutes, and liked it, I'm sorry for your taste, that'sall."

"I apologize, Skipper," said Sir George.

"Very good, sir. Make it so. Take that native gentlemanwith the English accent down below, and keep him there tillI come. And if he doesn't want to go, tell the bo's'n toput him in irons. By James, I'm going to have discipline onthis ship, or I'll know the reason why!"

When these had left the upper deck, out of sheer delightin his own skill in seamanship (and I'm afraid also throughknowledge that Miss Dubbs was a spectator in the life-boatbehind him) Kettle swung the steamer round and, plotting acourse through the unrelieved dark, made back for the spotwhence he had started.

He returned as he had come, full steam ahead, and onlyslowed up to bring the steamer's forefoot to a standstillon the anchor buoy.

"Well, of all the beastly gallery tricks I ever saw!"sneered Mr. Trethewy, the mate, on the forecastle head ashe oversaw the picking up of the buoy.

"But don't you wish you could do it yourself, myson?" hiccoughed Mr. McTodd from under the break of theforecastle. "Painting deck-houses is about all you're goodat. I don't trust you to make fast a mooring rope unlessI oversee it myself afterward to make sure you haven'ta slippery hitch. My young friend, I tell ye that theofficers and crew of this packet are a great source ofanxiety to the Old Man and myself, and if anybody dislikesthat statement I'm free to fight him this minute. And now,the night being hot and maneuvers being over, I'm going todrop into the lagoon for a bit of a swim. Leave me thisrope's end over the side to climb back by."

In the meanwhile argument held sway in the saloon.

"I'm afraid," said the saint, "from your point of viewit must look uncommonly fishy."

"I'm sure my skipper thinks so," Sir George agreed.

"Well, I'll ask you not to let him hang me out of hand,which I gather would be his agreeable method of making allthings entirely safe; and, of course, if you insist onkeeping me on board as a hostage, I shall have to stay.But, really, I think I should be of more use to you ashore.These aren't my people, as I've told you, but as Kaid ofthe big Berber tribe hereabouts I have a good deal of localinfluence."

Sir George Chesterman rubbed his chin. "This attack willtake a bit of explaining, you know."

"If you mean your captain's unprovoked attack on someboats that hadn't harmed him, I should say it will."

The big untidy Englishman laughed. "Of course, thosefour or five hundred armed ruffians had come out merely fora quiet evening's row! However, my dear man, we won't worryabout past history. The question is: What's going to bedone next? We, I should again like to remind you, have comehere to salvage that steamer, and the sooner we get it thebetter it will be for the neighborhood."

The Berber chief threw back his head; there was ahard glint in his blue eyes. "Well, you will not get thesteamer. By the customs of this coast she belongs to thepeople of the coast, and I am going to see that they gether."

"I thought you said an hour ago that you were a richman. What good's this wretched old wreck to you, even ifyou can realize on her, which is doubtful?"

"In money, no good whatever. But, my dear Chesterman,you make the usual superficial Englishman's mistake. Ifany one asks you suddenly what is your aim in life, youalways reply, without thinking, that money's the onething you want. You don't really mean it, but you've gotinto the habit of saying it. Now, money doesn't amuse mea bit. With the curse of my English education behind me,I tell you frankly this country bores me stiff, and ifyou were to forget I came on board here under a flag oftruce—which, of course, you can't—and hangme out of hand, 'pon my word I should be a good dealobliged to you. And I'm sure it would save you a lot oftrouble."

"Of course, you can be put ashore when you wish. And youmay either tell us now your future policy, or you can dothe other thing."

"Now you're angry. Don't you call that a bitunreasonable of your brother, Miss Chesterman? I've beenquite frank with you about the shore situation and ourresources, instead of leaving you to find out all thatfor yourself. I've pulled the handicap distinctly in yourfavor, and yet I know you'll be angrier with me stillwhen I tell you that presently I'm going to fight forthe possession of that useless and rusty old steamer forall that I'm worth. I wish you could understand what aboon fighting is to a man who comes of a fighting stockwhen he's bored to death with existing things, and finds,moreover, that his amiable subjects are beginning to talkabout constitutions and other absurd modern fads, and needsome smart blood-letting to bring them back to their sensesagain."

Violet Chesterman shut her fan with a click. "Now, lookhere, you two, this has gone far enough, and, to my mind,it's getting ridiculous. You talk about fighting as if youwere challenging one another to a game of polo. George, goup and fetch Captain Kettle down to have a whisky-and-soda,and by the time you are back I think you will find that Mr.Bergash and I have arrived at a friendly treaty."

CHAPTER XVI.
The Call Of The Queen.

CAMELS on sunlit sand—and at a respectabledistance—are, I think, always decorative. From anartistic point of view it is always advisable to keep themthere—namely, on sand, and at a distance, becausenearness to the workaday camel quite takes the enchantmentfrom the view of him.

To begin with, he is mangy from his hurricane deck tohis big splay feet, and out of every ten square inchesthat ought to be covered with hair, he wears nine squareinches bald. He emits evil noises and an evil smell.He wears camel ticks about his person which he shareswith any one who comes near him, and they subsequentlyhave to be removed from one's body by a minor surgicaloperation. When he bites—which he does with hislips, not teeth—the effect is very much the sameas having one's fingers slammed into the hinge-side of arailway-carriage door.

He is as ungrateful as a Greek, and as treacherous as anArmenian. A horse will not drink after him; sheep avoid thepasture he has soiled; and even a jackal will not eat himwhen he is dead if there is any other carrion within reach.Also he is the only possible beast of burden for manythousand square miles of this imperfect earth's surface.

The camels tipped out from behind a dune, with noddingheads and ridiculous necks, and swung down to the beachopposite the rusted Norman Towers, and then held alongthe hard sand northward. Some had riders, some carriedbales, and two wore hood-shaped tilts, bright with blue andred draperies.

"The ladies will be inside those covered contraptions,"Sir George explained.

"How ghastly hot they must be, poor dears," said hissister. "Those coverings look like carpet."

"They are carpet," said the saint, "and of our ownweaving. We're rather proud of them. I'd got some on thefloor of my rooms at Cambridge, and the art people and thefurniture cranks who came to see me went into ecstasiesover the coloring. Also there's camel's-hair clothunderneath. But a woman's dour is by no means as hot asyou'd think. Indeed, in war times we put our wounded intothem to keep the poor fellows away from the heat."

"There seems to be a very large escort," said Sir Georgerather thoughtfully, "considering that you said the countrywas perfectly quiet."

Sidi Bergash laughed. "I suppose you on your part woulddescribe London as perfectly quiet, yet when your king andqueen go about they not infrequently have quite a smallarmy clattering along at the heels of their chariot. I'msorry I don't impress you as anybody out of the ordinary,Chesterman, but really, when I am at home, I am a genuinepotentate, and my mother's a real queen. To he quite frankwith you, ceremonial bores me, but my mother likes it.She was brought up to it, you see. My poor old dad was agreat stickler for that sort of pageant and etiquette. Ibelieve, to be historical, we got it from the Vandals inthe early middle ages, when our people hired themselves outas mercenaries to help in the mid-European war; and, if youcome to think of it, the modern Germans who, I suppose, arethe Vandals' lineal descendants, are just as keen on pompand circ*mstance today."

"I was only wondering how we are going to find roomfor them all. We're a bit cramped here, you know, on thislittle tub."

"Oh, you needn't worry about putting up all theentourage. They'll form camp, as you'll presently see,on the shore, and I should think, when it comes to thepoint, my mother will prefer to sleep there, too. Shetalked very big, poor dear, about her keen desire toaccept your invitation to come and live N'zaranee fashionon a N'zaranee ship, but I expect when she really triesit she'll detect a wobble even on this smooth lagoon. Ibelieve some of our people did once hire out as rowersto a Phoenician galley and pick up a certain amount ofseamanship there; but that's quite a long time ago now,and since then we seem to have stuck pretty well to terrafirma, and have worse nautical insides than a Frenchman.There's just one more thing—"

"Well, go ahead, man."

"You see the state religion is Mohammedism, and it'spart of the game that our women go veiled. I think it rotmyself, but you can't get over the prejudice of centuries,with the prophet at the back of it as a closing retort toall possible arguments, especially as the old gentleman iscounted as a direct ancestor. Besides, as I've told you, mymother is rather old-fashioned in her ideas, and I'm afraidshe looks upon my more modern European views as merelyscandalous."

"Oh, we quite expected your mother would come veiled,"said Violet, "and I got the captain to give me a bigstate-room that opens off the engine-room alleyway, andwhich up to now they've used for stores. He's had whatcases were left sent down to the hold, and the stewardessand I have dodged it up into a really pretty littlesitting-room. At night we can rig the berths if your mothercomes to stay on board, but in the meanwhile it's quite thezenana, if that's the word. The only thing I'm troubledabout is the cooking. Will she like our food?"

"Not in the least. But that need not disturb you. Shebrings her own food. I say, Chesterman, you might tellyour skipper to hold on with that boat he's trying to sendaway. They'll be awfully mad if you go among them beforeeverything is ready, and I can tell you these elaborateceremonial camps take quite a bit of time to pitch."

Ashore on the dazzling beach the leading camel hadhalted, shut himself up in sections like a four-jointtwo-foot rule, and discharged his white-draped rider. Theother camels as they strolled up swung out of line aheadinto line abeam, and also came to moorings, and the escort,pulling farther round to the north, dismounted, drove intheir picket pins, and soon had their horses straddledout to impossible spans by well stretched heel ropes. Thediamond hitch, which the western packer fondly imagines tobe his own invention, was patented probably by the cameldriver of Mecca, and anyway is in current use in the Saharato-day for making fast a load on that most uneasy of allbaggage animals.

Drivers and escort jumped to the loads, threw off thelashings, and opened bales. Tent poles were laid outon level stretches of the sand at unexpected angles,camel's-hair cloth was laid over these, and then the menlifted, and thrust, and pulled, and there was the blacktent, shaped like a dozen big beehives running into oneanother, of the sealed pattern that the Berber, and theBedouin, and the Twareg have used since the beginning oftime.

Carpets were spread, and a gaudy red flag, letteredin Arabic, run up on a pole. Other carpets were strungup to divide the tent off into chambers, and to hide thecrudities of the walls; and a divan was set in place andloaded with cushions. And then the camels which carried thedonar were brought one by one to the doorway of the tent,and made to kneel. The escort lined up on either side,lifting thick folds of their jellabs before their eyes.And so out of sight of all men, the widow of the late SidiIbrahim Bergash and her women moved from their places oncamel back to the shelter of the black tent, and closed theflap as became state and sex.

Thereafter more black tents went up, these beingarranged in a guarding circle, and then the camels wererearranged, and parked in outer circle beyond again, andfed. Each bubbling, squealing, snarling brute had its ownparticular table-cloth spread on the sand, with the measureof date stones and grain heaped upon it. And then the bluesmoke of cooking fires crept out from the sand, and blewacross and twitched the nostrils of those who watched uponthe steamer.

"Don't you think it would be polite to put in a callnow?" Miss Chesterman suggested.

"Wait," said the saint. "We don't hurry matters in courtcircles on the Atlas. My lady mother will make a move allin her own good time. Ah, and it won't be long now. Doyou see that kherb coming out from behind the NormanTowers?"

" The one I didn't run down last night," Captain Kettlesuggested acidly. "I wondered where it could have gotto. Well, I'm perfectly ready and competent to send thatbelow to join the rest of the fleet, care of Davy Jones,if occasion arises. I'm responsible for this ship, Mr.Bergash, and if while that lighter's alongside anotherturns up from somewhere else, and tries to join company,I shall just sink the one that's handy as a reasonableprecaution."

"I should be the last to blame your wisdom in doingso. However, suppose you wait and see what happens beforetalking big any more."

It was a curious thing how Sidi Bergash and CaptainKettle disliked one another.

The kherb, rowed slowly by a dozen oars, coastedslowly along the shore till it reached the camp, haltedthere, and backed into the beach. Three men, bearingburdens, stepped on board, and the kherb pushedoff again, and slowly ferried these across to theWangaroo.

Captain Kettle put down his glasses with an angrysigh. The kherb was undecked and everything within herfrankly open to the eye. There was no chance of ambush orsudden attack, and reluctantly he allowed them to bring upalongside the ladder without further objection.

The three burden-bearers came up on deck, sawtheir Kaid, did obeisance to him, and one with hunghead delivered a message. He, like his fellows, was arich plum-black color, clean-shaved, and inclined tocorpulence.

"Give the presents to Miss Chesterman," said SidiBergash.

Number one stepped forward with a bale in his arm,unrolled it with a jerk upon the deck, and displayed acarpet.

"Oh, George, how heavenly!" said the lady. "What perfectcoloring!"

Number two, who carried a cushion, whisked away acover, and displayed what was evidently jewelry. They wereapparently beads, graduated from the size of pigeon's eggsto the size of turkey's eggs. In color, they were palegreen, dull red, and silver.

"Aren't they pretty? But what exactly are they?"

"Sus enamels," said the Kaid, "Practically a lost artsince his wickedness, my cousin the sultan, has killed offall the people who used to make that sort of thing. You'rereally supposed to wear them round your neck, but youneedn't if you don't want to. Don't jump when you see thenext."

Number three removed his cover cloth with difficulty, asit apparently stuck to the present below. Miss Chestermanbeheld a copper bowl, about the size of a wash-hand basin,heaped up with something that looked like (as she saidafterward) chicken food. It was greasy in texture and smeltpowerfully.

"What is it, please?"'

"That is couscousu It is not the sort we eat everyday. It is the variety that only appears at state banquets.We keep our butter, as you know, in pot jars, and lay itdown as you people do port at home, and pride ourselveson its age. I should say by the whiff I got of it, thatthe butter that went to the making of that couscousu istwelve years old if it's a day, and it must have been amighty wrench to the proud housekeeper to take the pot downfrom the very end of the last back shelf. Also I'll ask youto observe the fat. The most corpulent flat-tailed sheepin the Western Atlas has died the death to do honor to youto-day, Miss Chesterman."

"I'm sure it's awfully kind of your mother, and thecarpet really is lovely. But I don't see how—that is,should I—"

"You're not necessarily supposed to eat the couscousuyourself now on the spot. You may give that to some memberof your staff, and I should say Captain Kettle is indicatedin view of the officious care he has been taking of late ofyour excellency's person."

"Oh, don't chaff, please. I mean I want to know what oneought to do. I never expected getting presents, although,of course, one does in the East. I suppose I ought to sendsomething back."

"That is the general scheme," the saint admitted with adry smile, "and when your presents have arrived and beenapproved of at the other end, then the official calls arepaid."

"But please help me. George, you owl; don't giggle.Mr. Bergash, what can I possibly send? I've got nothing,absolutely nothing."

"Then it's certainly not for me to advise."

"Oh, you're as bad as George. Would a little amethystbrooch do for one thing?"

"If it's the one you were wearing last night, I shouldsay it is far too good."

"Well, that'll do for one present. And I've some lace.It's Honiton. I'm sure your mother would like that. And doyou think—no, never mind, I won't tell you what else.But I'm sure that'll be all right. And will these three mentake them back? What are they, by the way?"

"You might describe them as harem attendants. No, itwouldn't be etiquette to send your presents otherwise thanby your own messengers. The question is whom to pick. Theyare supposed to be attendants on your person. For one Ishould suggest Captain Kettle."

"He certainly can't leave his ship," said MissChesterman, hurriedly. "But I see your point, and," sheadded to the little sailor, "I'm sure you do, too, Captain.Would you pick me three really nice men?"

"Certainly, miss. The mate shall go himself, witha couple of the cleanest deck-hands as the other twocarriers. They shall travel in style. I'll lend them myown, gig and a crew of four."

And presently away went the gig, very smartly rowed,with a large new red ensign whipping about over herstern.

"In these sort of places," said Captain Kettle, "I likeno one to be under any doubt as to what I am."

"I should like to see that little mate of yours movinghis upper lip up and down," said Sir George, "when he handsover the presents. I hope he'll make the proper obeisancesafter the fashion of the—er—harem attendantswho came here. However, I daresay they'll bring off theevent without a hitch, as everybody seems determined to befriendly now. Much better this sort of method, Skipper,isn't it, than fighting the whole country-side?"

"I'll give you my opinion, sir, when we're away at seaagain, with the Norman Towers steaming in company. It'suseless to ask me, sir, to like Mr. Bergash. I can't do it.To my way of thinking he's a native, and he'll have all anative's faults tucked away somewhere, and the fact of hishaving been at Cambridge College makes him rather worsethan better. You're owner, sir, and you and Miss Chestermanhave a perfect right to behave to him as you please; butI can't forget that I'm master of this steamboat, and asthat it's my duty to look out for dirty weather ahead. I'vefelt very keenly the stiffness there's been between ussince Mr. Bergash came aboard, and if I've been driven toconsolation, I think you'll own I've got my excuse."

Sir George stared. What on earth was this queerheadedlittle sailorman driving at now? "Consolation," he knew wasusually translatable as "whisky." If it had been McTodd,the construe would have fitted in perfectly. But Kettle wasnot suspect; he was neither teetotaler nor drunkard; hiswas the easy sobriety that never exceeds. Finally, "I'm notgood at guessing riddles," Sir George said. "In what formis it you take your consolation?"

Captain Kettle reached an arm inside the chart-housedoor, and produced a chubby volume. "Unction for aStumbling Soul, sir, is the title. Some of the verses inthat book are the most splendid things that have everbeen put on paper. They make you see corn-fields, andsmell violets, and hay, and hear the cows coming home tobe milked. For a man that's never been in the country,reading them's like a peep through the outer lining intoheaven."

"Good lord! What a wonderful book! Poetry, is it? Youmust let me have a whack into it, Skipper, some day whenyou've a bit of time. Sorry to have ruffled you aboutBergash, but if you've found such a satisfactory antidote,you're not so badly off as I thought." The big man had akeen sense of humor, and as he ran his eye through thetawdry sentiment in the verses, he wanted to shriek aloud.But he had a tenderness for Kettle's feelings, and kept hisface wooden and expressionless. "A truly wonderful book!What a pity it's so little known."

"Real poetry, sir, needs a poet to appreciate it. Butthen you're a poet yourself."

"Oh, am I?"

"I knew it from, the first moment we met and withrespect, that's why I like you, sir, and why I made up mymind that you should have your salvage if I had to root uphalf Africa to get it. You see there are moments, and theyare mostly when things are going wrong with me, or I'm intight places, when I write poetry myself."

This truculent little martinet a poet! There was realstrain behind the woodenness of Sir George Chesterman'sexpression now. He tried to speak and could not. Emotion infact shook him like a palsy, though he fought against itvehemently, and if it had not been for a welcome diversionfrom the shore, it Is conceivable that Captain Kettle'sfinest feelings might have been irretrievably shocked.

As it was, Sir George was able to point to the beach,and laugh with an absolutely clear conscience. "By gad!Skipper, talk of fuss! Look there! You'd think from all theceremony that the queen of the East was coming to inspectthe navy of Tarshish. How about getting her majesty onboard here though? It won't do for any ordinary sons ofAdam to look at her, that's plain. And at the same time aguard of honor is what she'll obviously expect. The onlyway I can see out of it is to line up all your deck-handsin two rows, and make them hold their coat tails beforetheir eyes and let her march in state between them to thehead of the companionway."

The lady's start from the shore was sufficientlystriking. The cavalry of her escort mounted their horses,and setting them to the gallop, wove in and out of oneanother, and fired their long-barreled guns high into theair as fast as they could load them. Camel drivers withjellabs spread over their faces formed a double humanpalisade between the royal black tent and the beach, andthen and not before did the black eunuchs unpin the tentflap.

Three women came out profusely veiled and voluminouslyclad, and walked down somewhat clumsily on the hot loosesand to the beach. From his gestures those on the steamercould see that Mr. Trethewy was hospitably offering totake them off. But majesty preferred her own craft, thebig kherb, and very possibly considered that the smartgig was both cramped and dangerous. So off she was rowedin the ponderous lighter, she and her women and herblack attendants, and the cavalry escort on the beachbehind continued their fantasia, till the salt reek oftheir black powder blew across the lagoon, and drove offthe hawk-tailed African gulls that hovered round thesteamer.

Captain Kettle (with his soul soothed by poetry)had taken Sir George's mocking suggestion for a properreception, to the foot of the letter, and the Berber ladieswaddled across the decks between two rows of self-blindedall-nation deck-hands, who were kept stiffly in positionby a promise from their savage little skipper that hepersonally would cave in the head of any son-of-a-dog amongthem who dared so much as to peep till the ladies werecomfortably stowed away below.

The brown-bearded saint met them at the foot of theladder, and escorted them up the side and across the deck,and Miss Chesterman (by instruction) received them at thehead of the companionway, and Miss Dubbs closed the dooron the party of them as soon as the visitors had steppedacross the high threshold.

Once down below, obviously there would be the difficultywhich first arose round the tower of Babel. But the saintsaid it would be quite in order for him to be present asinterpreter. Even in the strictest Moslem circles and inBerber petty courts it is quite within the law for a motherto unveil before her eldest son.

****

It was Miss Dubbs who broke the confidence (if there wasany) and described the ladies' appearance and doings toCaptain Owen Kettle that evening in the quiet gloom of thestarboard alleyway....

