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twg_000000036400 | the time of the strange glow," cried Ives. It was decided that two men and a petty officer should be sent aboard the _Laughing Lass_ to make her fast with a cable, and remain on board over night. But when the order was given the men hung back. One of them protested brokenly that he was sick. Trendon, after examination, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036401 | reported to the captain. "Case of blue funk, sir. Might as well be sick. Good for nothing. Others aren't much better." "Who was to be in charge?" "Congdon," replied the doctor, naming one of the petty officers. "He's my coxswain," said Captain Parkinson. "A first-class man. I can hardly believe that he is afraid. We'll see." [Illustration: A man who | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036402 | was a bit of a mechanic was set to work to open the chest] Congdon was sent for. "You're ordered aboard the schooner for the night, Congdon," said the captain. "Yes, sir." "Is there any reason why you do not wish to go?" The man hesitated, looking miserable. Finally he blurted out, not without a certain dignity: "I obey orders, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036403 | sir." "Speak out, my man," urged the captain kindly. "Well, sir: it's Mr. Edwards, then. You couldn't scare him off a ship, sir, unless it was something--something----" He stopped, failing of the word. "You know what Mr. Edwards was, sir, for pluck," he concluded. "_Was_!" cried the captain sharply. "What do you mean? "The schooner got him, sir. You don't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036404 | make no doubt of that, do you, sir?" The man spoke in a hushed voice, with a shrinking glance back of him. "Will you go aboard under Mr. Ives?" "Anywhere my officer goes I'll go, and gladly, sir." Ives was sent aboard in charge. For that night, in a light breeze, the two ships lay close together, the schooner riding | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036405 | jauntily astern. But not until morning illumined the world of waters did the _Wolverine_'s people feel confident that the _Laughing Lass_ would not vanish away from their ken like a shape of the mist. V THE DISAPPEARANCE When Barnett come on deck very early in the morning of June 7th, he found Dr. Trendon already up and staring moodily out | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036406 | at the _Laughing Lass_. As the night was calm the tow had made fair time toward their port in the Hawaiian group. The surgeon was muttering something which seemed to Barnett to be in a foreign tongue. "Thought out any clue, doctor?" asked the first officer. "_Petit Chel_--Pshaw! _Jolie Celimene!_ No," muttered Trendon. "_Marie--Marie_--I've got it! The _Marie Celeste_." "Got | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036407 | what? What about her?" "Parallel case," said Trendon. "Sailed from New York back in the seventies. Seven weeks out was found derelict. Everything in perfect order. Captain's wife's hem on the machine. Boats all accounted for. No sign of struggle. Log written to within forty-eight hours." "What became of the crew?" "Wish I could tell you. Might help to unravel | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036408 | our tangle." He shook his head in sudden, unwonted passion. "Evidently there's something criminal in her record," said Barnett, frowning at the fusty schooner astern. "Otherwise the name wouldn't be painted out." "Painted out long ago. See how rusty it is. Schermerhorn's work maybe," replied Trendon. "Secret expedition, remember." "In the name of wonders, why should he do it?" "Secret | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036409 | expedition, wasn't it?" "Um-ah; that's true," said the other thoughtfully. "It's quite possible." "Captain wishes to see both of you gentlemen in the ward room, if you please," came a message. Below they found all the officers gathered. Captain Parkinson was pacing up and down in ill-controlled agitation. "Gentlemen," he said, "we are facing a problem which, so far as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036410 | I know, is without parallel. It is my intention to bring the schooner which we have in tow to port at Honolulu. In the present unsettled weather we cannot continue to tow her. I wish two officers to take charge. Under the circumstances I shall issue no orders. The duty must be voluntary." Instantly every man, from the veteran Trendon | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036411 | to the youthful paymaster, volunteered. "That is what I expected," said Captain Parkinson quietly. "But I have still a word to say. I make no doubt in my own mind that the schooner has twice been beset by the gravest of perils. Nothing less would have driven Mr. Edwards from his post. All of us who know him will appreciate | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036412 | that. Nor can I free myself from the darkest forebodings as to his fate and that of his companions. But as to the nature of the peril I am unable to make any conjecture worthy of consideration. Has anyone a theory to offer?" There was a dead silence. "Mr. Barnett? Dr. Trendon? Mr. Ives?" "Is there not possibly some connection | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036413 | between the unexplained light which we have twice seen, and the double desertion of the ship?" suggested the first officer, after a pause. "I have asked myself that over and over. Whatever the source of the light and however near to it the schooner may have been, she is evidently unharmed." "Yes, sir," said Barnett. "That seems to vitiate that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036414 | explanation." "I thank you, gentlemen, for the promptitude of your offers," continued the captain. "In this respect you make my duty the more difficult. I shall accept Mr. Ives because of his familiarity with sailing craft and with these seas." His eyes ranged the group. "I beg your pardon, Captain Parkinson," eagerly put in the paymaster, "but I've handled a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036415 | schooner yacht for several years and I'd appreciate the chance of----" "Very well, Mr. McGuire, you shall be the second in command." "Thank you, sir." "You gentlemen will pick a volunteer crew and go aboard at once. Spare no effort to find records of the schooner's cruise. Keep in company and watch for signals. Report at once any discovery or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036416 | unusual incident, however slight." Not so easily was a crew obtained. Having in mind the excusable superstition of the men, Captain Parkinson was unwilling to compel any of them to the duty. Awed by the mystery of their mates' disappearance, the sailors hung back. Finally by temptation of extra prize money, a complement was made up. At ten o'clock of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036417 | a puffy, mist-laden morning a new and strong crew of nine men boarded the _Laughing Lass_. There were no farewells among the officers. Forebodings weighed too heavy for such open expression. All the fates of weather seemed to combine to part the schooner from her convoy. As before, the fog fell, only to be succeeded by squally rain-showers that cut | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036418 | out the vista into a checkerboard pattern of visible sea and impenetrable greyness. Before evening the _Laughing Lass_, making slow way through the mists, had become separated by a league of waves from the cruiser. One glimpse of her between mist areas the _Wolverines_ caught at sunset. Then wind and rain descended in furious volume from the southeast. The cruiser | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036419 | immediately headed about, following the probable course of her charge, which would be beaten far down to leeward. It was a gloomy mess on the warship. In his cabin, Captain Parkinson was frankly sea-sick: a condition which nothing but the extreme of nervous depression ever induced in him. For several hours the rain fell and the gale howled. Then the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036420 | sky swiftly cleared, and with the clearing there rose a great cry of amaze from stem to stern of the _Wolverine_. For far toward the western horizon appeared such a prodigy as the eye of no man aboard that ship had ever beheld. From a belt of marvellous, glowing gold, rich and splendid streamers of light spiralled up into the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036421 | blackness of the heavens. In all the colours of the spectrum they rose and fell; blazing orange, silken, wonderful, translucent blues, and shimmering reds. Below, a broad band of paler hue, like sheet lightning fixed to rigidity, wavered and rippled. All the auroras of the northland blended in one could but have paled away before the splendour of that terrific | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036422 | celestial apparition. On board the cruiser all hands stood petrified, bound in a stricture of speechless wonder. After the first cry, silence lay leaden over the ship. It was broken by a scream of terror from forward. The quartermaster who had been at the wheel came clambering down the ladder and ran along the deck, his fingers splayed and stiffened | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036423 | before him in the intensity of his panic. "The needle! The compass!" he shrieked. Barnett ran to the wheel house with Trendon at his heels. The others followed. The needle was swaying like a cobra's head. And as a cobra's head spits venom, it spat forth a thin, steel-blue stream of lucent fire. Then so swiftly it whirled that the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036424 | sparks scattered from it in a tiny shower. It stopped, quivered, and curved itself upward until it rattled like a fairy drum upon the glass shield. Barnett looked at Trendon. "Volcanic?" he said. "'Mine eyes have seen the coming of the glory of the Lord,'" muttered the surgeon in