"Not a bit black," said she in answer to a question. "Infact I should be browner myself if I'd been invited on deckoccasionally and not been obliged to spend all my time atsewing below. Oh, you needn't start to apologize, Captain.I know my place, thank you. Anemic, in fact, I should callthat taller one. But the astonishing thing was they wereall tattooed with blue lines across the top of their nosesand the middle of their foreheads. How any woman could havethat done, and on her face, too, beats me. And their fingernails were all colored red. I thought at first it must havebeen something they'd been washing, and the dye'd come off.But it was too regular for that, and they were all alike.It must have been some stain put on on purpose. I suppose,poor things, they imagine it becomes them, just like theblack stuff they'd got daubed under their eyes. You know:the same as actresses wear on the stage."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Dubbs," said her ex-admirerstiffly, "but as I believe I told you, I don't go to thetheater. I do draw the line somewhere."

"It's so long since we've been on friendly terms, thatI declare I've forgot your habits, Captain. However, thereyou are: eyes like actresses, and powdered cheeks; fingernails manicured as I've said, and lips got up till theywere red as a post-office letter-box. But Africans thoughthey were, rigged up like you hear, there was nothingcommon about them. It was the old lady that did thetalking, and she soon put your Miss Violet in her place,I can tell you. And what's more, I believe Mr. Bergashtoned down what she was saying a lot before he put it intoEnglish. Oh, you can be sure that old lady thinks she's aqueen, and she acts remarkably like as if she really wasone."

"You seem impressed."

"I am." A little shiver went through all Miss Dubbs'generous proportions. "I'm not sure I don't wish I was homeagain, and out of this."

"Well, you've nothing to keep you here."

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing and no one. I've seen thebit of travel that I came out for, and now I wish I wasback serving at a nice upper-class bar. That old woman mademe feel as if there was a goose walking over my grave. Idon't feel safe here, and that's a fact, and I've no one tolook after me."

"I'd do my best, if you'd let me."

"You! How many times have I heard you say that acaptain's duty is toward his owner first, last, and all thetime? You've Miss Violet to look after and I've no desireto trespass, thank you. Good evening, Captain. I must getbelow and tidy up my ladies' rooms."

CHAPTER XVII.
Miss Chesterman's Warning

CAPTAIN KETTLE, with the professional assistance of theWangaroo's cook, who was also butcher, was bargainingwith some coast Moors over five sheep.

The sheep, with their legs tied, lay in a boatalongside, Kettle stood at the foot of the accommodationladder, and the cook was in the boat that sawed up and downat the foot of it.

The cook ran an expert hand over the animals' loins."All very thin, sir, except this old ram, and I should sayhe'll be too tough for the cabin to eat."

"Do for the fo'c's'le?"

"Oh, he'd come sweet enough for them forrard." The cookturned angrily to one of the Moors. "Give over pawing me,you heathen. I can see that's the after end of the beastas well as you can.—They've got flat tails, sir,like beavers, and by the feel of them the tails are justbladders of tallow."

The Moor evidently caught his meaning, and noddedvehemently both to the cook, and upward to CaptainKettle.

"That's all right, old son," said the cook. "We eat thesheep's smile, and when I'm let I can dish that up veryappetizing, having a Scotch aunt by marriage. But we've gotno use for his nasty fat waggle." He made vigorous signs ofcutting off the tails and throwing them into the sea.

The Moorish farmer was a picture of amazement andexpostulation. He lifted wide his arms to the sprucelittle Captain Kettle, and poured forth a torrent of coastArabic.

"You're wasting all those athletics," said the mariner."Cookie's telling the truth for once—they're allliable to have these accidents. No bono, I tell you.Tailo no bono. Tailo inake-a couscousu, si. Blackmanchop, couscousu. White-man conspuez."

Captain Kettle's Arabic at that period of his career waselementary, but his accompanying gestures were vivid enoughto supply all needful translation.

"Now, there are five sheep, si? Good, you savvy that.Well, if I take all the flock, savvy? All the five, si?I'll give you, savvy, this gold coin, which is a Britishhalf-sovereign. Now, don't all you hayseeds get excitedand talk at once. Let the agriculturist with the shavedtop-edge of his mustache do the oratory. You. Yes, you. ByJames, do you heathen hear me? Let that man talk, and youothers learn to keep quiet, or I'll step down into thatboat and teach you how. Come, squire, ten shillings for theflock, or else row away to the next market town. I'm notgoing to stand here at the front door-step haggling all daylong for a joint or two of fresh meat."

The man stopped, and with frantic gesture pointed to theflat tails of the sheep, explaining how wide, how fat, andhow truly succulent they were, and signified that the fivewere worth five gold coins at the very lowest figure.

"The tails if you choose," said Captain Kettle,contemptuously, "you may cut off and take home with youif you like. We're not pagans on this packet to have anyhankering after animated tallow candles for our dinner. Andtake your ugly black paws off my trousers, you."

Captain Kettle's neat pipe-clayed shoe was uplifted,and caught the man who was fingering him accurately on theshoulder, and sent him rolling over into the bottom of theboat.

It is curious how some things strike the Moor. Innineteen cases out of twenty there would have been a roarof laughter from the others, who would have found theaction a rough jest which exactly jumped with their ownboorish taste. But here was the twentieth case.

With the quickness of light one of the man's fellowsdrew a curved dagger from the brass sheath that hung by itsred cord from his neck, and flew like a wildcat for thelittle sailor's throat. And with nineteen men out of twentythe sudden blow would have got home.

Captain Kettle was the exception. His apprenticeship tothe seas had been thorough, and he was always noted forhis quickness. He caught the man's wrist as it descended,ducked beneath it, and hove down.

The fellow's elbow cracked noisily, the knife fell intothe water, and the victim shrieked.

"You might want that knife some day," said CaptainKettle, and sent him after it, broken arm and all.

But the other six Moors in the boat, as though it wasa signal, pulled weapons and rushed in for vengeance, andone of them beat down the cook with his dagger hilt inpassing.

Kettle took the attack lightly enough. He ran up theladder half a dozen steps backward, lugged a revolver fromhis pocket, and pointed it with steady aim at the firstman's stomach. He rushed—and was dropped, shot neatlythrough the shoulder. Two more followed, and were shotdown, and the other three retired hurriedly to their boatand picked up the oars.

"No, you don't," said Kettle, and threatened them withhis weapon. "Into the water you get and swim if you can, ordrown if you choose, or be eaten by sharks if they'll haveyou. And if you've killed my cook, who at least can makecurry, I'll plug the three of you."

He forced them furiously over the gunwale of the boat atthe muzzle of his smoking revolver, and then stooped andmade swift examination of his man.

"Ah, luckily for you cookie's not dead, and I thinkhe'll be round again directly. On deck there, Mr. Forster.Send down a couple of hands and get these sheep run up ondeck. They are confiscated as lawful fine and costs forattempted assault and battery."

An anxious face peered over the rail above.

"My God, Skipper," said Sir George, "what's all thisshooting?"

"Nothing, sir, to be worried about. I was just tryingthis gun of mine to see how high up it threw when it fired.I've come to the conclusion that it takes a deal morepractice than I've been able to put in at present to makea really neat revolver shot. I wonder if your Mr. Bergashcould tell me whether the parties I dotted, and who I seeare all managing to swim ashore, are some of his fellowBerbers, or whether he'd prefer to call them Moors."

Captain Kettle ran nimbly up the ladder, and in thegangway came on his owner wiping perspiration from a highforehead with a tremulous handkerchief.

"The treacherous devils," said Sir George. "But I neversaw a neater fight."

"Thank you, sir," said Captain Kettle touching his cap."But in view of what's happened I want to press upon youmy idea that it would be as well if we get across to theold Towers, and took possession of her without furtherpalaver. I daresay Mr. Bergash may mean well; as you sayso, I won't dispute it; but if we are in for a fight overat the other side of the lagoon there, I'd like to get itover before they have time to get ready any more surprisepackets for us."

"Ye-es," Sir George agreed. "Just let's go into thechart house a minute."

When they were there out of earshot of the crew and thedoor shut,—"You know," said the older man, "what wecarry as cargo?"

"I suppose you mean those Winchester repeaters and casesof ammunition?"

"Yes. Well, I've sold the lot. The rifles ran me tofour-pound-ten a piece, and I'm getting ten ounces of goldfor every one, which is somewhere in the neighborhood ofthirty-eight pounds per gun. The cartridges are to be paidfor at the rate of two ounces a hundred, and they cost mefifteen shillings."

Captain Kettle took a pad and made rapid calculation."That's a bit over fifteen thousand pounds. I give youmy best congratulations, sir. That brings you out with abig profit on the venture already. And now I want, if youplease, as captain, to give you a mouthful of advice. Whenwe get that money on board, I want you to let me steam backto Grand Canary and bank it. At the same time I can leaveyou and the ladies ashore and come back here and finish thejob."

"You still think you'd be able to get the NormanTowers out even if the people ashore who objected werereinforced by two hundred up-to-date Winchester rifles?"

"Oh, I don't deny that it will make things a bittougher, sir. But I've said I can do it, and that seems tome the end of the matter. At the same time, I don't mindowning to you that with the ladies off the ship, and safeelsewhere, I shall lose my present nervousness."

Sir George chuckled. "You've only heard half the deal,and when I tell you the rest I believe that even you willbe convinced that Bergash intends to play fair. It's he, ofcourse, who is buying the cargo. He is going to pay now, assoon as he can send for the gold—which apparently hekeeps in his wine-cellar, or is it butter-cooler?—andbring it on board here within a couple of days. But byhis own suggestion he doesn't take delivery of the riflesand ammunition till we've got the Norman Towers out ofthe lagoon, and are ready to sail with her in consortourselves. Now, then, my good Skipper, play on that."

Captain Kettle thought a while, and then sighed. "Itseems simple. But, by James, to me it looks too simple tobe wholesome. There's no denying that the market price ofWinchesters up-country in Morocco is a lot more than it isin London or Connecticut, but Mr. Bergash is a man with anEnglish upbringing, and he knows how to git stuff out hereif he wants it. Paying seven to eight times their value forYankee rifles is out of all reason. Why, he could get eventhose shiftless Grand Canary fishing schooners to run themacross here for half that."

"I didn't haggle," said Sir George rather stiffly, "nordid Mr. Bergash. He heard what we'd got, and he just madethe offer in round figures as I've told you. I took it.Perhaps it may throw a little light on the matter if Ipoint out to you that gold has relatively little value upthere in the Atlas. They can't eat it, and they don't wearit, and I gather that they can get it by washing out thesands in the local becks with comparatively little labor.As regards a guarantee of good faith, I don't see how hecould offer a more conclusive one than proposing to leavethe guns in our possession till all chance of using themagainst us would be over."

"Well, sir, you are owner, and it is for me to carry outyour orders. If it doesn't interfere with arrangements,I may tell you that when the moon goes down and all isnice and quiet and dark, I mean to take my gig and slipacross the lagoon to where the Towers is lying, and findout for myself how things exactly are at the moment. Theglass shows she hasn't an anchor down, and I've had heragainst careful shore bearings, and she hasn't budged afoot since we came in here with the Wangaroo. Now she wasranging about a bit when we came to reconnoiter in thatsurf-boat."

"Probably she's on the ground. Floated there at highwater and stays tight and quiet."

"I'd be easier if she did. I reckon the tide lifts somefour feet six, or five feet inside here, and if she'dgrounded on the top of high water, she'd show two to fourfeet more side at the bottom of the ebb, according to howsoft the bottom was. She doesn't do that. I put the bigtelescope on her. Poor old Captain Farnish loaded her downwith that copper ore to within half an inch of her mark,and she floats at that without so much as a hand's-breadthof change. No, Sir George, she's got water under her, andshe's not anchored. The tides, both ebb and flood, runround that bight where she is at a good six knots, andstill she doesn't move."

"Then she must be tied up in some other way."

"I've thought of a breast-fast, sir, and I went to theforemast head, and stood on the eyes of the rigging, andsteadied the glasses on the truck so that I could see rightdown on to her decks."

"Well?"

"Her decks were full of litter and muck, but there wereno breast-fasts."

"I'm afraid," said Sir George impatiently, "that allthis tedious technical detail is a bit beyond me. TheNorman Towers is there, and you say afloat, and that'sall that really interests me. We'll pull her out when weare ready. In the meanwhile I can tell you I am prettythoroughly satisfied with my bargain about the guns, andthe main thing I am concerned in now is to keep Bergash ina good humor. I'm off below for a cup of tea. Come as soonas you're ready."

Sir George got up and left the chart-house. On the deckoutside inquisitive eyes stared at him but he spoke to noone. He was distinctly ruffled, and hoped to find a morecongenial atmosphere below. In the companionway he met hissister. She was whitefaced and trembling. He took her armin a large firm hand and looked at her curiously.

"Is he hurt?" she asked. "Oh, George, how dreadful! I'veonly just heard."

"Is who hurt?"

"Captain Kettle."

"He is not. I thought perhaps you were inquiring aboutone of your dark friends."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"Well several of them are hurt, I gather, pretty badly.Your little captain must needs pick a quarrel with somelocal boatmen as to whether he should pay ten shillingsor a pound for some sheep, and then, when they naturallyobjected, he proceeded to shoot down about six of them."

"Presumably he was risking his life, and I supposethat's what it amounts to, in your interests?"

"If you call cheese-paring over ten shillings at therisk of upsetting a deal for fifteen thousand poundshelping my interests, I suppose he was."

She stood staring with round eyes over his shoulder.

"You think only of your money. And you know he mighthave been killed—killed! Oh, if he had been!"

Sir George tightened his grip and shook his sister's armgently.

"I say, you know, Violet, you must pull yourselftogether. I'm quite aware it's only to me, but you'rerather giving the show away."

"And do you think I mind? He knows. There's truly nosecret about my caring for him. Emily knows, for thatmatter."

"Emily? Oh, you mean the stewardess. I gather she wasengaged to him at once."

"I believe she was. It's broken off now. I don't knowwhy, and didn't inquire; I was grateful enough for thebare fact. I want him myself, George, and I mean to havehim."

"But I say, old lady, that'll hardly do, you know.Of course, I twigged you were putting in a pretty hardflirtation with the little man, but then, of course,that's only your way. You always did flirt with everythingin trousers that came along ever since you were asix-year-old. Still there are limits to everything, anddash it all, when it comes to cutting out your own maidwith her young man, well I call it bad form."

"I'll admit what you please, including the flirting. Itbegan with that I suppose. But it's got past that now. I'mhit. I've never felt this way about any man before, andit's the real thing come at last, George."

"You mean you're really in love with the chap?"

"That's the usual phrase."

"But you can't marry him. He's an awfully decent littlefellow in his way, I know, but, dash it all, Violet, dolook facts in the face. He isn't our clip. If you want ahusband, you absolutely must get one out of your own class.If you've really made up your mind to marry, why don't youwhistle up Ingleborough again? He's a very decent sort ofchap, and I know he'd have you like a bird. If you marriedthis Kettle, you know perfectly well everybody would cutyou."

She plucked away her arm, and faced him defiantly. "Anddo you imagine I'd care? D'you think I'm not heartily sickof the whole crew of them? Any way, you of all people havea precious small right to give advice on such a subject.You did yourself what you're advising me to do. You marrieda woman in your own class, and a bonny mess you made of it.You stuck one another just six months if I recollect mydates aright—"

"A year, your spitfire—"

"Call it that if you like, and for the last three youhaven't spent ten nights under the same roof, and onlythose by the accident of being asked to the same houseparty. You married according to rule, and I, with your fineexample before me, am going to marry to please myself. Thatis, if he'll have me."

"Oh, dash it all, there can be no question about the mansnapping you up, if you're fool enough to chuck yourselfaway on him."

She laughed rather bitterly. "And you've been boxed upin this wretched little steamer with him all these weeks,and know him no better than that? My dear boy, I'd be thehappiest woman in the northern hemisphere if I thought Owenwould take me this minute, even if I had to go and ask himmyself. But, as it is, I know he's got nothing but civilwords for me—at present—and I believe I'm themost miserable woman now on earth in consequence. It willtake something desperate to wake him up to the fact that hecan really love me, and I'm getting my scheme in order."

"What mischief are you up to now?"

"You'll find out when I begin to make use of you. Oh,you needn't scowl at me like a cheap actor. You are all thebrother I've got, and you've made a mess of it yourself,and you're past help, or I would give it to you if I could.I am all the sister you have, and I've never asked you foranything big, and now that I've made up my mind what's theone thing in all my life I want and shall ever want, I'msimply going to make you help get it for me."

"My dear old girl, I'd be very glad to do anything Icould for you in reason. But I tell you it's absolutelypreposterous of you to think of marrying my skipper, andfrankly, you must look upon me as the opposition."

"All right, George. That's a fair and sportsmanlikewarning. Sorry if I rather slopped over just now. But if Iwant you, don't kick if you find yourself being used. Anddon't abuse me later on if you find I've run you in for ascheme that's a bit dangerous, when an easier one wouldhave done if you'd offered to help in it decently. There,you may run away up on deck, and have your tea up thereby yourself. Sorry I can't invite you down while I havemine with the saint and her majesty. I did suggest it, butthe old lady's a great stickler for Moslem etiquette, andit wouldn't do at all for you to come inside our sacredinclosure."

CHAPTER XVIII.
A Mystery Is Solved

THE night overhead and around was covered in with ablack velvety darkness, unflecked by gleam of moon orglimmer of star; but the top of every wavelet of the lagoonwas tipped with pale phosphorescent light, and every oarstroke stirred up a boil of pallid flame.

Mr. McTodd lighted his pipe and hospitably offereda cake of black tobacco and an open clasp knife to hissuperior officer. "Cut yourself a fill," he suggested."We're illuminated like a shop window in SauciehallStreet, and tobacco glow will be lost in the generalmagnificence."

"I thank you," said Captain Kettle civilly; "but I'vehad to drop my pipe for professional reasons. But you'requite right about the light. The lagoon's flaring round uslike a village fair, and if any one's awake on this sideof Africa, and looking out, we're here to be seen. So I'lljust follow your example, and set fire to a cigar."

"I wish I'd a boiler-plate overcoat like my ancestor,the Crusader, used to wear. The Moors'll be snipingat us presently, when we draw within range of theirgas-pipes."

"Moors or Berbers. That head-man we've got on board, whosays he's been to an English college, wants me to believethat the majority of the tribes round here are Berbers,and they're as harmless as the teachers in a QuakerSunday-school. The only bad men in this section are Moors,according to Bergash."

"Ye needna' explain further. It's always been clearsince the creature first stepped up over the side thatye didna like him. Miss Dubbs and I rather fancy himoursel's."

Captain Kettle had a violent comment on the tip of histongue, but with an effort bit it short and pulled hard athis cigar.

"Vara humorous," said McTodd with a chuckle.

"What's that?" snapped his superior.

"I was just snigg*ring at ma' thoughts an' the beauty ofthe night."

"And at what else?"

"Man, I'm no' the pairson to abuse the confidence of aleddy. As a man of the nicest vairtue yoursel', ye couldnaexpect it of me. Now could you?"

Captain Kettle tugged at his cigar, and stared at thelighted boat compass, and then stared out at the night.

"Weel, man, I'm fair surprised at you."

"On account of what?"

"To lairn that you've a wish—though you'll no'express in worrds—that I should repeat to you whatthe lassie said."

"You'll find yourself over in the ditch among the fishesif you don't change your tune."

"If I'd been a financier," chuckled the Scot, "I darehave bet saxpance ye'd have threatened violence likethat, or pairpetrated it. Man, Kettle, bend your lug sothe hands cannae hear. Ye may pluck up your courage. Theleddy's conversation is the damnedest dull talk I everhad poured into ma' confidence. It's all about yourself,and—gosh! man—to starboard and over thequarter. What's yon?"

It was a bonfire, that suddenly lighted and spouted upinto the sky, and was as suddenly eclipsed by the blacknessof the night.

"A flare," said Kettle, "and as they haven't mineraloil down here that I know of, I should say it was somebodyfiring two handfuls of gunpowder. Well, it means that onenigg*r, at any rate, is awake and thinking of us, andthat's better than being dead and forgotten. Eyes in theboat, men, and attend to your rowing. Mr. McTodd and I arequite capable of looking after our own personal conveniencewithout your unskilled assistance. And, by James! there'san answering flare away up on the mountain."

"Gosh! it looks as if they're rousing the clans to do ushonor. Aweel, I've no immediate use for your rifles. Hardwork with those rattle-traps of engines has left my handno' over steady. But I've brought along a three-quarterinch spanner, and if you'll bring the boat up to closequarters, I'll show you how it is used by an expert. Haveye matches? This talking's put my pipe out."

The gig crawled on steadily through the night, stirringlambent flames; and twice more did flares of gunpowderamong the foot-hills of the Atlas call notice to the factthat Africa was awake. Captain Kettle steered by compassalone, and (as the current was running strongly) had tomake a cast back before he found the Norman Towers; andeven then, so black was the night that the noise of hisoars scraping along her plates was the first advertisem*nthe had of her nearness.

"Row steady men," he ordered, and coasted down herlength, and then swung the boat under her counter, andbrought up against the ladder which hung down her fartherside. The heavy teak ladder had rungs broken, and the davitto which it hung was bent outboard.

"You will stay here," he ordered, "ready to push offwhen I come back;" and with that he stepped out on thegrating and ran lightly up the steps, and disappeared intothe black silence of the night.

Presently his voice called down in a ghostly whisperfrom the rail above: "Mr. McTodd, tell the men to passthe boat slowly round to the starboard side. Mind,they're to work her along inch by inch, so as not to stirthe phosphorescence, and I will drop them a rope's endoverboard to ride to, just level with the break of thebridge deck. D'ye hear me?'

"Aye, aye."

"And do you come up on top here yourself, and bring thatspanner you're so proud of."

Mr. McTodd's gait was ungainly, but his oil-soakedslippers made no sound. Also, being a shipman, he knewwhich way to turn and what to avoid.