his deep bass, as he looked forth upon the streaming, radiant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036425 | heavens. "It's like nothing else." In the west the splendour and the terror shot to the zenith. Barnett whirled the wheel. The ship responded perfectly. "I though she might be bewitched, too," he murmured. "You may heal her for the light, Mr. Barnett," said Captain Parkinson calmly. He had come from his cabin, all his nervous depression gone in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036426 | face of an imminent and visible danger. Slowly the great mass of steel swung to the unknown. For an hour the unknown guided her. Then fell blackness, sudden, complete. After that radiance the dazzled eye could make out no stars, but the look-out's keen vision discerned something else. "Ship afire," he shouted hoarsely. "Where away?" "Two points to leeward, near | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036427 | where the light was, sir." They turned their eyes to the direction indicated, and beheld a majestic rolling volume of purple light. Suddenly a fiercer red shot it through. "That's no ship afire," said Trendon. "Volcano in eruption." "And the other?" asked the captain. "No volcano, sir." "Poor Billy Edwards wins his bet," said Forsythe, in a low voice. "God | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036428 | grant he's on earth to collect it," replied Barnett solemnly. No one turned in that night. When the sun of June 8th rose, it showed an ocean bare of prospect except that on the far horizon where the chart showed no land there rose a smudge of dirty rolling smoke. Of the schooner there was neither sign nor trace. VI | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036429 | THE CASTAWAYS "This ship," growled Carter, the second officer, to Dr. Trendon, as they stood watching the growing smoke-column, "is a worse hot-bed of rumours than a down-east village. That's the third sea-gull we've had officially reported since breakfast." As he said, three distinct times the _Wolverine_ had thrilled to an imminent discovery, which, upon nearer investigation, had dwindled to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036430 | nothing more than a floating fowl. Upon the heels of Carter's complaint came another hail. "Boat ahoy. Three points on the starboard bow." "If that's another gull," muttered Carter, "I'll have something to say to you, my festive lookout." The news ran electrically through the cruiser, and all eyes were strained for a glimpse of the boat. The ship swung | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036431 | away to starboard. "Let me know as soon as you can make her out," ordered Carter. "Aye, aye, sir." "There's certainly something there," said Forsythe, presently. "I can make out a speck rising on the waves." "Bit o' wreckage from Barnett's derelict," muttered Trendon, scowling through his glasses. "Rides too high for a spar or anything of that sort," said | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036432 | the junior lieutenant. "She's a small boat," came in the clear tones of the lookout, "driftin' down." "Anyone in her?" asked Carter. "Can't make out yet, sir. No one's in charge though, sir." Captain Parkinson appeared and Carter pointed out the speck to him. "Yes. Give her full speed," said the captain, replying to a question from the officer of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036433 | the deck. Forward leapt the swift cruiser, all too slow for the anxious hearts of those aboard. For there was not one of the _Wolverines_ who did not expect from this aimless traveller of desert seas at the least a leading clue to the riddle that oppressed them. "Aloft there!" "Aye, aye, sir." "Can you make out her build?" "Rides | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036434 | high, like a dory, sir." "Wasn't there a dory on the _Laughing Lass_?" cried Forsythe. "On her stern davits," answered Trendon. "It is hardly probable that unattached small boats should be drifting about these seas," said Captain Parkinson, thoughtfully. "If she's a dory, she's the _Laughing Lass_'s boat." "That's what she is," said Barnett. "You can see her build plain | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036435 | enough now." "Mr. Barnett, will you go aloft and keep me posted?" said the captain. The executive officer climbed to join the lookout. As he ascended, those below saw the little craft rise high and slow on a broad swell. "Same dory," said Trendon. "I'd swear to her in Constantinople." "What else could she be?" muttered Forsythe. "Somethin' that looks | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036436 | like a man in the bottom of her," sang out the crow's-nest. "Two of 'em, I think." For five minutes there was stillness aboard, broken only by an occasional low-voiced conjecture. Then from aloft: "Two men rolling in the bottom." "Are they alive?" "No, sir; not that I can see." The wind, which had been extremely variable since dawn, now | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036437 | whipped around a couple of points, swinging the boat's stern to them. Barnet, putting aside his glass for a moment, called down: "That's the one, sir. I can make out the name." "Good," said the captain quietly. "We should have news, at least." "Ives or McGuire," suggested Forsythe, in low tones. "Or Billy Edwards," amended Carter. "Not Edwards," said Trendon. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036438 | "How do you know?" demanded Forsythe. "Dory was aboard when we found her the second time, after Edwards had left." "Can you make out which of the men are in her?" hailed the captain. "Don't think it's any of our people," came the astonishing reply from Barnett. "Are you sure?" "I can see only one man's face, sir. It isn't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036439 | Ives or McGuire. He's a stranger to me." "It must be one of the crew, then." "No, sir, beg your parding," called the lookout. "Nothin' like that in our crew, sir." The boat came down upon them swiftly. Soon the quarter-deck was looking into her. She was of a type common enough on the high seas, except that a step | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036440 | for a mast showed that she had presumably been used for skimming about open shores. Of her passengers, one lay forward, prone and quiet. A length of sail cloth spread over him made it impossible to see his garb. At his breast an ugly protuberance, outlined vaguely, hinted a deformity. The other sprawled aft, and at a nearer sight of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036441 | him some of the men broke out into nervous titters. There was some excuse, for surely such a scarecrow had never before been the sport of wind and wave. A thing of shreds he was, elaborately ragged, a face overrun with a scrub of beard, and preternaturally drawn, surmounted by a stiff-dried, dirty, cloth semi-turban, with a wide, forbidding stain | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036442 | along the side, worked out the likeness to a make-up. "My God!" cackled Forsythe with an hysterical explosion; and again, "My God!" A long-drawn, irrepressible aspiration of expectancy rose from the warship's decks as the stranger raised his haggard face, turned eyes unseeingly upon them, and fell back. The forward occupant stirred not, save as the boat rolled. From between | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036443 | decks someone called out, sharply, an order. In the grim silence it seemed strangely incongruous that the measured business of a ship's life should be going forward as usual. Something within the newcomer's consciousness stirred to that voice of authority. Mechanically, like some huge, hideous toy, he raised first one arm, then the other, and hitched himself halfway up on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036444 | the stern seat. His mouth opened. His face wrinkled. He seemed groping for the meaning of a joke at which he knew he ought to laugh. Suddenly from his lips in surprising volume, raucous, rasping, yet with a certain rollicking deviltry fit to set the head a-tilt, burst a chanty: "Oh, their coffin was their ship, and their grave it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036445 | was the sea: _Blow high, blow low, what care we!_ And the quarter that we gave them was to sink them in the sea: _Down on the coast of the high Barbaree-ee._" Long-drawn, like the mockery of a wail, the minor cadence wavered through the stillness, and died away. "The High Barbaree!" cried Trendon. "You know it?" asked the captain, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036446 | expectant of a clue. "One of those cursed tunes you can't forget," said the surgeon. "Heard a scoundrel of a beach-comber sing it years ago. Down in New Zealand, that was. When the fever rose on him he'd pipe up. Used to beat time with a steel hook he wore in place of a hand. The thing haunted me till | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036447 | I was sorry I hadn't let the rascal die. This creature might have learned it from him. Howls it out exactly like." "I don't see that that helps us any," said Forsythe, looking down on the preparations that were making to receive the unexpected guests. With a deftness which had made the _Wolverine_ famous in the navy for the niceties | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036448 | of seamanship, the great cruiser let down her tackle as she drew skilfully alongside, and made fast, preparatory to lifting the dory gently to her broad deck. But before the order came to hoist away, one of the jackies who had gone down drew the covering back from the still figure forward, and turned it over. With a half-stifled cry | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036449 | he shrank back. And at that the tension of soul and mind on the _Wolverine_ snapped, breaking into outcries and sudden, sharp imprecations. The face revealed was that of Timmins, the bo's'n's mate, who had sailed with the first vanished crew. A life preserver was