"Weel," he said when he joined his commander, "it'sa fine night, and I forget when I enjoyed an evening'sprospects more thoroughly. But when's the entertainment tocommence?"

"Hold your tongue, Mac, and listen. Listen hard."

Mr. McTodd removed his pipe, opened his mouth, andco*cked an attentive ear.

"Well, what do you make out?"

"I hear a small slap-slapping of wavelets upon the oldgirl's skin, and a bit of a sough of the wind, and you'rebreathing although I reckon you're trying to keep it quiet;and I think there's a yap of a dog—though maybe it'sa jackal—somewhere among those mountains in the fardistance."

"But where are the Moors who should be waiting aroundthe corner to jump out and cut our throats?"

"I can only hear what I telled ye."

"I can make out no more myself. If there were men herein quantity we ought to hear them breathing, or rustling,or coughing. Mac, I believe they've played a game on us. Wecame here (both of us, I suppose) ready for battle, murder,and sudden death, and it's my idea the ship's deserted."

"But we'll go-look-see before I O. K. that," said thecautious Scot.

"And we'll go together, and stand by ready for trouble.But it's my idea we shall find none."

"Aye," said McTodd, reading his thoughts, "it'll lookugly if they've left her. Weel, we may as well begin wherethere'll be the worst smell, and that's forrard."

Section by section they searched the Norman Towers.They went through both firemen's and seamen's forecastle,and found no living soul. Hatches were off, and they peeredinto the gloom of holds, and into the gassy corners ofbunkers. They clattered down the rusted engine-room ladder,and hunted through shaft-tunnel, pump alley, boiler room,and more bunkers.

McTodd climbed aloft and investigated dusty cornersbehind the donkey boiler. They went through mess room,galley, pantries, state-rooms; they hunted through moreholds. They searched the chart house, and (as a lastafterthought) the paint store. And nowhere did they find asingle Moor or Berber alive or dead.

"This is a beggar," said Mr. McTodd.

"One can understand that they would go over every bit ofher e'en more carefully than we have done, and loot rightand left. But the astonishing thing to me is: first, theamount of dirt they have brought on board; and second, whythey should have left it practically all in one track. Thedecks below were comparatively clean, and they don't seemto have been paddling about particularly in the cabins, forinstance, or the engine-room. But from the port gangwayover yonder there are two lines of mud and stone splintersgoing forward and aft, and then going thwartships as soonas there's a chance, and then promenading all the length ofthe port side."

McTodd scraped a match, stooped down, and stirred thedeposit with his finger. "There's too much here for themto have brought aboard stuck between their toes or smearedon their sandals. There's enough depth of mud on thesedecks, Skipper, to grow oats, and it looks good, dark,chocolate-colored, fertile soil, too, if one raked out someof the splinters of stone."

"That rock they were quarrying from, and which we can'tsee in this darkness, is chocolate-colored, too. Can yousee the loom of the shore-line, Mac? How far do you make itaway from the ship's side?"

"I should say a kherb's length."

"That's exactly my idea. The shore here is steep-to, andshe lies in deep water close to it."

"She's as still as if she was docked."

"She is in a dock, I do believe. I've an idea they'velifted that stone, lump by lump, upon their shoulders,carried it down the beach, towed in a big kherb to actas floating gangway, carried it along that and up theside—and that's how that big teak ladder got broken,by a rock falling on it. Then they've shouldered it overthe decks here, dropping bits by the way; and then they'vepitched it over the port side into the lagoon. There werehundreds of them, and there were thousands upon thousandsof tons of the stone. They were quarrying it during all thedays, and under cover of the night they were tipping itover the Towers' port rail, and building up a dock wallof rubble from the lagoon floor to pen her in. By James,Mac, I was boasting to Sir George not many hours back thatI would pull the old boat out of here in spite of all theBerbers in Africa, and I've never yet broken my word. Manand boy, I've done a good many things to be ashamed of, buttelling lies is not one of them, and it looks as if hereI've made a commencement."

"Man, I'm vara afraid you're right. What's that you'redoing?"

"Stripping, I'm going overboard to make sure."

"Hold you," said the Scot. "I'm the better diver of thetwo, as we've proved already, and those ducks ashore arestill signaling to one another with gunpowder flares in thelocal Morse code. If there's trouble, the hands in the boatwill take advice better from you than me."

Owen Kettle, master of the S.S. Wangaroo, was the lastman on earth to take what practically amounted to an orderfrom one of his own underlings, and I merely record thisone instance in which he let Mr. McTodd have his own way toshow how badly he was hit by the dismaying discovery he hadjust made.

He had boasted—yes, it amounted to that, bragged(as he told himself bitterly) that he could do a certainthing; and behold it had become impossible. He had beenconfident in the skill and strength of his own right arm,in the breadth of his resourcefulness, in the force of hisown brazen courage, and behold a set of cunning savageshad made the feat he had promised to perform a physicalimpossibility.

Savages? Yes, but from the very start he had always heldto a suspicion that there was a white man at the back ofthis active hive, directing them. White man? Why not thatdog of an infidel, Sidi Mahommed Bergash?

Captain Kettle had come to believe in his own instincts,and openly and frankly he had mistrusted this Moor orBerber, or whatever he was, with the English education,ever since he had seen him for the first time ride up alongthe beach, and sit on a horse that straddled out its legsas though it were standing to be photographed in a showring.

He slid down a rope into the boat and waited for Mr.McTodd. That expert reappeared on the surface from timeto time, took in air supplies, kicked up his heels, anddisappeared to make further explorations.

Finally he swam with a vigorous side-stroke back tothe boat, jerked himself up to her stern, and steppedinboard.

"Ye may get back home. Captain," said he, reachingfor his clothes, "as fast as ye like. The survey of thesea floor's clearly mapped in my head. And I may say thecontours are—well, are as ye surmised—orworrse. Gosh, and they say in the school-books that I wasbrought up on in Ballindrochater that it's to ants we'reto look up as the most industrious animals on the face ofthe globe. Well, after to-night's experience, I shall justhave to write a postscript. It's prodigious the work thesepagans must have put in. How's the tide?"

"An hour past flood."

"Weel, there's a bank of stone rubble down there wideenough to carry a railroad. It's a matter of twelve feetdown below the water surface now, and I should say is justnicely covered at the bottom of the ebb. But it runs upto the rock ahead, and to the shoal water astern, and Iguess friend Bergash and his clansmen have got the NormanTowers fixed here as firmly as if they'd got her bolteddown into the bed-plate of Africa and lock-nutted throughto China below."

CHAPTER XIX.
Violet Forces The Pace

NERVOUSNESS in Mr. Trethewy, the mate of the Wangaroo,found outward expression in his upper lip and nose. Alwayswhen spoken to he answered with a twitch of these organs,and even when stared at, his nose, which was of a fineRoman mold, would respond, in spite of all its wearer'smost strenuous efforts to appear unconcerned. He was fullyaware of his failing and utterly impotent to cure it; andif ever a man carried a daily cross in the sight of allmen, Trethewy wore his in the middle of his face.

It was this officer, then, who met his fellow officersof the reconnoitering party at the Wangaroo's gangway,and for a while he was so violently contorted by hiscomplaint that speech was altogether beyond him.

There were moments when Captain Kettle, who had smallenough patience with this sort of thing, deliberatelybarked at the man until he straightened his lip andspoke. But on this particular occasion he saw there wasnews and dreaded what it might be. He let his mate downas lightly as he knew how. He took the cigar from hislips, said quietly, "Yes, Mr. Trethewy," and waited. Witha supreme effort, he did not even stare at the man, butswung his eyes to the lagoon, which was now flecked withphosphorescence where the tiny breakers were whipped up bythe land breeze, and waited.

"They're gone," said the mate, when at length he hadthawed out sufficiently to speak.

"Who have gone?"

The junior officer was stricken with another spasm worsethan the first, and Captain Kettle noted that practicallythe whole of both watches were stowed away in the shadowson deck, keenly listening. "Now then, Mr. Trethewy, get on,man, get on. Who have gone?"

"The caboodle of them," the mate blurted. "O-O-Owner,sister, and decorative maid. If only you wouldn't bustlea man so, sir, I could tell you all right. That dark chapwith the white-man frills has gone with them. Saint, Ithink you call him; but as nobody's introduced me to him,I can't ping-ping-ping-ping say. I'm not the sort ofofficer who sucks information about passengers' guests outof the steward. I tried to stop 'em, and couldn't; andif you think my conduct's unsatisfactory, sir, you maysign me off at the next port we touch at, and I'll notcom-ping-ping-plain."

"But, Great James, man, where have they gone?"

"On a cir-circular tour round Africa, for anythingI know. I did ask miss. I-I-I said I hoped it wouldn'train, and they'd find the roads good, and where were theygoing? But she ping-ping wouldn't hear me. Then I askedSir George, and he told me straight enough to mind myown—ping—bally business. As for that stuck-upmaid—"

"If you don't take care of your language," said Kettlefuriously, "I'll fling you overboard, you blooming lumpof incompetence! I leave you in charge of a steamboat atanchor for a matter of three hours, and as soon as my backis turned you capsize every arrangement I have made."

This was obviously unfair, and the mate, who was inreality a young man of spirit, had every intention ofentering a vigorous protest; but his infirmity descendedon him with renewed vigor, and left him doubly tongue-tiedand defenseless under his superior officer's tornado ofwords.

"Go to your room, sir!" Kettle finished up furiously."Where's Mr. Forster?"

"Second mate's turned in, sir," a voice from thedarkness volunteered, and without further words CaptainKettle walked off briskly below to the officers' quartersunder the break of the poop.

The fat old second mate was either fast asleep, or wasshamming to be in that condition. Kettle, however, shookhim without qualms. "Wake," he snapped. And when the secondmate, who was a stupid man, and prided himself on hisstupidity, opened one eye only, and that with extreme care,Captain Kettle took two hands to him, and shook with suchfine vigor that there could be no doubt about sleep fleeingbefore such an onslaught.

"Now then, hear me..Were you on deck when these peoplewent away?"

"Yes."

"And made no effort to stop them?"

"No."

"Do you know where they've gone?"

"No."

"Did you hear them say anything about their plans?"

"No."

"Did you see which direction they took when they gotashore?"

"No. If that's all the information you want, this is mywatch below, and I wish to sleep."

"Oh, do you?" said Captain Kettle. "Well, if you want meto put hands on you again, you'd better try and do it. I'vejust sent the mate to his room. So you're mate, and you'dbetter go on deck and stand your watch."

"I thank you for the promotion, but do not want it. Idislike responsibility. I hold a master's ticket, as youknow, and I tried using it once for six months, but neverno more. It's second mate for me to the end of my daysat sea, and I'm not going to be hustled into anythingbigger."

"If you don't go on deck," the little sailor snarled athim, "I'll kick you there. And if you don't do duty whenyou are on deck, I'll disrate you, and send you below totrim coals, and promote one of the ash cats to be mate inyour place. Now, will you budge?"

"I suppose I have to, if you put it that way. ButI—" mumble, mumble, mumble.

He hoisted his fat hairy legs over the edge of thebunk and dropped on deck; slowly he found slippers, anulster and a uniform cap, and went out of his room stillgrumbling. Captain Kettle, with twitching fingers, followedat his heels.

"You will set an anchor watch of six hands, and havethem report to you every half-bell."

"Aye."

"Let the rest of the hands turn in. I shall want themearly."

"Aye, aye."

"Take accurate bearings of any lights you may seeashore. Is your log written up?"

"Not up to date. There might be—"

"Bring it to me after breakfast to-morrow, filled up tobreakfast time. And Mr. Forster?"

"Aye?"

"If I hear of or see any shore flare that you don'treport accurately, I'll send you to your room, and see thatyour ticket's indorsed for incompetency. That'll do."

"Appear to be enjoying yourself," said McTodd, when avery worried Kettle let himself into the chart house.

"You see the hopeless material I have to work on.

"It's only the fools that come to sea," said the Scotsententiously. "You and me are the exceptions. There wasa letter in my room put in the tumbler rack with a whiskybottle as paper weight. I wonder why?"

"To insure its being seen. How was it addressed?"

"To you. It's there, under the parallel rulers on thechart table. And I've brought you a tot of the whisky."

Captain Kettle tore and read:

### LETTER

My Dear Skipper:

There's a devil of a mess. My sister, who you'll knowby this time, is quite unaccountable to anybody for hermovements, took it into her head as soon as you had leftthe ship to go ashore with old Mrs. Bergash and herretinue. They've got the stewardess with them. I did notknow what had happened till I, by accident, came on deckand saw them riding off on camels up over the sand-dunesat the back of the beach, and presumably making for themountains. They'd got the bodyguard in attendance, and thecamp followers were striking camp for all they were worth.The saint saw what had happened the same time I did, andto give him his due, seemed considerably rattled. It was,according to him, kismet, and all the rest of it; but heobviously didn't like the look of things one little bit. Hesaid I must remember that the customs and appliances in hisfortress were much the same as they had been in the daysof Ancient Rome, and my sister would find them abominablycrude and savage. The one thing to do (by his way ofthinking) is to head her off. So we're just starting forthe shore for that purpose. There are horses still at theirpickets. Rely on it we shall get back as soon as we can.

Yes, I guarantee they will. My James, what a mess! Iknew there was something hanging over us, and that's whatit is.

"There's another word or two of the letter."

"Oh, yes. He says:

"I hope you found all well on the Norman Towers. Ifthere's any hitch, I'm sure you will find the saint is onlytoo anxious to assist. So please treat him with decentcivility when next you meet. "Yours,

"G. C. H. C. Chesterman."

"I shall treat that wrongly-educated African exactly ashe deserves when I catch him. Mac?"

"I'm listening."

"I'm going ashore—now. I shall take a rifle and abag of biscuit, and a bottle of Horner's Perfect Cure, andfollow on the trail of that caravan, and see what happens.If I am wanted, I shall be there. If the unlikely happens,and all goes well, I'll be free to let any one who feelsinclined that way, kick me—if he can. I leave you incharge here, not because you're certificated, not becauseyou're competent, but because you're the best man out ofthe bad lot on board."

"Man, your compliments overwhelm me."

"As a favor I ask you to give the whisky a miss, andkeep your end up."

"Drunk or sober I can do that last with the crowdon board here. But being now in a position of vastresponsibility, I want all points made clear to me in caseI have to make a choice. If it's a case of losing you orlosing the owner, which do I take?"

"Help the owner, by James, every time, because he is theowner. And anyway, I can look after myself."

"Does that include his sister?"

"I guess they'll have to come level."

"And the other girrl? There could be no call to givespecial attention to a mere leddy's maid, especially whenthe skipper is sweet on the mistress."

"Mac," said Captain Kettle, quietly for him, "I've gotabout as much as I can carry. What that nocolor beast ofa saint may be up to I shiver to think of. But make nodoubt about my own sentiments toward the two ladies. MissChesterman is one of the owners and has my fullest respect.Miss Dubbs, if God is very good to me, I want some dayagain to make my sweetheart."

"Aye, being a pairson of penetration mysel', that'sbeen clear to me for some time. But I hae my doobts ifit's been as clear to the other parties concerned in thebusiness as principals. As to your going alone into thosemountains on their trail, it strikes me as the worst kindof foolishness, and the very thing that blackguard of asaint is probably looking out for; but I ken fine ye're toomule-heided to be turned from your plan, so I'll e'en sparema eloquence. I'll just pack my own side-arms and come withyou."

"Mr. McTodd," said Kettle stiffly, "I've admitted you tosome familiarities, and now you're inclined to encroach.Kindly note, I'm master on this packet. I leave you onboard here, as I say, in charge, and if you fail to keep asharp lookout night and day, the Moors will take her fromyou as sure as the Lord made little apples. I shall be awayfor the shore myself in ten minutes."

CHAPTER XX.
In The Atlas Foot-Hills.

THE shifts and strategies by which Captain Owen Kettlemade his way from the shore of the lagoon to the foot ofthe rock on which the castle of Sidi Mahommed Bergash isperched would, if they could be got hold of, make a book ofthemselves.

But, unfortunately, almost the whole of that pieceof history depends on the account given to me by Kettlehimself, and he has always more of an eye for results thanfor the details by which they were built up.

In speaking of the period he could not rise much higherthan, "Oh, yes, I had a pretty tough tramp of it," or"Those argan thorns play James with a uniform," or again,"Worst thing was, I had forgotten to take along a cake ofsoap, and couldn't wash my hands."

But, as I hinted, it has been possible to pick up bitsof the thread of his adventures here and there from othersources, and with these to construct a tolerably coherentwhole.

When once the boat had set him down on the beach,he worked his way resolutely along to the point wherethe caravan with the women had first debouched from thesand-hills, guided only by his sailor's eye for distanceand direction. The night was still black dark, but therib-band of phosphorescence which marked the edge of thelagoon gave him a clear outline of the shore.

By the time he got down to the point opposite the rustedNorman Towers where the track turned inland, a scaredmoon appeared overhead, dodging in and out of racingclouds. Dunes lay beyond the beach, some of bald yellowsand, some bristling with a dry coarse grass. From amongthem somewhere a wandering jackal complained (when the moonshone out) of pains in his insides and was answered by atribal sympathizer away up in the mountains beyond.

At the back of the dunes came a belt of marsh, smellingevilly of sulphur and stale sea salt, and flickered overby fireflies. Captain Kettle mired himself badly in this,and being always a spruce man in his personal appearance,cursed his luck with point and fluency. Not till he washalf-way through did doubts as to direction assail him. Themarsh had obviously been paddled over by countless footmen.Would it carry a camel? "Not unless they took along asteam-crane with them in case of breakdowns," he toldhimself.

So, with still more hard language, he went backwardover the trail, and on the edge of the marsh found (as hesuspected) that the horse-hoofs and the camel-pads hadswung off at right angles to the main trail, and that theroad that interested him bore away to the north and east.It was his first attempt at tracking, and though in afterlife he came to be almost as good at picking up "sign"as an Australian black, it must be remembered that I amwriting now of his apprentice days in the art of adventure,and can only depict him as the imperfect practitioner thathe then was.

It was round at the back of this salt marsh that he cameacross those argan-trees, about whose sharp bayonet-shapedspikes he spoke so feelingly, and here for a whilediscovery of the path was fairly simple. It twisted andit wound, often curving back almost on itself. It seemedto delight in going as much uphill and downhill as thecontours of the country would permit. It was narrow, andit was cluttered with boulders; and, as is the unvaryinghabit of the native African road, it had faults enoughto make the shade of the late John Macadam writhe if itever blew that way, and saw how the name of road could bedisgraced.

Once a sudden rustle, and a rattle as of sticks clearingfor action, put the little sailor on the hasty defense,and Winchester in hand, he rushed fiercely forward, on theold but erroneous principle that it is always safer toattack than to defend. A cloud sliding away from the moon,however, showed him that the path was held by nothing moreformidable than a big porcupine that he had disturbed atit* evening meal. The beast was a mass of angry bristlingquills, and in another step Captain Kettle would havestumbled on them and been badly pricked. But as it was, andthe creature showed no sign of budging, he gave it right ofway, and passed round it in a generous circuit.

Another time a sounder of wild pig crossed the path,and the boar in charge, a huge bristling tusker of thenarrow variety, a good four feet high at the withers,scented man, and had three-quarters of a mind to chargeand rip. The trifling detail that Kettle had him coveredwith a steady rifle barrel did not enter into his majesty'scalculations. He had not seen a rifle before; and even ifhe had known it intimately, that would not have made thesmallest difference to his piggish mind if he had felt inthe mood for a charge. But some matter of domestic interestflitted across his slow-moving brain, and with a grunt, anda whetting of his tushes on an argan trunk as he passed,he lumbered on into the bush after his wives and theirpiglings.

With the coming of morn, the birds began to awake.When the sun commenced to rise from beyond Africa, therein the higher flats of the atmosphere which were first tobe lighted, swam an eagle of the Atlas and a couple ofcarrion fowl, already on station; the partridge and quailbegan to scutter across the path in another hard day'ssearch for food; and when day was fairly alight, greatflocks of blue rock pigeons from the higher Atlas cragsflew swooping down, one flock after another, to drink insome unseen wady. A couple of aoudad—mouflon theycall them elsewhere—the primeval sheep, to be moresimple—surprised by the dawn, galloped past, makingfor the security of those high inaccessible crags whichhave kept them from man's extinguishing weapons downthrough so many countless centuries.

"The daily miracle of the dawn"—the line ranthrough Captain Kettle's head, and he struggled hard tofind rhymes to match it, and other lines to carry on whathe had seen. He was in as desperate a situation as a manwell could be; all the country, he knew full well, wasagainst him, and the custom was to cut a throat first, andto inquire into motives afterward; but somehow or other, atight place like this always seemed to make him quaintlyhappy, and to bring up within him that appetite for themaking of verse which grew so largely to be a habit withhim throughout all his stormy career.

He had walked all night; he was bone-weary; the dewchilled him, and by the thorns of the argans he had beencruelly torn; but his spirit was bright within him,and although through sheer exhaustion he was at lengthdriven to pull off the path, and rest under the shade ofa magnolia, it was only his limbs that found repose. Thescent of the pink waxen blossoms above him, the smell ofthe clean earth, the sounds, the colors, the noises of thebirds filled him with an ecstasy that with him had only onemode of expression. He drew from his pocket paper, an endof pencil, and the stanzas rolled out with curious ease.

It was wonderful poetry.