fastened under his arms. He was dead. "I'm out," said the surgeon briefly, and stood | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036450 | with mouth agape. Never had the disciplined _Wolverines_ performed a sea duty with so ragged a routine as the getting in of the boat containing the live man and the dead body. The dead seaman was reverently disposed and covered. As to the survivor there was some hesitancy on the part of the captain, who was inclined to send him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036451 | forward until Dr. Trendon, after a swift scrutiny, suggested that for the present, at least, he be berthed aft. They took the stranger to Edwards's vacant room, where Trendon was closeted with him for half an hour. When he emerged he was beset with questions. "Can't give any account of himself yet," said the surgeon. "Weak and not rightly conscious." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036452 | "What ails him?" "Enough. Gash in his scalp. Fever. Thirst and exhaustion. Nervous shock, too, I think." "How came he aboard the _Laughing Lass_?" "Does he know anything of Billy?" "Was he a stow-away?" "Did you ask him about Ives and McGuire?" "How came he in the small boat?" "Where are the rest?" "Now, now," said the veteran chidingly. "How | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036453 | can I tell? Would you have me kill the man with questions?" He left them to look at the body of the bo's'n's mate. Not a word had he to say when he returned. Only the captain got anything out of him but growling and unintelligible expressions, which seemed to be objurgatory and to express bewildered cogitation. "How long had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036454 | poor Timmins been drowned?" the captain had asked him, and Trendon replied: "Captain Parkinson, the man wasn't drowned. No water in his lungs." "Not drowned! Then how came he by his death?" "If I were to diagnose it under any other conditions I should say that he had inhaled flames." Then the two men stared at each other in blank | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036455 | impotency. Meantime the scarecrow was showing signs of returning consciousness and a message was dispatched for the physician. On his way he met Barnett, who asked and received permission to accompany him. The stranger was tossing restlessly in his bunk, opening and shutting his parched mouth in silent, piteous appeal for the water that must still be doled to him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036456 | parsimoniously. "I think I'll try him with a little brandy," said Trendon, and sent for the liquor. Barnett raised the patient while the surgeon held the glass to his lips. The man's hand rose, wavered, and clasped the glass. "All right, my friend. Take it yourself, if you like," said Trendon. The fingers closed. Tremulously held, the little glass tilted | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036457 | and rattled against the teeth. There was one deep, eager spasm of swallowing. Then the fevered eyes opened upon the face of the _Wolverine_'s first officer. "Prosit, Barnett," said the man, in a voice like the rasp of rusty metal. The navy man straightened up as from a blow under the jaw. "Be careful what you are about," warned Trendon, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036458 | addressing his superior officer sharply, for Barnett had all but let his charge drop. His face was a puckered mask of amaze and incredulity. "Did you hear him speak my name--or am I dreaming?" he half whispered. "Heard him plain enough. Who is he?" The man's eyes closed, but he smiled a little--a singular, wry-mouthed, winning smile. With that there | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036459 | sprung from behind the brush of beard, filling out the deep lines of emaciation, a memory to the recognition of Barnett; a keen and gay countenance that whisked him back across seven years time to the days of Dewey and the Philippines. "Ralph Slade, by the Lord!" he exclaimed. "Of the _Laughing Lass_?" cried Trendon. "Of the _Laughing Lass_." Such | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036460 | a fury of eagerness burned in the face of Barnett that Trendon cautioned him. "See here, Mr. Barnett, you're not going to fire a broadside of disturbing questions at my patient yet a while. He's in no condition." But it was from the other that the questions came. Opening his eyes he whispered, "The sailor? Where?" "Dead," said Trendon bluntly. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036461 | Then, breaking his own rule of repression, he asked: "Did he come off the schooner with you?" "Picked him up," was the straining answer. "Drifting." The survivor looked around him, then into Barnett's face, and his mind too, traversed the years. "_North Dakota?_" he queried. "No; I've changed my ship," said Barnett. "This is the _Wolverine_." "Where's the _Laughing Lass_?" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036462 | Barnett shook his head. "Tell me," begged Slade. "Wait till you're stronger," admonished Trendon. "Can't wait," said the weak voice. The eyes grew wild. "Mr. Barnett, tell him the bare outline and make it short," said the surgeon. "We sighted the _Laughing Lass_ two days ago. She was in good shape, but deserted. That is, we thought she was deserted." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036463 | The man nodded eagerly. "I suppose you were aboard," said Barnett, and Trendon made a quick gesture of impatience and rebuke. "No," said Slade. "Left three--four--don't know how many nights ago." The officers looked at each other. "Go on," said Trendon to his companion. "We put a crew aboard in command of an ensign," continued Barnett, "and picked up the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036464 | schooner the next night, deserted. You must know about it. Where is Billy Edwards?" "Never heard of him," whispered the other. "Ives and McGuire, then. They were there after--Great God, man!" he cried, his agitation breaking out, "Pull yourself together! Give us something to go on." "Mr. Barnett!" said the surgeon peremptorily. But the suggestion was working in the sick | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036465 | man's brain. He turned to the officers a face of horror. "Your man, Edwards--the crew--they left her? In the night?" "What does he mean?" cried Barnett. "The light! You saw it?" "Yes; we saw a strange light," answered Trendon soothingly. Slade half rose. "Lost; all lost!" he cried, and fell back unconscious. Trendon exploded into curses. "See what you've done | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036466 | to my patient," he fumed. Barnett looked at him with contrite eyes. "Better get out before he comes to," growled the surgeon. "Nice way to treat a man half dead of exhaustion." It was nearly an hour before Slade came back to the world again. The doctor forbade him to attempt speech. But of one thing he would not be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036467 | denied. There was a struggle for utterance, then: "The volcano?" he rasped out. "Dead ahead," was the reply. "Stand by!" grasped Slade. He strove to rise, to say something further, but endurance had reached its limit. The man was utterly done. Dr. Trendon went on deck, his head sunk between his shoulders. For a minute he was in earnest talk | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036468 | with the captain. Presently the _Wolverine_'s engines slowed down, and she lay head to the waves, with just enough turn of the screw to hold her against the sea-way. VII THE FREE LANCE By the following afternoon Dr. Trendon reported his patient as quite recovered. "Starved for water," proffered the surgeon. "Tissues fairly dried out. Soaked him up. Fed him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036469 | broth. Put him to sleep. He's all right. Just wakes up to eat; then off again like a two-year old. Wonderful constitution." "The gentleman wants to know if he can come on deck, sir," saluted an orderly. "Waked up, eh. Come on, Barnett. Help me boost him on deck." The two officers disappeared to return in a moment arm-in-arm with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036470 | Ralph Slade. Nearly twenty-four hours' rest and skilful treatment had done wonders. He was still a trifle weak and uncertain, was still a little glad to lean on the arms of his companions, but his eye was bright and alert, and his hollow cheeks mounted a slight colour. This, with the clothes lent him by Barnett, transformed his appearance, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036471 | led Captain Parkinson to congratulate himself that he had not obeyed his first impulse to send the castaway forward with the men. The officers pressed forward. "Mighty glad to see you out." "Hope you've got your pins under you again." "Old man, I'm mighty glad we came along." The chorus of greeting was hearty enough, but the journalist barely paid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036472 | the courtesy of acknowledgment. His eye swept the horizon eagerly until it rested on the cloud of volcanic smoke billowing up across the setting sun. A sigh of relief escaped him. "Where are we?" he asked Barnett. "I mean since you picked me up. How long ago was that, anyway?" "Yesterday," replied the navigating officer. "We've stood off and on, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036473 | looking for some of our men." "Then that's the same volcano----" Barnett laughed softly. "Well, they aren't quite holding a caucus of volcanoes down in this country. One like that is enough." But Slade brushed the remark aside. "Head for it!" he cried excitedly. "We may be in time! There's a man on that island." "A man!" "Another!" "Not Billy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036474 | Edwards?" "Not some of our boys?" Slade stared at them bewildered. "Hold on," interposed Dr. Trendon authoritatively. "What's his name?" he inquired of the journalist. "Darrow," replied the latter. "Percy Darrow. Do you