The two Moors stalked him while he was engaged in thisoccupation, and they neared him so successfully that theydid not consider him worth wasting a charge of powder andshot on. Powder is an expensive item on the southern flatsof the Atlas, and a gas-pipe gun only stands a limitednumber of discharges before it bursts, as is evidenced bythe fact that the pretty village in Norfolk, where thefragile flints are made, supplies only one per gun, asthere is never a demand for a second. The hooked dagger, onthe other hand, which is so effective for the upward jab,suffers no deterioration from a little honest work, andlasts the lifetime of two ordinary fighting men.

By way of doing the thing artistically, and not gettingin one another's way, the pair separated a dozen yards awayfrom their game, and worked out, one on either flank. Theword for "Go!" was "Allah!" and when one shouted it andjumped, the other jumped also from the other side.

But Captain Kettle had the activity of the sleepingdog approached by the sudden cart wheel. Even while theknives stabbed through the air, he sprang out backward fromwhere he was squatting and landed on heels and wrists.Practically the same instant he was erect on his feet, andspringing forward again with all his force. His fist shotout before him, and, with every ounce of his weight drivingit behind, impacted just below the corner of the right handMoor's mouth. The man's jaw broke in two places, and hedropped instantly as if he had been poleaxed.

Number two Moor again aimed a savage upward slash, whichwas near enough to slit the front of the sailor's coat;but the worst of that cut is, that though hard to parry,it leaves the performer at a disadvantage if the strokemisses. Kettle caught the brown wrist on its upward swing,and swirled it on upward and backward, and the victimscreamed as the arm jerked out of its socket and tore theligaments.

"And that's stopped your piano playing for a week ortwo," said Captain Kettle. "Now stand exactly still inyour tracks. By James, I wish I'd been able to get at agun quick enough and shot the pair of you. You'll be up tomischief if I leave you alone here for ten minutes. Well,you must be attended to further."

He hauled off the man's jellab, and tore from it half adozen strips which he knotted together.

"Hold your sound arm against that branch," he commanded."Up—up, you swine. Now keep it there."

He jumped into the magnolia tree, made fast the end ofthe line to the man's wrist, and drew him a fathom out fromthe trunk. The branch was a stout one and would not bendunder two men's weight, and Kettle lashed the Moor's wristto it with a seaman's skill, and then dropped lightly tothe ground.

"As you can't lift your other arm to cast that adrift,you'll have to stay there till called for. I expect you'llstand at some considerable personal in convenience, butthat'll give you time to ruminate over your bad taste intrying to assassinate an innocent tourist. And now, asyour fellow cutthroat mayn't have been put as soundly tosleep as appearances seem to indicate, I'll attend to himalso."

He dragged the other Moor to the foot of a bigCottonwood, thought for a minute, and then eased him ofhis jellab, dagger, powder-horn, and headgear. Then he sathim down face to the tree with his legs straddled roundthe roots, and making fast one end of a jellab rope toone wrist, hauled up the other to it as close as it woulddraw, and made fast again, so that the man sat nuzzlingand cuddling the tree and perfectly impotent to releasehimself.

"You also," Captain Kettle announced, "have my freepermission to meditate on the evilness of your deeds untilI return to interrupt the chain of thought. Now I wonderhow I am going to dress."

The ropes of twisted white woolen fabric which the lowerclass Moors (and their neighbors the Berbers)' wear woundin coils round the head are insecure even on themselves,and the present writer can testify it to be the mostexasperating wear for the ordinary white man. Either it istoo tight, in which case the skull, baked by a verticalsun, seems visibly to swell; or it is too loose, and itssnaky coils begin to slip adrift almost from the firstmoment of their readjustment.

Captain Kettle took off his coat and put on the jellab.The Moor does not wear trousers, or for that matterAmerican boots, but the jellab was long and coveredthese, and the little sailor decided that he would feellonely without them. Then came the turn for the elaboratehead-gear.

He examined with care that of the Moor who was tricedup to the branch of the magnolia, and proceeded to imitateits adjustment. Being a sailor, and therefore an expert inthe handling of ropes, he made a far better attempt at itthan might have been expected, but the end slipped beforehe had gone a mile on his way, and between slipping andreadjustment was a constant torment to him.

But it is characteristic of the man that throughout allthe stormy time that followed he stuck to it patiently tillhe mastered the trick. He refused to admit that an inferiorrace had skill which he could not acquire, and he refusedalso to appear abroad, even in the wilds of the Atlasfoot-hills, otherwise than immaculately neat.

There were pockets inside the jellab, and for a whilehe stored uniform jacket and cap in these. But as thedesperate nature of his errand was more and more borne inon him as he climbed the steep paths and got farther andfarther into the mountains, he recognized that he wouldneed every ounce of his wiry strength if he was to win outin his enterprise.

It was not doing his duty to his owners to handicaphimself even with the extra weight of a coat and cap ofBritish cut, and so with a sigh at parting with them, hestepped aside into the bush (when he came on marks that hecould remember) and hid them under a convenient slab oflimestone.

But it presently began to appear that Sidi MahommedBergash had not spent time on the Wangaroo withoutforming a pretty shrewd estimate of her captain'scapabilities. Captain Kettle walked briskly up to the topof a rise, looked down into the valley which lay between itand the next spur of the mountains and lo, scattered as faras the eye could reach each way were men in ones, in twos,and here and there in groups of five or six, guarding themarches.

The little sailor dropped neatly into cover and pulledvexedly at his red torpedo beard. His squat shadow satpromptly and compactly beneath him. The sun was highoverhead and the day was blazing hot, and on some suchbaking day as this fire had cleared the hillside below him.Even as he sat there and watched, a flaw of wind stirredup the charcoal dust and sent a small cloud of it whirlinground his roped head.

"It would take me an hour," he calculated, "to get downto that line of men, and in the meanwhile they'd see mebefore I'd stepped out a dozen yards from this ridge, andwould close up ready to say how-d'ye-do all together. Myholy James, but that saint means business. That's a wholearmy he's got spread out down there. It's going to take melonger to arrive at the beggar's door than I'd reckonedon. Well, one thing's certain—I can't go full steamahead till the sun's switched off again, and so I guessit'll be a sound thing to take a watch below while there'sa chance."

He turned at right angles under the shelter of theridge, and presently came across an overhanging flap oflimestone, with its front marked by bush, which gave bothan efficient cover from the sun, and a shield against theinspection of casual wayfarers, and under this he stretchedhimself luxuriously, wriggling his body down into theinequalities of the warm rock.

"I once heard a fellow say," he reminded himselfdrowsily, "that he could sleep upon everything except astone floor or concrete. Well, that man didn't know theluxury of being tired. And he didn't know, either thewisdom of storing up a good reserve stock of sleep whenyou get the chance.... I took darn good care not to leaveboot tracks on those rocks.... And if they don't hunt meout with smell-dogs, I'm safe.... Miss Dubbs, my dearest,this isn't idleness. It means that I'm at the end of mystring.... But don't you fret. I'll get you out.... and ofcourse, the owners, too... if I have to spoil half Africain the process."

****

For the benefit of any reader of this chronicle whodoes not know the upper slopes of the Atlas, it may herebe pointed out that the climate one finds up there is verydifferent from the hot baking airs of the coast fringe.

In the length of the Atlas which lies between theAtlantic shore and the Algerian border it is quite possiblethere may be glaciers and perpetual ice-fields. No whiteman has explored them—or, to be more precise, nowhite man who has gone into that upper country has everreturned to report his observations, and the Berber wholives in the neighborhood, and presumably knows, is areticent creature and will not tell. The present writer,who records only what he has seen, has felt the sun upthere drilling through his head-gear at midday, and has atthat time stood in the middle of his own small circularshadow. And yet on the same spot, and only twelve hourslater, the whole camp has been whitened by steadily fallingsnow, and the chill of it was paralyzing. As all the worldknows, there is nothing so bitter as snow in the tropics.The temperature, as temperatures go, may not be anythingremarkable, but in these things it is contrast thatnips.

Captain Kettle slept throughout the baking day the sleepof utter weariness, without dream, without stir. Insectshummed and pinged above him, and some of them browsed onhim undisturbed.

An investigating jackal got wind of him aboutsupper-time, and trotted a mile grinning at the thoughtof a meal. But he turned tail after a brief inspection,and left a bad smell behind him to mark his displeasure.The pioneers of an adjacent colony of ants, too, came andmarched over him; but discovering that he was still alive,retired with a resolve to call later on.

It was the chill that woke him.

He was stiff from head to foot, his bones ached, andhis skin prinkled, this being the ordinary way that frostaffects one in the tropics. But the sea life raises oneabove grumbling at trifles like these. He looked at hiswatch, frowned at the moon, shook himself warm, and setout. He had all his plan of campaign mapped out, and aftera brief reconnaissance, to make sure that the dispositionof the enemy remained unchanged, he commenced theaction.

He chose one of the larger pickets in the valley below,where the white-clothed men lay in starfish pattern,with their feet pointing toward a central camp fire, andshouldering the Winchester, commenced a steady bombardmentat the blaze. He fired no two bullets from the same spot,but after letting off one cartridge, ran swiftly for tenyards along the ridge before discharging the next. Afterthe first few shots he was indifferent about inaccurateaim. The Berbers had scattered from the fire when the firstbullet hit a log, and sent up a rocket of sparks, and hadrolled off, like the experts they were at the sniping game,into cover; and after that a bullet at random was as good,or as harmless, as a bullet aimed.

Captain Kettle's ruse de guerre was to make the enemythink that they were attacked by a considerable number ofriflemen strung out along the ridge, who had an order forindividual fire; and in this he succeeded very pleasantly.Kettle splashed in twenty shots from a front of two hundredyards, and then there was a cessation of firing as hesprinted back to his starting-point. To the Berber thisrepresented the interval necessary to reload and reprime amuzzle-loading, flint-locked musket. He repeated the doseover the same two hundred yards of front, and convincedthem that they were attacked by twenty men. Well, they weretwo hundred. The strung-out sentries and supports had runin by this, and the whole crew of them were packed togetherin the bush. They were sons of Islam all, and a frontalattack appealed to them as one of the surest short cuts toParadise for the lucky ones.

So word was passed with a shout of "Allah!" They brokecover, all two hundred of them, and charged up over theburnt hillside.

CHAPTER XXI.
A Little Berber Sport.

"IF I go on much more with this sort of game," CaptainKettle panted to himself, "my boilers will need re-tubing.I never knew how near a man could get to being burst byrunning uphill in these high altitudes."

He squatted behind a boulder at the head of the valley,and peered over it down the bare burnt slopes. The Berbershad carried out their frontal attack like the valiant menthey were, and had scattered at the head of the ridge, andwere hunting for the men who had attacked them, and who hadso mysteriously disappeared.

"If I had the handling of you swine," the watchermused, "I could make you into good troops. You've pluck,and that's a fact, but I think your heads are stuffed withporridge instead of brains. Well, I hope you find plentyto amuse yourselves with there for the next few hours. Ishouldn't wonder but what you walk into a wild bee's nestif you rootle among those rocks for sufficiently long. Butas you're interested, I guess it will be best for me to bejogging."

The moon kindly slid away for the time being behindclouds, and so Captain Kettle was able to pursue hispassage across the head of the valley erect and in theopen. The journey was not a comfortable one. An icywind roared down from the snow-clad peaks of the Atlasabove, and whistled shrewdly through the pores of hisloosely-woven jellab, and though the gloom of the nightwas kind enough to conceal his whereabouts from an activeenemy, it also failed to show him the fissures and bouldersthat lay in his path; and as a consequence he stumbledseverely and often.

But the sailor took these minor troubles philosophicallyenough, munched a biscuit by way of belated supper, orearly breakfast, washed it down with a nip of Horner,and held steadily along his way. From his last halt hehad mapped the contours of the hills carefully with hiseye, and he now checked his course by occasional squintsat a pocket compass, the card of which had been anointedwith luminous paint. Automatically, too, he counted hisfootsteps and estimated the distance traveled.

It was no labor to him to do this. He was one of thoserare men to whom map-making comes by instinct. There are ahandful of them in the navy, where they are for the mostpart wasted; and there are said to be three in the Britisharmy. The remaining half-dozen for the most part surveyimpossible places in the Himalayas where nobody wants togo, or correct portions of the bad official map of theBritish Isles, and send the results to publications whichnobody reads.

The spurs of the Atlas, at this part—i. e,,western end, southern flank—run more or less parallelto one another in a north and south direction.

In their lower portions, before they get muddled up inthe foot-hills that border on the Sahara Plain, they aredistinct enough, the tops of the ridges being sharp andstony, and the valleys in between broad, and flat, andfertile. At the upper end they run into the general schemeof the range, which is chaotic, and of course it mustalways be carried in mind that the whole thing is done onan enormous scale.

At the end of another four hours' rapid tramp, andthe sailor had broken into a trot whenever the groundwould permit the pace, he came to another divide, andlooked over into what was obviously the valley Bergashhad talked about. The moon had retired by this, but theclouds had gone, and the sky was lighted by the wonderfulAfrican stars, and earth below them stood out like a darkphotograph. The valley was not lovely; agricultural landis seldom that; but it caught the eye with an irresistiblefascination. Here was the only example remaining to-day ofthe old Roman type of cultivation in Africa.

Irrigation was the key-note of the whole. A stream,coming from the unknown heights of the Atlas above, randown the valley's center like a backbone. It was raisedby an aqueduct a hundred feet at an average above theground level. At constant intervals were masonry damsto catch the fertilizing flood water. Ribbed across theaqueduct, each perhaps half a mile below the one aboveit, were other ducts running east and west from which thewater was distributed in runlets over the fields as it wasrequired.

Infinitely simple was the scheme; intolerable must havebeen the amount of labor required to pile up all thoseenormous masses of masonry. One can imagine the rage ofmischievous Moroccan sultans when they tried to destroyit and failed; but there it stood (as it stands to-day)as perfect as when it was built in those old centuries bysome soldier of fortune who had learned his art in the hardschool of imperial Rome.

But archaeology was not a thing that troubled CaptainKettle at that (or any other) period of his career. Heviewed the valley and its appurtenances with an inquiringeye, and was intent only on discovering a scheme that wouldprofit his owners and relieve the present necessities ofMiss Emily Dubbs.

The night was dark, and even the blaze of Africanstarlight has its limit in illumination. To start with,Kettle saw no trace of the saint's fortress which heknew ought somewhere to overhang the valley. From wherehe stood, it lay, as a point of fact, against a blackbackground, and was invisible even to any one who knew thecountry-side.

Even when he descended to the floor of the valley, andopened out the rock against the sky-line, he had walked agood two miles among the corn-fields and the irrigatingchannels before he discovered that it was anything morethan bare rock left stranded by nature when the great bulkof the Atlas above was upreared.

The two highest ambitions of that old Berber mercenarywho had engineered it were that the place should be strong,and that it should not be conspicuous, and to this latterend he had dovetailed his buildings into the rock and builtthem of stones hewn from the rock itself.

Captain Kettle walked with head erect and ears co*cked,and worked his way down-valley along paths that woundbetween the high stalks of the corn. The valley was filledfor the most part with stillness, but now and again thefaint sounds of moving things met his ear, and as hewalked farther down these increased. There were rustlingsand there were rattlings as the tall stalks of the cornknocked against one another, and presently there was anunmistakable grunt.

"Ah," said the sailor, "a wild boar having its supper,"and as he spoke the night was split with the bellow of agun, and the valley roared with its echoes.

Grunting testified a hit, but from other parts of thecrops a wild stampede bore witness that the pig was therein goodly number. But, so presently, it seemed, were theBerbers. Crash, bang, crash, went the black powder in theguns, and the pebbles, the leaden slugs, and the crudeiron bullets with which they were loaded whistled and sangthrough the corn stalks.

A Berber at the coolest of times goes on the easyprinciple that no man is hit unless it is written that heshould be hit, and so he is always a dangerous shootingcompanion. But when good lively pig are on the move inthick cover, then the Berber is a person particularly to beavoided. He shoots with enthusiasm at everything that movesor rustles, and so long as his gun does not burst, he isapt to go on shooting, once he is warmed up to it, as longas his ammunition holds out.

"By James," snapped Captain Kettle angrily, "if thosecareless scoundrels don't look out they'll be plasteringme next. The trouble is where to move out of their way.They're shooting all round the compass."

He crossed out of the corn patch he was in towardanother which seemed less disturbed. But as he stepped outinto the path, a wild boar at the same instant seized theopportunity to dart across it. An unseen sportsman a littlefarther off was on the watch and pulled a prompt trigger.The gun blazed and roared. The assorted pellets whistledpast the end of the pig's tail, and drilled holes in theskirts of Captain Kettle's jellab, and the sailor heard theplop of a cork as the sportsman opened his powder-horn topour out a fresh charge.

The Winchester itched in Captain Kettle's hands, andthat Berber missed Paradise by a narrower margin than heguessed. But in a flash came the reflection, "He doesn'tknow I'm me. He thought it was one of his own pals hewas blazing into, and if I kick against the custom ofthe country and waste time with a side scrap, I shall beneglecting the owners' work I'm paid for, and neglectingMiss Dubbs. I ought," he told himself with a sigh, "to bekicked for forgetting those things even for a moment."

Once again the stalks of the corn gave him harborage,and three times more those devil-possessed swine chargedin his direction and were pursued by whistling showers ofpot-leg. But the luck of the adventurous stood by him,and by no contrivance of his own, the little sailor camethrough the metallic showers unscathed.

At last the sportsmen either fired away all theirpowder, or decided that the pig had escaped, and in noisychattering bands went away homeward down the valley.Captain Kettle followed disgustedly in their wake. "Ifthat's sport in this country," he told himself, "I'd prefergood plain war. It's safer. Now I wonder if I can keepalong at the heels of these ducks till they get close uphome, and then slip in through the front door while theyare swapping lies about the bag."

But as they went on down the valley, and the great blackmass of the fortress rock loomed higher and bigger againstthe Milky Way, even Captain Kettle's brazen self-assurancebegan to be streaked with hesitation. This was not somecluster of tumble-down huts belonging to a handful ofrobbers, and perched on an easy crag that a bird's-nestingboy could scale. Dislike for Sidi Mahommed Bergash had madehim believe that the man bragged when he told about hisancestral stronghold, and here when it came to the point,the fellow had told a good deal less than the truth.

It was a fortress indeed, and measuring thoughtfullywith his eye. Kettle reckoned that it might well be packedwith as many as eight or ten thousand people. The sailorwas a man of brazen courage, but he was no madman; he hadordinary prudence; and he saw that to march into this greathive of enemies would end his usefulness. This must be acase for strategy, and for the present he must keep clearof the fortress walls, till he knew more about the lay ofthe land and its possibilities.

When they came up to the rock, the Berbers bore off tothe right, working up a steep rise of the ground to wherethe causeway came out on to the edge of the spur. Kettleleft them when they turned, and went himself to the left,keeping close in to the edge of the little scree of fallenfragments that fringed the foot of the rock, and craninghis neck backward so as to take in every foot of theface.

He did not in the least expect to find a row of crevicesor ledges by which he could climb to the top; by this timehe was very thoroughly impressed by the accuracy with whichthe saint and his predecessors in the saintship had kept uptheir defenses; but he had, as I have pointed out before,a very clever eye for the detail of a country-side, and sohe examined it automatically and stored up mental notes ofwhat he saw without effort.

In this manner, then, he made a complete circuit of therock as far as the other side of the entrance causeway, andso far noted nothing of any interest, and having also foundno hiding-place for himself, he turned back again to make afresh examination, and this time increased his speed.

Time was getting of value; dawn impended; and if he wascaught in the open when day dawned, even though hiddenamong the corn, he would be within easy range of anyinquiring eye that looked down from the fortress above, andsubsequently a simple target for the crudest marksman.

Nowhere could he have picked more unpromising ground forfinding a hiding-place than the skirts of this great islandof stone. The rock slabs which formed the sides either bynature or by chiseling were as smooth as the sides of ahouse. Nothing but a lizard could have climbed them, andthey would not have offered cover for a fly. A clump ofred valerian here and there, or a tuft of purple aubrietabroke the sameness of the wall at rare intervals; but theseoffered no foothold, and, indeed, only tended to accentuatethe steepness and the height of the great rock faces.

An owl whizzed in from the valley, swung past CaptainKettle's head, and then swooped upward and disappeared.

"Got a nest there, that fowl," he thought. "Or aroosting-place. There's been a bit of a fall of rock here;the outside's shelled off. I wonder—"

He ran out briskly into the plain and stared hard atthe face of the rock. The night was thinning. Already theeast was gray. Day would stare at him within a matter ofminutes, and if he was to find cover, it must be beforeday showed him to the curious. Yes, in the edge of thatrockfall there was a dark patch that might well be ahollow. There was a darker stain at the foot of it thatmerged into green below, and meant a trickle of wet.

It would be damp and uncomfortable in the hollow even ifhe could get into it, but he was in no position just thento pick and choose. He must take what offered, and if itturned out that the dark patch was merely shadow and nota hole at all, well, there was no getting over the factthat his position would be desperate. So he ran in oncemore, clambered up over the tumbling screes, and then withfingers and toes attacked the narrow ledges of the rockitself.

He told me afterward it was the first piece of rockclimbing he had done In all his life, and from thedescription (and he was never the man to exaggerate) itmust have been no kind of work for an apprentice. But, onthe other hand, it must be remembered that he had learnedto climb on a sailing ship, and later had been second mateon a full rigger, and from his official position had beenexpected to be (and was) the most reckless and skilfulclimber on board.

This training, one may gather, saved his life justthen. He went up, he crawled sidewise, he went down, andclambered up again with straining fingertips; and finallygot to the middle of a fractureless slab of rock, and hadto give up and go down and start afresh.

He prospected more diligently this time, traced acourse, plotted it in his head, and attacked it with toesand fingers. This time he had more success. Daylight wasflogging at his heels, and he strove upward with everymuscle and nerve in his body. But the way was almostvertical and terribly hard. The jealous inches yieldedto him reluctantly. The owl, for the first time in itshistory, scented an intruder, and came out to the edge ofits hole and hooted derisively.

Kettle halted ten seconds for breath and nodded at itpleasantly. "I'll tweak your tail feathers yet before theday comes up," he gasped—"if only you'll wait forme." And then up he dragged himself hand over hand for sixfeet till once more he could find lodgment for the toes ofhis boots. And then came triumph. He put out a hand highabove his head and got it in a firm hold. A second laterhe was in the place where his hand had been, and the owl,complaining noisily, flew outward past his ear.

For a while Captain Kettle lay on the floor of thecleft, getting back his breath in labored sobs. The valleybelow him was eclipsed. His only view was of snow-cappedpeaks at a far distance, rosy now with an unseen sunrise,and a limitless sky spread with the palette of the dawn. Helooked and lusted. "By James!" he muttered, "if only I'dtime to get you down on paper."

But he was never a man to allow himself the luxuriesof poetry when business still remained to be done. Thecleft ran into the mountain; a stream tinkled at its foot;and it flashed on him that here was a place to ambush theWangaroo's men if so be he found it necessary to bring asquad of those all-nation ruffians up to the valley.

All evidences showed that the cleft had been but newlyopened. The rock slab that sealed its mouth had shelledaway and tumbled down on the screes below only a matter ofweeks before, perhaps days. And the enterprising owl whichhad taken possession had not yet had time to build morethan the rudiments of a nest, much less lay the impendingegg. The main question was, would the cleft hold enoughmen?

The hollow in which he lay and panted would harbor halfa dozen at a pinch—if they could get there. He roseto his feet and pressed on to the gloom at its farther end.The crack went on into the rock, and the stream murmured upinto the black distance; but the rock walls drew together,and Kettle could not press even his slim body in betweenthem.

A draft came out of a crack with the water and blew itsgrateful chill on to his perspiring face. He unwound theirritating head-rope and removed his head-cloth to get thefull benefit of it and—no—yes—surelythere was another draft blowing down from above. He shuthis eyes tightly, and then peered upward into the gloom.Yes, there was a hole above him.

He pressed his toes, knees, and elbows into the rockwalls and heaved himself up, chimney-sweep fashion, andpresently stood in a channel above which appeared to leaddirectly in toward the heart of the rock.

He had matches, but they were few in number, and hedid not want to waste them. So he went ahead into thedarkness, exploring cautiously with hands and feet, andafter removing the glass from his compass with the pointof his knife, took bearings of direction from time to timeby delicate finger touches on the bare needle. It was anice piece of work, carried out by a remarkably cleversurveyor.

The cleft he was in was an old water channel, now dry,which had broken through in places to a newer water channelbelow. It was level in floor and roof, smooth in sides,and for the most part beyond his reach in width, thoughhere and there it contracted to a waist. These narrows werenever too strait for navigation. And so he came on tillthe cleft abruptly ended in tooled masonry, and a path (ontesting) proved itself to fork off at right angles, and upa steep incline.

"I reckon," said Kettle, "that this puzzle earns amatch, though I hate to waste one. So here she goes, andthe Lord grant the box isn't wet."

The match gleamed out with astonishing radiance.

Kettle cupped his hand behind it as a reflector andpeered ahead. The path rose sharply; it was just about assteep as one could walk on without holding to the sides. Itran (the compass told him) due northwest, and within rangeof the match light he saw it turn at right angles, and thecommencement of another incline that ran northeast.

"My Great James!" said Captain Kettle. "Here's more ofthat infernal saint's fairy story coming true. This is thewell his forbears dug in the middle of the castle squarewhen they were besieged, and had a bit of spare time ontheir hands. A dozen feet or so every hundred years, wasn'tit? Also the air was bad; well, that's a lie, anyway. Theair here's as sweet as gin. Wait a bit, though. What aboutthe hole I got in at? That's new. The outside cake of stoneshelled off perhaps only a week ago—I believe that'sthe very ticket, and the bad air's another piece of truthto the blackguard's credit. The water's in a sump at thebottom all right, and that trickle down the creek is justthe overflow.

"The only question is about that last hundred feet atthe top. If that's laddered, well, here's as neat a backway in as any quiet-minded man would wish to find. But ifthey operated it with a rope and windlass, and the rope'spulled up, why then I guess I'm as far away as I was atthe foot of the rock itself. However, I'm not likely tofind printed sailing directions, and there's only one wayto make sure, and that's go-look-see. So here's for thetrip."

CHAPTER XXII.
The Saint Proposes.

"I TELL you it's no use the girl trying further,"-saidMiss Dubbs. "I've not learned four words from her since Icame here, and it's my belief I never shall. I never hadany talent for languages, Mr. Bergash. I don't know whetheryou remember it, but I am the daughter of a minister, andno expense was spared on my education. Papa arranged thatI should take French as an extra at school for two wholeterms; and though I honestly did apply, if you'll believeme, I really can't parlez-vous a bit better now than manyanother lady that's not had half my advantages."

Sidi Mahommed Bergash laughed. "My dear girl, I didn'texpect you to learn Arabic—or the Berber dialect thatwe are pleased to call Arabic here in the Atlas—ina matter of four short days. But if you stuck to it forthree months you'd be able to get along passably, and atthe end of a year you'd speak it as easily as you do yourown mother tongue. Let me tell you, English is a far harderlanguage to pick up, and when I first went down from hereI didn't know a solitary word of it. But I believe I speakyour tongue pretty fluently now."

"You speak it far better than many gentlemen I know.Except that you've a different voice, which is perhapsdue to your brown beard and mustache, you speak it aswell as Sir George, and he belongs to one of our oldestfamilies."

The saint waved away the compliment with a slim hand."I speak my English as I was taught by those I came among.Given a decent memory, and an adequate larynx, any one canspeak any language with any chosen accent. You'll find thatout presently when you really begin to try. I hope they aremaking you pretty comfortable in other ways."

Miss Dubbs pursed her lips. "I can never get to likesleeping on the floor, for one thing."

"I'm awfully sorry! I forgot. We're rather creaturesof custom here, and we've chosen to sleep on a mat on theground for the last four thousand years. But I'll see thatthe carpenters build you a proper bedstead before to-night.I used to have one myself when I first came down here fromCambridge; but it created prejudice and I gave it up. Onesoon slips back to the old ways. But you see I stuck to mychair and table and the rest of my civilization."

"And your pictures."

"Yes, those are Cambridge groups. See the Trinity Hallshield on the top? Look rather incongruous here, don'tthey? I played cricket quite a bit up there, but our firsteleven was pretty hot stuff, and I didn't get my colorstill my third year, I was tried for the 'varsity all thesame."

"Isn't that—yes it is. There's his nameunderneath—J. B. Hartman. Well I never!"

"Why, do you know him?"

"In a way, as you may say, I did. He used to stay inFoston just after I first left school, and went into thebusiness."

"I never suspected Hartman of business tastes."

"Perhaps he hadn't. He was yachting when he came tous."

"Stayed with you, d'you mean?"

"At our hotel, the Mason's Arms. I was the bar lady."

Sidi Mahommed ran an appreciative blue eye over MissDubbs' elaborate black hair, her full color, her deep bust,her well-rounded form. He laughed shortly. "It's a wonderyou've escaped marriage so long."

"Getting married is a matter of taste. But in my case,Mr. Bergash, I can assure you it has not been for want ofopportunities. I've had my offers. And though, to be sure,we ladies in our profession have more admirers than most,being as you may say brought into contact with a great manygentlemen every day of our lives, I can tell you plain, Iknow I've only had to nod at least a dozen times, and Icould have settled down, and a house, of my own, withinthree months. But I preferred my liberty. And do still."

"A girl with your attractions ought to make a! greatmarriage."

"Oh, I don't undervalue myself. But I don't intend toget married. So we'll please change the subject, and asyou've been inquisitive, I'll be the same. Is that basin onmy toilet-table made of tin?"

"I haven't seen it, but anyway I can guarantee thething is not tin. Tin doesn't grow here. If it's whitemetal—"

"It is."

"Then it's silver. Why?"

"A silver wash-basin! My! you do have some style. Andthe carafe and tooth mug, are they brass?"

"Well, if you corner me, I'll have to suggest they'regold. Why? Do they taste, or something? Aren't theyclean?"

Miss Dubbs looked at her host with a new respect. "Ithought only royalty had gold and silver toilet ware?"

"I believe it's more the rule among Americanmillionaires. But if you insist on the point, I suppose wecan qualify all right. We really are kings in our way, andif you come to think of it, our ancestors were reigningkings here in the Atlas when yours were running about GreatBritain discussing the latest tint in blue paint."

"You needn't be indelicate."

"You shouldn't draw me on into bragging comparisons,then. How would you like to live here? Look through thewindow. You can't beat that view in all the world."

"A lady can't live on view alone," said Miss Dubbsshrewdly. "And for a gentleman who has been to college atCambridge, your idea of comfort strikes me as incomplete.You give me a silk carpet to my room, and the floor's likea rough stone road underneath it; you put a gold-backedhand-glass on the table, but not a bit of paper on thewalls; and you've got a yellow metal lamp, inlaid with whatlooks like real jewels hanging from the ceiling, and not somuch as a single pane of glass in the window."

"That's Berber custom. If I had an English wife it couldbe changed."

"And while she was at it (if you'll excuse me mentioningit) she might look after the cooking. I don't mind thingsa bit greasy, but really that Irish stew, which is yourmama's favorite dish, just swims with fat sometimes. Andyou ought to do something to the dairy. I don't call buttertasty when it smells like what they serve here."

The Kaid beat the table with his fist. "Now you," hesaid, "take the practical view, and that is what I like.You don't talk a lot of tommy rot about poetry, and thepride of high place, and the responsibilities of rule, andother things that I know about just as well myself; butyou've an eye for essential facts, and the wit to point outcures for what is wrong. I call pumping up poetry the worstkind of skittles."

"Well, there I disagree with you. I can't make poetrymyself, but a gentleman friend of mine can make the mostbeautiful verses that were ever read or written, yes, andset them to music, and play them to his own accordionaccompaniment! And yet he's the most businesslike andpractical gentleman I ever met. No, never mind who he is.That doesn't matter. I was only telling you about him toprove that poetry doesn't always drag a man down to longhair and a velvet coat. And that reminds me, we're herealone, and perhaps you won't mind telling. Of course I'llkeep it confidential, but are you really a Sidi?"

"I'm the genuine article."

"Meaning saint?"

"That's it. Beware of imitations. I insist on having theone and only original."

"But some one told me—I mean I was told that onealways addressed a Mohammedan gentleman in Algeria as 'Si'or 'Sidi', just as we say 'Mister '."

"That's perfectly correct, and I'd like to bet you apair of gloves I could name your informant."

"Well, I won't bet. But it was Captain Kettle."

"Precisely. He's tried to throw doubt on everythingabout me, from A to Z. I wonder why the man detests me soheartily?"

Miss Dubbs laughed. She had as a rule a fine, rich, deeplaugh, that it was really a pleasure to listen to; butjust now her laughter was forced, and it grated. "I shouldsay the reason's perfectly clear. You cut him out with hisyoung lady."

"How do you mean?"

"After you turned up with your tale of being a saint andall that, Miss Chesterman would barely so much as look atthe captain. Why, till you came I looked upon them as goodas engaged."

"Did you indeed? About that saintship; it's genuineenough. If I were to die to-night my people would put upa nice neat tomb down in the valley there, with squarecorners, and a round domed top, and they'd drop attendingat the late saint's tomb, and come and say their prayers atmine."

"And who was the late saint?"

"My father, to be sure. I follow on, whether I like itor not, and the people are annoyed with me because I showno present signs of providing a successor to myself. Theysay it's time I had a queen."

Miss Dubbs looked out over the fertile valley. "Aqueen!" she murmured.

"That's the idea. But of course that doesn't interestyou."

"And why not?"

"Because—well, because you are engaged, aren'tyou?"

"To whom, pray?"

"Kettle—so I gathered."

Miss Dubbs put back her shoulders, and showed the wholeof her splendid height and figure.

"I'd scorn to deceive you, Mr. Bergash—or I shouldsay, Saint. I was engaged to the captain once. But it wasa mistake, both on his part and on mine, and it's over anddone with. I wouldn't marry him now, no, not if he was tocome down on his bended knees to me, no, nor even if he wasto ask me on paper. If any lady's seen the foolishness ofmarriage, without going so far as to have her finger burnedwith a ring, it's me. That's straight. You can look upon meas an old maid, and glad of it. No, Mr. Saint, there's nomarrying for yours truly."

"I can imagine that being wife to a man who's away atsea nine-tenths of the time, and staying behind on a narrowincome, would be an overrated amusem*nt."

"It would be all right," snapped Miss Dubbs, "if the manwas the right man."

"Oh, I quite agree with you—as long as the noveltyof it lasted. Only, don't you think that the old sayingabout romance is pretty true?"

"Which old saying?"

"Why, that romance flies out of the window when thereare not enough dollars on the hearth to keep it warm.Mark you, I'm only theorizing, or, to be more accurate,quoting theory. For myself, I've always been one of thosevery ordinary men who have never known what it is to beotherwise than well-off. I've always had more money thanI knew how to spend, and more servants than I could keepamused, and more power than I really knew what to do with.Ever try power, Miss Dubbs? Ever occur to you that in mysmall kingdom up here I'm the most absolute monarch nowreigning on earth? I've the high justice, the middle,and the low. If I took the richest of my subjects thisafternoon, or the poorest, and cut off his head, and putinto my own house the uttermost part of his possessions, doyou think anybody would object?

"Not a solitary man, woman, or child of them. Ifto-morrow morning I called out every man among my subjectsbetween the ages of sixteen and sixty, and led themagainst the sultan of Morocco—or, say against theWangaroo—led them, if you like, to what they knewwould be certain death, do you think there would be aquestion asked or an objection raised? Not one. Oh, I tellyou there are no modern ideas of the people's rights amongthe Berbers of the Atlas. They are firmly imbued with theidea that they merely remain alive for the earthly honorand the heavenly delight of serving a saint, and I haven'tit in me to teach them anything different."

"You ought to be happy."

"I ought. I believe I should be if my father had notmade that one fatal blunder of sending me to England for aneducation. It was good for the tribes: I admit that. But ithas just been hell for me. After I have seen English womenlike yourself, who are free, practically, as men; who ride,dance, play tennis, write books, ride to hounds, how couldI marry a woman of my own people, who has been brought upbehind a veil, and thinks it immoral to know how to readand write, or to have any idea of her own?"

"I must say I think the way your ladies tattoo the topsof their noses disgusting."

"And if you like, there's that also. I couldn't sitdown for the rest of life opposite a Mrs. Bergash with herfamily coat of arms tattooed in wavy lines across her face.I thought nothing of it once, but now I simply couldn'tdo it. And that, I'll trouble you, is only one result ofCambridge."

"But wouldn't your people be annoyed if you went outsidethe district for your wife?"

"Annoyed with me? They don't know the meaning of theword. As I have tried to tell you, their creed is that theyare graciously permitted to be on earth for the one andonly purpose of doing their saint's will. And besides, ithas almost always been a custom with us Kaids to go abroadfor our wives. The record's carved up on the stone of oneof the rooms below, and I'll show it to you if you like.

"We can't read a lot of the earlier inscriptions. Butone of the more recent queens was a Phoenician; two morewere Carthaginians; one was bought from that bigamous oldsweep, Solomon, as the price for a Barbary lion; severalwere Roman in Rome's prime; then there were Visigoths, andHuns, and Iberians, and a Norse girl, and some French, Twowere English, taken from ships by some of our people whowent a-raiding from Sallee. My grandmother was daughter ofa Spanish consul at Mogador."

"But your mother?"

"She is a pure-blooded Berber. My father was theexception to our rule. And, moreover, he loved her. As I doalso."

"I'm sure she's a very pleasant lady, though I mustadmit that she strikes me as foreign."

The Kaid laughed. "She would. But you've seen herhere; you've been about with her into other houses on therock. Did she leave any doubt in your mind as to who wasqueen?"

"She did not "—Miss Dubbs shivered. "I don't speakBerber, of course, and I don't understand a lot that goeson, but I rather thought she ordered one lady we called onto be flogged."

"I'm not supposed to know what goes on behind thecurtain, and I make a point of not knowing. But I'lladmit, if you like, that it's quite possible. My motherprides herself on keeping up the old Berber tradition,and, anyway, she's great on discipline. She's every inch aqueen."

"Well," said Miss Dubbs pointedly, "all I can say isyou'd better not let your Miss Chesterman know. At the sametime I'll trouble you not to scowl at me like that. You'llkindly remember that I'm a lady and intend to be treated assuch."

With an effort Sidi Mahommed Bergash did not beat thetable. "I should have thought it might have occurred toyou by this time that I am not altogether a man to befooled with. We will leave Miss Chesterman out of theconversation, if you please."

"Then the conversation, as far as I am concerned, willend."

"Not at all. If you wish me to explain, I will do so. Ibrought Miss Chesterman and her brother here as a means toan end."

"Precisely."

"You say precisely. Then you recognize that it was tobring you here, Emily, that I used them?"

"I recognize nothing of the sort. And you will pleaseremember that my name to you, and for that matter toeverybody else, is Miss Dubbs."

"For the present, if you like, Miss Dubbs it shall be.For the future we shall see. In the meanwhile I have thehonor to offer you marriage."

"What, you want to marry me?"

"As you have known perfectly well all along. Now come,my dear girl, let us look facts in the face. You arepiqued for the moment and raw (if you like) from a trivialdisappointment. From your own telling the affaire Kettlewas only one of many."

"It was nothing of the kind."

"Well, have it your own way. But your engagementwith him is at an end. Now look at what I can offeryou—lands, houses, servants, wealth, power. Did youever think of the sweets of absolute sway, Emily? Youwill be a queen, with power of life and death over allyour subjects, and if I know your capacity I shall be oneof those subjects also. You will want an English girl ascompanion. I give you Miss Chesterman. If you wish fora larger kingdom I will conquer it for you. Everythingthat power can get and love can think of will be yours.And please remember this: I have loved you from the firstmoment I put eyes on you, and determined then to make youmy queen if love could do it."

Miss Dubbs stood up and looked steadily down into theman's blue eyes. "Em sorry you've spoken," she said. "Butyou'll give me credit for trying to head you off fromproposing."

"I know that, but had too much at stake to take yourhint. Besides, I wanted to lay out fairly before you what Ihave to offer."

"I would rather you did not go on, because there can beonly one answer, and that's 'no.' There could be no ladymore conscious of the compliment you have paid me. Saint,and the offer to make me a queen is, of course, extremelyfascinating. But marrying's a thing Em set against, andthere you have the whole tale in a nutshell. I should like,if you would let me, to regard you always as a very closefriend, but it will never get beyond that. And now it wouldbe more comfortable for both of us if you changed thesubject."

"No." The Berber chief's blue eyes grew hard, and hisbrown beard stuck out aggressively. "I have offered youthe easy path, Emily, and I have made my proposal to youon honorable English lines. But there is too much at staketo let you upset all my schemes for the sake of a paltrywhim. To this valley and this rock you have come, and hereyou will stay for the rest of your natural life. Make nomistake about that. Again I ask: will you be queen?"

"I'd rather die first," said Miss Dubbs shortly.

"You can guess the alternative?"

"I prefer to remember that you are a gentleman with anEnglish education, and that, therefore, you won't makethreats."

"It would be better if you made no allusion to theunfortunate circ*mstance of my upbringing. I can tell youit has been the curse of my existence, and the detail of mygentility is beginning to wear very thin. At present Emily,I am supreme Kaid of the Western Atlas Berbers, with powerof life, and death, and fortune over everything within mymarches, and am in no mood to be thwarted." The blue eyesgazed hungrily on the English girl's splendid womanhood."So you can be assured of just one broad fact. My wife youare going to be, and it would be more comfortable for bothof us if you came to me willingly."

"That I never will."

"Then I shall leave you for the time being to thinkout for yourself the obvious alternatives. I am sure thatwhen you have conned over the matter coolly, you will takethe sensible view. You are a sensible levelheaded girl,Emily, and I believe it is that which attracted me to youat the first. I will go now. And I will come back for yourfavorable decision at ten o'clock to-night."

CHAPTER XXIII.
The Captain Disposes.

SIDI MAHOMMED BERGASH once told Sir George Chestermanthat tradition in the Atlas said the architect who builtthe campanile in Saint Mark's Square at Venice was aBerber, and that he got his idea for the inclined foot-waysof that much overrated bell-tower from the mode of descentto the siege-well in his ancestral fortress. The legendmay or may not be true, but, anyway, it is plausible, andexcept that the man at Venice turned the idea inside out,and from a well evolved a tower, and incidentally easedthe angles of the inclines, the plans of the two works areidentical.

Captain Kettle felt that he could not afford matches,and, after the day had passed, explored the slopes inthe inky dark. So, as I have only his report to go upon,details will, for the most part, be lacking in this memoir.The cut was only a trifle over four feet wide, so hecould easily keep a hand on each wall, and having all ofa sailor's distrust for navigation in strange waters, healways took a careful sounding with his advance foot, andassured himself that the floor was in place, before puttingweight on it. There are such things as winzes in theseinclined shafts, and Captain Kettle did not propose to walkinto eternity unawares, if ordinary precaution could keephim alive and useful.