know him?" "Who in Kamschatka is Percy Darrow?" demanded Forsythe. "Why, he's the assistant." It's a long story----" "Of course, it's a long story. There's a lot | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036475 | we want to know," interrupted Captain Parkinson. "Quartermaster, head for the volcano yonder. Mr. Slade, we want to know where you came from; and why you left the schooner, and who Percy Darrow is. And there's dinner, so we'll just adjourn to the messroom and hear what you can tell us. But there's one thing we're all anxious to know; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036476 | how came you in the dory which we found and left on the _Laughing Lass_ no later than two days ago?" "I haven't set eyes on the _Laughing Lass_ for--well, I don't know how long, but it's five days anyway, perhaps more," replied Slade. They stared at him incredulously. "Oh, I see!" he burst out suddenly; "there were twin dories | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036477 | on the schooner. The other one's still there, I suppose. Did you find her on the stern davits?" "Yes." "That's it, then. You see when I left----" Captain Parkinson's raised hand checked him. "If you will be so good, Mr. Slade, let us have it all at once, after mess." At table the young officers, at a sharp hint from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036478 | Dr. Trendon, conversed on indifferent subjects until the journalist had partaken heartily of what the physician allowed him. Slade ate with keen appreciation. "I tell you, that's good," he sighed, when he had finished. "Real, live, after-dinner coffee, too. Why, gentlemen, I haven't eaten a civilised meal, with all the trimmings, for over two years. Doctor, do you think a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036479 | little of the real stuff would hurt me? It's a pretty dry yarning." "One glass," growled the surgeon, "no more." "Scotch high-ball, then," voted Slade, "the higher the better." The steward brought a tall glass with ice, in which the newcomer mixed his drink. Then for quite a minute he sat silent, staring at the table, his fingers aimlessly rubbing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036480 | into spots of wetness the water beads as they gathered on the outside of his glass. Suddenly he looked up. "I don't know how to begin," he confessed. "It's too confounded improbable. I hardly believe it myself, now that I'm sitting here in human clothes, surrounded by human beings. Old Scrubs, and the Nigger, and Handy Solomon, and the Professor, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036481 | and the chest, and the--well, they were real enough when I was caught in the mess. But I warn you, you are not going to believe me, and hanged if I blame you a bit." "We've seen marvels ourselves in the last few days," encouraged Captain Parkinson. "Fire ahead, man," advised Barnett impatiently. "Just begin at the beginning and let | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036482 | it go at that." Slade sipped at his glass reflectively. "Well," said he at length, "the best way to begin is to show you how I happened to be mixed up in it at all." The officers unconsciously relaxed into attitudes of greater ease. Overhead the lamps swayed gently to the swell. The dull throb of the screw pulsated. Stewards | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036483 | clad in white moved noiselessly, filling the glasses, deferentially striking lights for the smokers, clearing away the last dishes of the repast. "I'm a reporter by choice, and a detective by instinct," began Slade, with startling abruptness. "Furthermore, I'm pretty well off. I'm what they call a free lance, for I have no regular desk on any of the journals. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036484 | I generally turn my stuff in to the _Star_ because they treat me well. In return it is pretty well understood between us that I'm to use my judgment in regard to 'stories' and that they'll stand back of me for expenses. You see, I've been with them quite a while." He looked around the circle as though in appeal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036485 | to the comprehension of his audience. Some of the men nodded. Others sipped from their glasses or drew at their cigars. "I loaf around here and there in the world, having a good time travelling, visiting, fooling around. Every once in a while something interests me. The thing is a sort of instinct. I run it down. If it's a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036486 | good story, I send it in. That's all there is to it." He laughed slightly. "You see, I'm a sort of magazine writer in method, but my stuff is newspaper stuff. Also the game suits me. That's why I play it. That's why I'm here. I have to tell you about myself this way so you will understand how I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036487 | came to be mixed up in this _Laughing Lass_ matter." "I remember," commented Barnett, "that when you came aboard the _South Dakota_, you had a little trouble making Captain Arnold see it." He turned to the others with a laugh. "He had all kinds of papers of ancient date, but nothing modern--letter from the _Star_ dated five years back, recommendations | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036488 | to everybody on earth, except Captain Arnold, certificate of bravery in Apache campaign, bank identifications, and all the rest. 