Of course, as he foresaw, the critical bit was the lasthundred feet, which, as the saint had told, the old sinkershad driven vertically. It is easy to be wise after theevent, but really if Captain Kettle had been the slendereststudent of archaeology, his qualms on this point wouldhave been at rest. The windlass is a comparatively modernmachine, and the sinking of that first hundred feet ofwell-shaft had antedated it by certainly ten, and verypossibly twenty centuries.

The only method known to the ancients of hoisting spoilfrom vertical workings was in skin bags, made fast bytwo, three, or even five rawhide ropes, each manned byits own hauling crew. This was expensive in labor, and(owing to the chafe on the well lip) in ropes also, andtherefore it was avoided as much as possible. Only in rareinstances were the workers hauled up vertical shafts. Forthe most part they climbed up by notched chicken laddersset diagonally, though in the very early times, when shaftsmeasured two feet nine by four feet three as a standard allthe world over, they climbed up by means of foot bracketsset opposite one another on the two longer sides.

The engineer, who in the year b.c.709 had planned theBergash well, probably hoped to strike water within thefirst hundred feet. When he was disappointed in this, hedid not proceed straight away to sinking in inclines fromthe bottom of his hundred-foot level. That would haveentailed difficulty in hoisting his spoil.

But being a thoughtful man, he put down another setof inclines from the surface to the hundred-foot level,so that all rock mined below could be carried direct bybaskets and skin bags to daylight without once having tobe hauled by the rope men. I have often wondered, by theway, whether they did this work by driving it overhandfrom below. Of course upraises ... but that is a technicalpoint, which has little bearing on this memoir of CaptainKettle and Miss Emily Dubbs.

If Captain Kettle had tried to climb the hundred-footvertical finish to the well-shaft he would have been met atthe upper end (although, of course, he did not know this)by a solid door of three-inch oak, held down by perhaps afoot of the gravel which floored one of the courtyards ofthe fortress. But at the foot of this vertical shaft hepaused, fingering the footholds, and recruiting his breath;and while engaged in these easy employments, fancied hefelt a draft in the neighborhood of his left ear.

His right ear was facing the incline up which he hadascended, and his left ear (so he had imagined in the dark)was close to the solid rock. In order that there should beno doubt about it, he wetted a finger and held it up. Thefinger chilled most distinctly on the left side. There wasa draft, and therefore another passage somewhere.

He lighted one of his precious matches, and discoveredthe entrance to the farther set of inclines of which I havespoken, and which the saint had never mentioned, and (asit turned out) had never heard of. And it was up these,walking, and not climbing, that Kettle made his entranceinto the fortress.

Sometime ago, when during some forgotten siege, work onthe bottom incline had suddenly struck water, and the wellwas pronounced complete, the surface end had been walledup, and furnished with a door. This was somewhere about 750or 780 A.D. The well has not been used much since, becauseof its propensity for harboring carbon dioxide, and as faras I can make out, the door has only been opened duringfive of the fortress' many sieges. They have rock-cutrain-water cisterns, which supply every-day use, andanything up to a five years' siege.

Of course the door has been renewed a good many timessince then, because even white oak from the mid-Atlasranges lasts only a bare eighty years when it is fullyexposed to the weather. But the same type of ponderous,complicated, wooden, Berber key has been used during allthe centuries to shoot the wooden bolt in the marvelouswooden lock, and it is officially supposed to occupy a nailin the Kaid's treasure vault, and probably hangs there tothis day.

The only drawback to these old locks is that they areentirely open on the inside, and even without wastinga match over the process, Kettle was able to lift thetumblers one by one with his fingers, and pull thecobweb-clogged bolt out of its socket. The massive oak doorwas inclined to scream on its vertical pivots. But when itwas dragged open a sixty-fourth of an inch at a pull, witha neat boot pressed against the inside to steady it, thiscomplaining sound was reduced to the merest murmur. Andwhen the gap was wide enough, Captain Kettle stepped outinto the full smell of an active cow stable.

Two lady cows scented him simultaneously, and snuffledhim with moist noses, and presently diagnosing him as astranger, plunged backward against their head ropes.

"Coosh! coosh!" said Kettle soothingly and the cows, notknowing that British term of endearment, plunged harderto the right hand and to the left. The sailor was annoyedat his lack of agricultural charm, but took advantage ofthe fairway, and made swift passage to the rear, Moonlightglimmered in through an arrow-slit, and he grasped theelementary fact that the stable held another building aboveits sturdy arches.

His eyes, after their long training in the blackdarkness of the inclines, acted readily in this gentlegloom. He made quick circuit of the walls, and found adoor, opened it, and saw a street; peered up and downthat, discovered it to be empty, and then ran out to theopposite wall and looked upward. He saw a big house abovethe cow stable, built of massive stone blocks, and narrowlywindowed. None of the windows was glazed, and most were indarkness.

But three were lighted, and from one of these camevoices. He thrilled to his innermost nerve as one of thevoices reached him—and with it a faint smell offrangipani—and was within an ace of calling out thathe was near, and armed, and full of fight, and ready toupset half the available world to bring assistance. He hadthe words "Miss Dubbs" on the edge of his lips, when commonprudence drummed into him that there were ten thousand menwithin call, and if he wanted to be useful he must employwit, and not common vulgar valor. He searched the wall ofthe big house for its main entrance door, found it, ranacross, opened and entered.

Within was a most exasperating warren of passages andstairs. There seemed to be no ordinary human plan, nomethod, in the architecture of that Berber interior. Therewere steep stairs and narrow stairs, passages on the leveland passages on the incline, straight passages, and othersthat wound in figures of eight. Also, although the insidepartition walls were eight to ten feet thick, the wholehouse seemed full of the murmur and whisper of voices, andwarm with human occupation, and savory with the smell ofcooking.

It was all unnerving enough to the amateur, but CaptainOwen Kettle was a man of brazen nerve. He resolutely pusheda black rifle muzzle ahead of him, and went on with hisexploration without any acceleration to his heart-beats.

He turned so many times that in spite of his seatraining for courses he was frankly lost in the maze ofalleys and arches. Three times he thought he had hit on theright room, and listened at a nail-studded door, and heardonly the twitter of foreign speech. But at last he came toa narrow window which looked on the street he had recentlyleft, and from that he got his bearings.

He turned sharply to his left, burst into ananteroom—and found it empty. But he was on the righttrack now. Miss Dubbs' full rich contralto was giving forthstrong opinions from close at hand.

Kettle turned to the door behind him and shut it, andfinding a heavy bronze bolt, shot that into its stonesocket. Then once more he pressed ahead.

The next room was a surprise to him. The voices hadstopped for the moment, and he looked about him in wonder.On the walls were photographs of English cricket elevensin flannels, association foot-ball teams in their quaintattire, and groups of self-conscious young men in strawhats and weird ill-cut tweeds, all framed in oak, andsurmounted by gaudy coats of arms in colors.

There were English tobacco-pipes and Moorish sabers,yellow-backed novels, and a yard-long British post-horn, afox's mask, and a stale copy of the Sporting Times in thisamazing room. On a side table among ash trays was a heavy.450 Hopkins Allen revolver. Captain Kettle picked it up,found it to be loaded, and put it in one of the pockets ofhis jellab for future reference. And at that moment thevoice of Miss Dubbs, crying out in terror, thrilled him ina way he had never been thrilled before.

There was another doorway to the room, hidden by adrapery. He dashed through this and saw the girl strugglingin Sidi Mahommed Bergash's arms.

The way that Berber Kaid was thrown to the groundsurprised him. He was clutched by iron hands, shaken with atigerish ferocity and strength, plucked from his feet andthrown sprawling as though he had been as inanimate as apillow.

The sailor stood over him with uplifted gun butt.

"I'll teach you to lay your sacrilegious hands on MissDubbs, you brown-bearded son of an unqualified pastry-cook.You'll apologize to her here and now for what you've saidand done, or I'll smash your worthless head like a rottenegg-shell, and glad of the chance."

"I offered to make her my queen, and that I take It isno insult. But if my wooing was too rough for the lady'staste, then for this I do apologize."

"I call that half-hearted. Miss Dubbs, you needn'taccept it unless you choose. Besides I don't know how deephis insults have gone. Say the word, and I'll kill him."

"Thank you, Captain, he did propose, and I refused; andwell, that's over, and we'll say no more about it. But I'mglad you came. I don't know what I should have done withoutyou. Oh, Captain, take me away from this. Take me back toyour ship."

"Certainly, Miss Dubbs, certainly I will. There, don'tyou fret any further, and if you feel a little trembly,please sit down on this sofa, and presently it will passaway. Try a drop out of this bottle. It's Horner's PerfectCure, and you will find that it meets your case. And as foryou, Mr. Bergash, if you attempt to stir from that floortill I am ready for you, I'll put you to sleep permanently.So chew on that, you dog. Now tell me where are my ownerand his sister."

"In their rooms."

"Free and at liberty?"

"Yes," said the Kaid.

"No," said Miss Dubbs.

Captain Kettle's boot shot out and crashed into theKaid's ribs with a regular Cape Horn mate's kick. "Lie tome, you swine, and I'll stove in every slat in your body.Where are their rooms?"

"Below. I suppose they would call it in the basem*nt.They got troublesome, and I had to put them somewhere wherethey couldn't create a disturbance. It was for their owngood. If my people here had gathered that Chesterman wasshouting threats and insults at me, they'd have killed himand his sister out of hand. I can't get them to understandthat I'm looked upon as a holy man, and the people herewould consider it a mere act of piety to knock on the headanybody that annoyed me."

"Holy man! You! I'll handle you before your people in away I wouldn't handle a yellow dog, if you give me trouble.Let me see if you are armed."

The little sailor ran a skilled hand over the Kaid'sclothing. "Apparently not. Left your Hopkins Allen inthe next room before you came along here to insult adefenseless lady, through fear, I suppose, that she'd pullit and use it on you? Well, I've that gun in my pocket, andanother to match it. Miss Dubbs, my dear, might I troubleyou to carry this Winchester rifle? If anybody annoys you,if you'll kindly place this small end up against theirclothes, and pull this trigger here, I'll be obliged toyou. And now, Mr. Bergash, on to your feet. Smartly there!Attention! You are to stand exactly still till you aregiven my permission to move."

"If you want the girl," said the Kaid, "and she wantsyou, take her and go."

"Say 'sir' when you address me, and don't speak untilyou're spoken to. By James, you've got to learn respect,and you'll find the lessons rough if I have to give themto you. Don't slouch like that! Stand erect, you swine.Heels together, and clasp your hands behind the back ofyour neck. Now, then, you're to lead, when I give theword, to the place where Sir George and Miss Violet arejailed. If there are any unpleasant incidents by the way,you can rest assured that they will end fatally for you. Ishan't shoot you dead. I shall plug you through the liver—just—there—d'you feel? And if thatwon't make you run straight, I'll attend to you some more.Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are the passages to this strong room lighted?"

"They are."

Captain Kettle's foot shot out. "Theyare—what?"

"They are, sir."

"You're improving. Now let me warn you not to gettempted to slip off into any nice, quiet, gloomy corner.I've got eyes like a cat for the dark, and I'll shoot you,if you try that or any other game, before you have time tothink. Quite understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"There's just one thing more. If you meet any of yourfriends on the way and the nature of the processionisn't clear to them, I leave you to make the necessaryexplanations. And look here, my lad, maybe you have notheard me talk in the tongues of this part of the world, butI'm a seafaring officer, and I can tell you I've a workingknowledge of more languages than you ever heard of. Gotthat?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then quick march! Miss Dubbs, I ask your pardonfor walking in front of you, but for the moment itseems necessary. You needn't carry your finger on thattrigger while you're walking. Rest it on the triggerguard—yes, like that—and then it will sliphandily on to the place when it's wanted. That rifle pullsoff a trifle easily. Go steady, Bergash. This is therogue's goose-step you're giving us, not a foot race."

Mahommed Bergash, Cambridge graduate, Kaid of theWestern Atlas Berbers, and saint of the stock of theprophet, was cowed. Up till now he had seen in CaptainKettle the somewhat acid shipmaster and the creature of awhimsical owner; but of a sudden he recognized in him theincarnation of energy, and, if needs be, tragedy.

He fully grasped that Kettle would, if occasiondemanded it, shoot him with as little compunction as he,Sidi Mahommed Bergash, would order the extinction of aninconvenient tribesman; and, in spite of himself, he wasmastered.

The Kaid was no coward. In ordinary tribal fighting withthe Moroccan Moors he had stared death in the face a dozentimes before, without awe and without tremor. But this wassomehow different; the threat of death was a minor item;it was the sailor's tremendous personality that made hisspirit bend.

He walked ahead as a docile guide. Twice in thewandering alleys of the house he met members of hishousehold, and dismissed them elsewhere with a word: andfinally, "That is the door, sir," he said. "May I drop onehand from my neck to open it?"

"Yes," said Captain Kettle, "open the door, hook up yourhand again, and then march inside ahead of us."

In this ungracious procession then. Captain Kettle oncemore came into the society of his owner and his owner'ssister, and Sir George Chesterman, on his part, could nothave been more surprised if the emperor of China had walkedin to pay an evening call.

Miss Chesterman, it was clear, was on the verge ofa demonstration. The affair, it is true, had gone muchfurther than she ever intended; she had, in fact, beenhorribly frightened (and with very good cause); but herpassion for Captain Kettle was still hot, and she had it inher to have thrown wild arms of gratitude round his neck,and hailed him as her world and her preserver.

But the sight of that acid, little, precise man withthe red torpedo beard had a damping effect on hysterics,and something she caught in the eye of her fellow-womanclenched her self-restraint. Miss Dubbs might be in mortaldanger, but to her employer's shrewd vision she wasglorious with triumph.

"Sir," said Captain Kettle to Sir George, "I gather thatthis swine of a saint has been misbehaving himself. Thatbeing the case, I take it you will not care to stay longerunder his roof."

Sir George Chesterman laughed ruefully. "So great is mydistaste for his hospitality that I'd give all I possessto be back once among the friendly co*ckroaches on theWangaroo. But I suppose one might as well wish to be inthe moon. How in the world did you get here, Skipper?"

"Walked, sir. It struck me that I might be useful toyou, as owner. So I came. I propose we ride back, and thatis a thing this man Bergash is going to arrange, if youwill authorize him to do so. But before letting him proceedto that, I want to know if you have any complaints to makethat you would like me to take payment for out of hisskin?"

"I will cancel everything for a free passage to thesea."

"And you, miss?"

"No, no. Only get me away."

"Right, miss. Then if you, sir, and your sister, andMiss Dubbs will kindly make the most of this uncomfortableroom for the next ten minutes, I will take Bergash outsideagain and have a little heart-to-heart talk with him overcertain arrangements for the comfort of all of us. You havethe Winchester. I'll leave you also this Hopkins Allen,which I find too straight in the stock for my particularbrand of fancy shooting."

CHAPTER XXIV.
A Charge Of Cavalry.

THE one and only gateway to the Bergash fortress, as Ihave recorded above, was just wide enough for the passageof a gravid cow. The middle of the arch is higher to-daythan the original architect intended, because in the courseof centuries the humps of passing camels have worn acentral gutter out of the hard limestone. The wall at thatpoint is fourteen feet thick of solid masonry, and abovethe gateway are the usual conveniences for pouring boilinglead on unwelcome callers.

There were iron spikes on the top of the wall above thegate, and through many centuries these had been decoratedwith the heads of the Kaid's enemies—the old headsbeing refreshed from time to time by those of more recentcropping.

But when the latest saint returned from the lands of theinfidel with a rabbit-skin B. A. hood in his saddle-bags,and a certain impatience for conservative customs, he hadordered the last selection of heads to be thrown away, andsince then he had not renewed them.

All places have their customs, and though the reasonsfor many of them have been wiped away during the passage ofyears, the customs remain. In the Bergash fortress it wasa habit, when you were going abroad, to bedeck your camelwith all his elaborate furniture in the street outsideyour own front door. When it was all nicely in position,you marched off to the one entrance gate of the fortress,stripped your beast to the bare hair (or mangy skin),squeezed him out through the doorway, and carried thetrappings through the hole in the wall yourself.

Afterward you reassembled your ship of the desert andhis furniture on the narrow causeway outside. That was allexcessively inconvenient, and when there was a rush on,dangerous. Camels, and loads, and even passengers have manya time been levered over the edges of the causeway andcrashed down a good ninety feet to the rocks below when thebrutes really began to snarl and wrestle.

But there was probably a good reason for the custom inthe past, though that reason is forgotten now. Anyway, itis worthy of record that the latest Kaid, Sidi Mahommed,was within an ace of losing his valued life by beingcarried over the causeway edge by a rearing camel, andCaptain Kettle saved him by shooting the brute in mid-air,and lugging his holiness off its back just as he was inthe very act and article of toppling off to destructionbelow.

"I have to thank you for my neck," the Kaidacknowledged. "I very nearly provided my countrymen with anew saint, and left them without a successor."

"Say 'sir', when you address me," said Kettleungraciously, "and order out another deck-house and a camelthat's been properly broken. And tell your groom to jumplively."

The Kaid gave sharp orders in Berber, and his men flewto carry them out. "You make things very awkward for me,sir," he said rather querulously. "I tell you that only ourwomen folk, and babes, and wounded men, travel in thesedeck-houses, as you are pleased to call them. A man looksridiculous in our eyes in such a conveyance."

"You will look ridiculous in anything I please. You saywounded men travel in them. You'll qualify as one of thoseif I have much more of your lip. Here's the order of themarch: a covered camel carrying the two ladies, then SirGeorge on that horse which is trying to kick him off, andcan't, with you and me on another covered camel bringing upthe rear."

"Very good, sir. I may point out that if we don't havemy usual escort, it's about a pound to a brick we getmopped up by some of those enterprising coast tribes whichyou disbelieve in, but which I have before had the honor oftelling you have paid a good many attentions to you and theNorman Towers already."

Captain Kettle winced. The Kaid's words had a way ofcoming true. "Very well. Order up your men to fall inbehind. Only remember that if they play games, you'll bethe first to pay."

To give the Berbers their due, there was no southerndilatoriness about them. Moors or Arabs of the desert wouldhave taken half a clay to get that dour under way; thesem*n had the beasts on the move across the causeway insidethe half-hour.

Kettle and his prisoner sat in seats slung on eitherside of their camel, and were jolted violently forward andaft by reason of the gait that amiable quadruped assumes,even on level ground; and when they began to descend theslopes of the mountains, Kettle who was new to it, thoughthe would be burst asunder. The Kaid watched him for somemiles with malicious amusem*nt, and then twitched up hisown clothes, and showed the ordinary camel-rider's belt.

"I should like to suggest, sir," said he, "that you takethis strip of cloth (which, as you may see, is designedfor the purpose) and bind yourself round like this. If youdon't, you will probably come to pieces, and remain so forthe rest of your natural career."

"Thank you," said Kettle, and followed out the expert'ssuggestion, marveling the while it should have beenmade. "Probably to lull my suspicions," he told himselfpromptly, "so that he can get the drop on me, and put hisugly fingers once more on the owner and the ladies." Andhe watched his blue-eyed fellow-passenger with extremenarrowness.

The camels set the pace at a steady three and a halfmiles an hour, uphill and down dale, no more, no less. Theyswung on, remorseless as destiny, and the cavalry escortjingled in their wake. They journeyed on throughout thecool night, taking a far shorter route than the circuitousone by which Kettle had traveled; and when day began toshow in the higher layers of the atmosphere, they werealready among the lower slopes of the foot-hills.

"I don't know whether you are asleep, sir," said theKaid.

"I'm not."

"Then perhaps you are a little dull in your hearing. Butthere's pretty heavy firing ahead of us."

"Are you sure it isn't the surf on the beach and onthose reefs?"

"There is that as well. But there's firing, all right.You know I'm used to picking up these sounds."

"You're right; you've good ears. I suppose It means thatyour men are attacking my steamboat. Well, McTodd willattend to them efficiently. But, by James! I can't affordto miss more of the scrap. Here you, tell your drivers tohurry these camels."

The saint called an order. "By the way," he added, "Idon't know if you still go on the simple principle ofdisbelieving everything I say. But if you don't, I maymention that the people who are kicking up a row aheadaren't my men at all."

"Then who are they?"

"The same crew who've been worrying you all along. Theylive on the coast here. There are Moors among them, andmen from the Sus tribes, and Arabs of the deserts to theSouth, with a few Twaracks thrown in, and perhaps here andthere a Berber, who has been chucked out of my place formisbehavior. They're a mongrel lot, very hard, and verysavage, and very dangerous, and I'm sure you'll learn itwith satisfaction—they'd just as soon cut my throatas yours."

"I hear you say it."

The saint turned to face his persecutor, and placed alean small hand on the camel's hump, which throbbed andwavered between them. "Look here, Captain Kettle, you'vehated me pretty tenderly since the first moment of ourmeeting, and I'm free to own I've detested you quite asmuch. But for the time being I want to propose a truce."

"I don't see cause for it."

"Man, hear sense. I don't care two straws whether youare killed in the next half-hour, or whether you are not.I don't care much if I am knocked on the head myself. Butfor the women I do care. I am—no, I won't put itthat way. We both of us are very fond of one of them, andthe fate of women who get into the hands of those howlingdevils down there is too awful to think about.

"With my escort to help we may get through, though Iadmit it's a thinnish chance. But if you insist on keepingme cooped up in this cubbyhole, the escort will begin toinquire directly why I'm here. You see, being rather adissatisfied person, I've got a reputation of being inthe thick of it when there's a skirmish going, and theircuriosity on the matter will be natural enough. When theydo begin to put in their questions, I suppose you'll shootme out of hand, and proceed to enjoy yourself among theescort. Well, that would be all very interesting as a sideissue, but it doesn't strike me as the best way of lookingafter the ladies' interest."

"Or Sir George's," Kettle admitted. "And he's my owner.By James! it strikes me I've come very near to neglectingduty."

It was a bitter pill to have a home truth like thisthrown against him by Sidi Bergash. But Captain Kettlealways had an exact sense of fairness. He thought a moment,and then he held out a hand. "I thank you, Mr. Bergash," hesaid simply, "for reminding me of what's my duty. May I askif you're open to accepting employment?"

The Berber chief saw the point and laughed. "Ascommander of your escort? I'll take it. My people have beenmercenary soldiers off and on for some three thousand yearsand more, and although this will be my first bit of hiredservice, there is no reason why I should kick at the tribalcustom. The only thing left to settle is, I think, the pay.We mercenaries guarantee fidelity, of course, as long asthe pay suits us, and is forthcoming regularly. But whenthat stops, why then we hold ourselves free to chop roundand serve under another flag."

"Pay?" repeated Captain Kettle, and pulled vexedly athis red torpedo beard.

"Why not? You serve Sir George for pay yourself, Isuppose?"

"I do. But you! you quite took me in with your tales ofgold-dust and the rest of it. I never dreamt you were outfor your ten or fourteen pounds a month."

Again the Kaid laughed. "Pardon me, but your ideas areso eminently British. You think that hard cash is the cureand pay for everything. Why, throughout all my people'ssoldiering through all the centuries, I never heardthey served for money. Some of them—the slingersespecially—like the men of the Balearic Islands, tookwine and women for their pay; others asked for ornamentsfor their friends at home, and some went as mercenaries forthe sheer sport of the thing. But for myself"—theblue eyes looked keenly—"would it surprise you tohear that I am like an Islander of the Balearics?"

"Yes," said Kettle with a happy flash of memory. "Theyfought for a fee of women and wine, but also they foughtnaked. Now you are clothed; you've been to college atCambridge, and you aren't going to bargain like a nakedsavage."

"Touche," said the Kaid, throwing up a slim finger tohis head-rope.

"And, curse your impudence, there's my Winchester tobeat time with. Here, make this earthquake of a camel heaveto, and let's taste God's air again from the top of horses.I'm choked in this blanket-topped hansom. Now you'veremembered you're a white man, the thing's all simple, andwhy you couldn't have done it before, and saved me all thisbother and language, beats me."

"A man must be a fool sometimes, I suppose," said theKaid shortly, "and the other was my day. Take this blackhorse: he's my own, and you'll like him. I'll ride thatbay. If it comes to a charge, I need hardly say, don't goat it hell for leather. We've got to keep back to camel'space. Ah, good morning, Chesterman. Captain Kettle and Ihave both come to the conclusion that we've been behavinglike a pair of idiots, and so we've arranged to ride levelthrough what's ahead. I'm sure you'll be delighted to join,and give your old yeomanry tricks a chance."

"Hum," said Sir George, who was feeling sore.

"I'll ride ahead if you like," said the saint, "and youcan shoot me in the back if I still look doubtful."

The big man shrugged the shoulders inside his looseuntidy coat. "If I trust a man at all, I trust him rightthrough. If the skipper says you're all right, that'll dofor me. What's that ahead? A cavalry flanking party, byjove!"

The Kaid gave a sharp order, and the escort canteredup and formed round the camels. There were twenty-five ofthem, all told, so that the dour, with the camel driversand British, numbered in all some five and thirty souls.

"Why are they wearing respirators?"

"Twaracks," said the Kaid shortly. "By your leave I'lljust try an experiment." He put thin fingers between hisbearded lips and blew a high-pitched whistle. It squealedout into the night, two long blasts and a short, all on thesame note; and then after a pause he blew two short blastsand a long, half a tone lower.

The squadron leader of the Twaracks threw up along-barreled gun, and his men halted. The saint wheeledhis bay clear of the others, so that he was a plain mark tosee, or be shot at. The squadron leader of the black troopgazed a moment, acknowledged the other with a gun-wave,then wheeled his horse and galloped back into the shadowsby the way he had come, with his horsem*n thudding at hisheels. "Friend of yours?" asked Captain Kettle. "Nothing ofthe sort. Didn't I tell you he was a masked Twarack? He's apirate of the desert out yonder to the south and east, andI guess he'd come in here to raid the raiders who appear tobe raiding your steamer. Let's hope he'll continue to doit."

"You seemed to know his helm signals?"

"Precisely. And may I suggest, my good sir, that youdon't know all the international codes? You Europeans arein the very infancy of long distance signaling. And evenwhen we others in Africa show you how to do the trick, youdon't seem able to learn. By jove! look out now. Here's thereal thing."

A howling mob in white billowy draperies poured outfrom behind a shoulder of the sand-hills, and the nightkindled and roared with the discharge of their guns. Butthe range was too far for the inaccurate muzzle-loaders tobe effective, and barring a camel slightly hit (it was notthat which carried the ladies), no damage was done.

The damaged camel was allowed to drop behind, and theothers were flogged and dagger-pricked into somethingnearly approaching speed. The enemy were hard at workreloading; but charging and priming a musket of trueMoroccan build is a work of art and time, and before morethan a dozen of the weapons could be hurriedly squibbed offa*gainst them. Captain Kettle, the saint, and Sir GeorgeChesterman, riding abreast, smashed down into the middle ofthe enemy.

Each did terrible work with his own weapon. Sir Georgehad borrowed a mace (that might well have been carried inthe Crusades) from one of the escort, and acted and felt,to use his own subsequent expression, like a butcher gonemad. The saint, with reins loose, and steering the bay withhis knees, used both hands to the Winchester, and did notmiss a shot, although he opened fire thirty yards away fromthe line.

But Captain Kettle, who rode that ramping black stallionas a sailor rides, kept his head in this his first cavalrycharge, and did more damage than any of them. He wasconscious enough of his bad horsemanship not to risk fancyshots. He chose his man with deliberate aim, and did notpull trigger till his revolver's muzzle rested on thevictim's clothes.

Nothing but this desperation could have saved him frombeing killed. The mongrel crew along the beach were everyman of them as brave as he; but when they saw his pistolmuzzle set fire to jellab after jellab, they called one toanother that Shaitan rode on the Sidi's bridle hand, andthat it was time to be gone.

The attackers broke through, rallied, and charged backagain toward the rising dawn. The camels, with legs flyingto all the compass points, sprawled along in their midst,and the deck-houses on their backs lurched and pitched likemark buoys in a tideway. But no sturdy wall of raiderswaited for them this time. They drove their horses throughthe skirts of a rout, and clubbed and stabbed and slashedat white-winged fugitives.

"Pull up," bawled Kettle, "and let the rest go. Slowdown. Sir George. Halt there, you son-of-a-saint, andgive me a chance with this devil-possessed black horse ofyours. He's worried two men with his teeth, and he'll eatyou next if you don't get out of range. By James! do youspawn of the mountains hear me? Halt! Halt where you are.And now wheel. Wheel back to the lagoon, or I'll turn loosethis horse at you. Sir George, I'm the last man to spoil afight when one offers, but we've the ladies with us, andpresently, if you hammer them any more, these jokers inthe white nightgowns will remember they're quite eight toone, and they'll turn and eat us without salt. Sir, shakeyourself together, and think of your sister, and, anyway,give me that damn club. Give it to me, I say—I'msorry if I've hurt your wrist, but you've offeredobedience, and it's my habit to see that orders are carriedout. Saint, I've reloaded my gun, and if you don't whistleyour men off riding their horses over those fellows on theground, by the living James! I'll empty six saddles."

"Perhaps we've done enough," grasped the burly SirGeorge.

"They've put up a good fight, sir," said thatconnoisseur, Captain Owen Kettle, "and they've got theirgruel, and my orders are that the thing finishes there.Away we go for the beach now, and get the ladies out ofthat earthquake they've been forced to ride on this lasthalf-hour. You'll please to remember that they've missedall the fun and only had the shaking, and I'm afraid weshall find them in baddish preservation."

CHAPTER XXV.
Salvaged.

DAY was lit by this time and the chill had slipped away,and the air was already beginning to warm up toward thatbaking temperature on which the edge of the Sahara rests somuch of its evil reputation.

The battle had been fought in a valley of the dunes,and the vanquished tribesmen had scattered away in thedirection of their villages, north, east, and south. To thewest, over a low line of hummocks lay the lagoon.

"Shall we find the Wangaroo still there?" wondered theKaid.

"Don't know," said Sir George. "These gentry may havecaptured her, or at least driven her away to sea."

"She'll be there and untaken," said Captain Kettleshortly. "I left McTodd in charge, sir, and though he mayhave failings, and be argumentative when he's near drink,when it comes to looking after the interest of the ownerwho pays him, Mr. McTodd is as efficient as the king ofEngland."

But in spite of these confident words, anxiety presentlycrept into Captain Kettle's eyes. ".We should have raisedher mast trucks before this above those sand-hills," hetold himself. And presently, when he could hold in hispatience no longer, he clapped the sharp heels of hisstirrup-irons into the ribs of the black stallion, andgalloped to the crest. The lagoon lay clear before him,with the spouting reefs and islets at its farther side. Theanchorage was deserted.

"My great James!" muttered Captain Kettle, "where's myship, and what do I do next?"

But even as he stood there, a stiff little mountedfigure standing out clearly against the farther dunes,he had been seen by some sharp observer, and after apreliminary huskiness, the deep boom of the Wangaroo'senormous siren hummed through the air, away on his lefthand.

He turned sharply. Yes, there she was, the littlebeauty, down at the other end of the lagoon, close, infact, to the Norman Towers. But in the name of wonderwhat was this? Foam bubbled from her tail and lay roundher in a hoary ring. Her engines were running, and yetshe did not appear to move. Aground? No chance of it. Hehad sounded every bit of the lagoon at that end, and wasprepared to swear before a Board of Trade inquiry that shehad at that very moment ten fathoms of water under herbottom.

He forced the black horse down the slope, and thengalloped south along the hard beach, waving the others tofollow him.

Half a mile farther on, when he had got the steam boatsclear of one another, he saw why the Wangaroo did notmove ahead. She was tethered by a heavy wire hawser. Theother end of the wire, which was as taut as an iron bar,led in through one of the Norman Towers' hawse-pipes.It was obvious she was trying to tow. It was equallyobvious she could not do it, and Captain Kettle cursedMr. Neil Angus McTodd, unqualified second engineer andacting-captain of the Wangaroo, with maritime point andfluency.

"McTodd's polished his old coffee-mill of an enginetill he thinks there's no limit to her power," Kettle toldhimself, "and now he's trying to pull a steamboat full ofdead-weight, and anyway six times our size, through whatpractically amounts to a dock wall."

A moment later he pulled up sharply and took a quickcross-bearing of the Norman Towers foremast against acleft of the chocolate-colored rock behind. "By the livingJames," he cried, "he's budged her. She's moving ahead."

The Berber Kaid pulled up alongside him. "I thought youand McTodd decided that the local ragamuffins had builtthat ship up inside a coffer-dam that weighed about amillion tons of solid stone?"

"I saw the stone myself," said Kettle shortly, andlooked at his watch. "It's bang on the top of high waterthis minute, and now they've got a move on her she'scoming off like a bar pulled through a keg of tallow.Look at those links of cable hopping in through her porthawse-pipe. Mac's laid out an anchor ahead, and he'sheaving on that as well as with the old girl's own steam onher own windlass. You can see the leak of it now throughthe escape. Great James! why can't I find a boat?"

But the engineer in charge of the salvage operations wasnot the man to break off just then for the mere pleasure ofbeing superseded by his superior officer. Mr. McTodd stoodon the forecastle of the Norman Towers enjoying himselfhugely.

He was wet through and dripped brine as he stood;his overalls were smeared with every variety of seaimpurity from black grease to the red rust of iron. Therewas seaweed in his beard and an oozy red cut on thebridge of his nose. He exuded a mixed aroma of whisky,competency, and authority, and from Trethewy, the mate onthe Wangaroo's upper bridge, to the meanest no-nationdeck-hand awaiting orders on the Norman Towers, allwithin ear-shot were ready to jump to do his bidding.

Inch by inch, and then foot by foot, the Norman Towershove up to her anchor, and the windlass engines, which hadstrained hard to make a quarter of a turn at a time underan extra full head of steam, began to send up a steadyrhythmical clatter, and to make the deck beneath thembuckle and shake.

"Go it, old girl," said Mr. McTodd. "Gosh, but this isscraping the barnacles finely off your belly." He raisedhis voice to a throaty bellow and hailed a cluster of menwho lay behind a barricade of coal bags on the poop: "Aftthere; are you keeping a bright lookout? If another shotcomes aboard from the shore without your shooting first,I'll baptize some more of ye with a three-quarter-inchspanner. Kindly remember I've no' put ye there just fordecorative purposes, ye lop-eared aliens. D'ye hear me, youSchwereinsen?"

"Aye, aye, saire."

"I don't know who it was that was playing the devil'sdelight just now behind those sand-hills," continuedMr. McTodd, this time to the undersized fireman who wasattending to the windlass engines beside him, "but by thepleasure somebody seems to be taking over the scrap, itseemed vara like as if our Old Man had scraped clear, andwas coming back here to stir up trouble. Gosh! I'd give athumb to think yon was true."

"There's the skipper, sir, just rode up on a black'orse to the top of that sand-'ill. Looks to me by the way'e's a-shakin' 'is fist 'e's letting loose a mouthful oflanguage."

"Bite off your tongue, you mutinous son of a Whitechapeltripe-hawker. Man, I have seen creatures more worthy thanyou fair smashed to a jelly for speaking so of the Lorrd'sanointed. And anyway, abusing the skipper's an amusem*nt Iresairve for mysel'. Waving, is he? I'll let him wave hisarrums from their sockets and his whip-lash of a tonguefrom its roots before I pleasure him by sending a boatthat'll bring him off to interfere here. By gosh, this ismy funeral, and no other corrpse need apply."

And so, like another commanding officer before him,Mr. N. A. McTodd turned a blind eye to all shore signalstill he had completed the work he had set his mind on,and saw the Norman Towers hung to her anchor with cleandeep water all round her, and had cast off the heavy wiretowing-hawser from the Wangaroo, and bidden Trethewy drophis hook alongside. But when all this was completed he sentoff a boat, and piously anticipated the enjoyment of seeingKettle in a furious rage at having all the difficult workdone for him.

But that small mariner read the scheme of Mr. McTodd'sambitions (as he and others were rowed off), and withan effort pulled his temper into hand, and resolvednot to allow himself to be drawn for the Scot's wickedgratification.

Instead he stretched out a cordial hand. "Mac," he said,"it's clever of you. How in James did you manage to doit?"

The Northerner's jaw dropped. He was losing the sport hehad promised himself. "It looks as if I'd gone beyond yourorders," he said pointedly.

"I didn't leave you behind in charge because you werereliable," Kettle told him sharply, "but because you werethe best I had."

"Man," retorted the Scot, "I kenned fine you undervaluedme, and it is just that knowledge that's impelled me tomiracles. Ye saw for yourself how impossible it was everto get this rusted old cargo-box into deep watter again,and here you now see it's been done. You, and the BritishBoard of Trade, and a few others, can never be convincedof my qualifications, and I'm put to this perpetual strainof perforrming miracles just for the sake of my ordinaryprofessional credit."

"You've been drinking again, among other things."

"And for why not? Drinking, say you? Man, I tell youthe Archbishop of York who's an Aberdonian, yes, or eventhe moderator of Free Kairk of Scotland, would have lappedguid whisky if he had had it, as a counter-irritant to thestrain I've been put to. As a firrst example: how many ofthose ducks you left in my charge do ye think can swim?"

"I never took the census of them."

"Pairfectly. Weel, I did. It seemed (on inquiry) therewere three who said they could, and twenty-three whocouldn't. Man, you'll barely believe it, but I've taughttwenty-two."

"Now look here, Mac, pull yourself together and tell astraight tale. Twenty-three you said a second before. Whichis it? And anyway, what has swimming to do with pulling theTowers out of that bay?"

"Man, dinna' be offensive. Your nationality is againstyou, I ken fine, but fight against it, man, fight againstit." Mr. McTodd shredded tobacco for his pipe, and scouredout an evil-smelling dottle into his hand. "Twenty-three,as I said, I tackled, and twenty-two I taught. The oddswimmer got mislaid, and whether the sharks got him, orcramp, or whether he started to swim back under water toCardiff where he came from, and lost his course, I canna'tell you.

"Anyway, I was minus his services, and for that andno other reason I mourned his memory. But for the rest,I turned them into mermaids, and, gosh! you should haveseen some of them strip. They'd have made a sculptorfaint. We got a fire in the donkey boiler on the Towers,and persuaded her number one winch to turn, and rigged aderrick. They'd a big iron tip-bucket in number three holdthat they'd used for shipping that copper ore, and thatwith holes punched in was just the implement I wanted. Yesee the game?"

"Go on."

"I'll trouble you for a match."

"Here's my last. For the lord's sake, go on."

"In due time," said the engineer, lighting his pipe,and speaking between sucks. "We lowered the bucket on tothe top of the dam, and then divers had to fill it by handwith stones. I led them. Man, I lived under water like theKing Neptune they tell of in the wind-jammer days, andthose of the hands that didn't dive well or stay down theprescribed time, I beat over the head with rocks away downthere tinder the surface of the sea. And you, who havebeen enjoying yourself on a circular tour round all thefashionable sights of the neighborhood, come back and throwhints about the whisky!

"Man, in your ear, it's vara humorous; it was no' yourwhisky at all, or the ship's. It was from the owner'sprivate sea store that he went away too rattled to leavelocked. I ask you, how's that for humor?" Sir GeorgeChesterman had come into the chart house in time to hearthis last. He laughed cheerfully. "That's all right, Mr.McTodd. The necessity of commandeering medical comforts intime of stress is recognized by act of parliament. Thendid you and that splendid crew pull down that enormousembankment by hand, and in deep water?"

"Our policy," said the engineer, emphasizing his pointwith an explanatory pipe-stem, "was to cut a gap big enoughfor the steamboat to pass through at the top of flood.We'd no ambition, ye'll understand, for leaving pairmanentstructural improvements to this part of Africa, and whenwe'd a bucketful of the stone hoisted above water level,we hooked it on to another derrick chain aft and dumpedit over the stern. That was where trouble began with thenatives. They seemed to object to our spoiling the contoursof their dock."

"Have they been sniping you all along?"

"If the money those misguided heathen wasted on powderand slugs had been spent on whisky, and distributed inGlasgow, half of the second city in the empire would havebeen happy for a day. And their firing, thanks to myingenuity, was all wasted. It was vara humorous to see theway they went on bombarding the coal bags I erected toshelter the men. We talked back at them, too, in a languagethey could understand.

"I let the watch on deck—I mean those that weren'tengaged for the moment on the diving—take theirrifles and loose off cartridges from behind coal bags. Ihear that some of them quite pride themselves on beingmarksmen, and that bald-headed old pirate, with experiencein the China seas, says he's a further bag of thirteen tohis discredit. They shot at every native they could see.Man, its laughable to think they bombarded the saint's ownmessengers, and nearly lost us yon cargo of gold."

"Lost which?" Captain Kettle and Sir GeorgeChesterman bounced in their chairs and put the questionsimultaneously.

"You needna' shout. Your nerves are suffering fromdrought, and as an expert I should recommend a lubricant.The saint sent the gold to foot his bill all right, andthere was a message which said there was no hurry about therifles, as you'd all be staying with him for some time."

Sir George and Captain Kettle glanced at one another.The same thought flashed across each of them. Had SidiMohammed Bergash an idea that with the gold once onboard, the Wangaroo would vanish forthwith from hiscalculations? It was little he knew McTodd.

"I offered the messengers some slight refreshment,"said the engineer, "and as they wouldna' take it owing toreleegious scruples, I just swallowed it mysel' to proveto them the superiority of my own Northern creed, and thenI locked up the gold in a state-room, and got on with myemployment. But I'd an idea there might be mischief in thebackground, so I gave the old chief a job. He's a veryintelligent man, the chief engineer of the Wangaroo, ifhe's provided with ideas, and a working drawing, and hastools put into his hands just as they are required."

"What on earth are you maundering about now?"

"You ken yon brass signal-gun on the old Towers theybombarded us with as we came into the lagoon?"

"Yes, a useless toy."

"Aye, there speaks your layman's ignorance. Man, I gaveour chief the idea—it was a brilliant little thing ofmy own, but I'll not waste the details on your unmechanicalintelligence—and he put a rifling into the barrel,and turned up some scrap brass we had into shells, andfitted them with studs to correspond with the rifling. Forwant of a better explosive we filled the shells with water,and I tell you a fine din they made when they burst. She'llcarry three-quarters of a mile, will that twopenny brasscannon in her new state, and one shell she threw landedamong a committee meeting of true believers and sent tenof them there and then to the place where they fry gratis.I watched it myself with the bridge binoculars. Gosh, youshould have seen the old chief. He'd let no one sairve thegun but himself. You may call him cynical, you may know himto be sarcastic, but my idea is that the worrld has mislaidin him a natural artilleryman."

The carpenter rapped smartly at the door, opened it, andwaited to be spoken to.

"Yes?" said Captain Kettle.

"I've sounded the Towers in every hold, sir. She'stight everywhere. So are all the compartments of the doublebottom that I could get at."

"Very good," said Kettle, and the carpenter went out."And what's your idea of her engines, Mac?"