'Maybe you're the _Star's_ correspondent, and maybe you're not,' said the Captain, 'I don't see anything here to prove it.' Slade argued an hour; no go. Remember how you caught him?" he inquired of Slade. The reporter grinned assent. "After the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036489 | old man had turned him down for good, Slade fished down in his warbag and hauled out an old tattered document from an oilskin case. 'Hold on a minute,' said he, 'you old shellback. I've proved to you that I can write; and I've proved to you that I have fought, and now here I'll prove to you that I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036490 | can sail. If writing, fighting, and sailing don't fit me adequately to report any little disturbances your antiquated washboiler may blunder into, I'll go to raising cabbages.' With that he presented a master's certificate! Where did you get it, anyway? I never found out." "Passed as 'fresh-water' on the Great Lakes," replied Slade briefly. "Well, the spunk and the certificate | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036491 | finished the captain. He was an old square rigger himself in the Civil War." "So much for myself," Slade continued. "As for the _Laughing Lass_----" PART TWO THE BRASS BOUND CHEST _Being the story told by Ralph Slade, Free Lance, to the officers of the United States cruiser Wolverine_. I THE BARBARY COAST A coincidence got me aboard her. I'll | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036492 | tell you how it was. One evening late I was just coming out of a dark alley on the Barbary Coast, San Francisco. You know--the water front, where you can hear more tongues than at Port Said, see stranger sights, and meet adventure with the joyous certainty of mediaeval times. I'd been down there hunting up a man reported, by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036493 | a wharf-rat of my acquaintance, to have just returned from a two years' whaling voyage. He'd been "shanghaied" aboard, and as a matter of fact, was worth nearly a million dollars. Landed in the city without a cent, could get nobody to believe him, nor trust him to the extent of a telegram East. Wharf-rat laughed at his yarn; but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036494 | I believe it was true. Good copy anyway---- Just at the turn of the alley I nearly bumped into two men. On the Barbary Coast you don't pass men in narrow places until you have reconnoitered a little. I pulled up, thanking fortune that they had not seen me. The first words were uttered in a voice I knew well. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036495 | You've all heard of Dr. Karl Augustus Schermerhorn. He did some big things, and had in mind still bigger. I'd met him some time before in connection with his telepathy and wireless waves theory. It was picturesque stuff for my purpose, but wasn't in it with what the old fellow had really done. He showed me--well, that doesn't matter. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036496 | point is, that good, staid, self-centred, or rather science-centred, Dr. Schermerhorn was standing at midnight in a dark alley on the Barbary Coast in San Francisco talking to an individual whose facial outline at least was not ornamental. My curiosity, or professional instinct, whichever you please, was all aroused. I flattened myself against the wall. The first remark I lost. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036497 | The reply came to me in a shrill falsetto. So grotesque was the effect of this treble from a bulk so squat and broad and hairy as the silhouette before me that I almost laughed aloud. "I guess you've made no mistake on that. I'm her master, and her owner too." "Well, I haf been told you might rent her," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036498 | said the Doctor. "Rent her!" mimicked the falsetto. "Well, that--hell, yes, I'll _rent_ her!" he laughed again. "Doch recht." The Doctor was plainly at the end of his practical resources. After waiting a moment for something more definite, the falsetto inquired rather drily: "How long? What to? What for? Who are you, anyway?" "I am Dr. Schermerhorn," the latter answered. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000036499 | "Seen pieces about you in the papers." "How many men haf you in the crew?" "Me and the mate and the cook and four hands." "And you could go--soon?" "Soon as you want--_if_ I go." "I wish to leaf to-morrow." "If I can get the crew together, I might make it. But say, let's not hang out here in this | 60 | gutenberg |
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