"Weel, I have na' had time to take a turn out of them,and there's no denying that outwardly they're disgraceful.Any engines with sea water on them and three months'neglect would be that. But with three days' labor, and somegood nursing, I don't see they would be any worrse thanmany of the marine engines that are now earning deevidendsall over the seas. Gosh! there's that noisy-minded stewardringing the thing he calls a gong for supper. It would meana bath at least for me if I was to come down, so with leaveI'll stay in comfort as I am, and have a snack on deck. Andso. Captain, as I see you're aching to beautify yourself,I'll leave ye. Aboot that bottle of brilliantine I beggedthe loan of—"

"I have none," snapped Kettle.

"Weel," drawled the Scot, "I've no' used the half ofit," and muttering to himself "vara humorous," he pulledhimself up and rolled out of the chart house.

"McTodd's a great taste for pulling your leg," said SirGeorge, as he followed more slowly.

"At sea," retorted Captain Kettle sharply, "I don'tappreciate it. My idea is, sir, that the engine-room shouldalways give the deck officers proper respect. And by James,sir, if they don't know how, I'm the man to teach them."

Captain Owen Kettle ripped off jellab and head-robe anddropped them on the floor with a gesture of disgust. It isalso on record that, punctual man though he is known to be,he was twenty minutes late when he sat down that night atthe head of the table before the plate of tepid soup whichthe anxious steward had saved for him. But he was once morehis spick-and-span self, and obviously pleased with theuniverse.

They had their after-dinner coffee out on deck under thewonderful African stars, and Captain Kettle found himselfseated apart from the other men, but near Miss VioletChesterman by that lady's skilful management. Her face waswhite and rather drawn, and there were heavy shadows underher eyes, all things that were easily accounted for by therecent distressing experiences she had undergone. But therewas a brightness about her talk which showed that a highspirit still ran within her, and there was an indefinablesomething in her attitude that made the little sailor feelvaguely restive and uneasy.

She talked composedly over recent events—herown departure from the Wangaroo, which she franklystigmatized as foolish, the arrival at the fortress, andher unexpected treatment there.

"I believe Sidi Bergash really believed I would marryhim, though to give him his due he never did put it in somany words. But there is no doubt that both my brother andI were in extreme danger, and the way you got us out of hisclutches is a thing that never can be properly rewarded."... And she said more, much more, in the same strain. Itwas flattering, it was fluent, yet somehow without beingable to find out any definite cause of offense, Kettlefound that it all in a vague way jarred on him. Up tillnow he had always enjoyed and, indeed, looked forward toMiss Chesterman's conversation, as of course she meant heshould; and to-night's change disquieted him. For halfan hour he listened there in the warm night under thosesouthern stars without being able to define even to himselfthe subtle change that had come over her manner, but atlast with a flash it dawned on him. There was a taintof patronage over this talk to-night. It was intendedthat he should grasp that indiscretions in the past wereindiscretions, and that she was the great lady, and that hewas the hired mariner.

All Captain Kettle's rebellious nature leaped into armsat the discovery—and as promptly became limp andsubmissive. She had made a mistake; he had made a mistake;and if this was her way of putting things straight, heought not to be the one to complain.

"And now," said she, "I must speak to you on a moreintimate matter, and that is about your attachment tomy mai—to Emily. My eyes have told me what yourfeelings are in the matter, and both my brother and I wishto see you comfortably settled down. So we have thoughtout what seems to us a suitable wedding present, and mybrother—ah, here's Rex, and there he is. George!"

"Yes, old girl. Having a talk with the skipper? Did youtell him our little scheme?"

"I left it to you."

"Well, Captain, it's this. In a moment of stress I toldyou I'd give everything I possessed in the world to becarried safely back on board here, and as you're the manwho's done the magic trick, you are naturally entitled tothe pay. Of course when it comes to the point I'm goingto tell you I didn't really mean what I said, and allthe rest of it, and so will you kindly waive the wholeclaim, and accept the Norman Towers as she stands, insettlement?"

Captain Kettle swallowed hard. "I couldn't, sir, Ireally couldn't. I do appreciate your splendid generosity,but this is beyond all reason. Eight and a half percent, is what you promised me and that I'll take in allgratitude. But the whole; I couldn't. Why, ship and cargotogether are worth two hundred thousand pounds."

The big man put his hands in the pockets of his looseshooting-coat, and made a mocking bow. The big retrieveropened a laughing mouth. "If I value; my only sister atone hundred fifty thousand pounds, which really seems animpertinently low figure, that only leaves fifty thousandpounds for myself, and In justice to my constituents Icouldn't put it at less. But, Skipper, I prefer not tolook on It In that light I owe you a tremendous debt ofgratitude that I can never repay. You are, I trust, goingto marry Miss Dubbs, who is a girl I have a great likingfor, and it will give me real pleasure if you will acceptfrom my sister and myself a wedding present which will, webelieve, provide for you comfortably. You'll find papersin this envelope which will form an efficient transferof the steamer from myself as full owner to you.... Andnow, Violet, you're dead tired, and so am I. You'd muchbetter go below and turn in. That's what I am going to domyself. We'll see Captain Kettle at breakfast to-morrowmorning."

****

An hour later Mr. Forster, the elderly second mate,knocked at the chart-house door, opened, and went in.He stood for a moment sniffing noisily at a smell offrangipani, and then looked heavily round the angle ofthe door. On the plush settee sat Captain Kettle and MissDubbs, her arm round his neck, his left arm round her trimwaist, their right hands clasped, their lips together.

The second mate was a stupid man, and pridedhimself on his stupidity. "Captain," he said, "I've toreport—"

"Get out."

"To—to report that—"

"Get to blazes out of this, you blundering elephant,or I'll throw you into the ditch. What in thunder do youmean coming into my room unasked? Get out, you armor-platedidiot, and shut the door."

Mr. Forster retreated slowly and heavily, shut the solidteak door to within five inches of the jamb, and fastenedit there on the hook. Through the gap he stolidly completedhis message. "There's a ship's life-boat rowing in herefrom the entrance of the lagoon. She's manned by white men.The moonlight shows them clearly."

"Callers at this time of night?" said Captain Kettlelightly, but within him he was conscious of a queer sinkingfeeling, and, as he confessed afterward, a premonition ofdisaster. But to his officer he added in his usual brisktones, "Very good. You needn't report again unless theyseem to want help, or till they come up alongside. Keep abright lookout. And please remember I'm busy, and do notwish to be disturbed unless on ship's business."

CHAPTER XXVI.
The Surviving Farnish.

"WE'LL have to be married in the Church of England,"said the little sailor, "because that's the tightest wayof getting the splice made, but after you're Mrs. Kettle,I take it there'll be no more church for us. Miss Dubbs,dear."

"I suppose not, Captain darling, if you wish it," saidthat fine young woman rather wistfully. "But with thissplendid fortune you've got, we could afford it, andthere's no doubt about where the best people go to."

Captain Kettle went on, with the bright fixed eye of aman who sees the dearest project of his life within reach."I was brought up part Bible Christian, and part MethodistNew Connection. I've had the advantage also of trying theWesleyans, the Spiritualists, and the Plymouth Brethren,and I've seen good points in all of them. You hear thatgrand instrument the harmonium in all their chapels, andthere's no doubt their people do stick together. Butbetween ourselves they all seem to me, when you come toanalyze them, to lack what I might call 'snap ', andthey're certainly short on poetry. Now I believe that youand I, Miss Dubbs, dear, when you are Mrs. Kettle, can runa brand-new religion of our own, and derive much benefit. Idon't believe (as many do) in starting In a seaport town,and getting big congregations straight away. I know youcan do that. A fool of a sailor (when he's ashore) will goand listen to any old tale, especially if it's set to ahymn tune. My idea is to set up in a country place, and thelonelier and more poetical, the better. I want poetry inmine, and hills, and rocks, and the blue sky over all, andthe tinkle of a river flowing fast. You've never been inWharfedale, dear; you told me so. But I was there once fora week-end, and I thought that if ever I'd the chance I'dbuy a farm there that I know of, and rent a small chapelthat is to let near it. You don't know what poetry there isin sheep and cows till you've lived near them."

"No, dear, but I could learn, though privately I believeI should do best with hens. But I think the chapel's asplendid idea. Besides, that sort of thing has always whatI call more permanent interest in it than just gaddingabout to music-halls, which is what some girls like. Itgives you a position at once, too, when you're known to beleader of the chapel set."

"It would be a splendid thing to be head of a religionof our own that was recognized by Whitaker's Almanackand all the great authorities. 'Particular Methodists',I think, could be the name. 'Wharfedale ParticularMethodists', perhaps, to distinguish it from imitations.And I wouldn't take any convert that offered, either.I'd make it select—and strict.... And with moneyto back me up, unlimited money, as I suppose it will bewhen that copper ore's realized on, I could afford torun missionaries and send them out to the uttermost ofthe heathen whites—to Swansea, and to New York,to Cardiff, to Chicago and Glasgow even, and perhapsManchester and New Orleans.... Yes, what is it? Comein."

The heavy hand of the old second mate was beatingagainst the door panel. "It's that boat. She's alongside,and at the foot of the ladder. There's a party steeringthat looks like Noah, and as far as I can understand hisjibber, he says the Norman Towers is his. Am I to lethim and his people on deck? They're the raggedest lookingcrew of beach-combers I ever saw in all my going a-fishing.There's one of them seems to have gone clear loony. He'splaying on the penny whistle. Spanish Ladies the tune is.He looks as pleased as if it was Saturday night and he wassitting on his own forecastle head."

Captain Kettle sighed heavily. "Miss Dubbs, dear, I've abad feeling we've made those plans too soon."

"So have I. I feel as if pa, or an angel or somebodyhas only to utter a spell like 'Time, gentlemen, please,'and we'd all wake up, and the money would be back in SirGeorge's pocket where it rightly belongs." She pressed thelittle sailor tightly to her ample bosom. "But sleeping orwaking I've got you. You're real."

"I hope so," said Kettle miserably. "And now, my dear,if you'll excuse me, I must go."

Already the boat's crew had shipped their oars and madefast their painter, and the helmsman, a blowsy old man withuntrimmed hair and burst carpet slippers had swung himselfheavily on the ladder, and was plodding up the side. Hisshoulders were humped with failure. The young successfulshipmaster met him at the head of the gangway.

"Come on board, my man, and let's see what we can dofor you. I suppose it goes without saying you've metmisfortune."

"Aye, you may call it that, Mr. Kettle, me man, or begpardon. Captain Kettle as I see you are now by the stripeson your cuff. Terrible smart fellows for uniform, all youyoung officers nowadays."

"Who are you? By James, if poor old Captain Famishweren't drowned and dead, I should say—Here, man,just step over into the light."

The new-comer dried moist eyes with the back of his handand laughed wearily. "It's a great mistake a man not beingdrowned when drowned he's reported to be. We've found thathalf a score of times when we've put in at places wherethere was a consul and tried to raise a loan to victualthe boat. 'I want to draw on my owners for a pound,' I'dsay, 'to buy biscuit and a can of beef,' I'd tell him, andthe consul would prove to me from Lloyds' reports that oldCaptain Saturday Famish was drowned along with all handsthat sailed on the Norman Towers, and then he'd pump outunpleasant talk about swindlers and confidence men beforeall the loafers in the office till I'd be fit to die ofshame. Oh, I tell you, Captain Kettle, me man, the life ofa shipmaster when he's alive is a dog's life, but when he'sofficially supposed to be dead (as you may be some day)it's plain hell."

Captain Kettle's mind flashed across to that comfortablewoman in the bursting satins who lived in MerseysideTerrace, Birkenhead. "And you've never reported that youwere alive?"

"I never had the heart to say the word, or a postagestamp to send it with."

"Then mother will have drawn your insurance?"

"There is none, Owen, me man. There's not a penny todraw. I got a bit irregular about my payments, beingforgetful, owing to attacks of malaria, and the insurancehas lapsed. It'll have been workhouse for the old woman andthe girls, unless she's got a bit of washing, or unlessthe firm's done something for them, which isn't likely."He rubbed his sea-chapped hands together, and sniffedhungrily. "There's a rare tasty smell coming from belowsomewhere. Must be cooky's putting up a bit of a snack forthe steward and himself before they turn in. D'you know,Owen, me man, an onion's a fruit I haven't touched for sixmonths, and for that matter I haven't seen meat half adozen times."

"Come away below. Captain. Mr. Forster, send the boat'screw forward, and see them well attended to and fed, andserve them out a good stiff tot of grog. Come away, below,Captain, at once. This lady is Miss Dubbs."

"You must pardon me, miss," said the old man, "for beingso upset at the idea of grub, but you see Chips—mycarpenter, I should say—who was in the boat withme, was a heavy eater, and he provided the music, and itwas the music alone that kept the men from turning downthe job, and stepping ashore and staying there wheneverthey got the chance. The captain here, who's a musicianhimself, will tell you what Chips could do with the pennywhistle."

"He could play," said the expert, "I'll admit that."

"He reminded me of that party in the poem that I've seenpictures of, who played the penny whistle so well thathe lured away the rats from a whole town full of fat oldfellows who at that time were seeing them. Lord, Captain,me man, fancy getting a knife and fork in one's fists,and sitting down before a plate on a table-cloth. No,Steward, don't give me beef. I've not got my teeth on methis evening. Yes, some of that salmon. You've no idea howI've thirsted and hungered after some nice tinned salmon,miss, since I've been threshing about in that murderinglife-boat. To my mind there's nothing so tasty as tinnedsalmon, unless perhaps it's finnan haddie if you put enoughvinegar on it just to damp the microbes."

The shaggy man sat at the end of the saloon table eatingsteadily, eating as man only can eat after he has livedfor months on the edge of starvation, and Miss Dubbs andCaptain Kettle leaned elbows on the table on either sideof him, and stared gloomily at one another and at him.Conversation came disjointedly, and between mouth fills.

It appeared that when cargo shifted in the gale sixmonths ago, and the Norman Towers lay helpless on herbeam ends with the wind howling over her. Captain Farnishdecided that she would sink, but made up his mind to godown with her after the manner approved by his tribe.He was "old and useless." He would "never get anothership." He would be "far better off comfortably drowned."There were institutions which "would help the widow of ashipmaster lost at sea," while "no institution on earthexcept the workhouse would assist the wife of a disrated,out-of-work sea-captain." But certain of the hands impelledthereto by the musically-minded carpenter lugged himwith them into the boat and once there his old trick ofseamanship saved the lot of them.—"We old shellbackscan handle open boats in heavy weather in a way that wouldsurprise you brass-bound swells of the newer school, Owen,me man."—They, too, saw the Norman Towers insteadof turning turtle, shake her cargo amidships again, andblow off before the gale, and Farnish tried desperately tofollow, but lost her in the driving sea smoke. But he wasthen and later bitten with the theory that she was eitherafloat somewhere, blowing about the seas, or neatly ashoreand offering her cargo for salvage.

Thereafter his wanderings were worthy of Homeric verse.He was old, he was not too competent, he had no particularcharm that I ever saw to attract men to him. He had neithermoney nor credit with which to buy provisions, and on therare occasions when he went ashore—in Las Palmas,at Mogador, at Bathurst, and in the Cape Verdes—hewas received with derision and insult. It seems they livedfor the most part on fish that they caught themselveswhen inshore and sun-dried as best they could for thebluewater sections of their cruise. As regards water, theyrisked their lives a score of times in running the crazyboat through the surf when mad with thirst to fill herbreakers.

Why the crew stuck by him is one of those things thatseem to be in the teeth of all reason. His one explanationthat they stayed for the mere pleasure of hearing thecarpenter toot on the penny whistle is ridiculous, butfrankly I have nothing much better to offer. There wasneither gain, pleasure, nor advancement to dangle in frontof the crew by way of lure, and, on the other hand, therewas very certain starvation, hardship and danger to beearned in plenty. One can only conclude that for someobscure reason they must have loved the old man, and forthat and no other possible cause they stuck to him.

It must have been the most hopeless kind of chase.

He was ignorant about the more modern niceties ofcurrents, unsound on his trade-winds, hopelessly out ofdate on the theory of storms. His dull rule of thumbscience could not even form a theory as to where they haddrifted to. But from some obscure pricking of the thumbshe had faith that she was either afloat, or neatly castashore, but, at any rate, waiting for him.

"I knew I should hit upon the old girl at last if onlyI could induce the hands to keep on long enough," saidCaptain Saturday Famish. "Did you happen to find my oldpipe in the chart house by any chance, or had the nigg*rsscoffed it? Chips lugged me away in such a hurry I hadn'ttime to slip it into my pocket. I should hate to lose thatpipe. It's the one mother gave me the year I earned all mybonus."

"I have it in my own chart-room, on top. There wasmother's photo, too. I took that also."

Captain Kettle swallowed hard. Mention of that uncleanmeerschaum always upset him.

"You're a good lad, Owen, me man, and I'm glad it's youthat's met with luck. You're young, and you've all theworld before you, and now you needn't work. I'm old, andI'm out of date, and nobody wants me. Eh, well, I wonderwhen I shall eat onions and tinned salmon again? Never,probably."

"To-morrow, if you like," said Captain Kettle.

"That's very good of you, Owen, me man. I suppose you'llgive me a passage home. You'll find I'll not intrude. I amreal glad that it's you that's picked up the old Towers,and made a fortune out of her, and—and—"

"And ruined you."

"Well, you didn't set out to do It, and don't thinkI bear you malice, though if it had been any one else Ishould have been fit to tear his throat out. It's notfor myself I care. It's poor mother I'm thinking about.She's been the best possible wife to me. I—I didlook forward to letting her have the balance of her daysin comfort." The old man's unkempt gray beard droopeddejectedly on his chest.

The steward came up to Captain Kettle with a respectfulwhisper. "I've made ready for the captain the room theAfrican ladies had, sir, trusting that's your wish."

"Very good." Kettle put a hand on his guest's shoulder,and shook him gently. "I think you had better turn in."

"Qui' ri', my dear, qu' ri', mother. Had a mos'important business meeting t' attend. You may put down thatMalacca in the hat-stand. Really no offense this time.Business negotiations entirely 'n your behalf, ol' lady,though unsuccessful I'm sorry to say. Future entirelyhopeless. Help me to bed, mother."

"Here, let me help," said Miss Dubbs, with suspiciouslyshining eyes. "No, don't you bother, steward. The captainand I can manage."

****

Once more they were In the chart house, sitting sideby side on the settee. Miss Dubbs stole out a sympathetichand, and gripped Captain Kettle's with her very capablefingers. "It's been very hard for him, poor old man, but wehave to face these misfortunes."

"Yes," said Kettle, and drew his hand away.

"I suppose you'd like to do something for him?"

"Yes," said Kettle, and rested his torpedo beard in theheel of his fist.

"It would be a charity if you did."

"No," said the little sailor, and stood briskly tohis feet. "Miss," he said, "it'll be hard for you tounderstand, but that man's my old sea-daddy. His wife wasall the mother I ever knew. The pair of them brought meup, and a hard enough pinch it must have been, but whenthere wasn't enough to go round, they were the ones thatwent without. That happened more than once. There weretimes when employment was scarce, and they were nipped,miss, badly nipped; but there was always tucker for me, andclothes, and school-pence, and that's what I'm rememberingnow. When first I came to sea, Mrs. Farnish—I used tocall her mother, y' know, miss—she said, 'You'll lookafter the old man, Owen,' and I said I would, and I've justgot to. You see, miss, she was all the mother I've everknown, and anyway, I never went back on my word. I couldn'tthrow charity to Captain Farnish, Miss Dubbs. He's got tohave his ship back, with all that's in her in the way ofcargo, just as she was given to me by Sir George. And now,Miss Dubbs, dear, I know what you think, and you can sayit presently. I know in my present state I'm no man for asplendid lady like you to marry, and so I want you pleaseto consider our engagement at an end."

"You throw me off, do you, Captain?"

"If you put it that way."

"Then look here, young man, I'll sue you for breach ofpromise if you do as sure as my name's Miss Dubbs. Afterall the trouble I've had to get the man I wanted, I don'tlose him like that."

"I'm just a pauper, and I don't think I'll ever beanything more. It will be work for mine all the days of mynatural."

"Which is precisely what I looked forward to when Ifirst permitted you to pay me attention at the Mason'sArms. I didn't mistake you for a bank manager in disguise,although you may have thought so."

The sailor clapped an enthusiastic arm round the lady'swaist. "Miss Dubbs, my dearest, how splendid you are!"

"So that's all right," was her murmured retort. "You'remine. Captain, till death us do part, and don't you forgetit. But it will be an upset for Sir George's plans."

"If you don't mind, we'll not tell Sir George. Hedoesn't know Captain Farnish, you see, and I should hateto have him think I was—well, you know what I mean.Time enough to transfer to the old man when we get homeand the ore's realized on and the Norman Towers issold.—It's—By James, how dare you poke yourunpleasant head in at my porthole, McTodd?"

"Three o'clock in the morning and the skipper courtinghis girrl. 'Oh, silver moon and Afric's stars, you've muchto answer for.' G.R. Tennyson wrote that, and I aye thoughtit one of his finest poems. Man, but flirrting like this isa terrible example to some of the ship's company. Me, forinstance."

"We're engaged," snapped Kettle.

Mr. McTodd rubbed his chin, and shut one eye. "Are yetelling me that as news?"

"It's the latest."

"Oh, vara humorous," said McTodd. "Puir young things,they've just discovered what this sma' worrld of aship-board kenned since the day we first left Las Palmas.Miss, I kiss my hand to ye, and after I've been below todrink your health out of the chief engineer's whisky bottlewhich is under his bunk, I'll go to my chest, and see ifI canna' find a suitable wedding present. But what I cameto tell is this. That blue-eyed saint has swung off to theshore. Do ye think that man's straight, or just an African?And when is he going to take delivery of those Winchesterrifles he's already paid for?"

THE END

Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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